#he might be a detective but that doesn’t mean he has to be constantly smart

[merakiui]

I was thinking of serial killer azul using his status to get away with all the deaths he's doing but now that just seems stupid lol

NOT STUPID AT ALL!!! I’ve been meaning to discuss serial killer Azul so that we can finally have the complete sk set for Octavinelle!!!

I like to think these are the reasons each of them kill:

Jade -> to feed himself/the addiction he has to human meat. It’s more unhealthy dependency than it is for fun. He likes being in total control of someone’s life, but he has a monstrous appetite. Jade justifies it as this is a natural part of the food chain. Predators will feast and prey will become the food for said feast. He’s very methodical when he strips the life from his victims in perfect slabs.

Floyd -> spontaneous fun & based on mood swings. Definitely a thrill killer. Most of his kills are out of unrestrained anger. He’s always getting caught up in illegal activities, so he’s constantly toeing dangerous lines (usually crossing them on his own whims). Very violent kills; he isn’t very methodical and he doesn’t plan ahead much, but he’s smart enough to have the foresight for basic things (don’t leave bullet casings lying about, don’t discard the murder weapon carelessly, take care not to leave fingerprints, etc).

Azul -> jealousy and hatred. He wants what his victims have, whether that be love, good looks, certain abilities. I like to think he targets merfolk the most because he idolizes the human body too much, but because of this obsession he despises mers (especially those who have bullied him). Although with his love for the human form, there’s also room for intense envy. Even in his human form, he will still find flaws (the biggest being he is not a true human and can never be one; even with transformation potions he is still an octo-mer). Azul’s logic is that by killing his victims he takes from them the things they hold dear. If they’re beautiful, he’ll maim them beyond recognition. If they have a nice voice, he’ll slit their throats and tear their tongues out. Pretty eyes are gouged out. Manicured nails are torn from the fingers. He is very resentful. He does not kill for the thrill of it and his kills span months; not as frequent as Floyd’s or Jade’s kills. He finds a victim, stalks them, and then plans for the right time to strike, and doing all of that can take a while.

I like to think Azul might cross-dress just for an extra layer of protection. He’s good at crafting false identities and lying with his silver tongue, and the octopus is naturally good at camouflage. What better way to blend in than to dress up and act like an innocent girl who could do no harm, a sweet siren who lures others in with perfumed perfections? Besides, it’s easy to seduce others with stolen voices. Some of his victims really thought they were about to have the best night of their lives when Azul reaches under his skirt. Thigh holsters are quite useful for keeping daggers and knives on his person, and they’re easy to hide and access.

He sets his sights on you for a few reasons. Either you have something he wants (confidence, success, love, acceptance, nice voice, beauty in various forms, etc) or he sees pathetic parts of himself in you and he can’t stand to confront a reflection like that. Or you’re just so genuinely, naturally you and he hates that. Azul is a perfectionist who is committed to detail. He’ll spend as long as he needs to stalking you just to learn your habits and schedules. He’ll learn what type of person charms you so he can tailor his approach flawlessly. He will not be sloppy with this; he never is, which is how he’s evaded detection for so long.

He is a killer who keeps trophies from his victims. Azul is a collector, so of course he’d want to keep the most beautiful or highly coveted things from his victims. There are some things he can’t truly have, though. Things like love are complicated, but he’s told himself he doesn’t need foolish wishes for love or companionship. What good will that do? He only needs to keep moving forward because if he doesn’t he’ll become stagnant in a sea of humans and his shadow will catch up to him. He can’t go back to being that lousy octo-mer, so even if every step is made in pain he’ll take the walk. Anything’s better than the past he’s left buried in the sea.

#twisted chit chat #serial killer azul

[akutcu]

PRE-EST WISHLIST :

below the cut is a compilation of potential ideas for relationships with all the current muses. It is INCOMPLETE (some of them really have almost nothing sorry ill work on it more soon) and will be updated periodically. please COMMENT / IM any numbers in particular that you are interested in. If none of these interest you, here is the normal plot call LINK.

OHTA WISHLIST :

first off always actively attempting to surround himself with skaters and gamers and artists and motorcyclists and athletes and just people with generally cool pastimes too in every situation he will rage quit and fail horribly but he just wants to be a part of the crew 

also any thugs wanna hang? he’ll be a meat shield lacky idiot errand boy it’s fine

anybody up to be pranked mercilessly for decades?

if you want to do some charity work you can teach him to love poor defenseless creatures instead of being a bully too  

 oblivious crush things i mean ohta crushing and your muse being oblivious to his crazy attention seeking behavior hey maybe even he’s oblivious to how he feels too wouldn’t surprise me but itd sure be fun to watch him trip over himself and go to the moon trying

workplace threads hiring him/him working at the same place as y/m constantly causing them trouble constant shenanigans 

also smart people maybe try tutoring him his grades need help he can’t a p p l y himself inspire him i beg you 

party threads are always a possibility and will 100% start begin and end in chaos but that’s fine 

craigslist shenanigan threads too hes always buying or trying to buy weird shit

 or maybe some soul searching detective work finding his roots or maybe making new ones y’know found families and all that stuff he’s just a little lonely 

but also on a darker note themes maybe a little attempted arson or some house robberies solo (y/ms house the target) or duos (y/m in on it)

cyberbullying just a pinch smidge  

 always supernatural Ohta threads are also always desired never before seen content

CHO WISHLIST :

friend who notices something off about her when she starts to turn- could either be a direct witness to it or the one that stops it from happening completely??

just gal pal threads let her paint your nails and shopping to buy matching scarves and shit and let her seep off your identity a little bit a small suck 

book club knitting club trade secrets gossip circles wholesome goodness pals things 

also exes is great if you wanna hop on the negative vibes train very bad vibes vibes be fucked but its fine

RUI-LIN WISHLIST : 

HELP him with the temple please he needs minions for upkeep maybe on a good day you’ll get to see some demons too??

also accepting large monetary transactions from large corporations and generous individuals the potential business benefits are bountiful but to keep this short ill say we can discuss the contracts later 

will also offer his very niche skillset for things of value if you're superstitious and unlucky he'll bless you and your house and family but you also gotta pay him up upfront

push pull oriented things are very suited to him he doesn’t think that he’s playing the game but he absolutely is both the push and pull at the same time 

if you have supernaturals please throw them at him in any and all conditions he might try to exorcise you or lock you in the basement but its fine

speaking of supernaturals somebody should feel free to discover that he is not in fact a humble temple man but a nasty gremlin

also he is accepting applications for new gods (or mortals) to worship its a fairly simple process 

rivals stretching over centuries would also be SICK any relationship from the ancient past that he can't escape from would be great though Watching each other grow and change and shit

despite how much he tries to act like a wise old man he has much to learn about modern culture please teach him he doesn’t even know how to use a rotary phone or a flip 

IRA WISHLIST : 

someone take in the old man watch your misfortune either skyrocket or seriously clear up or probably both at different times but also very funny mundane shenanigans

but if you don’t want to allow a guest i hope you’ll allow a squatter to be caught that’s also a great viable option

#i never reuploaded n added but finally #i still feel like death but were here 4 plotting n things #hopefully ill b well again soon :pensive:

[righetousdude]

The tactics

Discharge location unknown

Discharge: I’m exhausted gathering information about powerful beings is insanely hard to do.

DS: why… did you even gather information ( dame dude stayed up 7 hours without blinking)

Discharge: there for combat really necessary to have plans.

Discharge: I made a total of 6 plans for certain entities who are just plain annoying to my plans

DS: speaking of plans did you send the..

Discharge: yes I sent the drones one is keeping a eye on Nightweaver sans. It took me 3 months to create a force field around that drone so he wouldn’t detect it.

Discharge: yet I really need a way to create a portal to the grave yard of aus going through the FZ and into the grave yard is to risky thanks to Nightweaver and Lucida.

DS: so what will these “Plans” accomplish.

Discharge: sadly it doesn’t involve them it involves error,ink,fresh,epic,abyss,and nightmare.

Tactic fresh

Discharge: fresh is classified as a parasite in a sans host. He cant be damaged by any means thanks to his infinite defense. Attack and speed are low not as high as I expected. Intelligence is pretty high for a personality like a hipster. His main weakness is the socket in which the soul and parasite are located. I created a glove boiling to the touch I will attempt to “stabilize” the parasite not killing it ,but making sure it retreats.

Plan 2 Ink

Ink is classified as a guardian cant die making him immortal. His attack defense, stamina, and endurance are unknown. The main information I’d gather is that he can’t take any real physical damage thanks to him being made of ink ,but I think there’s a compound that destroys ink like a acid. Intelligence is pretty low forgets things gets cocky sometimes doesn’t go for a kill. He does have 2 weapons his big brush and small brush needed components for attacks and close combat. It’s still unknown weather he needs them to fight or not. He is well trained in combat. His main weakness is his low IQ and being made of ink is another thanks to a blaster which is still in testing I might be able to one shot him and leave while still gathering the AUs code.

Plan 3 error

Error sans is classified as a glitch being insanely powerful. His attack is insane along with strength. Defense is pretty strong too thanks to him being a glitch his HP is constantly changing making him a formidable opponent. IQ he’s a genius knowing nearly every au out there ,but can get hot headed really quick giving me a advantage. Weapons he has the stings there not strong my katana can easily cut throw it like butter. Combat he is trained in combat thanks to his mentor error404 meaning a fight head on without a plan is death.

Main weakness being a error and being hot headed. Thanks to some anti virus files from programmers (I stole them) I can do more damage to error and make him exhausted. While his hot head makes him dumber than horror ,yet he is smart but only when he’s calm. The blaster have been tested and work with 100% pain to any sort of glitch.

Plan 4 nightmare

Nightmare sans is classified as a guardian he can’t be killed thanks to all the negative energy in the multiverse. Attack is 500 or less no that bad. Defense is insane he can take a beating along with his insane regeneration,but he can’t go beyond his limits. He is usually located at his castle. It’s usually horror, killer, and dust he sends ,but thanks to what I did to killer they are pretty terrified of me. IQ he’s pretty smart and clever not seeking a fight,but rather… a deal. Combat he isn’t good at combat he throws his tentacles which are his main weapon the attacks are predictable along with me having more experience with higher entities like omnipotent, error, ink and more. He does have a weakness it’s positive energy and light. I copied dream san’s code ,but not as strong as dreams but works. Right now

Im trying to amplify the potential of positive energy. Now to his main weakness positive energy and combat experience. Im creating a blaster which could rip through nightmare along with insanely dangerous lightning which will make him feel pain. But if I meat him again it will be me making a deal.

Plan 5 epic

Epic sans is classified as a guardian,but he is more powerful than ink. His attack is high same goes for defense ,stamina, and his other stats. He’s cocky not that much though. His combat experience is high ,but lower than inks. He knows a martial art called karate,but I know 4 martial arts that i mastered in… ok back to the topic.

His blaster are a real threat 3 of them is the equivalent of a mini nuke which is pretty strong,I can’t even imagine a dozens of them in one area must be beautiful. He does have one more dangerous attack know as kame bruh being able to absorb attacks like mr game and watch. Making the attack devastating. Main weakness is his eye and absorbing ability. I have a attack already which is called coma punch I can knock him out and thanks to the “info” button I learned when he’s alseep he goes through hell. So he will not try to even attack me again if he knows what’s best. Now on to his absorbing ability I created made my attack’s potent with deadly code which will begin damaging the body and will start to cause decay in any inorganic or organic thing. But this only happens if the attack is absorbed.

