#icy detective: aisling

[the-potpourri-backstage]

Booba.

[harlot-of-oblivion]

The Devil's In The Details

Dante starts to feel something more besides an undeniable attraction growing between him and the fiery Detective.

Another chapter hot off the goggle doc presses! Hope you enjoy! 🌹😘🌹

Chapter 11: A Little Heat Never the Devil

Dante sticks to you like glue as both of you run down the train aisle, leaving the chaos and destruction of the derelict station behind. And just when things started to get interesting, he thought remorsefully, still so curious about what you were going to him for tricking you.

It was an honest mistake; in hindsight, he probably should’ve kept up with you more during the battle. But you really know how to handle a gun, and Ebony was fucking glorious in your hands. Just seeing you in action, popping demons left and right while covering his back was one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.

So, when he got popped as well, he didn’t mind since he knew it was his fault. It’s not the first time he got shot and walked away scotch free, but the way you rushed to his side all protective and concerned…he really couldn’t help but to let it all play out just to see what you would do. You always have this icy wall around you, and getting a peek through it as you pushed his shirt up to check his wound…the devil within him purrs at the mere memory of your fingers brushing his chest. And the way your eyes ignited with pure rage and desire when you confronted him…

How could a devil resist getting a rise out of a firecracker like you?

That’s Honeybee for ya, he remarks to himself as both of you dash into the last train car. Ferocious beauty all wrapped up in a smokin’ hot package.

Dante regains his focus as you leap out of the broken-down train car with him hot on your heels. Both of you stand still for a moment with weapons ready, quietly waiting to see if the reigning destruction will cascade down to this part of the abandoned station. But the trembling ground calms down as the echo of the crumbling racket in the distance fades away.

“Whew! What a rush!” he exclaims while dismissing his sword with a flick of wrist. “Amiright, Honeybee?”

Your eyes squint viciously as he turns towards you. “That’s one way of putting it,” you growl before hitting his shoulder with the handle of Ebony over and over.

“Ow! Hey!” he yelps before ripping his gun out of your hand. “What’s that for?” he asks while rubbing his aching shoulder.

“For being an insufferable dick!” you fume before turning away from him with a furious whip of your head.

Dante can literally feel the fury humming in your body, threatening to burst through the seams of your control. Hmm…might’ve pushed her too hard, he admits with a concerned frown while holstering Ebony behind his back. But before he can try to diffuse your unbridled temper, you take a deep breath and all the anger seems to just disappear as your quaking body becomes deathly still.

“C’mon…let’s report back.”

You take out your flashlight and forge ahead without a backward glance. Dante follows quietly, leaping up the ledge to the station just ahead before helping you up with a charming smile. But your stoic face never wavers as both of you make your way out the station in total cold silence.

Yeah…definitely pushed too hard, he notes, already missing the companionable heated banter that usually goes on between you two as both of you climb up the ruined stairs up to the surface.

Carmen waves both of you down with a relieved smile. “Hey, guys! How’d it go?” she yells while jogging up to meet us.

“Pretty good!”

“We encountered some demons.”

We both respond at the same time, and Carmen looks between us with her mouth agape in shock and horror. “What?! Holy shit, are y’all okay?”

“We’re fine,” you reassure while reaching into your leather coat. “But we found this,” you inform while handing her the evidence bag with the bedroom slipper in it. “Fill her in, Dante.”

“Uh, okay,” he murmurs with a confused quirk of his brow as you walk away at a brisk pace.

His quizzical eyes never leave your retreating back as you whip out your glasses and slip them on before taking out your notebook. You stop a good distance away before updating your notebook with a furious scribble of your pencil. Dante lets out a frustrated sigh as he turns back to Carmen, who is looking up at him with a sympathetic smirk.  

“Don’t worry…she gets like this when she’s super pissed,” she assures with a small nod of her head. “Just give her some space and she’ll go back to her usual icy self again!”

Dante nods in understanding as his eyes flicker back over to you. “Sounds like you’re used to this.”

“Oh, yeah! It’s just how Quickdraw works,” she comments with a casual shrug of her shoulder. “So, what did ya find?” she presses on while looking at the evidence bag in her hand.

“A bedroom slipper,” he informs while keeping his eyes on you. “Honeybee thinks it could’ve been Mrs. Harmon’s.”

“Oh, sweet! We’ll see in the lab later!” she exclaims with an excited smile while pocketing the evidence bag. “But what about the demons?” she asks with a sudden fearful twist of her lips.

Dante glances down at her with a confident smirk. “All taken care of.”

Carmen sighs in relief. “Good…glad you were there with her,” she murmurs while nodding her head towards you. Then, her lips curl into a gleeful grin. “And can I just say…I totally ship it!”

“What do ya mean?” he asks with a curious quirk of his brow.

“You and her together!” she explains with a wildly excited gesture of her hands. “The chemistry is just…perfection!”

Dante chuckles wryly. “Wish she felt the same way,” he murmurs as his longing eyes find their way back to you.

“Oh, believe me…she totally does!” she assures with a knowing smile. “I’ve seen this before, ya know.”

His eyes swivel back towards Carmen with a sudden pique of interest. “Really?”

“Well, uh…” she hesitates before heaving a soft sigh. “Okay…so, I’ve known her for a long time, and I’ve noticed that she doesn’t show interest in the normal way,” she discloses with a soft whisper. “Most would go full on heart eyes, but Quickdraw…she’s more complicated.”

Already got that impression, he quips silently to himself, but still leans in closer to hear more.

“Complicated how?”

Carmen looks back at you like she’s making sure you haven’t noticed their conversation before continuing in a secretive whisper. “She usually keeps her cool with everyone, but every now and then there’s someone who just rubs her the wrong way…but I think it’s the right way!” she informs with a satisfyingly knowing smirk. “Like the last guy that she swears up and down that she had no romantic feelings for…they’d get into explosive arguments at the station! It was so thrilling!” she whispers excitedly before scrunching her lips in a disappointed frown. “But it didn’t work out.”

I can guess why, he thought as the juicy tidbit he heard about your Lieutenant replays in his mind. He got the impression that there was a history between you two, and after what Moxie shared with him at Love Planet’s bar…the devil within growls possessively against his skin, but he ignores it in favor of playing along.

“Why not?” he prods while leaning closer.

“He chose his career over her,” she replies with a small shrug. “And she’s moved on, but man…what a dick move,” she murmurs while glancing over at you with a dejected sigh. “Quickdraw deserves more than getting thrown under the bus…which is why I’m gonna help you!” she claims as her lips curve into a hopeful and bubbly smile.

“You wanna be my wing woman?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

Carmen nods. “Hell yeah! In fact, I have an idea, but we can’t talk about it now,” she whispers softly, shooting a wary glance your way. “You got a cellphone?” she asks, surreptitiously taking her own phone out with a cheeky grin when he nods. “Gimme your number and I’ll fill ya in later!”

Dante recites his number and she quickly types it into her phone before pocketing it. Both of you share a sly smile as the distant ringtone of the Detective’s cellphone chimes through the air. You flinch irritably at the interruption, but still whip out your phone and bring it up to your ear. He can’t quite hear your low murmuring words, but he can tell that the conversation must annoy you by the way you prop your hand on your hip. Then, you end the call and close your notebook with a snap before approaching him with an irked grimace.

“Everything alright?” he asks with a concerned tilt of his head.

“Yeah…just the Lieutenant wanting a personal update as soon as possible,” you explain with an annoyed twitch of your brow before turning to Carmen. “How much longer do you think you’ll take here?”

“Just waitin’ for the tow truck to get here!” she informs while nodding her head towards the abandoned car. “I’d say about another 30 minutes?”

You nod. “Alright. Seeya later, Sandiego.”

“Seeya! And good luck!” she replies with a chipper smile before joining the rest of the crime scene analysts  waiting around the abandoned car.

Dante gives her a friendly wave before turning towards you. “So, back to the station?”

You ponder for a moment before shaking your head. “Let’s get lunch first.”

“Nothing like mowing down demons to work up an appetite!” he exclaims as both of you head towards Cavaliere.

You let him drive this time much to his disappointment and judging by the disgruntled rev of the Devil Arm’s engine…he’s not the only one. Dante rolls his eyes but he totally understands; the way you straddled Cavaliere and rode him like a pro really turned him on…but the feel of your hands around his waist as you lean against his back makes up for it a little bit. Just having you close makes the devil within purr with contentment as he follows the directions you gave him before riding off.

Dante comes to a screeching halt on an unfamiliar street and looks around curiously as you hop off the fiendish bike. You urge him to follow with a nod of your head before walking down the adjacent sidewalk. He hurries off the bike and follows you to a food truck decorated to look like it’s wearing a tuxedo parked by the street. His brow quirks at the fancy cursive sign that reads Dapper Dogs.

“Huh…and here I thought you’d live up to your end of our deal,” he teases with a rueful shake of his head while crossing his arms.

You chuckle wryly. “You said pizza, but you didn’t say just traditional pizza,” you point out with an amused smirk.

Dante quirks his brow in interest as you step up to the food truck to give your order to the guy behind the window. Then, you grab a couple of drinks before walking back to him. You offer him one of the drinks while both of you wait for your food. He takes a sip and hums softly as the sweet and spicy taste of home brewed ginger beer bursts on his tongue.  

You cross your arms and wait with him for a couple of minutes until the guy behind the window waves you down. He watches as you go over and grab a small tray before dropping some cash in the tip jar. Then, you look back at him and nod towards Cavaliere before heading that way.

Dante rushes up behind you and looks over your shoulder with a perplexed furrow of his brow. “What the hell is that?”

“Diavola Dog,” you reveal while looking over your shoulder at him. “It’s a hot dog wrapped in spicy salami smothered with tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, and pickled jalapeños,” you explain with a challenging quirk of brow. “I thought a devil like you can handle a little heat.”

“Oh, I can handle it, Honeybee.”

Your keen eyes flicker up to his confident smirk before you quickly turn your head away from him with an indifferent hum. But he still saw that fiery spark that he desperately tries to stoke every time he sees it in your intense gaze. She’s warmed up to the nickname, but still pretends to not like it, he muses as you set the tray down on Cavaliere’s seat.

You hand him a well-crafted and utterly smothered hot dog before grabbing your own. Then, you lean against the backside of Cavaliere while setting your drink down on the tray. He watches as you dig into your meal, giving no shits about appearing all ladylike as you open your mouth wide before hacking into your hot dog with a satisfied groan.

Dante licks his lips as his mind wonders about what else your mouth could do, but he shakes those desirous thoughts out of his head as he focuses on his own hot dog. He sets his drink next to yours before bringing up his meal for a curious sniff. It smells like pizza, he admits before leaning against the front side of Cavaliere. Then, he takes a bite…and throws his head back as a familiar savory flavor with a heated kick of spice hits him like a brick wall.

“Mmmm…holy shit!” he exclaims with a gratifying moan before going back for more.

“Told ya so,” you murmur with a smug nod while swiping some tomato sauce from your cheek.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still like pizza,” he clarifies between hearty chews of his mouth before swallowing. “But this is really good!” he admits before taking another bite. “And the pickled jalapeños…damn!”

You grin triumphantly as both of you fall into comfortable silence, just enjoying the calm and quiet of enjoying a damn good meal for a few moments. But the concerned and hectic tone of your voice as you rushed to his aid in that demon infested part of derelict station invades his mind. He was only provoking you, but realizes that you’re not like Lady or Trish, who are used to him being reckless all the time.

Still worth it to feel her hands on my chest, but… he relents before trying to make amends.

“So, uh… I’m sorry I scared ya down there.”

You pause your chewing of a delectable meal before letting out a resigned sigh. “It’s alright. Still not used to having a half demon as a partner,” you murmur before pinning him down with a harsh glare. “But if you even pull some shit like that ever again…”

“I won’t!” he promises with a defensive shrug of his shoulders before flashing you with his most charming grin. “Just glad that you care, Honeybee.”

You roll your eyes but he can still see the barest hint of a smirk on your lips as you go back to enjoying your spicy meal. Oh yeah…still got it, he boasts to himself while digging into his own delicious hot dog. Both of you finish eating and drink every drop of the refreshing ginger beer before hitting the road once more.

Dante zips through the streets for a few minutes before barreling into the station’s parking lot with a loud rev of Cavaliere’s engine. You hop off as soon as he parks and immediately head inside with him in tow. The charged excitement of his first appearance here has died down, but he still gets some curious looks as both of you make your way to the criminal investigations department. Even Detective Douche pauses whatever loud and verbose conversation he’s having with a bunch of other detectives in the department to stare at him as both of you head straight towards the Lieutenant’s office.

You knock on the door and open it when the Lieutenant’s raspy voice answers. “About damn time,” he grumbles while ushering both of you in with a wave of his hand. “Whatcha got for me, Detective?” he asks as his office door clicks shut.

You take a seat in a chair across from the Lieutenant’s desk while Dante remains standing behind you. The Lieutenant arches his brow but doesn’t question him as you launch into a report about your current finding in the case. You go into the details of searching through the Harmons safety deposit box and the interview with their son. Both of you agree that contents of the safety deposit offer more questions than answers, and that the son is an unlikely suspect due to an airtight alibi and lack of evidence implicating him.

Then, you move onto the missing dog in the abandoned car, informing the Lieutenant that the murder weapon has been recovered for testing. You mention the humongous syringe you found as well, feeling very confident that it’ll test positive for the mysterious demonic venom that’s been present in your other related cases. The Lieutenant perks up at that little bit of information but doesn’t interrupt as you go into your investigation of the derelict station. You go through every detail: finding the bedroom slipper, heading deeper into the station through the broken-down train, and the terrifying encounter with a group of demons.

“Demons?” he repeats with a raised brow. “Are you sure?”

Dante bristles at the Lieutenant’s skeptical tone. “Are ya saying she’s a liar?”

You remain silent as the Lieutenant shoots him with a withering glare. Dante knew that he should’ve kept quiet, but he can’t help but to remember what he heard from Carmen…about how you were ridiculed while your former partner sitting behind that desk left you high and dry for a promotion. Just thinking about how much that must’ve hurt you makes the devil within rumble angrily beneath his skin as he stares right back at the Lieutenant with his own scathing glare.   

“No, I’m not,” the Lieutenant answers gruffly before turning his attention back to you. “Any injuries?”

“None,” you reply with a small shake of your head.  “We dealt with them quickly, but they took a chuck of the station with them,” you explain before launching into a short and concise retelling of your daring escape from the abandoned station as it came crashing down from above.

The Lieutenant is stunned for a moment. Then, he takes a deep breath and lets out a low whistle. “Damn…glad you got out okay.”

“Me too, Lieutenant,” you murmur with a relieved sigh. “But any lead on Mrs. Harmon’s whereabouts got destroyed as well,” you point out as your lips curve into a frustrated frown.

The Lieutenant nods in agreement. “But them’s the brakes sometimes,” he admits while placing his elbows atop his desk. “Just glad that they didn’t cause a ruckus above ground. We’re still dealing with that shitshow of a tree, and if the press finds out…” he trails off while lacing his fingers together with a grime scowl.

“A total frenzy,” you finish as your lips twist into a contemptuous grimace. “Yeah, I know.”

The Lieutenant meets your gaze, and Dante gets the impression that both of you are still talking despite the growing silence. His eyes flicker between both of you, taking in the Lieutenant’s stoic face and your scornful expression as he wonders what exactly is being said in the utterly quiet office.

Kinda feeling like a third wheel here, he muses as the possessive growl of the devil within rattles under his skin. A quip mirroring that exact same thought is on the tip of his tongue, but before he can break the silence with it…the Lieutenant turns his stoic gaze to him

“Can you excuse us, Mr. Dante? I’d like to talk to the Detective…alone.”

Dante looks down at you before nodding. “Sure,” he murmurs while gripping your shoulder before leaning down close to your ear. “I’ll just wait in your office, kay?”

You glance up at him and nod with a grateful smirk while patting his hand. Then, you turn your steely gaze back on the Lieutenant as he heads out of the office. He opens the door and spares a glance back at you and the Lieutenant staring silently at each other, literally filling the office with an impending tensity that beckons him away. The devil within growls in protest, but Dante knows you can handle whatever your old partner slings at you. So, he steps out and closes the door behind him before making his way to your office.

The other detectives glance at him curiously, but none of them approach him as he walks through the department straight to your office like he belongs here. He opens the door and swiftly shuts it before heading towards your desk. The box of strawberry donuts you gave him this morning is still there right where he left it before both of you went out. He grabs a donut from the box with a fond smile before taking a bite as his mind replays the conversation he had with you over these delectable treats.

He saw the shock in your eyes when he appeared in your office, which told him that you honestly thought you scared him away. But nothing you do could scare him away, not even the threat of a knife to the gut because that fire he sees in you is irresistible. You always seem to keep everyone at a distance, but the “sorry for being such a bitch” donuts told him that you really do care, and that you’re aware of the anger locked away behind your stoic façade that scares everyone away if they get a peek of it.

But not him…in fact, it draws him in more. It calls to him, beckoning him to come closer…the devil within purrs in delight at the mere image of the fire behind your icy eyes. He can’t quite place what it was about you that pulls him in with such force, but after what you, Moxie, and Carmen have told him…he knows that it’s not just your fire.

Dante takes another bite of his donut as he walks around the desk and leans against the exact same spot where he heard you talk about the case that nearly ended your career earlier this morning. He knew that you would be pissed if you found out that he was snooping around for information about you. So, he told you he went poking around because he was hoping that you would tell him your side of the story. And you did, it was vague but he got the gist; seemed like a normal case involving a serial killer, but you came face-to-face with a demon…and the people you thought would have your back turned a blind eye to save face because the citizens of Red Grave City couldn’t trust the police if a mere demon can trick them.

He finishes the donut with a vicious bite as old memories of his past flash before his mind. After the attack on his home and escaping the horrors of what the demons wrought, making a new life with a different name just like his mom told him to before she…he tried to move on, but his devilish nature always seemed to attract the attention of demons. And that always came with a landslide of doubt and mistrust from anyone he confided in back then.

It ruined his reputation for a while, but he made it work with a few close friends along the way. He was able to make a living out of what brought him pain, a way to release the anger and despair of not being strong enough to protect his mother. And he sees that in you, trying to protect people from the devastation that demons bring despite no one watching your back.

Dante reaches for another donut but pauses as the gravity of his attraction to you hits him hard in the chest. The fire behind those determined and angry eyes of yours when he first met you drew him in…well, that and the confidence you commanded while walking around his office, so smoking hot and irresistible. But after working with you for a couple of days and hearing about what happened to you in the past…he feels connected to you on a deeper level beyond sexual attraction.  

Too bad Honeybee doesn’t wanna give me a chance, he thought, recalling the couple of times you made it very clear that you only see him as your partner.

But then again, he can tell that you’ve started to warm up to him and that you’re attracted to him as well. He definitely smelled the heady scent of your arousal when you marched right up to him after your tirade. Your lips were so close to his as you stared up at him with those scorching eyes…the devil within purrs against his skin as he wonders what your lips would taste like, how they would feel pressed against his in a blazing hot kiss…    

Dante puts a pause on his desirous thoughts as the sound of stomping footsteps approaches your office. He looks over his shoulder just as you rip the door open with an irate scowl. At least she’s not pissed at me for once, he thought, subtly readjusting his pants that got a little too tight while pushing off your desk with a concerned frown.     

“You alright?” he asks as you enter your office before pushing the door closed with a hard smack of your hand.

You turn your angry gaze towards him, staying quiet for a moment before breathing in deeply. “Yeah,” you murmur with an exasperated huff. “Just Hard Ass being a hard ass.”

Dante waits for you to say more, but you remain silent as you walk over to your desk. He watches for a moment as you open a drawer and begin to stack various casefiles on top of each other. I hate it when she’s like this, he notes, much preferring the wild and passionate side of your temper instead of this cold and impassive anger that keeps him at a distance.  

“So, what do we do now?” he gently asks, hoping to shake you out of your icy shell by bringing your attention back to the case.

You don’t even look up at him as you respond. “Now, we’re done for the day and for the next couple of days…apparently,” you grumble before slamming the desk drawer closed with a bitter scowl.

Dante furrows his brow in confusion before putting the pieces together. “He ordered you to take the weekend off?”

“Yep,” you confirm while straightening the stack of case files. “He wants us to lay low in case the press got a whiff of what happened down in the station.”

You pause for a moment, and he can see the conflicting thoughts churning behind your searing eyes. Something in his gut tells him that getting ordered to take time off isn’t the only thing that incurred your icy wrath. And it looks like you’re about to tell him more, biting your lip in thought before turning your furious gaze towards him. But then, you shake your head and pick up the stack of casefiles with a weary sigh.  

“I had some errands to run anyway,” you inform with a defeated shrug of your shoulders. “But we can still meet later and brainstorm our next move if you want,” you offer while adjusting the sizable number of casefiles under your arm.

Dante regards you with a worried tilt of his head. He wants to know what’s really going on with you but decides against butting into your business since you’re more likely to push him away than tell him anything at this point.

“Yeah!” he agrees while taking out his cellphone.

You follow suit and type his number in your phone before reciting your own number to him. Not exactly how I imagined getting her number, but I’ll take it, he muses while recording the digits with a smug smile. Then, he saves the number under his nickname for you before pocketing his cellphone.  

“Just gimme a call whenever,” he offers with a charming smirk.

“Alright,” you reply with a grateful nod before heading towards your office door.

Dante rushes ahead and opens it for you, which makes you shake your head at his chivalrous gesture. But your lips still curl into an amused smirk as he follows you out the office. Both of you walk through the station quietly, but the soft chime of your cellphone breaks the silence. You take it out and start sending a flurry of texts, disregarding the peculiar yet leery stares of your fellow officers as you lead the way out with a determined scowl.

The tension hovering around you melts away slightly as both of you make it to the station’s parking lot. Dante follows as you head straight towards your motorcycle, softly laughing when Cavaliere rev’s its engine in protest. Couldn’t agree with ya more, he laments while shaking his head at the fiendish motorcycle. He doesn’t want to see you ride away without him either, but he knows that you desperately want some space right now.

So, he just watches with a heavy heart as you secure the casefiles in a side bag before putting your helmet on. Then, you hop onto your bike and crank the ignition, giving it a couple revs before turning to him.    

“Seeya later, Dante.”

“Adios, Honeybee.”

And with that, you peel out of the parking lot with a loud roar of your motorcycle. Dante just stands there for a moment, ignoring the low rumbling growl of Cavaliere’s engine as he wonders what the hell he’s gonna do while waiting for your call. He could always go back to Love Planet and hang out with Moxie, but she always had a knack of seeing right through his jokingly carefree attitude. And he’s really not in the mood to talk about whatever’s going on between him and the Detective.

Maybe a drive though the abandoned parts of the city, he decides while walking towards his ride. Might find some demons to pummel along the way if I’m lucky.

Dante hops onto Cavaliere just as his cellphone rings and vibrates in his jacket. His heart feels like it’s leaping for joy in his chest as he whips it out with an excited tremble of his hands. Really? So soon? he wonders while looking at the slightly cracked screen. But his brows furrow at the unfamiliar number before accepting the call with a disappointed frown.

