#your reboxing the gifts

[oifaaa]

Hi there, sorry that odd anon called you cringe, I do have a question sorry it's off-topic but does boxing day mean putting things in boxes, doing boxing as in combat sports or a secret third option?

It's the day after Christmas it's a bank Holiday originally a day to make donations to those in need now it's more about shop sales and posh cunty twats going fox hunting but at least it's a day off

[gemsondisplay]

To Catch a Moment – Gift Giving

Intro

From Me To You

Captivating a moment in time is a difficult and tricky goal. Although a lofty concept, it can be achieved with proper planning, consideration, and reflection. One often overlooked element of captivating a moment, particularly with proposing or gift giving in general, is the jewelry box. No one can argue that most commercial jewelry comes with a jewelry/merchandise box as a standard. This is a nice consideration from the jewelry, however, sometimes these boxes are a little tacky for the situation. After all, ideally you should only have to propose once. With that in mind, why not select a box that matches your loved one? For example, you can rebox the jewelry or gift in a nice lighted box, a real hardwood box, or imprint a special one of a kind message on the box. All of these little touches add enormously to the moment. Let’s elaborate on those three topics there in further detail. To reiterate: selecting a box or imprinting a box to tailor it to your loved one’s tastes.

Picking That One Out Of A Crowd

See Our YouTube Shorts For More Ideas

Selecting a jewelry box may seem like an unnecessary step, but the special moment would beg to differ. Typically a jewelry box is shipped with a box of its own. No one can argue that this is a nice and considerate gesture from the jewelers. However, sometimes these boxes are a bit simple, such as a plastic hinged box or a generic cotton filled box. These boxes are great for shipping, but may not offer that luxury one-of-kind feel you are trying to achieve. In this case, it’s nice to explore more interesting and dynamic options. One interesting box that Gems On Display offers is a hardwood black box. It’s easy to captivate hearts with its sleek design. This stunning ring box is the perfect companion for your precious jewelry.  Its glossy black exterior exudes a timeless charm that will make any ring shine even brighter. Opening this exquisite box reveals a plush velvet interior, carefully designed to cradle your most treasured items. That one aside, you may not need a pack of jewelry or merchandise boxes. Fair enough. One very amiable and unique option is a lighted box. These boxes are SO rare in the industry. This special design only adds to the moment. The light plays on the curves of the jewelry, which adds to the reflection, gloss, and look of the piece. After all, a diamond only sparkles in the light. These are far from the only options of a remarkable box. To give you a handful of different options there are: hard wood, clear view, leatherette, bronze, and so much more. So, when repackaging a gift or proposal ring, keep these little details in mind. It might add to the moment more than you would think.

You Could Always Print It

Printed Options

Another option to consider is printing on the gift box. As stated above, most jewelers include a gift box with their logo. This is a very nice gesture, however isn’t it more considerate to your loved one to include a special message to them directly. This exudes the feel of a remarkable moment for that one and only person. There are numerous statements that can go on a gift box. Some of these include a special date, a beloved song, a saying, or simple initials. At the end of the day, most of us throw gift boxes away or repurpose them. However, with this special touch, not only with the gift be a cherished reminder of the moment, but also the gift box in which it was given. Gems On Display does offer this service. Although our minimums start at 200 pieces, an amount below this target is also acceptable. There would be a $36 set up fee that would apply, but this would bring the cost of a custom gift box to approximately $50 give or take a bit depending on the style of box selected. This may seem like a tall order, but when taking into account the price of the gift, $50 isn’t as steep, and the added ambience to the moment is immeasurable. Of course, this is up for you to decide.

Let’s Wrap It Up

Whether you’re planning a romantic proposal, celebrating an anniversary, or simply cherishing a special moment, an exceptional box offers an extra touch of enchantment to the occasion. It’s a true keepsake that will be cherished for a lifetime.

[sylphidine]

[ROTG] Knights And Pages

Fanfiction for the @rotgsecretsanta Stocking Stuffer 2020 event.

