* c r o w !

CROW FALCONER-QUINN, Auror Recruit, Pacific Squad. Trans Man. He/Him. I want some satisfaction, take me to the stars. Points: 140 Cases:

[crowfq]

dantevalentino​:

The nice thing about Crow is that there’s nothing subtle about him. Nothing subtle about his clothes, or the way he looks, but better than that, nothing subtle about the way he tells you exactly what he wants, the way he telegraphs it, intention and desire so clear on his face, and in his voice. It’s a game, it always is, but it’s a game Crow makes it very easy to win. His gaze heavy, as he watches Dante lick his lips, the way he, almost imperceptibly leans in, like he’s thinking about it and his body is betraying him just slightly.

Crow wants to kiss him. No—scratch that. Crow wants Dante to kiss him. Crow wants Dante to do a lot more than that. He came for the sunglasses but, just like Dante had hoped, they were a convenient excuse, a prelude to something else. For a second, just a second, he finds himself caught in the thought that maybe he would slip the sunglasses back off and they’d be forgotten on the bedside table again, a perpetual and recursive excuse. 

     “Now whose talking about promises,” he says, and his voice comes out low, and rough, and he’s glad the counter is where it is, right there beside them, because he can set his glass down in the same movement as he leans forward to catch Crow’s lips with his own. 

It’s a little less messy than last time, the kiss. Neither of them is drunk, but more than that, the last time had been a rush of pent-up desire, following the long walk back. Their clothes had been half off before the door even shut and locked behind them. They’d already been thinking beyond the kissing stage before they even got there, two steps ahead of themselves and hurried with want. This time, he can take his time, as he runs his tongue across Crow’s lips, now-free hands moving to pull him close. Can savor the taste of whiskey lingering there, the scratch of facial hair as he lifts a hand to Crow’s jaw, the race of his pulse against Dante’s palm where it brushes against his throat.

Crow would be lying if he said he hadn’t been daydreaming, a little bit, about Dante. Over the last few weeks, its something that’s loomed in his mind. The push and pull of every conversation that they’ve ever head. Dante is something so much more exciting than a somewhat awkward one night stand, and if he was anybody else Crow would have already forgotten about him. But it was good, and Crow had wanted more of it. Every time he looked across the room at Dante, he wondered what it would be like to do it again, not as drunk this time. He wondered if it would be as good, he wondered if Dante would treat him differently now that they had to see each other every day. He wondered if he could convince Dante to do it all again, more than once, just for the hell of it. 

It isn’t so hard to convince him, as it turns out. Not with the way that Crow goes about these things. He doesn’t usually have time for subterfuge, he wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s one of those people where you always know what the fucking wants, and sometimes that can hurt him. But right now, he’s glad for it, because Dante takes the hint. 

And kissing him feels like something almost magical. A spark of wanting, a spark of satisfaction. Finally getting what he’s wanted for these last few weeks. Finally. And it’s just as good as he remembers, better somehow. Because Dante is taking his time with it, kissing him slow and hot and with purpose, as if he’s trying to savour Crow somehow. Crow presses close, not quite as patient. A little harsher, a little more wanting. But he lets Dante take charge for the most part, enjoy it in whatever way he wants to. And he finds himself feeling full of something, something strangely light and happy. A laugh bubbles up, when the kiss breaks for a second. “Better at that when I’m not seeing double.” He comments, with a little grin, before kissing Dnate again. A press to the corner of his mouth, a little sweeter just for a moment, before he returns to form and asks for more. 

[crowfq]

auroraprilmonday​:

She really should pay more attention to her surroundings, she thinks to herself as Crow relays a bit of office gossip regarding Hattori and Sierra. After everything she and Becca found in his desk, she feels like she’s been somewhat more hyper aware of him than usual, but clearly not enough so that she could pick up something like that. If it were Becca or Emmy sitting in front of her, she likely would have explored what all that could mean more- but something tells her Crow isn’t on the Appius conspiracy group chat. 

Filing away her thoughts on Hattori for later, she refocuses on his next statement, which only proves to get her detective brain whirring once again. There was only two aurors she could think of in the officer rank- Emmy and Dante. And while she wouldn’t call herself the most observant when it came to things like office romances, she felt quite certain Emmy wasn’t the one who seemed to be causing the slight red tinge to Crow’s cheeks. His next hint, only proves to confirm her guess. 

“Ooh,” she draws out with a shy grin, even the thought of Crow getting entangled with a coworker causing a blush to spread across her own cheeks. “And does he seem equally interested in marring your virtue?” She asks, feeling a bit like she lived in a Jane Austen novel, when she does. 

She’s fairly certain she knows the answer, but after the last few weeks Crow had she figured he could use the excuse to talk about something like this, instead of the complicated mess that brought him to the squad in the first place. 

It feels strange, in a way, to be talking to April like this. She’s always been a little bit above and beyond. While the rest of them played together, grouped up as the younger ones, April was more like one of the grown ups. She was closer with people like Emmy, who had a good few years on Crow, who had been there when no one else had been. He’d always wanted her to like him, but it had always seemed a little bit impossible to get to know her. She loomed at grown up tables, and even now he sometimes felt like a kid that she was humoring.

He wouldn’t have imagined, a few months ago, that he’d be doing this all with her. Sharing special places, sharing little secrets, talking about boys. They seemed to be more on the same page, and she was at least interested enough to push the topic further, every now and then. 

He lets himself smile, warm, as he thinks about it. Vitale. It was a nice thing, a nice thought, some fun that they were having together now. Dante’s nice touches, his passionate kisses. He lets out a soft laugh as he glances back at April. “Oh, I think I’ve got him on the hook.” He nudges her, softly. “Some guys are way too easy.” 

And because he knows that everyone talks to everyone here, he continues. “Wouldn’t go planning the wedding yet, though. Just some fun, you know?” And because he’s curious, because he wants to know. “You’ve worked with him for a little while, right? What do you think of him?”

