#smile make over Aberdeen

[alisondentaldesign]

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01224781776 

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Dentist Portlethen - Dentist Near Me - NHS Dentist Aberdeen (portlethendentalcare.co.uk) 

4 cookston road, 

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AB124PT 

[moody-alcoholic]

The Letter

My brain woke up and chose violence this morning.

----

A week after Johnny’s death Price gave him the letter.

The letter that remained unopened on his bedside table for another week.

Now it was time. Price had received Johnny’s ashes.

The plan was to go up to Scotland, a place just north of Aberdeen. There’s this pub Johnny always talked about, the plan was to have a celebration drink there after Makarov. Now it was to raise a glass to a fallen brother.

He looks out over the balcony, the sun is low in the sky, the cigarette between his fingers is almost done and the letter still sits there unopened. He promised himself after the first one he would open it, he lit his second cigarette before he could stop himself.

The words look back at him ‘Simon Riley’ it’s Johnny's handwriting, he could tell that from a mile away. There’s a part of him that never wants to open it, what if it says something that changes his opinion of him? Or worse, makes him miss him more.

Simon’s not a coward, Ghost’s not a coward, there’s something about this letter that makes him want to run though. Leave it sealed forever and push it to the recesses of his mind with the rest of the memories of Johnny.

Because Johnny’s gone and he will never see him again.

He picks the envelope up, turning it over, he reaches out for the knife he bought with him but now it seems too impersonal. Christ, it’s just a letter. It’s Johnny’s letter though, the last contact he’s ever going to have with him. He puts the knife back down using his thumb to break the seal instead.

When he unfolds the paper, it's not a letter, it’s a drawing, pencil and charcoal. Of Simon, asleep, head slumped back, arms crossed. Just the upper half of his body, he can tell by the details on the straps, they’re on a plane or maybe a helo. The detail is amazing, all the way down to the lashes on his closed eyes.

There in the bottom right where the pencil lines fade away; love Johnny.

Simon runs his fingers over the signature. That’s it, a picture of him, Johnny was always scribbling whenever they had down time. Simon remembers the countless times he’d look over Johnny’s shoulders to see what he was working on.

The times he would watch him in meetings, his tongue pressed into the corner of his mouth, his hand running over pages in his notebook.

He stubs the rest of his cigarette out and looks out over Manchester, the sun is almost completely set. The light from inside his flat shines on the picture, he can see more details now, little things like the shading on his mask, the details on his hands.

Johnny would have been an amazing artist. He can’t be anything now.

A breeze hits Simon making goosebumps rise on his arms. He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

He jolts awake in bed, his body covered in a thick layer of sweat, his heart racing. He looks over at his watch, squinting he can just about make out the time; 3:45. He turns to look at the other side of the bed.

Johnny’s sleeping his arm over Simon’s chest snoring softly. His face squished into the pillow. Simon lets out a long breath, just a dream.

They’ve been getting worse of late, he doesn’t know why, right now he doesn’t care, Johnny's alive and well. Simon can’t help himself. He rolls over in the bed wrapping his arms around Johnny pulling him up on his chest.

Johnny lets out a groan before his eyes open slightly and he looks up at Simon. The moonlight shining in the windows reflects off his eyes, they glisten blue in the dark room, it makes Simon smile.

“What’s up?” Johnny asks, his voice low, filled with sleep. He presses his lips to Johnny’s forehead.

“That pub you always talked about, the one in Scotland. Can we go there?” He says, doing his best to keep his voice level.

“‘Cause, after Makarov.” Johnny says, yawning. He scoots up closer to Simon, running his fingers over his chest.

“Before.”

“Okay, sure.” Johnny says, letting out a long breath. “Now let me sleep.”

Simon smiles, kissing the top of Johnny's head. He looks over to the bedside table, he can see the picture Johnny gave him just a couple of days ago. He had it pinned to the lampshade. The same one from his dream, the same signature; Love johnny.

[the-wales-5]

"Mother's Day: then and now"

27th March 2025.

“Any plans for a Mother's Day post?” a member of Kensington Palace staff asked as soon as the car left Aberdeen. William's mind was flooded with bad memories from 2024.

It was the most “brutal” year in his life. Not only because of his wife’s cancer, but also the attacks she had faced. Hashtags such as “#WhereIsKate” were trending all over social media, people were theorising about all sorts of things, including a murder committed by William. It had not fazed him, rather it made him wish he could sue all haters.

“It depends on Catherine’s decision. I’d rather not post anything but it is up to her. We'll let you know a few days in advance” William hid a sigh as he remembered the circumstances.

~~ 2024 ~~

“Are you sure you want to post something?” Catherine’s husband asked her

“People deserve to see our children. I feel well enough today. Will you take that picture?”

“Yes, but are you sure it's a good idea? I am not a pro in photography. Remember that one lockdown video of our children?” He chuckled

“No need to worry. There's always a way to fix it” Kate smiled a little

Ignoring the side effects of the first chemotherapy course had been hard. Though now all that mattered was this moment: her children next to her, and husband behind the camera trying to make everyone laugh.

When the picture was taken, Catherine approached her husband “Shall we go for a walk? I think it would make me feel better”.

Soon, she breathed in relief as walking through the garden. Spring always seemed like a new beginning to her and she hoped it would be no different this time around.

At first, lots of people were thrilled to see that photo, fans relieved and happy to see The Princess looking so well. However, in a matter of just a few hours, Reuters and other press agencies would describe that picture as ‘manipulated’.

“I notice that these adjustments are actually visible. How could I be so clueless?” Catherine murmured.

She'd been sitting in a dark room for the past two hours, not allowing anyone to talk to her. In her mind, these circumstances were to help her to regain her mental and physical strength, but it quickly became all the more crushing instead.

Her husband slowly entered, without knocking as he assumed she'd be lost in thoughts anyway. “Babykins.. Your favourite pasta is ready” he said softly “You must eat”.

Her eyes fixated on the empty Word document on the laptop screen “All I must do is ease the confusion and the theories”.

Her head was spinning and vision became a blur for a second. She couldn't tell if it was a remaining side effect of chemo or her anxiety controlling her. Perhaps both – making her feel completely overwhelmed.

“I am so sorry for creating this mess with that picture..” William said, closing his eyes “I will stay away from your camera from now on”

He remembered his wife's excitement. Now, his heart was breaking to see her in such a vulnerable state.

“It's not--.. It's not your fault” she whispered in a broken voice, looking through the window at the night sky “It was my wish and my assumption it would be better to post that version”. Her hands were trembling as she continued, her voice slightly louder “I should've known the unedited one would be more realistic! It was my delusion! What if I am delusional about my recovery as well? What if I die despite all that treatment?!”

Catherine could feel her husband's arms around herself and heard him say “You have to eat and then rest, okay?”

“I can't” Catherine whispered

In fact, she longed to just fall asleep next to him, forget about all the problems for a few hours, but it was her determination to fix a ‘mistake’ that prevailed, and she sat in front of her laptop.

~~

A statement had been published on the following day. Catherine admitted she's often experimenting with editing pictures. It had the exact opposite effect, causing all the more horrifying tweets, even memes.

Later on, the Princess released a video statement about cancer diagnosis. The majority of people sent words of support, but a specific group remained hateful or skeptical.

~ 2025 ~

“Papa.. Is everything alright?” asked George when his siblings and he were coming back home from Lambrook school on Thursday, right before Mother's day weekend.

“I was just a little bit distracted now, sorry” William replied with full honesty

“Are you worried about mum?” Charlotte asked; Anxiety over her mother's condition was still visible in her eyes.

“No, Mignonette. Don't worry. I was thinking about work” he replied “Did you take some new pictures with mummy recently? Perhaps while I've been to Estonia?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Out of curiosity”

“Can we take Orla for a walk before doing our homework today?” George asked then, changing the topic

“Sure, we can go for a family afternoon walk”.

~

Kate lovingly smiled upon seeing her family. “Lunch is almost ready” she said

Louis said “Papa agreed to our idea of a

family walk instead of doing homework later”

“What?” Catherine narrowed her eyes, directing her attention to her husband

“Loubugs, I didn't mention avoiding your homework, did I?” William giggled

“Well.. You know how much I love being in nature, yes? I could never say no” Catherine said and shrugged with a smile across her face “But homework would be mandatory for later anyway” she added

“Yaay!” Louis screamed happily before running out of the house with Orla.

“He'll never change” George chuckled a little. The family visited the lake where Orla obviously wanted to swim for the majority of the time. On the way back, instead of scolding, Catherine decided to cherish that moment, cuddling her and saying “Who's the cutest doggo?”. Cocker Spaniel woofed happily before sitting down on the grass for a second. That was when her ‘mum’ had taken a photo.

“... Although I do not think they'll win” William was lost in a conversation about Aston Villa with his sons and daughter.

They had just finished playing, so the excitement for upcoming games returned.

Catherine approached, clearing throat “Sorry to interrupt this very important discussion, but I've got a question. Shall we send it to a communication team? Orla deserves her own post someday. National Pet Day perhaps?”

“Yes, definitely!” Charlotte replied happily

William put his arm around her “Yes, why not?

I was just about to ask, Kate.. What about a Mother's day post this year?”

“We'll think about it” Catherine said quickly, then smiled at her dog again.