This story is for the requester of prompt#44:

“...Gen, no pairings, the main Guardians and Pitch book or film characters, any kind of AU (pirates, cowboys, royalty etc), fancy costumes etc (No gender swap/crossdressing)”

I hope a bookstore AU is something you will enjoy. I tried to include everyone I could think of from both the books and the movie.

Happy merry everything!

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DECEMBER 13TH: THE INFORMATION DESK

Manny beamed as he looked out from his station first thing in the morning, his gaze covering the sales floor of Knights And Pages from one end to the other.  Twelve days until Christmas, and, childlike, he was not yet sick of the holiday music piped over the sound system.

He held Petrov, the grey tabby store cat, on his lap as he perched on his stool, and crooned a nursery rhyme into one pointed ear, jigging the cat up and down in time with a beat only he could hear. 

Horsey horsey don't you stop / Just let your feet go clippety-clop / Your tail goes swish and the wheels go round / Giddy up, we're homeward bound.

Petrov had been born in a stable and had spent his entire kittenhood around horses; he moved in a most uncatlike fashion. His heavy “trotting” tread could be heard yards away on the bookstore’s old floorboards. Nevertheless, he was an excellent mouser..  

The cat soon tired of being held, and wriggled out of Manny’s grasp.  He had his indoor fiefdom to explore, after all.

The first customers of the day were making their way to the cashwrap, and he was soon busy answering phones, writing up special orders, and putting books and gifts aside for layaway.

DECEMBER 14TH: THE RECEIVING DEPARTMENT

The building that housed Knights And Pages had once been a loom works, and it showed. The basement below the bookstore’s main floor was dotted here and there with huge spools and odd bits of repurposed machinery that served as cubicle dividers for North and his crew: Phil, Henrietta, and Dingle.  The two conveyor belts bisected the area even further, but somehow the underground space still felt open and welcoming.  Perhaps it was the constant hum of activity; perhaps it was the fact that the cheesy Muzak did not reach down here, and North instead got to play CDs featuring his beloved Russian composers at top volume.

Multiple times a day, the “down” conveyor belt would be in use, taking in deliveries from the building’s garage at street level… UPS, Fedex, DHL, etc. Books from publishers and wholesalers, other items from varying vendors.  Each delivery’s contents would be tallied off by the four workers, matching invoices on their computers, and having labels with titles, SKUs, and prices made for them. Then the contents would be sorted and reboxed with their destinations marked on them, namely the specific department head for whom they were meant. It would never do to send Tooth’s amethyst geodes to Sandy’s bakery, for example, nor would it be wise to send the shipment of autographed copies of Bracken MacLeod’s latest horror novel that Pitch had ordered to Nightlight, who supervised the Poetry and Drama division.

At 4pm each day, the “up” conveyor belt came into play, sending the sorted parcels to the sales floor.  Someone from each department would be there to wheel away the items to their section of the store, and to have their understaff get fresh stock onto the shelves.  The “special orders” came up last, to go straight to the Information Desk and have customer phone calls made.

With only eleven days until Christmas, the incoming deliveries were arriving at a  fast and furious pace, and there was little time to rest between sorts.  Dingle tried to make everyone laugh by sticking out his ridiculously long tongue and pretending to lick each package before it went onto the “up” belt.  He was only stopped with the growled promise from Henrietta that she would dunk him upside down in the local river and hold his head underwater until Easter. She could do it, too, being just as beefily built as her brother Phil.

Finally 4pm arrived and North bellowed cheerily into the intercom, as he did each day, “Time to put wonder into the world!” Those whose turn it was to unload gathered near the chute opening and got ready to pull boxes off the conveyor belt.  Today it was Pippa, Fog, Cupcake, Caleb, Amin, Sascha, Will, Petter, Monty, and Doris.

Petrov watched from his perch of office supply cartons stacked near the backroom where the admin staff worked, the black tip of his tail twitching.