[crowfq]

beccasavage​:

Officer Handsome. Ugh. She loves Crow and supports him and respects his terrible taste and his terrible choices, but he really deserves better than that guy.  She almost says something, but it doesn’t feel like the time: they’ve got a case to solve, after all, the bitching about Dante Vitale can wait for after work, when they inevitably go have celebratory drinks to reward themselves for a case well done.

     “Yeah, yeah, don’t be so impatient,” she says, rolling her eyes, scooping the file and her pink pen and everything else she needs into a bag and grabbing her coat off the back of her chair. She picks her telekit up last, putting it in her jacket pocket where she can get to it easily, and then puts a hand on her hip, turning back to Crow. “You ready?”

They apparate to San Bernardino, to a park near the neighborhood in question, and take a few minutes to walk over to their nosy neighbor’s house, getting a feel for the layout of the neighborhood. It’s a pretty standard no-maj suburb, a bunch of similar looking houses, a bunch of winding streets that wrap back around one another so every backyard faces up against someone else’s backyard. One of those vaguely claustrophobic places in its repetitive sameness. 

She steps up to the right door, when they get there, and knocks, bumping Crow’s shoulder with her own as they wait for someone to come to the door and answer it. There’s a bubbling kind of excitement in her stomach, butterflies. Excitement and determination, to do as good a job as she can, to prove she’s earned this. 

     “Ms. Papadopolous?” she says, when the door opens and a woman in her late 40s looks out, expectantly. “I’m Becca Savage, and this is Crow Falconer-Quinn, from the Pacific Squad. We’re here about the break in you witnessed. Would you mind if we came in?” 

He lets himself feel light, feel amused for the most part. It would be nice to just settle in to this, a day with Becca beside him if nothing else, even if the case clearly wasn’t anything too exciting for them. He’s sure that Becca would have iked something more, something that would have set her apart from the rest of the pack as a lead. But she would do well, and this would be another tick mark next to her name. It would take her far, he was sure of that much. 

He slips his own telekit into his back pocket, badge in the inside one of his denim jacket. Pretty much everything he needs in life, with his wand in its holster and his wards in perfect order. 

He looks around the neighborhood when they arrive. It seems so utterly normal. It seems like one of those perfect places that No-Maj people like to live in. He follows slightly behind Becca as he looks, finds the address of the man whose home had been broken in to. The hair at the back of his neck stands up just slightly, the result of a passing breeze, and he nudges Becca back when she bumps into him. He shoots her a smile, folds his hands behind his back and gives her a wink, as if to tell her in silence that she’s going to do amazing here. 

The woman who answers the door smiles at him. She looks like a kind sort, with a softness around the eyes. She looks like shes thinking for a second about how young they are, as well. And they are, kind of, the kids that get sent out to mop up the easy stuff. “Of course, honey. Come right inside. I wasn’t sure anyone was gonna be wanting to follow up any further on all of that, but I’m glad you’re here. Could be messy stuff, you know?” She says, as she leads them inside and toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink while you ask your questions? I just made some lemonaide, if you’re interested.” 

“Oh, I’ll take some.” Crow says, letting himself be young, letting himself give the woman one of his most charming smiles. Her eyes crinkle when she smiles back, getting a glass for the both of them.

“It’s really a little scary, you know? The idea of someone prowling around there and using magic to break in to people’s houses. I can’t believe that I even spotted it. Makes you worry that some poor no-maj might have seen it happen.” 

[crowfq]

dantevalentino​:

Crow pulls away, and he watches, as he makes his way to the bar cart, seems to take his time picking out glasses, pouring two drinks, talking all the while. He watches the way Crow moves, already familiar-feeling, a posed confidence, a well-practiced ease to the way he moves, like he does this all the time.

     “Blithe and disinterested, is it?” he says, and maybe that first night Crow could have persuaded him that there was anything blithe or disinterested about him, but all this playing at being strangers is so much harder when he’s seen so much more of Crow—more than he usually sees, of the people he sleeps with. The way Crow acts with his friends, the way Crow acts with some of who it has rapidly become apparent he considers his family in one way or another. Monday, Yaxley, that whole strange little cluster of people. He’s seen Crow soften, mask off, talking about backyard cookouts. 

It should make him want to do this less. It should make this feel more complicated, that he knows a side of Crow that Crow wouldn’t have shown him if they’d just met up in some club again and decided to do this. It should make him want to do this less, that they have to see each other every day, that Crow is… fuck, what is he? If Dante feels increasingly like a spy in enemy territory, with everything ramping up around him, then Crow is the enemy. He’s spent all these years doing everything he can to not get close to any of his colleagues in any meaningful way, so they won’t know him, so they won’t know enough to see him for who he really is. But. Crow—

This doesn’t have to mean he’s getting close to him, he tells himself, as Crow slips the glass into his hand, as he raises it to his lips and takes a sip of the whiskey, licks his lips as he drops his hand back down. This isn’t anything they haven’t done before. Crow’s seen his apartment before. Crow’s seen more than that. This doesn’t have to be any different than the last time. It doesn’t.

     “Lucky for you, there are more interesting things to ruin than your reputation.” 

There’s a note to Dante’s voice that tells Crow he doesn’t believe the act for a second. Crow couldn’t really pull off blithe for more than a moment. The more you got to know him the more clear it became that he cared about far too much, that he depended on every connection he had built in his life to keep him standing up right. His friends, his family, even things like this. The push and pull of it all. It makes him shoot Dante a smile, a cheeky little grin. He does like the thrill of this, the energy of standing here and letting Dante look at him.

He isn’t really sure what Dante thinks of him, fully. He can’t tell. But he thinks it might be good. He thinks that Dante must like him, at least a little bit, to have him here. He could have kicked Crow out the second he handed the glasses over, if he didn’t want Crow hanging around, if he didn’t want to delve deeper into what was going on between them. Maybe he wanted to be fuckbuddies or something. They could do that. Crow could cope with that, with the fun and with the excitement of getting to know Dante a little better. He knew, because it was the way Crow was, always getting attached, that it might burn him in the end. He might get hurt.