Plan 6 abyss

Abyss sans is pretty weak and is classified as a cell. Attack, and defense are 8. His IQ is insane being smart in a fight and in difficult problems. He also has the ability to know if I’m messing with the abyss which is a pain since I gather code and resources from there. His father and mother are starting to catch on to me which is a huge problem. Another insane problem is he can use my weaknesses pretty well. I feel alseep last time thanks to something fluffy or soft. Along with me being… mentally……. Ok there’s no point in saying that. He doesn’t have a lot of powerful attacks ,but is usually with someone so it will likely be a 2 v 1 ,but if it’s Mecha I can hack into his code and shut him down. Abyss does have a fear he is scared of the lab. Shot I forgot to mention this he has regenerate and is codeless giving me no options with code attacks. But physical attacks still pack a punch along with my experience in combat giving me the upper hand. Another advantage is that he is a cell meaning I can infect the cell ,but of course i have one big problem he probably has the strongest immune system i have ever seen in my life, but for now I’m trying to create something useful. Main weakness his fear of the lab and his low combat experience. I went up against abyss before and defeated him ,but of course there was someone else there giving me problems. So the plan is to think, attack, and weaken with attacks which make someone want to retreat.

DS: that was a awful plan for abyss.

Discharge: yep ,but it’s a start I will edit the plan once I get more info.

[axelphillipsblueberry]

Axel’s Thoughts - Post 1

“Honestly, what would it be like to actually meet Zora Salazar? Like she works for Bliss Ocean, sure... But it’d be interesting to get a peek into her mind. Nah, that’d be a death sentence and you it. At least it’d make dying more creative?”

#zora salazar #epithet erased #epithet oc #axel’s dumb thoughts #he might be a detective but that doesn’t mean he has to be constantly smart #boy askin’ for chaos hoo boy #((​Both dumb and serious thoughts will flood this thing enjoy #((This’ll be a small side thing alongside asks

[holden-norgorov]

I was wrong: an apology for Show!Kaz.

Listen, at first I didn't even want to write this post down, but as I noticed that a considerable amount of people have been showing disappointment toward Kaz not being "smart enough" in comparison to the book, I feel the need to point some things out with the hope of making you re-evaluate your line of thinking.

The thing is, Kaz Brekker in the show is a character that very much grows to book-readers with a needed careful and attentive rewatch.

I binged the whole season in a consecutive-7h-long binge-watching session during April 23rd, and came out of it feeling mildly disappointed with the way Kaz had been written (but not portrayed; Freddy was truly amazing). The one aspect that really bugged me at first was that his typical modus operandi when it came to plotting and scheming (by which I mean, keeping the big picture of his plans to himself and revealing just tiny pieces to everyone else according to each one's strengths and weaknesses, so as to make sure to reach the maximum potential of success while risking failure as little as possible) seemed to be kinda absent. I could easily make peace with Kaz not being as ruthless as he is in SoC, because the writers couldn't possibly make only-viewers willing to root for someone like Kaz without presenting at least some way in which he was vulnerable compared to other villainous characters. And to be honest, the fact that Kaz was ambushed by Pekka and forced to his knees not only nicely ties up with him wishing for Pekka to kneel in front of him at the beginning of SoC, but it also provides a reason as to why he would become closed-off and hesitant to apologize to Inej in the future. He was so concerned and willing to openly apologize to Inej in this scene that he lowered his guard enough without thinking and ended up giving Pekka access to Inej's name and revealing to him his own soft spot for her, before being beaten up.

That said, this was not my issue with the character. My issue was with the absence of his modus operandi as a masterful planner. I just didn't feel it during the binge-watch. But then I carefully rewatched the show, paying close attention to the actual succession of events more than to how accurate the characterization of the Crows was compared to the books. And I completely changed my mind.

If you pay attention, you can see that Kaz has been manipulating Arken from the very beginning, and everything Arken has accomplished was made possible because Kaz wanted it to happen, so that Arken would believe to be one step ahead of him and not see his betrayal coming. He quickly realizes that he and Arken think alike, and that he has to find a way to outsmart him.

As soon as the Conductor appears in the show, Kaz points out that he reached out to him not only because he can make them cross the Fold, but also because he smuggles Grisha who are unwilling to fight out of the Little Palace. He immediately grasps that the Conductor actively profits from the existence of the Fold and therefore that his own transport has to be constantly operative and effective. Which makes him realize that there has to be a political interest in his smuggling business for it to be allowed to flourish and survive undisturbed, and that someone has to financially back him up and subsidize the mantainance of the train and the feasibility of the crossing.

Soon after the Crows discovered that Nina had been captured and could no longer guide them to the Little Palace, Arken tries to sabotage their mission by convincing them to abandon it. This is where Kaz understands that he is actively interested in their kidnapping of the Sun Summoner to not happen, and begins suspecting he might have a separate agenda.

He purposefully risks the whole mission on Jesper not gambling everything away while looking for alabaster coal by deciding to grab the goat by himself, which is a less time-consuming task. This grants him the opportunity to attend to a quick rally for West Ravka's independence led by General Zlatan, where he sees Arken retiring with him in a private tent. His suspects about Arken are validated, and he understands that Arken has been smuggling Grisha out of East Ravka to the West with the support of Zlatan, who is also making some kind of alliance with Fjerdians and keeping a blind-eye to druskelle hunting and capturing Grisha (as we find out later on).

While they are crossing the Fold, Kaz is visibly skeptical of Arken's story about the transport being conveniently effective because of his knowledge of engineering and physics, and a chunk of luck. Arken seems to know too well how to safely cross the Fold, and the trasport seems to have worked far too many times for it to be the product of the underground, illegal practice of just one man.

In East Ravka, Kaz comes up with the Royal Archive Heist with the hope of stealing the Little Palace blueprints from the Palace of Kribirsk. But there's a very short scene here, which apparently seems unimportant but is actually pivotal: Kaz gives Arken money to make friends with East Ravkans so as to grant them a safe passage to Os Alta. Keep in mind: at this point Kaz is sure that Arken has been given by Zlatan a personal agenda to carry out regarding the Sun Summoner (I genuinely believe he also grasps that the secret plan is to kill her, so as to prevent the Fold from being destroyed and their smuggling business from being no longer profitable), so he knows Arken has total interest in making sure that they actually have a ride to the Little Palace. Which means, by urging him to "make some friends", Kaz already knows Arken will come up with a plan to be able to arrive to Os Alta and carry out his own mission at any costs, if the blueprints of the Little Palace that they are planning to steal end up being useless. And not only that: he wants Arken to believe he is being one-step ahead of them by "saving their asses" with this back-up plan, so as to easily come to the conclusion that the Crows have no reason to distrust him (how could they, when he finds them a second way-in?) and completely disregard the idea that Kaz might stab him in the back before he does the same thing to them. This is some mastermind thinking and completely IC for Kaz, because all the inner workings of his schemes go completely unnoticed on the outside.

Now that Arken proudly looks like the one who managed to grant them passage to Os Alta, he has no reason to believe Kaz might have ulterior motives when he decides to be the one carrying out a preliminary exploration of the Little Palance's hallways, despite his wounded leg making it difficult for him. But here's when Kaz sees Marie and immediately understands that she's supposed to be a decoy for Alina. So he coldly plans the whole kidnapping operation so as to make sure Arken ends up trying to kill (or directly killing) Marie. Which is why he shows no surprise when Arken reveals he can actually open the Fabrikator-made door with a device he carries with himself (probably provided by Zlatan to be able to get access to Alina's private rooms, or maybe already in his possession from when he had smuggled other Grisha out previously), and shows no hesitation when saying outwardly to everyone that Arken will be the one actually carrying out the kindnapping just because "he knows his way around Grisha locks". I actually believe Inej senses that there's something going on that she doesn't fully know when Kaz so light-heartedly allows Arken to lay his hands on their 1 Mln Kruge prize, but her suspicions (likely born out because she knows Kaz too well) are quickly put to rest and given an explaination only after Arken effectively falls into his trap.

After Alina escapes from the Crows in the following episode, we are led to believe that Kaz abandons the idea of kidnapping her again because of Inej, and this turns out to be actually true (despite Inej herself being incredibly suspicious of this, because of how unseemly it would be). Inej also believes Kaz to be so calculating that she points out that he might have planned to let Alina go in the first place and to detonate Arken's transport so as to travel with the same sandskiff Alina is embarking on and kindap her there. Inej would not have such a suspicion if Kaz's reputation didn't live up to that modus operandi.

While we actually learn that Kaz was being genuine with Inej about having abandoned the idea of kidnapping Alina, we also quickly learn that Kaz has spent the last two episodes silently coming up with a whole new other plan to make sure they can go back to Ketterdam without being killed by Dreesen and Pekka Rollins.

Now, as you can see, this is actually a lot. And this whole progression of events is handled so smoothly by the writing that it's fully admirable only by rewatching the show and paying close attention to Kaz's actions, while also knowing how his mind works. All of this is internal workings, which is typical Kaz.

So, I was wrong. His modus operandi is very much present. It's just barely detectable, as it should be for it to be believable. I hope this might reassure some deluded fans who came out of their watching session feeling let down by Kaz not looking "smart enough". It's all there! And the fact that so many of us couldn't see it at first hand, if you think about it, is just further proof that Kaz's intelligence and ability to scheme were handled extremely well. They couldn't make his mental workings too obvious to the casual viewers, or the character would have lost what actually makes him brilliant, which is the ability to outsmart others without being detected, exposed or anticipated.

#kaz brekker #freddy carter #show!kaz #six of crows #crooked kingdom #soc #ck #sab spoilers #shadow and bone spoilers #a defense of how kaz was written #i hope this helps someone ?? #arken #the conductor #inej ghafa #the crows

[rahleeyah]

Kept myself up half the night thinking about our baby detective talking about parallel universes and the idea that this was a reoccurring convo they’d had for years.

It’s early in their partnership, maybe their first overnight stake out and they know each other well enough that they’re past small talk, but Olivia, looking for a way to keep alert, is trying to make conversation.

She asks Elliot, “What would you be doing if you weren’t here?”

And he snorts because it’s 2:34am and he’s a smart ass. “I’d be asleep,” he says with a chuckle.

But that’s not exactly what Olivia meant. “No I mean, if this wasn’t your life. If you weren’t a cop, what would you be doing?”

“Like some kind of parallel universe?” Elliot ask, mostly to stall for time. Because really he doesn’t have an answer. He became a cop like his old man. Joined the force after the Marines because what else was he going to do? He chose the path of least resistance when he was just a kid because it was the responsible thing to do. Kathy was pregnant and he had to provide for his family some how.

“Yeah, I guess,” Olivia says. “Do you ever think about that? How if you changed one thing, your whole life could be different.”

He does catch himself wondering what if things happened differently at times. But he’d never admit it and always feels guilty for it. It’s started to happen more since he and Olivia were partnered. And he already knows it’s dangerous to dwell for too long on why that might be.

Instead he says, “Maybe I’d be an astronaut—still up watching the city, but just from up there.” It’s a little outlandish, but it’s safe. A dream thousands of little boys shared growing up during the space race.

When he turns the question on her she tells him she’d still be right here. That this is where she was always going to be, her childhood being what it was, being born under the circumstances she was. “Except maybe I’d have some fresh coffee.”

He laughs and tells her that’s cop out even as he’s getting out of the car and tossing her the keys. He lets it got this time because he thinks she’s right.

Over time, it becomes a game they play. Sometimes it just to pass the time. Sometimes it’s to keep the darkness they’re constantly confronted with at bay. It’s silly. Mostly. But over time Elliot can’t help but think Olivia’s the through line in all of his universes. She’s the fixed point.

She's the fixed point

Friend I'm gonna eat my fucking phone

This is. So perfect for them.