DECEMBER 15TH: THE GIFT SHOPPE 

Tooth was thoroughly impressed when she arrived at her kiosk that morning.  Pippa Chandler and Tooth’s younger daughter Baethiana had set up the booth beautifully.  The new blown-glass teardrop suncatchers were hung at staggered levels off a bar suspended from one of the mill’s overhanging pulleys; they glittered in the winter sheen from the skylight above.  The new shipment of greeting cards had all been slotted neatly into their proper fixtures, as tidily as if she’d been there to supervise.

She hadn’t wanted to take a “sick” day yesterday; it was an unwritten rule in the company that no one got time off between Thanksgiving and New Year’s.  But Tooth’s older daughter Vanish, returned home for the college holidays, had brought along a boyfriend from what Tooth privately termed “the European division”, and she felt she needed to give the matter her personal attention.  Abelard seemed a harmless, mousy fellow, but Vanish had confided in her that he could sometimes display a fiery temper. The couple had weathered some external personal storms together, however, and after Tooth had given Abelard the shovel talk last night, Tooth felt assured that he and Vanish had a future.

Now she smiled as she set up for the day.  She heard a familiar thump-step behind her and reached down to skritch Petrov under his chin. He yawped up at her and showed her his canines, incisors, and premolars, all pearly white after his last vet visit. His deep rumbling purr gave Tooth a warm feeling that lasted throughout the morning and afternoon, despite the hustle and bustle of sales.

DECEMBER 16TH: THE SPECULATIVE FICTION ZONE

Pitch paced the floor between the shelves that demarcated the Horror section and the Urban Fantasy section, stopping, turning and retracing his steps in the direction from whence he came once he hit the bend of shelves labelled Paranormal and Time Travel Romance.  That separated his department from Katherine’s, the other boundary being the Graphic Novels aisle that was part of Jack’s domain.  He made a turn to walk through Mystery, another through Science Fiction, and one more to stand behind Fog in the Swords & Sorcery section.  

The boy was deep in concentration, trying to find room to shelve the newest Brandon Sanderson tome. He jumped when Pitch’s shadow fell over him.

Hands clasped behind a rigidly straight back, tight-fitting blazer worn over a black silk shirt buttoned up to the neck and paired with black slacks whose sharp creases screamed of personal tailoring, Pitch knew he appeared intimidating and unapproachable to the younger booksellers, cashiers and interns. But he knew how to show appreciation for diligence, and he made a point now to compliment Fog on his tidiness and his skills in building attractive book displays.

Pitch had never forgotten all the years where he'd toiled unseen and unvalued until this job had fallen into his lap. He had his daughter Seraphina to thank for that.

Sage, his assistant department head, arrived for her shift,  grumbling about humanity in general and bad winter drivers in particular.  She pulled her heavy braid out of the bun which had gotten messed by her hood,, recoiled it,, and pinned it back in place.  Pitch greeted her with one of his rare smiles; they understood one another well, two seemingly curmudgeonly people who could surprise listeners with delight when they opened up about their pet fascinations and interests.

He walked back to his nook where his laptop was set up and sat down to write his weekly blog, as all the department heads were required to do. Today's book review was for a small press anthology called A KRAMPUS CAROL. He was tempted to don the Krampus horns headpiece that Sage had given him last year, but refrained. Time enough for that later in the month. 

Pitch's concentration was broken by the arrival of Petrov underfoot, batting one of those dratted plush snowballs that decorated the Kids and Teens Zone, on the other side of the wall next to his hideyhole. He looked down his long nose at the unrepentant cat and intoned, "You dare to have fun in my presence?" Said unrepentant cat looked back at him and blinked slowly. 

Admitting defeat, Pitch leaned down, scooped up the snowball toy, and threw it down the aisle for the grey tabby to chase. 

DECEMBER 17TH: THE KIDS AND TEENS ZONE

Jack still had no idea how he had been chosen to become a department head, of all things.  He was much more interested in chilling out and pursuing fun times, whereas his two department coworkers, Cynara and Eleanor, seemed to be much more attuned to hard work and deadlines.  They both were former elementary school teachers and knew more about picture books and early readers than he would ever know.  His own reading tastes tended to lean more towards material for the upper grades and the high school crowd.