“Hello?” 

“Hiya! It’s me, Carmen!”

“Oh, hey!” he responds with a cheery smile. “Didn’t expect you to call so soon.”

“Yeah, well…I had a plan, but Quickdraw just texted me a while ago that she got benched for the weekend,” she quickly explains with a worried tone. “But that only gave me another brilliant plan!” she exclaims, and he can literally hear the excited grin on her face as she speaks.

“Really?” he questions. So that’s who Honeybee was texting on the way out, he surmises while tilting his head with interest. “Do tell.”

Carmen giggles softly. “Well, this isn’t the first time the Lieutenant ordered her to take some time off…she’d literally work herself to the bone if no one stopped her,” she informs with a fretful sigh. “So, as her fun-loving friend, I suggested that we should all go out to the cantina!”

“The what now?” he asks with a curious quick of his brow.

“Oh, uh…it’s a bar called Fuego del Diablo,” she informs before moving on. “Me, her, and Graves go there a lot. It’s got great food, strong margaritas, and a huge dance floor for salsa dancing!”

Dante hums softly as the image of you in a smoking hot dress dances across his mind. “Sounds fun!” he admits with a pleased smirk while his gut tells him that’s more to her plan. “But I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Carmen stalls for a moment before continuing. “I may have uh…neglected to tell her that you’re invited?”

Dante chuckles. “Ah, very sneaky, Sandiego!”

“Yeah, I know…but look!” she starts with an irked sigh. “Quickdraw is stubborn and won’t let her guard down at work,” she discloses before letting out a devious laugh. “Which is why I think it’d be good if both of you see each other outside of work…with plenty of tequila and dirty dancing.”

“Wow…you really do ship us, huh?” he asks while admiring the cunning plan of the bubbly crime scene analyst.

“Damn right!” she exclaims with utmost confidence. “I know it’s risky and Quickdraw could fly off the handle, but I’ve known her for a while and I feel like…” she pauses before letting out a frustrated sigh. “She tries so hard to uphold this image of being aloof and strong in a male dominated workforce that constantly looks for every little fault,” she explains with an angry tone. “And after what she went through…she just needs to find the opportunity to let loose and finally have some happiness cos there’s no way she’ll go for it herself.”

Dante remains silent as this new information floods his mind. Then, he smiles and speaks softly. “You’ve got her back too, huh?”

“Hell yeah!” she exclaims with an enthusiastic giggle before lowering her voice.  “And don’t worry, Dante…Wing Woman Sandiego’s got your back too!”

“Glad to hear it!” he responds with a wide grin. “Now, where is this cantina?”

Carmen gives him the location along with the description of the bar’s sign depicting a man with horns engulfed in fiery red flames. “We’re meeting at seven, but maybe wait until eight to show up?” she suggests with a sly lilt of her hopeful voice.

“You got it!” he agrees with an excited grin. “Seeya then,” he promises before ending the call.

Dante slips his cellphone back into his pocket before revving Cavaliere’s engine with a determined twist of his wrists. Then, he bolts out of the station’s parking lot with an explosive roar, zipping through traffic at breakneck speeds towards Love Planet. He didn’t want to go there at first cos Moxie would needle him constantly. But now, that’s the only place with a working shower that welcomes him. He’ll gladly suffer the keen eyes of Moxie because all she’ll see is his enthusiasm to impress the Detective that entices him.

But this night of drinking and dancing isn’t just about feeling your body against his, and if all goes well…your lips pressed against his in a soul crushing kiss. He also wants to establish trust with you. After hearing all the juicy details from Moxie and the hints from Carmen…he’s never felt so close to someone in a long time.

He’s gotten a little taste of your fire…but he wants more.

So much more...

🔪❤️‍🔥🔪

[ldouble]

Can’t Help It | Antonio Dawson x Reader (Chicago PD)

summary: You never expected flowers to be delivered to you. You weren’t one for girlish things, for goodness sake you were a cop who liked strapping a gun more so than clicking into heels. With this, it’s a pleasant surprise when you are delivered flowers not once, not twice, but three times in the span of a week. For Antonio, your partner and the guy who definitely did not have feelings for you, its more suspicious.

You stare at empty board, the lack of thumbtacked pictures a rare sight. This was the Intelligence Unit. There was always a case. Sometimes you thought the crimes rolled in like such clockwork you could have a TV show.

Wednesday. 9 PM Central.

With the clear board, you were sure to get cancelled.

You didn’t want anything up there. The first piece of evidence or any sort of lead usually meant someone was dead. You didn’t wish that at all.

The sight just made you uneasy.

Work wasn’t supposed to be mundane. You were supposed to be constantly thinking. Gears shifting as you tried to catch up with whatever or whoever you were after.

Drug cartels. Sex trafficking. Gang related violence.

It made its way to this board. And you sure as hell always found your way back to it.

The sound of a phone brought you back. The rough voice of your partner cueing in that your team was up to bat.

You looked to Antonio, your arms crossed, half your mind still on the blank panel, for answers.

Even fewer leads sat with him, his face stone cold and unreadable. That was weird. After working together for years, literally saving each others lives (after nearly losing each other one or twice) you could always read Dawson. His quiet demeanor was easy for you to pick up on, you yourself one to speak without words. You thought the time spent wordlessly communicating - either over beers at Molly’s or the barrel of your gun prior to a riot - would help you figure out who was on the other end of the phone.

His eyes met yours, a low ‘mhm’ escaping his lips before he let the receiver clack gently against its holder. “Delivery for you.”

“Screw up your address-”

Ruzek called after you, your last names barely heard as you skipped down the steps to meet whoever was at the cage entrance.

“Didn’t order anything.” You called before lowering your voice. “Especially nothing I’d get sent here.”

Your mind wandered to the Wine of the Month club you just subscribed to, and for a second you started believing Adam that you really had fumbled the address. But upon opening the cage door to see a patrolmen standing with your package, you knew you definitely didn’t mess up.

You told the officer just that, laughing at the sick joke it was. Sergeant Platt was having none of it, yelling up at you (without so much as lifting her gaze from her desk), “Take the goddamn flowers.”

So you did. You awkwardly and begrudgingly, took the goddamn flowers.

The goddamn flowers that had you sneezing upon arriving back in the bullpen.

A low whistle from Kevin was heard despite the allergy response. You didn’t know which one had caught the attention of the entire squad. Honestly, you didn’t know which was worse.

“Nobody give me that look.” You spat, concluding it was neither whistle nor wheeze that had everyone curious. Rather it was you, dressed in dark jeans and an ever darker long sleeved shirt, holding a budding bouquet of bright yellow-

“Are those sunflowers?” Jay asked, leaning closer to take a look.

“Yes.” You huffed, setting down the gift like it was a bomb. That’s what it felt like. Like any second something was going to go off. 3....2...

“Who got you flowers?!?” Adam buzzed, jumping up to peer at the present.

“No one.” You quickly said, hating this. Hating the attention. The attention brought on by some stupid-

“Nice greenery.” Voight said from his classic perch of leaning against the door of his office.

At the sight of your boss you gulped. You were chummy enough with him but knew even he wouldn’t appreciate a dispute over something as stupid as this.

So you took a breath, smiled, and agreed with him. “Yeah, nice.” You peered at the object in question...just like you would a suspect.

Jay called you out on it, coming to look at it beside you. He hip checked you. “Whose it from?”

“Great question.”

“There’s usually a card someone.”

You looked over your shoulder at Antonio whose attention now seemed completely enthralled with his computer. You knew for a fact there was nothing on there of importance. if there was, he wouldn’t be asking about flowers. Flowers you never would have gotten because you wouldn’t be here but rather out on the case that filled that goddamn blank board.

“You a frequent customer of ‘Ode a la Rose’, Dawson?” Ruzek asked, coming up on the other side to look at the business ribbon tied to the vase.

“No.” You titled your head at your partner who quickly avoided eye contact after looking up for a mere second. He clicked away, his mouse suddenly much louder to you. “But I know a bouqet of flowers when I see one.”

That had you rolling your eyes back to the problem at hand.

You really didn’t know where to start, that is until Voight walked right up and plucked the paper envelope from between the....blooms? Was that they were called?

Reading your mind Jay and Ruzek leaned in at the same time, whispering, “Buds.” in your ears.

You sighed, watching them return to their desks before opening up the letter.

You don’t know why you needed a breath but you did. It was all so bizarre. Remembering your boss’ words, the very ones you had agreed with, you concluded it to be nice. Nothing less and nothing more.

The card certified that, its blankness leaving the mystery solved.

“What’s it say?” Kevin asked from across the aisle as you sat down in your chair.

“Nada.” You replied, tossing into the bin at your feet.

“Yeah, right.” Antonio said, standing up and crossing the room. When he went to dive through the can beneath your desk you rolled away, the invasion of space surprising.

What was more surprising, the look of jealousy you swore you saw on his face.

Again, your guess was confirmed when Jay asked if Antonio was jealous somebody else was congratulating me on a case well solved before he could.

You didn’t like what Jay said but it was better than clutching onto a defensive statement with no proof. You were a detective. Couldn’t argue with evidence. And Antonio storming over to dig through trash...pretty convincing.

“I told you, I’ll take a free beer over flowers any day.” Your hand graced your partners arm. It stole his attention from the empty paper he was analyzing, his eyes finding yours for a moment. The way they raced across your face, taking you in like someone he was saving, crushed you.

More than that, it terrified you. Because it seemed to terrify Antonio.

You sneakily took the note from his hand, shaking your head with a light laugh. You were hoping he didn’t notice how forced it was because you really couldn’t sit here one more second with him looking at you like that. Worrying you. Terrifying you.

“It’s all good. Probably just some appreciation for your girl.”

You had stood at this point, reaching around to dump the flowers but your hand was caught. Antonio met your gaze, his tongue quickly wetting his lips in thought. A million things went through his head before he plucked the note from you.

“Keep em. Till I get you that beer.”

You watched him walk away, your eyes tearing away when you heard Adam cracking another joke about how sunflowers resembled your bubbly personality. When you slapped his head in warning you chanced another glance at your partner.

Sauntering down the hall a flash of white caught your eyes.

The once pristine note, white as day, was now crumbled in his hand. You watched it soar into a nearby trashcan, hitting the rim and bouncing onto the floor. The slam of the cage, announcing the exit of your partner, couldn’t even take your eyes away.

----

Molly’s atmosphere would always put you in a good mood. There was nothing like sitting with your colleagues, amongst the other servicemen and women of Chicago, after a long day. 

You hadn’t even made it to the bar when Otis called your name, waving you over.

Leaving Ruzek and Kevin to chat it up with some of the Firehouse 51 guys, you made your way through the throngs of people.

“What’s up?” You asked over the cheers of a home run being hit.

“You tell me.” The fireman said, a suggestive tone on his lips.

You turned to your coworkers, now joining you, shrugging your shoulders. Their equally confusing looks send you repeating the action back at him. Even then, its hard to force up your arms in chagrin when theres an icy feeling down your back.

The Russian fireman rolled his eyes before disappearing below the bar. Your head tipped forward to follow only to bounce back at his sudden reappearance. Its not his dark curly hair that scares you, but rahter the bright array of...flowers.

He placed it on the counter with a thud. Identical in nearly every way to the vase gifted to you two days ago, the only difference is that the blossoms have grown. Double the amount of stems sit in the square jar.

The aroma of spring met your nose despite the smells of the bar. Mixed with beer and greasy food, your lunch is prepared to make a reappearance.

But its the sight of Antonio, followed closely by Jay, that sends the meal back down. You have to gulp it down again when he gets closer, the look of anger directed towards the flowers, terrifying you once again.

“You got to be kidding.” Jay mumbled, tracing over the business seal.

“When did you get these?”

“Who delivered them?”

“What’d they say?”

The men around you fire out questions but none of them register. You’re always one to investigate but never before had you been so involved. Never before had you been the lead.

You liked the board empty. You’d take a clear slate and nothing to do over thumbtacking your own picture up any day.

Especially today.

Antonio tried to find your eyes, silently communicate among the raising volume of the bar, but you ignored them. There’s something to be said. But you don’t have the words.

The message envelope does.

You ripped through the flowers, tossing stems and wrecking the beauty of the gift, until you find what you’re looking for.

A gasp escaped your lips once you’ve read it, your head following to hang low.

“What’s it say?” Someone asked. You didn’t catch who, the neatly typed and printed words consuming everything in you.

Someone grabbed it but you release the words into the air before they can be read again.

If you could’ve stopped them you would. No one else should have had to read those chilling words. No one except you.

And your detective friends.

“I scent you this.” You looked up at Antonio, his brows furrowed as they came up from the note. “Can’t wait to watch you wilt.”

“We’ve got a gardener on our hands.”

Your head slowly turned to Otis, innocent and unknowing Otis, who thought it all to be a cute little love note.

You told him it wasn’t.

“More like a weed killer.” A faux smile found your lips right before your eyes found the door, your feet following quickly.

The hot summer air was less of an escape than you’d have hoped. Still, you pushed on, farther from the bar and the noise and the people and everything.

Your arm was caught just before a passing car took you out, sucking you back into the real world.

Antonio’s eyes, the fullest of concern you’d ever seen them, sent you pushing him back. You’d take reality but not from him. Not right now.

“You can’t just leave.”

“Let my pedals fall, won’t you, Dawson?”

“No.” His hands found my arms, my bare skin burning. There was no anger in his action. If anything you were producing the heat, frustrated beyond belief.

Antonio saw it, squeezing gently to bring you back. You couldn’t the strain breath that you released.

“He’s in my head.”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“Women don’t send flowers.” You deadpanned. You took a step back upon seeing the rest of your coworkers stirring a few feet away. They held a respectable distance but some things just needed to be said - partner to partner.

And boy were some things about to be said.

Cops had no on and off switch. Their minds were always in investigation mode. You were your lead, your evidence, your victim, your everything.

And you felt like you couldn’t even breathe at the moment.

“Just let me go home.”

“Not with some guy-”

“He’s in my head, man.” The crack in your voice scared you but you pressed down the fear, going straight up to your partner. Chest to chest you tapped a finger on his temple. “He’s in my head and I can’t help it.”

“You’re in his and I can’t help that.” Antonio huffed.

You didn’t know who was more upset with the situation - you or him.

But that’s what partners were for. To have your back. Even when you didn’t have your own.

The thought of Antonio guarding you, unattended and unfocused, had you shaking your head.

It wasn’t right. None of this was.

You told him just that. To which he tried whispering your last name not as your partner but as your friend. You could tell by the way he said your first name...something he never did.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

“Save your detective work for the office.” A choked laugh escaped you as you slipped by him, heading towards Kevin. “Something tells me this is just poor planning on some gardener’s part.”

The flower puns had been over ages ago. They never really had a place at all.

But again....desperate times, desperate measures. Dark humor was your desperation.

You plucked the flowers from Adam’s arms, meeting his eyes with a nod.

You heard Jay say your name but it was no use. If Antonio couldn’t get through to you, it’d take Voight. And your boss never frequented this establishment at this hour.

Like you would hear him over the buzzing. You wanted to believe a bee was enjoying your unexpected gift but you knew that wasn’t true. The only thing ringing was your heart, beating faster than ever before.

You turned on your heel, only dropping your “I’ve Got It All Together” smile when you threatened them not to follow you. It wasn’t until you got home did it all fall apart, the vase crashing to the ground. The only reason you didn’t hear it was because of Antonio’s voice in your head.

“I can’t help that.”

He meant it like he couldn’t help but worry.

But combined with the concern he radiated, you thought your suspicions to be true.

He couldn’t help. No one could.

----

Your hand hurt from clutching your gun in your sleep.

At the thought of how pathetic that was, you flexed your fingers before shaking them out to study the card.

The wording, the gift, everything, really nothing, made sense.

You had racked your brain for cases that it could connect to. It wasn’t uncommon to be tracked down by former...clients.

Your job was to put people in jail. Jail wasn’t always a life long sentence. Finding you, the person who’d put them there, could possibly be a life long commitment.

The knock of your door made you freeze. You weren’t able to pinpoint a crime that could lead to threats in the form of flowers but you were able to recognize that knock anywhere.

A confirmation through the peephole had you standing with your hand on your hip as Antonio walked into your apartment.

He rambled on and on, jumping between the points of the mysterious flower deliveries and how there was no way you were going to let him stop from figuring this out. On a tangent about your lack of respect to the Senior Detective of the unit (a title he only used when he wanted authority) you wrapped your arms around him.

Suddenly your outburst against the second in command didn’t matter, his own arms looping around your lower back.

“You look like shit for having slept in your car outside my place.”

His chuckle vibrated through you - the sound the most pleasant thing you had heard since entering Molly’s over 12 hours ago. Since then it had been your partner yelling at you and the eery silence of your apartment.

Neither were a match for Antonio’s laugh.

Which, speaking of, quickly died out as he gave you a once over. You could hear the quip on the tip of his tongue, how the bags under your eyes made him think you spent the night in the passenger seat, but it never came.

All that stayed was the worry in his eyes. You wiped your hands over them, forcing them closed. “Don’t look at me like that.” You whispered.

Without moving he replied, “When this is fixed, I’ll stop.”

“Then keep them closed.” You headed toward the couch, heaving a sigh and setting your head on the wall. “I can’t figure it out.”

“What do you think I’m here for?” You felt the couch dip beside you, the weight shifting as Antonio looked over the files sprawled on your coffee table. After a moment you joined him, your eyes quickly glazing over at the papers you’d practically memorized.

“Had he sent some blood or common drug I would’ve pinned him.” You waved a hand over the evidence. “I’ve got nothing.”

“You have to, or else you wouldn’t know who he was.”

“Antonio, I don’t-”

“You do.” He interrupted, a hand finding your knee. He’s quick to remove it, clearing his throat and referencing the table again. “We’re cops. We know more than we think.”

You sighed, wanting to agree but not seeing enough evidence to do so.

Flowers. Scents. Spring.

You were linking the whole ordeal to cotton candy (somehow) when someone else knocked on the door. You didn’t even bother standing, knowing Antonio (who had been on watch all night) wouldn’t let you answer it.

So you weren’t surprised at all when he returned, the rest of the squad entering.

“Still picking petals?” Kevin asked.

“He kills you, he kills you not.”

Adam’s joke impressed no one, his hands flying up defensively. “We not in the mood for jokes or what?”

“We’re not.” Voight’s voice run out strong. It both reassured you and frightened you. This all was so odd. How everyone was here. Except the guy tracking you down.

“No jokes when one of our own is on the line.”

“Line.” You mumbled, the word sticking with you.

“What is it?” Jay asked, crouching down in front of you. It was his classic, “witness remembers something” action, which you didn’t appreciate. There was no time to blow him off, tell him you weren’t a victim in this, because you were just getting somewhere.

Antonio caught on, shoving Jay away for you.

You didn’t even need to say thanks, silently communicating it without as so much as a look.

“What did you say Adam?” You stood, heading towards your bookcase.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to repeat-”

“Say it again.” You insisted turning from the shelf for a mere moment to give him a look. “Please.” You said, your tone lighter.

“He kills you, he kills you not?” He mused, avoiding eye contact with Voight.

“That’s a bad line, man.” You heard Kevin say under his breathe.

“Exactly.” You excited, grabbing the book you were looking for.

“Exactly what?” Antonio came up beside you, his eeys darting between the page and your face. You said nothing - out loud or silently - which he impatiently couldn’t wait for. “Exactly what?”

“Exactly this.” You pointed to the page. “He loves me, he loves me not.”

Confusion and what appeared to be fear raced across Antonio’s face. Jay asked if you could fill him in before you got a chance to question your partner’s response to your revelation.

“It’s a line.”

“We know.” Voight said.

“A line from a case.” You went on to say, heading back toward the table. “There was a guy at the University of Chicago, posed as an English major, sucked girls with the whole ‘I’ll read you poetry’ thing.”

Papers were flying everywhere and Kevin was trying to keep them in order, that is till Antonio started digging with you.

“I know this one. He brought girls in and then,”

“Raped and murdered them. Leaving nothing but a note that said,”

“He loves me, he loves me NOT,” Voight answered, remembered. the case he handed over to you and Antonio.

“He definitely did not.” You stood, file in hand. “He left that line and-”

“A flower.”

You looked up to Antonio, his gaze pointed at the pile of what was your second bouquet, sitting in the dustpan where you left it when you couldn’t bring yourself to throw it out.

His eyes found yours after a moment and you couldn’t help but smile. You had solved it.

Of course, you had solved it three years ago.

Jay reminded you of that point when he took a look at the report.

“The clues he’s leaving aren’t keeping him too well hidden. Why send the cop who put you away flowers?” Kevin spectated.

“Paid in cash.” Adam added, rubbing his chin in thought. “Might want a chase.”

“Who leaves a calling card like that and wants a chase?” Voight pondered.

“He’s not the one being chased.” You said, the room quieting from the many guesses being vocalized. “I am.”

The knock of the door piqued everyone’s interest, each head whipping towards it. Then you all looked at each other. No one else who needed to be here wasn’t.

Antonio connected those dots first, undoing his gun from its holster and walking towards the door.

It was no point for him to ask who was there. You already knew.

You just made it to see the delivery boy, eyes wide as Antonio pointed the barrel at him.

You took the smallest of steps forward, further intimating the boy and causing the vase to drop. Triple the size of the first one, flowers spewed everywhere, a white card sliding across the floor to your feet.

You bent down, opened it and read it silently. When you looked back up at Antonio you couldn’t help the words that escaped.

“He’s not asking to be found. He’s already picked me out from the bunch.”

----

I wanna smell you. Just you. You don’t bloom, you lose it all.

The last part of the note didn’t need to be repeated in your head. Not when you were there right at that moment.

Lurie Garden looked beautiful on the Spring Saturday. Lavender wafted through the air and all colors spread through the field. The Bean was barely visible over the high walls. If you stood in the penny fountain you wouldn’t have been able to see 20 feet into the greenery. Not with the spurts of bushes that traveled higher and higher the further into the season.

3 Pm was peak time. Little kids ran around, parents following quickly. You had spotted more than one older couple, walking through the fields to literally smell the roses.

Like on every other OP, you thought of if you’d get there. Make it through this.

Good cops were good people. And no good person walked into a dangerous situation without playing with the idea that they wouldn’t see the light of the next day.

Your eyes found the sun, beating down on you. When you couldn’t take it any longer your refocused, finding the very couple that sparked your philosophical train fo thought. A green ring formed around them from the light exposure. They looked angelic. Happy. Perfect.

“Everything looks perfect.”

You toed the gravel, Ruzek’s voice loud and clear in your ear piece. No one had said much the last 15 minutes you spent waiting for your guest.

Mark Cameron, ever the ‘fake’ student, was running late for class.

Only you would be penalized, though, if you slipped up.

The kid, no college graduate, was still smart. When you’d busted him he had a barely alive girl in his arms. When unarming you he called out every weapon.

Hence your lack of protection right now.

No gun. No knife. You didn’t even have the pin you wore for highly specialized ops, its edge sharper than any pocketknife you could’ve snuck into your pant leg.

“You’re going to be fine.”