They're sitting alone in the dark, radios on but no one can hear them as long as they don't hold down the button. Sipping on coffee, staring at the city slipping through the night around them.

"my mother wanted me to be an architect," he tells her. "she mistook an affinity for Legos for an actual skill."

"I could see it," Liv muses. "You've got a highly developed sense of spatial reasoning."

"what the fuck does that mean," he says, and they laugh, but it's a thought that lodges itself in his chest. He is never lost. He has a feel for buildings, the logic that made them, knows which turns to take, and Liv knows this. She's the only one, he thinks. The only one besides his flighty mother who's ever noticed he's got a skill that has nothing to do with his fists.

"you really never wanted to be anything else?" He asks her another night.

She hums; the shrink asked her that, in her second year. Where would you be if you weren't here? And she couldn't answer then, and she doesn't want to now.

"I didn't know what I wanted to do when I was a kid," she says, and the truth is she was rarely looking that far ahead; all she wanted was out. "There were other things I wanted though."

She looks at his blue eyes soft in the darkness, his hands wrapped around a paper cup of lukewarm bodega coffee. This is what she wanted, when she was young and dreaming; a man she trusted, a man who came, and saw her, and stayed, companionship, to never be lonely again, to never see love used as a weapon against her. He has given that to her, gives it to her every morning when she walks in the station and sees his face, but he takes it away every night when he leaves her.

"maybe in another life," he says. "Maybe I'm an architect and you're the one with four kids."

And she has to look away, bc in that universe she thinks those kids are his, too, and she can't look in his eyes while that thought floats through her mind.

So she doesn't see his eyes close, when he thinks of a little girl who looks as much like Olivia as Maureen looks like Kathy, and guilt and regret churn in his gut.

It's a long time before they play this game again.

#ask #e.o asks

[peralta-guaranteed]

What abkut mafia!jake au

Stop giving me awesome AU ideas that I cannot write the fic for! 😭

- due to some really, really bad choices after high school (did he ever make other ones? who knows), Jake Peralta has ended up as a grunt for the Ianucci family. He doesn’t really do much - he’s mostly someone who gathers information and new areas for them to work in, because he’s good at randomly befriending people and milking them for all it’s worth. He’s done a few ‘deliveries’, too, but has never had to really get physical.

- (he was at one family meeting that turned into the ‘farewell’ of a mistrusted member and he still has nightmares about it)

- he’s never been arrested for anything and thought the police didn’t even know his name, so imagine his surprise when he’s approached by one of their higher-ups (as if he knows the rankings, psh, pigs are all the same) and subtly but definitely asked if he would be willing to work with them

- his task seems simple: bring one of their cops into the family undercover, the same way he has ‘recruited’ several bodega owners and other ‘low-skill’ workers that turned out to be useful for the family. Maybe keep an eye on the cop as well and help her out if she’s struggling

- she? oh yeah, it’s a woman. A frankly gorgeous woman, he realises when they meet up with her and some FBI dude who obviously pretends he’s not FBI, to discuss it all further. Her name is ‘Dora’, and he knows that’s a lie from the second she’s introduced, but the less he knows, probably the better. The rules are set, he gets a special cellphone number of a ‘cousin’ to contact if something goes wrong, and two weeks later Dora Perez is steadily working her way up the ranks with the Ianuccis, who are very proud of Jake for bringing in this brilliant new talent.

- He might or might not be looking out for her a little bit too much. He might or might not get involved in far more shady dealings with the Iannuccis so he can work closer with her. He might or might not be in deep, deep shit.

- ‘Dora’ is grateful for it, though, he learns every time he drives her home after a more difficult job. She used to be withdrawn and quiet with him, which he tried to equalise by cracking more and more stupid jokes and doing random silly stuff during their drives, but then one time they drive in absolute silence while she cleans blood of her hands, and he says something, he doesn’t remember what, but it’s the right thing apparently, because she starts to talk. She talks to him during every ride after, telling him about the stress and the constant guard she has to keep up and how none of her research binders prepared her for this, and at some point she tells him about nightmares and seeing death around every corner and she can’t wait for this mission to be over.

- (for her sake, he can’t wait for that either. For his sake, he wishes it would go on forever.)

- They’re sent out for a big job together once, because Jake has already become ‘connected’ to Amy in the Ianuccis’ eyes, and they both end up with blood on their hands, and some of it is hers.

- he gets out of the car after that drive home, and gets up to her tiny, fake apartment, and helps her clean the wounds (nothing too big, just cuts, because thank god that guy only had a knife before he beat it out of his hands and then beat the living daylight out of him after he injured her) with the softest fingers she’s ever felt. Then the cleaning alcohol is swapped for drinkable stuff, and they talk, and they talk about everything and nothing, about how a dead-beat dad and an absent mother make a Mafia goon, and how family pressure and a sense of constant duty make a detective who so badly wanted to say no to this assignment but couldn’t.

- “For what it’s worth, Dora, I’m glad you said yes. I mean, not that- not that I want you to do this kind of work- and I want things to be over for you soon, because- but- I’m glad it’s you.” “Amy.” “Hm?” “My name is Amy. Amy Santiago.”

- He wakes up in her bed the next morning, with her in his arms, and he kind of doesn’t regret a single thing, even as his smart-brain is screaming at him. He’s pretty sure he would’ve willingly died for her even before this night, but now, he realises... that he probably will.

- Amy (Amy, not Dora) does freak out a little more than he does when she wakes up. She can’t get involved, she says, this is a job, a dangerous one, and she has to focus on that job and getting the mafia gang and not- okay, okay, let’s not overthink this then, Jake says only to calm her down, we don’t do anything ‘involved’, we’re just... having fun. Keeping things light and breezy. Helping deal with the stress.

- and so, despite how much it hurts and how much it makes him happy at the same time, Jakey the Jew becomes Jakey, Dora’s Loverboy. It helps, he supposes, because it means the Ianuccis won’t suspect them hanging out so much, and send him along to most of her jobs now so he can watch out for her, and he gets to be with her in a way, even as she constantly reiterates ‘light and breezy’ to keep him at a distance no matter how close they get.

- it doesn’t feel very ‘light and breezy’ when they spend time together in front of the TV, though, to get their minds to relax after doing whatever the Ianuccis needed them doing. It doesn’t feel ‘light and breezy’ when they joke around in the bodega getting ice cream on a particularly hot day out doing jobs, or when she shows him around the library after meeting her ‘cousin’ there for a chat. It doesn’t feel ‘light and breezy’ at all when she sighs into his arms when he’s holding her in bed, neither of them even wanting to take the night any further than soft hands under tshirts, because all they really need at some point is the comfort of each other.

- and then one day, after a few months of this ‘light and breezy’ and ‘Dora’s Loverboy’, Jake gets invited for a ‘Talk’ by the family. With a capital T. And he’s not been that high up in the ranks at any point, and he’s not really done much for the family, but he’s not an idiot. He knows what that means. So of course he doesn’t tell Amy, writes her a short but succinct note instead that maybe ends with the L-word somewhere in it, and goes to have a Talk.

- The Ianuccis know that there is a rat, but they don’t know who. And they know that if Jakey is good for one thing, it’s information. So The Talk doesn’t end as quickly as it usually does, and the way he’d expected. It hurts a lot more, for one thing. Jake thinks of offering up some other goon or lower family member as the rat, if only to make the torture stop, but his brain is too broken in the moment to figure out a convincing story. And when the name ‘Perez’ suddenly drops into the conversation, there’s really only one other name he can still think of clearly to blame. Peralta.

- he doesn’t remember much after that - he’s pretty sure he heard gunshots, but none of them hit him, so what’s the deal with that? Everything else is pretty much a blur of pain and cold, and lots of shouting, and then warm soft hands on his face and a quiet voice saying his name amidst it all, and when he wakes up the next time he’s in a hospital bed.

- He’s in that hospital bed for two weeks to recover, and no one visits him. Not that it should be surprising - Nana is dead, his mom doesn’t know about anything he’s done since the age of 18 for a reason, and there’s no one else who in their right mind should care to visit him. So imagine his surprise when a detective shows up, introduces herself as Rosa Diaz, and explains that she’s Amy’s partner at work, but she’s not here for official business.

- “She wanted to come see you. Hell, she fought tooth and nail for it. But she had to be debriefed, stupid FBI assholes, and then it turned out two of the Ianuccis got away, so we had to find them first to make sure they don’t go after her for revenge” (well that explains the constant patrols in the hospital for him, as well) “and we had to hide her for her safety, but, Jake, she wanted to come see you. I swear.” “It’s okay.” Jake says, and it’s really not, but he’s been a brilliant liar for years now. “You can tell her... it’s okay. The job is done, and I’m, I’m glad she’s finally got it over and past her. Really. Tell her it’s okay.”

- He’s debriefed by the FBI after he gets discharged, as well. They tell him ‘good job’ and ‘thanks’ and pay him a surprisingly large amount of money and cover his hospital bills, so that’s good. They also advise that he move, not far, but far enough that any possible leftover scragglers of the family don’t remember his old place for a ‘visit’. So he moves, a few blocks only, enough to get a new favourite bodega and deli and discover that the library is actually nearby and that there’s this community college that Amy kept talking about for some reason, and if he takes a few classes to finally get a degree, it’s not about getting a proper job at some point, it’s more about not thinking about anything else. About maybe forgetting, even if it was her that basically got him where he is now.

- (it does not work)

- she knocks on his door a month later. She looks strange in her professional outfit instead of washed out jeans and a tanktop with a stupid slogan on it, but also so perfectly her. That’s Amy, he thinks, not Dora anymore. That’s Amy, and he still loves her just as much as he did when she was ‘Dora’ in his sweatpants and tshirt. Maybe more.

- “You’re a hard man to find, Peralta.” She says, and he knows that’s a lie, but she smiles with a scared look through it and he takes it for what it is - an attempt at saying anything, really, after 1 1/2 months of silence, when she’s probably got a speech all prepared in her head but needs to get there first. “That’s such a bad, cheesy movie line.” He helps, and she laughs and yeah, that’s all he needs in life. “Well we never watched any good movies, did we.” “Hey, we watched Die Hard. That’s the best movie there is.” She rolls her eyes but nods, and opens her mouth, and Jake thinks that the speech is coming now, but he has no idea what it might entail. Thank you and good bye, maybe. Good job, great work, can you sign this official statement for me so I can add it to my paperwork? possibly. “Screw light and breezy.” She says instead, and then she’s in his new apartment, which is much nicer and cleaner than the old place was even after she worked her magic on it, and she’s kissing him, and he’s never, ever letting her out.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #headcanon? writing? I dunno anymore #Mafia AU

[malereader-inserts]

Something Worthwhile

Fandom: BBC Sherlock Pairing: Mycroft Holmes & Brother!Reader & Sherlock Holmes Summary: It’s hard being a Holmes sometimes, especially when you’re alone Word Count: 1,470 Request: Holmes brother who is having difficulties fitting in with his two smart, intelligent and brilliant brothers. He feels left out and alone and ends up isolating himself further. Somehow John is the only one who notices this but Sherlock and Mycroft dont believe him because they dont think a Holmes brother is capable of such feelings so John has to properly lecture them on feelings and stuff and then they search for reader and help him out of the slums. Sorry if this is too long A/n: Y’all be linking brotherly holmes stuff.

“I could be greater.”

John looks at you, at the doorway, watching you stretch your back, moving boxes surrounding you. You get out a groan at the sweet release of stress leaving your tense muscle, clicking parts of your body as John just stares at you.

He came to visit, check up on you, you had been awfully quiet for a while and he got worried. What he had not expected to see you packing your belonging to move houses. 