Yet on the same day, she told her husband “Mother Earth will officially be celebrated on March 30, not me”.

~~~

Charlotte, George and Louis brought beautiful cards for their mum in the early morning of March 30. As she hugged them and had the happiest smile on her face, William knew that his wife’s decision not to post anything private was the right one. Seeing her happiness with their three children and Orla mattered more to him than any positive comments they might receive on social media later in the day.

~ The end ~

[blossomarlia]

Black Firs | Chapter Two

Joel Miller x fem!reader

[series masterlist]

Synopsis: You and Joel follow a lead to a town a couple of hours from home.

Chapter content warnings: murder case and all involved, use of 'kid' and 'darlin'', mentions of dug use and dependency

word count: 6.9k

Once the chief has looked over the hastily-written paperwork, raising her eyebrows at the first paragraphs of your transcription, she folds the notebook closed and looks at you across the desk. 

“If I send you to Aberdeen with Miller, will I have two more murder cases on my hands?”

“Not if you tell him not to be a dick.” She gives you a look. Unfortunately, you both respect and like Servopoulos too much to leave it at that. “No, chief.”

“Good. We’ve found out which hotel the girl’s been staying at in town- you’ll both need to take the other, cheaper option. Can’t spook her.”

You shrug. “I’ve stayed in shitty motels before.”

“We don’t need much background from Hui, but she was the only one sober and outside of the friendship circle; it’s important we get all we can on the night Samuels died..”

“Do you suspect someone in the group?” “Not really, but we can’t rule it out.” Tess reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “Miller showed me your theory about Brodie Hill, and the two in Montana. It’s good that you picked up on it- but don’t jump to conclusions.”

“I know.”

“I know you know. I’m reminding you- don’t get carried away with a theory, or you’ll start trying to make the pieces fit into the shape you’re looking for.”

You pick at the hem of your shirt, nodding reluctantly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. I gotta go smoke, you gotta get on the road. I’ll see you tomorrow night for the follow-up on Hui.”

“You got it, boss.” 

Your partner eyes the pillow you’ve tucked under one arm with unveiled disdain. “Are you aware that most motels provide bedding?” You smile sarcastically. “Yes, Miller, I am. This is for sleeping in the car.”

“What, suddenly you can’t drive?”

“You’re just so good at it,” You head around to put your overnight bag in the back, whistling when you see the bottle of whiskey your partner has in his own. “Big night planned?” “Shut up and get in,” He says gruffly. “I’ll need that shit to deal with you.”

“Don’t be so sure. You’ll have the dulcet tones of Pearl Jam to help out,” You say happily, sure you’re about to be told to put that goddamn casette back in your bag where it belongs. When Miller is mysteriously silent. You frown. “What, no arguments?”

He grunts. “Just don’t start singin’ along.”

“I won’t if you don’t,” You assure him, “But I can’t make any promises when I put on the Smashing Pumpkins’ stuff.”

He exhales as if relieved to complain about something, glaring at you over the top of the car. “You’re not playing that shit while I drive.”

“Please tell me you’re not one of those people who think they’re a Pearl Jam ripoff.”

He scoffs. “Don’t just think it.”

Inside, the car’s already warmed up- you’re glad Miller decided to put the heaters on before making you freeze to death, this time. He gets in, still scowling, and you smile.

“You know you don’t have to choose, right? You’re allowed to like both- they’re good bands.”

“Believe me,” He says, as condescendingly as is possible, “You’re wrong.”

He’s clearly getting more annoyed at your laughter, but it’s hard to help it. You’d previously assumed Miller switched off like a computer whenever he isn’t at work; the idea of your lieutenant sitting down and listening to the same bands as you- having human opinions about said bands- is ridiculous. “I guess we’ll find out. The drive’s almost three hours, right? Plenty of time to get through both albums.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Miller, it’s educational!” “No.”

“If you just open-”

“Put on the Pearl Jam cassette before I throw both out the damn window,” He demands grumpily. You oblige, propping up your pillow in the passenger seat and turning up the volume. 

Twenty minutes in, you’re no more sleepy than you were, and keenly aware that Joel Miller is not only not complaining about the music, he’s actually enjoying it. His left hand taps a steady rhythm on the steering wheel, his right holding a coffee cup steady on his lap. A part of you is disappointed; annoying your lieutenant can be the fun, and you’d packed a few cassettes as an insurance policy in case your stellar conversation skills dried up. Another part of you feels strangely pleased with yourself. The last part is close to ovulation, so you ignore whatever it’s telling you entirely about his hands and forearms and smell and-

Pull it together. You pinch your own arm until Miller catches you doing it and gives you a judgemental look. “The hell’re you doing?”

“Nothing.”

The winding highway starts feeling like a maze, all fenced in by towering firs. You stare into the forest, trying to find gaps between trees, but the wood and green needles go on forever until they turn to black shadows. It’s somehow both comforting and terrifying; there’s so much that could happen, that does happen, which you cannot know about. Your entire career is dedicated to the pursuit of finding out, of answering questions, but the woods provide too many for you to think about. Whoever killed Lou Samuels could be out there. You’d never know.

Abruptly, the music doesn’t feel like enough of a distraction. You stare at Miller until he notices and becomes irritated by it. “What now?”

“What’s Ellie doing tonight?”

“She’s stayin’ with my brother for a few days.”

Tommy Miller has only come to visit your town once since you moved, but you remember how often he smiled and laughed, and how many times you wondered whether he and his older brother were truly related or it was some big prank. They look similar enough, and share an accent, but otherwise it’s as if they’ve lived completely different lives. You know from eavesdropping on Miller and the chief’s conversations that Tommy’s got a kid on the way- he’ll be a good dad, you think. To his brother’s credit, they’d have at least that in common.

“In Wyoming, right?”

“When did I tell you that?”

You raise both hands defensively. “He stole one of the donuts Detective Burrel brought in, I did some investigating, sue me.”

Miller is unconvinced. “You’re real fuckin’ nosy, you know that?” “Hence my career,” You retort lightly. “Is she taking a greyhound, or something?”

He frowns at you like you’ve accused him of putting her in a cardboard box and posting it without a ‘FRAGILE’ label. “Tommy had business in Seattle, he came down a few days ago. They’ll fly back up together.”

“Nice. What does he do in Wyoming?” “Don’t pretend you didn’t find out snoopin’ around in our family business.”

“Just making conversation. Construction, right?”

Miller nods, as pleased as always to be continuing a conversation with you (not at all). “He and his wife have a place up there, run a company that does a lot of ski chalets, all that.”

“You used to help run it too. Why’d you leave?” He frowns across at you, “Jesus, girl, how much did you look into this?”

“...A little. In my defence, I was bored and I did it to all the people on the force. You’re not alone.”

“That ain’t quite as comforting as you think it is,” He grumbles. A new song starts, and he turns up the radio for a few seconds before turning it down again. “I quit the business because I needed to look after my- myself, and it hadn’t taken off yet. We were still based out of Texas, weren’t gettin’ consistent work, I knew signin’ up for the force would pay the bills.”

“Why this town, though? It’s not exactly close by.”

“I knew Tess from a while back, she reached out. Wasn’t a hard decision. I had nothin’ keeping me in Texas once Tommy got the resort opportunity out west.”

“Do you regret quitting, now that he’s going so well?” You worry Miller’s going to think you’re judging1 him, but there’s no defensiveness when he shakes his head. “Don’t regret givin’ Ellie a place she can depend on staying, friends she likes. She hasn’t had enough of that.”

“You know, I wouldn’t have picked you as the type to adopt a kid. You don’t really seem to like a lot of people.”

“Ain’t strictly true. Just don’t like you.”

“Aw,” You coo. He grimaces. “Okay; What made you decide to do the whole foster care thing?”

“Ellie.”

That’s more human tenderness than you want Miller to be capable of. “Be a little more vague, please?”

“Is this a damn interview? Enough questions about me,” Miller grouches. 

“It’s called a conver-”

“Why’d you move to town?”

Surprised, you shift to face him, arms crossed. “Look who’s taking an interest.”

“Don’t start.”

You sigh. “Some shit happened in my hometown and I had to get away, start fresh. I asked for a transfer anywhere and Servopoulos was the only person who wanted to take me on, and… here I am, free to be a pain in your ass until retirement.”

“Didn’t want a big city job?” “I like… knowing people, communities. I don’t work as effectively if it isn’t personal.” You listen to the music for a beat, chewing on your lower lip. “Guess I haven’t done that well at knowing anyone yet. Kind of awful at it, actually.”

Miller furrows his brow. “You’re doin’ fine.”

“I don’t know anyone- or, hardly anyone, aside from Edna and your kid. I…” You trail off, conscious that your lieutenant probably has very limited interest in a pity party. “I’ll make more of an effort as soon as this case is closed. You can hold me to it.”

He breathes deeply, rubbing his temples with one hand while the other remains steady on the wheel. “I ain’t the right person for that, darlin’. I’m-”

You both seem to realise what he’s said at the same time. The car becomes a lot less comfortable, very quickly, and you clear your throat. “Uh- right, yeah, guess not.”

The quiet weighs down the space like it’s been filled with wet sand. Fuck, why couldn’t you have made a joke, called it out when he said it? You’ve always been just fine making him feel awkward; when it’s mutual, you realise, it’s intolerable. 

The album finishes and you fumble with it for a moment, swearing under your breath at the million buttons on the dash. Miller swats your hand away and manages to eject it immediately.

“Thanks.”

He nods once, determinedly refusing to look your way. You consider getting out the Smashing Pumpkins cassette, but you’re sort of worried he’s going to drive the car into a tree if you do. You settle for staring out the window; it’s only the early evening and already it’s getting dark outside. Under the bright headlights, the road is slick with rain and the yellow lines turn to ribbons, curving and breaking. You flip up the collar of your jacket and bring your knees to your chest, shivering at the thought of the night air and not even a little bit at the memory of how he sounded saying darlin’ in his honeyed accent.

“I could go for a donut,” You say in a (failed) attempt at being casual. To his credit, Miller takes the bait as he usually would.

“Goddamn stereotype,” He mutters. 

You shrug. “Not my fault it’s accurate. If you see somewhere, can we pull over?” “You see any donut shops in the fuckin’ forest?”

“Hence my use of the conditonal tense, genius.”

He tuts, rolling his eyes. “No, I cannot pull over. We need to get to the motel before it’s too late to book a room, and this rain,” He leans forward as if the sky will offer him a timer on the storm, “Isn’t makin’ it easier. Have to drive a lot slower than usual.”

“As if you’re usually a speed machine. My grandmother could beat you in a drag race, and she’s been dead fourteen years.”

Miller doesn’t like that joke very much. “No donuts.”

By the time you finally arrive at the motel in Aberdeen, only half due to your own subpar navigational skills, it’s eleven o’clock and neither you nor Miller are in the mood to talk at all. The teenager sitting behind the front desk is mercifully uninterested in hearing why two rain-soaked cops have shown up so late at night.

“We only have one room available,” He informs you, without a trace of sympathy. You stare at him like he’s going to burst out laughing and admit it’s a prank- no dice. “The place doesn’t look that busy,” Miller protests, “Surely you can spare-”

“One. Room. Available.” The teenager emphasizes. “We had someone file a complaint about bed bugs? Not true, by the way. Anyway, we had to deep clean one side of the motel, so we have three rooms, total, and two are booked out for the next-” He checks the clock above the door- “Two hours and fifteen minutes.”

Somehow, your lack of desire to use rooms that have just been rented by the hour outweighs your desire to see the back of Miller, though it’s a close bet. “Is it two beds, at least?”

“Yeah. King singles, too, so you can stretch out. We only offer five star service here at-”

“Great.” You force a smile, holding out your hand for the keys. “We’ll take it.”

The room you’re shown to is damp, smells vaguely of mold, and has a large yellow stain on one corner of the ceiling. You dump your bag on the bed furthest from the door- if anyone’s going to deal with a criminal breaking and entering, it’s going to be the guy who refused to stop at the 24-hour-diner you passed twenty minutes ago. Never have you missed Edna’s so much.

“Idyllic,” You comment. He grunts and turns on the radiator.

“Maybe we would’ve got a different room if we’d arrived when we were supposed to.”

“As if either of the other rooms would be better than this. Let’s just hope Springs McGee next door stops being so enthusiastic before midnight.” You grimace, trying to tune out the sounds coming from the neighbouring room. “I’m starving, I’m gonna go look for a vending machine. You want anything?”

Miller makes a face. “You’re goin’ out there right now?” 

He’s only on edge because it’s storming so hard and he thinks he saw a group of people hanging around the edge of the parking lot. He must’ve checked he locked the car about four times. 

“I didn’t see any food in your bag alongside that whiskey bottle- which is where, by the way? I’m thirsty, too.”

“You’re not drinking my whiskey.”

“Not right now, but I could be if you want to show how much you appreciate me coming along on this trip?” You smile as widely as you can. “I don’t appreciate you comin’ along.” “Okay, lone wolf,” You scoff. “Whatever, I’m gonna buy a soda.”

He holds out a hand, and you pause. “I’ll go.”

“What? I can-”

“I’ll go. You got a problem with that?”

You shrug. “Fine. Have fun.”

Miller refuses the change you give him, so you stuff a few dollar bills in his bag and go about getting ready for bed. Sitting in a car, especially when it’s largely in tense silence related to your coworker and almost-enemy calling you nice things, is surprisingly exhausting. 

In the tiny bathroom, you wipe off whatever makeup didn’t disappear in the fog and rain, smoothing moisturiser onto your skin in small circles. It’s not unusual for you to fall asleep on the couch at home, poring over old and new case files, but you like pampering yourself when you have the chance. And the cold dries you out; it feels like a luxury to massage sweet-smelling lotion into your hands. 

Your pyjamas present a new issue. Having anticipated a private room, you’ve packed your rattiest sweatpants and tank top. You’re well aware that there’s no reason you should want to look good in front of Miller, and yet… you wish you’d picked something a little nicer. A matching set you don’t own, something that says I’ve got my shit together. 

You sit in front of the radiator with some case files on Brodie Hill, stuff you’re definitely not supposed to have. You keep thinking back to what the chief said about making theories fit, but is that really what you’re doing? Surely it’s unique enough to matter- rope being left on the neck of the victim. And your town is small, smaller than it’d need to be to become a coincidence. 

Your reading is interrupted by Miller’s return. He throws a Diet Coke and two packets of chips into your lap. “What, they didn’t have regular?” He sits on the edge of his bed. “You like diet better. Are those the files on Brodie Hill?”

“Yeah, and I’ve already imagined your lecture about it so you can let it go. Weren’t you gonna get something to drink?”

He gives you a blank look. “No.”

“Then why’d you even go?” You spin where you sit, frowning up at him. “I was fine to do it.”

“So was I.”

“But you didn’t get anything.”

“So what?”

“So, why’d you even-”

“It’s been a long day. Can you give it a rest for five goddamn minutes?” He snaps. 

You glower, moving to your own bed and opening the chips as noisily as you can. He’s the one not making any fucking sense, and now you’re being treated like the asshole? You crunch on some chips while he gets changed in the bathroom and wonder whether he’d know it was you if you put crumbs in his bed. Given that he’s trained as a detective, your conclusion is an unfortunate affirmative.

Another unfortunate development? Joel Miller in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Shit. You take one look at him and huff, rolling over. 

“What?” He demands gruffly. 

You search for a reason to avoid looking in his direction that doesn’t sound like it’s not fair for you to look good and be the most annoying person I’ve ever met. “You’d make a terrible roommate. Want to spent a little longer in the bathroom, Miller?”

“I was five minutes.”

“Oh, now you’re in the mood to argue?”

He pauses for a moment. You imagine the way he folds and unfolds his hands into fists when he’s really annoyed. “Just- get some rest.”

“Trying to, if you’d shut up.”

“Hey.” Miller says your name like he’s trying not to lose it.

You roll over just to frown at him. “I stand by that. Honestly, Miller, you’re too talkative.” He matches your expression tenfold, and you sense that he is maybe even less interested in this than you are. You sigh and turn onto your back again. “Sorry. I’m being a dick. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, you and me both, kid.” You can feel his eyes on you like weights. “You have an alarm?”

“Shit. I knew I forgot something.”

“S’fine.” He holds up both hands when you sit up. “I’ll wake you.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

He nods. You pretend not to look at him until he turns off the lights.

You don’t sleep well, and neither does Miller, so around five a.m. the two of you give up on rest entirely and go to get coffee. The rain is so thick you can hardly see twenty feet ahead of the car. Luckily, your lieutenant’s navigational skills far surpass your own, and you’re pulling into the diner parking lot within minutes. 

“What do you want?”

“Um, probably something off the menu I haven’t seen yet?” You rub your face, far too mindful that your lack of both sleep and makeup have turned you into a complete mess. “I’m not staying in the car.’

“It’s raining pretty hard.”

“Please don’t let this be a Wizard of Oz joke.”

“It’s not a joke. I…” He shakes his head, swearing under his breath. “Fine. Come with me, get soaked to the skin, the hell do I care?”

“What do you care? What’s your deal?”

He pulls on his gloves. “No deal, kid, was just tryin’ to do the polite thing and- you know what? Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. Just get out of the car.”

You try your best not to find his sudden mood swing amusing, but he’s so fucking grumpy. It’s like dealing with a teenager. You tell him as much, and he shows how funny he finds that by slamming the car door on his way out. 

The diner’s mostly empty, except for a couple of lone truckers and a young woman sitting at the bar. You follow Miller inside, making sure to kick the backs of his boots as you go. 

“Get us a booth, I’ll grab menus,” You say, exceptionally politely, when he rounds on you. He takes it the wrong way anyway.

“Remind me which one of us is the lead on this case?” “Remind me why that matters right now?” Your impressions of his accent are definitely improving. “Off you go.”

Grumbling the whole way, he does as you’ve asked. A waitress comes around and pours coffee into your mugs, and just to spite him you go to pour salt in Miller’s- unfortunately, he chooses that moment to come back with menus in hand, and elects not to believe your story that you thought the salt shaker was just extra coffee flavouring. 

“Would I lie to you, lieutenant, of all people?”

He doesn’t bother responding to that question, shoving a menu in your face and sitting opposite you. “Get somethin’ filling, those chips from last night won’t get you through the day.”

“What are you getting?” “Don’t know yet.”

You drum your fingers on the tabletop. “Time is of the essence, Joel.”

“We on a first name basis now?” He frowns at you.

“What, was there something else you wanted to call me?” You cock your head, eyes wide. Miller looks sort of like he wishes he could punch you in the face. Satisfied, you drag a finger blindly down the menu and settle on a viable option. “I’m getting waffles with syrup and bacon.”

“Are you eight years old?” “Mhm. Total prodigy for my age.” You smile as the waitress takes your orders. Miller gets toast with butter, and you add two extra scoops of ice-cream to your waffles, ignoring his tutting. 

While you wait for the food, Miller drains his coffee and surveys the diner like an axe murderer is going to jump out at the two of you. Although yesterday’s conversation didn’t exactly end well, you dislike the silence and elect to try again. 

“What’s your favourite colour?” “Stupid question.” 

Oh, great. That went perfectly. “I don’t think it’s stupid. I once met a guy whose favourite colour was orange, and then he ended up in prison- happy coincidence, I guess.”

“Bet he didn’t think so.”

“Yeah, not really,” You prop your head on one hand. “Okay, so no dice on colour. Favourite song?” “You have an issue with peace and quiet, or something?”

“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”

He leans back, crossing his arms and glancing around for a second before he responds, “I like… Pearl Jam.”

“Yeah, we established that. Any songs in particular, or…?”

“No.”

“It’s incredible to me how bad you are at answering questions,” You muse. “Okay, whatever. No, I don’t enjoy quiet, especially from you because it usually means you’re being judgemental.”

“That’s not-”

“To be fair, you’re also judgemental when you’re talking. Has anyone ever told you to work on that?”

Joel narrows his eyes. “No.”

“Huh.” 

The food arrives- not as good as Edna’s, but still delicious after such a meagre dinner last night. For his part, Miller chews on his sad slices of toast and stares at your waffles, but he’s decided on a weird loyalty to his breakfast; offering him a bite of yours earns you nothing but a fierce glare and dogged refusal. Even attempting to put some waffle on his plate gets your fork slapped away like you’re trying to poison him.

You down a few more cups of coffee before you finally feel jittery enough to start the day, while your partner matches you drink for drink and seems no less moody. The truckers filter out of the diner, and the final other customer gets up to leave as well. You frown; you recognise her from a group photo attached to her file, the same uncertain smile on her face as she looks up. “Cheryl?” “Do I know you?” Her accent is a rounded English, far from what you’d anticipated. She’s got mascara smeared under both eyes.

You stand up. “No- I’m a detective. Lieutenant Miller and I need to speak to you about Lou Samuels.”

The remains of the smile drop. “What about him?” You hear Joel getting to his feet behind you, and she shrinks back as if spooked. He’s not a small guy, and whether you know him or not, he’s intimidating. Miller’s only truly soft features are his eyes, when you get close enough- something Cheryl currently isn’t.

“Would you take a seat, please?” He asks.

“Am I in trouble?” She asks in a small voice. Sending a glare over your shoulder, you shake your head and try to look as kind as possible. 

“Not at all, I promise. We’re sorry to ambush you like this, Cheryl- we just need a little information for a case.”

“Information on what?” Cheryl looks down, swiping self-consciously at her face. “I-I wasn’t mixed up with those boys, I was in town for less than two months.”

Her wording strikes you as odd, but this isn’t a conversation you can have in the doorway of a diner. You try to keep your expression as friendly as possible. “That’s completely fine. We won’t be long. Can I get you anything- coffee, a milkshake?”

“...A hot chocolate would be nice,” She says quietly. 

“Perfect.” You sigh, relieved. “My coworker- Joel- is gonna grab us two of those, and we’ll find somewhere comfortable to sit. Okay?”

You aim a smile at Miller, who does an okay job of pretending it doesn’t piss him off to be sent away. You’ve got an anxious and upset teenager to look after, and however he feels towards you, he’s not going to make it worse. You’ve seen him work with kids before. 

Cheryl hugs herself, dressed only in a thin sweater. Her hair looks unwashed, her skin slightly sweaty. Her hands shake. You recognise the symptoms of withdrawal within seconds. 

“Here,” You pour her a glass of water. “Are you cold?”