You turned halfway before stopping yourself. Antonio’s voice hadn’t come form your ear piece but rather behind you. Posing as a fellow garden goer, he stood the other way, admiring the monkshood you just looked at (15 minutes had given you plenty of time to read up on the plants. That and you needed something to do other than wait).

He was effortless when it came to undercover ops. So it took everything in you not to tell him he was blowing it. Cameron could show up any second. Antonio knew this. Never one to break protocol it wasn’t right to see him doing just that.

“Let’s hope.” You breathed, bending down to smell.

“He’s not in your head. I can’t help you if you’re in yours.”

You didn’t respond - not knowing what to say as well as gettin interrupted by COMMS.

“Cameron just entered the North East corner.”

Kevin went on giving description - jean jacket, information packet in hand, etc. - but you didn’t care.

You remembered that sweet couple without a care in the world and you needed to see Antonio once more. You needed to believe him he’d help. You needed your partner.

“Thought you might need this, honey.”

Cameron’s voice was icy in your ear. You fought the urge to grimace, instead smiling up at him and accepting the garden sheet he was extending to you.

“Thanks. Was dying to know what smelled so bad.”

“So you say.” He whispered directly into your ear piece. “What do they think?”

Jay mumbling something foulw as cut off as Cameron picked apart the tech. You couldn’t help but slam your ear into your shoulder, his touch radiating goosebumps off of you. The exposed movement was worth it when you caught no sight of Antonio - who had thankfully cleared the area.

There was no one in your row. No one you could really see either with the sloped ground and the high stalks of greenery.

You hoped your team had you. You knew they did. It was just hard to believe when you didn’t have yourself.

Cameron had found you. Found a way into your work and your bar and your home. More than that, he found his way into your head. And Antonio would never admit it but Cameron got into his too.

Partners. Had each other’s backs but also had each others brains.

You hoped Antonio’s wasn’t as corrupted as your felt right now.

“I told you to come alone.”

The stomp of his foot on the ear piece emitted a high pitched frequency just loud enough for you to catch.

Your lips formed a straight line as you told yourself not to panic. Something about you being the target made this op different. You cared about victims more than you did yourself - evident in the way you put your life on the line.

But this...this focus on you, on your friends, made breaking up a drug cartel seem like heaven.

Being here, with Cameron, even in a beautiful field of flowers, was actual hell.

“You know, I’d make some cruel joke about no flower growing alone but I don’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Cameron pretended to weigh the options. Coming to a decision a sick smile grazed his face before his hand found your hip. It hurt, a pressure point being hit, but you didn’t let it show.

“Good choice. Makes you love you a bit more.”

His eyes wandered to the flower I was still gripping, its orange petals crumpling with the tense hold I had on it. His own hands found one near by, picked it and brought it up to my nose. His brows raised, asking me to pluck a petal. I did as told just as he said, “Or love you not.”

“Sir!”

You spun around to the voice, only having his hand grip into you harder at the sight of a park ranger approaching.

“You can’t pick the flowers, sir.”

“My fault!” Cameron chuckled, his neck settling on your shoulder. Again, he put more force than necessary, your collarbone taking the brunt of it. “My girlfriend here wanted to see if I still loved her not. You know the rhyme.”

The ranger gave a tight smile, clearly weary. She shook off the feeling, going back into work mode. “I’m going to have to write you a warning.”

“Ma’am-”

You attempt at reconciliation was lost as Cameron pressed his hand and neck harder into you - equal points of pain rolling through. He was all bone and it hurt like hell.

“That won’t be necessary,” He leaned forward, bringing you with him. “Jan.”

“Sir, it’s policy of the park not to-”

“It’s-”

This was going all sorts of wrong.

No ear piece. This ranger. A much more aggriavted Cameron than you wanted.

Maybe this was it. Your final chance to smell the roses.

“You need to leave, now.” Th ranger said, summoning the most authority she could in her voice. Cop or not you could see her wavering.

You could also see a crowd forming. Nothing interested tourists quite like a public conflict.

“I said, no.”

“Sir!”

The ranger stepped forward, clutching what you assumed was a baton.

Cameron, ever one to see something for more dangerous than it was, though it a gun, and was quick to pull his own out.

Where else could it go than up against your head.

He held a firm choke hold, tossing you around as you showed the neely joined audience exactly what you had. It was all it took for your team to come out, their own guns blazing.

Screams. People running. Dust picking up.

You wished for the smallest deliver of flowers. No mess. No note.

This was so much worse.

You stayed strong, though. You knew there was more coming.

“All so protective of your girl when a guy sends some roses, huh?” Cameron asked Kevin and Ruzek, whipping you around to talk to both of them.

“Put the gun down.”

“Let her go.”

Now you understood why no hostage felt safe in this moment. Guns pointed at you. Words their first line of defense.

This wasn’t help, you wanted to tell Antonio. This was a placeholder for help.

“Yeah, right.” Cameron snarled. His nose inhaled your scalp, posseviley claiming you. “She smells like mine.”

Threats were repeated. Voight and Al and Jay appeared. All who was missing was your partner.

And without your partner you weren’t you.

You closed your eyes, hating this. Hating this because it wasn’t right. Antonio should be here. Having your back. Helping.

So you did what any cop would do. You proved you were than just your partner or your team or your badge.

You opened your eyes, now facing the fountain just a few rows ahead. In it you barely saw your reflection. if the image of you being held wasn’t enough to spark something, the shadowy person just past you was.

In one swift moment you hit Cameron’s instep, freed your hand, twisted his shooting hand, which caused him to fire into the fields, and threw him over your back, made him hit the ground and had you pinning him down.

The next thing you knew there was a gun, another one, pointed mere inches from his face. You didn’t need to look up the leather jacket arm to know who it was. So you didn’t. Not until Kevin stood Cameron up and Ruzek handcuffed him.

That’s when you turned to Antonio. Fell into his arms. Breathed the scent of the flowers for the first time.

He whispered encouragement to you, assuring you were fine, saying how horrible that guy would suffer.

None of it mattered. All that mattered was him. You were ready to say that after you pulled back to look at him when his eyes found the ground. With you still firmly held in his arms he reached down, a cheap connivence store bouquet of flowers in his hands.

You couldn’t help the choked laugh that escape you

“Thought this might be better than the beer. Ya know, for catching the guy.”

You accepted the gift that had fallen out of Cameron’s grasp, tilting your head. “Yeah, but you helped.”

Antonio shrugged, forcing the flowers out of your hand as he brought you closer.

“I can’t help it.”

The End.

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 8: A Golden Afternoon

Its the middle of the night - so Im definitely going to post this again in the morning - but here you go! thanks for the nice words I really appreciate it ❤︎

word count: 4120

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Barely five minutes had passed before Lysandra was sauntering down the stairs, arms now empty and her gaze lazily sweeping over Rowan’s bare chest. Her eyes burned with intent, but he knew she was cataloguing him, marking the strength, height, weapons in his hands – the gaze of a spy. And Rowan couldn’t help but wonder if she really was just spying for Aelin. With those wildcat eyes…who else would she be serving but herself? Was there a chance she might betray them?

Rowan could practically feel Aedion’s eyes on him from behind, his scent burning with jealousy. Rowan had to keep his own eyes from rolling.

Lysandra shot Rowan a wry smile as she passed them, and Rowan caught a whiff of her scent on the breeze. It was strange, almost…layered. He couldn’t quite figure it out, and before he could get a full breath, Lysandra had wrenched the rolling door open and left the warehouse, pulling it shut behind her.

Then Aelin appeared on the stairs, a pile of garments in her arms. “These are for you,” she to Rowan. “Looks like I owe Nesryn a favor, she asked Lysandra to bring them this morning.”

Aelin continued as Rowan started up the stairs to take the clothes off her hands. “She also brought news. Arobynn received a report last night that two prison wagons were spotted heading south to Morath – chock full of all those missing people. We need to send for Chaol.”

Aedion nodded, already heading out the door, while Rowan continued into the apartment to see if the new clothes would fit. When he passed Aelin, she smirked at him.

So that’s a no on the fit. Rowan held in a sigh. Knowing Aelin, she’d put him in tight clothing on purpose.

···

To Rowan’s relief, the clothes hadn’t been all that tight. The pants were loose enough that they no longer restricted his movement, even if they were nearly four inches too short at the ankle. But Aelin had still given him an overly-pleased once over when his back was turned. She was spending too much time with Lysandra.

By late morning, Chaol was standing in the middle of the clearing, his eyes fixed on the map between his fingers. His steel, cotton, and birchwood-flavored scent was exactly as Rowan remembered from when he’d first tasted it in Aelin’s blood all those months ago, in that reckless first bite.

The memory alone was enough for ice to crack through Rowan’s veins, freezing his expression in place. This man had been responsible for sending Aelin across the sea, with no warning and no protection, right into the arms of his former queen. Who had been responsible for the broken heart she had arrived with. And then, when she returned here, he had the impudence to tell her that it was her fault he had failed to protect his King. That it was her fault her cousin had ended up in prison and Dorian the walking dead.

Rowan wanted to rip his face off with his teeth.

But instead, Rowan just stood guard by the door. Keeping his eyes locked on the former captain of the guard.

The man was of slightly higher than average stature, with brown eyes and hair, and hardened features. He held his broad shoulders straight back, his spine rigid, but his limbs were unsettled. He couldn’t stop shifting in place, discomforted.

Rowan suppressed another grin.

The man’s eyes also kept shifting to Aelin, and as he moved in place yet again, Rowan caught the slightest hint of jasmine and flame in his scent – Aelin.

Even though he couldn’t detect even a trace of the captain’s scent on Aelin anymore, the captain was still holding on to her. Still carrying her scent. Fury bubbled in Rowan’s gut.

Despite the vile words he’d hurled at her, the captain still wanted Aelin, and now that Rowan was looking for it, he could see the pain from her rejection written all over him.

Rowan almost regretted being polite to the man. But he knew Aelin would be rightfully furious with him if he attacked Chaol when their alliance was already so fragile. So he stuck to the door.

But that didn’t mean Aelin didn’t notice his icy stare, nor the captain’s discomfort. Her eyes glinted. “You know, he won’t bite,” she crooned.

Chaol leveled a stare at her. “Can you just explain what these maps are for?”

“Anything you, Ress, or Brullo can fill in regarding these gaps in the castle defenses would be appreciated,” she said.

His lips pursed as he folded up the map, tucking it into the inner pocket of his tunic. “For you to bring down the clock tower?”

“Maybe,” Aelin said flatly.

Chaol bristled. He was still obviously avoiding Rowan’s gaze. “I haven’t heard from Ress or Brullo for a few days,” he said tersely. “I’ll make contact soon.”

Aelin just nodded, pulling out a second map – this one of the sewer network. She weighed it down on the table with two of the daggers hidden up her sleeves.

Chaol shot her a disapproving look that made Rowan want to snarl.

Aelin ignored them. “Arobynn learned that the missing prisoners were taken to Morath last night. Did you know?”

Chaol tensed. “No.”

“They can’t have gotten far. You could gather a team and ambush the wagons.”

“I know I could.”

“Are you going to?”

He laid a hand on the map, his face darkening. If Rowan didn’t know any better, he might have felt sympathetic. The man was obviously in pain.

His words were low, but hard. “Did you bring me here to prove a point about my uselessness?”

Aelin straightened. Rowan leaned forwards slightly, readying himself. Aelin spoke, choosing her words very carefully, “I asked you to come because I thought it would be helpful for the both of us. We’re both – we’re both under a fair amount of pressure these days.”

“When do you make your move?” the captain asked, his eyes roving over the map.

“Soon.”

Another purse of the lips. Apparently, he didn’t like her non-answers. “Anything else I should know?”

“I’d start avoiding the sewers. It’s your death warrant if you don’t.”

“There are people trapped down there—we’ve found the nests, but no sign of the prisoners. I won’t abandon them.”

“That’s all well and good,” Aelin said calmly, even as Chaol slammed his teeth together, “but there are worse things than Valg grunts patrolling the sewers, and I bet they won’t turn a blind eye to anyone in their territory. I would weigh the risks if I were you.”

The captain was angry, but he kept silent as Aelin combed her fingers through her hair and asked, “So are you going to ambush the prison wagons?”

“Of course I am.”

Rowan couldn’t doubt the sincerity there, and it seemed Aelin couldn’t either. Her eyes softened in concern, her scent flickering. And Rowan knew that there was still some affection left for the old captain of the guard. But how much?

Aelin sighed softly. Then said, “They use warded locks on the wagons. And the doors are reinforced with iron. Bring the right tools.”

It was Rowan’s turn to clench his jaw. Aelin would know, she had spent weeks in one. Chained up and in the dark. On her way to slavery.

It took all of his self control to remain still and standing.

The captain straightened up, making to leave.

“Tell Faliq that Prince Rowan says thank you for the clothes,” Aelin said. And even though confusion passed over Chaol’s face, he nodded his agreement. Rowan stepped aside with a murmur of farewell as the captain stepped into the bright sunlight of the golden afternoon.

···

To his great surprise, Aelin told him that there wasn’t anything pressing they needed to take care of that day, so instead, she spent the time showing him her city.

She took him through the slums, keeping to the shadows whenever possible, and they walked all the way through the capital to the elegant residential districts and the busy markets squares, now crammed with vendors selling goods for the summer solstice in two weeks.

She talked all the while, pointing out paths and walkways, busy intersections and guard postings, along with all those little details that made this place her home, the good and the bad. And so much of it seemed to be connected to Sam.

Places they had walked together, ate together, laughed together – where they had grown up. She even pointed out the place Sam had rescued her from the sewers when she had been kidnapped and nearly drowned.

The cobbles were warm with the afternoon sunlight, and despite the darkness of the Valg guards, the pair of them walked through the city as if belonged to them. As if the streets and buildings were but a carpet unrolled before their feet.

“The man who runs that store always used to give me free tarts.”

“That dressmaker was my favorite, she always knew exactly how to alter a garment to suit you perfectly.”

“I had dance lessons here for years, the instructor is an amazing woman, you would have loved her. She let me play her piano, even if my back was never straight enough for her. She helped me rescue Aedion.”

They even spent almost half an hour in an old music repair shop, wandering among the aisles of old instruments and piles of music sheets. Even if, in Rowan’s opinion, no piece of music could be more beautiful than the sound of her laugh as he nearly tripped over some twisted pieces of metal she told him belonged to a broken brass horn.

Aelin also took him to one of Nesryn’s family bakeries, where she tried force him to eat some of a pear tart, no matter how many times he told her that it smelled sickly sweet to him. 

At the docks however, Rowan actually managed to convince Aelin to try some pan-fried trout. She cringed and swore at first, but once she’d tried it, she finished her fish in record time and soon was trying to sneak bites of his. Rowan snarled at her, but he couldn’t keep his lips from twitching into a smile.

After their late lunch, they sat at the edge of the docks and cooled by the water. They were mostly silent, instead listening to the sounds of the shipyards, seabirds and waves.

Rowan found that his thoughts kept sliding to Sam. He’d been just a boy when he died, barely eighteen. They’d had so little time together. And before Aelin had gotten a chance to deal with his death, she had been sold into slavery.

Rowan tried to find the words to ask her about Sam, about how she felt for him, but before he could, the sound of a whip cracked through their pleasant silence.

Aelin met his eyes, her face grave. Soundlessly, they stood and walked away from the water and back to the shore, where they watched as a cluster of chained slaves hauled cargo onto one of the ships. People who, no doubt, were captured and enslaved because of their opposition to Adarlanian rule. Rebels in chains, allies of Terrasen and its queen.

They watched, and could to nothing.

A cold, endless fury burned in Aelin’s eyes; a fury that made him want to call a storm of ice and wind so strong it would turn the shipyards to rubble, the slavers with them. But he couldn’t, and not only because his magic was locked inside his body. Instead they just stared. And swore to themselves that soon, perhaps very soon, those slaves would be freed.

He and Aelin wandered away, back through the market stalls from which they came, though now the silence between them felt heavy with darkness.

Now the wooden paths were full of the scent of roses and wild lilies, the ocean breeze sweeping petals of every shape and color past their feet as the flower girls shouted about their wares. Husbands leaned over bouquets to bring home to their wives, bachelors picked out arrangements for their intended, while girls giggled over daisies and shot the boys looks from beneath their lashes when they thought no one was watching.

Rowan stopped in his tracks. The smell, the laughter, the color – it was all so familiar that it made his heart wrench in two.

There was a woman across from them in the center of the square, a basket of hothouse peonies on her thin arm. She was young, pretty, and dark-haired, and her eyes sparkled with something hidden – twin to his mate of two centuries earlier.

Memories began flashing behind his eyes – a mountain home in smoke, arms digging a grave, blood running tracks down the backs of his hands. The face of a woman in a market across the sea, flowers in her arms and hair, a smile lighting up her face. Even the queen by his side couldn’t dull the screaming reverberating in his head.

Rowan didn’t hear what Aelin said as she turned to him, but he saw her face. Her eyes widened, and she clenched and unclenched her fingers, any words lodged in her throat.

Rowan just stared at the girl, who was smiling, alight with life and a vibrant energy that sliced through him like a knife. She smiled at a passing woman, holding out her peonies for a sale.

Rowan breathed, Aelin’s anxiety brushing past him with a wash of flickering embers. Truth. The only thing he could offer her. 

“I didn’t deserve her,” he said quietly.

Aelin swallowed hard. A long pause. Then, “I didn’t deserve Sam.”

Rowan turned to look at Aelin, her eyes downturned, her mouth soft. He would do anything to keep that sadness off her face. Anything.

Rowan reached out to brush her fingers with his, maybe to hold her hand, or pull her body into his. But at the last moment, he remembered himself, and dropped his arm back to his side.

He must have invented that glint of disappointment in Aelin’s eyes.

“Come,” she said. “I want to show you something.”

They left the flower girls behind, moving deeper into the city, but Rowan was unable to completely let go of the pain wrapping his heart in ice.

···

Aelin scrounged up some dessert from the street vendors while Rowan waited in a shadowed alley, then she pulled him deeper into the city proper, until they darted into a side alley and ducked into a hidden entrance that led to a rickety wooden staircase. 

Now, Aelin was munching on a lemon cookie while they sat on one of the wooden rafters in the gilded dome of the darkened Royal Theater, Aelin swinging her legs in the open air below.

The space was dark and silent, unnaturally so. As if the very seats and aisles longed for the return of the music that had once blanketed them. Sunlight poured in from the roof door they’d entered through, illuminating the rafters and the golden dome, gleaming faintly off the polished brass banisters and the blood red curtains of the stage below.

“This used to be my favorite place in the entire world,” Aelin said, her words full of a loving nostalgia. “Arobynn owns a private box, so I went any chance I could. The nights I didn’t feel like dressing up or being seen, or maybe the nights I had a job and only an hour free, I’d creep in here through that door and listen.”

Rowan finished the cookie Aelin had foisted on him, still just gazing into the dark space below. He still hadn’t said anything since they’d left the flower vendors, and he could smell the scent of Aelin’s worry wafting around them. Wanting to ease her tension, and to turn away from the icy marble deep in his chest, he turned back to her.

Aelin seemed to practically sigh in relief as he said, “I’ve never seen an orchestra – or a theater like this, crafted around sound and luxury. Even in Doranelle, the theaters and amphitheaters are ancient, with benches or just steps.”

“There’s no place like this anywhere, perhaps. Even in Terrasen.”

“Then you’ll have to build one.”

“With what money? You think people are going to be happy to starve while I build a theater for my own pleasure?”

“Perhaps not right away, but if you believe one would benefit the city, the country, then do it. Artists are essential.”

Aelin sighed, seemingly unable to handle another burden, small as it was. “This place has been shut down for months, and yet I swear I can still hear the music floating in the air.”

Rowan angled his head, studying. “Perhaps the music does live on, in some form.” It was almost as though he could feel its absence, in the taste of the air and the flutter of the curtains. The space wasn’t just empty, it was waiting.

A silver lining appeared in Aelin’s eyes. “I wish you could have heard it – I wish you had been there to hear Pytor conduct the Stygian Suite. Sometimes, I feel like I’m still sitting down in that box, thirteen years old and weeping from the sheer glory of it.”

“You cried?” he blinked, watching as the memories passed behind her eyes and wishing he could see them as she did.

“The final movement – every damn time,” she sighed, almost laughing at herself. “I would go back to the Keep and have the music in my mind for days, even as I trained or killed or slept. It was a kind of madness, loving that music. It was why I started playing the pianoforte – so I could come home at night and make my poor attempt at replicating it.”

“Is there a pianoforte in here?” he asked, looking back into the darkness without waiting for an answer, the ghost of a smile passing over his face.

···

“I haven’t played in months and months. And this is a horrible idea for about a dozen different reasons,” Aelin complained for the tenth time as she finished rolling back the curtains on the stage.

Rowan kept quiet, focusing on lighting the single candle he had found backstage. He knew that the space had once been grand and beautiful, but now, amid the gloom of the dead theater, it felt like standing in a tomb. The chairs were still perfectly arranged for a massive orchestra, though they were now covered in dust. No one had been in here in weeks.

Rowan turned and walked over to the pianoforte, which was near the front of the stage. He had never learned to play, his court lessons not extending so far as learning an instrument. 

Rowan had been to his fair share of balls and events, but it had been a rare thing for him to have an opportunity to listen to music just for music’s sake. Much of those events had been heavily overshadowed by the annoyance of dealing with court maneuvering. And after Lyria’s death, he had avoided such things at all costs.

He could barely remember the last time he had been able to listen to any kind of music and just listen. To have the pleasure of experiencing the art, the magic of it. He ran a hand over the smooth surface of the instrument as if it were a prize horse, marveling at the potential the lay within.

Aelin was hesitating at his side. “It seems like sacrilege to play that thing,” she said, her words echoing too loudly in the space.

“Since when are you the religious type, anyway?” Rowan gave her an encouraging smile. He just hoped that it wasn’t too crooked. “Where should I stand to best hear it?”

“You might be in for a lot of pain at first.”

“Self-conscious today, too?” Maybe teasing would get it out of her.

“If Lorcan’s snooping about,” she grumbled, “I’d rather he not report back to Maeve that I’m lousy at playing.”

He just grinned as she pointed to a spot on the stage. “There. Stand there, and stop talking, you insufferable bastard.” He chuckled, and moved across to the center of the stage.

She swallowed as she slid onto the smooth bench and folded back the lid, revealing the gleaming keys beneath. She positioned her feet on the pedals, but made no move to touch the keyboard. “I haven’t played since before Nehemia died,” she admitted, the words heavy.

“We can come back another day, if you want,” he said softly.

“There might not be another day. And – and I would consider my life very sad indeed if I never played again.”

He nodded and crossed his arms. So get on with it then.

She sighed, but turned back to face the keys and slowly set her hands on the instrument, a great beast of sound and joy about to be awakened.

“I need to warm up,” she blurted, then plunged in, the notes soft and light.

It was just a random selection of chords and scales, but still, the music filled the hall with its caring whisper. The whole space seemed to breathe again, as if soaking up the music like light, or air.

And then she began for real.