But the three managed to complement each other in their knowledge bases, and they genuinely enjoyed working with each other. Tall, thin Eleanor never missed the opportunity to sling a pun in casual conversation, and pixyish Cynara had a wicked sense of humour that the kids who came to their storytelling events adored. [The kids also adored when Cynara would take off her wig and twirl it on her finger, not ashamed in the least of her bald post-radiation head.]

Jack had a new intern this holiday season, who introduced themselves as “Cupcake”.  They were tall for their age, sturdily built, and dressed in a mix of denim and lace.  Their jacket was bedazzled on the back with their credo, “Battle Ballerina”. They didn’t say much, but they were always helpful, and many of the other understaff throughout the store had learned to appreciate them, after a period of being intimidated by their height and  their seemingly perpetual glower… until they smiled.  Then they almost… well, Jack thought to himself, GLOWED. 

That was enough introspection for the day. People would start thinking he’d grown up and turned all serious. Time was a’wasting, and snowballs wouldn’t throw themselves.

As if on cue, Petrov strutted into view, and Jack could swear the cat winked at him.  

Who to prank today? 

DECEMBER 18TH: THE BAKERY / COFFEE COUNTER 

Neither Caleb nor Claude could stop yawning this morning.  Their mother Honoria had dropped them off at Sandy’s at the crack of dawn to pick up the daily batch of pastries and croissants that Sandy had made in his own kitchen. Then the three drove in to stock the little enclosed kiosk at the bookstore that served as a small cafe. The only benefit that the twins could see to having their day start so heinously early was that they got to go home that much earlier than everyone else.

Sandy turned on the glimmering curtain lights behind the counter, which cast a golden glow over the space. It seemed like a bright island compared to the rest of the darkened bookstore,  something out of a children's story about Dreamland. 

Claude said to Caleb,  "You want to do urns or utensils today?" The question was mostly a formality… Claude knew his brother was much better at making coffee than he was.  But they split the cafe work evenly between them, as they'd done with other things  all their lives. Caleb grinned back at him, "I'll make it so you can drink it."

"Cool."

His hands moving slowly but efficiently to craft a delicious display of wrapped baked goods,  Sandy was in his quiet happy place. These few hours before Knights And Pages opened to the public made him feel like the master of his domain.  He could weave himself half a dozen dreams in silence and serenity before having to deal with the noise and bustle of commerce.

Although he often found himself the listener to other people’s dreams, as well, during the course of the day.  Being small, round, and genial seemed to draw people to him like frozen travellers seeking a hearth to rest by.

Sometimes, that was almost enough to drown the call of a long-ago, distant life.

Movement caught Sandy’s eye. A small grey shadow separated itself from the other shadows outside the glass door of the cafe.  Sandy smiled; Petrov had arrived for his vanilla frosting fix… not to eat, merely to sniff.  He’d never known a cat with such self-control.

Perhaps today would be a good day, after all.

DECEMBER 19TH: THE ART DEPARTMENT

“No, no, no!  Gauguin does NOT go next to Miro! Were you raised in a barn?”

“Bunny, why are you yelling at the cat?”

“Because you’re late, and Amin’s not in until 4pm, and I have fourteen cartons from Taschen to put away, that’s why.  I’m dealin’ in perishables, here.”

“Sorr-eeeee!!!  If you hadn’t noticed, it’s sleeting to beat the band out there.  Jamie nearly skidded off the bridge driving us in ---”

The tall Australian interrupted, his mood changing instantly from annoyed to concerned as he looked Sophie over. “Are you OK? Y’coulda called out, ya know, if it was that bad.”

The blonde scoffed and pushed her wet messy bangs out of her eyes.  “Call out during the Christmas rush?  I’d never hear the end of it. ‘Oh, teenagers these days, they don’t know how to cope with anything, one little snowflake and they panic’, that sort of thing.”