She shakes her head. Miller returns and you slide around the booth - the last thing this girl needs is to feel attacked  by two cops from one side. Cheryl sips the water, bloodshot eyes flickering between you and your partner.

“Cheryl, if you’re not feeling well, we can do this another time,” You say. 

“I feel okay,” She whispers. “I’m okay.”

You nudge the glass of water in her direction, and she takes another, longer gulp. “You can be okay and still need a little time before talking to two cops. My partner here isn’t exactly easy on the eyes, right? Takes some getting used to.”

Miller grunts, side-eyeing you, but it has the desired effect; Cheryl laughs, and you see her relax slightly. “He’s okay.”

“That’s very generous of you,” You grin. “Look, we can call you a cab if you’d like to get some sleep at your hotel, or we can order you some food. I noticed you didn’t have any empty plates over there- have you eaten since last night?”

She hesitates, like she’s expecting to be in trouble, then shakes her head. 

“Do you like waffles?” 

“...Yes, I like them. But you don’t need to buy any for me, I can-” She falls silent, picking at one of her sleeves. “I’m not very hungry.”

“Willing to bet you’d feel better with somethin’ in your stomach,” Miller says gently, more so than you expect. You glance up at him; he’s caught the symptoms too, it seems. “I’ll go get you some waffles, alright? They looked pretty damn good.”

“Okay. Thank you.” She waits for Joel to head off again, and sniffles. “I promise I don’t usually look like this.”

“You’re fine- nobody looks their best anytime before ten a.m.,” You pat her shoulder. “What’s happened? Rough night?” She eyes your badge, and you sigh. “I’m not here to get you in trouble, I’m just checking you’re okay. None of this is on the record.”

Cheryl hesitates, tucking her hair behind both ears. “I- uh, I took some stuff.” She looks up as if gauging whether you’ll put her in handcuffs. When you don’t move to, she continues, “I heard what happened to Lou before I left. It kinda messed me around, he- um. I guess I went a little too crazy last night- I go sick in my room and my hotel kicked me out.”

Miller arrives back at the booth with the hot chocolates, and Cheryl becomes wary again. You give him a warning look before saying, “Lieutenant Miller isn’t going to get you in trouble, Cheryl. He’s cool.”

While he clearly rejects the idea of being described as ‘cool’, Joel nods. “Like we said, you’re not in trouble. Whatever happened, we want to help.”

You place a gentle hand on Cheryl’s shoulder, keeping it there when she gives no sign of being uncomfortable. “Can I tell him what you told me?” When the girl nods, you summarise, “Cheryl’s been feeling pretty down since she found out about Lou. Last night things got out of control, and she’s been asked to leave her hotel.”

“That’s way nicer than the way I said it.” She attempts a smile. 

“Sounds like you’re havin’ a tough time,” Joel says, “Don’t blame you at all, kid.”

“You have any friends in town?”

Cheryl shakes her head immediately. “I thought I did, but- um, no.”

“How about somewhere else? Seattle?”

“I-” She swipes under her nose- “I have a cousin there, yeah. That’s where I’m supposed to be, I just- I stayed longer in your town than I thought I would, and I guess now I’m sort of stuck.”

Miller frowns, but not unkindly. “You ain’t stuck, just a little delayed. Look- my partner here needs to talk to you about Lou, but how ‘bout you give me that cousin’s number and I’ll work out how we can get you there today?” “Really? You don’t have to-”

“Really,” He says firmly. It’s sort of nice, how easily he slips back into a fatherly role even when it’s not his kid. You saw the same thing when Ellie’s friend Dina got her camera stolen- she walked into Joel’s office beside herself, and emerged laughing with an invitation to a movie night at their place. It’s as if Miller’s divided himself into different personas; father, lieutenant, brother… asshole, in your case. 

Cheryl has the number and name written out in no time, and he heads off to get things arranged. You drink your hot chocolate and sigh. 

“You guys are both so nice,” She says shyly. You smile- nice isn’t the first word that springs to mind when you think of either Joel Miller or yourself, but it’s enough that this girl thinks so. “I’m glad you found me. I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’m glad we found you too. You okay for me to record this? Just let me know if you want to talk about something off the record.”

“Okay.”

You nod, clicking the tape into place. “Okay. First off, how long were you working at the bar in town? Their records weren’t super organised.”

She thinks for a second. “I think it was seven weeks to the day. Yeah- I’m sure about that.”

“Great. How many customers would you usually have on a Wednesday night? Can’t have been that busy, right?”

She nods. “Yeah, not that many. It was usually just Max’s group and maybe a couple of other guys.”

“Max’s group? That’s Max Latimer?”

She hums the affirmative. You remember Max’s face from a few of the later photos of Lou and Jordan, the tallest of their group. He always stuck out as seeming the least awkward, the most happy to be photographed even as a middle schooler- blond, tanned, distinct from the other similar-looking boys. You must’ve seen him around town, though you can’t recall ever interacting. 

“You said you weren’t mixed up with the boys- what kind of stuff would getting ‘mixed up’ mean for that group?”

“Oh- I don’t really know. They just seemed different, kinda like outsiders in town,” She says. “Some people said they were weird, like, they all only ever spoke to each other. Intense, I mean.”

“And Lou was a part of the group, as far as you could see?”

“Yeah, he- um, he was usually the first one there, though.”

“Huh. Did he drink before they got there?” Cheryl nods again. 

You suck on your cheeks, thinking. “Did he come in much without his friends?”

“Sometimes the other staff talked about it, so… a little. But it was usually just Wednesdays,” She says. “He was nice.”

Sensing you’re reaching a breaking point of background information, you squeeze Cheryl’s shoulder again and look down. “Okay, you’re doing really well. Just a little more, okay?”

“Okay.”

“On the night of the sixteenth, did anything seem different? Any conflicts within the group, or with other customers?”

She stiffens. “No, nothing like that. It was all normal.”

“And Lou came in early?”

“Y- no, actually,” She furrows her brow. “Well, five minutes before everyone else. But he got there and went straight to their usual table, he didn’t come to the bar at all. He would- uh, he would usually talk to me a little.”

“What kind of stuff did he talk about?”

Cheryl shrugs. “Normal stuff. He was sad he never went to college or really left town, he wanted to hear about all the places I was heading.”

You picture Lou Samuels in his yearbook, the photo they used for the news segment on him. His parents- or lack thereof- couldn’t provide anything, so somebody from the school sent in the picture. He was only twenty-one when he was killed. You feel a sudden wave of sympathy for the young man, only a couple of years below you, who felt stuck in a small town so early in his life. It hadn’t been too late until it was. 

“Did he have something keeping him in town?” “Yeah. Or, I don’t really know, he didn’t want to talk about it. Her.”

You raise your eyebrows. “There was a girl?” By all reports, Lou Samuels had one girlfriend in junior year, Cat, who now shares a permanent residence with a close friend. 

“I think so. He was really shy about it.”

“Did he tell you anything we could use to find her?” You recognise the urgency in your own voice and take a deep breath. “Sorry. This could be important, Cheryl, so if there’s anything you can think of…”

“I really don’t have anything, I’m sorry,” She answers guiltily. “I- I never pushed the topic, all he ever said was that ‘she’ wanted him back home for the time being, that being away would be too difficult.”

“That’s okay,” You say, forcing a friendly smile onto your face. “You’re being really helpful. Do you know around what time Lou and his friends left?”

“Before midnight. I didn’t look at the clock.” She works her hands up into her hair, looking increasingly upset. “God, if I’d known… I would’ve taken notice of so much more.”

“You’ve noticed plenty, alright?”

“But if I’d just-”

“Cheryl.” She peeks out from behind her hands. You give her what you hope is an encouraging look. “It’s my job to find out this sort of thing, yeah? Not yours. You’re giving us really valuable information, you can’t possibly be expected to take notice of tiny details when people act the way they always do. Now, I think we’ve had enough of this interview- unless there’s anything else you want to add?”

She shakes her head, eyes wet. “Just that he was a really nice person. He didn’t have any enemies, he was always kind to me. He… he noticed, when I was struggling a bit to fit in with the other bar staff.”

“It sounds as if you two were good friends. I’m sorry you lost him, Cheryl.”

She sniffs, blinking quickly. “Thanks.”

You look up, finding Joel already watching from a few booths away. You inhale deeply, guiding Cheryl to her feet. “Looks like Lieutenant Miller’s organised things. I’m gonna give you my number and the number of the police department, you just call us if there’s anything else.”

“Okay. I’ll think about it, I’ll let you know if I come up with anything,” Cheryl hugs herself. You pull down her sweater where it’s ridden up at the back and pat her shoulder. 

“You don’t have to. If you want to not think about it, there’s nothing wrong with focusing on feeling better.”

You pass her off to Joel, who gives you a brief nod before leading Cheryl outside. He’s called her a taxi to collect her things from the hotel, and bought a ticket on a bus this afternoon that’ll take her to Seattle. Her cousin, having been sick with worry, is extremely on board with taking Cheryl in as long for as she’d like to stay.

“That was good- quick organisation, I mean,” You tell Joel on the winding drive back to the motel. “Lucky her cousin came through.”

“Took some convincin’,” He admits. 

“Did you use your scary voice?” He gives you a look. “I don’t have a ‘scary voice’.”

“You absolutely do- it even freaks me out sometimes. So did you?” “...Yes.”

You smirk. “Nice. D’you think she’ll be okay?”

“Her cousin seemed to think the kid was some kinda deviant, which she obviously isn’t.” 

You suppress a smile at how protective he’s immediately become of a girl he met half an hour ago, nodding along. 

“After I told her about the situation at hand, though, she came ‘round. Said she had a spare room and would help Cheryl find a job. You gave her a contact number for the station?”

“You know I did.”

“Mm. You-” He taps the steering wheel, jaw working- “You were good in there, by the way. Kept her calm enough.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Ew, don’t be nice to me. I’ll assume you’re an alien and shoot to kill.”

“Wasn’t bein’ nice. It’s the truth.”

“Whatever.” The window is cool against your skin, soothing. “Thanks. I felt sorry for her, she shouldn’t be wrapped up in this with the shit she’s clearly already working through.”

Joel hmphs his agreement. “You recognised her symptoms fast.”

“Thanks,” You repeat, more stiffly. If he’s not going to ask a question, you’re not in the mood to give an answer. “I had a hunch.”

“She give you anythin’ useful?” “Kind of, yeah,” You say. “It’s all on the tape. I’ll let you do the transcription this time.”

“Real charitable of you, darlin’. I’ll get it faxed to the chief before we head back.”

“Well, you know me.” You glance over at Miller- if he notices the name this time, he doesn’t comment, and you’re unwilling to break his suddenly reasonable mood. And you don’t mind, not really. “You want me to drive back? You can choose the music.”

“It’s fine, I’ll drive. Coffee’s on you.”

“I already owe you one anyway. How much was breakfast?”

He does a very bad job of acting like he doesn’t hear you. “I called Servopoulos while you were talkin’ to Cheryl, by the way.” “Yeah, she tell you about my promotion?” “Gettin’ moved up to full-time pain in my ass?”

You laugh. “Yeah, that one.”

“Not this time. She did say you’ve borrowed three cold case files from the archives and she needs them back by tonight.” You try not to shrink in your seat at the sternness in his tone. Scary voice. “Also, she’s heard back from the Montana departments.”

“And?”

“One of the cases could match up, but it ain’t certain. We know the object used for strangulation was left at the scene, but whether it was left on the victim’s neck is a separate issue.”

“It didn’t say on the case file?” You sit up impatiently.

“No.”

“Oh, helpful.”

Joel looks peeved. “Look, we didn’t have to follow up on your hunch. I’d say I’m mighty helpful, so you could start actin’-”

“Jesus, Miller, I don’t mean you. I was talking about the Montana department, I- I appreciate you guys following up on it. Seriously,” You hurry to correct him, suddenly and inexplicably worried about seeming ungrateful. “Can we find out more?” “Maybe. Might need to head over there ourselves, so it’d mean another road trip.”

“Mm. That’s okay,” You say. 

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows as if he’s surprised. You suppose you are a little, too; there’s no part of this trip you’d define as good, and yet somehow you’re less than eager to get back to the office. Maybe it’s just because you’re getting away from your daily routine; maybe it’s because you weren’t expecting to tolerate the lieutenant so well. More than tolerate him, even. 

“Yeah. You’re not so bad if you aren’t being as chatty as usual.”

That earns you a huff of a laugh, and you pretend the subsequent glow in your chest comes purely from the hardworking heaters in the car.

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[http-paprika]

There Was Something Here Once and it lingers in the air

small town au / call of duty x female reader / taglist open / wc 2030 / warnings light swearing / no use of y/n / ship not yet decided / no beta, my grammarly hates me

making a place for herself in aberdeen is not without its struggles, and not without more problems.

She tugged at her light cardigan, glancing over at the fan that sat in the corner of the diner and questioning why they even needed it with how cold it was outside. A blank document sits open on the screen of her laptop, a promise to try to write daily failing miserably as she spent her lunch break away from the small public library. The waitress walks up, refilling her cup of coffee again and glancing at the club sandwich that’d gone untouched before hurrying away to attend to the other patrons. Mostly loggers finishing a shift and grabbing a bite, all dressed in worn down workwear, a contrast to the suits and ties she used to see on her lunch breaks before. 

In the corner of the diner, the doorbell rings as a new customer walks in. She glances down at her keyboard again, willing her hands to move. Hadn’t she been dreaming, talking, and wanting to write this novel since she was a girl? How many years in the making had she been plotting it up through tedious university lectures just for the actual act to be daunting, intimidating her with the idea of failing. 

“Oh, hello again.” The steady voice of the tow truck driver lilts through her ears, she perks her head up to look at Johnny. He’s still in his blue coveralls, but there’s a new, noticeable oil stain on the front pocket. “Never seen you in here before, mind if I join ya?”

“No, yes. I’m sorry, I’m just all over the place today.” She sighs at the admittance as Johnny sits down across from her in the booth. He grins at the waitress when she brings by a menu, greeting him by name. In a small town like this, she was sure it wouldn’t be long before everyone knew her name, and she theirs. Though, names had never been a strong suite of hers. 

“Yeah? What are ya doing on there?” He asks, nodding to her laptop and her face burns in embarrassment. She did not like to talk about her writing, there was something so private about it that opening up was like if she were to be completely exposed in the diner. Mortifying. 

“Work.” 

“Work?” 

“Yeah.” She nods in seriousness, trying to convince him that’s what it is. But Johnny doesn’t look convinced, a grin on his face as he smiles. 

“That’s the same excuse I tell John when I’m sitting on my ass.” He winks at her and that burning from earlier reappears. “Don’t worry, I won’t keep asking. If it’s private, it’s private. But, I am curious, what does a librarian exactly do? It can’t all just be checking in and out books, can it?”

“Well, um,” She blinks, trying to collect herself and find the right answer for her lunch partner. “Stuff.” 

“Stuff?” 

She nods at Johnny, swallowing the realization of how pitiful she is in conversations. Always had been since she was a girl, it made her and her father alike. Much to the disappointment of her mother. 

“I’ll have to come visit soon then and see you do… stuff.” Johnny decides with a boldness in his voice. And when the waitress comes to take his order, she realizes that that’s the way Johnny is. Bold, proud, and bright like the sun. It’s a wonder he chose to stay in this town, should he have spread his wings out anywhere else, he would’ve been a star. 

“Okay.” She says, her voice sheepish and low. A glance at her watch causes panic to hitch as she realizes her lunch break is about to end and she needs to hurry back. “I’m sorry, I hate to be poor company but I have to go.” Fishing through her tote, she sets down enough money for her meal and coffee. She takes another swig of the caffeinated beverage before shoving her laptop back into the bag.

“Don’t worry about it, you do what you need to do.” He assures her with another warm smile, she nods back slowly before the panic hits again, the bell in the nearby church steeple ringing loudly to signal the changing of the hour. 

Out of the diner, across the little square that marks the downtown of Aberdeen, her loafers dig into the muddy grass. Her breath comes out into little huffs as she hurries back into the tiny public library. The door whines on its hinges from the force she applies to yanking it open. She winced in fear that it would fall right off, but it slams behind her causing her to jump out of her skin. Claire, her older coworker, sits at the circulation desk and quirks a brow up at her, the thin-rimmed glasses she always wore perched on her pointed face. There was a similarity to a crow that she couldn’t strike down, the way Claire was always watching from those beady, black eyes left her uneasy. 

“Sorry.” She mutters, bowing her head whilst walking behind the circulation desk to her tiny cubby. It wasn’t much smaller than the one she’d had before, one little plant dying in a plastic pot, the postcard Beau had sent her, and one of those cheese motivational cat posters that a coworker from her last job had given her when she left. There’d never been much to her name, she didn’t have much growing up and never felt the need to want more than she needed. So, besides the boxes of books waiting to be unpacked in her cottage, clutter wasn’t something she acquired. 

“Enjoy your lunch?” Claire asks, walking up to her desk with a box of books from a different library in the same system. It settles on her desk with a thud, and she can feel the heaviness in Claire’s gaze. Her punctuality when it came to time today was not the greatest, first with the car slowing her down and now this. 

“Yes, sorry I was running behind. Today’s just one of those days.” She sheepishly responds, hoping Claire could spare a sliver of sympathy towards her. Hasn't she ever run late before? 

“Mmm.” The elderly woman draws her mouth into a thin line, her hands resting on her bony hips. “Those are the interlibrary loans, they need to be sorted.” 

“Of course. I’ll get to those right away.” She nods, hoping the old crow would leave her alone. 

After giving her a dirty look for long enough, the door to the library opens again and Claire’s attention is quickly drawn away to greet the patron. Grumbling, she opened the box, sifting through the different books. A stack was quickly formed for one patron, and an appreciation formed for someone she didn’t even know. Whoever they were, she was certain that they were responsible for keeping the tiny library open. 

She glances up from the assortment of books, looking over at the circulation desk where Claire was helping a young mother check out various picture books. From the few days she’d worked, the conclusion had been drawn up that only the elderly or young mothers stepped foot inside the stuffy building. She’d yet to see anyone that fit the description of loggers and frowned, they were a key demographic in Aberdeen but couldn’t be bothered to read. Back in the city, she’d done so many outreach programs to try and engage with members of the community that weren’t represented in the library. Perhaps that needed to be done here. 

“Claire?” She asks gingerly, stepping up to the circulation desk once the patron has left. 

Claire glances up at her, carefully pulling off the wired glasses and cleaning them up. “Can I help you?” 

“Well, I was just curious about our patrons.” She wished Rosemary or Clint, the other two people who held positions at this branch, were there for her to speak with. But they were out doing god knows what, and the question continued to persist in her mind. A determination to fix a situation had always been one of the few things she stood out for. 

“What about our patrons?” Claire sets the glasses back on the bridge of her thin nose, evidently not interested in whatever tangent she was about to embark on. 

“Do the loggers not come in very often? I’ve only ever seen one or two.” She says, voicing her thoughts. “Should there not be something done to try and bring more of them in?” 

“That’s not for you to worry about.” The response is sharp, almost painful with how Claire says it. Like somehow she’d suggested a foolish idea, one that would’ve been better never said aloud. “That’s Clint’s job. Focus on your work.” 

Dejected, she nods and returns to her desk, trying hard not to look over at Claire again. The crow had only grown meaner with any interaction she tried to strike up. What she’d done to deserve the reaction was outside of her knowledge. After all, she was a competent enough librarian if nothing else. 

“Do you ever visit the library on your own?” She asks Johnny, sitting in the small office of the auto shop to finally speak with John about her car. A poor attempt to keep herself from worrying about the state of the vehicle, she needed a running one. 

A flush of embarrassment crosses Johnny’s face and thinking back to the conversation they’d briefly had in the diner, the answer is clear. “No, uh, not since I was younger. I’m usually not downtown, don’t even think about it and definitely don’t read as much as I should.” 

She nods, not passing judgment towards his words. It was understandable, so many people tended to neglect the library, not even considering the public service. 

“What would change that?” 

Chewing the inside of her cheek, she tilts her head to watch as he thinks. Johnny fumbles with his hands, trying to decide on an answer that isn’t seen as offensive. She’d asked the question to hundreds of different people in an attempt to connect with the community. No one ever seemed to be able to give her a satisfying answer for change. 

“Well, to put it simply, the car’s fucked.” John states, stepping into the office and running a hand over his mutton chop beard. A hard day of work is visible in his stance, he slouches against the desk as he takes the time to explain the issues the car had. In his words, he was supposed it had run as long as it had with all the underlying issues she’d failed to notice in her haste to pack up and move on. “Probably be cheaper to look at selling it for parts and buying a new, well, used one.” 

She slumps in her chair, trying hard not to bury her face in her hands. Cars were expensive, even used cars. Moving wasn’t cheap either, she’d already spent what little money her grandmother had left her to help with the house note. Where was she going to scrape together the money for any sort of running car? 

“Hey, it’ll be alright,” Johnny tries to console her, putting a hand on her back as she drops her head. “I’m sure something will come around, right John?” 

The older man doesn’t say anything, lost in thought as she mutters to herself over financial stress. Wasn’t moving to Aberdeen supposed to make her life easier? Small town living sounded so idyllic until reality sinks in, problems hit. At least in the city, she had access to buses, even if they weren’t the cleanest and meant waking up much earlier than she would’ve liked to get to work on time. Here, she was reliant on whatever goodwill the people of Aberdeen had. And she wasn’t expecting much more after the grace shown to her that morning. 

“Right, John?” Johnny asks again, looking at his boss with annoyance. 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” John continues to run his hand over his beard, clearly absent from the conversation at hand. His behavior causes her to finally sit back up and blink, confused as to what exactly was happening. “There might be someone I know who could help your situation.”

[rocknrolldisaster]

HII :) could I request something with Kurt where him and reader have a park date and after they just sit in the grass together?

No worries if you can't, and take your time!

-@airam1quhs :)

Hey sure 🙂🙂