The piece she played wasn’t merely happy or sad, calm or excited – it was far, far more than that. The complexity of the notes, the way they layered together and bounded off each other – it felt like the melody of life itself. Of the love and glory and pain and beauty in simply breathing.

It filled Rowan up with its warmth, and he felt Aelin’s fiery heat overflowing within each note. The music seemed to be made of her fire, and together they burned. All the while the music built, up and up and up and up, until the sound breaking from the instrument was like the heart-song of a long lost goddess.

Rowan stood and waited, letting the sound wrap around his form like a blanket, letting it slowly melt the ice around his heart. Aelin had always been able to do that, melt away his pain and resistance, without even realizing she could. And now she did so not with words, but with this music that flew from her fingers like small winged creatures, into the empty seats behind them.

Rowan drifted over to stand beside the instrument. He was drawn to her, to the fire that made him feel so alive. Then she whispered to him, “Now,” and the crescendo shattered into the world, note after note after note. The music crashed around them, roaring through the emptiness of the theater.

She brought the piece home to its final explosive, triumphant chord, and Rowan could feel tears lining his eyes. When she looked up, panting slightly, he just gazed at her, at the queen who had lit up his darkness, and marveled.

He struggled for words, but then finally breathed, “Show me - show me how you did that.”

···

They spent the better part of an hour seated together on the bench, Aelin teaching him the basics of the pianoforte – explaining the sharps and flats, the pedals, the notes and chords. At last when Rowan heard someone coming to investigate the music, they slipped out.

On their way back to the apartment, they stopped at the Royal Bank. Aelin went inside alone, having ordered Rowan to wait in the shadows across the street, impatient and pissed off. Luckily she only took a few minutes, returning with a bag of gold clasped to her belt.

“So you’re using your own money to support us?” Rowan asked, masking his irritation as best he could.

“For now.”

“And what will you do for money later?”

She glanced sidelong at him. “It’ll be taken care of.”

“By whom?”

“Me.”

He clenched his teeth, anger mounting. “Explain.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” She gave him a small smile that drove him completely insane. Rowan made to grab her by the shoulder, but she ducked away from his touch.

“Ah, ah. Better not move too swiftly, or someone might notice.” 

He snarled viciously but she only chuckled. “Just be patient and don’t get your feathers ruffled.”

Rowan clenched his jaw, stopping another snarl in its tracks. This conversation could wait until they were both home. Maybe then he would be able to convince her that he absolutely needed to be let in on her plans. It was the only way to keep her safe.

But would she listen?

Rowan scowled at that thought, and took off into the shadows behind Aelin, following her back to the warehouse.

···

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···

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[amintyworld]

fuck i didn't think this through i gotta get a new ao3 account for it before i can post it uh uh uh i am copy pasting the doc and praying

Ranboo Beloved was going to pass out.

It had been a VERY long evening at the gas station he worked at, and there were still another two hours left until he could go home. Groan. Taking the night shift truly was hell. He mumbled something about minimum wage groggily and grabbed a couple sodas to stuff in the fridge. As he stepped towards the back, he heard a sound from one of the aisles.

‘BANG!’

Ranboo jolted, then flipped around and ducked behind the aisle, dropping the sodas in his panic.

‘It's okay. I’m fine. I probably won’t die. Oh no what if I die. God, if I die, please look after Enderch-‘

“OI! BITCH! LITTLE HELP, HERE?”

He turned slowly into the area, making sure to grab a broom in case he needed self defense, only to see a boy, around his age, blond and covered head to toe in dirt, clutching an alarming amount of chips. “Grab a couple of these, would you.. What’s your name?”

“Oh! It’s.. um.. Ranboo!”

“Cool, now Ranboob, help me out with these crisps, would you?”

“That’s uh, not my name. Do you just want a cart?”

“NO! CARTS ARE FOR THE WEAK !! AND I AM A BIG MAN, I AM SIMPLY TOO POWERFUL FOR WEAK SHIT.”

“I- uh- yeah. Alright. Lemme just grab these and take em to the register..”

“No, Ranboob, you’re a fool. A fool and a coward and morally wrong. See, why would I buy them when I could do this magical little thing called stealing?”

“WHAT?? YOU CAN'T DO THAT,”

The kid (damn, Ranboo still needed to ask for his name) narrowed his eyes. “What, are you a pussy?”

“N- I’m not.. that, but I work here, so I can’t really let you steal.”

Realizing what this meant, the boy dropped the chips, but seemed to be sizing Ranboo up. He paused, then let out a sigh, reluctantly putting a few more back.

Ranboo took a look at the blonde. A real look, not just to be polite. He realized that his shirt was practically swallowing him whole, and his frame was alarmingly bony. Even his raggedy beanie looked too big on him. His blue eyes looked tired, like he hadn't slept in a week. Hmm. Ranboo relinquished the broom and stood up.

“What’s your name?” He asked, grabbing one of the chip packs back from the shelf.

“Tommy Careful Danger Kraken Detective Innit. But you can call me sir.

“What if I called you Tommy?”

“Hmm, tolerable.." the boy said with a half smile. He hopped off the ground where he was. "Alright, see you later, Boob Boy.”

“Boob- I. Okay. Alright-“

As he stuttered, the blonde (Tommy!) started to head out the front. As he passed the cash register, Ranboo hesitated.

“Wait!”

Tommy turned around to face him.

“Whatdayaneed?”

“Do you.. do you want a slushie? On the house?”

—————————

Ranboo Beloved wasn't doing too bad.

It had been a few weeks since that night. He had gotten a raise for ‘preventing’ a shoplifting (little did his manager know), and he’d found a friend in Tommy. He supposed it was his first real one, since toddlers who were related to him didn’t really count. Sorry, Micheal. Speaking of said friend, he was due for a visit. It was about the time of night that he normally dropped by for a free slushie and a fun conversation.

The bell rang from the door across from him. Right on time.

“Tommy! Hey! The usual?”

Tommy entered with grandeur, but seemed to be holding the soor for someone.

"Not yet, big man. I’ve got someone I want you to meet! Tubbo, c’mon, would you? We don’t have all night here,” he yelled, seemingly giving up on holding the door and walking to the register. He grabbed a bar stool to sit on.

As he said it, Ranboo saw someone poke their head out from the door. It seemed to be a kid a bit shorter than Tommy, with choppy bangs that covered his eyes and ears. He slid around the entrance and perched on the stool right before Tommy could sit down.

“You son of a bitch!” Tubbo gave him a shit eating grin in response. “Ranboo, the complete ass right here is Tubbo, he wouldn’t know good manners if they hit him in the face,”

“Says the one who tried to rob my store the first time we met,” Ranboo quipped, quirking an eyebrow up at the blonde.

Tommy shot him a glare, but he was holding back a smile as he replied, “Listen, you bastard, it’s not my fault you have a very robbable store,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Exactly what I said, your store is simply weak and easily robbed by big strong men such as myself,”

“Right, which is why I caught you and you immediately gave up,”

“I… you know, you haven’t introduced yourself to Tubbo-“

Ranboo smirked, knowing that he had won. “Hi Tubbo, I’m Ranboo,” he greeted, holding out a hand for the kid to shake.

Tubbo tilted his head at the hand being held up, and promptly chomped down with surprisingly sharp teeth.

“HOLY SH- SHOOT, OW?! DUDE!” Ranboo exclaimed, jerking his now bleeding hand back behind the counter.

“Tubbo, c’mon man, I thought we went over this..” Tommy sighed, glancing at the unhinged boy in question with exasperation. He shrugged in response, seeming to be guilty, but made no move to apologize or help Ranboo grab bandages.

Tommy scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Soooo, uh, how’s about those slushies, Big R?”

Ranboo sighed. Maybe he should’ve just let Tommy shoplift.

After wrapping his hand up, he grabbed two cups and filled one with Tommy’s usual: half cherry, half coke. When he got to the second, he spun around. “Hey Tubbo, what flavor do you want?’’

Tubbo looked caught off guard at being addressed. “..Surprise me.”

Ranboo grinned. He grabbed the cup, and filled it with his personal favorite: alternating layers of strawberry and lemon-lime. Then he bent over the counter and grabbed the secret ingredient in any good slushie, the tiny umbrella. He gingerly placed it, then popped straws in both of the drinks.

When he slid them to the boys, Tommy squinted at Tubbo’s. “How come Tubbo gets an umbrella? You never gave me one..”

"You never asked!" Ranboo teased, but he still grabbed another and plopped it in the icy mixture, much to the blonde's delight.

They chatted about whatever came to mind, with Tubbo occasionally adding a few words. (He seemed especially interested in hacking and explosions. Concerning, but Ranboo wasn't about to question it.)

After about an hour of goofing off, Tommy and Tubbo decided to say their goodbyes. Ranboo threw their now empty cups into the trash behind him, and they stood up, tidying the area and fixing the barstools. Tommy was the first to speak.

"See you later, Boob Boy! I'd thank you for the slushies, but it's you who should be grateful that you've gotten to spend the evening in my presence,"

Ranboo rolled his eyes, glad that he could tell when Tommy was just being dramatic. He really was grateful under all the fanfare. Probably.

"Yeah yeah, sure. Now get out of here before I have to report a slushie theft. It was nice meeting you, Tubbo."

Tubbo smiled at him, a real smile that didn't make Ranboo scared he was about to be bitten again, and headed out the door with Tommy following behind.

As they left, Ranboo realized that he still had another hour of his shift, and he hadn't even started with the sweeping. Crap.

—————————

"Tubbo, seriously! You could have blown our whole cover!"

Tommy was practically running to keep up with the smaller boy. After an excessively boring bus ride and a mile long hike, they had finally entered the forest. Now, they could talk about things that actually mattered without being seen.

"C'mon bossman, it was funny. Plus, what's the Ranboo guy gonna do? If he's really like you said, then we'll be fine,"

"I know, but STILL! You can't just go around biting people. What if someone else had come in?"

"Alright, alright, I hear you. I'll be more careful next time. How much longer do you wanna keep up the act?"

Tommy let out a sigh. "Not much longer. I think this is it, I really do. Ranboo's a good person, he can help us,"

"If you're sure."

Tommy simply smiled, ever so slightly. He was sure. He hadn't been sure about a human in a very long time, not since.. him. Hopefully Ranboo would be better. No, he would definitely be better. Yeah. For sure.

He didn't have any longer to ponder, though, since they had arrived.

Tubbo glanced back at him. "You ready?"

"Yeah."

With that, the two of them launched off the mossy ground and into the air, with shimmery wings sprouting from their backs. Finally. It was time to go home.

"I do have to admit, though, he makes a pretty good slushie. I liked the lemon lime."

-

it's not the best but like i tried and ill probably do more for it, im excited for when wilbur shows up

AWWWE I love it!!!!

Poor Ranboo has no idea what’s coming kekw-

Also the lil Failed affectionate nip I-

🥺

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 11: Long Live The Queen

(from ‘The Conman and the Maid’ Series)

…in which Y/N tries to prevent a war, and Harry has to move on.

Word count: 6k

AU: princess!y/n, conman!harry, prisoner!harry.

Series description: Y/N is a princess and Harry is a prisoner in her castle. With his help, she escapes from her arranged marriage in search of a happy ending, if there is one.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

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Y/N had thought of all the worst ways this could go wrong. She could be dragged to the throne room for an audience with Her Majesty, before getting locked up in a dungeon. Her father had taught her that the scariest monarchs weren’t always the most ruthless, but often the most naive. Those were the ones who ended up making senseless judgments that would take great dynasties with them to hell. In Y/N’s head, Calanthe was that kind of monarch.

As soon as Y/N crossed the castle portcullis, two royal guards were appointed to escort her to see the Queen. She was treated more like a guest than a wanted subject, which made her fear for what was waiting for her in the throne room. They’d confiscated her sword and dagger the moment she’d unmounted her horse, so if Calanthe’s executioner was waiting behind the door to surprise her with an axe, then all she could do was pray that he would miss. It was a stupid scenario and politically impossible, but she doubted Calanthe knew anything about politics.

“Your Royal Majesty,” the footman announced as the guards open the giant doors, “Princess Y/N of Isolde.”

The throne room was brightly lit by multiple floor-to-ceiling windows on each side, marble pillars holding up the ceiling as it arched high above. Y/N raced through her memories back to the last time she’d been here. She’d been a child running barefoot down this same aisle, up the steps to her uncle’s throne, where he sat with a shiny crown on top of his grey head. He’d let her sit on his lap as they’d listened to music and watched the people dance all around. It had been magical.

This room looked almost the same as the one in her memory, but at the same time, so much different. They had removed all royal gold decorations and replaced them with black curtains to mourn the death of the King. The whole kingdom had to wear black. The whole kingdom except for its new ruler.

The top of the velvet-carpeted stairs was occupied by two thrones; the smaller one was empty as its previous master was now seated in the one for the King. Calanthe, with Edgar’s gold crown on top of her pretty head, was holding a sceptre and wearing a red dress, the full skirt of which was so large it covered half of the throne.

Y/N had heard that Calanthe was beautiful, but standing before Theros’ new Queen, she must say that Calanthe’s beauty was one of a kind. So full of rage, yet so vulnerable. Calanthe didn’t look like a queen; she looked like a sad girl who was forced to wear the crown. After all, Calanthe was just Egon’s age. Harry’s age.

Just the sound of his name in Y/N’s head caused her icy heart to burn. The fire was immediately put out when Calanthe tapped the sceptre on the stone floor. The white-bearded man standing on her right, whom Y/N hadn’t noticed until now, bowed his head as if Calanthe had said something to him, then he turned to Y/N, his frown rather fierce.

“Princess Y/N of Isolde, I suppose you have forgotten courtesy, as you have yet paid respect to Queen Calanthe. After all, you are a guest in Her Majesty’s court.”

“My apology, Your Majesty.” Y/N curtsied despite herself. “I was not aware that I was a guest.”

“How so, Princess?” Calanthe finally spoke, her voice was loud and challenging.

Hands clasped behind her back, shoulders back, Y/N returned the Queen an equally intense gaze. “You have made me a wanted subject and offered a monetary prize for whoever would turn me in. I felt more like an enemy than a guest. But perhaps Theros has conformed with a new kind of hospitality since the King passed away.”

“Insolent girl!” The sceptre hit the floor so loud the sound echoed within these high walls. Calanthe’s beautiful face was taut with anger as she raised her voice, “How dare you stand before a monarch and speak in that tone?”

Y/N balled her fists. “How dare you wear red while the entire kingdom is in mourning?”

She heard the clinking of armours as the guards shifted from their posts, waiting for an order from their queen to take Y/N away. Chin lifted high, Y/N pretended not to know of her offence and stared back at the Queen, as if challenging Calanthe to behead her if she could.

“The dead are dead. The living must go on,” Calanthe said with an expression as cold as ice. “After all, sadness is weakness. I would rather be hated than pitied.”

Y/N almost said that she felt both hatred and pity for the Queen, but she kept that to herself. “Sadness is not weakness,” she said. “Those who accept sadness but not surrender to it are the strongest people in the world.”

“Don’t be arrogant, Princess.” A hidden smile was detected in Calanthe’s mocking tone.

Y/N took a breath and unclenched her fists. “When a man speaks so highly of himself, he’s called brave. When a woman does so, she’s arrogant.” She arched an eyebrow. “As a woman yourself, Your Majesty, you ought to know that.”

The old man – who Y/N believed was the Lord Chancellor – opened his mouth to tell her off, but was interrupted by Calanthe’s raised hand. She gave her sceptre to her footman who accepted it with both hands. Y/N stood still as the Queen rose up to her full height and descended the steps toward Y/N. Calanthe appeared smaller and less intimidating than she had on the throne. She motioned for the guards, the footman, and the Lord Chancellor to leave the two of them alone.

“But Your Majesty…” said the Lord Chancellor, seemingly reluctant as his eyes were fixed on Y/N.

“Don’t worry, my lord,” said the Queen over her shoulder. “She doesn’t have any weapon.”

Y/N flashed a mischievous smile at the old man, meaning to say she didn’t need any weapon to take down the Queen, especially while Calanthe was wearing this ridiculously enormous dress that she could barely move in. The Lord Chancellor frowned ferociously at Y/N but dared not to disobey the Queen’s order.

The doors were shut, and the throne room grew more tranquil than before.

“I know you know I didn’t murder my uncle,” Y/N blurted out, her eyebrows drawn as she watched Calanthe slowly circled around her, eyeing her up and down.

“I don’t know if you’d done it yourself, Princess. But you must have taken part in the murder. After all, the North has been our only enemy for centuries. Even while my dear sister-in-law was still alive, the alliance between our kingdoms felt rather forced.”

Y/N had to refrain herself from rolling her eyes. “The grudge between our houses has nothing to do with my personal feelings for my uncle. I loved him dearly. He was family.”

Calanthe stopped in front of Y/N once again, her fingers laced together resting flat against her stomach. “But your brother had always hated my dear Edgar. Are you telling me you’d betray your brother, your King, for the South?”

“I’m not here to discuss the matter of war–”

“Ah.” Calanthe lifted a finger. “Who said anything about war? Or is that the reason you’re here? To threaten me and declare war if I don’t agree to whatever terms you’re about to offer?”

“Quite the opposite actually,” Y/N calmly replied. “If you accused me of the murder of my uncle, then you’re falling right into Egon’s trap. The North would never start a war with the South for no reason.” I’m that reason, she meant.

“How do I know for sure you weren’t sent here to say these things?” Calanthe stuck up her tiny nose. “For all I know, you could be your brother’s pawn.”

“My brother hates me,” Y/N said with a straight face since it was a fact she’d learned to accept.

Calanthe nodded understandingly, but Y/N knew she had completely misinterpreted Y/N’s intentions. “You ran away with a man, didn’t you? How courtly,” Calanthe said, her lips arched in a ridiculing manner. “With that, I have more reasons to not trust anything you’re saying, Princess.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty–” Y/N’s voice was rough, but Calanthe didn’t let her finish.

“Your brother must have something against you. Perhaps...your lover?” The word stabbed Y/N in the guts, and she believed Calanthe could see it. A smirk stretched the Queen’s dark red lips. “You and your family have so many flaws. The biggest one yet was that you don’t usually use your heart, and when you do, you let it control you.” Calanthe stopped shoulder to shoulder with Y/N, her face so close Y/N could feel the Queen breathing down her neck. “I heard your father died because of a broken heart. Will you die the same way, too? That, I’d love to find out.”

Y/N bit her lip as she clenched her fists, fighting the temptation of yanking Calanthe’s shiny curls and slamming her to the floor.

“I could offer you a deal,” Calanthe said, pulling away. “Be our ally. Tell my court your brother was the one who’d murdered the King, and you’ll be alive to see your lover again. After all, he’s a Southerner, isn’t he? If you’re telling the truth, that your brother hates you, your people probably hate you, too. So you have nothing to hold onto in that rotten kingdom. I take the North, avenge our beloved Edgar, and you’ll finally have the life you want, with someone you truly love.”

A traitorous thought crossed Y/N’s mind, and she almost told Calanthe exactly what Calanthe wanted to hear. But then her mouth clamped shut and she stared at her feet. She would choose Harry above everything else, but if to be with him was to sacrifice the lives of thousands of innocent people, she couldn’t do it. Harry would never let her do it.

“I’d like to refuse that nonsensical offer, Your Majesty.” She wasn’t thinking when she said it with the most condescending tone, but she didn’t regret it. “Unlike you, I cannot accuse anyone of murder without any proof.”

Calanthe gave a mirthless grin. “Then you must not leave my court until the trial and hope we’ll find proof that you didn’t do it. Guards!”

“I’m not your enemy, Your Majesty,” Y/N said as the guards came to take her away. “You’re making a big mistake.”

“Brave of you to tell a queen she’s making a mistake,” Calanthe said over her shoulders and proceeded to ascend the stairs back to her throne. “Escort the princess to her room,” she said, sitting down. “We’ll treat her as a guest until the trial.”

“You don’t hold people hostage before finding proof that they’d committed a crime,” Y/N said when the guards were right behind her, so close she felt the coolness from their armours against her bare arms.

Calanthe looked her directly in the eye, and for one moment, the Queen forgot she was supposed to show no weakness. “Your family murdered mine, you whore,” she hissed, her voice trembling with dark emotions. “You and your brother will pay for the crimes your foolish father had committed.”

Y/N thinned her lips to hold back the curses piling on her tongue, then she let the guards take her away.

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“Harry, you need to leave the house,” his sister had said. So he’d listened and left the house.

It’d been a week since he’d lost Y/N and he’d been doing nothing since. He felt numb all over from lying in one place and only getting up whenever he must. He hated this. This whole ‘after her’ bullshit. Sometimes he hated it so much he just wanted to rip his heart out so he wouldn’t have to feel anything again.

He couldn’t even allow himself to think about what she might be doing now, because whenever he started to form a single thought about it, it ended up being bad, terrible, the worst. For all he knew, they might be torturing her. Then he reminded himself that it was better for her to be in Calanthe’s court than in her brother’s. Calanthe wasn’t the best queen, but she wasn’t cruel.

Anyway, tonight, he went out.

There was this tavern that he and Stefan used to visit when they’d been young boys. After the war, he’d come on his own, sometimes with Kenny, and the people there didn’t hate him so that’d be a good start. He mostly fooled the rich, never the poor. So it was better to always surround himself with the ones from the lowest class.

When he’d left his house, he’d brought with him a bottle of ale he’d stolen from the sisters’ cottage, from Mary, after he and she had done the nasty thing he couldn’t even think about without wanting to vomit. He should have been a better person and appreciated every moment he’d had with Y/N. Most of the things he could recall had been awful. Sadly how those were the memories he had to cling to now that she was gone.

Anger and sadness made him bitter and dramatic. Y/N had told him so.

Before stepping into the tavern, he met a lady who’d arrived in a carriage. She looked like one of those rich wives who had too much time and money on their hands, so they went to these poorer areas to discover what it felt like to truly ‘live’.

Well, bad news for you, lady. It’s not all that great. Harry would trade lives with her any day. Rich people like her could be invited to royal balls and such. If possible, he could borrow her looks to get into one of those parties where Y/N might be and watch her from afar, just to make sure she was happy and well.

Anyway, no more Y/N. Not tonight.

He pitied the rich lady, but when she flashed a shy smile at him, he saw an opportunity. Before he knew it, he’d started a conversation with her, lied that he wasn’t from here, just a merchant passing by, and offered to buy her a drink. He hoped to have stripped off all those flashy jewellery on her flawless body in some cheap inn and left before dawn.

As he escorted the stranger into the tavern, Y/N’s ring on his finger sparkled in the candlelight as if reminding him of what she’d said before she’d left, about wanting him to be a better man. He pushed those words to the back of his mind. What was the point of being a better man if it wasn’t for her?

He drank and drank and realized the lady was a better drinker than he’d thought. Most of the ones he’d got involved with in the past would have dragged him to their carriage already. This one had been ranting on and on about how much she hated her husband, and that she’d only married him because her family had wanted her to. Harry poured her some more ale so she would stop talking; if he felt sorry for her, he wouldn’t be able to steal from her.