“What?” He looks at you confused as you looked at him, a smile but it wasn’t comforting.

It was a smile of tiredness, you shrugged your shoulders.

“I could be greater, you know? Compared to Sherlock and Mycroft, I could be painfully greater.”

“You’re already great.”

“Are you sure? I can hardly keep up with Sherlock and Mycroft, one of them is one of the greatest detectives and the other one is working with the Government. And me?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “I’m not as great as them.”

“So, you’re moving?”

“Uh, isn’t that obvious?”

John looks around, you’re a lot human, easier to relate to as a Holmes. But, he understands to be the odd one out. He can’t fault you for feeling that. He asks you if you need help, you smile and shake your head, waving he off. John tells you that he’s off, if you ever need him he’s only a phone call away - you looked grateful for that.

After that, he doesn’t see you or hear from you. He goes to check your old apartment, it’s cleared out, empty almost as if it’s getting ready to get renovated. It was abandoned and the warmth you gave the house, was washed away. John doesn’t know what you’re thinking, but you’ve disappeared.

It worries John.

You hated your brothers, just as much as you love them. They were ahead of the game, ahead of life. They’re producing such brilliant works, but you were left behind. You were three steps ahead of the game but your brothers were nine steps ahead. You were walking with life, whilst your brothers are running past it. You could never be your brothers, and it was hard for you to understand that.

Your mother and father have had high expectations after both Mycroft and Sherlock being ahead of their classes, they expected you to be the same. But, you weren’t. You were top of the class, but that hardly meant anything to them. It got tiring to try to keep up with them.

So, you found yourself a place, across London, furthest away from Sherlock’s apartment. It was small but cosy, it was your safe space, plants everywhere, handing from the ceiling, all content in your loving presence. Your cat that lounges around the house currently draped over the back of the sofa. 

The living room was clashing with different colour, but you like that, it was vibrant, you don’t do dull things. If you’re going to take your time with life then you might as well think the world is in bright colours like an indie filter on Instagram. 

You have to romanticise your little life if it means to distract you from your brothers. That means thinking every time you cook, you have to believe you’re in a Studio Ghibli movie, where all the food looks mouth-watering.

You were happier, being away, isolating yourself away. 

It doesn’t settle well with John. 

So, when he had returned home from work and saw both Holmes brothers, he sat them down, his arms crossed over his chest looking angry at them. Though, to Sherlock that’s how John looks all the time. He gave them a good earful, even Mrs Hudson went upstairs to investigate what was happening. Even she gave her own opinion as well.

But, with both brothers, they took nothing in.

They look at them blankly.

“That’s not (Y/n),” Sherlock breaks the silence with a chuckle, a smile that could freak anyone out, but John was too pissed off with him that he wanted to punch it off.

“Yes, our brother is fine, but I do thank you for the concern,” Mycroft says politely as he flinches at John’s intense glare, “Anyway, (Y/n) doesn’t feel that, if he was, he would have told us.”

“Really?” John asked, scoffing, shaking his head with an unsettling chuckle that made both Holmes brother sit upright, “Why would he tell you what he’s feeling when you constantly dismissing him when he feels anything but confidence?”

“I-”

The brothers wanted to intervene, but this has ticked John off beyond belief. It had prompted him to rant to them that both brothers were afraid to interrupt because after all, John was making sense for once. For once, an average smart man was talking so intelligently that they felt like they were reduced to nothing.

“He tells you that his emotions have been overwhelming, you tell him to get over it. When he can barely get out of bed because he feels like the world is resting upon his shoulders you tell him to grow a thicker skin. When he cries, you tell him its a sign of weakness, he looks for his brothers for guidance but his brothers tell him to look for it himself.”

“John-”

“For God’s sake, he told me he was in therapy because he doesn’t want to tell you because you’d see him as a disappointment. He’s trying so hard and every achievement he does - it gets brushed under the rug. He thinks he has already disappointed your mother and father, God only knows what he’s thinking now to know that his brothers have abandoned him.”

“But, we haven’t,” Sherlock mutters out so softly, John could tell that he was ashamed in himself.

“I don’t even know where he is. He hasn’t been picking up my calls or replying to my messages, I don’t know where he moved.”

“He moved?” Mycroft asked, astounded, as John sighs.

John rubs his forehead, hand on his hip, looking exhausted and stress. Nodding sheepishly. John has been trying hard to locate you but London is a big city with various different apartments. He doesn’t know if you had moved far from your old place, he doesn’t have a brain like the Holmes, he couldn’t deduce where you intend to go.

“Yeah, so while to try to find him. Both of you are going to think of a good apology.”

“How are you so calm? He could have killed hi-”

“He told me that he wouldn’t do that because the thought of his cat thinking he had abandoned her hurts him more than ending it all.”

With a statement like that, the brothers wonder how bad they caused your pain.

Sherlock and Mycroft walk up to your apartment, the stairs were nice - both brothers noticed, you like that because you hated stairs, especially steep ones. They knocked on your door, hoping it was you on the other side.

They can hear your record player playing some songs, though with the door shut it was hard to tell what was playing. They knock again, before hearing your footsteps and the door opening.

“Why are you here?” You asked, your brothers hurt with no greeting and no smile to come along with it.

“John expressed his concerns,” Mycroft says, swallowing his pride, “It has made up realise that we have-”

“We have fucked up as brothers,” Sherlock completed.

“Charming,” Mycroft mutters bitterly.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” You were about to slam the door but Sherlock was strong enough to keep the door open with just the strength of his left arm, “Leave me alone.”

“No, we’re not leaving until we fix our mess. We’re brothers, our parents have given us hell and it’s not fair for you to go through their hell all by yourself,” Sherlock says firmly before eyes softening, “Please (Y/n).”

“You don’t have to talk, you can just listen,” Mycroft says as a compromise, to meet you in the middle, “We know that you’re not going to forgive us right away, but, we don’t want you to be alone again.”

You stand there in silence, before huffing out, opening the door wider and standing to the side. Your brothers entering your home; it smells a lot like you. You shut the door behind them, your cat seeing your brothers and instantly stretching and walk towards you. 

Jumping up in your arms, your cat stares his sharp glaring eyes towards your brothers as if he was warning them.

Your brothers seemed unsettled as they sit down, they’re not prepared for the talk ahead of them. They don’t expertise in the subject of feelings and relating to others, but if it means to keep you around longer.

It’s something worthwhile to do.

#bbc sherlock #sherlock BBC #sherlock imagine #sherlock bbc imagine #mycroft imagine #mycroft holmes imagine #sherlock and mycroft imagine #mycroft x male reader #sherlock x male reader #x male reader #platonic

[drnikolatesla]

Nikola Tesla’s World Wireless System

By J. J. J.

Nikola Tesla’s theories, experiments, demonstrations, and inventions throughout his lifetime of work proved that his “World System” would provide: 

1. A perfect “secret signal service” through exclusive wireless waves for communication and entertainment: What Tesla referred to as his “Art of Individualization,” this concept makes it possible to transmit an unlimited number of signals or messages thoroughly non-detectable and exclusive both in the active and passive aspect. Such messages are completely non-interfering and non-interferable, e.g. each signal has its own unique identity (like snowflakes), irrelevant of the number of stations or devices simultaneously in operation. This literally translates to our internet and wireless communication today, but far more advanced. Today, we use communication satellites to bounce signals off other satellites and send these signals to other points around the globe. We need satellites to accomplish this in that conventional physics states that every effect diminishes with distance (inverse square law), so the signals sent on earth either dissipate with distance and/or do not follow the curvature of earth because of the concept of line of sight. This is why we can only receive radio signals at certain distances from the station. Therefore, we use satellites to bounce signals off other satellites to reach other parts of the earth. With Tesla’s system, however, satellites in this sense become obsolete. His system could send instantaneously messages all over the world, set and regulate all clocks, act as a universal stock ticker, reproduce art and photography, and allow exclusive use of video, audio and text communication (this is also how Tesla predicted smart phones a hundred years before they were developed). How would he do this? Tesla used the earth as a conductor (or a wire), and sent the energy through it with no loss of energy. With this method, the problems of energy dissipation are solved. What Tesla discovered was that the earth as a whole possessed certain periods of natural vibrations, and by impressing electrical vibrations of the same periods upon it with his transformer, they could be thrown into oscillations of tremendous nature. Thus, Tesla posited he could collect this energy and transmit it with his Magnifying Transmitter to any place on earth with no loss of energy (and practically instantaneously so). He proved this method in experiments at Colorado Springs where he sent a longitudinal wave all the way around the world and back to his receiver traveling at a mean velocity of 292,812 miles per second. I know some may balk at sending anything faster than the speed of light, but I will remind them that the speed of light is a constant, it is not a limit. The velocity of light is an expression of the ratio of energy to mass. Tesla’s waves worked on different dimensions. The electromagnetic waves we use in today’s technology travel at the speed of light, but due to the nature of these waves (which are similar to light), they diminish with distance. This is because their electromagnetic lines of force and their magnetic lines of force intercept the angles of one other, causing resistance (radiation resistance). This is also why they eventually lose energy. Tesla, on the other hand, used an oscillating wave, or a longitudinal wave, in which the electromagnetic and magnetic forces run parallel with each other (hence there is no friction or loss of energy). As a result, the more power he used, the faster and further these waves would travel. Imagine what can be accomplished with waves that do not diminish with distance!

2. The operation of flying machines by wireless power: The flow of Tesla’s currents are confined to the earth, but with his machine, he could create an electromagnetic field in the atmosphere surrounding it. Tesla theorized that if lightweight electric motors with attached circuits are placed in the airplanes (or other flying machines) and are accurately attuned, energy will be drawn into these circuits from the electromagnetic field powering the motors (similar to submerging an empty bottle in water then poking a hole in it - the energy from the electromagnetic field would flow into the circuit the same way water would into the bottle). This concept could therefore revolutionize a whole new world of transportation! 

3. GPS: Global positioning could be used not just on the earth’s surface, but via the earth’s interior as well (ex. finding mineral deposits, submarines, etc.). This is accomplished by setting up and maintaining longitudinal stationary waves in the earth, subdividing its entire surface into zones of electrical activity. This also allows data points to be collected regarding the earth’s dimensions, as well as the positioning of moving or non-moving objects by analyzing the way waves react to objects within it or without it. This would help in navigation, prospecting, or basic radar by determining positions and size of objects, in or outside earth, by determining latitudes and longitudes, the speed of travel and the respective courses followed.

4. An artificial Aurora Borealis: By shooting charged particles at the atmosphere in the sky, Tesla’s system could create the same effect that occurs during the Northern Lights. This would contribute to the concept of night vision and constructing related devices for human use based on this phenomenon.

5. Operations of all manufacturing and transportation machinery: With much more power than his “Art of Individualization,” Tesla could send power through the earth to any point on the globe (regardless of distance) and provide a business or home with enough horsepower to operate and run all its machinery, including transportation machinery. Note this would not be “free energy”, as the conspiracists of the internet assume. Tesla never said anything about free energy. We would still have to subscribe and pay for this energy just like we do today, but at a much cheaper cost. 

6. Interplanetary Communication: Tesla understood that if we ever want to make contact with intelligent life on other planets, or even communicate with humans traveling through the depths of space, we would have to use radio technology to do so. He believed that with enough power drawn from energy sources (such as Niagara Falls) to power his transformer, he could create billions of horsepower, and with his Magnifying Transmitter, send his oscillating wave signals (which travel many times faster than light) to the far reaches of this galaxy. 