But somehow, he didn’t really think that he would. 

He just lets himself look, appreciative, when he takes the glass and takes a sip of it. He likes the way that he looks, the way that he licks his lips. He’s really too attratcive to be safe, for someone like Crow, who wants things so badly. 

So he smiles again, slow and interetsed, arches an eyebrow. “Hey now, don’t go making promises you can’t keep.” He says, a little breath of a thing, sounding...definitely interested. He feels so close, looking up at Dante. He takes a sip of his own drink, halfhearted, because its the thing to do, lets it linger against his lips and swallows it slow, feeling the low burn. He lets it dangle then by his side, almost happy to just set it down, if Dante wanted to do something else, like kiss him. “Start talking about ruining things and you might never get me to leave.” 

[crowfq]

beccasavage​:

It’s so familiar, sitting with Crow like this. She thinks, sometimes, she does her best work like this. After all, this is what the Academy had been like, the two of them working through problems together in their cute little apartment in New Orleans. This is what Ilvermorny had been like, too, with Kes at their side, studying endlessly for tests and assessments in her dorm room or his, or out on the grass outside, or wherever they wanted to lay around and quiz each other. There’s been a Crow-shaped hole in the Squad since she started on it, and it’s only him being there that makes it apparent how weird that’s been, how much better things are with him here. 

      “Oh my god, a stakeout,” she says, feeling a little delighted by the prospect. “Yes, you’re one hundred percent right, babe. See what we can get from the nosy neighbor, the weirdo loner victim, then hunker down and wait for some weird shit to happen, jump out and get our guy. You’re a genius, Crow, I could kiss you.” 

She starts scribbling down notes as she talks, questions they could ask each of the witnesses they had in their file, other things they might want to look for around the neighborhood. Signs of magic, on the window, if the guy would let them into the house, this cool spell she learned from de la Cruz on a case a few weeks ago that would show any traces of magic from the incident to give them an idea of what might have been done. 

     “What do you think, nosy neighbor first and then this guy? I feel like we’ll be able to get more out of her easily, he sounds like he’s gonna be a strug, honestly.” 

Becca’s energy is an infectious thing. It always has been. If anyone could ramp him up and get his energy flowing, it was Becca Savage. They were made of the same stuff, the same interests and the same same thought process. Thrilled by the same things, saddened by simmilar situations. Kes said they were some kind of big positive energy feedback loop, and that it wasn’t always a good thing. But Crow didn’t see how it could be bad, when it meant that they had found some kind of home inside each other, when they were as close to soulmates as anybody could truly get. It had been so strange and so wrong to be without her, unable to follow her lead or bounce ideas off of her. Some stupid, selfish part of Crow had been so hurt and so angry that they were placed on different squads in the first place, and now that part of him wondered if everything would have been better -- brighter, less traumatic -- if Becca had been with him the whole time. The universe must have been punishing him, somehow, for thinking that he could make it through the world without her.

He finds himself grinning, lets out a laugh. “Please, don’t. You’ll give Officer Handsome the wrong idea.” With a wink and a small shake of his head. He leans over as it all comes out, and watches as Becca writes, reads the words that are scribbled down on her page. It all makes sense, all seems like a good thing to watch out for. He ends up nodding his head. 

“Nosy neighbor first for sure. No one has more interesting information at their disposal than a gossipy neighborhood busybody. That’s what dad always says, about Old Lady Irene across the street.” It was why Hades brought her freshly baked cookies every week, and sat with her to drink tea. Because she told him everything that was going on with everbody else, because it meant that he was her favourite and she would gossip less about him and his hoard of eccentric children. 

He pushes his seat back, holds out a hand for her. “Seems like one of those cases we just need to jump into, Beck. No more notes, lets go investigate.” 

[crowfq]

auroraprilmonday​:

She’s glad to hear what she feels like is a genuine lightness to his tone as he begins talking about the squad. She couldn’t imagine being in the situation he was in before, with what happened with his last partner, and having go through all of that alone no less. Sometimes it worried her, just how many people she knew now called the squad home, giving her more people to worry after, but she’s thankful he found his way onto it regardless. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the scenery,” she chuckles lightly. She supposes if she thought about it there were quite the few nice looking boys in the squad, but that kind of thing was something she never really paid much attention to. What few and far between romantic entanglements and almost-somethings she found herself in over the years rarely ever ventured into her work space, and certainly had never happened in the Pacific Squad. Which she has to admit she’s thankful for, she knew she’d never hear the end of it from any of her younger pseudo-family members if she ever did. 

“So then spill,” she says with an amused grin as she nudges his knee with her own, “is there any in particular that’ve caught your eye? And please don’t say Hattori, because I will smack you.” 

.

Crow can’t help but grin, wide and free, when he hears April laugh. He turnsto watch her, the way she looks a little brighter with it. He knows, deep down, that their styles are inherently different. They act different, they probably want different things. Crow knows that he’s a little messy, that he was always going to get entangled with someone that he shouldn’t, and that person would probably work with him. It was sheer statistics. There was going to be someone hot on a Squad that wanted to fuck him. Like, come on. He’s pretty damn hot. 

He’s just glad that she can laugh about it, laugh with him. Make a little comment. He was definitely enjoying the scenery, with everyone in this office –– at least, the ones who weren’t related to him. Which actually narrowed things down, but it was still better than before. Her amused grin makes him laugh himself, a little sheepish with it. 

He shakes his head, even though he knows that the answer is a positive. “I don’t know. Hattori is kind of hot, in a mean way. Like... I don’t know whats going on with him and John Wick at that desk of theirs, but... the vibe of it? Impeccable.” But he wrinkles up his nose. “Not for me though, thank god. I have self respect.” 

He looks at April for a moment. Weighing it. If this was Emmy, he would have already told her. It would have been the very first thing he says. He hums, softly. And shifts to face her, like they’re going to gossip. “There’s a certain Officer that is definitely a risk to my virtue. Let’s just say that I’m jealous of what Aster gets to look at all day long.” 