For a second, in his mind, Y/N had managed to dig her way up and turned into the lady sitting right in front of him. Y/N would look good in these clothes. Because they were more fitting for a princess. Although he bet the dresses she wore were a thousand times more costly and beautiful. He would never get to see her in them.

The lady opened her mouth to speak. And Y/N disappeared.

As the tavern got more and more crowded, the lady paid for the drinks, tapped Harry on the shoulder, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. She said she’d wait for him in her carriage and go wherever he wanted to go next. Watching her strut back to the front door, he could only imagine one place he wanted to go. Home. With his Y/N-scented pillow. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he’d been pathetically in love with her.

Discontented and a bit woozy, he got up and gulped the ale from the bottle he’d brought. For a reason he couldn’t explain, it tasted better than regular ale. The only thing he didn’t regret about that night with Mary had been drinking this.

“Have you heard? They finally caught that princess.”

A high-pitched voice caught his attention. He whipped around to find a group of fat old men sitting around a small table. Their faces were as red as the drinks in the cups, and they were laughing too loudly, probably too drunk to care about anyone else.

“She killed her uncle,” one said. “I hope they hang her. The bitch will go to hell for her sins.”

“I heard she ran away with a prisoner,” another chimed in. “She must be a dirty little whore who loves poor men’s cocks.”

"Bet she'd suck my cock. I'd fuck her real good."

Blood rose up to Harry's face as he squeezed his fists too tight they were shaking. He was just about to launch himself at them when a small hand locked around his wrist. He turned fast, about to fight, but then the flicker of fear in Kenny’s brown eyes froze him to the spot. He let her tug him through the crowded tavern, his feet following hers without knowing why. The next moment, they were outside the back door. Though the night air chilled his skin, he felt hot from inside. Just like that night with Mary.

What was happening to him? His heartbeat was as loud as thunder. The scenes around him started spinning. He leaned back against the brick wall. The moonlight was too bright, the muffled voices from inside were too loud. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a long breath of fresh air to cool his lungs. When he blinked and his sight was clear, he found Kenny staring at him.

“I saw what you were doing in there,” she huffed. “What happened? Where’s Rain?”

His heart stopped at the sound of her name. It wasn’t really her name. Still…

She was what he saw. She was there in front of him. He clutched her shoulders and yanked her into his arms. She seemed startled but didn’t push him away, so he gripped her tighter.

“What’s wrong?” She sounded different, but every single muscle on his body was aching for her, he couldn’t care less.

“Please come home with me,” he said.

“All right,” she agreed, stroking his back. “Everything will be okay, Crow.”

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When Harry woke up, he was almost blinded by the light. He shielded his eyes with one arm and tried to move his aching muscles in order to sit up. It felt like someone was pounding on the back of his head. His skull hurt so badly he wanted to smash it like a pumpkin.

Before he could wonder if this was a dream, reality, or after-death, he saw Gemma sitting on the mattress right beside him, her legs folded, her chin in her hand.

“What happened to me?” he asked, kneading his temples to ease the headache.

Gemma screwed up her face in question. “Don’t you remember anything from last night?”

“I was at a tavern,” he said to his lap.

“You were going to steal from an innocent lady, Harry.”

Though he wasn’t looking at Gemma, he could imagine how sad and disappointed she looked. He remembered it now. Well, most of it. He’d been at a tavern, with a rich lady, and then there were these men, and then…

“I thought you wouldn’t do it again,” Gemma interrupted his thought. “After you got caught–”

“I got caught for saving a woman from evil men who tried to rape her. I never got caught for stealing and cheating,” he snapped. “The rich aren’t innocent, you know. All the money they got was from exploiting people like us.”

When Gemma exhaled sharply into her palm, he expected her to get up and storm out of the room. But then she said, “If Kenny hadn’t shown up, you would have got into a fight, Harry. Someone in that tavern could have died last night.”

Harry felt a chill coursing right through him. “Kenny?”

Gemma nodded, the corners of her lips turned down. “She brought you back here and left right away. You should apologise. She was very mad.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

He wasn’t sure if he did. He didn’t even know what had been a dream and what had been real.

“You said you loved her,” Gemma cried out. “And you called her Peach and that was awful, Harry. You know she still loves you.”

Harry shook his head rapidly. Impossible, he thought. He’d seen Y/N in the flesh. It’d felt so real that he wasn’t sure if it’d been a dream. One moment it’d been Kenny, then the next he’d found himself hugging Y/N.

Just like that night with Mary.

“The ale!” he exclaimed, making Gemma flinch. “It was a love potion. It made me see things. It made me see her. Those...those sisters have...m-magic powers. They’re real witches.”

“Witches?! Heaven’s sakes! What are you–”

“I have to go.”

“Go where?” Gemma shot up to her feet and chased him out of the room. He was about to grab his sword when she jumped right in front of him, arms spread, panting. “You’re not going anywhere, Harry.”

“I have to,” he breathed heavily, holding her shoulders. “I have to...I have to find the sisters. They can save Peach. They saved her once. They’d do it again.”

“Stop!” Gemma shouted, which wasn't like her at all. He stiffened when she crashed into his, her arms tightened around his waist. “I’m not letting you go again, Harry,” she cried into his chest. “I know you don’t care about your life but Ma and I do. If you leave now, chances are you won’t ever come back. The princess chose her destiny and you need to let her go. You’re hurting yourself and all the people who love you.”

“What if I tell you I must go?” he asked, tears stinging his eyes. “I can’t sit here and...and let her suffer on her own.”

“It’s her fate, not yours,” Gemma trembled as she pulled back to meet his eyes. “You have to choose, Harry. Her or us.”

“Gemma, please…”

“Her or us, Harry,” Gemma thundered, her eyes glossy and sharp. He regarded her face for a long moment while a thousand thoughts raced through his mind.

Gemma wasn’t wrong. If he died from trying to help Y/N, it wouldn’t matter to him, but there’d be no one to look after his family. They would be miserable. He’d promised to let Y/N go and be a better man, so would she be happy if he went against her words, even if it was to save her? Of course not. She might even despise him. She didn’t have a family, and he almost abandoned his.

“All right,” he told his sister, wiping away the tears on her cheeks. “I’ll stay. But can you help me with something?”

“Anything, as long as you stay,” she said with a faltering smile.

“Can you find someone to deliver a letter for me? I’ll write to those sisters in the woods and ask for their help. That’s...the least I can do for Peach.”

“I believe Caleb knows someone who can help you,” Gemma said as she placed her hands over his and squeezed. From the look she was giving him, he believed there was something more. “Talk to Kenny, Harry,” she said at last. “If you care for her, she deserves to know how you truly feel.”

“We’ve already had that talk.”

“When you admitted that you were in love with Y/N?”

“I never–She knew anyway. I-I think she knew,” he stuttered.

Gemma pursed her lips, seemingly not so pleased to hear that. “You can’t expect her to just know what’s in your heart without telling her. If you can’t love someone in return, the least you could do was be honest about it. Talk to her, will you?”

Gemma raised her eyebrows pleadingly. So Harry sighed as he gave a nod. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it. I’ll talk to her.”

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Y/N had been here for a week or more; she wasn’t sure. She only knew she was going insane. The one person she’d interacted with was the maid assigned to clean her and bring her food. This felt like her childhood all over again. At least when her father had ordered to have her locked up, she’d known she’d be free when the time was done.

This morning, after she’d got dressed, the door swung open and it wasn’t the maid who came in. The little footman she’d seen in the throne room cleared his throat as he stopped in front of her with his hands clasped behind his back. “Princess Y/N,” he announced. “You’ve been requested for an audience with Her Royal Majesty, immediately.”

Two possibilities:

1. Calanthe had finally changed her mind.

2. Egon was here.

However, the latter seemed more likely.

From what she’d heard from the guards attending the door, Egon had been on his way to Theros since he’d received the news of their uncle’s death. He must have done it. Somehow he’d created all this chaos and everyone was playing the part he’d assigned for them. Y/N couldn’t think of any way this could get worse than this, but she knew better than to build her hopes up.

“Has the Queen changed her mind?” she asked the little man as the guards escorted them across the courtyard. He didn’t answer and continued walking ahead of her. Watching his tiny head bobbing as he went got on her nerves. She sucked in a breath and raised her voice, “Or is my brother here to see me?”

The man let out a huff but didn’t face her or slow down. “You ask too many questions,” he grumbled. “Just wait until you see Her Majesty.”

“Why can’t you tell me now? What’s with this dramatic suspense anyway?”

When he finally slowed down and looked at her over his shoulder, it was to shoot her a disapproving glare. If it weren’t for these giants in armours stalking behind them, she would grab his tiny head and bang it against the wall. It was weird how this was the normal way the members of the gentry treated people below them (she was certainly not below him, but Southerners had always looked down on her people), yet she hadn’t noticed it before because she hadn’t met kind people like Harry and his family.

His face flashed through her mind and vanished the moment they entered a long corridor leading to the throne room. They passed a group of men dressed in all black. They might be the Queen’s courtiers. Why were they wearing those mysterious black cloaks with giant hoods that covered their faces? And where had she met them before?

In a matter of seconds, when they crossed paths, one of them lifted his head to gaze straight into her eyes. She nearly gasped out loud as she snapped her head back to watch him walk away. Those scars on his mad face. She’d only got a glimpse of it, but she knew she was the one who’d left those marks. And he was the one who’d attacked her.

She lurched forward in the opposite direction, but the guards caught her arms and twisted them behind her back to drag her toward the throne room. She tried to break free but they were much stronger, it was no use. She would have managed to escape and catch up with those men if she had her sword.

Why were they in Calanthe’s court?

Had one of them murdered her uncle?

Could Calanthe be the one behind all this? What were her motives anyway? Revenge wasn’t worth committing this gruesome crime. Especially when uncle Edgar had saved her life and loved her unconditionally.

“Your Royal Majesty, Princess Y/N is here.”

Suddenly, nothing made sense anymore.

“Go in there and don’t forget to show courtesy,” the man told Y/N as she shrugged the guards away and straightened her sleeves.

This time, she scowled at him. “I never forget. I'd only return courtesy once I receive it.” Then she ignored the startlement on his face and entered the room.

“Dear sister!” Oh fuck. “You’re safe!” Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Egon’s arms closed around her, hard. His hugs were the most unpleasant; it always felt like he wanted to strangle her. She believed he might actually do that once they got out of here. Right now, he had to play his part.

He released her from his grip after what seemed like forever, then grabbed her face and swept his eyes down her body with a look of pity. She knew he felt nothing from deep inside. He could mimic human’s emotions but he couldn’t feel them. She’d heard her maids joke that when he bled, his blood turned to ice. It wasn’t until now that she believed it.

Thud Thud Thud

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the sound of Calanthe’s sceptre hitting the floor. The Queen must have seen that reaction but didn’t make any remark about it.

“Lovely,” she said wryly. “However, I believe we weren’t done with our...discussion.”

“Oh, we were.” Egon smiled at the Queen, whose face was taut with rage.

It was only now that Y/N surveyed the room and saw no more than five Northern soldiers. Egon always travelled with at least ten. Maybe he wanted to show that he’d come in peace, which was far from the truth.

“I’m taking my sister home,” he asserted.

“And I cannot stop you,” said Calanthe from her throne. “I just want to make sure that you do realize what it would cost you and your people. In my court, people don’t just come and go as they please.”

“She’s not one of your subjects, Calanthe. She’s the princess of Isolde,” Egon said as he tucked a strand of hair behind Y/N’s face. “Soon to be Queen of Attwell.”

“What?” Y/N mumbled as her heart jumped. Murmurs from the courtiers got her ears buzzing but couldn’t take her attention away from her brother, who smiled devilishly at her. She should have seen this coming.

“I beg your pardon?” Calanthe asked. For the first time, Y/N had to agree.

“She’s going to marry Kavan Gennady, Prince of Attwell,” Egon announced to the whole court. The whisperings grew louder.

“Didn’t she run away with a prisoner?” Calanthe mocked, and everyone started talking on top of each other. The Queen slammed her sceptre on the ground and the room fell to silence once again.

Y/N knew Calanthe had said that to shame her, but she was glad someone had reminded Egon of what she’d done. Maybe he’d reconsider his decision to marry her off to Kavan Gennady.

“After our investigation, it turned out that she was kidnapped.”

Everyone gasped at the same time.

“Were you?” Calanthe’s gaze jumped to Y/N, who hadn’t got a chance to answer when Egon interjected.

“Anyway, my sister’s marriage is none of your concern, Calanthe.”

Calanthe grimaced. “She’s a murder suspect and you’re about to take her from my court before the trial.”

“If she’s a murder suspect, show us all the evidence.”

“There shall be evidence presented at the trial.”

“So there’s no evidence,” Egon proclaimed, spreading his arm as he spun around like he’d just performed a magic trick in front of Calanthe’s court. The audience was awfully quiet. All eyes focused on their new Queen, who was unable to hide her distress.

“If you leave my court now–”

“There shall be a war,” Egon challenged with his nose stuck up. “I think I’m more aware of how politics work. No offence.”

Calanthe slammed her sceptre once again and jumped to her feet. “How dare you say that to a queen?”

“Because I’m a king, Calanthe,” Egon said, his expression stone cold. “And when I’m here, I’m not bound by your rules. Neither is my sister.”

“Are you challenging me?”

Egon gave her question a dismissive wave. “My presence in your court is already a challenge, my dear. I’m taking Y/N with me whether you like it or not. And you and I shall meet again on the battlefield. Ifyou’re going to be there, of course.”

The Lord Chancellor leaned in to whisper something in the Queen’s ear. Nodding her head, she sucked in a breath as anger coloured her face. Soon she was almost as red as the colour of her dress. “We shall,” she agreed. “Your heads will look so good on my curtain wall.”

“Don’t flatter me. Red looks better on you, Calanthe,” Egon said and motioned for his soldiers to escort Y/N out of the room. Y/N shot an apologetic glance at Calanthe before she left, and in that moment, she saw fear crossing the Queen’s tiny face.

As soon as they stepped into the courtyard, Egon smacked Y/N across the face and sent her straight to the ground. She winced, cupping her cheek which burnt after the slap, but she didn’t get up until two of his men hauled her up by the arms.

Egon brushed her hair out of her face and pinched her cheeks hard. “Did you really think you could escape me, you stupid bitch?”

She breathed harshly through her nose, holding his aggressive stare. “Please, Egon,” she muttered. “Don’t do this. Thousands of people will die. Women and children–You might die!”

He tossed his head back and burst out laughing as if she’d just told a joke. “The other kingdoms have turned their backs to Theros,” he said, his face scrunched up again. “Do you really think they would respect a woman as a ruler? Don’t be stupid, dear sister. Just look at the faces in that room. They could not wait to witness her defeat. Most of them might even surrender before we attack this castle. So no, I’m not afraid of death. Death should be afraid of me.”

Y/N tried to turn her face away, but her arms were restricted and Egon was pinching her cheeks so hard her jaw began to ache.

“You see, this is why women don’t rule,” he said through his gritted teeth. “They let their feelings guide the way, let their hearts make decisions. You, just like her, are only a pawn.”

“No,” she managed to speak.

“No?” He squeezed even tighter as if he wanted to pluck her jaw out of her head. “Oh, right. You’re not a pawn, are you? You’re going to be a queen.” His brows drew together as he bared his white teeth like a predator, his hot breath fanning her face, his eyes going dark. “Long live the Queen.”

[championofdarkland]

koopzilla​:

@championofdarkland | cont.

“WAAAAAAH!!” 

Rookie is a truck on a snowy evening, spinning out in an icy aisle. Customers dip, duck, and dodge the bulldozing beast. Flailing like a chicken had no influence over his momentum. Collectively, every koopa in the establishment flinched as the giant crashed through the glass panels of the shop’s entrance. 

He toppled into a sea of glass stomach-first. The impact shattered his concentration: he lay flat, palms cut by tiny shards. “Owwww… Geez, man….” 

Discussions of whether to call the cops, the ambulance, or some sort of vet bustle behind him. The thief flounders to rise from the glass, only to fall aboard his stomach again. Paws chopped and chocolate-stained fail to serve him. So, he pulls a different card from the shadow thief’s book of tricks… playing dead.

He burrowed his muzzle into his arms, sprawled, and refused to acknowledge the world around him. 

Ok, that turned out worse than Karik thought. Oh well! Karik did what he felt he needed to in the moment. It wasn't like he could take back what he did. Still, the detective did feel bad so he went over to the downed being then began to pull out a first aid kit to clean up Rookie's palm wounds. Had some good old mushroom juices inside the kit which helped to heal everything along with clean the choclate.

The detective also took the chance to apply well, handcuffs wouldn't work in this case since Rookie was so big. Instead, Karik had to ask the store owner for some spare rope which thankfully the owner did have some. So while Karik worked on healing the wounds the detective tied Rookie's hands together as best he could.

"Should have just come quietly. Oh well, you're with me now whether you want it or not my fine friend."

The main problem now was how to get Rookie to get up before the real authorities arrived and made things more complicated.

"Hey, if you come with me now I'll give you the biggest bar of choclate I have at home. You don't want to go to the big house. Coming with me is a much better option."

[regrettablewritings]

May I ask for 11, 14, 22 and 28 for Benoit Blanc if you don’t mind?

Certainly! Stuff below the cut!

Disclaimer: I personally headcanon Benoit’s s/o as being somewhere on the spectrum. I know not everyone identifies with this so I’ll also be including snippets of otherwise when I deem it necessary for accessibility. Happy reading!

11. What do they hide from one another?: Benoit isn’t really secretive about himself. He may avoid being upfront about his intentions (most often with regards to a case), but even then he tends to come out with the truth eventually, and with such a sense of calm that it’s more like he simply went along with peoples’ assumptions of him. But when you two start seeing each other more seriously, he does feel a tiny bit embarrassed of the fact that he may not be as up to date on all manners of slang, pop culture, etc as he would like to be. It’s not a hidden thing, really; it was a given there would be a bit of a gap there, what with the slight age difference going on. But he’s supposed to be one of the greatest detectives out there, isn’t he? He may not take the title seriously but he surely has some vagueness of an image to uphold, right? He has to have tabs on everything. Besides, deep down, he wants to seem impressive to you. Like I said, it’s not so much hidden . . . but the tab to Urban Dictionary sort of is. You hadn’t even meant to find it, you just needed to use his laptop for a quick moment when -- “. . . Ben? What, uh . . . what’s up with --. . . Why do you need to know what ‘guap’ is?” “It’s for a case, darlin’!” He has since become a little less afraid of asking you what certain terms mean. You, on the other hand, aren’t exactly as candid as your other half . . . (Spectrum Option) You weren’t exactly sure what possessed you enough to think you could skirt by without him noticing. The man was a detective after all; surely he would’ve noticed at some point that there were some things . . . amiss about you. Sure, he could chalk up your difficulty holding eye contact to shyness; everyone used fidgeting devices now, so that you had quite a few on your desk as well as on your person wasn’t anything spectacular. But surely he noticed that whenever things got too loud or rowdy at the station you disappeared; that you seemed to get particularly upset when your system was thrown off; how certain textures were enough to completely rattle you; that you had a speech pattern that could, in a word, be described as  . . . “unique.” Besides that, you knew it was silly to hide the fact that you were autistic: It was nothing to be ashamed of! It was simply how your mind worked and you were doing the best you could with it. And you wanted to say you were doing pretty well in most regards, but past social experiences had a way of convincing you otherwise. Particularly in the romance department. Potential date mates would get thrown off by your seemingly stony expression or occasionally flattened tones; they didn’t always find themselves impressed by your preference of going slow; sometimes your methods of stimming threw them off; and that was if they could even get you to stop being so anxious about certain social interactions. You knew deep down that Benoit wouldn’t be like that; he was far too kind to. But also, what if?! Eventually, before the courting got too, too serious, you felt it would just be better to be honest and open with him about it. You owed yourself that much. Thankfully, you never really needed to know what the “what-if” could be, as it turned out that you were right: Benoit already kind of knew you were somewhere on the spectrum after his first few interactions with you. Having more intimate encounters during your courtship honestly all but confirmed it. This isn’t his first, fifth, or even tenth rodeo wherein he’s encountered and befriended someone who’s neurodivergent, after all. He understands to a point why you wouldn’t necessarily jump to telling him, however, though he’s glad you felt comfortable enough with him to confide that. (Non-Spectrum Option) Honestly, it’s hard to hide anything from the last of the Gentleman Sleuths. He’s so perceptive that even if it meant hiding snacks from him, you’d eventually come back to your desk to find him eating your stash of Craisins. The one thing you have managed to keep a secret, though? Your old fanfiction identity. In your teens, you were scribbling down fics anywhere you could get them: Fanfiction.net, Quizilla, Blogspot . . . On one hand, you thank the experience for giving you practice with proper writing skills, which is part of what earned you the job you have. But on the other . . . they just weren’t the greatest showcase of who you were, young or not. And Benoit does not need to know about the shipping wars you started on accident. Thankfully, Quizilla is gone and nobody really uses Blogspot anymore . . . But sometimes he asks you if you’d ever read or watched books and movies you just so happened to specialize in, or what your thoughts were, and you can’t help but wonder if that blond bastard is on to you.

14. When one has a cold, what does the other do?: The moment you appear to be under the weather, Benoit’s already activating Mother Hen Mode. He summons the Mama Blanc in him and already has you laying down in bed or propped up on the couch with some quiet music playing or a court procedural drama playing while he’s in the kitchen making homemade chicken soup. If you put up a struggle eating or are too tired to feed yourself, he’s not above feeding you. He’s going to make sure that you eat at least enough to be able to take half a zinc tablet without getting sick, and make sure you drink plenty of water and vitamin C. And God help you if you think you can just do work from home because even if you’re not experiencing the worst cold, he’s not convinced you should be up and about instead of resting. At most, he’ll let you sit on the couch instead of staying cooped up in your room all day. He’ll even join you, often times sitting next to you and reading through files he brought home from his own casework. He doesn’t really mind the close contact in spite of your protests. Which is annoying because when he inevitably catches your cold, he’s more fussy than you are. Not in the man flu fashion, but he’s a lot more stubborn about resting. He knows it’s what’s best, but he’s so used to handling himself over the years that he’s gotten into the habit of doing as much work as he can before dropping, with self-care just happening to take place between his illness naps. You have to actually scold him and hide his files for a bit until he eventually falls asleep thanks to his exhaustion and the medicine you make sure he takes. Because of this, you’re more task-oriented when Benoit is sick. Certainly, you make sure that he’s eating the proper things and taking the right vitamins and medication and getting enough rest, but between all that you’re also making sure that he has less to worry about. You quietly clean around the house, you do the laundry, you run as many errands for him as you can (groceries, dry cleaning, etc), you even meal prep. That way when he gets better, he’s better in a cleaner house with next to nothing to worry about besides the paperwork he’d had taken away from him earlier. As much of a fight as he puts up at first, he truly does appreciate your generosity and kindness. He’d kiss you if it weren’t for the fact that he’s still a bit sniffily.