7. Irrigation and fertilization of the world by wireless: Using wireless power, farmers and land owners would be able to pump water and irrigate their land from energy sent thousands of miles away. Tesla also believed that weather was of electrical origin, and thus could be controlled by electrical means. In other words, with a properly developed apparatus (different from his wireless system), he could pull water from oceans by hydraulic force, turn it into vapor and carry it in cloud form to arid parts of land (make it rain, so to speak).  Also, with fertilization, we know that an excess of nitrogen in the atmosphere is a bad thing, and not enough nitrogen in the soil will cause growth deficiencies in plants. Tesla’s experiments in Colorado Springs showed that the nitrogen in the air could be burned with electricity. By burning the right amount of nitrogen in the air, it could be turned into a fertilizer of sorts. 

8. Magnetizing of enemy battleships, submarines, and airplanes to attract missiles: This notion speaks for itself. By using magnetic waves, the metal of enemy machinery could be magnetized and therefore cause it to attract missiles. 

9. A particle beam for defense: Tesla did not believe in war and had always thought that strife or conflict could be cured by some way other than by brute force. His idea was to create a machine that would give all countries a defense weapon that would render them entirely impenetrable to enemy attacks. All have seen the photo of Tesla sitting in his laboratory in Colorado Springs where there are artificial lightning bolts filling the room over a hundred feet in length. His idea was to control this energy in a very high vacuum tube and disperse the energy in any direction desired - this was his defense weapon for war. Unfortunately, his hypothesis was ignored and America subsequently suffered the attack on Pearl Harbor four years after Tesla proposed his invention to world governments.  

I presume most people would be skeptical about how safe Tesla’s “World System” would be. If the whole earth is electrified, wouldn’t we get shocked constantly? Not the case. Tesla used electrostatics, e.g. when an electric charge is at rest, as opposed to direct current (DC) electricity and alternating current AC which are electricity moving through wires either directly or back and both. Both DC and AC are very dangerous if touched. Tesla would speed up his alternating currents so fast that the electricity would become static electricity. It could then be stored, or pass through the physical body with no harm. He demonstrated this in lectures throughout the 1890s by passing thousands of volts of electricity through his body and shooting electricity out of his fingertips. Static electricity is already all around us. It’s similar when you rub your socks on the carpet and can walk to the other side of the room and shock someone - this static electricity is stored in your body, but doesn’t harm you. The shock might slightly startle your friend, but nevertheless is still harmless. Also, unlike the wireless technology we use today - which is ninety percent radiation - Nikola Tesla’s system is clean energy. His system reverses what our technology does and uses only ten percent radiation, and ninety percent current waves. This is why there is no loss of energy, and why we should be implementing and utilizing Tesla’s system.

Our current existence would be far more advanced had Tesla been allowed to share his work with the world. Although we are advancing with greats strides in technological achievements, we are still hundreds of years behind the future Nikola Tesla hoped and dreamed for.

“My project was retarded by the laws of nature. The world was not prepared for it. It was too far ahead of time. But the same laws will prevail in the end and make it a triumphal success.”

–Nikola Tesla

(“My Inventions – V. The Magnifying Transmitter.” Electrical Experimenter. February, 1919.)

#nikola tesla #science #physics #engineering #invention #experiments #history #future #wireless #electricity #energy #power #clean energy #renewable power #renewable resources #faster than light #ufos #extraterrestrials #irrigation #war #acdc #radiation #quotes #ahead of his time #ahead of our time

[amyscascadingtabs]

the way you keep the world at bay for me

post-the set up, a.k.a jake taking care of hungover amy, hungover amy taking care of sad jake, and mac caring mostly about himself because he’s a baby 😌

read on ao3

Jake doesn't get a lot of sleep that night, and for once, it's not even Mac’s fault. It's not even due to the pizza parlor simulator game either, although he does play a couple of rounds when Amy's finally snoring next to him after ranting to herself about the babysitter’s club for a solid ten minutes, but not even that can fully distract him from the dull sense of doom that's made itself at home deep in his chest. 

This is bad. Holt wants to see him tomorrow, and Jake knows there will be consequences. There has to be. There should be. He made a mistake, and he's going to get punished for it, and there is nothing he can do but accept his defeat. He already knows what he has to do; the nerve-wracking thing is the fact that it's still hours away, and his brain is spinning too fast for sleep.

He really wishes he could talk to Amy. She's sleeping on her stomach with her mouth open, arms straight out to the sides like she’s trying to push him out of bed, but he still can’t be mad at her. He hasn’t seen her this drunk since before she got pregnant, and he’s seriously worried about the hangover she’ll be sporting tomorrow, but he also knows she did it for him. Because they’re a team. Because she trusts him, sometimes even when it turns out he was wrong.

He wrongfully arrested someone. The sentence keeps repeating in his head, appears pasted in bold font on the inside of his eyelids if he tries to go to sleep, and displayed in luminescent letters on the ceiling of his bedroom when he gives up and opens his eyes again. He should have known better, has learned his lesson time and time again since his early days of constantly glorifying his job and letting his impulsivity get the best of him, and he still made a mistake.

  /

He just wants someone to tell him it doesn’t make him a bad person. If only Amy wasn’t so drunk he’s scared to wake her up right now, Charles wasn’t so devotedly biased in all questions involving Jake’s role as a detective, and Mac wasn’t, well… so completely unable to grasp any of the concepts involved in the question.

Amy lets out another mighty drunken snore, and Jake hopes she will consider it a testament to his love for her that he doesn’t voice record it. He turns his head instead and picks up his phone to go back to the pizza game. Maybe just a few more virtual customers will be able to lure him to sleep.

 ~

 He must have fallen asleep eventually, because when Mac does start babbling to himself over the monitor, the morning sun is shining through the windows, and Amy’s stopped snoring. She’s only moaning uncomfortably to herself now, and Jake’s guessing from her strained grimace that the headache has kicked in hard.

“I’ll get you coffee and aspirin as soon as I’ve checked on Mac,” he whispers to her with a kiss to her neck, and he thinks he sees the hint of a smile as she reaches out for him in what’s probably an attempt of a pat on the back, but ends up more of an unintentional slap to his butt. Or maybe she’s still drunk, and it is intentional. It’s hard to tell.

  /

Mac may have no clue about what’s currently going on with Jake, but at least it’s impossible not to smile when he hauls himself up and rocks back and forth on unsteady feet in excitement over the fact that someone’s coming to get him. He greets Jake with that wide grin that shows off all of his four teeth – two up and two down, and they’ve kept everyone up at night for weeks, but they’re so pearly white and cute so maybe it was worth it – and a laugh that’s been Jake’s favorite sound on Earth since the first time he heard it.

“Good morning, bud,” Jake tells his son as he lifts him up in his arms. “What do you say we get you a bottle and mama some coffee? Hmm?”

“Bah,” Mac repeats. Jake decides to give him the benefit of the doubt and say it means he agrees on the bottle.

“Bottle, exactly. You're so smart,” he says, booping his little nose and smiling as it makes Mac giggle. “Let's try another one. Dada.”

There's a tense moment of them both just staring at each other, and then finally, his son goes,

“Bah.”

“One day,” Jake says with a sigh as he carries Mac out of the nursery. “As long as you say me first, okay? We’ll get there. We’ll practice.”

  /

He puts Mac in the high chair while he tries his best to work the coffee machine and the bottle warmer at the same time. It's trickier than to be expected on almost no sleep, but at least he manages to pour the breast milk from the freezer bag into the bottle and not into his coffee this time. He's only made that mistake once (fine, maybe twice, and he kind of liked how sweet it tasted but he's never gonna tell anyone), but he suspects Amy's never gonna let him live it down. He gets Aspirin from the medicine cabinet while he waits, and puts a couple of slices of toast in the toaster. His own day feels already pretty much beyond saving, but at least maybe he can improve Amy's.

  /

Though, when she stumbles out of the bedroom, still in her pajamas with her huge glasses and hair on end and looking like she's either seconds from being sick or going straight back to sleep, he worries whether she might just be beyond saving, too.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as she gives him one drained look before walking up to the couch and face-planting on it with another pained groan.

“I think I might be dead.”

“That's called a hangover, babe. I think you used to be familiar with the concept once upon a time, but I guess it's been a while.” Jake grins at Mac, who only reaches his chubby hands out for the bottle out in response. “Toast?”

“Do I have to?”

“It's going to help.”

“Fine.” Amy pushes her head off the pillow to look at Mac. “He's not drinking the milk I pumped yesterday, right?”

“I poured that out for you. I know they say moderate amounts of alcohol are fine, but, well, you were speaking British.”

“Good call,” Amy mumbles as he puts the coffee, aspirin, and toast down in front of her. “See, this is why I married you.”

Jake just hums, but he does smile to himself as he goes to grab his own cup of coffee.

  /

“I wish I could call in sick to work today,” Amy says between bites of toast, and Jake looks up from where he’s absentmindedly brushing crumbs off the countertop while finishing his own. “My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

“I mean, you did very much go through contractions while managing an entire precinct during a blackout once. You could think about that?”

“No, this is worse than giving birth,” she states confidently, and Jake has to try very hard not to laugh. “Don’t tell my past self I said that. Or my future self if I ever give birth again.”

“Yeah.” He grimaces. “I’m pretty terrified to go, too.”

“Why?”

“Because yesterday? All of it?”

“Ohh.” Amy sighs. “Right. Maybe we should both just stay home.”

  /

Jake’s about to tell her how much he wishes that was an option when Mac drops the finished bottle against the tray, immediately starting to twist in his seat. Jake unclasps the belt and lifts him out before he manages to rock the chair – that kid’s shockingly strong – and Mac immediately crawls away towards the walker. He doesn’t use it to move yet, but he’s been pulling himself up with it for over a month, and the anticipation is high every time he lets go with one hand only to sit back down on his booty the next second. Sometimes Jake could swear his son does it for attention. At least Mac doesn’t seem to have inherited his impulsivity, Jake thinks, and then he’s back to beating himself up in his head.

  / 

“I just don��t know why I did it,” he mutters as he sits down on the floor next to Amy’s head on the couch. She nods slowly, and Jake takes it as a sign she might actually be able to listen to him now. “I should know better, right? These are, like... the kind of mistakes I used to make. I thought I’d gotten better at this kind of stuff. Smarter. Less impulsive. Less of a bad cop. But instead I arrested and tailed an innocent man, all because I thought I had a gut feeling and thought I was being set up.” He shakes his head. “I guess that FBI jerk was right about gut feelings.”

“You’re a great detective,” Amy says without missing a beat. “A lot of the time, your gut feeling is right.”

“That doesn’t excuse it. I still shouldn’t have done it.”

“No.” Amy sighs. “You shouldn’t have.”

“It sucked.”

“Yeah. It did. But there’s nothing you can do to change it now.”

“Do you think I’m a bad person for it?” The question comes flying out of him, and Amy frowns.

“Why would I think that?”

“Because it was a shit move! And because I’m definitely gonna get suspended for it, and that’s going to lose us money. And then we’re not going to be able to save as much for Mac, or pay for his baby music class or baby gymnastics. And then he’s going to end up broke and untalented and it’ll all be my fault, and then you’ll be ashamed of me and leave me and I’ll die sad and alone in a ditch.”

“And you don’t think you’re spiraling just slightly right now?” Amy asks. The smile on her lips is one of amusement, and it humbles him, bringing him out of his cycle of self-pity.

“I don’t know. I didn’t get a ton of sleep last night.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” she says, and that does make him feel a bit better. “I think you made a really stupid mistake. There's no getting away from that. I’m not happy about it. But… I know you'll take responsibility for it. That’s already a whole lot further than a lot of people care to go.”