~~~~~~~~~~

Cloud-watching

Trigger warnings: none really lol

7pm, Aberdeen, Washington. October 1986.

You were 18 and a high school dropout. You met your boyfriend, Kurt in the library. He was in a grade above you. You were friends, but when you left school you cut contact. It was only just recently at a local punk gig where you both met up again, and went from platonic to romantic. He often spends his time either at his job as a janitor at his old school, or at his home, creating songs with his guitar on his tape recorder for his band, Pen Cap Chew, or making some surreal art.

You both are taking a walk round the local park after having lunch at a diner, the skies cloudy, painted a dusky blue. Not really talking much, there’s nothing to really talk about.

You’re shivering in the cold breeze, regretting not bringing a jacket. Looking down at the old path. You feel a warm fabric on your shoulders, you turn your head to see Kurt putting his baggy denim jacket on you. It was cold on the outside but warm on the inside.

“here, thought you needed it..” -Kurt softly looks back at your face.

“thanks” -you reply, looking back forward, putting your arms in the jacket.

“why didn’t you wear a coat?” -He asks, putting his hands in his jean pockets, continuing to walk besides you.

“it was sunny a few hours ago. i didn’t think it would be this cold.” -you reply, feeling the warmth of his jacket.

“probably cause you’re used to that log fire at home.” -he scoffs.

“c’mon you love my house” -you softly laugh.

“nicer than mine” -he can’t help but laugh a bit too, his cute, boyish grin forming on his face.

“nah yours is just as good, your bedroom wallpaper’s bitchin’” -you look back at the ground.

“yeah, bitchin’” -he looks over at you, noticing you looking at the ground, he wraps his arm around your waist and gently pulls you right next to him as you walk, then looking away.

“why are you always so careful?” -you ask, looking at him.

“what do you mean?” -he looks back at you.

“you’re wayyy too gentle man.”

“easy. cause i don’t wanna hurt you, love.” -he looks back in front of him.

you can’t help but smile at the nickname. he hates those cheesy nicknames, but he really does love you.

“i know, but you’re always like…”

He looks back at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for you to continue.

“everytime you touch me it’s really light, like you’re trying to sew without prodding yourself with the needle.”

“nice describing. hum- yeah. i just don’t wanna hurt you..make you uncomfortable, that’s all.”- he nods.

You smile and nod back.

“awe”

“shut up” -he rolls his eyes with a small chuckle.

“Can we sit..? My legs hurt a bit” -you ask, gesturing to the grass next to a tree.

“of course you don’t need to ask..” -he nods and takes your cold hand, instantly warming it up while he guides you to the grass.

You rest the right side of your head on his shoulder.

“damn you’re cold..” -he adds.

“i know..why aren’t you?”

“i dunno…it’s a thing. i’m cold when it’s hot, and i’m hot when it’s cold.” -Kurt’s sharp blue eyes look up at the tall trees surrounding the gates of the park.

“vampire” -you mutter.

“shut upp” -he cracks out a chuckle and ruffles your hair. You could hear the smile in his voice.

“hey!” -you gently push his hands away, laughing.

“calm down dinosaur hands” -He continues laughing and takes your hand again.

“you quit that.” -you point at him, giggling.

“ahh..” -his laugh trails off with a sigh.

You both sit next to the tree. The grass is pretty cold too.

“you seem like one.. whenever I try to give you a call at three in the afternoon you never pick up..” -you continue.

“probably cause teenagers need a hell lot of sleep, y/n”

“Kurt you’re 19” -you giggle and look at him.

“huh, so what? i’m a late teenager, people like to say.” -Kurt grins at you, his blue eyes lightened up. You could look into them for hours.

“i’ll let you off” -you look up at the sky and see a cloud shaped almost like a gorilla.

“woah”

“what, love?” -Kurt tilts his head.

“look at the sky..” -you point at the clouds.

He looks up at the clouds.

“I don’t see the appeal.” -Kurt narrows his eyes before plopping down next to you, laying down on his back on the grass. You do the same.

“that one..right there.” -you point at the cloud which looks like a gorilla.

Kurt now can see it, and he sees the lopsided shape of it. He immediately bursts into laughter.

“what?” -you look over at him planting his face in his palms and rubbing his eyes.

“it looks more like a Mrs ‘Big Bellied’ Baker” -he giggles.

“pfff..” -you cover your mouth with your hand, laughing quietly under it as he laughs again.

“not her bro..she was nice”

“queen of handing out detentions to me” -he replies, taking his hands off his face and grinning again.

“why did she have the belly on her though? was she always pregnant or fat?” -you ask, serious for a moment.

He laughs again, harder this time at your seriousness.

“genuinely..” -you add, trying not to laugh again with a small grin slowly curling on your lips.

“her first name was Julie..I’d call her Jelly Belly Julie if I was still there..” -he admits with a short giggle.

“and yes, it was the fatness, maybe she ate too much Jelly Bellies she turned into one herself” -he adds, but laughs again, with you this time.

“oh god..you’re cruel..” -you shake your head as the laugh wears off.

“to be fair i might even make a drawing of that” -he looks at you.

“smart thinking.” -you respond, looking back at the clouds.

It’s pretty silent for a moment, apart from the chirping of birds on their way to their homes for the night, and the distant sound of cars driving past the park.

Kurt breaks the silence.

“hey look at that one..it kind of looks like a flower..” -he points at a cloud which ‘resembles a flower’

Your eyes dart to every cloud you could see, and you finally find where he’s pointing. It doesn’t even look like a flower.

“you doofus that doesn’t even-“ -you proceed to say, but he cuts you off by gently but firmly placing one hand over your mouth and one hand over your eyes.

“kuuurrtt what are you doing?” -your voice is muffled through his warm hand. You know he’s probably doing something funny.

He takes his hand off your eyes and mouth. When you look at him, he’s holding a few daisies in his hand, out to you.

“You didn’t need to..” -you shake your head, smiling at the flowers.

“I dunno, you deserve it, love..” -he scratches the back of his neck while the other hand it still offering you the hand-picked bouquet.

“C’mon, take em..”

You gently take the flowers and tuck one daisy behind your left ear.