[crowfq]

dantevalentino​:

He arches an eyebrow, as Crow holds up the whiskey, but there’s no judgement in the expression, just a touch of amusement, a touch of curiosity. Crow always seemed to be able to take him, just slightly, be surprise, at every turn. He’s not sure what he’d expected from tonight, from Crow coming here, but it hadn’t been precisely this. 

He steps aside, to let Crow in, an open gesture—Crow didn’t exactly get a tour of the apartment the last time he was here, but it’s hard to get lost, open floor plan and all. A kitchen with marble counters, a living space with two couches and a chair, a screen currently separating the bedroom area from the rest of it, the California King bed, the door to the bathroom and his closet. A floor-to-ceiling window running the length of it, the top floor of this building high enough to get a view of the beach. Crow’s seen just about all of it, already, if only briefly, if they’d both been a little tangled up in one another. 

     “Fair trade, huh?” he says, finally turning his back to Crow, moving into the apartment, over to the coffee table between the couches, where he’d left the sunglasses when Crow had first messaged him. He takes his time, picking them up, looking at them for a moment, and then he turns back, now that Crow has come inside, closes the distance between them again.

He walks close, unfolds the arms of the sunglasses as he approaches Crow so that he can move in close, can slip them behind Crow’s ears, slide them into place where they were the first time he’d taken them off of Crow and tossed them into this table, on top of his head, pushing a few loose strands of his hair back.

     “Glasses are on the bar cart,” he says, tapping the whiskey bottle with his free hand. “You planning on staying and sharing, or is that all for me?”

Crow can’t help but watch Dante as he moves. He’s a simple man, he has simple wants and simple desires. And Dante is insufferable, kind of, just for the fact that he ticks every single one of Crow’s boxes. It was utterly unfair that the first hot guy he found in California had to go and be perfect, had to be exactly what he always wants. Crow isn’t delusional, he doesn’t think that Dante is here for some grand romance –– he doesn’t seem like the type. And Crow isn’t supposed to be looking for that either, right now. He wants to get laid, have sex with someone spectacular, someone confident and so hot it almost melts his brain. Dante can do that for him, a win-win scenario. 

There’s a confidence to the way that Dante moves, and Crow gets caught up in it. A smile is already spreading across his face when Dante walks back toward him, intent in his eyes. Crow almost wants to throw the bottle of whiskey down somewhere soft and get Dante to kiss him again already. But hey, patience is a virtue, or something like that, and Crow can wait his turn. He hums out a soft sound when Dante slips the glasses onto his head, arching an eyebrow, looking at him with his own intentions. It has to be clear by now that Crow isn’t going anywhere unless Dante wants him gone. 

“Hm,” He says, shifting away just a little, but keeping the eye contact, the want lingering for a long moment. He goes to get the glasses, to pour them some. “See, if it was just for you, you might get this crazy idea about me being...I don’t know, selfless or something.” 

Which was strange, because he generally was. Crow was nothing if not generous with nearly everything that he had. A doormat, sometimes. Stupidly so. Everyone knew it, that he was a clingy and needy and soft thing at heart. Too tender for his own damn good, too easy. He slips a glass in to Dante’s hand, full of amber liquid, letting their fingers brush, letting himself get close. “Couldn’t have you thinking that. You’d ruin my blithe and disinterested reputation.” 

[crowfq]

dantevalentino​:

Okay, so maybe he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Crow Falconer-Quinn. So maybe he’s been laying a trail of social media bread crumbs for the past few weeks. Maybe he’s been geotagging his posts, when he goes out, posting pictures of himself in obvious locations just in case Crow happens to see them and happens to want to be there too, to excuse it as a coincidence when they wind up somewhere together. Maybe it’s dangerous, ill-advised, downright stupid. Maybe he doesn’t care.

It hasn’t worked, anyway. It takes his boldest move yet—wearing the tacky, bright red sunglasses Crow had left in his apartment that first night out one night, making sure to post a selfie with some people while wearing them, where he’s sure Crow will see it. And he is sure Crow will see it, is sure Crow has seen all of them, every instagram story. He sees the seen by notification a few minutes before the message comes through, before suddenly, all ay once, Crow is coming over to get them, a clear excuse, exactly what he meant it to be.

It’s funny. It hadn’t even started the night they had sex. Weeks had gone by between the day Crow showed up at the office and the moment Dante realized he couldn’t stop thinking about him. No, it was something else. The conversation they’d had, at Branwen’s party, at the de la Cruz mansion. There’s a strange curiosity, from hearing about Crow’s life—his parents, his childhood, all so different from Dante’s own. The way there was clearly so much more to Crow than he made it seem, so much more than the bold, mouthy, flirty guy who had approached Dante in a club and told him to buy him a drink.

And, yeah, admittedly, he’d like to have sex again. He’s pretty sure Crow would, too. He’s not under the assumption that they’re going to sit around and talk about Crow’s childhood tonight; Crow’s been about as unsubtle as he has. 

Crow’s grinning, when he opens the door, of course he is. Dante rolls his eyes, just a little, as he does.

     “Am I really a thief if you left them here with no intention of collecting them? What’s the statute of limitations on glasses theft?”

The roll of Dante’s eyes is probably to be expected –– he’s like that, so put together where Crow feels hapless and messy and far too loud for his own good. It only makes Crow grin a little wider, somehow. He’s always been like that, always smiled in the face of uncertainty, especially when it came to boys. He’s been with ones who think pretty little of him, and he’d known it, and he’d smiled anyway. He smiled when people broke up with him, and broke his heart. But he didn’t think Dante thought nothing of him. He thought, maybe, Dante might like him a little bit. At least parts of him. At least the physical parts of him. 

But he didn’t think it was just that either. Because they’d actually...talked, at Branwens party. About his family, of all things. And it hadn’t been awful. It had made something small and soft squirm in his stomach, something he would roll his own eyes about if he had the time. 

So, it meant that he probably wanted to suck Dante’s dick or something. 