  /

Her fingers brush through her hair, calming him as she speaks. The hangover has made her voice a little scratchy, Jake notices when she's this close. It reminds him of mornings after long evenings out before they were parents, a time that always feels far longer ago than it was. Sometimes he thinks everything before Mac might as well be another lifetime.

  /

“And we'll work it out if you do get suspended,” Amy continues, talking over the obnoxious melody playing from a toy Mac has found. “It's not great, of course. But we can save lots of money on daycare if you stay home with Mac. That helps.”

“Like a paternity leave,” Jake says. He does like that thought.

“Oh yeah.” Amy laughs. “You’ll be just like one of those hip Scandinavian dads who get to stay home with their kids because they live in countries where they don’t hate people for having kids. And you two can go to all of the cool classes and playdates together. You’d be the sexiest dad at baby swim class for sure.”

“Wouldn’t I also be one of the only ones?”

“Good point. Make sure to mention your wife a lot. But hey, Mac’s going to love it.”

 /

As if wanting to confirm Amy’s point, Mac crawls over to Jake and tries to climb up on his knees to sit in his lap. He does this sometimes when he’s playing on his own; retreats to their arms for a hug or a quick cuddle, only to try and wriggle out of their grip and go back to whatever it is he’s doing in the next moment. Jake thinks it might be one of their son’s sweetest qualities. Mac rests his head against Jake’s chest, almost hugging him like that, and he wonders, not for the first time, how a person that’s not even one year of age can make every other issue in the world seem so insignificant. Even if it's just for a moment, it's a pretty damn good moment.

 / 

Fueled by the most powerful motivation of all – their son’s love and attention – Amy sits down on the floor too, patting her knees.

“You want to come to mama, Mac?”

Mac squirms for a moment in Jake's arms, and Jake lets go of him. Using the couch as support, for a second it looks like he’s almost about to take a step toward her. Both parents gasp in anticipation, and it must confuse him, because he reacts by giving Amy a shocked look and sitting right back down on his butt. Jake laughs as their son crawls away again, heading for the soft building blocks outside the playpen.

“He's such a tease.”

“He gets that from you,” Amy says, and Jake huffs in mock-offense. “Are you sure we shouldn't just stay home from work?”

  /

Jake thinks of his upcoming meeting with Holt. He's been fearing it for so many hours now, and he's starting to wonder if the anxious anticipation might just not be worse than the meeting itself. He already knows what he has to do; the only thing left is to rip off the band-aid.

“I don't think it will make anything better if we don't.”

“Yeah.” Amy sighs, closing her eyes and leaning on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Love you too. And you should probably shower and put on makeup unless you want everyone to know exactly how hungover you are.”

“I know you're right, and I hate it.”

Jake grins and strokes her hair before getting up from the floor. “I’ll go get Mac ready for the day.”

  /

“Jake?” Amy calls out before he can leave for the nursery with Mac in his arms, and he turns around. Her voice is still a little hoarse.

“Yeah?”

“It's going to be okay, babe. We’ll figure it out.”

 / 

Jake brushes his fingers through Mac’s already unruly curls. He thinks of playground dates, the storytime for toddlers their library holds every Wednesday, and how much time he’ll have to make sure Mac says his name first now. Then he thinks of the bigger image; of daring to set a good example for this child, even when it's hard. If he wants the world to be a better place for his son, he's going to have to start by taking responsibility for his own actions.

“Yeah. I know.”

  /

For the first time that day, he dares to believe it.

#my writing #b99 #b99 fic #i put / bc tumblr doesn't do line breaks anymore clearly #anyway. this is late and not my best it's been a Week but i really wanted to write something so. here is Something <3

[letsperaltiago]

even in a crowded room, it's just me and you

Summary: Jake and Amy spend their date night staking out a nightclub in Brooklyn. It's safe to say that it doesn't go exactly as planned.

Rating: T-M ish (for now 😌)

Words: 10.3 k (welp)

Read on AO3 here

Pink, blue, green, yellow, purple. Every color imaginable cuts through the dark venue like a knife, quick strokes of light appearing only to disappear just as fast, to the beat of loud techno music that definitely doesn’t strike a chord with the two young detectives, Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago.

See, they’re not exactly here to party - there are so many other places, places that aren’t Club Enzo, they’d much rather pay a visit on a Friday night - but rather to work. They’re here to stake out the location and hopefully gather evidence that can put their perp, Axel Manson, in jail for handling and dealing a new drug called ‘Kandy’ - yes, with a ‘k’. Very creative. 

It isn’t exactly the date night they’d planned but Holt really needed their help and at least they’re spending time together - plus, there was no way Amy would ever deny their captain her help. The second the captain’s name flashed up on her phone screen, Jake knew date night was about to take a turn. 

Having just arrived at the nightclub and watching Amy shrug off her coat to give it to the cloakroom staff, thus introducing him to her undercover outfit, he doesn’t mind the sudden change of plans. Not one bit. Sure, the instant he’d met her outside the club and could see her bare legs, he knew she wasn’t exactly wearing a pantsuit or her usual jeans. Although her coat was hiding everything down to her knee and he didn’t know what to expect. It’s safe to say that he in no way, shape or form expected this. 

A dress, not too short but without a doubt short enough to make him do a double-take, clings to her body molding all the right places (which is everywhere, if you ask him) and, to top it off, it’s red. A deep, burgundy red that has him biting his lip to keep his jaw from falling to the sticky floor. Being the talented detective that she is (plus, Jake is shamefully bad at hiding his excitement) Amy notices the response, and in the darkness of the street, there’s no hiding the blood that immediately rushes to the apples of cheeks. 

“Looking much, Peralta?” Even if he’s the one to make her blush, he’s still the one who’s dropped his jaw on the cold pavement and there’s no way she’s letting him off the hook. A few months ago she would’ve swept gazes or subtle compliments under the carpet, rationalizing by telling herself that he was dozing off, not minding what he was doing, or simply being friendly. Although things have since then changed. Now Amy knows for sure that he likes her, thus doesn’t have to shrug his actions off with stupid excuses to protect her hopes and feelings, and can allow herself to act on his advances. A dynamic that’s been there since the day they met but has blossomed into honest to good flirting. Butterflies take over her belly every time she catches him looking at her, but She collects herself and her cloakroom number. 

“Was I that obvious?” He grins much like a kid getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar but is quick to recover because this is good - they are good - and he doesn’t have to worry about loving the way his girlfriend looks. Especially when she’s got her back turned and grants him a view that has him questioning his professionalism. 

“Yes.” In the meantime, she’s turned on her high heels and it all happens so fast, so smoothly and Bond-like. It offers Jake no chance of keeping up with her which means it’s safe to say he’s surprised, very pleasantly so, when she closes the gap between the two of them to help him unbutton his coat. His nice coat, she notices, compliments a sleek, navy blue button-up shirt that comes into view once enough coat buttons have been popped open by her nimble fingers. Having already dropped his jaw in the street outside and never fully recovered, there’s no way he can allow himself to do it again. Although a small hitch in his breathing does make an appearance and outs him. The sight of his girlfriend focusing on opening his coat for him as if it were part of their mission will do that to him. She’s too good, he thinks. 

Finally, she gets to the last button without her eyes straying, not once. Looking into his eyes as she pushes the coat - the first layer of more to come, later, he hopes - off of him, another hitch, one that travels through his entire body, shakes him to the core. Brown eyes and lipstick coated lips smirk at him, up through her dark lashes, because she knows he’s obsessed and she’s about to leave him hanging in that moment, all by himself. “You good?” 

“Uh- uhuh.” Jake swallows loudly, unable to speak. Five seconds later he’s proven right: she spins on her heels, away from him to hand his coat to the cloakroom staff, and creates yet another torturous distance between them. 

Jake is equally frustrated and thankful - frustrated because she should never be allowed to look at him like that and then turn away as if nothing happened; thankful because it gives him the time to reassemble himself. 

Amy stoves their cloakroom tickets away into her little clutch and then, for the first time, gets a good look at her boyfriend’s full attire. God, she loves it when he’s cleaned and dressed up nicely. He’s freshly shaved, hair is washed and as wavy as the length will allow, and has it paired with his nicest button-up shirt and black trousers. There’s no doubt, in her or anyone else in that club’s mind: Jake Peralta cleans up more than just nicely (when he wants to).

“This is giving me mad James Bond and Maxi Pads-vibes.” He’s the first to break the momentary silence between them, thumping bass in the background, and it’s as if it brings them back in the zone. Not a very sexy remark but definitely funny and, work-wise, probably pretty smart. 

“Shut up,” she chuckles immediately getting the reference, remembering Jake in his fancy three buttoned-tux and them tiptoeing around an abandoned building (and their feelings for each other) in an attempt to catch her nemesis, Minsk. As she hooks her arm with his, slightly leaning into him as they walk further into the club, lights, and loud noise, she wonders why she back then backed out of her initial plan to ask him to dance and used Gina’s grandmother as an out instead. Luckily, that’s in the past, and tonight, she has nothing to be afraid of or back out of. It’s them, him and her, against the world - or this loud club and Axel Manson, at the very least.

They walk into the dancing crowd, a sea of drunks, Amy comments making Jake laugh. After being bumped into multiple times, never being apologized to, they arrive at the bar where they’ll have to order anything but a tempting and delicious-looking cocktail. They should go out for cocktails someday, when they’re off the clock, Jake notes to himself as the woman next to him walks away with two enormous drinks while he on his part is left ordering sodas. Orange for him, a coke for Amy.  

“Thanks.” As silly as it might seem the butterflies in Amy’s belly make a reappearance at the thought of Jake knowing exactly what to get her, without even asking her, and it reminds her, bittersweetly, of the past boyfriends who’ve thought they got her what she wanted only to end up serving her what they thought she wanted. In more mays than one, Jake constantly reminds her of exactly why she’s with him.

“I would’ve gotten you Orangina but this club has the decency of not serving poison to their guests.” Jake hides a smirk by taking a sip, knowing she won’t punch or shove him, risking his nice outfit being ruined. When it comes to joking and messing around, something they’ve been from day one and won’t ever change. they’re just kids, both of them, It’s an eternal dynamic that can’t be changed. 

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” She sips on her coke, leaving Jake hanging with a first-row experience of her lips perfectly enclosing the edge of the glass. “Anyways, what is the plan?”

Can’t she just tell him what the plan is? Sure, he could think of something but she’s already one step ahead of him, she always is, and has probably already thought of something brilliant - also she’s just that much hotter when she’s telling him what to do. 

“I’m thinking…” 

Thank God - his prayers have been heard. She picks up right where she left off. 

“... We play it cool, act like regular guests. Then we can split up, hope that either Mason himself or one of his men seek one of us out to sell us drugs. That would be proof enough for us to take him down. Although, objectively speaking, there’s a higher chance of them approaching me since I’m-”

“Super hot?” Wow, he certainly hasn’t gotten any better at holding back his first thoughts, has he? Proud of it or not, the words are out in the open and have earned him an amused look in return. Amy featuring a crinkled nose, grinning lips, and, all in all looking, cute as ever. Cute and hot at the same time ’cause his girlfriend has range. 

“I was gonna say “Since I’m a woman” but good to know where your head is at, Peralta. Very professional.” 

There’s that voice again, the sultry one he can’t act casual around; the one that gets him all hot and bothered even during times like these where it’s rather inappropriate and not very HR-friendly. Clearly, she’s joking around, messing with him on purpose, and normally he’s okay with that but not tonight - not when she’s looking like this and talking to him like that. On a night like this, there’s an extra-fine and fragile line between professional or personal. 