“So pretty man..how did I find you..” -he mutters, gazing at you with his pupils dilated.

~~~~~~~~~~

[thesleepyfable]

could we get a lil scenario/fic of your Still Here AU where the crew reunite with their family members and how their family reacts to the crews infected bodies?

(its ok if not tho, not tryna force you! i just really like your Still Here AU :3)

I won't do everyone in a single ask, but I can do Gibbo!

'You have fifteen minutes. Stay behind the yellow line. And don't touch him.'

Those were the three simple instructions Irene Gibson was told when she approached the crumbling barn. A wave of anxiety ran over the elderly woman, and it hasn't left since she heard, and even then, it was limited. All she knew for the past 3 days was that there was an incident on Beria, and Gibbo had to be in isolation.

But why on St. Kilda, and not in Aberdeen?

The barn had spots of sunlight, thanks to the crumbling roof. Irene's eyesight might be failing, but she could make out the cage in the corner and yellow tape surrounding it by an inch. She didn't know how to feel. Her son was in there.

She moved as fast as she could and ignored her second instruction, as she put frail hands on the bars and looked inside.

'Gibby?'

Gibbo twitched at the sound of her voice. A part of him hoped she wouldn't come, or she wouldn't see him hiding in the shadows. But she did and let out a small gasp at the sight. He retracted further into himself, as if he was hoping the mass that was now his body would swallow him whole. But, he towered over her. There was no use hiding.

'Hey, mum.' His voice was weak. Shy. But, he had to say something. 'It- I...' Gibbo sighed and slowly moved closer to Irene, who was frozen in place trying to take in what she was seeing through her round glasses. 'I'm sorry. I don't want you to see me like this.' His voice became frantic, and tears began to swell and fall down his cheeks. 'I want to come home, I really do, but I don't know if I can and-'

Irene ignored the final instruction and placed a hand on her son's cheek. She wiped away his tears whilst he looked in surprise. She too began to cry for him, but she kept her signature small smile that could light up a room. Gibbo felt his body calm and his breathing slowed. He couldn't form a smile like his mum, but he was happy to see her. It showed in his eyes.

'My son. My boy.' Irene reached up and put her other hand on his face. 'I missed you.'

'I missed you too.'

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Rubkawat

Here are the results to this week's bestiaryposting -- still only a few people on board for this one, really hoping this is just because people are sick of Birds. As usual, if you are confused by what I'm talking about, you can find out about it at: https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting.

The entry our artists are working from is here:

Results below the cut, in roughly chronological order:

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) has again given us a realistic-looking creature drawn in an impressive naturalistic style. It is distinctly skinny as the entry suggests, with a pointy beak for its stabbing behavior. The explanation linked in the above post notes that this design takes inspiration from the kiwi and the bittern, which makes sense and I think works well here. Cute little bastard, too -- look at him. I think it can hiding in reeds very well. (This one is in reeds currently. Or grass at least.)

@sweetlyfez (link to post here) notes that the blood thing is almost certainly a Biblical allegory, but she likes the idea that it's just a reinterpretation of natural red coloration. I agree -- it definitely is an allegory, as the Aberdeen Bestiary makes clear in the "interpretation" section I usually leave out of these:

Thus after three days, it revives its young with its blood, as Christ saves us, whom he has redeemed with his own blood.

... but I think I much prefer it as a fanciful interpretation of a natural feather pattern. Also, check out those Stylized Plants. I know I'm kind of a broken record about this, but over the course of this project, one thing I have learned about myself is that I am unaccountably delighted by Stylized Plants every time. These are thematically appropriate for a bird said to live in Egypt -- they look like they would fit right in with ancient Egyptian depictions of papyrus reeds or lotus flowers. Apologies to anyone who is tired of me pointing out the Stylized Plants at every opportunity; it will happen again.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) is clearly having some fun with these, based on the tone of their (detailed and interesting) post about the design and artistic process, please go read that. (Also thank you for including alt text.) Apparently they were informed by @coolest-capybara that their Rubkawat chicks resemble Woodstock from Peanuts, and... you know what? I see it. What I particularly like here is the decision to fill the nest with a cartoonishly large amount of blood -- I just find it charming in a way I can't articulate. Just... just hose those chicks down, that'll fix them.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) never disappoints with her medieval stylization. I am delighted with the decision to make the Rubkawat a flamingo -- the linked post explains that this is inspired by flamingos having red crop milk, which is not something I know about because I am not a Bird Expert. I also really like the sequential-art style of the chicks at the bottom, so we can see them being resurrected by the blood. The one on the right makes me smile, because it looks very much like it's contemplating the blood on it and thinking, like, "...ew."

@pomrania (link to post here) is Tired of Birds, so they decided this one could be a dinosaur -- technically a bird, just not a modern one. I like it; dinosaurs are great. They've also taken the route of deciding the story about resurrecting chicks with blood is just a fanciful interpretation of red feathers, which I still like. (In the linked post, they explain their design decision and artistic process in detail, go look at it.) Also look at that little chick -- it's darling.

Pretty much everyone involved here said something along the lines of "I absolutely know what bird this is supposed to be because I've heard this myth before", which I suppose shouldn't be surprising. I don't know how widespread that particular bit of trivia is in the general population, but in the demographics of "people who follow this blog about medieval stuff" and/or "people who like playing with bestiary entries", I figure it's probably pretty well-known. So here's the Aberdeen Bestiary version:

Yes, this is the pelican.

The birds in the illumination don't particularly look like pelicans, though apparently one doesn't really find them in Western Europe, so I suppose that's to be expected. (Particularly since the entry doesn't describe their most identifiable physical feature, the beak / throat pouch arrangement.) The fact that pelicans are associated with Egypt and apparently don't really show up in most of Europe is surprising to me -- I grew up on the east coast of the U.S. and saw pelicans all the time, so I kind of just assumed they were common to other Atlantic coasts. But you know what they say about assuming.

Anyway, for anyone who didn't know about the story with the pelican and the blood, versions of this were pretty widespread in the medieval period. It was a sufficiently popular symbol that it found its way into heraldry -- the pelican in her piety is a heraldic device that shows the pelican wounding its own breast while standing over its young. (In some versions of the story, it feeds its young with the blood rather than using it to resurrect them.) Not only is it still present in surviving heraldry, but it also occasionally appears in more modern contexts, like the Louisiana state flag:

You can decide yourself whether this information changes your opinion on whether, as this post claims, a pelican mouth is a good place for a baby: (link to post).

That's about all the pelican material I have, but allow me to leave you with a song (which is itself part of an old Edward Lear poem set to music):

[thelittlepinkwitchblog]

THE SEAGULLS OF WATERDEEP - A ONESHOT

First off, hello I am not dead just inactive.

I don't usually post much of my writing but here I am, and I'll be 100% honest, this idea has been bouncing around my brain since i made that initial post I dont know when (idk how to link posts but its there somewhere), about the Seagulls of Aberdeen by Scottish comedy group Weegie Hink Ae That? With respect to the source of my setting (the person whose story has me in a vice grip), this one-shot takes place in sort of the “in-between-scenes” of a story like @galebrainrot2024 ‘s on-going series, a former school rivals to friends to more (?) Kind of story. Come into my mind scape, where Tav went to Blackstaff with Gale as kids, they were rivals, and for whatever reason Tav went on to multiclass as a Sorcerer-Bard in order to make a better living or fulfill a passion or whatever, I didn't really think about that until I'm literally writing this intro thing. I like my Tav being F personally but I wrote this as an genderless Tav so I hope everyone can enjoy ^_^

Setting - the party camps in a relatively safe area for the night, allowing everyone to relax a bit from the Ilithid problem, along with the array of personal quests to be fulfilled. Gale made a hearty stew and everyone decided that they should have a little bit of wine as a treat for their weeks of steady hard work. Karlach was the first companion found by Tav after the crash, and so she requested a song the bard had played before meeting the rest of the party. Takes place after the meeting with Elminster.

***

“Oh, oh, sing that funny one about the seagulls!” Karlach almost vibrated from excitement, the heat of her skin radiating more than the well tended campfire. Tav looked around, at the reactions of their companions. Halsin and Wyll both nodded at them encouragingly, Astarion shrugged nonchalantly. Gale had been quiet for days, as quiet as one could expect from him; ever since Elminster quelled the orb with Mystra's blessing, so that he could, well, never mind. Tav observed him as he ran his fingers over the hem of his purple linen chemise, a silent glimpse into the torrent of his mind. “You'll love this one wizard, it's about your home turf.” Having caught on to her friend's gaze, the teifling deliberately brought the wizard from his thoughts and into the circle of conversation.

“Honestly, I would love to hear it.” He did his best to smile, to seem like his usual self, but Tav could see a forlornness deal within his eyes, having taken root in his heart since the orb was silenced.

“Yes, Tav. Do indulge us.” Shadowheart added, taking another sip of wine.

Tav waved their hand, silently summoning a lute with their Bardic Arcana, an act of casual magic that made Gale's heart skip, though for a moment he thought it was the now slumbering orb. Checking the tune with a single strum across the cords, Tav's lips curled into a cat's grin, obviously pleased to have been asked to provide entertainment during their rest. “Alrighty then, if you know the words, sing along.” Playing a simple intro, Tav began to sing, their accent, what dear readers would recognize as Scottish, clearly audible. “Oh the seagulls o'er in Waterdeep, have you seen the fucking size of the seagulls in Waterdeep?” Expecting a ballad that was aforementioned funny, Gale surprised himself when he burst out laughing with everyone else after the first crass line.

“Oh the seagulls o'er in Waterdeep, I watched one fight a granny at the Harbour in Waterdeep.”

Karlach joined into a rough harmony, Tav altering their pitch to accommodate the joyful teifling. “I thought I must be Water-dreamin’ up I wasnae, the big ol' bastard's devil eyes staring right through me. I thought I must be Water-dreamin’ but I wasnae, the big ol’ bastard chased me down and tried to kill me.” Shadowheart, Wyll, and Halsin all joined in with the chorus, Astarion enjoyed the spectacle too much to join, Lae'zel had left to train, and Gale was too busy marveling at how easily Tav smoothed over any friction that may have arisen during the day; any disagreement or tension between comrades was quickly forgiven or forgotten the moment they sat by the fire with their lute and vocal chords. As the bridge came and Tav's voice easily shifted higher, their eyes met for a single moment before the bard turned to Karlach, saying something quickly between verses. “Oh the seagulls o'er in Waterdeep they scream. Karlach, make the seagulls noise! Oh the seagulls o'er in Waterdeep they scream,”

“Wawa wawawa wawawa wawawawa!” With her whole chest, Karlach did her best seagull impression, flapping her hands to imitate wings.

“Oh the seagulls o'er in Waterdeep they scream,”

“Wawa wawawa wawawa wawawawa!” Shadowheart had joined Karlach's impression, her cheeks red from the wine most of them had consumed with the dinner Gale had prepared.

“Oh the seagulls o'er in Waterdeep,” Slowing the tempo, none knew the final line the Bard would deliver, the final blow to a song that almost had tears of laughter flow. “I watched one bust a nut at the Harbour in Waterdeep.” Shaking his head as Tav flourished on the lute in finality, he struggled for breath as his fingers clasped the bridge of his nose.

A moment of applause rang through the clearing as Tav said their thanks and seemed to humbly accept whatever praise or criticism came their way. Though no complement could surpass Gale’s; Tav's heart swelled almost painfully at his breathy laughs as he muttered to himself with a half smile, almost hiding his face in his hand to suppress himself. “Oh sweet Gods above, I needed that.”

***

please be kind to me with criticisms, be constructive but I'm sensitive k thanks

Okay, I love you, Gods bless ♡ bye ♡

[say-hwaet]

High Sierra: A Red Dead Redemption Story

Chapter 11: The Smoking Gun Summary: Arthur and Dutch pay a social call to a sneaky loan shark. Hopefully, they can avoid being bitten. Next Chapter: Twelve

Arthur Morgan adjusts his hat as he steps out of his car. He looks over the roof and watches Dutch get out, brushing off the shoulder of his nice dress shirt.

“I suspect you have a plan as to how you want to approach this?" he asks with a raised brow.

Arthur closes the car door and as soon as Dutch closes his side he locks it. “Yeah, just follow my lead.”

Dutch nods. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

Arthur walks around the SUV and, meeting up with Dutch, they walk across the street towards the small, brick building sandwiched between two other establishments. On outward appearances alone, Strauss Financing and Loans appears pretty straightforward and clean, without anything giving way to its darker corners. Any desperate hopeful or willful planner could easily walk in there thinking that helpful advice and aide are the only things happening behind those doors.

It makes Arthur’s blood boil.

Dutch continues to strut along the sidewalk beside Arthur, maintaining a calm and collected air. Arthur reaches for the door first and, stepping aside, lets his elder enter first.

“Thank you, my good boy,” Dutch nods and steps inside.

The waiting room is small, with grays and neutral colors abound. If Arthur had ever denied it, he now sees the correlation between death and taxes.

The secretary, a woman in her late twenties, lifts her head and spots the two handsome men approaching her desk. Her eyes nearly light up when she sees Dutch. “Mr. Van Der Linde,” she greets with a southern drawl. “Can I help you?”

Dutch puts on a charming smile, and leans his hip against her desk. “You sure can, ma’am. I was hoping to speak to Leopold. Is he in?”

The secretary's expression flickers momentarily, a cautious undertone creeping beneath her cordial veneer. "Mr. Strauss is currently in a meeting," she responds, her voice holding the kind of practiced neutrality that comes with years behind the counter. "Can I ask the nature of your visit?"

Arthur watches Dutch's smile widen just a fraction, a practiced ease in his demeanor that could disarm the most suspicious. "Oh, you know me, Ms. Aberdeen," Dutch replies with a chuckle, the sound rich and warm. "And I know that Strauss doesn’t hold meetings in his office.” He lets his forefinger slide across the surface of her desk. “Please, help a feller out.”

Ms. Aberdeen hesitates, tapping the tip of her pen against the desk, her gaze darting towards the hallway that presumably leads to Strauss’s office before settling back on Dutch. “I’m sorry, Mr. Van Der Linde, but he was quite explicit about not being disturbed.”

Arthur realizes this isn’t getting anywhere, and so he gets close to the desk. “Ms. Aberdeen, was it?”

She instantly eyes Arthur up and down, her eyes flickering and her lip twitching into a smile. “Yes, and who might you be?”

He tries his best not to roll his eyes but decides to take advantage of her flirtatious display. “Arthur, ma’am. We're just here on some urgent business. It concerns a loan, see? Time-sensitive and all.”

She doesn’t seem to be listening, only nodding slowly as her eyes drift down Arthur’s body. He knows he has some sort of attractive qualities, if he’s listened to Eliza at all, but it still makes him feel awkward to be stared at.

He swallows. “So how about it?”

She bites her lower lip and points towards another door with her pen. “Just be quick about it, and come back to see me before you go, ya hear?”

Arthur shudders, quickly leaving her desk, and hears Dutch follow close behind as they make their way to the door.

As Arthur and Dutch Van Der Linde enter the cramped office of Leopold Strauss, Arthur’s eyes adjust to the dimmed light of the room. Dust particles dance in the remaining light, streaming through the curtains, casting a surreal glow on the room. The air is heavy with the scent of old paperwork and secrets. The heat in the room, also adds an acrid scent of sweat and fear, something that makes Arthur want to hold his breath.

At the far end of the small room, sits a thin man at a large, wooden desk. Undoubtedly it is Mr. Strauss, a man whose greasy face betrays his nefarious dealings.

He sits up straight, clearly not expecting any visitors and his brow furrows through his glasses. “Who let you—?” Cutting himself off, his eyes fall on Dutch and he grins. "Oh! Mr. Van Der Linde, good to see you.” Then his eyes fall on Arthur and his smile suddenly falls. “Who is this man with you?"

Arthur and Dutch remain silent, readily accepting the sudden change in the room. Arthur has always been good at intimidation and interrogation, even before he became a warden he had a knack for scaring people off. Not that he ever intended it, but he had to be tough while in foster care. It was either eat or be eaten. And Dutch, always fascinated by discourse and having the upper hand, readily follows Arthur’s lead.

Leopold squirms in his chair, his beady eyes flickering nervously between Arthur and Dutch. Arthur takes calm, brooding steps toward the desk, still not saying a word.

Once close, the game warden's imposing figure looms over the desk, contrasting sharply with Dutch's effortless charm as he stands beside him.

Arthur's voice carries a subtle threat as he speaks, his voice echoing through the hollow room, punctuating the tense silence. "Mr. Strauss, we know about the loans. There are two folks that you gave them to. You know what happened to them?” Strauss quickly shakes his head. Not that Arthur expects him to tell the truth, but he always gives the chance for his targets to come clean. “Well, they ended up dead," he growls, his voice filled with the weight of suspicion.

Leopold's fingers twitch as he wipes the sweat from his brow, his face taut with anxiety. The sweat could be a telling sign or just evidence of the heat in the room. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he deflects but his voice is laced with counterfeit innocence.

Arthur leans on the desk, looming over Strauss. "Cut the act, Leopold. We know there's something more to these "accidents," and you're involved."

Strauss leans back, the chair creaking under his shifting weight. He tries to muster a facade of indignation, but the fear in his eyes betrays him. "Mr. Morgan, Mr. Van Der Linde, I assure you, I am merely a businessman—"

"Businessman?" Arthur interrupts, his voice rising as the anger builds up inside of him. “Preyin’ on desperate folks, like Thomas Downes, that’s what you call business?” And just as he finishes his sentence, something immediately occurs to him and he narrows his eyes. “I never told you, or your secretary, who I was…” There is a sudden pause in the room and Struass’ eyes widen. “How the hell do you know my name?”

Strauss' trembling hand reaches for the phone on his desk, but before he can even dial a number, Dutch swiftly snatches it away. "Not so fast," he lilts, a sly smile crossing his face. "We're not done here."

Strauss’ face contorts into a mixture of fear and desperation. "You can't prove anything," he spits, his tone laced with arrogance. "I have powerful people behind me, you know."