Typical Crow. See a hot guy and lose your wits. 

“Ha, ha. Whatever, you’re getting off easy, that’s all I’m saying, Officer Vitale.” He says, shifts a little bit. He’s half waiting for Dante to... invite him inside, or do something. And he bounces a little on his feet, as he shifts, pulls a hand up, bottle in hand. “I brought you this, anyway. Thought it might be a fair trade –– totally equal value, to the glasses. Which is a burn on the whiskey, acually, because I’m pretty sure my god-person Marleigh bought those at some beach-side sunglasses stand for like, ten dollars.”  

His smile widens a little bit, peeking in behind Dante’s shoulder, letting himself stand close against the doorframe. “So, i’ll pour you a drink while you go fetch them for me?” 

[crowfq]

auroraprilmonday​:

She can’t help but laugh at his response, already imagining Harbird doing that, because yes that sort of thing happened quite a bit around the office. She’s glad the paper ball found it’s way towards Crow’s head though, and if she had to guess, it probably wasn’t by complete accident that it found Crow rather than anyone else. Harbird tended to pay a lot more attention to their aurors than they let on, and probably saw Crow needed something like a case with Becca. Or at least she’d like to think so. 

“Oh, yeah, all the time,” she chuckles again, “one time I got picked for a case because they shouted ‘Hey, blondie’ out their office door and I raised my head before Becca and Caro, then another time they literally screamed from behind their closed door and the first person to go check on them got the case.” 

Harbird certainly made the already chaotic group of aurors even more so, but she had to admit it, it certainly made the bullpen one of the more fun places she’d ever worked. Mississippi was full of aurors trying to outcompete one another, while Oregon was a quiet pleasant little division, probably more her pace, but she wouldn’t trade working with people she knew like Crow and Emmy for anything. 

“Other than our chaotic deputy chief, how do you like the Pacific Squad so far?” She asks as she glances over to him, “I don’t think anyone has stolen the ‘Floor 69′ sign in about six months, so I’m guessing you must be keeping yourself pretty busy.” 

.

He can’t help but laugh. The bright, genuine laugh. It bubbles up in his chest at the stories. The warmth it sparks, the fact that now he gets to be the one at the reciving end of Harbirds antics. It makes him feel better in the way that some other things don’t, makes him feel settled somehow in his place here. The change has been weird, a little strange. Slightly off center, and Crow isn’t very good at dealing with being thrown off his game. He was more than thrown, he knows, by the last month and what happened in it. 

“Hey,” He offers. “At least they keep things interesting.”

It was better than being stuck somewhere boring. Way, way better. 

Crow takes a sip of his coffee, considering it. He considers the move. He hadn’t come here under the best of circumstances, with factors that still stung pretty damn hard when he took even a moment to think about them. April knew, he knew,. It was probably why she was taking an interest in him. But it was probably because she liked him, as well. Surely she would have pawned off weekly lunches on someone else, like a therapist, if she couldn’t stand to spend time with him. 

“Things are pretty sweet here,” He offers, a beginning. Things would have been sweet anywhere, but he’s glad that they sent him here, and glad that Lin took him when he probably could have been shipped off to some small state division. He must have done something right, even when everything was going wrong. “Its nice to be around people I actually know. You and Emmy and Becca. Like a damn family reunion every day.” He shakes his head, but its a fond thing, with a fond smile. 

“Plus, the boys are way cuter here. Port Steward really was not working for me, in that department.” 

[crowfq]

beccasavage​:

When Becca imagined her first case as a lead, it had always been something grand: taking down a smuggling ring, infiltrating a secret group performing dark rituals by moonlight, capturing a murderer on the lam. It hadn’t been, well, a break-in where nothing important enough to notice had been stolen. This was hardly even a break-in, just a dumb statute of secrecy case where they had to find whatever wix was taking advantage of no-majs by using magic to steal from them. Needless to say, she’s a little disappointed when she reads the file, her heart sinking from the elated feeling she’d had when Lin handed her the file and told her she was going to be the lead.

But Crow’s name stamped on the front next to hers is a balm, and she can tell she’s lucked out on that one, pure chance, just the way Harbird likes it. It may not be the fame and glory she’d imagined for herself, but okay, one, at least she’s leading a case before Aster is, and two, at least she gets to spend all day with Crow. The dream team. The dynamic duo. If everything they’d done at the academy is anything to go off of, they’ll have this wrapped up with a neat little bow before lunch time.

     “Pretty cool,” she responds, with a grin, nudging his leg with her foot, swiveling her chair around so she can face him too. “It’s the best thing to happen to me all week. Lin must be testing me for big, seeing if I can handle leading the most outrageous recruit on the Squad,” she jokes.

Enough joking around, though, she thinks, time to get down to business. She takes a second, hand hovering over the cup of pens on her desk, trying to decide which one to use to scribble down notes on her case file: the fancy fountain pen Camden had given her for her eighteenth birthday? The pack of pens her mom had bought her on her first day of work? The chewed up bic she’d stolen from Liv’s desk? Or—okay, it’s not that hard a choice, because her hand immediately gravitates to the pink sparkly pom-pom topped pen Marleigh had given her.

      “Okay,” she starts, because she and Crow have done this a dozen times at the academy, partnered up in every class. “Where should we start? What are you thinking?”

Crow shifts, settling in to the moment. He’s glad, above all else, that he gets to exist in the same space as Becca. She’s always been a rock, after all. She’s always been someone he could lean on, someone who could keep him afloat when the waves of his little sea were choppy. She was dependable, and strong, and far better than he ever would be. Crow always felt like he was at his best when he could play to his strengths –– and his strengths were pretty muhc reduced down to following Becca around and getting in to trouble with her, for the most part. But they worked well together, and everyone knew it. They might not have been paired up as some kind of grand plan, but Crow was sure that they could do this and do it well.