Bunny had to laugh, she’d scored a perfect imitation of some of the grouchier customers they’d had to deal with over time. Sophie had been volunteering at Knights And Pages since she was ten; Bunny had met her by literally falling over her as she sat in the middle of an aisle, poring over drawing books.  She was fifteen now, and looking forward to being able to actually call herself an employee.

Petrov, bored now that he was no longer being engaged in scintillating conversation about Post-Impressionists and Surrealists, lashed his tail back and forth and wandered off in high dudgeon.

DECEMBER 20TH: THE SCIENCE DIVISION

She had won the war, even if she’d had to give ground [or, more precisely, had to seem to give ground] in several battles.  But Seraphina’s department was better-stocked than it had been in years, with everything from Sascha’s picks for materials science, recommendations from Taras for both the bestsellers and forgotten classics of astronomy and physics, and her own zoology and meteorology selections.

Seraphina had sneakily allowed Jack to think he’d overruled her by cross-shelving Ruth Spiro’s “Baby Loves Science” children’s books alongside her beloved Kaku, Feynman, Penrose, McPhee, Muir and Carson titles.  She personally thought it a brilliant idea, but couldn’t let that twerp think he knew better than she did.

She felt a twinge of sadness when she thought of Taras.  His practical knowledge of astronomy weighed a lot more in her opinion than the suggestions of pushy sales reps trying to tout their latest catalogues.  She knew, however, that he’d be moving on to better things at the university after the holidays were over. Yes, Taras would be missed.

Which brought to mind questions about what her own future held.  Her father was settled nicely in his new life, thanks to her. Sascha had bloomed and blossomed ever since Seraphina had started giving her the authority to act as an assistant buyer, turning her love of tinkering and invention into a concrete research tool that would stand her in good stead.  If Seraphina decided to return to active fieldwork, she could ask for no better than Sascha to step into her shoes here at Knights And Pages.

A furry body curled around her ankles.

“Would you miss me, Petrov?”

A trilling purr was her only reply.

DECEMBER 21ST: THE LITERARY FICTION AREA

“Tall William! Jamie Bennett!  To your posts, front and center.  Murasaki waits for no man!”

Both boys groaned as they answered their department head’s summons.  That pun was excruciatingly bad, even for their boss, who was known for bad wordplay.

“Why do I have to be Tall William this year?” grumbled Will, who stood barely an inch taller than Jamie’s five-foot-eight in stocking feet.

“No clue,” replied Jamie. “My mom says there’s always been a Tall William here as long as she could remember. A Christmas superstition.”

Mr. Qwerty fluttered - there was no other way to describe his unique way of locomoting - from shelf to shelf, his feet barely seeming to touch the ground as he stroked the spines of some of his favourite classics with affection.  Shoppers browsed in the aisles in front, behind,  and around him, and for all the attention he paid them, he might as well have been an invisible creature of fantasy and folklore.  For Mr. Qwerty, the written word was more important than any human, other than those humans who produced the written word and those humans who took on the awesome responsibility of bookselling.

Petrov refused to be ignored, however; he leaped atop the shelving cart next to where Mr. Qwerty stood, meowing loudly.  That got the fussy bespectacled man to emerge from his bibliophile's reverie.

“Ah, Yule Cat! Claw us not, for as you can see, we all have new raiment!”  He proudly tweaked his splendid bowtie, while Jamie and Will made unseen faces behind his back.

They were both careful, however, to make sure that Petrov saw that they were both also wearing new bowties.  