22. Where does their first kiss happen?: In the filing room. Sexy, right? You were technically still courting at this point but it was undoubtedly clear that things were getting serious. Nobody said anything about it, though. After all, was now, in the middle of a potential scandal, really the best time to talk about going steady? Probably not. Though you’d be lying if you said the thought didn’t buzz around in your head all day and all night. You had to be professional about this. Just as Benoit is, you reminded yourself as you watch him reading through the files you’d given him moments earlier. His brow furrowed before slapping the manila folder shut. “Well, that’s a crock of shit,” he muttered. “Hm?” you questioned, perking up. Maybe he needed input? He certainly seemed to be seeking yours more often as of late. You tried not to shiver when he focused those icy blue eyes of his on you. “This doesn’t make any sense,” Benoit explained, giving the file in his hand a gentle flap. “Carters doesn’t even have a history of violence; I sincerely doubt he suddenly became overwhelmed with the temptation to attempt fratricide all over some rather tacky jewelry. Which therefore begs the question. . .” He paused dramatically. “What do you suppose would cause a man to jump from petty theft in high school to murder in his mid-thirties?” You shrugged. “Bad friends,” you half-joked. It gave Benoit further pause. “. . . What ever happened to that accomplice of his? From the petty theft?” he questioned. Obviously, you didn’t have the answers; but the department filing room most likely did. Somewhere amongst the many boxes and cabinets, lined up in crammed and musty-smelling aisles, lay the answer. And, to your dismay, it appeared to be on a shelf a little higher than you were tall, serving as a load-bearing wall against other boxes of files. You grimaced as you arched your feet once more, attempting yet another lurch forward to reach. You weren’t sure who let this section of the filing room get this bad but whoever it was (you were sure it was Debbie; it was probably freaking Debbie), you were going to wring their neck. “(Y/N), really, I insist --” Benoit began, but you were quick to cut him off. “No, no, Mr. Blanc,” you insisted. “I got this.” You couldn’t see him press his lips into a thin line. “You know, it’s perfectly fine to call me by my name,” he said. “Mhm,” you grunted. “’M just . . .keeping it professional.” Dammit! Your fingers had just brushed the edge! Just a bit more -- “This isn’t a situation for HR, I technically don’t really work here,” you heard him chuckle. “And anyway, stop being so stubborn, and let me help.” “It’s fine!” Really, it was: You managed to nudge the box closer. “(Y/N), be reasonable.” You suddenly felt warmth against your back. Oh. Oh, God. He was pressing up against you as he leaned forward. You felt your cheeks burn at the stimuli. With far more ease, he nudged the box close enough to the edge to where it could easily fall into your waiting hands. Unfortunately, any relief was short-lived: Truly, the box was load-bearing. You yelped as the threat of musty cardboard and decades worth of paperwork threatened to fall on you . . . only for it not to actually be carried out. You glanced upward to find Benoit, once again, leaning forward. Just enough to shove the materials further on the shelf. You hear him huff and chuckle. “See? I bet you’re real happy now that I came along, aren’t you?” You turned just enough to glare at him. It didn’t last: Nobody can really find themselves glaring at Benoit Blanc for long whenever he had a smile on his face. At the very least, you couldn’t. He had that effect on you and you wanted to despise it so dearly, at the very least now you did. But you just couldn’t. Nor could you bring yourself to turn your face away as you noticed him leaning in closer. You had to be honest: You never took Benoit for the sort of man capable of performing such a strong liplock. Strong, warm, yet sweet and enticing -- “BLANC!” The sudden cry was more than enough to make you part. There, in the threshold, stood your less than amused superior, arms crossed and glowering. “Do you really think that this is the place to be making out?” Lt. Elliot demanded. You whimpered, hiding your blushing face behind the box still in your arms. He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he scoffed and stormed off, feeling his point had been made. As you began your walk of shame out of the room, you hissed at your newly acquired boyfriend, “This is why I wanted to keep things professional!” To your dismay (and deeply hidden amusement), however, Benoit appeared to be unfazed. If anything, he seemed quite pleased with himself. He chuckled as he placed an arm about your lower back. “Oh, admit it: You didn’t mind being a little unprofessional.” He didn’t need to use his smarts to deduce that, and you hated that.

28. Why do they get jealous?: Benoit rarely gets jealous. He trusts you enough, and he trusts the bond you two share a great deal. But on the rare occasion he exhibits what would be called jealousy, it’s usually because of one of two things: Either A) someone manages to best him at wits or glamor and it appears to impress you, or B) someone younger (and hungrier) than he approaches you. The reasons why these are rare occasions, though, are simple. For the first bit, Benoit is mighty smart. He won’t go as far as to consider himself a downright genius, but he’s aware enough to know that his mind thinks a bit more broadly and rapidly than the average person’s. Sometimes, though, the lifestyle he runs brings him to circles where he must interact with great minds. And sometimes, as you are often his companion for certain circumstances, you may meet, say, an Ivy League alumnus who isn’t afraid to kiss you on the hand as a greeting or give you a grand tour of their vast estate while Benoit has to hold interviews. And as for the second bit, Benoit knows and accepts he’s no spring chicken. He also knows he may not be fast and furious in terms of romance, and some younger folk may find that tedious. The worst case is if that Yale graduate with the big fancy mansion is also around your age. But he also knows you. In the end, any insecurities he might have about his lifestyle or age are squashed because he knows you’re not the sort to just grab onto anyone just because they’re rich, shiny, and new. You’re honest and know what you do and don’t want, and he also knows that even if you’re having internal battles with your thoughts and feelings, you eventually come out with them. That’s how he knows you thought that one heir to the Havington Spa empire was a bit of a pompous douchebag, or why you were bored listening to that one poet who many saw as a prospective Nobel Prize winnter. You try not to get jealous yourself. Maybe you put him on a pedestal, but you certainly see a lot of value and endearment in the likes of Benoit: He’s smart, handsome, understanding, kind . . . Maybe a bit ambitious and odd, but nothing too terrible. He was, without a doubt, one of your favorite people to be around. But sometimes, you worried if he could potentially be another’s favorite as well. There had been the occasional case where his gentleman charm appealed to a woman involved, usually suspects but occasionally they were just vaguely related the the situation and decided to throw their two cents in, if only to have more of a chance to be around Benoit. You couldn’t tell if maybe you were reading too into it, or if Benoit was ignoring them or even flat out oblivious to their efforts, but come on: There’s only so much ignoring a man can do when a lady has her bust pressed up against his arm! But what really drove you nuts was whenever she’d initiate banter with him. One of the best ways to the detective’s heart was wit. And sometimes, to your dismay, these cases would include women who could make hogwash sound like Shakespeare. And that they made it look so easy drove you insane! But luckily, that was about as far as the women would get: The best way to Benoit’s heart was embracing the unusual, which was startling against the backdrop of a prim and proper gentleman they assumed him to be. They’d quirk a brow when he found himself making odd little rhymes, stand by awkwardly as he monologued to himself, and assume he was joking whenever they came upon him singing showtunes or making references to musicals. You, however, responded accordingly: You’d echo his limericks to feel them for yourself, listen and take notes of his allegories so you could contribute your own thoughts, and joined in on whatever song he brought up. In the end, you needn’t really be jealous because he’s already made up his mind: You’re his favorite person. And there isn’t a pair of doe eyes and a thesaurus mouth that’s going to change it. But still: You’d rather not take that risk!

I got carried away in some areas I think . . . But hopefully it turned out okay!

Character Ship Headcanons

[the-potpourri-backstage]

Enjoy a big bear.

[my-one-true-l]

omg yes, more angst is definitely needed on my dash! please, if you would be so kind, i’d like some 8 and 5 with L. please hurt me lol thank you❤️

You got it My Dear Dani. 🖤

I should have seen this coming

Rain pelted against the steel roof and bounced back towards the sky it came from. Each icy drop that fell onto the detective soaked him to the bone, but he didn’t feel it. He didn’t hear the drumming metallic rhythm that pounded a different pitch on every surface it assaulted. All he heard was the ghostly ringing of distant bells, bells that could be for a wedding, to announce a new life two people would be starting together. Of course, they could be for a funeral, the final ceremony to mark the end of someone’s time on this Earth, to commemorate life well lived, to mourn for the loved one that was lost.

He knew he would never experience the former, never stand at the end of the aisle and watch his beloved walk towards him, anticipation flooding both of them as they pledge forever to each other. No. That would never be his. Those bells would never ring for him.

Conversely, he was quite certain the latter was inevitable. In fact, he could feel it bearing down on him and there was no way to outrun it.  

I should have seen this coming. No, I did see this coming and I failed to prevent it…

He knew when it was time for the bells to ring for him that no one would be there to hear them.

There would be no one to leave flowers at his grave on the anniversary of his death, no one to drink a cup of over sweetened coffee and feel a pang of sorrow for his absence before continuing on with their day. He wouldn’t haunt anyone’s thoughts deep in the night when memories have a way of finding you, no one to fall asleep on a tear-soaked pillow because he wasn’t there.

No one would miss L because no one knew L existed…

I wish I could say I hate you

“How long have you known him?” Wrapping his arms tightly around his knees, L pulled his legs to his chest and lowered his head, his steel-blue stare obscured by spikey locks that fell in front of his eyes.

She could barely look at him. She knew he was physically trying to pull himself away from her as far as he could. “Since classes started last semester.”

“So the entire time you’ve been pretending to care for me just to get information for him.” He tried in vain to tuck his legs closer to him.

“I’m not pretending. I do care about you.” Her voice rose slightly above her usual octave as she spoke. “I thought he didn’t like being tied for top student. I had no idea what he really wanted. Once I realized was going on, I couldn’t get out of it without putting you in danger.”

“I don’t believe you.” He rocked almost unperceivably back and forth in his chair. “There is no reason for him to ask you to do this. We’ve established a friendly rivalry on campus. He could easily investigate me himself.”

“And isn’t that just what you would have suspected?” She caught his stare and held it. She was sure it was the last thing she would ever hold of him.

“So you’re defending his decision to use you to gather information on me? Information so he can kill me.”

Daggers shot from his eyes into her heart.

“I would never defend that. Never. Besides, what have I learned about you, Ryuga? Nothing. You keep everyone and everything at arm’s length. It would have been impossible to tell him anything because you let nothing and no one near you, not really.”

“And this is exactly why.” His words bit into her and her excuses.

Her words dripped with self-loathing. “You must hate me.”

“I wish I could say I hate you, but I do not.” His flat tone wavered for a moment before he continued. “However, I wish to never see you again. Please do not try to contact me. If you see me on campus, please refrain from approaching me. I am nothing more than a stranger to you now.”

She wanted to argue, to plead with him, to make him trust her, but she knew no matter what she said, he wouldn’t hear her. In defeat, she mumbled “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“It may not have been your intention, but it’s exactly what you did.”

Taken from this meme.

[marshmallow-phd]

White Out

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader

Summary: Bouncing place to place was just how lived your life. Settling down just wasn’t in your plans, especially with your past. But when you meet Kyungsoo, there’s suddenly a future in front of you that you never imagined possible. With both enemies and friends of the pack arriving in town, you’ll be pulled into a danger that you never asked for. Will you stick around for Kyungsoo or will you do what you do best and run?

Warning: none

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

**

All you wanted was to pick up a box of hot chocolate at the grocery store on your way home. You’d had an amazing few hours spent in the woods with that peculiar wolf and now just wanted a drink to help warm you up in your apartment away from everyone. It was supposed to be an in and out trip. But life apparently didn’t quiet agree with that.

Just as you were reaching for the last box of your favorite brand of hot chocolate, another hand coming from behind snatched it first. You turned around to find a particularly tall stranger smirking down at you.

“Excuse me,” you said politely, “I was going for those first. May I please have them?”

The stranger shook the box mockingly. “Maybe.”

Rolling your eyes, you decided that this was not a game you wanted to play right now. You grabbed an off-brand box off the shelf and started to walk away. An arm flew out and grabbed the metal bar shelving, blocking your path. The hand of the other arm pushed your shoulder into the non-perishables behind you.

You barely managed to shove the stranger’s hand away, but he still kept you trapped, unable to leave.

“What is your problem?” you hissed.

His smirk just grew as he leaned down to you. “I just want to get to know you.” Coming in closer, you felt the air move by your neck as he took in a deep breath. “That smell is… intoxicating.”

A strange chill ran down your spine. What smell? The shampoo you used was nothing special. You pushed him away, the current situation frightening you for a reason you couldn’t explain.

“(y/n).”

To your left, Kyungsoo marched up and stepped in front of you, facing the stranger.

“Well, would you look at that?” the stranger smirked, straightening up. “Is an MR going stand up for the pretty girl? I’m so scared.”

A strange urge to wrap your arms around Kyungsoo and cower into his back came over you. You shook the feeling away, utterly shocked.

What was that? Typically, you would have been annoyed at Kyungsoo’s interference, like that first night you met. You were someone who could take care of themselves, you’d done it before. But this time around, all you felt was relief. It was a strange emotion, not one that you were used to.

“Better an MR than an omega,” Kyungsoo spat. What did any of that mean?

That just angered the stranger more. “You little punk.” He grabbed Kyungsoo by the collar of his sweater. “Why don’t you – ah!”

Your eyes widened. Kyungsoo had simply grabbed the stranger by his wrist, twisting it at an unnatural angle so he’d let go of the fabric, the stranger’s face contorting into a look of pain.

“Get out of here,” Kyungsoo ordered. He let go of the stranger’s wrist, who then tripped over his own feet multiple times as he ran for the exit. Picking up the box that the stranger had dropped, Kyungsoo held it out to you.

“Thanks,” you whispered, taking the box and replacing the less desirable one back on the shelf. Amazingly, he didn’t stop you this time when you turned to leave. With each step, your pace to hurry away from him slowed until at the very end of the aisle you came to a complete stop.

This twice now that he had saved you from someone who thought you looked like a new toy to play with. He didn’t have to step in, but he did. And here you were, acting ungrateful. Not to mention the small part of you that didn’t want to leave him.

Spinning on your heels, you said in a voice louder than necessary, “Do you want a cup of hot chocolate?”

His eyebrows jumped up in surprise. “W-what?”

Taking a deep breath, you walked back to him. Lowering your voice, you repeated, “Do you want a cup of hot chocolate? As a… thank you. This is twice now, so I think I should stop being so rude.”

This smile that lit up on his face nearly blinded you. How could a smile be shaped like a heart? Your own heart was picking up speed in your chest. Using the cardboard box in your hands, you covered the area up to avoid detection.

No. No thinking like that. It was just a thank you. You don’t know this boy at all. Think rationally.

Says the girl who just spent several hours with a seemingly intelligent wild animal that could kill her in ten seconds. All rationality has left you.

“I’d love to.”

You were a bit frozen at the moment. Never had you seen such warm brown eyes before. They were comforting and shining. You could just inside them forever. Opposite of that icy blue you were used to in the past.

“(y/n)?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Right. Um, did you need to grab something real quick?”

You’d actually spaced out and been caught staring at him. What other embarrassing thing could you do?

Kyungsoo shook his head. “No. They’re out of what I wanted.”

“Right,” you nodded. “Okay, then. I’ll just… check out.”

Was this the result of isolating yourself from the rest of mankind? You couldn’t even hold a simple conversation. But he wasn’t helping any. It was like his presence was sending your senses into overdrive.

Rushing past him, you went straight for the self-checkout, quickly scanning the hot chocolate and finishing out the transaction in a hurried fashion. Kyungsoo was right there next to you. You could feel his eyes on you. It took a few tries to get your card in the slot reader. You grabbed hold of the bag carrying your single item and turned to your companion.

“My apartment is just about two blocks away,” you informed him. Glancing down at his sweater, you frowned. “Don’t you have a coat?”

“No,” he replied. “I don’t get cold.”

“Lucky,” you mumbled, bracing yourself for the chill that was about to hit you as you walked through the automatic doors to the dreaded outside.

The two of you walked in silence to your apartment. You tried to come up with multiple conversation starters, but none of them would leave the tip of your tongue. This had to be proof. You really were broken, no longer able to function socially like a normal human being. Fantastic.

Groaning internally, you managed to unlock your apartment and flip on the light. Then you flinched at the sight. There were still boxes stacked against the wall containing the objects you owned but hadn’t needed to unpack quite yet.

“Are you leaving?” Kyungsoo asked. He sounded… worried? Almost panicky?

You shook your head. “No. I’m just….” Keeping things packed just in case, “lazy at unpacking. It’ll get put away eventually.” You scratched your scalp, embarrassed. “I just never have people over so I wasn’t thinking about it.”

Obviously fighting back a smile, Kyungsoo nodded while slipping his hands into his pockets.

While you warmed up a pot of water on the stove, Kyungsoo wandered around your living room, pausing at the entertainment stand that held your TV, a plant, the only two pictures you owned. One of you and your father when you graduated high school and the second of you and Mina on your twenty-first birthday. Right before you met Chace.

“Is this your father?” Kyungsoo asked, pointing to the first picture. The hot chocolate was done and you brought a mug over to him, for which he thanked you for.

“Yeah,” you smiled. Your dad was your best friend, although Mina pretended not to know that she was only in second place. He tried so hard to be there for you even when work had to call him away. Lately, he’d been hard to reach, stationed in the desert with spotty satellite connection. “He’s in the military, so I don’t get to see him much.”

Kyungsoo gave you a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged. “I’m used to it. We’d bounce from base to base. It’s probably why I can’t stay in once place for long. The idea of settling is... weird to me.”

For just meeting this guy, you were being way too honest. In just a few short minutes, he was suddenly easy to talk to. One little question and you were an open book. Had the lock broken so effortlessly? You’d need to watch it before you revealed the things you had to keep to yourself.

“Maybe if you met… someone?”

The expression Kyungsoo was giving you was simultaneously making you melt and want to build up a wall. A very high wall. Maybe one with a moat around it. With alligators.

Shaking your head, you took a sip of your drink. “I don’t really meet people.”

“Hmmm,” was how he replied. There was a moment or two of silence. “And this is Mina?”

You whirled on him. How the hell would he know your friend’s name? Noticing your look of horror, he picked up the picture. “It’s on her nametag?”

Her nametag?

You snatched the picture out of his hand, scanning it. Oh, right. There it was on her shirt. Of course. You’d given her crap all night because she accidentally agreed to stay an extra hour at her waitressing job to help with the random rush. She had to come straight to the bar from the restaurant, making you feel weird as you were all dressed to celebrate and she was still in her uniform. It didn’t matter in the end, as you two still ended up having a blast.

“Yeah, that’s Mina,” you nodded, handing the picture back to him. “She’s a riot. I miss her sometimes.”

“Understandable.” Kyungsoo returned the picture to its place. Then something else caught his eye.

A movie that you had taken out with the intention of watching yesterday but never got around to actually putting on was sitting on the second shelf of the stand. It was an old Hitchcock movie that not many had heard of. Kyungsoo picked it up, smiling.

“You like this movie?”

You nodded. “It’s one of my favorites. Have you seen it?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’ve always wanted to.”

“Do you want to watch it?” The question was out before you could stop yourself. He was just supposed drink the coco and leave. So, then, why were you hoping he would say yes? You chewed on your bottom lip. Shouldn’t you be hoping he’d say no?

“Sure,” he smiled.

Damn it. If he kept smiling at you like that, you were going to end cooking him dinner. Why did you have to be a sucker for a nice smile? And it wasn’t even nice. It was brilliant – breath-taking.

What was wrong with you?

Without any sign from you, Kyungsoo went right into turning on your DVD player and popping the disk in. You settled on your old worn out couch, squeezing into the corner after placing your mug down on the ring-stained coffee table.

On the other side sat Kyungsoo, keeping his distance in a gentleman-like manner. Even as the opening narration began, you still couldn’t concentrate on the screen. Stupid urges plagued you. It had been too long since you sat and watched a movie with someone. Of the opposite sex, no less.

You kept wondering if he was warm. If he was soft. Would you meld perfectly into his side?

Stop it!

Huffing to yourself, you grabbed a throw pillow off the floor and repositioned yourself so you were halfway laying down but still on your side of the couch, your head resting on the pillow.

About thirty minutes into the movie, your eyelids became heavy. You fought them bravely but in the end, even with a stranger sitting in your living room, you drifted off to sleep.

**

Kyungsoo knew it the second you fell asleep. He could hear your heartrate and breathing slow. He smiled to himself. That meant that you were getting comfortable around him, at ease in his presence. When you asked him to come over for a warm drink, he could hardly believe it.

Granted, he knew that the reason you were opening up to him was because of the time you were spending with him in his wolf form. Even if you weren’t consciously aware of it, the mate bond between the two of you was growing, pulling you in more.

At your sleeping figure, the wolf inside whined. Kyungsoo had to fight against his instinct to nudge in behind you and wrap his arms around you, snuggling you in close to his chest where you were safest. Waking up to that just might take away all the progress he’s made.

But this was certainly something. You let him know just a little more about yourself. Apparently there were only two people in your life. Could you maybe make room for one more?

Kyungsoo shook his head. No, with him came at least a dozen more or so.

With a high toned shrill, his phone went off in his pocket. Glancing over at you to make sure you hadn’t woken up, he answered it, speaking softly.

“Hello?”

“Kyungsoo, its Junmyeon. Where are you?”

“I’m….” How was he supposed to answer? “I’m still in town.”

“Okay,” his alpha sighed. “Can you get back to the farm house as soon as possible? We’re about to go over new perimeter assignments with the others. I’d like you here.”

The others? Did he mean Kris, Luhan, and Tao? Junmyeon hadn’t even been in the house at the same time as Kris since they arrived. This could be good. Or a terrible argument waiting to happen.

“As soon as possible,” Junmyeon added.

“I’m on my way.”

Great. He’d have to run.

He hated leaving you there, but he didn’t want to disturb your sleep either. Covering you up with the blanket form the back of the couch, he let himself take in the view of you for another minute before exiting the apartment.

Making back to the house in record time, he was completely exhausted. Everyone else was already there and gathered around the table. Kyungsoo tossed his sweater in the direction of the laundry room, earning a glare from Minseok. He didn’t care. He was too hot to put it back on, leaving him in just the white t-shirt he’d worn underneath.

“Good, you’re here,” was Junmyeon’s greeting to him. He started passing out different papers to everyone. “This is the perimeter schedule from now on. I’ve paired you off in groups. No arguments.”

There were a few grumbles around the room as everyone looked over the schedule. After reading his running mates, Kyungsoo sent the alpha a silent death glare. Of course he would get saddled with Chanyeol and Sehun. This wasn’t going to end well. At least his runs were at the time that you were usually at work. A relatively safe place for you to be.

“Anyone have any updates?” Junmyeon asked. Most of them shook their heads. Kris was the only one who spoke up.

“We’ve lost the hybrids’ trail, so we don’t know where they are exactly now, but I’ve got friends in a neighboring town that are keeping their ears open. They’ll let me know if they hear anything.”

Junmyeon gave a single hard nod, barely acknowledging his old friend.

“There was another omega today,” Kyungsoo advised. “He went after (y/n).”

“Why do they keep doing that?” Baekhyun asked.

“It’s an unclaimed mate thing,” Luhan answered. “All mates have a scent that only their wolf is supposed to be able to smell. No one knows why, but omegas are able to pick up on the smell as well when the mate is unclaimed. It’s like cooking meat right in front of a starving dog. Almost impossible to resist.”