The thing was, that it was like Kes. Him and Becca just got each other. They just understood. There was no risk of them getting caught up in some kind of silly disagreement, a differing of opinions. Becca would come up with the plan, and Crow would help, and they would listen to each other well. They had practically been training for it all their lives. 

And they could both think outside the box, which was always so much more fun than being stuck with a stuffy old grown up.

He watches with a soft kind of amusement as she picks out a pen –– of course, the fluffy one, he isn’t surprised. That has Marleigh written all over it. Crow’s favourite goddamn godparent, gives the best damn gifts. He hums out a soft sound, thoughtful, screws up his face with a show of it all. “Well, we could try talking to the witnesses. Checking out the neighborhood.”

“Seems like they’ll be able to tell us more than looking at any files with. And if its super illusive, maybe we can like, stake the place out. See if any creepers come by.” 

[crowfq]

( late evening, dante’s apartment, @dantevalentino​ ) 

Crow has a sneaking suspicion that Dante is fucking with him. Or at the very least, trying to get his attention. Crow is no saint in that regard, either –– he’d be delusional if he pretended that half of his instagram updates these days weren’t trying to get Dante’s attention, get him thinking about how much damn fun they had once, together, back in the good old days of several weeks ago. He might feel embarrassed about it, but he has a growing obsession with Dante as well, what he’s posting. 

So he huffs out a breath, half amused and half offended, when he sees a picture of Dante –– red sunglasses on his face. “Thief.” He mutters, mostly to himself, through the smile. He’s been too shy, maybe too awkward, to bring everything up again and ask for his glasses back. It’s enough to break the seal, have him typing out a message to Dante, and its enough that 45 minutes later Crow is standing outside of Dante’s door again. He wasn’t able to help himself, really. There had been that pull, that low lull of wanting in his chest. 

He hesitates, reigning himself in before he knocks on the door, reaching up to bring his knuckles to the wood. It’s cool, he thinks. Just like, be chill. He was pretty sure that this could only really go one direction, Crow in Dante’s space again. But he always had to keep in mind the factor that Dante really might not want to do this again, regardless of how good it had been.

He chews on his lip for a moment, until Dante comes to the door and Crow can grin, his wide and sweet smile. “The glasses theif shows his face. Surprised that you haven’t fled the country, yet.” 

[crowfq]

auroraprilmonday​:

location: the elladora ketteridge botanical gardens

time: week following anniversary party 

status: closed to @crowfq​

It’s been a week since the last time she found herself strolling through the greenhouse of the botanical gardens, this time she’s alone, although she hopes she won’t be for long. She’d told HQ she’d look after Crow for him, and while she isn’t quite sure how good of a job she’s doing of that, she figured the least she could do is maybe set up a weekly lunch between just her and Crow. It was more for just his benefit though, after their last quiet lunch together she found herself feeling a little lighter, enjoying how it felt to just talk without any other expectations. 

She’s only a few sips into her coffee when she sees the frond leaves of one of the plants rustle in front of her before she spots the familiar brown locks of Crow’s head slip past them. 

“Word on the street is you managed to get a case with Becca,” she says with an amused grin, “how much did you have to pay Harbird to manage that one?” 

She supposes she could have asked him about Vesper’s party, but that topic she figured was better to bring up later if at all. She didn’t want to push him into talking about anything he didn’t want to, even though her heart broke for him after she’d finally heard the full details of what happened back in the Central Squad. 

Crow takes his time walking through the gardens, before he goes toward the spot they were supposed to meet. It feels almost like a scared place now, quiet and dear. He’s come back,once or twice, on his own. To explore it, music playing softly through his earbuds as he walked around and familarised himself with the place. It felt... peaceful, in a way. Probably the most peaceful place in the city. He was hopelessly glad that April had shared it with him, this special little important place. It still made him feel better, still made him feel valued somehow, like someone who deserved the softness. 

The fact that she wants to do lunch again makes the same feeling blossom in his chest. Like he’s earned something good, like he won something great. He hoped that it became a habit, something they could do every now and then, some quality time together to actually get to know one another, more deeply than they had before, the finer and less obvious details. 

He grabs himself a coffee, before he makes his way toward the water fall. April is already there, waiting, but he doesn’t feel bad for taking his time. He’s sure that’s something she can understand, the urge to take just a little bit longer somewhere, to slow down for just a minute and let the world be quiet. 

He grins back at her, a welcoming smile, and shifts to take his seat beside her. He feels excited about working with Becca, it’s true. “They threw a ball of paper at my head, actually.” He says, softly amused. “Do they pick like that a lot, because it’s a hell of a lot more fun than how things worked at Central.” 

[crowfq]

( becca’s desk, the office, in the week after the party i guess! @beccasavage​ ) 

Crow thinks that Harbird is definitely way more fun than most deputy chiefs are. It’s instinct to shift and catch the paper ball they throw out of their office, to throw his hands up in trimuph, as if anybody cared. He doesn’t really need the audience to be thrilled with his own reflexes, with the way that he moved to snatch it. 

He doesn’t need any help to be thrilled that it earns him a case, either. And better yet, a case where he gets to hang out with Becca all day. What could be better than that? They’re literally getting paid now to hang out with each other, to be the super cool best friends they always have been. He grins when he gets handed the case file, and grins when he opens it. A breaking an entering, where nothing was even stolen. It wasn’t the most exciting case in the world, but he was sure that getting to follow Becca around while they worked it would be fun. They were always fun, when they were together. And it would be another case under both of their belts, establishing them more around the office. He reads over it, gets the jist, and then does what he’s been wanting to do and gets up to bother Becca about.

“Okay, Becks.” He greets, the nickname rolling off his tongue without him even really trying for it, as it always does. He’s walking to lean on her desk, grin on his face. “Oh great and mighty lead auror, please instruct me. I live to serve, yadda yadda.” 

He pulls over a chair, uncaring of who have belonged to, and sits in it, body sideways to look at Becca. “Pretty cool that they paired us up, huh?” 