DECEMBER 22ND AND DECEMBER 23RD: HISTORY, POETRY AND DRAMA, ROMANCE

Any seasoned bookseller worth their salt knows that the final two days before Christmas Eve are a kind of calm-before-the-storm situation, and that less experienced staff might find intriguing ways of breaking the “hurry up and wait” tension.  Thus no one who worked at Knights And Pages was surprised to observe, over those 48 hours:

A sword fight with NERF swords between Emma and Petter in the History section

Monty, who worked in the Poetry & Drama section, and Doris, who worked in Romance, hotly debating in all seriousness whether “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” was an example of the epic form, and whether the Grandpa in the story would get married again

Joanna and Madeleine not taking sides with their department mates

Ombric, Nightlight, and Katherine, as the respective section heads involved, undecided as to whether they should interfere, resign, or go home with stress headaches

DECEMBER 24TH: THE SHOPOCALYPSE AND ITS AFTERMATH

The breakroom table was loaded with food, actual food, as well as candies and cakes. As was traditional, no one knew who had brought what dish, although a few guesses could be made.  The only rule was that every dish had to be labelled with its ingredients, and that utensils for gluten-free food had to be kept far, far away from any other utensils.

All the section heads made scrupulously sure that employees had staggered breaks so that EVERYONE could partake in the buffet over the course of the day.

Finally the last customer was ushered out of the bookstore, and both understaff and higher-ups heaved a collective sigh of relief that they’d survived another holiday season.

Manny made sure that Petrov’s litter box was scooped, that both his food dishes and water dishes were full, and that the heat was on in the back office before everyone left for Christmas.

Later that night, moonbeams shone in through the skylights as the grey cat prowled the sales floor one more time before heading up the backstairs to his TRUE domain. 

Mister Lessmore, the proprietor of Knights And Pages, scooped Petrov up in loving arms, and they both snuggled down in the overstuffed armchair for a long winter’s nap.

[sayhitoforever]

Burn Season - Malcolm Bright x Reader - PT (7/?)

A little holiday gift for all you lovely people.  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6-  Thanks for all the love and support for this series. You guys are wonderful, your feedback makes my heart feel so full. I am playing around with the idea of making this it’s own fic, with an OC protagonist instead of a reader insert. If I go through with that, you guys will be the first to know and I’ll post any links here, most likely for AO3. Thank you, as always, for reading. This will be the last update for 2019! GIF credit to diver5ion because Malcolm is serving LOOKS 👌 .

~

Even with the meticulously neat organization of the evidence, it had taken Malcolm well into the evening to get through the boxes. The pictures were spread across his island and the floor as he’d tried to set up the scene the way it had been when it was first photographed. He poured over each report and lab and all the testimony that had been gathered before starting in on Y/N’s notes, usually left on sticky notes stuck to the reports. Some of them were incomprehensible, clearly pulling facts and forming theories around evidence he’d yet to read through.

It was strange, he thought. Y/N had said it wasn’t personal, that she hadn’t cared about her father, but all the hard work in front of him said otherwise. It could be that he was misinterpreting it, that the dedication to all the evidence spread around him was just part of her job. It was stranger even that her father wasn’t among any of the victims contained in the boxes, not that he could tell at least. Why, he wondered, would she tell him what she had but leave out any information that corroborated her story?

Six crime scenes, six charred buildings, corpses into the double digits, the timeline spanning over eight years. It had grounds to qualify as a serial killer by the modus alone. Always an abandoned factory or warehouse, some condemned and dilapidated building. Planned, intentional, where no one but the intended victims could be hurt. It was an act of empathy, an act of restraint, and that ruled out any theory involving a sociopath.

Malcolm found that all of the victims in the boxes had some kind of mafia affiliation. It was a dawning sort of dread that fell over him as he realized that the manner in which they’d been tied up, every last one of them, reflected crimes they’d been alleged of committing. The two handcuffed to old piping were infamous sex traffickers, known for keeping women chained up in basements to be abused. Another with remnants of his shattered kneecaps found in the ash, both ankles broken, known for crippling his enemies before executing them with a bullet between the eyes.

We will make you sorry.

Retribution then, like paying it forward in the cruelest way possible. Forcing them to suffer that which they’d done to others before they died. It was the fire though; the fire didn't seem to fit. It was the odd piece of the puzzle. Why burn them? What was that a reflection of?