 The shape of a smirk on her glowing face paired with the insanely gorgeous dress and her let-down hair? She must know what she’s doing to him, right? And while it isn’t her responsibility whether or not he can control himself, the evening has just barely begun and he’s already miserable. There won’t be a lot of solving crime on his part if this moment sets the tone for the night. Damn his smart, incredible, gorgeous girlfriend. 

“If either of us makes contact with Manson, the goal is to lure him outside while the other calls for backup. If Manson is here then the rest of his gang surely must be here too, and the club will need to be ransacked. Sellers and buyers must be arrested. Our priority is to arrest Manson though. Got it?”

“Got it.” 

Drink in hand, plan agreed upon, they dance their way into the big crowd. Even sober, trying to keep up with the rhythm of the music whilst balancing liquids isn’t nearly as easy as everyone around them makes it look. A few songs later, having gotten used to the crowd’s unpredictable swaying and their cups gradually being emptied, Jake and Amy get into it. They feel themselves being a part of the sea of drunks and, even sober, it’s pretty fun. It’s been a while since they’ve gone out just the two of them, and despite the fact that this isn’t their usual spot and they’re on the clock, the sentiment remains the same.

Amy has her own, very unique, dancing style, and Jake is very much aware of this. It’s safe to say he’s grown to love her dancing, finding it adorkable (Amy told him that it’s not a real word but he doesn’t care) and another good reason to think of her as the coolest human being alive. Amy is a pro at getting caught up in people’s opinions but when she’s dancing? She forgets everything around her and simply has fun. Tonight is no exception: Amy’s limbs are kicked, punched, thrown right and left to the beat, accidentally hitting a couple of guests who, luckily, are too drunk to care. It’s her very own form of art and Jake is her biggest fan. 

“Dance with me!” She yells over the loud music, smile as wide as the Joker’s. She knows there’ll be missteps, she’ll fall out of the rhythm and eventually step on him. That hasn’t changed and probably never will. Although what has changed is the fact that now she doesn’t care. Now she’s confident in Jake’s feelings about her, knows that he finds her small missteps adorable, never annoying, and nothing she can do will push him away. 

“Is that a work tactic of yours?” He speaks into her ear once he’s finally closed the gap between them and they’re moving in somewhat synchronization to the beat of a remix of a song that was better off in its original format.

“Sure.” A giggle fights its way through the obnoxiously heavy bass and Jake is very thankful. Every sound she makes equals a spectacular symphony. One that he doesn’t want to miss. “Makes us look more legit. Will keep out cover intact.”

“Wow, look at you throwing around slang, Santiago. So legit.”

His teasing grin deserves a playful punch to fight off his smartypants comments.

“But do you think Manson will approach us if we come off as a couple?”

“Who says we’re a couple?” She grins devilishly, leaning in close so that their noses a pressed together. “We’re drunk. We don’t know what we’re doing. We might as well be strangers.” 

This time around she can’t hear it over the loud booming but his breath gets caught in his throat at the thought of Amy Santiago being his scandalous one-night stand. Of course, one night with Amy would never be enough for him but there’s something about this specific roleplay, undercover role, and the way she’s looking at him with luring dark eyes that has him fumbling into unprofessional land. Focus, Jake. He counts down from ten and Amy, oblivious to her boyfriend’s internal fight, pulls back, offering him a chance to collect himself. The bright lights illuminate her as she moves with a confidence that completely erases the dorkiness and leaves her looking like a goddess clad in red. Red as wine and all he wants to do is get drunk on her. 

The couple falls into a comfortable rhythm of moving about the floor, somewhat dancing, as they keep an eye on the constantly switching crowd. In the back of their minds, they have a picture of Axel Manson keeping them alert. Hopefully, it’s enough for them to be able to recognize the criminal if he were to show himself. 

“I wish we worked cases like this more often!” Jake yells, trying to make himself heard over the music. Even basically pressed up against Amy, hands on her waist, focused, she can’t make out what he says.

“What?” She yells back, leaning in further to listen as she tries to keep up the dancing, letting Jake’s hands lead her around the floor. 

“I wish we worked cases like this more often!” 

“Why?” 

“You look really hot in that dress.” He emphasizes his point by stroking her hip, getting a good feel of the red fabric hugging her beautiful curves. Curves that under more intimate circumstances would have him explicitly worshipping her. 

“Shut up, Peralta.” She rolls her eyes and tries to shake off his compliment, because, in reality, it does something dangerous to her. Dangerous and unsuitable under the given circumstances. 

“You do! In anything you wear but tonight is like... Wow, my mind is extra blown, babe.” 

She quickly pecks his lips in thanks, the light in her eyes enough for Jake to know that she appreciates his flirting - even when she tries to shrug it off. 

To allow herself some space, she takes a step back and thus the dancing recommences. Her very own moves are throw up, do, left and right while Jake stands back and admires the goofiness unraveling before him. Fortunately, everyone around them is too hammered to care and he’s got the view all to himself. He sticks to doing the bare minimum to look like he’s dancing. Shufflin on the spot at best. This way he can surveil the club (and Amy). 

“Incredible,” he cheers on, meaning it even though this kind of incredible isn’t for everyone. Although her moves indeed are questionable, Amy herself deserves every positive adjective in the dictionary. Wow, did he just make a grammar-based compliment? The Santiago-gene has really rubbed off on him, huh? 

Everything is easy, like fun and games, or at least it is right up until some drunk idiot, tall and handsome, Jake will admit, accidentally stumbles into Amy. She’s a trooper though: shakes it off and keeps dancing as if nothing had happened. Instead of apologizing, said man apparently sees this as an opening, a prompt for him to act on, and smoothly allows his hand to travel across the sleek fabric hugging Amy’s hips which, upon noticing the touch, abruptly stops moving. 

“Why’d’ya stop dancing, babe? You looked so good.” The strange’s voice is as sleazy as his rapprochement. Overall representing the kind of person no one deserves to be approached by. Drunk or not, Jake doesn’t care the least: this kind of behavior can’t be excused. No woman, or just person in general, should have to put up with this. Admittedly, the fact that the subject of this stranger’s idiocy is his girlfriend doesn’t make matters any better. From the feeling of his fists clenching, he can tell it makes it much worse. 

“Excuse me?” Amy challenges the stranger, takes a step back, not even caring that she bumps into someone else in the process of doing so. Her priority is to make sure that the unwelcomed hands let go of her. 

Then they both see it, both Jake and Amy, and like lightning coming from a clear sky, it takes them by surprise. It takes everything within them to not flinch or freeze in a way that’ll come off as suspicious, because this? This is without a doubt Axel Manson. 

“No need to be prissy, babe. Take it as a compliment.” 

Amy’s got her arms crossed in front of her chest and it’s clear as day, at least to Jake, that she’s in a standby position - a position where she isn’t fully sure of what her next move should be. On one hand, the perp’s moves are extremely inappropriate, especially with Jake around (even though he knows it’s a part of the job); on the other hand, she can’t act out and risk scaring Manson away. Now that he’s fallen right into their lap they need to figure out how to go about this in the smoothest way possible.

If they weren’t currently undercover, working a case that very much relies on being discreet and staying unnoticed, Jake would tell the prick to get lost. Instead, he has to take on a different role that he definitely hasn’t prepared for: the role of the random bystander that won’t intervene.   

Amy still has her back turned to Jake, facing their perp, and unfolds her arms to instead put one behind her back. Firstly, it makes her look less defensive and closed off; secondly, it allows her to send Jake a signal with her fingers: a thumbs up. Jake notices and even though he wants nothing more than rid his girlfriend of this creep, Amy is now his partner and not his girlfriend. Now is not the time to act on emotions, instead, he has to go along with whatever she leads him into. He trusts that she’s thought of a playbook to follow and knows what she’s doing. 

“Sorry, I was just... surprised, I guess,” she laughs off the momentary tension, at the very least tries to, praying that Manson won’t see right through this innocent, flirty act she’s about to put on for him.  

“That’s alright, baby. I can take it - especially when you’re as beautiful as you are.” 

Right amid people dancing and pushing their way through the crowd around them, Jake makes sure to stay at safe distance, hopefully staying out of the scene Amy and Manson have proceeded into. On his part, Manson has reached over to grab the hand of his newest catch and gives it a gallant kiss. Charming but not at all representative of his overall behavior, Amy thinks, meanwhile she acts as if the move truly impresses her. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had to stay in character for the sake of the bust, she would’ve told him off the second he bumped into her. Jake, feeling rather exclude but know it’s how it has to be, discreetly stays behind and watches the scene unfold. Sipping on orange, shuffling on the spot, acting as if some creep isn’t making a move on his girlfriend and colleague. An unpleasant feeling boils in his gut, but it’s not exactly jealousy - or so he tells himself because it’s his least favorite emotion and, more than anything else, he trusts Amy. There’s no reason for him to feel jealous. Amy is just doing her job and so she should. 

… Although he does feel unquestionable mistrust towards the other man and the urge to push him off of her is even stronger. Scum like him don’t deserve even a second of attention from a woman as lovely as Amy - undercover persona or not.  

“Wow, thank you. I sure don’t mind my view either.”

From a time preceding their current relationship and up till now, Jake has witnessed a bit of everything in terms of Amy’s flirting skills. Not that his own are any better but Amy’s can sometimes be… awkward and questionable. In reality, Amy Santiago is a natural but as soon as she’s consciously flirting, she gets all weird and fidgety about it. Her game is much stronger when she’s doing it unconsciously, going with the flow, like with him. As if they only know how to flirt with one another. 

Yet here she is, completely nailing this coquettish act, and even though it should bother him Jake also feels… captivated. This bold and cutthroat side of Amy that usually only appears when it’s just the two of them, within the intimacy of their bedroom, is suddenly out in the open and luring in a stranger with so much ease. Amy Santiago is without a doubt the best detective slash genius.

Mason takes a step closer, smooth to a point where it’s embarrassingly obvious that he’s done this a lot, and puts a hand on her hip. It isn’t until he can taste fresh blood that Jake realizes he’s been biting his lip. Focus, Jake, he tells himself and joins the random group of dancing people next to him, hoping this will keep his cover intact while he can keep an eye on the situation. Hopefully, he hasn’t noticed him and Amy dancing together before bumping into them. Amy knows what she’s doing, he keeps repeating to himself, completely drowning out erratic beats, people singing off-key to some pop song, and other distracting sounds. 

“What’s your name, gorgeous? And even more importantly, are you here with someone?” Manson’s dark eyes drill into hers with great, sleazy purpose. In all honesty, it throws her off a bit to be looked at like that by someone who’s not Jake, even worse a criminal. Concentration is key and Amy falls right back into the game with ease. On the outside nothing unusual is to be noted; on the inside, she fights to ignore the stranger’s strong fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as if she were his property. 

“Cassidy, and no. I’m just here to… explore my options.” Amy gives him her best flirty smirk, personally hating the reaction it earns her but, professionally, happy to see him fall right into her sensuous trap. 

“Well, Cassidy, I’m Axel and that sounds right about perfect to me. I also love to… explore.” He emphasizes his ulterior motive so obviously that it falls right under the category of an explicit plan. 

It’s funny to see someone who couldn’t be leading a more different life from her own think they have something in common, Amy thinks. It sure helps the fake smile she currently has plastered on her face, even when Manson strokes her hip and causes the soft fabric to bunch up around her thigh, revealing more of her golden skin. That’s her cue - it’s go time. No more fooling around. With the hand behind her back she signals towards the club’s exit and prays that, in that very second, Jake happens to be looking her way right. Get him outside echoes in her mind and she hopes it does in Jake’s too. 