“This mate thing sounds complicated to the point where I’m not sure I want one,” Sehun sneered.

“You’ll get one whether you like it or not,” Chanyeol reminded him. “Right, Jongdae?”

“Stop!” Jongdae groaned. For once, Kyungsoo was on his side. The joke was getting old. Fast.

After a few more rounds of throwing verbal punches, everyone dispersed, Junmyeon being the first one out of the room to who knows where. Kyungsoo was itching to get back to you. Your apartment wasn’t close to the edge of town, but he’d go back tonight anyway as a wolf, keeping a close eye on any other omegas that might roll into town. If you really smelled that irresistible to those dangerous wolves, then he was going to have to work harder to speed up getting you to trust him and then fall for him.

[felixrvyw736]

The Background Of The Microwave

Content

From Detecting Luftwaffe Fighters To Popcorn

Iflscience The Large Questions: Can We Achieve Endless Power?

October 8, 1945: Very First License For The Microwave

The History Of A Microwave

Heating Attributes

MIT's Radiation Lab spearheaded advancement of radar innovation and also chose Raytheon to establish the supersecret dental caries magnetron, the vacuum tube that made microwave radar an opportunity. In 1941, the capacity of radar was recognized as Raytheon was awarded the agreement for 100 radar systems for Allied naval ships. By the end of the war, Raytheon magnetrons made up 80 percent of the radar magnetrons generated throughout the war. How much faster can a microwave oven cook a product than a standard stove? Head to the icy food aisle as well as locate some example foods that can be cooked in either a microwave or conventional stove. Make use of a calculator to determine instances of percentages for just how much faster a microwave oven can be. Microwave use microwaves, which are radio waves at a regularity of roughly 2,500 megahertz, to heat food.

It is a common misconception that microwave ovens heat food by running at an unique resonance of water molecules in the food.

Marshall was president of the company, so it is safe to say his primary contribution was leadership; recognizing that this was a task worthy of financial backing during difficult times.

Unlike frying as well as baking, microwaving does not generate acrylamide in potatoes, nonetheless unlike deep-frying, it is of just limited performance in decreasing glycoalkaloid (i.e., solanine) levels.

This was in late 1946 when the license was submitted by the Raytheon Business.

The next day, Spencer and an associate of his decided to attempt putting an egg at the end of the magnetron tube.

The very first countertop house version took place sale in the 1950s for a much more budget friendly $495, as well as by 1997, totally 90% of united state households possessed a microwave oven. Soon after the unexpected discovery, designers at Raytheon went to service Spencer's originality, developing and improving it to be of sensible usage. After a couple of decades of turmoil, misconceptions as well as legends regarding microwave use, public demand began to swell with approval till the sales of microwave ovens eventually exceeded those of gas arrays in 1975. Additionally, in 1976 the microwave came to be a more common house home appliance than the dish washer as it located its home in virtually fifty-two million U.S. homes, or 60% of united state homes at the time. One day, while Spencer was dealing with a. real-time magnetron, he noticed that a sweet bar in his pocket had actually begun to thaw.

From Identifying Luftwaffe Boxers To Snacks

With the lots of various settings that ranges from power defrost to popping snacks at the press of a single button, it is no surprise that a lot of our dishes are prepared within the microwave. It is quick, it is easy, as well as it also saves a substantial quantity of energy.

Iflscience The Huge Questions: Can We Accomplish Unlimited Energy?

One statement of PARC's charter was "to develop the office of the future," as well as at least one group of scientists chose to take this command actually. They built prototypes of future offices that individuals might work in to assess their top quality. 2 of their most significant creations were the Egg-- a large, tough ellipsoid with a computer system and also a stereo inside-- as well as the Wheel, revealed below. The Wheel, designed by Expense Bowman, a commercial developer, included an adjustable Volvo seat, 2 flexible displays, as well as a sculptured teak wood desk-top and key-board. It was mobile; the researchers imagined that teams of Tires could be conveniently repositioned as tasks and also working teams transformed. Not surprisingly interested simply what the hell had happened, Spencer ran one more test with the magnetron.

October 8, 1945: First Patent For The Microwave

The file system in operation today with some PARC equipment is IFS-- the acting https://travishqfo424.hpage.com/post2.html documents system. Every one of these personal computers-- with their unique huge bit-mapped displays, three-button computer mice, as well as keyboards with several unlabeled tricks-- are described as D-machines. The variation of Interlisp, an artificial-intelligence language, that runs on the D-machines is known as Interlisp-D, to differentiate it from Interlisp-10, which operates on PDP-10 data processors.

Early in his study occupation at the firm, he observed a tiny leakage in among his photoelectric tubes. Normally scientists discarded such tubes as malfunctioning, however Spencer wondered about what may be happening. He discovered that the leak actually raised television's efficiency-- an insight that confirmed to be a critical step in the development of the television cams. Microwave operation is extra effective in liquid than an icy water.

Yet a few of those who left PARC remembered that a disillusionment had embeded in. They hadn't been annoyed with the progression of their occupations; rather, they had been frustrated with the price of progression of their items right into the real life.

Heating Attributes

The magnetron converts the high voltage DC to the required 2.45 GHz which is an engineering difficulty. Huge industrial/commercial stoves may utilize 915 megahertz magnetrons to delight the larger oven tooth cavities. Throughout the years I have had the opportunity to be familiar with both Jason and also Neil as co-workers as well as competitors. Their expertise and honesty, as well as their item knowledge, are unrivaled. They have understanding right into layout, price as well as budget plan, as well as I have yet to become aware of a disappointed customer.

Unlike frying and also cooking, microwaving does not generate acrylamide in potatoes, nevertheless unlike deep-frying, it is of only limited efficiency in reducing glycoalkaloid (i.e., solanine) degrees. Acrylamide has been found in various other microwaved products like snacks.

http://query.nytimes.com/search/sitesearch/?action=click&contentCollection®ion=TopBar&WT.nav=searchWidget&module=SearchSubmit&pgtype=Homepage#/kitchen design

[creativeashproductions]

Uniform Romance 02 // Steve Harrington

Summary: Young and in love Reader and Steve make an impulsive decision that has lasting problems. Years after separating they come face to face with a challenge between them and lost feelings. But what happens when they meet agains years later during a time of crisis?

Characters: Reader x Steve Harrington, Jonathan Byers, Dustin Henderson (mentioned), Nancy Wheeler (mentioned), Chief Jim Hopper (mentioned)

Words: 2318

Disclaimer: I do not own Stranger Things or the characters involved. Nor do I own any images or gifs that may appear.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, young romance, heartbreak

Author: Caitsy

A/N: Part two of three short blurbs. Based loosely on a Hallmark movie I watched a few days ago.

Master list

Prompt List

ASK US A QUESTION LIST

“Officer Hargrove.” You stated from the entry of your office, “Did you attend the anger management classes?”

“No sweetcheeks. I don’t have the time.” Billy smirked collapsing into the chair in front of your desk with a smirk. His teeth holding a tooth pick in his mouth while the sleeves of his blue uniform were rolled up.

“We talked about this.” You sighed looking up at him, “I can’t have you on the force if you’re going to snap at suspects. You pulled a gun on a kid that looked at you wrong.”

“I’m the best.” Billy chuckled.


“You’re suspended.” You blankly stated stamping one of the sheets of paper before getting out of your chair, “Place your gun and badge on the desk.”

You strolled out of you office into the busy room with a few desks and workers sitting at their desks. You ignored the greetings before stopping at the the receptionist desk where El was reading a book.

“Miss Hopper.” You spoke as the younger girl lifted her head up with innocent eyes and a wide smile.

“Chief Y/L/N.” She grinned with a pair of rosy cheeks.

“Can you mail this?” You asked passing the paper over to the girl. She nodded before you started towards your office again.

Hopper took a leave of absence, he was tracking Martin Brenner, leaving you in charge of six officers, and a up and coming detective. You were usually working or training high students to understand the physicality of being an officer. You vividly remembering joining the force and watching your father train Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Mike Wheeler, Will Byers and Max Mayfield. Out of all of them only Max and Lucas continued on.

Max was a well respected detective, a feat everyone was jealous of, and the youngest one in history. She was often out helping other counties while also training officers driving techniques. You were hesitate with Max and Billy working together.


“Morning Officer Sinclair.” You nodded at the man before inconspicuously gesturing to your office.

“What’s wrong?” Lucas questioned once your door was shut tight.

“Have you heard from Hopper?” You questioned quietly. Lucas and Max were often the ones in charge of the less…normal side of Hawkins. Patrolling the pumpkin patches was a frequent job they did.

“No.” He spoke confused.

“He must be still out of service.” You sighed shaking your head before releasing Lucas from the door, “If he contacts you let me know.”

You spent the rest of the day doing paper work and calmly telling elderly Flo that her cat wasn’t something you were able to heal. You pointed her in the direction of the local veterinarian but for some reason they two never got along.

You were bored and tired when you got home to the childhood house your parents still lived in with your fiancé also. You were greeted with a kiss from him as he walked you to the kitchen where the food was already on the table.


“Thank you.” You sighed cracking your neck. The phone rang just at that moment leaving you to sigh, “Y/L/N residence. How can I help you?”



“I’m Mr. Shank.” Your family lawyer spoke, “I got your file and I’ve found that your still married to a Steve Harrington.”

You choked on air remembering the brown eyes and well kept hair. You were shocked to know this development. You hadn’t really thought of the boy you had married so young for years now.

“It’s annulled.” You hissed from the living room, “I’m getting married! I can’t be married already!”

“I’ve got in contact with Steve and I just need you both at the hall tomorrow morning.” Mr. Shank replied before mumbling off the phone to his wife, “I have to go. Mary is trying to put her finger in the socket again.”

You chuckled remembering the mischievous toddler Jason Shank had with his wife Angela. You went silent when he hung up and kept your phone against your ear. You knew you would have to at least tell one of your parents, most likely your mom given the way your Dad reacted, of your absence tomorrow.

“Babe?”

“Coming!” You exclaimed hanging up the phone and removing your uniform jacket.

The dining room was set up with small papers of different fonts and colours in front of your mother and fiancé. You nearly groaned at the sight of the piles deciding you’d rather get shot then sit through planning the wedding.


“This is a more elegant font.” Your mother explained to one of the huge amounts. You sighed leaning back in your chair gazing longingly at the living room.

“Simple. We decided simple.”

You ignored the conversation going on between the two of them to remember the times of fun and love you had with Steve Harrington. It felt like yesterday when you sat and remembered everything. The suitcase was tucked away in the back of your closet too full of memories to be properly put away.

“Y/N.” You snapped to attention hearing the exasperated voice of your mom.

“Sorry. Bad day at work.” You shook your head clearing it to focus solely on this wedding. You had been engaged for two years and has just chosen the date to work mainly for your parents and his.

“We can come back to this.” Your mother sighed, “What’s another two years.”

You winced watching her retreating back before locking eyes with him and glanced away when you saw Steve’s eyes instead. It made you uncomfortable how you were seeing parts of Steve in this relationship just because of that call.


“You should probably help her.” He admitted, “I’ve been avoiding the living room.”

“Go.” You softly spoke sending his sulking to watch some sports game he hated. You wandered into the kitchen seeing your mom holding a cup in hand staring outside.

“What really happened?” She asked.

You glanced over your shoulder before gesturing her to follow you outside of the house. You kept silent until you were inside the greenhouse she had kept for the last few years. The door closed before you turned to her.

“Mr. Shank called.” You spoke.

“And?”



“Apparently I’m still married to Steve.”

“What?” Mom spat shocked, “Your dad sent the papers in years ago!”



“I know. He told me. You told me. I signed.” You sighed leaning against a wooden box, “No one but you and Dad know we got married!”

“We can’t ask your dad.” Mom shook her head sighing along with you, “The doctor explicitly told us no stress.”

He had his third heart attack in the last nine months striking fear into the family and taking more of his independence away. He was on disability while your mother was working full time again. He was a shell of the laughing man you remembered and you were truthfully getting married so soon because he was all excited to walk you down the aisle.

“I guess I have to go tomorrow and see him.” You sighed shaking your head as stress built on your shoulders.

“You can do it.”

A new day with the sun breaking over the landscape was how you spent your time having gotten little sleep. You were on a tight schedule today with the approaching meeting and the atmosphere in Hawkins changed overnight. It was reminiscent of the Upside Down in 1984 and you were more than nervous it was coming back.

Hopper was AWOL leaving you in charge and with no ability to contact him…well you could say you felt unprepared. That meant all hands were on deck, even with Billy’s suspend ass, so you were going to the meeting wearing your uniform. Way to knock Steve on his ass with your mature changes.

The outside of the office matched in the inside with the white drab paint and dull coloured clothing on the employees. You felt the judgemental eyes on your Chief jacket and the femininity you displayed.

“Chief Y/L/N.” Mr. Shank jovially spoke as you slid into the office allowing him to take your jacket and hang it up.


“Morning Mr. Shank.” You smiled staring at the picture frame of his happy family, “Wher-“

“I’m here. Sorry I’m late.” The winded familiar voice spoke from behind you, “Am I in the wrong?”



“Mr. Harrington.” Mr. Shank spoke with a grin, “Been awhile. How’re you doing?”



“I’m…holy shit.” Steve gaped as you turned to look at him, “You’re an officer-“


“Chief.” You firmly spoke flicking your eyes over his body keeping aloof.

Steve wore black slacks paired with a starched white button down and loosely kept tie but the one thing that didn’t change was his hair. It was kept just as short as it was when you last saw him and some minor changes to his face and muscle definition but other than that nothing was different.  

“Wow.”

“Can we get on this? It’s a busy day.” You spoke turning your attention to Mr. Shank.

“Okay so I went through the paperwork that I could find. However the meaty part must have been lost in the mail. Meaning you’re still legally married to each other.” Mr. Shank said glancing through some papers neatly stacked, “Now I have a court time for later to-“

Your phone broke his sentence loudly, El and Lucas were the ones to integrate the cells into off duty, earning looks from both of them.

“Sorry.” You winced answering it, “Chief Y/L/N.”

“We got a problem Chief.” The frantic voice of Lucas spoke.

“What’s the matter?” You sat up straighter. God you recognized that tone of voice from years ago.

“There’s something odd.”

“Are we talking…?” You trailed off ignoring the looks from Mr. Shank.

“Max and I think it’s back.” Lucas spoke. You froze feeling icy terror crawl up your back and through your veins.

“Shit.” You groaned, “Tell El. I’m on my way.”

“Sure thing.”

You strode to the coat hanger grasping your jacket tightly before slipping the phone into the holder on your holster. You checked your gun and badge on your shirt before opening the door with a singular goal in mind.

“What’s going on?”



“Rain check the court meeting!” You called out over your shoulder slamming the outside door open before heading for the police truck.


“What’s going on?!” Steve called close on your heels with Mr. Shank.


“Chief! We need to clear this up for you to get married!”

“What?!” Steve exclaimed as he slid in front of you and your door, “What the hell is going on?!”

“Police business.” You spat reaching around to unlock your door.


“I can help.” He spoke.


“Bullshit.” You huffed stepping closer, “Move aside before I put a bullet in you.”

“Why can’t I help?”



“You ain’t police.”

“I’m a detective. Newly minted.” He spoke softly. You bit your lip before nodding towards your truck. He kept quiet on the way to the station glancing over every once in a while, “So you’re engaged.”

“And still married apparently.” You muttered shaking your head. He opened his mouth but El, Max and Lucas all flew out of the station towards you. Once they were inside Lucas was throwing out directions.

“Steve?”

“Lucas?” Steve asked surprised to see him in uniform.

“Been awhile.” Lucas spoke looking at him, “How’ve ya been?”



“Pretty good.” Steve awkwardly returned looking at Max, “So you’re an officer.”

“Detective.” She spoke earning another gaping expression, “Went to Indianapolis but hated it. Prefer Hawkins so I came back.”


“You’re so young!”

“I work hard.” She rolled her eyes while El kept to herself playing with the simple necklace she had received a few years back from Mike.

“So what the hell is going on?” You asked Lucas.


“I was on patrol on route thirty six of the hundred and twenty Hopper ordered a few years back. I heard this groaning sound so I check it out and I swear to god a tree was oozing this goo.”

“Shit.” You spoke groaning.


“What the hell is going on!?” Steve exclaimed, “Where is Hopper? Why is there two detectives on the force in a small town?”



“Because Lucas and Max deal more with the events that residents aren’t aware of.” You replied, “Hopper’s away on business.”

“Works out in our favour.” Max shrugged slouching down, “Don’t like one of the officers though.”

“He’s your step brother.” Lucas chuckled placing his hand on hers, “Of course you don’t like him. Besides he hates that you can order him around now.”

“Billy is an officer?!” Steve exclaimed, “How in the hell did someone let him join the force.”



“His impeccable aim.” You spat unhappily, “The ass toes the line more often than not but he knows what he can do without getting kicked off.”



“I’m shocked.” Steve grunted leaning back.


“He’s suspended until he takes anger management classes for the act he did recently.” You sighed coming to a stop at the abandoned pumpkin patch.


“Why are we-“

“Because the Upside Down is rearing its head again for the fifth time in the last five years.” You grunted moving to the back of the truck where Hopper had inserted a hidden compartment. You tossed a shotgun to Lucas and Max before grabbing the last one. Once loaded you started towards the woods.

Steve hung back before catching up. He left his gun in the safe in his car with his badge also. He was empty handed and severely out of his element. It had been more than fifteen years since he had dealt with the Upside Down.

“What have I missed?” Steve muttered to himself.

“Y/N’s getting married.” El softly answered him with a smile, “They bonded over you leaving town and Nancy leaving for college after a fight with Jonathan.” 
Steve froze blanking for moment.


“She’s getting married to Jonathan.”

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[dreamlover31]

Love Will Find a Way: Chapter 40

Well this is it…the day has finally come, in a matter of hours, I’ll be walking down that aisle and be joined hand in hand with the man I love…it feels like a dream. Alexa idly stared at her reflection in the mirror, dark brown hair styled in an up do with free-flowing curls at opposite sides of her face, makeup fitted to highlight her natural beauty; shades of brown to match her eyes with a touch of pink lip-gloss and black mascara to make the colors pop.

While donning a satin lavender robe, she trekked across the room where her wedding dress hung on the door of the closet, after giving it a once over, the ivory colored gown was removed from the garment bag, just as there came a knock at the door.

“Come in”

The door slowly creaked open, Alexa turned to face the person coming into view, only to smile when it was her soon to be mother in law Lucia.

“Hey”

Lucia happily grinned, “Aye mamita…you look beautiful”

Alexa’s cheeks warmed and bowed her head bashfully, “Lucia, I haven’t even put the dress on yet”

“Doesn’t matter”

She walked over to the older woman and embraced her in loving and warm hug, it was then that two more figures appeared in the doorway, Alexa peeked over her shoulder to find Olivia and Amanda sharing soft smiles. After the women receded from their embrace, Alexa and Lucia joined hands then let out a deep breath and said:

“Well, let’s get this show on the road huh”

All three women nodded and stepped towards the closet, carefully they unzipped the bag and withdrew the delicate fabric, meanwhile, the lucky bride quickly retrieved one of her strapless bras and a pair of panties, once the undergarments were slipped on, she was helped into her gown.

Lucia zipped up the back while Olivia and Amanda sat on the bed, the looks on their faces expressed nothing but sheer joy and amazement at the sight of the young woman they have each gotten close to you in a span of a year, at the same time, tears began to prick in those dark brown hues as she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Alexa tilted her head upward to steer back the tears that threatened to smear her makeup, a sniffle escaped her nose as Lucia came up behind with a tissue in hand, Alexa turned and retrieved it as she mouthed thank you.

She dabbed at her tear ducts, then after another calming breath, grabbed the low inch heels to match the dress; with her feet snugged inside, the last item was the veil.

Olivia did the honors and placed the head dress upon her brow, she gave herself another once over and ascertained that everything was completed on her end, all that was left was for everyone else to change into their dresses and head on over to Central Park.

Olivia and Amanda switched into their icy blue bridesmaids’ dresses, Lucia sported a light purple chemise with a matching blazer and pants, followed by white flats; as the women were putting on the finishing touches of their outfits, the sound of soft cries echoed from the hallway.

They paused for a moment before Lucia signaled to them that she would tend to it, a few seconds later, she reappeared with a wide-awake Nadia bouncing on her arm. The tiny baby smiled as she took in her surroundings, Lucia cooed at her just as Alexa stepped toward them.

“Look mijita, doesn’t your mami look beautiful?”

Nadia squealed and giggled.

“I’ll take that as a yes”

“Well, I’m going to take her downstairs and feed her while you guys finish getting ready”

“Thank you, Lucia”

Lucia cradled her granddaughter as she fed her, then the sound of footsteps gave cause for a pause, she lifted herself from the couch and made her way towards the staircase.

Alexa descended from the stairs while Olivia and Amanda stayed behind holding up the train from her dress, with everyone in attendance, they stood in the corridor in anticipation for the arrival of their transportation.

A few minutes later, there came the sounds of a horn honking, Olivia pulled back the curtain in the living room and saw a white stretch limo parked in front of the brownstone.

“Alright, everyone make sure we’re not forgetting anything…” Olivia walked over and pointed at Lucia, “You have her diaper bag” Lucia nodded. She pointed at Amanda, “You text Carisi and let him know we’re on our way” Amanda nodded.

“Ok then, we have a wedding to get to”

Once the door was locked, everyone piled into the limo, Olivia and Amanda sat across from Alexa, meanwhile, Lucia was busy entertaining Nadia; the infant dressed in a small white dress flexed her tiny fingers at the stuff animal being waved in her face. During the vehicle’s route, Alexa nervously fiddled with her fingers, her stomach was doing cartwheels and her face flushed; No turning back now.

On the other side of town, Rafael looked at his reflection as he straightened his bow tie, he stood in the middle of the hotel room that was rented out for him and the groomsmen. He let out a breath as his hands straightened out his tux, suddenly, the door opened; as soon as Carisi entered, Rafael chuckled then went back to fanning out the details of his attire.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but Amanda just texted me…her, Liv, your mom, Alexa and Nadia are heading over to the park”

“Thank you Carisi”

“Listen…I really appreciate you making me your best man”

“You’re a good man Carisi”

“Thanks, well I’m going to grab Fin and Chief Dodds and head down to the lobby”

“OK, I’ll be right down”

With a nod, the detective exited the room, Rafael turned back to the mirror…I can’t believe this is really happening, in short time at all, I’ll be sealed in matrimony to the woman of my dreams…this is truly the best day of my life. As the door closed behind him, Rafael walked down the hall and stepped into the elevator, in a matter of seconds; he reached the ground floor. Upon his departure from the elevator cart, he found Fin, Carisi and Dodds standing in the middle of the lobby; within arm’s reach, Fin patted Rafael’s shoulder and asked:

“You ready to roll”

“Let’s do this”

All the men collectively chuckled then proceeded towards the front doors of the hotel, another white stretch limo met them as they made it outside, when the doors closed, the driver merged into oncoming traffic and drove off.