Malcolm was reaching for his phone to text Y/N when it chimed with a message from Gil. ID on the victims from the other night that they were able to pull from their dental records. More mafia thugs, he noted as he scrolled through the reports Gil had sent, before stopping at the list of their alleged crimes. And there at the bottom of all three was the answer to his developing theory. Alleged murder, charges that never struck, involving bodies out in the wilderness, tied to posts with rope and shot at like an execution by firing squad.

The next chime was a phone call and Malcolm brought the phone to his ear.

“Gil,” he said by greeting.

“You got anything for me, Bright?”

“I…” Malcolm hesitated, looking at the spread of evidence all over his loft. “I don’t know. There’s a lot here, Gil. Years of evidence.”

“Any of it you can bring in? We could try to help, offer a fresh pair of eyes?” Gil offered and Malcolm could hear the sound of a coffee pot being returned to its stand. He smiled tiredly; so they were all depending on caffeine to get through the day now.

“There’s too much here to bring.” Malcolm stared at photos of the fourth crime scene, recalling testimony of a nearby vagrant. Something about overhearing someone a short while before the old factory had gone up in flames:

We will make you sorry.

Malcolm sighed, knowing that a fresh pair of eyes might actually be of some help. “But, let me grab what is most important and I’ll head over. Is Y/N there? I had a couple questions for her.”

“I saw her about a half hour ago, so I would imagine she’s around here somewhere,” Gil replied.

“I’ll be there soon,” Malcolm promised and pocketed his phone again as Gil confirmed.

What precisely to bring with him out of the mountain of evidence before him was another beast entirely. Should he rebox it and bring it all with him? Should he even keep reflecting on old evidence when he had a new case with fresh evidence that might even have more reliable results to focus on? Photos at the very least would help, and he made quick work of returning them all to their properly labeled envelopes and slipping them under his arm after donning his coat.

The chill in the evening air was like a sigh of relief as it washed over him. He’d been cooped up for so long, so focused, that he hadn’t even noticed that he’d been feeling a little claustrophobic. When he entered the precinct for the second time that day, Gil was on a heated, closed-door phone call with someone in his office, Dani had left to chase down the owner of the warehouse, and JT was on his way back with food for them all. With a sigh, envelopes full of old crime scene photos still tucked under his arm, he made his way to Edrisa’s lab where he was greeted with the sound of her pealing laugh as he opened the door.

“Mr. Bright!” Edrisa greeted him, face lighting up as he entered her lab.

Y/N was sprawled in Edrisa’s chair, booted feet kicked up onto her desk. The look she gave him across the room was a little haggard, but sharp nonetheless. He’d never asked her what business had called her away so quickly earlier, but it was clear now that sleep hadn’t been involved. It was the most comfortable he’d seen her around another person, and he wondered what specifically it was about Edrisa that maybe put her at ease.

“You two aren’t drinking again, are you?” he asked, eyeing Edrisa closely.

“Oh, no, no, it’s too early for that,” Edrisa laughed, looking back at Y/N who nodded with emphasis. “We were swapping stories of the worst dead bodies we’ve seen.”

Malcolm shot Y/N a critical look. The grin he received in return was nothing short of sardonic. “You have a laundry list of dead body stories?”

“More than I’ll ever let on,” Y/N said with a casual shrug, grin nearly splitting her face in half as she heard Edrisa’s groan of defeat.

“I knew you were holding out on me,” Edrisa lamented, hanging her head. “I even told you about the bog body.” Malcolm couldn’t help but chuckle at the hang-dog look on her face.

“C’mon, E. I gotta save the good ones. Can’t spill all my good stories at the same time.” Her eyes glittered as she looked over Edrisa’s sagging frame with another laugh, before she pinned Malcolm in place again.

“Oh, where are my manners? Have you two met already?” Edrisa exclaimed, glancing between the two.

Malcolm blanched for a moment, having forgotten that Y/N had left the crime scene while Edrisa was caught in traffic the other night. And again after the Baby Stout incident, she’d yet to discover that they were already well-acquainted.

“We are familiar,” Malcolm replied, slowly and awkwardly.