Dutch steps back and leans casually against the wall, a deceptive smile playing on his lips. "Now, Leopold, let's be reasonable. We both know you have your hands in unsavory activities," he drawls, exuding confident charisma.

Leopold's eyes narrow, a glint of maliciousness shining through. "You may be the manager of a country rock band, Dutch, but don't forget the loan you took from me. I have the power to ruin your precious son's singing career," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom.

Arthur backs up from the desk and looks at Dutch. He figured that the shrewd loan shark would try to bring that up. He watches Dutch's smile falter for a mere moment, his shoulders tensing imperceptibly.

However, he quickly regains his composure, feigning indifference. “How could I forget?” And in an instant, his expression darkens, emboldened by his desire to do things right. "I'm not afraid of your empty threats, Leopold. You won't lay a finger on my son," he threatens, his voice tinged with quiet resolve as he points a decided finger in Strauss’ face.

Silence falls between them. Arthur and Dutch glance at each other and do not speak. Arthur admires Strauss's resilience, but like most walls, it is going to break eventually. He just needs to give a push in the right direction. Leopold Strauss needs assurances.

Arthur returns to Strauss’ desk and puts on an empathetic expression, his eyes softening and his tones calm and methodical. "Look, Strauss. If you come clean now, the law might go easy on you. It is clear to me that you ain’t doin’ all of whatever it is you're doin’ alone.” He sees a flicker in Strauss’ expression and he hopes that it is a breakthrough. “Perhaps, you were forced to do this? Maybe if you help the authorities, they might help you."

Dutch's brow lifts admirably as he watches Arthur masterfully negotiate. He flattens his lips, desperate to suppress the smile that threatens to spread across his face. With razor-sharp focus, Arthur studies Strauss' every move, searching for any sign of weakness or hesitation.

But Strauss remains a statue, his expression cold and unyielding. A solitary bead of sweat rolls down his forehead, a testament to the intense pressure of the situation. It hangs precariously on his chin before falling to the ground with a heavy thud, mirroring the weight of the looming deal.

Arthur is about to speak again but feels a firm hand on his shoulder.

"We're done here, Arthur," Dutch grumbles. "Let's go."

Arthur's chest builds with frustration as he realizes they won't be able to get any information out of Strauss. With a heavy sigh, he conveys his resignation and gives Strauss one final intimidating glare before turning to leave with Dutch by his side. The dimly lit room is filled with tension, the only sound coming from their footsteps as they make their way towards the exit. Arthur can feel the weight of failure hanging over him, but he knows they have to keep moving forward in their pursuit of justice.

As they exit the office, the door clicks shut, sealing Leopold's fear within its confines.

Leopold slumps back in his chair, his face twisted in a panic, not confident that he has successfully steered those fools away. He reaches for his phone, now able to do so, and his fingers tremble as he dials a familiar number. There is a dial tone and a soft click. Though no one speaks, he knows they’ve answered. "They're onto us,” he whimpers into the phone. “We need to silence that Arthur.” His words come out like his, his voice laced with urgency.

On the other end of the line, a voice whispered coolly, reassuringly. "Stay calm, Leopold. Everything is under control. We'll handle Arthur. Just remain patient."

Leopold's shoulders relax slightly, and as though reinvigorated, a devious grin spreads across his face. His eyes gleam with wicked anticipation as he leans back in his chair. The long shadows in the dimly lit room seem to curl around him, amplifying the sinister plan that has been months in the making.

The lingering echo of the call fades into an eerie stillness, permeating every corner of the room with a sense of emptiness. The walls, smooth and unblemished, serve as a mask for the secrets hidden within. The air is thick with silence, swallowing any sound that dares to break it. It's as if the room itself is holding its breath, waiting for something unknown to happen.

As though it knows it is at the risk of being discovered.

***

Eliza knocks once again on Edith's door. It has been a while since she spoke with Arthur about her findings and she has since felt that because she hadn't heard about his progress, she should continue to do what she can to help things along.

She doesn’t know why she’s doing this. Is it because of her innate curiosity? That little nagging in the back of her mind whenever there is something left unanswered? That was her approach to everything, especially while at college. Her fascination for history is what drove her to question things, to ask why, and to dive deeper into things unexplained. She’s like a scientist, but in a different way, in that of records, experiences, and humanity.

A noble task, but is that really the answer?

Before she can figure it out the door opens to reveal Edith. She smiles and her eyes sparkle with hope upon seeing Eliza.

"Hello, Eliza! What are you doing here?"

Eliza readjusts her purse strap on her shoulder and tucks some loose hair behind her ear."Hi, Edith. I hope you don't mind, but I need to ask you some more questions about Thomas.

Edith’s smile falls, but her eyes still remain soft. She sighs sofltly. "Of course,” she answers as she takes a step back. “Ask whatever you need to know." Stepping off to the side, she gestures for Eliza to come in and once Eliza enters, she closes the door behind her.

Once they are both seated in her living room, Edith pulls her legs up underneath her as she sits on the sofa across from Eliza. “What questions do you have?”

Eliza, pulling out a small notepad from her purse, takes a deep breath. "Did you notice anything strange or out of the ordinary before his death? Anything that might give us a clue?"

Mrs. Downes hesitates, her brow furrowing as she tries to recall the past few weeks. “So much has happened, Eliza. I told the police all that I can remember.”

Eliza figures as much, but she has something that the police don’t have: a new perspective. “The police don’t always ask the right questions, or they might overlook details. You can imagine how many people they have to talk to on a daily basis and something could be overlooked. And if they overlook things, don’t you think it’s possible we can, too?”

Edith nods slowly, understanding the gravity of Eliza's words. “You’re right," she agrees, her voice tinged with resignation. "Alright, let me think...” She pauses for a moment, her gaze dropping to the coffee table before drifting back to meet Eliza’s. "Well, there was something...”

Eliza leans closer, almost sitting at the edge of her chair and she readies her pen.

Edith continues, “After he took out a loan to help with community work, he started receiving a lot of phone calls. He was on the phone constantly, even during dinner."

Eliza's eyes widen at this information. It could be important. "Do you remember any specific names he mentioned on the phone?" Eliza wishes that Edith had told her this before but then again, she’s just glad to have come by this information at all.

Mrs. Downes shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I can't recall the names. But there was one name I remember hearing before the phone calls ever came…” Her brow pinches and she brings a hand to her temple. “It's on the tip of my tongue; it just keeps slipping away."

Eliza offers a suggestion, her voice gentle. "Was it Leopold Strauss?"

Mrs. Downes thinks for a moment but then shakes her head once again. "No, that wasn't it. But it was someone I've heard before, I'm sure of it."

It wouldn’t do any good to pressure her further on this question. When you’ve hit a roadblock, it is best to find a detour. Or, in this case, another question. Eliza looks down at her notepad and eyes the next question. She feels a rush of anxiety in her chest, knowing that this next question could easily end their conversation just as easily as it could help her investigation. She looks back up to find Edith’s patient expression and finds her curiosity too strong to ignore. "Edith, forgive me if this sounds insensitive, but do you think Thomas might have been suicidal?"

Edith's eyes widen, a flash of anger crossing her face. "No! That's absurd! He was happy the day before he died.” Eliza recoils slightly, but remains neutral in her expression. It is natural for the widow to be offended. “In fact, he told me that things were about to change, that he was going to turn something bad into something good."

She isn’t asking her to leave, so Eliza relaxes. While her answer is somewhat helpful, she isn’t much further ahead than where she was before. She feels like she is going around in circles. Until she can have a name, there is nothing she can really do.

Eliza nods, more so to herself than to Edith. “I see. Forgive me for asking.” She goes to tuck her notepad back in her purse. "Thank you, Edith." And buckling her purse back up, she rises to her feet. "I am really sorry for bothering you."

Mrs. Downes holds up a palm, dismissing her apology. "Have you found anything?"

Eliza feels more defeated as she gives her answer. "Not yet. But that name could help."

The widow nods. "I will call you as soon as I can remember it. It will come to me."

Eliza feigns a smile and sees herself out the door.

Once she closes it behind her she lets out a puff of air that she didn’t realize she was holding. She really wants to help Edith; to find out what really happened. She knew Thomas. She herself knows that he wouldn’t have killed himself or given up hope on living. He had been through a lot of trials and tribulations his his life, with what little Eliza knew, but he still would show up at the soup kitchen. Still smiling, still greeting her like always.

And then, one day, he was just…gone.

Maybe that is the reason. It is personal. She feels that she has a duty to help the poor widow and her son.

Yes, that is it. That has to be it.

And so, with a less defeated step, Eliza makes her way to her car. She’s looking forward to seeing her son again.

***

It has been two weeks since Arthur and Dutch confronted Strauss. Arthur decided not to share what he had done with Eliza, for he knew that it was beginning to become more dangerous. If anyone discovers that he was talking with her, her life could easily be in more jeopardy. That incident on the road is evidence enough.

Sadie Adler and her hotshots have been putting out more fires, and unfortunately, that means another controlled burn may have to take place. They had finished the large border around Redwood Falls a few days ago, and Charles had hoped they were done.

At least for now, Arthur and Charles are able to resume their patrols and are now exploring the restricted woods. There had been a small fire reported here, and while the Hotshots had successfully put it out, Captain Monroe is sitll convinced that these are not natural fires. Well, that’s something that he and Arthur can agree on. For their assignment, Charles and Arthur have been tasked with targeting these areas and ensuring that no pyromaniacs are out and about.

The pungent stench of singed leaves and charred wood still lingers in the air, a haunting reminder of the fire that was just put out yesterday. Charles and Arthur, equipped with respirators to protect against any remaining smoke, move cautiously through the scorched earth. Their loyal canine companions, Molasses and Copper, follow close behind, noses to the ground as they sniff for any signs of danger. Together, they resemble a well-trained SWAT team, determined to uncover any clues that may lead them to the cause of the potentially destructive blaze. The sun beats down on their backs, the heat intensifying the acrid scent that fills their nostrils. But they press on, committed to their mission and unwavering in their search for answers.

"I thought we only helped with controlled burns when the fire department needs more people to do the job," Charles says, grunting as he kicks a stump out of his way.

Arthur shakes his head, his eyes cast to the ground as he searches the area before him. "Nope, we are the forest people, and it is part of our job to do that. The fire department is absorbed with domestic and city fires, people trapped in cars, that sort of thing. We help because it involves nature."

"Makes sense. I guess it just isn't my favorite part of the job."

Arthur nods knowingly. "I understand. I was always relieved when it was over. I never got to see my son much when I have had to do a lot of controlled burns."

"How is your son, by the way?"

Arthur takes his pickaxe and rolls a log out of the path of the ash. "He's...doing okay. He's got a new treatment and erm, while it has a lot of steps, he seems to be improving. He's only been on it for a few weeks, but the doctors are hopeful."

Charles smiles behind his respirator, conveying encouragement. Charles is a relatively unemotional person, so when he expresses it, it is genuine. "That's good, Arthur. I'm sure Eliza is happy about it."

Eliza. Hearing her name makes Arthur nervous, especially when people around him assume their relationship is more simple than it is. "Erm...yeah, she is."

There is a pause before Charles speaks again, his tone softer and inquisitive. "Arthur? Can I ask...? What is the situation between you two?” Charles pauses for a moment, as though testing the waters, and when Arthur doesn’t change the subject, he continues. “I just want to understand so I don't say or ask anything stupid.” He chortles. “Or is me asking already stupid?"

Arthur is quiet for a moment. He knows Charles means well, but it is also a touchy subject. He still isn’t sure how he feels about everything. But then again, Charles is very insightful. Though it is strange to seek advice from a person much younger than him, that doesn't mean that wisdom is always associated with age.

Well, he may as well give the big picture. He stops his work for a minute, speaking louder through his respirator. "We met when I graduated Academy. She...heh...actually had seen me before that. I went to the restaurant she worked at a few times. We started talkin’ and began seein’ each other.” He pictures it in his mind, that day he finally noticed her. She had been waiting on their table, smiling sweetly and checking in on them regularly. When they had finished eating, something else was eating at him. A curiosity, a desire to know who this girl was and to see her again. “A couple of years into the relationship, she got pregnant and that changed things.” He looks up to gauge Charles's reaction, aware that not everyone understands the swift and complicated turns his life has taken. “Her parents kinda disowned her and she quit college to raise Isaac. I supported them every way that I could."

Charles bows his head, lifting a brow inquisitively. "So...marriage wasn't an option?"

Arthur sighs. Hosea has asked him the same thing. Not in so many words, but it is clear as to whom he favors. He had tried to get married once. To Mary, and look where that got him. "No. We had different thoughts on it. I saw it as a waste and my lifestyle just wasn't fit for that kind of life. I was gone all the time and they needed somethin’ more stable.” That memory begins to flood his mind, too. Both of them in the kitchen. Isaac was just barely a year old. Eliza cried heavily, her eyes red and full of tears, asking him why they couldn’t be a whole family like everyone else. Maybe he was a coward, maybe he didn’t think he was real father material. Not many people put much stock in him, considering that his father was a petty criminal. If it wasn’t for Hosea and Bessie, maybe he would have shared the same fate as his old man.

Arthur shakes his head, letting the thought ebb away. “We had an argument and we fell apart after that. A few years later, though, we started to reconnect, but it wasn't long after that that Isaac got cancer."

"But things were getting better?" Charles asks, a tinge of hope in his voice.

Arthur shrugs. "Yes, but.."

Mary.

Arthur lets his voice trail off and he looks away.

"I've already pried enough, Arthur. It's okay."

Arthur shakes his head with frustration. His gaze flickers back to Charles, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "No, maybe you can help me, Charles."

Charles raises a brow, studying Arthur with a softened gaze. "...Okay?"

"I had a girlfriend, a long time ago. We were high school sweethearts, basically. We were together all through college, and I proposed to her."

Charles’ eyes widen and he blinks quickly. "Oh."

"She rejected me. She couldn't be with someone poor and country like me and never would. I was crushed."

Charles' eyes soften. "I'm sorry."

Arthur shrugs, trying to shake off the emotions he feels. "Yeah, well, we've met up again, and, well, something happened, and Eliza was not happy about it."

Charles’ eyes widen, his mind already making assumptions. "...Oh..." he cringes.

Arthur realizes how he might have interpreted that and quickly shakes his head and holds out a palm. "It was nothing like that! But it still wasn't good. Eliza and I talked and we both agreed that I needed to figure out what I want. It's been that way ever since."

Charles is quiet, processing all that Arthur has told him. They continue walking through the woods. "Have you seen your ex-girlfriend since then?"

"Yes."

"Hmm."

"She keeps wanting to go out to dinner, but I don't want to do anything until we deal with these murders."

Charles hums thoughtfully again. "Hmm."

"What do you think I should do, Charles?"

Charles looks down at the ground as he ponders a moment. The silence between them makes Arthur a little uneasy. Maybe he said too much? He’s never been one to overshare, but anyone he normally talks to is already too involved in the situation.

Charles shrugs, letting his broad shoulders fall heavily. "I can't tell you to do anything, Arthur. It's your life. If you want to be with your ex-girlfriend, then it's best to establish those boundaries with Eliza. But if I can be honest, it seems strange to me that after reconnecting with Eliza, you are suddenly feeling forced to choose.” He eyes Arthur with an intense gaze. “Could that mean that your relationship with Eliza was never strong to begin with, or that you are just afraid to commit, as you kinda hinted at, earlier? You think it would be any different with your ex?"

Charles has a point. As Arthur is about to answer, Molasses barks once, and she and Copper charge into the trees.

"Something's up," Charles says, following after her.

Not another body, Arthur thinks to himself.

Then suddenly, they hear muffled screams.

Pushing some branches out of the way, Charles and Arthur find Molasses lunging at an unknown figure, quickly pinning him down. Copper, who remains beside Arthur, takes an offensive stance and barks repeatedly. Arthur and Charles spot a dead deer laying beside the man who is unable to get up as long as Molasses remains on top of him. Her barks are loud and intimidating, anyone would be deathly afraid of her.

But with the evidence before him, it is clear to Arthur that what Molasses has found is a poacher.

“Molasses, back!” Charles orders.

Molasses, her teeth bared and fur standing on end, yields to his authority and backs away.

Once freed, the poacher remains on the ground and scoots away slowly, but his eyes remain locked on the powerful canine. He pants heavily, and his hands tremble as he holds them out in front of him. For someone committing a crime, he’s a timid feller.

With guns at the ready, both Charles and Arthur stand stoically in front of the poacher, daring him to make a move. As he reaches for his rifle, Arthur swiftly kicks it out of his grasp, sending it flying across the forest floor. "You want to add attempted murder to your list?" he asks with a growl.

Charles storms over to the poacher, towering over his trembling form. With a swift movement and quick grip, he turns the welp over and places him in handcuffs.

"I just wanted one buck!” the man cries. “What's wrong with getting some meat?"

"It isn't deer season, and poaching is illegal. I guess you want to eat cheap meat from a can instead?" Charles turns him back over and helps him to his feet with ease, a testament to his brute strength.

"I've never done this before," the poacher pleads. "I just thought that since this area was off limits, nobody else would be here."

Arthur almost has to laugh; this poacher is further incriminating himself. "Poaching, trespassing..." Arthur lists.

Charles grips the world’s dumbest poacher tightly by the arm. "Do you have a hunting license?"

The poacher nods quickly. "Y-y-yes, it is in my back pocket."