[theaurorfileshq]

– Break-In in San Bernardino 

CASE LEVEL: Two

POINTS REQUIRED: One Hundred Fifty 

OVERVIEW:

Last week, a break-in was reported to local aurors in a small no-maj suburb of San Bernardino. According to the report, a neighbor witnessed the break-in next door from the window in her backyard. According to her report, at just past midnight a figure she couldn’t identify in the dark levitated a heavy object to the second floor window in the backyard of her neighbor’s home, opening the window with magic, and entering the home. Alarmed by the sight, she rushed out of her house to alert the neighbor, but by the time she made it around the block to the front door of the house and spoke with the owner, the perpetrator had left, as there was no one else found in the house.

The victim of the break-in neglected to contact no-maj authorities, claiming that nothing of value had been stolen and there was no sign of a break-in, but the witness, a squib living in the no-maj neighborhood, reported the crime to local aurors, fearing for the safety of her no-maj neighbors and of the perpetrator returning to break into other homes using magic. Local aurors, however, found no evidence of the break-in, but the witness was insistent that the case be escalated to the Pacific Squad due to the risk of a potential breech of the Statute of Secrecy.

PERSONS OF INTEREST:

Loretta Papadopolous: the neighbor who reported the break-in. Papadopolous is a squib who lives exclusively in the no-maj world, but was alarmed by the seemingly magical nature of the break-in, prompting her to report it to local aurors even when MacPherson refused to report the crime to no-maj authorities.

Malcolm MacPherson: the victim of the break-in, MacPherson has refused to contact any form of law enforcement after the break-in, and claimed to the California aurors that nothing of value was stolen. According to his neighbors, MacPherson is a paranoid and untrusting person who lives alone and keeps to himself.

CHIEF’S NOTES:

I am still not completely convinced that this case should go to us, rather than stay within the California Division, but the California Chief is insistent they’ve explored every avenue they can here. Savage, I’m assigning you as lead, you’ll know of your assisting once Harbird gives you the case file. 

- Chief Lin

I threw a paper ball outside my office door and Falconer-Quinn was the first to catch it, so you’ve got assisting, Crow. 

- Deputy Chief Harbird

CASE STATUS: TAKEN (BECCA + CROW)

| RPG HOME | PLOT | WANTED CONNECTIONS | OPEN CASES |

[crowfq]

dantevalentino​:

There’s a push and pull, to this, a kind of game where they both have to stand here and act like they have anything else in mind, like they have any other plans, like they need to win one another over even though they both so clearly want the same thing. Usually, Dante finds it tedious; usually, Dante likes to win, doesn’t want to be the one to cave first, wants to be as oblique as possible until the other person makes the first move just to feel like he isn’t the one who cracked. But this guy is making it easy—there’s no challenge, to the flirtation, no holding back, just saying what he wants. 

And Dante can get behind that. Can get behind this, one drink, a little more of this, and then heading somewhere else, somewhere they can both get what they want. 

The bartender slides both of their drinks across then bar, and Dante pushes the guys’ towards him, an unnecessary gesture with how close the two of them are, when he could easily reach out and grab it himself. He lets his fingers brush against the guy’s own, as he does it, lingering on the bottom of the glass as he passes it for a moment before returning his hand to his own glass instead. 

     “Funny enough, that’s exactly what I was going to say,” he replies with an easy grin, finger tracing along the rim of the glass in front of him before he picks it up and takes a sip, looking up at the guy. A name, he wants a name, wants something to call him other than the guy, wants a lot of things, wants to reach our and run his thumb over that smile, wants to pull him closer, wants to get him out of here. “I’m Dante. My place is just a few streets over. You know, if you were interested.”

Crow feels the warmth of this swelling up in his stomach, the gentle rush of meeting someone like this. It was just what he needed, Becca was right. That would get him back to normal, that would be a way he could settle in to a new city and a new job and forget his woes. It had been such a hellish few weeks, and he needed this. A night of mindless passion with someone who didn’t give a fuck about anything but, hopefully, fucking Crow stupid.

So he wraps himself up in the feeling of Dante’s fingers against his own, takes the drink and sips it slowly. No need to get too out of his mind, when he had Dante to focus on. He lets out a small little gasp, playful. “Golly, I must be psychic.” He says, voice warm between them. He leans that little bit closer, that old excuse of the music being too loud running through his head. He just wants to be closer, enough to feel the phantom warmth of Dante in the air between them. Its a nice name, definitely. 

“I’m Crow.” He says, with only a little bashfullness in his voice. “Like the bird.” And he makes a swooping hand gesture with it, before dropping it back down, letting it land on Dante’s arm instead of just down by his side. It should be strange of him, but he does it with enough confidence that he thinks maybe it will be whimsical instead. Dante feels strong under his hand, and it makes Crow’s mouth feel a little dry, with that dull and distant wanting he does. 

He lets his tongue slip out, to wet his lips. He takes another drink and looks up at Dante. “A few streets is awfully convenient, you know? I could definitely be persuaded.” 

And then he grins, bright again. “I think I just want to check one thing, first, okay?” And he leans in, slow and steady, to kiss Dante. Just to make sure it will be as good as he imagines. And it is –– It’s fucking perfect. He lets it deepen, lets it get a little dirty, and so he’s smiling when he pulls away again, a little excited. “Yeah, okay. I can work with that.” 

[crowfq]

dantevalentino​:

He takes a sip, when Crow is done pouring, an excuse to tear his eyes away, and, well, it’s note the best tequila he’s ever had, but it doesn’t taste like nail polish remover, either, doesn’t taste like a few sips will fuck him up too badly, though tonight’s not the night for a second glass, or a third. He sets it down, after a sip, on one of the shelves, to force himself to take it slow, as much as he’d like to drink enough to stop thinking for the night. Not here, not somewhere this dangerous, not with Crow.

     “What, your family doesn’t have a…” he glances around, trying to come up with any discernible purpose for the room, “A formal parlor? A… rare objects library? A sitting room just for people who frequent auctions?” 