Edrisa blinked up at him, the word ‘familiar’ seeming to strike a chord with her. “Has she told you any of her good stories?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Bright and I haven’t had the opportunity to share our best case stories,” Y/N piped in, moving her hands to settle them atop her stomach as she lounged even further down into the chair. “But this case is squaring up to be a pretty good one.”

“That’s true!” Edrisa said enthusiastically. “I might even submit this case to the review board if we close it. Carbonization of tissue is such a fascinating subject, very open to debate about how it…”

When both Y/N and Malcolm stared owlishly at her as she trailed off, clearly lost in her own thought, she gathered herself just a little. “I could use more coffee. Do either of you—”

“Yes, please,” Y/N and Malcolm said in stereo. Edrisa’s eyes flitted between the two of them like she was watching a ping-pong match before she pointed at Y/N and laughed like they’d shared a joke Malcolm hadn’t quite caught. She continued to chuckle as she exited the lab.

Y/N remained where she was, feet still propped up, hands folded on top of her stomach, eyes studying him where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes darting around the room.

“Spit it out,” she said suddenly. “Unless the question is meant for Edrisa.”

He winced, visibly, beginning to hate just how transparent Y/N made him feel. He couldn’t be that obvious, right? He was a trained professional after all. “It’s a sensitive question,” Malcolm said instead, holding back more questions. Always questions. Questions he was sure might never get answered. Not when the person he needed to ask evaded them like a pro, not when the questions entered a territory too personal, too private, too dark.

“Ok, I’ll bite,” she said simply.

Malcolm hesitated, his own racing train of thought coming to a screeching halt. “It’s regarding your father,” he said, giving her the leeway to refuse his request.

She stared at him impassively, cocking her head to the side slightly. “I’m still listening.”

He swallowed reflexively, trying to push out one coherent question at a time. “Was there anything that stood out in his autopsy report, anything weird, anything violently particular?”

“Clever.” Was the only thing Y/N said for a moment, eyes glazing over a little in contemplation, her silence leaving Malcolm prickling with anticipation. “Can’t believe I never thought about this, but yeah. His mouth had been stapled shut. Surgical steel.”

Malcolm’s pulse thundered in his ears as her gaze focused on him once more. She'd said it so easily, effortlessly, like the act of recalling that her father’s body had been mutilated while he was still alive, that he’d been silenced, before being burned alive meant nothing to her. Maybe it really wasn’t personal for her. Maybe it was just one of those cases you got fixated on because it had gone unsolved for so long. Maybe Malcolm was just projecting something onto her. His own need to understand everything that effected him in some way. The way she was looking at him, calm, exhausted, with no real sadness in her gaze, spoke volumes.

He stared back, too flabbergasted to speak for a moment before swallowing dryly. “So, I have a theory…”

[sir-huffman]

@travclcr​ asked:

Lumine waved pleasantly as she approached. Huffman was usually so much more... formal than the Knights she dealt with typically, she' was never quite sure how to approach him. "Sorry to bother you, Sir Huffman, but I overheard some of the others mentioning your birthday?"

She held out a small box with a smile, which turned a little bashful as she said, "It... it's not much. I'm not nearly as good at baking as cooking, turns out... But still, I hope you can enjoy it. Happy birthday!" The cake contained within is simply decorated, but obviously with much care. Chances are it's either a little overdone, or a little underdone, but it's the thought that counts, right?

Huffman had to look over his shoulder as he noticed the traveler walking up to him. A smile and a small waves was given as well as a small salute towards the lass. It was always a pleasant surprise to see her when she came to visit Mondstadt again.

However, upon the mention of his birthday, well...Huffman could only smile and nod. Hands gently reached out for the box before carefully opening it. Seeing the small cake inside...clearly it was homemade. How precious.

❝ Ah, thank you Miss Lumine. For the birthday wishes and the cake. It’s an honor to receive a gift from you. ❞

He chuckled as he reboxed the little cake up and set it down onto the table. He’ll have to get to it later.

❝ Have your travels been faring well?. ❞