The vehicle pulled up to the entrance of the park, the men one by one departed from it and headed down the pathway that lead into the Italianate Garden section of the park. When the row of white fold out chairs came into view; all four of them continued their path until they came upon the priest standing in front of the high jet fountain.

All four men stood in their appropriate spots, Rafael gazed upon the small crowd that began filling up the seating arrangement that was planned, it was a mixture of a few family friends, some of the people from the shelter, even Rafael’s assistant Carmen was among the guests.

The supremely confident ADA began to show signs of nervousness, his hands became clammy and sweaty while his stomach was in knots, as he wiped his hands on his tux pants, Carisi planted his hand on Rafael’s shoulder.

“Relax counsellor, everything’s going to be fine”

Rafael lightly nodded, he straightened up and looked back onward to the small crowd of people, in no time at all; he saw his mother appear with Nadia nestled in her arms. He glowed with fatherly pride at the sight of his little girl dressed in white, his thoughts drifted toward a distant future where the next time she would be wearing white, was at her own wedding.

Lucia sat down in front with Nadia in her lap, then she held up the baby’s arm and helped gave an impromptu wave at her son, he smiled when he returned the gesture, Carisi pointed with his chin forward to where Olivia, Amanda and Gladys were making their way down to join the men at the altar.

After the bridesmaids took their positions, everyone waited anxiously for the bride’s arrival, Alexa stood in the archway with a bouquet of lilies in her hand; the veil covered her soft, delicate face.

Slowly, she began the descent down the stairs and onto the lush green landscape, her heart began beating rapidly with every step forward; she could barely breath. At that moment, everyone drew their attention to the figure in white that stood at the foot of the aisle, hushed whispers of wonder and awe filled her ears as she descended downward.

Ultimately, when her destination was reached, Rafael extended his arm out and Alexa took his hand, it took all the strength that he could muster to not break down in tears as they stood face to face, he pinched the edges of the sheer fabric that was the veil and pulled it up over her head. Alexa blushed as her eyes flickered down to avoid Rafael’s gaze, she quickly recovered her composure and met his gaze, their hands laced together as the priest began to recite the matrimonial vows.

“Dearly beloved…we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in a holy state of matrimony, if there is anyone that feels these two should not wed…speak now or forever hold your peace”

The priest’s statement was answered with silence.

“I understand that the bride and groom have written their own vows…” he turned to Alexa and asked: “Alexa, would you like to go first?”

Alexa softly nodded, “Rafael…this past year has been the most wonderful and amazing time of my life, you came at a time where I thought I was better off without love…you’ve shown me a side of you that not many people get to see.

You truly are a godsend to this Earth and I’m very proud to be your wife and the mother of our precious little daughter, we’ve been through a lot of challenges but they’ve only made us stronger and I look forward to enjoying many more journeys with you…” tears began to trickle down her cheeks as she started choking on her words “Words cannot express the love I feel for you, but I promise to show you now and forever”

Rafael gently pressed his thumb upon her cheek and wiped a stray tear from it, the three bridesmaids at her side wiped tears of their own and sniffled at the power of her words, then the priest turned to Rafael and signaled to him that it was his turn.

Rafael took a deep breath, “Alexa…when I met you, I felt a wall came down…a wall around my heart. You spend so much time rescuing women and children from abusive situations, but I feel like I’m your greatest success story…because you rescued me from a lifetime of loneliness. I promise to brave the toughest storms with you…to be devoted to your every whim, you are more than my wife, you’re my partner, my best friend and together we can do anything…I love you and thank you for giving me the most precious gift a man could receive…our beloved daughter”

Alexa smiled brightly and lunged at him to where she wrapped her arms around his neck, Rafael returned her embrace as she sobbed against his shoulder, after giving herself a few minutes to compose herself; she wiped her tears and silently apologized. They regained their positions when the priest continued with the ceremony.

“Rafael Barba, do you take Alexa Duvall to be your lawfully wedded wife…will you love her, comfort her, keep her in sickness and health and forsake all others, give yourself only to her for as long as you both shall live”

“I do”

“Alexa Duvall, do you take Rafael Barba to be your lawfully wedded husband…will you love him, comfort him, keep him in sickness and in health and forsake all others, give yourself only to him for as long as you both shall live”

“I do”

“Then by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife…you may kiss the bride”

Alexa and Rafael sealed their union with a kiss, then the crowd erupted in an orchestra of claps and cheers, with their hands melded together, they walked up the aisle and when there was enough space between them, Alexa turned her back and threw the bouquet in the air.

A sea of hands lifted upward to catch the floral arrangement, only to have it land in Olivia’s hand, Alexa laughed at the stunned expression on her face, but she shared in the laughter. The crowd of people corralled themselves through the designated exit and re-entered their vehicles and proceeded to the restaurant where the reception was being held, Rafael and Alexa was right behind the convoy of cars.

The place was all abuzz with people conversating about the day’s events, they dined on the exquisite cuisine as soft music played about the acoustics of the restaurant, at one point, Carisi stood up from his seat and clinked his fork against the flute holding his champagne; he toasted the newlyweds for an everlasting and loving marriage.

The patrons agreed in unison, as the evening wore on, the mood was still festive and joyful; a few people cleared some of the tables to create an improvised dance floor, one of the waiters dimmed the lights and a small group began to ebb out. Rafael and Alexa was among the dancers, as the music played, their bodies swayed in sync; her head rested upon his shoulder while he held her close. She lifted her head, then their noses nuzzled against each other, his forehead rested on top of Alexa’s as he said:

“How’s it feel to be Mrs. Rafael Barba?”

“Like I’m in heaven”

Rafael chuckled, “So I was thinking…I booked us the honeymoon suite at the Waldorf Astoria, what do you say we head on out of here and enjoy our first night as husband and wife”

Alexa smiled dreamily, “I’d like that very much”

The newlyweds slipped through the crowd and discreetly left the restaurant, they sat in a comfortable embrace during the cab ride to the hotel.

Tagging: @madpanda75 @laceybellerain @southern-magnolia @tropes-and-tales @madamsnape921 @teamsladsandgents @beccabarba @itsjustmyfantasyroom @thatesqcrush

[movieswithkevin27]

Murder on the Orient Express

A thrillingly new take on the classic Agatha Christie novel of the same name, director Kenneth Branagh’s Murder on the Orient Express falls right in love with his filmography. From adapting classic Shakespeare such as Henry V, Much Ado About Nothing, or Hamlet, just as Laurence Olivier had to adapting Frankenstein to adapting Mozart’s The Magic Flute and to recently adapting Cinderella as a live-action film, Branagh is a filmmaker indebted to the classics. Yet, he is refreshingly different each time. His films possess a visual flair and kineticism that the originals lacked due to the lack of available technology. He is a classical filmmaker with the ability to fling the camera high in the sky and capture gorgeous long shots and possessed with the ability to capture the vibrancy of the lights in a locale in their full, glowing beauty. While he has largely spent his career re-treading ground broken by any number of famed directors/actors, Branagh’s new takes (ok maybe not Frankenstein) always feel like a welcome return to this bygone era in regards to subject matter with a great flair to it that makes it decidedly modern. This marriage between the old timey settings of his films with his trademark flair may not always work, but when it does, it works tremendously. With Murder on the Orient Express, Branagh is able to take Christie’s text and Lumet’s film, extract what makes them work, and then add some more modern touches that have mixed impact but largely work to make this update a welcome one that stands out of the shadow cast from the classic 1974 film.

This Branagh touch largely leads to this take on Murder on the Orient Express possessing a visual flair that Lumet’s film did not have. This theatrical and artistic indulgence on the part of Branagh gives the film a striking visual look that, amongst all other additions and touches, serves to allow the film to stand on its own two feet. This flair, typically, manifests itself in long shots as the train rips along the tracks or comes in the station. Throughout, these shots are absolutely gorgeous and capture the beauty of the scenery while also allowing Branagh to flex his keen eye for striking visuals. Taking us outside of the train for these shots allows us to see how this is not happening in a vacuum as well. There is even dialogue regarding the fact that those in the other parts of the train can be ruled out as suspects. This touch plays well into the film’s overall themes regarding the scales of justice and right versus wrong, as Branagh uses this classic whodunit as not just a contained single-setting story but as a microcosm of the battle going on in society. Is it wrong to kill at all times or can it be done for the right reason at any point? This thematic inclusion is largely developed through the character of Hercule Poirot (Kenneth Branagh), but Branagh’s touches of including shots of the outside of the train along the mountains is smart in that it shows there is a world outside of this train. It is not just set in some mystical world aboard the Orient Express, but still a part of the world outside of it, thus it impacts and is impacted by the standards/morals of the world outside of it and preceding these events. Furthermore, the shots are simply gorgeous. The final establishing shot of the Orient Express going into the distant sunset with a snow-covered building in the center and Poirot getting into a car in the right side of the frame with the camera pulling slowly upward is absolutely striking. It is a perfect balance between the warm orange of the sun, the coldness of the day, and blackness of the train/car.

Branagh’s personal touches on the visuals of this film also come in how he shoots the action and the investigation, which is vastly different from Lumet. First and foremost, he does toss in an oblique angle as the train is derailed by an avalanche - which is a really cool scene as the lighting strikes a mountain to start this avalanche - which is a must-have for Branagh. It is, by my math, the only here though and it is used effectively so nice of him to reign that bit in here. However, Lumet - as an actor’s director - is certainly known more for his medium shots and close-ups than any visual flair. He did toss it in at times, but not in films such as Murder on the Orient Express which is more about extracting the truth, the facial expressions, and the look in the eyes of the suspects. Branagh, however, takes a different approach. As Poirot first begins investigating the cabin of the deceased, Branagh tosses in a direct aerial shot of the action which looks more like something out of a Wes Anderson film, namely Life Aquatic. However, where his film’s style truly differs is often in the investigation portions. Whereas Lumet doubled down repeatedly on close-ups of the interrogations - and Branagh does use close-ups here at times - he also uses some slick mirror tricks in these moments and before that serve as truly striking and smart thematic touches. First, in a non-interrogation shot, Branagh shows Samuel Ratchett (Johnny Depp) going in his cabin. As the murder victim, Ratchett is already looking over his shoulder. Showing him go in and then cutting to him looking in the mirror of his cabin, Branagh creates the feeling that he is surrounded. Not only is his reflection in the mirror in front of him, but there is another mirror on the wall adjacent to that first mirror. This creates the appearance of three men being in this room and, as first, is rather disorienting before your eyes adjust. This shot is a nice touch, showing the increasingly encroaching doom awaiting Ratchett. Later, as the interrogation begins, Branagh’s camera dips behind a divider separated by half-mirror as Poirot walks through an aisle surrounded by all of the passengers. Creating dual images of each passenger, Branagh is able to show dual-sides of each passenger. On the surface, they are normal and good people. Underneath, however, they could have murderous intentions. Later, as Gerhard Hardman (Willem Dafoe) is revealed to have been using a fake identity, Branagh shows Poirot interrogating him again with Dafoe’s face cut in three. His full head is in the center with ¾ of his face to the left and a ¼ to the right. This splitting into three takes what the film previously did with regard to showing the dual sides to the characters and adding a third for Dafoe, given his already possessing two on-the-surface identities. These visuals, by the end of the film, stand as the greatest touch added by Branagh and make Murder on the Orient Express not just a whodunit, but also a visually stylish feast.

The film’s lighting is also phenomenal inside the train. With these warm yellow hues playing off of the icy cold whiteness of the outside perfectly, it is creates this warm, log-on-the-fire feeling within the train. Thus, when Poirot opts to take the action outside of the train to interview Mary Debenham (Daisy Ridley) or to reveal the murderer, the juxtaposition can really be felt. In the original, Lumet kept everything inside the train up to the reveal. Here, Branagh embraces the bitter cold outside to really provide a level of deep discomfort for those Poirot interrogates outside or when he ultimately reveals what happened on the Orient Express. While nobody looks particularly cold outside - definitely a flaw - it still creates this amount of discomfort in the audience that is not felt in the inside due to the warmth the lights create. This difference between warm and cold colors is one that Branagh plays with a lot in the cinematography to create the aforementioned striking imagery, but here, he does it to communicate tone. There is an iciness and coldness that is truly felt outside as it is revealed who is lying and what went on that is not felt when inside the claustrophobic but warm cabin of the train. This difference serves as a great counter to the explosive encounters that occur outside of the train, as opposed to the more subdued emotions within the train. It creates a great balance - a real central idea to this film is balance in justice - between the warmth of the train’s interior with the coldness of the emotions inside of it and then the coldness of outside with the heated exchanges outside of the train.

Now where the film struggles is in the third act. In the original film, I admittedly found fault with the fact of who committed this murder. By my own admission, this was likely due to misplaced expectations regarding what this whodunit would be like, thus when it was different, I reacted negatively. I still did not like the film, but the ending is hardly a fault of the film. Here, the same ending comes and goes without me being bothered by it, namely due to having the right expectations this go around. However, where the film struggles is in the third act right after the reveal. From the very beginning, Branagh introduces the theme of right versus wrong and of the scales of justice. For Poirot, balance is imperative in life and it is what helps him become such a great detective. This is told to us, but also shown in the great opening scene in the Middle East as Poirot reveals what happened in a robbery at the local Church. This opening was not the opening in the 1974 film and is a great addition to the film to truly introduce us to who Poirot is as a detective. However, in the quieter moments, Branagh shows his obsession over having equal-sized eggs and having balance in all things. Thus, when he discovers what has happened on the train, he is torn. He recognizes that those guilty were right to kill Ratchett. He was a wicked man and should be dead. However, for Poirot this creates an imbalance. Killing is inherently wrong and a man should face trial in court not in the court of public opinion. This cognitive dissonance leads to a horribly melodramatic and hamfisted ending. Theatrically begging the passengers to kill him or else he will reveal what happened, Linda Arden (Michelle Pfeiffer) grabs the gun and initially points it at Poirot. Then, she takes it, puts it to her head, and pulls the trigger only for the gun to be empty. This melodramatic encounter is followed up by Poirot explaining that he lied to the investigators and will have to learn to live with this imbalance in the scales of justice. The film’s tone shifts earlier on from light and funny to more serious, which is a shift it survives nicely. This shift, however, from serious to sappy melodrama is not one the film makes it out unscathed from. Instead, it feels to on-the-nose, forced, and out-of-character, for Poirot and the rest of the cast. It is a sequence that, though thematically in-line with the rest of the film, is at odds with the two hours preceding its occurrence. It feels cut-and-paste from an entirely different film and Murder on the Orient Express opts to end of this somber, forced, and cloyingly manipulative moment, which leaves a bad taste in the mouth of the viewer. For a film that was doing so well, this is a crushingly disappointing finale. It is just too on-the-nose and feels disingenuous. It works thematically, but leaves the ending feeling comically over-emotional.

One touch that was really nice in this take, however, was the Daisy Armstrong case. The 1974 film started off with newspaper clippings from the Armstrong case before forgetting about it for much of the film. By putting that moment so out of place, Lumet seems to shout out its later significance and leaves it hanging far too much on its own. Here, Branagh introduces it via a black-and-white flashback half-way through and right before he interrogates some passengers. This makes the information much more immediate and it buries the lede a bit more. Instead of basing the entire introduction to the film around this information, thus making it inherently important, Branagh includes it as a bit of an idea that Poirot comes up with in the middle. Thus, it makes it just a theory and one that definitely impacted the passengers on the ship (making them look guilty), but making it far less definitive and obvious than the 1974 version.

A thrilling, fun (and surprisingly funny), and visually striking work from director Kenneth Branagh, Murder on the Orient Express is an improvement upon the 1974 take. Both visually and acting-wise (Branagh’s accent and acting runs laps around Albert Finney’s horrific take in 1974; Best Actor nomination be damned), this take on the classic Agatha Christie story is just far more engaging and gripping than the prior take with some excellent visual flair from Branagh as the cherry on top. While I knew the mystery behind this whodunit, it did nothing to dampen the impact and the fun in seeing how all of the parts came together in this version to both execute Ratchett and to hide the fact of who did it in its aftermath. A surprisingly fun and enjoyable film, Murder on the Orient Express is a strong work from Branagh and a further demonstration of his skill as a director. I really hope Branagh makes Death on the Nile as the film's ending suggests.

[samanthasroberts]

Photographer Joins Illegal Mammoth Tusk Hunt In Siberia, Captures How They Get Rich, Get Drunk And Nearly Die

In Russia’s isolated and remote region of Siberia, an underground economic boom is taking shape. Radio Free Europe photographer Amos Chapple, back in 2016, went inside the dark world of the Russian men illegally mining for tusks and remains of the long-extinct woolly mammoth, in hopes of cashing in on black market trade. The images he captured show a compelling cycle of toil, desperation, and environmental consequence.

Woolly mammoths, lost arctic relatives of the modern elephant, are thought to have lived in Siberia about 400,000 years ago. The area now experiences year-round permafrost, a thick layer of ice beneath the ground, which has helped to preserve submerged mammoth skeletons for millennia. In order to reach the buried treasures of this hostile land, the men seeking it have to blast the thick, icy mud with water pumped from nearby rivers, which can take months on end. It’s a dangerous, illegal, and taxing job, but with mammoth tusks selling at around $35k a piece to eager Chinese buyers, it’s a worthwhile risk to men coming from cities where the average monthly wage is under $500.

It’s not all diamonds and glory, however. The men setting out on tusk hunts leave their families behind to brave rugged terrain, hoards of mosquitoes, and constant fear of detection by police, which could result in fines or jail sentences. They guzzle quarts of vodka and cheap beer to cope with the ordeal, leading to frequent fights among miners. Perhaps worst of all is the toll their work takes on the environment; the run-off water from the frozen earth they douse returns to the surrounding rivers, polluting water streams and raising silt levels dramatically.

Take in the entire series below, accompanied by Chapple’s own commentary as written in his RFE article, and witness the plight of men craving to get rich, and willing to die trying.

“With the sale of elephant tusks under close scrutiny, “ethical ivory” from the extinct woolly mammoth is now feeding much of China’s hunger for tusks. Every summer, bands of tusk hunters head into the Russian wilderness in the hopes of striking it rich. On condition I not reveal names or exact locations, I gained access to one site where teams of men are using illegal new methods in the hunt for what remains of Siberia’s lost giants”, wrote photographer Amos Chapple

“Four hours by speedboat from the nearest village…” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“…is a bend in the river riddled with mammoth remains.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“A paleontologist I spoke to said this site was likely once a swamp or bog which drowned prehistoric beasts.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“The tuskers use water pumps designed for firefighting (Tohatsu are the preferred brand) to suck water out of the river..” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“…and blast it into the landscape.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“Some tuskers carve long, deep tunnels (which are terrifying – the walls are as soft as garden soil).” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“Others use the cutting power of the hoses to carve huge underground caverns.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“And some gouge channels straight through the topsoil.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“In the hope of finding one of these – a perfectly preserved mammoth tusk, worth around $520 per kilogram.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“A little background: Siberia’s Yakutia region sits on a foundation of permafrost – permanently frozen soil which lies a few feet below the surface.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“In warm soil, bones would rot away within a decade. But tusks and bones like this mammoth hip can survive tens of thousands of years once locked into the permafrost, making Yakutia a mammoth mecca.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“This 65-kilogram tusk, photographed a few minutes after it was plucked from the permafrost, was sold for $34,000. The two men who found it unearthed three more in just over a week, including one weighing 72 kilograms.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“The lucky tuskers flashing a “cash” gesture. They likely earned around $100,000 in eight days.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“That kind of money in a region where the average salary is around $500 a month, doesn’t always buy a happy ending. This memorial is for two young tuskers who made more than $100k, partied hard, then allegedly returned up the river drunk. They flipped their boat and drowned.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“In the tuskers’ hometown, elusive “agents” pay cash for fresh tusks. These plastic-wrapped tusks are on a flight to the city of Yakutsk, en route to China. This haul was covered with a tarpaulin, when I looked under it the air stewardess yelled at me, then marched down the aisle and slapped my camera out of my hand right after I took this photo.”(Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“But it’s not just mammoths that the men uncover. This skull belongs to a bison which which once roamed Siberia’s plains.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“And this skull, helping to prop up a kettle, is from a woolly rhinoceros.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“Another rhino skull, feeling the sun on its snout for the first time in at least 11,000 years. The man who found it says that “when you find a skull, the horn is usually 15 or 20 meters away.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“This 2.4-kilogram rhino horn was sold to an agent for $14,000. It will probably end up in Vietnam, be ground into powder and marketed as medicine.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“The damp horn squelches like driftwood and smells like a dirty dog. The “cancer curing” rhino horn will be worth more than its weight in gold once it reaches Vietnam.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“But for most tuskers, a whole summer of labour in the gluey mud will end up losing them money.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“As the pumps roar through tons of gasoline, most brigades will only turn up worthless bones like these. Dr. Valery Platnikov, a paleontologist familiar with this tusking site, estimates “only around 20-30 percent [of tuskers] will make a profit. It’s very sad… A lot of these guys have taken out bank loans to pay for these expeditions.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“To keep his expedition cheap, this young tusker converted the engine from a Soviet-era Buran snowmobile into a water pump.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“When the Siberian winter kicks in, the engine will be returned to the town and refitted into its snowmobile.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“The life: Most men here will spend the entire summer away from home and family.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“In the gloom of their tents, the tuskers chill with card games or share a phone to watch short viral videos or porn.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“This tusker penned letters to his wife that he passed on to other men headed back to the town, this is a letter from his wife – the first news he’d had from her in a week.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“This joint of reindeer is a rare treat. Most meals are canned beef and noodles. Two of the tuskers told me they eat dog “when we have to… The flavour is like bacon.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“Mosquitoes are a near constant plague. Only the coldest mornings offer an hour or two of relief.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“On warm days, some of the men wear clothes more suited to beekeeping than hard labour.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“And when the alcohol comes out, all hell breaks loose. Returning from a resupply run to town, these tuskers have made it halfway back to camp staggering drunk. But soon after this picture was taken their trip went off the rails.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“Near the spot where the 2015 drowning took place, these tuskers crashed their boat at speed. A 3 a.m. rescue mission found them passed out in a boat full of waterlogged equipment.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“And the drinking continued the next day. Basically whenever booze arrived in the camp it would be drunk until it was gone, then after one day of sleeping it off the men would get back to work.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“The damage: Ravaged landscape is the obvious result of the tusk hunters’ methods, but the impact on Yakutia’s waterways is taking a heavy toll. The runoff from the tuskers’ hoses runs back into the river, filling it with silt. The fish from the river near our tusking site were gone – the men no longer even bother to take fishing rods.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“One tusker told me, “I know it’s bad, but what can I do? No work, lots of kids.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

“But the number of tuskers in the Yakutia region is increasing every year, and as more stories of instant, spectacular wealth filter back to the towns, that trend is likely to continue.” (Image credits: Amos Chapple)

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Source: http://allofbeer.com/photographer-joins-illegal-mammoth-tusk-hunt-in-siberia-captures-how-they-get-rich-get-drunk-and-nearly-die/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2019/01/13/photographer-joins-illegal-mammoth-tusk-hunt-in-siberia-captures-how-they-get-rich-get-drunk-and-nearly-die/