Arthur cautiously approaches the lifeless deer carcass, his footsteps crunching on the dried leaves and twigs of the forest floor. His eyes scan over the animal, noting its matted fur and vacant gaze. Meanwhile, Charles rummages through the back pocket of the young man's jeans, his fingers sifting through the contents of a worn wallet. He carefully pulls out a hunting license and studies the identification information with furrowed brows. "Jimmy Brooks, is it?"

"Yes! My hunting license is real!" Jimmy insists.

Arthur turns around and looks at Jimmy Brooks. "Why would we think it isn't?" He gives Charles a look and then turns to Jimmy, his intense gaze making him squirm.

The poacher tries to avoid the game warden’s intense gaze, and he shifts uncomfortably on his feet while Charles’ grip on him remains firm. "I...erm...Well...there's talk."

"Talk?" Charles echoes.

"Yes. Talk about people having fake IDs. Lots of people have them. Now-now-I don't know any who do—but I know it happens…!"

Arthur strides over to Jimmy, his towering form casting a dark shadow over the younger man. His voice is low and menacing as he speaks, "How unfortunate for you. But if, by chance, I happen upon someone with a false identification who mentions your name, you will come to deeply regret your name ever bein’ Jimmy Brooks." The air around them seems to thicken with tension as Arthur's words hang in the air. Jimmy nervously shifts from foot to foot, feeling like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a predator. Beads of sweat form on his forehead as he realizes the gravity of the situation and the danger he has put himself in.

Jimmy Brooks's eyes widen and his voice quivers. "Oh, I promise, if you let me go, I won't poach again! I swear! N-not now, not ever…!"

Arthur lifts his chin, eyeing him with a confident eye. "We ain't lettin’ you go, Jimmy Brooks. But just remember,” Arthur points to his temple and grins menacingly. “I've got a good memory."

"A very good memory," Charles validates with a grin.

Arthur nods to the rookie. "See? Even my partner here knows it.” And with that, Arthur points his thumb back towards the direction they came. “Charles, take him back to the truck. I am going to bring the deer."

"Sure, Arthur." Charles takes Jimmy Brooks by the arm. "You are under arrest for illegal poaching and will be taken into custody. C'mon, let's go."

"I can't go to jail!"

Charles pushes him forward, not taking any of his whining. "I said, let's move! Molasses, let's go."

When Jimmy Brooks complies, Charles escorts him back to the truck. Molasses tails them closely, keeping her eyes fixed on the poacher she just captured.

As Arthur reaches for the deer, a low whimper catches his attention. He turns to see Copper frantically digging at the ground, his body tense and alert. Without hesitation, Arthur gets up and rushes over to the determined dog, his heart pounding in anticipation. As he approaches the spot where Copper is digging, he can feel a sense of urgency emanating from the animal. Gently pushing Copper aside, Arthur's hands eagerly reach for whatever it is that has captured the dog's interest.

"What is it, boy?" he asks breathlessly, his eyes scanning the ground for anything of interest.

With a final burst of energy, Copper moves out of the way, revealing a hidden object beneath the dirt. Arthur's heart stops as he realizes what it is—the familiar etching on the lid immediately catches Arthur's attention, and a knot forms in his stomach.

It is another tin box, just like the one he had given to his son.

***

Arthur finally comes out from between the trees and sees the yellow truck in the distance. He readjusts the deer on his shoulder and makes his way over. Charles is leaning against the passenger door, Mr. Brooks is handcuffed inside.

Charles lifts his head to see Arthur approaching and he nods in silent greeting. He leans away from the tailgate and calmly walks up to meet Arthur, speaking quietly. "I looked into this guy. Turns out he has a warrant for his arrest. He failed to appear in court for not reporting all his pen sales in his taxes.” His lips part into a smile and he laughs. “Can you imagine something that stupid?" Arthur doesn't respond like he normally would and Charles's face falls. "What's wrong?"

Arthur doesn't answer but places the deer in the back of the truck. He walks back over to Charles.

"Let's take Mr. Brooks to the Sheriff's office, then we'll talk."

Charles’ brow pinches, but he doesn’t argue. "Sure, Arthur."

With a solemn nod, Arthur gently helps Copper into the truck bed and climbs into the driver's seat. The engine rumbles to life with a low hum, filling the air with the familiar smell of gasoline. They drive in silence, the only sound being the rumble of the truck's tires on the gravel road.

Their first stop is the Sheriff's Department, where Jimmy Brooks will be staying for the night.

After that, well, Arthur has something to share with his partner.

***

Arthur and Charles stand in the parking lot as the sun shines through the surrounding pines. Arthur hardly spoke since they got in the truck, raising Charles's curiosity. And now that Mr. Brooks has been turned over Jimmy Brooks to the High Sierra Sheriff's Department, they are finally alone, and Charles can see about what has gotten Arthur in such a mood.

"Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Charles asks, arms crossed.

Without speaking, Arthur reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the tin box.

"What's that?" Charles asks with a raised brow.

Arthur scratches his chin, his eyes never leaving the tin box that he placed on the center console. "You remember when we did the controlled burn?"

"Yeah…what about it?"

"Well, you hadn't come yet. We were checkin’ out the ash, and I spotted a tin box under a stump. I thought it was just a cool antique from some other time period. I...gave it to my son."

Charles nods slowly, his brow lifted. "Okay...?"

Arthur shifts on his feet and turns his body to face his partner. "The thing is, Charles, Copper found this box where we caught the poacher. It is the exact same, except this lock is different."

Charles blinks, putting together the clues himself. "So someone hid it there."

"Yes. I would have chucked this up to bein’ a fluke thing, but now findin’ this in a similar way? This can't be a coincidence. It weren't no geocache."

Charles’ gaze focuses on the box, his mind reeling. "We gotta see what's inside."

Hesitant, Arthur holds the box, hands trembling with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. With a free hand, he pulls out his pocket knife and flicks out the blade. With a quick shunk, he inserts the blade in between the lid and the base of the box, and the seal is broken. Carefully opening the lid, Charles and Arthur watch carefully.

They’ve struck gold.

Inside, they’ve found not riddles or trinkets, but a collection of forged hunting permits and false identification. Each one bears a different name for the same series of faces, a testament to the cunning and skill of whoever had created them.

And one of them, is Thomas Downes.

It is clear that this is no amateur's work—these are expertly crafted forgeries.

"Just like Jimmy Brooks said..." Charles says quietly and in awe. "That idiot was telling the truth."

Surrounded by a sea of deceitful papers, there is one name that stands out in stark contrast - Michael Barnes. The letters are etched onto the page in cold, unforgiving ink, and the realization hits Arthur like a physical blow to the chest. It is as if the name itself holds a threat, casting a dark shadow over everything it touches. He feels his heart race and his palms sweat as he stares at the damning evidence before him. How could he have been so blind?

"Michael...he's in danger," Arthur mutters, his voice laced with fear and urgency. "Whoever killed Downes had made him a fake ID. He could be next."

Charles's brow furrows, his eyes scanning the surrounding trees. "It's possible, but what if he's more than a potential victim? What if he had something to do with the killings? And wouldn't he already have his own real hunting ID?"

Arthur admits he doesn’t know Michael that well. Only seeing him in passing and lately on the television. Come to think of it, that was the last time he had seen him. "Well, I haven't seen or heard from him in a few weeks. We have to find out."

Dread creeps through Arthur's veins. Charles could be right, or could be wrong. Either way, he knows they have to find Michael before more lives are lost.

“We need to go to his office. That man has practically lived there for the past few months. Maybe something will turn up.”

Charles is quiet for a moment but then he nods his head. “I guess it is worth a shot. Better to investigate every lead than go without knowing.”

Arthur nods. “Agreed.” Then he begins to walk to the driver’s side of the truck. “Let’s get goin’.”

Without hesitation, they head towards Michael's office, hearts pounding in their chests.

***

Charles and Arthur approach the dark and quiet Department of Fish and Wildlife. They don’t get out of the truck right away, their eyes carefully watching the building for any signs of life.

"I don't think anyone's inside," Charles observes quietly.

Arthur nods, his gaze steely and focused. "Let's be quick, then."

As calm and as quiet as they can, they step out of the truck and carefully close the doors. They quicken their steps as they approach the building, still being watchful for the tree line and the road that leads to the parking lot. It feels like the parking lot stretches forever, until finally they reach the back door.

Using a key to enter the back of the building, they slip inside without incident.

So far so good.

The hallway is dark, the only sound being the odd bubbling from the water dispenser in the corner. Arthur feels a nudge in his arm.

“Follow me,” Charles whispers and though they can’t see each other, Arthur nods.

They begin to navigate the narrow hallway and seeing a faint light through one of the office windows, Arthur can see it is Captain Monroe's vacant office. At least he knows they won’t be confronted by him this time.

After passing his own office and the entryway to the front desk, they finally approach Michael's office.

Charles's fingers grip his pocket knife tightly, ready to jimmy the lock open with a swift and forceful movement. But before he can make a move, the door lets out a soft creak as it gently swings open on its own accord. The realization that the door is unlocked shocks them both, causing their hearts to race in anticipation as they exchange wary glances before cautiously pushing the door open further.

Once inside, they are met with chaos.

Papers are strewn everywhere, maps of mysterious routes pinned haphazardly on the walls. It is as if they had stumbled upon a web of deceit that sprawls beyond the forest's edge.

“What the hell…?” Arthur lets escape his lips.

Charles steps further into the room, leaving Arthur bewildered. “This isn’t good.” he walks over to Michael's desk and reviews some of the papers. “We gotta find out what happened.”

Arthur's unblinking gaze fixates on the light streaming in through the window, casting a harsh glare on the chaos that surrounds him. His eyes narrow as he notices a hidden compartment in the wall, its cover flung open and revealing a dark void within. The portrait of the governor, which once hung proudly above the compartment, now lies discarded on the ground in a shattered frame. Arthur's heart begins to race he quickly walks to it.

He again uses his pocket knife and pries it open, revealing a damning piece of evidence:

The very gun used to snuff out innocent lives. It is unmistakable—even through the wrapping, he sees the blood speckles on the barrel. This was worse than he had imagined, or hoped.

Arthur lets out a roaring gasp. "Charles...!"

With quick steps, Charles hurries over and peeks into the compartment. A tense silence fills the air as their eyes meet, a silent conversation passing between them. They both understand what lies before them—Michael, a comrade and fellow protector of the law, is none other than the elusive killer they have been searching for. He is no victim, but a predator in their midst.

But there is more. As Arthur carefully nudges the gun to the side, he spots a passport. He picks it up, holding it into the light. It reads:

MICAH BELL

Micah Bell. The name echoes through Arthur's mind like a distant memory, a whisper of recognition. He remembers reading that name before—in newspapers, and even in the files he had tirelessly searched through just weeks before. Micah Bell is infamous, a well-known drug lord who has evaded capture for years despite being labeled as a fugitive. And now, it seems, he has been hiding in plain sight all along, right under their noses. Arthur can’t help but feel a sense of disbelief and betrayal at learning this shocking truth about someone he had once considered an ally, albeit a difficult one. It is like peeling back layers of false appearances to reveal the dark and dangerous reality hidden beneath.

"We can't trust anyone," Charles whispers, his voice barely audible amidst the heavy silence. "Not even Captain Monroe. He could be also involved somehow."

Arthur's grip tightens around the carefully wrapped gun, his knuckles turning white. His mind races, piecing together the fragments of the conspiracy that unravels before them. He hopes the captain isn’t involved. He’d rather he just be incredibly naive than involved.

But that isn’t his biggest problem.

He feels his jaw clench as he continues to eye the damning evidence. "We have to confront Michael ourselves. There ain’t enough time to involve anyone else."

"Where do you think he went?" Charles asks.

Arthur thinks a moment. There seems to be a pattern. Turning away from the compartment, he goes to the scattered maps of High Sierra on the wall. Lifting a finger, he scans the map carefully for a moment. Then, with a thud of his index finger, he points to a region in the Northeastern woods.

"Here was the first body." Then to Redwood Falls, which has also been marked. "There was the second."

Charles nods and points to another area on the map. "And here was the controlled burn."

Arthur feels his heart pound in his chest, and the pieces finally are coming together, along with the dangers it implies. "Look, Charles. He's trying to prohibit anyone from comin’ here. He must be dealin’ drugs in the woods. Finishin’ what he started years ago before he got caught. Those ocean maps are delivery routes from Mexico."

Then Charles asks the next important question, "So, in this area, where have we not gone?"

They scan the map and see a shape forming in the regions where a body was found. There is a spot that remains untouched.

Arthur points at it, his voice low and confident. "There. Redemption Cavern. It has been blocked off for several years on account of the bats."

Charles nods. "A perfect place to store it all."

"Exactly."

There’s not a moment to lose. Charles pats Arthur’s shoulder. "Let's move, Arthur."

With secrets revealed and their mission clear, Arthur and Charles hurry to put Molasses and Copper in the kennels. They don’t want to risk them being killed, as they don’t know what to expect.

Then, they go to their lockers and retrieve their gear. Two rifles, bulletproof vests, flashlights, and axes.

Then they exit out the back and hurry to the truck, their breaths calm and steps sure. Arthur takes the wheel and turning on the ignition, he shares one more look with Charles.

“Are you ready for this?”

Charles doesn’t hesitate. “Let’s get him, Arthur.”

As Arthur hurriedly drives out of the parking lot and onto the dirt road, silence falls between them for a moment.

After they cover a few miles, the headlights illuminating the path in front of them, Charles finally speaks. "He knew we were onto something," he murmurs, his voice tinged with anger. "He left his office open. He's baiting us. He must've thought we were getting too close."

Charles has a point, and this thought had been on Arthur’s mind for the last mile and a half. "I know. Michael Barnes. Micah Bell. Why didn't I make the connection sooner?"

Charles nods, his thoughts measured and cautious. "He wants to silence us, to protect his twisted plan."

"I know."

"We could die tonight, Arthur. He knows we're coming."

Arthur can’t shake the thoughts of Eliza and Isaac from his mind. They are about to embark on a journey into the unknown, and he can’t help but worry for their safety. He longs to call them, to hear their voices one last time and perhaps tell his son that he loves him, but they are now out of cell service range. The faint sound of their laughter and chatter echoes in his memory as he braces himself for what is to come. With each passing mile, he knows that there is no turning back.

Arthur’s hands grip the steering wheel and his eyes remain focused ahead. "I know."

Thank you for reading!

Tag Requests: @moeitsu @photo1030 @cassietrn

[hpdrizzle]

🌈 HP Drizzle Weekly Round Up Post #1 🌧️

Hello and welcome to HP Drizzle 2023!

We finished the first week (and some days) of posting and are blown away by the creations and the love everyone has to offer! What were your favourites so far?

See the works of the first few days of posting below the cut!

🌈 HP Drizzle Art 🌧️ 

☔ Right Path In The Rain [T, Digital Art ]

💧 Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley 💧 Weather: Rainy  ☔ Summary: Draco's been working hard on keeping things on the right path. It's been years since the war and he's fought to find himself through it. Part of the disovery being he has absolutely no problem sharing his umbrella with one Ginevra Weasley, and everything that comes with it.

☔ What to do When it's Sunny Outside [G, Digital Art]

💧 Pairing: Draco Malfoy / Theodore Nott 💧 Weather: Sunny ☔ Summary: Theo and Draco has a very different idea on what to do when it's sunny outside. Digital Comic.

☔ [ART] summer slipped us underneath her tongue [T, Digital Art]

💧 Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter 💧 Weather: Sunny ☔ Summary: It’s a tropical paradise until Harry forgets the sun cream. Draco is not impressed.

🌈 HP Drizzle Fic 🌧️ 

☔ You are here [G, 1092]

💧 Pairing: Ginny Weasley & Percy Weasley  💧 Weather: Stormy ☔ Summary: Percy was on his evening patrol when he heard someone crying.

☔ Rainfall Reverie, or Toad, the Wet, and a Locket [T, 5379]

💧 Pairing: Oliver Wood/Ron Weasley 💧 Weather: Rainy ☔ Summary: When a rain inconsistently causing amnesia settles over Aberdeen, Oliver Wood finds his cozy life with his partner, Ron Weasley, turned inside-out. A story of trust, of discovery, and being loved for who you are.

☔ Here Comes The Sun [G, 1905]

💧 Pairing: Narcissa Black Malfoy/Lucius Malfoy 💧 Weather: Sunny ☔ Summary: Narcissa Black was a ray of sunshine. Then she grew up, and became cold and withdrawn. She never expected Lucius Malfoy to melt the ice.

☔ A Summer's Day [T, 1,817]

💧 Pairing: Andromeda Black Tonks/Ted Tonks 💧 Weather: Sunny ☔ Summary: A love story that begins on an artificial summer's day in January and ends with a tearful farewell beneath the unforgiving August sun.

☔ In Their Winter Den [T, 2,899]

💧 Pairing: Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini 💧 Weather: Snowy ☔ Summary: Theo aimed his wand at the wall and gathered more lights around the twinkling little bear. “Do you want a story or a song?” “Surprise me.”

☔ Snowflakes [E, 21,097]

💧 Pairing:  Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Regulus Black/James Potter 💧 Weather: Rainy ☔ Summary: The first time Sirius meets Remus, it’s in the wrong place at the wrong time. The second time they meet, it’s two weeks later. Two weeks that Sirius has spent thinking about green eyes and elbow patches and that charming smile that he wishes he had captured on camera, because he’s starting to forget it and it’s killing him.

☔ Hooligans [T, 3082]

💧 Pairing: Molly Weasley & Gideon Prewett & Fabian Prewett, Molly Weasley & Weasley family 💧 Weather: Snowy ☔ Summary: Molly plays in the snow with her children and remembers her brothers.

🌈 HP Drizzle Podfic 🌧️

☔ Only Happy When It Rains by Pineau_noir - a Podfic [T, 1:29:25]

💧 Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter 💧 Weather: Rainy ☔ Summary: Weather-Be's, the up-and coming business of Draco Malfoy, guarantees* perfect weather for your event! If you need warm sunshine, Weather-Be's will provide it. If you want atmospheric fog, we can make that happen. We have a 100%** success rate at giving you the weather you want. *guarantee invalid if Harry Potter is in attendance **success rate drops to 97% when Harry Potter's attendance at events is counted

[alisondentaldesign]

Elevate Your Smile: Routine Dental Care at Portlethen Dental Care in Aberdeen

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Routine dental care is more than just a cleaning; it's a proactive approach to oral health that focuses on prevention, early detection, and personalized treatment. By scheduling regular check-ups and cleanings at Portlethen Dental Care, you can:

1. Prevent Dental Problems: Prevention is the foundation of good oral health, and routine dental check-ups allow our experienced dental professionals to identify and address any potential issues before they escalate into more significant problems. From tooth decay and gum disease to oral cancer and bite alignment issues, early detection and intervention can help prevent costly and invasive treatments down the road.