Aside from the obvious, of Crow just generally being Crow, it’s clear enough that Crow’s family does not have a… whatever this room is. Other than that he’s Emerson’s cousin, Dante doesn’t know much of anything about Crow’s family, except that they’re purebloods. He hadn’t known any of the American pureblood names when he’d moved, had had no real reason to, but his father had had him memorize them, the Astors, the Reyes’, the Hattoris, the Eames’, and on and on and on. Falconer-Quinn had been on the list, as had Falconer and Quinn, as apparently Americans really liked to hyphenate to preserve every possible name, but Crow didn’t seem in the least like he’d been raised in this kind of society, not even something a rebellious teenage phase could really explain. 

     “I take it you don’t go to things like this very often,” he adds, finally taking a seat, his glass within reach. “The Falconer-Quinns aren’t the stuffy party kind of purebloods?” 

Crow can’t help the way his eyebrow arches, when Dante launches in to the conversation. A formal parlor? A rare objects library? All funny suggestions as to what this room could be. The way that Dante looks at Crow gives him the distinct impresison that there has been some kind of misunderstanding, here. But then again, it becomes clear what that exactly is. There was the odd person who heard Crow’s name and imagined that he grew up in the same kind of stately manor home that his dad and aunt did. The Falconer-Quinn estate was a respectable one, and no doubt they would inherit it like the weight of the world when grandmother passed away. But she was holding on like an utter bitch, and neither Hades nor Athena were overly interested in participating in the family at all. 

The way they described it, their childhood had been nothing short of emotionally abusive. Rife with far more suffering and doubt than either one of them should have been burdened with. Kestrel and Crow were far luckier –– Hades would have never thought about how disappointed he was in his own children, Hades would never have hated them for what they became. It was unfair, that dad had suffered so much just for being who he was. 

This home was a far thing from what Cypress and Hades had built for themself. It wasn’t small, by any means, not when you fit two adults and five children inside it with ease. But it was far away from a mansion, and it had never seen this kind of cool opulence that seemed to make up ever room of the de la Cruz home. It was warm, endlessly so. Cozy and worn down at every edge. Whimsical and far more lived in than this place was. Cypress’ books upon the shelf, the crystals that Hades hung in the window so that rainbow light spilled across the room, the newspapers with filled out puzzles in the breakfast nook by the window, where Athena and Hades sat nearly every second morning. Hades had plastered an entire hallway at home with their childhood drawings and art projects, with letters and postcards from Raven’s year abroad, backpacking through Asia and Australia. Crow aches just at the thought of it, and he hopes the softness doesn’t come across too much in his smile. 

“Not exactly my either of my dad’s style. You never know when you’ll walk into a room and find someone looking down at your no-maj born husband or little half-blood children.” He smiles, gives Dante a look. “Definitely more of the back yard dinner party types, and I thank God for that every single day of my life.” 

[crowfq]

dantevalentino​:

     “Somehow you don’t strike me as the quiet type,” he replies, and if the few interactions they’ve had—Crow’s general behavior around the office, his nervous babbling on his first day, his tendency towards being overly vocal the night they’d slept together. Quiet and Crow Falconer-Quinn seem like antonyms, from what he’s seen, but it doesn’t matter, because he isn’t going to call his father now, anyway. He wouldn’t take that call with Crow in the room, couldn’t take that call with Crow in the room. He’s related to half the Squad, apparently, Emerson Yaxley included; it would hardly due to let anything at all slip around him, even in a cryptic conversation he could probably make sound like it was about anything other than what it was. 

Instead, he glances at the flash Crow is pulling out of his pocket, small but clearly charmed to refill itself if the amount of liquid in his glass is anything to go off of. He considers it, for a moment, considers Ransom’s comment the other day about hangovers, and just how much he’s been drinking the past few weeks. And then he finishes off the champagne in his glass in one generous swig and holds the flute out for Crow to refill.

     “If you’re offering, I won’t turn it down.”

It’s a harmless thing. The energy between them, it isn’t the same as it was that night at the club. It isn’t leading somewhere. Neither of them, it seems like, came to a party like this with that as their purpose, even if Crow’s outfit seems to indicate otherwise. And they’ve agreed: it happened once, they won’t mention it. If Dante’s eyes linger just a little too long on Crow as he’s distracted pouring the drink without spilling, if they catch on the mesh of his shirt for a moment and linger there, well, there’s no one else in here to see it. 

      “What are you doing, sneaking around? I gave you my excuse, so what’s yours?” 

He hums, soft, because Dante absolutely has his number on that one. He’s never been the best at behaving and being quiet, at coasting by under the radar. Too much energy in his damn bones, too much of a yearning for attention wherever he can get it, even if sometimes it isn’t exactly the kind of attention that he really wants. Dante has already experienced enough of Crow –– in a multitude of situations, to know that he’s bad at staying quiet, that he can hardly ever keep his mouth shut. They’ve only had a handful of encounters already, but Crow has proven that he likes to talk, likes to make as much damn noise as possible. 

He lets out a soft laugh, a little more quiet than his other ones, as he watches Dante swallow the rest of his dring. Champagne probably shouldn’t be thrown back like that, but Crow finds it charming more than anything else. And he likes to look at the expanse of Dante’s neck, the way it moves when he swallows it down, remembering how nice it was to press kisses all the way up, along his jaw. He flicks his eyes away from the expanse of it as he reaches out, pours some of the drink into Dante’s glass. A generous helping, because what does he have to lose. It takes a second, his hand careful as he fills it up, before he flicks his eyes back to Dante’s face. He smiles, a bright thing, then, because sometimes Dante deserves it. 

“I’m doing research for a book i’m writing on the living habits of the pureblood elite.” He says, far too quickly, and completely ingenuine. “Drawing Rooms and Debutantes. Thrilling stuff.” His grin is joking and sweet, he adds a little bit of flair. 

“Which is just a fancy way of saying that I’m actually a very nosy person.” A shrug of his shoulder, he shifts to look back at the stuff littering the room. “I can’t figure out what this room is for. Do you think they just didn’t know what to put in it?