2. Maintain Healthy Teeth and Gums: Professional dental cleanings are essential for removing plaque, tartar, and surface stains from your teeth, helping to prevent cavities, gum disease, and bad breath. Our skilled dental hygienists will thoroughly clean your teeth and gums, leaving you with a fresh, healthy smile you can be proud of.

3. Receive Personalized Care: At Portlethen Dental Care, we understand that every smile is unique, which is why we take a personalized approach to dental care. During your routine check-up, our dental team will take the time to assess your oral health and discuss any concerns or goals you may have. We'll work with you to develop a personalized treatment plan that addresses your specific needs and helps you achieve the smile you've always wanted.

4. Enhance Your Smile: Routine dental care isn't just about preventing problems; it's also about enhancing the beauty of your smile. Whether you're interested in teeth whitening, dental bonding, or cosmetic veneers, our skilled dentists can help you achieve the smile of your dreams. With advanced cosmetic dentistry treatments at Portlethen Dental Care, you can enjoy a brighter, more confident smile that lights up the room.

5. Promote Overall Health: Did you know that your oral health is closely linked to your overall health? Poor oral hygiene has been associated with an increased risk of various systemic health conditions, including heart disease, diabetes, and respiratory infections. By prioritizing routine dental care at Portlethen Dental Care, you're not just investing in your smile – you're investing in your overall health and well-being.

Your smile is one of your most valuable assets, and it deserves the best possible care. At Portlethen Dental Care in Aberdeen, we're dedicated to helping you achieve and maintain optimal oral health for a lifetime of healthy smiles. Schedule your routine dental check-up today and take the first step towards elevating your smile to new heights.

Portlethen Dental Care

01224781776

gill@portlethendentalcare.co.uk

Dentist Portlethen - Dentist Near Me - NHS Dentist Aberdeen (portlethendentalcare.co.uk)

4 cookston road,

Portlethen,

Aberdeen,

AB124PT

[rockingrobin69]

Office AU Snip 2

Draco leaned against the doorjamb, lips quirking before settling on a smile. “Harry? What are you doing here?”

He was wearing leg warmers. Thigh high, striped, yellow-green-pink. And a t-shirt, pink too. Harry blinked and blinked and blinked. “I—erm—” what was he… “The, uh, draw. The Strictly draw, we won. The last episode apparently aired last night, I don’t… never watched it.”

“Hmm.” Draco eyed the bottle in Harry’s hands, lower lip disappearing between his teeth. “And quite the prize it is. Come in, come in.”

Harry followed, still blinking so fast he could barely see.

“You’re not just coming from the office, are you?” Draco stopped to look back, shaking his head. “It’s after eight. Harry.”

“Yeah, I know, sorry, I… the Milton case, I was going over the paperwork. Everything needs to be perfect for tomorrow.”

He tsked. “Could have asked me to stay in and help.”

“No, there was no need.” His eyes were starting to water. He’s only ever seen Draco in office clothes for months, and this was—fuck, almost funny. Almost, in a nosebleed sort of way. Leg warmers? It was plenty warm in the flat. Also… a little scratchy down his throat.

“So, what kind of drink did the company splurge on?” Draco came closer, stealing what little air Harry had been able to gulp. “Asda’s own bubbly. Wow. Fancy.”

“Plastic cups, too,” Harry said mechanically, arms stretching forward. “Nothing but the best.”

Draco’s smile was so strange in here. “If you wouldn’t mind, I have some actual glasses in the kitchen. Unless you think it’d cheapen it.”

He left (and the shorts—did Harry mention the shorts, above the darned leg-warmers? Bright green and so… tight on his backside?), and Harry still wasn’t breathing properly. The lighting was soft, a little dim, making it harder to concentrate on the details. Small, blue sofa, a tiny red armchair, a bookcase. Soft-looking rug, a standing lamp in the shape of a—

“Here,” Draco was back, gentle touch on Harry’s arm. “Chin chin.”

Harry took an instinctive sip, and bravely didn’t spit it out. “Gah. I forgot I hate this stuff.”

“I have rum in the kitchen,” Draco said, trying to take the glass back. “Or a bottle of white, but it’s been open a while—how about ginger beer? Oh, I got the most marvellous gin last week, should have some lemonade left.”

“No, no, this is fine.” Harry took another valiant sip, nose scrunched. “It’s so… bubbly.”

“Give it,” Draco laughed, shaking his head. But he came nearer, and thinking was hard, because he was wearing fucking leg-warmers and—and this was all so baffling. “Harry. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Mm, so good. Tastes like victory.” Maybe if he kept it in his hands, Draco would come even closer. Try to wrestle it out of his grasp. Keep calling him ‘Harry’ like that, with the little smile. Maybe their shoulders would brush. Maybe he was losing his fucking mind.

“Fine, have it your way,” Draco rolled his eyes. “If you decide against hating yourself, there are plenty of other drinks in there.”

He made his way to the sitting area, one leg-warmed step at a time. Sat on the sofa, said leg hiking up, so he could rest his chin on a knee.

“Well? Are you going to keep standing?”

Harry could have taken the tiny armchair, but it was rather tiny, probably not the most comfortable. And Draco’s leg on the sofa, so brightly coloured. Everything was, around him. The walls were covered with photos and posters, and Harry looked and looked, not taking anything in.

“Go on then. Ask.”

A bit of a struggle, training his eyes back to Draco. “Ask what?”

“Ask about the penis lamp, Harry.”

He nearly lost his life on a sip. “What… so. That’s what that’s meant to be?”

“Blaise thought he was so funny,” he leaned back, wine sloshing in his glass, eyes wide with laughter, and Harry’s knees went a bit weak. “Got it off of gum tree, believe it or not. This guy in Aberdeen makes them out of old tyres? Naturally when he looked at it, he thought of me.”

“Naturally.” Harry’s voice came out raspy.

Draco leaned back, looking him up and down. “So, what’s the real reason you stayed at work so late?”

“Hmm?”

“Come on. We both know everything was ready for the Miltons all the way last week. What’s eating you up?”

 “Who…” Harry took a laboured breath, swallowed something sticky in his throat. “Who said there’s something—nothing’s wrong. I just needed a little time. To review some documents.”

“So you’ve said,” Draco mumbled, with a slight air of—not disappointment, but something just as bitter. Felt like being punched. “Very well, then. Drink up, Potter.”

[thesconesyard]

Where the West Begins

25. Sea of Dunes

“This is really where ye live.”

Scotty grinned and looked over at his brother on horseback next to him.

“Aye,” Scotty replied with a happy sigh.

“It’s so… so empty,” Robbie said.

They had ridden beyond the ranch towards the hills to the north.

“Of people I mean,” Robbie said quickly. “So much space compared to Aberdeen.”

“Aye, I had enough of people in London,” Scotty said with a frown. “And when I came to the States, the eastern cities were all the same. I had to go further.” He looked at Robbie and shook his head. “It was too tempting to go back, and I didn’t want ye harmed.”

“I wish ye had,” Robbie said softly. “I didn’t even know where to begin searching for ye after the MacLeods were killed.”

“I missed ye everyday,” Scotty said, blinking back the prick of tears in his eyes.

“Aye, same bhràthair.” Robbie actually wiped across his eyes.

“It’s good here,” Scotty said, swallowing back more emotions. “Jim runs an excellent ranch and he’s a dear friend. Everyone here is. We’re a bit like a family I suppose.” Scotty gave a soft chuckle. He glanced over and saw a frown on his brother’s face.

“Hey- I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Robbie said. “I know what ye meant.”

“Robbie, if I had known, I’d have been back in an instant,” Scotty said earnestly. “I made that deal to save your life. It was the hardest choice I ever made.”

“I know,” Robbie said with a sigh. “And I appreciate what ye did. But— it’s hard to not think ye moved on, when ye talk about yer friends here as family.”

“Never! I meant what I said; I thought about ye everyday!”

“I know and I missed ye. I’m sorry—”

“No, I'm sorry for saying it that way and making ye think that.” Scotty looked at Robbie, chagrined.

Robbie nodded, then looked across the land in front of them again, grasses gently waving in the breeze.

“It’s beautiful here. Not like Scotland, but a different beauty,” said Robbie.

“Aye,” Scotty agreed, glad to move on from their previous conversation. “We can turn here and go towards the canyon. Ride along it for a bit before we head back.”

“Lead the way,” Robbie smiled.

“We had a shoot out at the canyon last summer. It was after we found Jaylah and went looking for her family…”

“The poor lass,” Robbie said as Scotty finished telling him how Jaylah had ended up on the ranch.

“It’s been quite a year actually,” Scotty said. “We had a man come who robbed us and then tried to take the ranch by force. He’s locked up now and half his gang hanged.”

“I thought maybe ye’d escaped all our youthful misadventures.” Robbie looked at his brother with wide eyes.

“I thought so too.”

“Does everyone who comes here have some terrible secret?” Robbie asked lightly.

“Well,” Scotty said slowly. “Most of us ended up here running from something. Don’t expect everyone to go telling their tales though.”

Robbie nodded.

“This land just goes on and on,” he said. “Those grasses waving remind me of the sea as I crossed it. I just can’t believe how open it is.”

“I miss all of Scotland’s greenery, but I do love it here,” Scotty told him. “Len asked me once why I never referred to it as home, but it was because of ye. Now, it really is home. And I hope ye’ll think so too at some point.”

“Knowing ye’re alive…” Robbie let out a happy sigh. “I could maybe make it here. It’s very different though…” Robbie cleared his throat.

“Here.” Scotty reached back to one of his saddle bags and pulled out a bottle. He grinned as he held it across to his brother. “Help keep the dust down.”

Robbie laughed as he took the bottle of amber liquid. “Ye brought whiskey?”

“Celebrating getting to show ye around,” Scotty blushed.

Robbie took a drink and handed the bottle back. Scotty had his own drink and put it back in the bag.

“So,” Scotty began with a sly look in his eyes, “did ye break any hearts coming here?”

“Nae,” Robbie laughed. “Nobody wants to get close to an old conman.”

“Ye aren’t old lad,” Scotty chuckled. “And ye gave up the unlawful life. There wasn’t anyone?”

Robbie sighed and for a moment Scotty regretted asking.

“There was a lass for a while.” Robbie shook his head. “I thought maybe… It didn’t work out. How did ye and Dr. McCoy end up together?”

Scotty huffed out a laugh. “We were each circling the other. I thought he and Christine were together. It took that bloody thief coming here for us to realize.” Scotty lowered his voice. “I didn’t tell ye this— but I think Len was jealous of him.”

“He doesn’t seem the type,” Robbie said in surprise.

“Aye, and there wasn’t anything to be jealous of. We turn here,” Scotty said. “That’ll take us back to the ranch.”

“This has been such a nice ride,” said Robbie. “I’m so glad Dr. McCoy wrote to me.”

“Aye, I am too.”

The brothers smiled at each other and kept riding.

[suekreandtheidiots]

Lunch Gossip Circle

Location // Characters: Aberdeen // Hallie and Lance

October 2004 - The gang discusses Hallie's new hairstyle during lunch and Lance is less than thrilled about the subject.

Status/Notes: unfinished/Just a wee snippet about the teenage gang, because they amuse me. xD

***

Pointless debates, needless conversations about things that had no actual impact on anything or anyone - Lance Abbott did not at all feel like having any of those today.

Yet here he was, in the school's dining hall, surrounded by his friends who had picked a particularly irritating subject to discuss. Lance tried his best to block most of it out and just concentrate on the stale food in front of him, but it was easier said than done.

"I'm just sayin' it looks weird, alright? Nothin' more." Fozzy shrugged and proceeded to pour a rather disturbing amount of gravy over his mashed potatoes, earning himself a disgusted look from Cal next to him. "YOU look weird." Cal said, wrinkling his nose and yanking the gravy pot out of his friend's hand before he could use it all up. Fozzy just snickered. "Pf, tell me something' new. Hallie has never looked weird so far, though, and… I don't know? I just don't get why she would deliberately choose to look like… like, uh-" "A deranged pink raccoon?" Diana blurted out, and Lance could tell that she was not even trying to keep her tone remotely friendly.

He shot her a harsh look from the side but Diana didn't even flinch and instead just flashed him one of her saccharine smiles, which usually had every bit of potential to instantly incapacitate his brain function, but now it really just rubbed him the wrong way. Fozzy however cackled loudly at Diana's remark, causing some of the other students in the dining hall to turn their heads. "Good one, Di. Good one. She's a keeper, Abbott." he laughed, pointing at Diana with his thumb while shoving a fork full of mashed potatoes into his mouth with the other.

Lance did not find his girlfriend's line all that funny. Granted, he had not quite made up his own mind about Hallie's new look just yet. He was not exactly a fan but there were sure some people who looked worse; he could name quite a few without even thinking. And while Lance was usually not at all above poking some fun at his friends either, there was something he did not quite like about the way the others talked about Hallie behind her back today.

"Gravy." he merely mumbled into Cal's direction, who passed the pot over to him. Lance looked into it - it was indeed almost empty. "Thanks." he sighed, grabbed his dessert spoon and scratched out the last drops. His heart sunk a little at the sight of his lunch - this had to be the poorest mashed-potatoes-gravy-ratio in school lunch history, but Lance figured he would have to live with it. "Did you hear that, Lancie? I'm a keeper." Diana chirped, slightly nudging him with her elbow. "Why is it always others who have to tell you?" "Cause sometimes I can hardly believe my own luck." Lance said dryly and put the pot away, and although he was convinced that his sarcasm was impossible to ignore, Diana seemed to be happy with his sentiment, as she now leaned into him a little and rested her hand on the inside of his thigh. "What's up with you?" Lance heard Cal ask, after a while of them all eating their lunch in silence. He looked up a few moments later, realizing that everyone had turned their heads to stare at him. Cal was obviously talking to him. "Huh? Me? Nothing." he answered. "You're all getting on my nerves today, but apart from that, I'm good." "You're really being weird today." Fozzy backed Cal up. "Is it about Hallie?" "It's not." "Come on, Abbott, you have to admit, that look of hers is strange." "I don't know." Cal barged in. "I kinda like it? It's unique!" "Pf, unique. I mean, what's even going on with her eyes? Who told her it's a good idea to make herself look like a-" "Deranged raccoon!" Diana insisted. "Seriously, she looks shite and I wouldn't want to be caught dead looking like that, you know?" Lance rolled his eyes. "No one asks you to imitate the look, so if anyone ever caught you dead, you should be fine, thank fuck." he snarled, knowing that he was being unnecessarily rude now, but Diana didn't exactly flaunt her nicest side today either. "What the- if you wanna be crabbit, let it out on someone else?! Like you don't find it weird. You said so yourself this morning?!" "I said I almost didn't recognise her when she opened the door!" Lance corrected her. "Same thing?!" Diana snapped back, made a disgruntled face and let go of him, not without not-quite-accidentally bumping into his upper arm with her elbow. "I'm gonna go and get some air." "God, Di. Sorry I'm not too crazy about joining today's school dinner gossip circle. I mean, there's other stuff we should be thinking about!" he called after his girlfriend but she just marched out of the dining hall with furious steps, no longer paying attention to him. "And what would that be?" Cal leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. "That other stuff we should be thinkin' about?" "The chemistry group project, for example? So far I'm the only one - as usual - who has put in any effort." "Relax, Abbott, that one's due next week and we'll all do our part." Fozzy said, eating another fork full of mashed potatoes. "Di's right, you're crabbit. Stop that." "You know what? Don't even bother." Lance snarled. "I'd rather get an A on that fuckin' project so I'm most likely going to do it all by myself… also, as usual." "He's so modest." Tim now chuckled, and Lance realised that he had been awfully quiet all the time.

[highflyingtales]

My private pilot check ride EP#7

What a rewarding feeling this was.

A stressful past few days led up to the day of my check ride. I had taken the PPL written test a few days prior and felt good about my book knowledge. Coming from a flying background it was hard for me to want to complete the book knowledge because of how much I had already experience and it felt like I was just relearning everything I had been through. Luckily I walked out of there with an 87% and a smile on my face. I am not a very good test taker under pressure so I was very stressed for that day to come.

The next few days after completing the written test I studied up on my oral questions and was able to use some of my CFI as help for doing mock orals and understanding what knowledge needed to be known for the oral. It was also nice having the University of North Dakota curriculum for studying with the for the check ride as it basically outlined every question that was going to be asked on the check ride. It was a very intense and nerve wracking couple of days until the day finally came.

I was very fortunate to have my dad fly out to join me for my check ride. We arrived early morning to meet up with my DPE Mr Robert Clausen. He was an absolutely amazing examiner and I look forward to having him again for my instrument rating this summer. We went upstairs and completed my oral. Luckily it wasn't terribly bad since he was generous enough to let my use the FAR/AIM as part of a guide for some of the questions. It was definitely terrifying but looking back on it, I definitely got it easy compared to DPE stories i've heard on the internet.

After I had completed the oral portion of the check ride we walked out the aircraft and I completed the walk around. I was more nervous for the oral so this piece felt like a cake walk. We fired up N110WK and completed our run up to taxi out for VFR departure to the south. I showed up that morning with a completed nav log so on departure we flew a simulated route to Aberdeen, South Dakota and about 5 minutes into my route we were told to deviate off our heading just a bit for some arriving and departing traffic off our left. Mr Clausen had me fill out the nav log to the best of my ability using how fast we were going and the time it took for us to get "close" to that fix and how long it would take us to get to the next fix. I showed him I knew how to do that and we moved onto the next portion of the flight. We headed over to a practice area just to our west and completed some basic maneuvers including slow flight, stalls, spacial disorientation which was my favorite. He would have me close my eyes and he would put us into some unusual attitudes and I would have to recover the aircraft. Your really get disoriented because your body cant tell you if your going down or up or in a heavy bank so having to make that split second decision is a crucial part. After I completed basic maneuvers we went over to northwood airport and completed a a few laps in the pattern with birds practically hitting us each time since they were hanging out around the airport property. We then headed back to GFK where we entered the pattern and did a short field landing (or soft field, dont remember) and taxied back to the FBO and shut down. I looked over at him and he said congratulations and I was rushed with excitement. It was such a rewarding feeling to know that everything I have worked for in life was finally paying off. We got out of the airplane and signed the paper work and my temporary certificate and thats all she wrote. Mr Clausen did mention at the end that it maybe would of been smart if we didn't continue at Northwood since it was a really short runway and there were lots of birds in the vicinity. It was definitely a memory I will never forget.