What Amy doesn’t know is that Jake hasn’t left her out of sight for even a second. On the contrary, he’s quick to notice the signal and knows exactly what it means: things are about to start moving. His galloping pulse confirms it and he’s ready to follow them wherever they go. 

“How lucky for both of us, Axel. Should we, you know, get out of here then?” 

Amy feels like she’s in a movie, coming up with one smooth line followed by the next. Dropping line after line, spontaneous and mysterious, to a point where she almost can’t recognize herself. Although she can’t wait to bust this guy and be back with Jake, she does have to admit that it is very satisfying to see just how easy and indiscreet criminals are. It’s a fine line to walk. 

“Nothing would make me happier, doll.” Axel promptly places an arm around Amy’s waist, a bit lower than expected and the move is as smug as Axel’s grin. A grin that only grows from the satisfaction of having his arm around a beautiful woman who, he thinks, will get him laid. 

In the momentum of the turn they do, directing themselves towards the exit, Amy catches a glimpse of her boyfriend’s stare. There’s no begrudging his displeased demeanor, Amy thinks imagining if it were her in his place. There’s a lot of trust between the two, never any reason to feel jealous, but this kind of situation is different and (luckily) not circumstances any regular couple would ever encounter. There’s no room for jealousy - this is a matter of doing your job properly whilst also keeping your partner safe and unharmed. A partner which you more than just care for. Jake certainly has begun to entertain himself with the thought of love and this only enhances the pondering about his feelings for his co-detective. 

They share a look of mutual understanding, brief but it’s there, and it puts Amy at ease to know that he’s got her back in these most trying times of their operation. Manson’s hand keeps sliding further and further down her waist, obviously and shamelessly yearning for her hip and ass as if it were his right, and if it wasn’t for the fact that it was a matter of making the bust or not, Amy would’ve smacked his hand. Alas, she lets it slide, plays the role of the infatuated prey, and doesn’t flinch under the foreign palm taking a handful hold of her dress and the flesh beneath it. 

“Sarge?” Jake speaks into his phone, never letting Amy and Axel out of his sight. He can physically taste the disgust he’s feeling upon seeing his girlfriend be felt up but he’s putting his anger to good use. “Amy and I have found Manson. We’re currently luring him outside. Send back up and catch them the-”

Jake feels himself flinch at the sight of this criminal having his hands all over Amy while feeling more than just delighted by this conquest. Jake knows Manson has set himself up for great disappointment, but still, he can’t help it when the sight of Axel being a major creep has his word’s caught up in his throat. 

“I- uh, yes, sorry. Just keeping an eye out for Amy. They’ll walk out onto Fulton Street. Meet us there with backup ASAP. Not sure if he’s armed or not so be careful. He’s got Amy with him.” 

He hangs up the second he sees Axel and Amy make their way to the cloakroom. Needing to be sure of what to make her next move, without Axel noticing, Amy runs her hand up the perp’s strong arm, wardrobe number in between her index finger and middle finger. 

“Just need to stop by the lady’s room and... “ She bites her bottom lip into a natural pause. “... get ready for whatever you and I are gonna do once we leave this place.” 

She bats her long eyelashes at him. Past experiences with Jake have her trusting the simple but sultry move and its effect. It should work wonders. “Grab my coat for me, please? And perhaps I’m even lucky enough to find some candy in my pocket when I come back?” Cocked eyebrows suggest Manson read between the lines.

“What’d’ya mean, princess?” 

During the course of her career, Amy’s seen a lot of perp bluff which means Mansons already steps behind her. Even with a hand on her hip and trying to play it off as confused, the detective doesn’t fall out of character. She needs proof. 

“Oh please, Axel…” Amy grins before leaning in, lips almost grazing his ear. Lucky for her their perp can’t see how her legs are trembling from the adrenaline. “I know what you do around here. Share your candy with me and I’ll share mine with you. No one will know.” Her vixenish whisper echoes in her ears while her lips tease to touch the sensitive spot. Amy cocks an eyebrow playfully and there’s no way Axel can say no to that. 

“Of course, babe. I’ll be right here waiting. Don’t be too long though.” Axel’s warm, alcohol-drenched breath hits her face when he pulls back and it takes every fiber in Amy’s body to not pull back from where the man is leaning in close, smirking like he’s got her figured out. “I’m getting impatient.” 

“I’ll be quick.” She promises. 

Even from a safe distance away, Jake’s glowering gaze certainly doesn’t miss how Amy seals the deal their perp and how he runs starving eyes up and down her body as she walks off. While Jake would prefer that it was him she was torturing like that, he also feels confident about this operation. It’s going to work, he’s sure. Then he’s going to need a lot of making up for how little he’s gotten to enjoy her company tonight.

Purposely brushing past Jake, discreetly bumping his shoulder, Amy makes her way to the bathroom.

One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Jake spins around on his heels and follows her into the bathroom, making sure to do so unnoticed by Axel. 

“We’re in the clear,” Amy informs him when she sees Jake peep his head into the room. 

“You’re brilliant, Ames!” Jake beams, stepping up to her and instantly earns himself a proud smile in return. Amy can’t help but notice how right it feels when he places his hands on her lower arms, almost as to make sure she’s safe and really there with him. Her warms skin feels so good in his hold and it hits him how much he needs her to be okay and… his. “You okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay. And I think he’s buying it, Jake! I tried to lure him into giving me some drugs. I will let you know if he does… Did you call Terry?” 

Jake can tell she’s proud of herself and can do nothing but nod in agreement. So she should be. “Yes, backup should be here within a couple of minutes, ready to take him down when you exit the club. Also of course he’s buying it! That act you’re putting up? Impossible to resist.”

“You been thinking about that a lot, babe?” 

They’re on the clock, Jake is aware, but she sends him a teasing wink (oh, she knows), and before he can even wrap his mind around just how turned on he is, she’s moved on as if nothing had happened. Moved on to apply lipstick in the reflection of the dirty bathroom mirror as if he wasn’t even there. The red tip of her lipstick traces her full lips oh so slowly, taunting him with every inch and curve, and it has very unprofessional, untasteful per se, scenarios flash before his eyes. The muffled sound of the bass is momentarily replaced by the remembrance filthy sounds. It all crowds his mind so fast, making remaining focused almost impossible, and if they hadn’t had a major drug lord waiting for them then he’d definitely taken advantage of how Amy was currently leaning against the sink, back turned to him, in an attempt to apply the lipstick as precisely as possible.  

“Oh, Ames…” Though he really shouldn’t, he allows his hand to wander onto her hips, the ones he’d hated Axel so much for touching… Besides hating him for the obvious stuff, like being a criminal and whatnot. “You’re all I ever think about.” 

Even with her hair let down, falling in raven waves and covering some of her exposed shoulder, neck, and arms, there’s little left to the imagination. As animalistic and primitive it might sound, Jake internally thanks Amy for her pick of dress, a spaghetti strap dress that shows off her strong upper body. Handling perps might just be the best workout.  He does realize that he’s only making it worse, more agonizing, for himself to wait out their mission however he simply can’t help himself, and before he can bring himself to cease, his lips are attached to her shoulder blade… then back nape of her neck… then the other shoulder. Her skin tastes like a mixture of her vanilla body wash and the smoke-filled air of the club. 

Their eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror, both smirking knowingly; they’re both fighting the urge to throw professionalism out the window and tear each other apart - right here, right now. How wonderful it would be to simply unhinge, give in to the vicious atmosphere of the club. Take each other home like a spontaneous hookup on a night out. Alas, right now is not the time for adulterated play pretend. Right now, even with his hands feeling dangerously good on her, closing in on the zipper running along her spine, their duty and urgent matter at hand is somehow stronger. With one last kiss to the skin of her neck and a shared look in the mirror, they wordlessly promise each other: later…

 He offers her hip a squeeze and clears his throat. Smiling to show support. 

“Let’s go get him.” 

“Y-Yes. Let’s.” 

After checking herself in the mirror one last time, she spins on her heels. Their eyes meet, outside of the mirror this time, and Amy feels confident walking out - Jake is right there behind her. Like always, he’s got her back. 

“You look great!”

Having already exited the bathroom, Amy knows not to turn around, risking looking suspicious, but she can still smile to herself, and oh does she. Blush, a lot of it, as well. Luckily said blush simmers down and impossible to detect by the time she’s back with Axel. From the dance floor, Jake keeps an eye on their every move and it’s with great delight he notices Axel’s wallet falling from his pocket when the man shrugs on his coat. Having already put on her coat, Amy checks to see if her flirting worked and to her happy surprise, it did. In the depth of her pocket, her fingers come across a tiny, sealed plastic back containing a couple of tiny heart-shaped pills object: kandy. 

Amy smiles to herself and Jake is quick to notice: she’s got the drugs and all the proof they need to take Manson down. 

To the detective’s advantage, the pumping music drowns out the wallet’s fall and Amy is quick to latch onto Axel’s strong arm thus prompting him to lead her outside, into her trap. Coats hanging off of their frames, walking side by side, they make their way through the front door. Amy’s lungs hitch for the fresh air outside, nervously so, internally praying that reinforcement is waiting for them outside as to not be left alone with the shady criminal for longer than needed. One thing is being told they’ll be there: another thing is actually seeing the familiarly blue-clad reinforcement there waiting for you. 

Click clack. 

Her black heels hit the pavement, they have officially left the safety of the crowded club, and this fact, along with the absence of the blinking red and blue lights, triggers a certain nervousness in Amy. An uneasiness screaming that everything is at stake right now - the case as well as her own life - and that there’s no room for indiscretion. 

It’s a well-known fact: Amy Santiago always brings her A-game. Although this specific mission demands even more detail-oriented and throughout thought decision-making on her part. One little misstep can cause a domino effect of danger and chaos, and she’s not about to topple over the first piece. 

“Terry!” 

On his part, Jake feels just as uneasy, if not even more, about the lack of backup. There’s a limit for how close he can stick to Amy and their perp; walking too close will only raise suspicion meanwhile walking too far behind could compromise the mission and, more importantly, Amy’s safety. 

“Where are you guys? Amy and Manson have left the club. They’re making their way south on Fulton Street, and I don’t know for how long I can trail behind them before Mason grows suspicious.” 

There’s an irritated undertone to Jake’s voice he simply can’t bite back - it’s not as if he’s trying to hide it - but his girlfriend is currently charming a dangerous criminal and no one but Manson himself knows where he’s taking her. If they get into a car this entire case will turn into a chase and ticking clock situation.

At this point, if Manson as much as hails a cab, Jake will have to do something. Step in, one way or the other, to free Amy from the situation or at least stall. There’s no way Jake is allowing a criminal to drag his girlfriend along as bait for a wild-goose chase. Alonge the thought is a hard pill to swallow. He always worries when she’s working a case; the second she’s out of sight a thousand horrible scenarios flash before his eyes because he can’t imagine a world without her. Amy is very much capable, he knows, and she doesn’t rely on him for anything, nor should she, but if he can keep her safe then he sure as hell will. 

Then it happens. What he dreaded the most. Mason waves over a cab which immediately pulls over to park next to the couple. 

A hundred feet or so keep Jake, and Manson and Amy apart. Step by step he gains speed, gains in on them, with fiery eyes glued to his girlfriend in hopes of some kind of signal from her. Manson gallantly opens the door to the cab for her. Polite for a criminal, Jake thinks to himself as his fists turn white from clenching. 

Dutiful as ever, Amy she gets into the car. He catches a glimpse of her face and certainly isn’t met with what he had imagined; Amy’s shaking her head no at him, frowning and warning him with a harsh stare. Does she just expect him to keep his cool and step back from the situation? It feels very much like a punch to his gut. Can’t she see she’s in danger? 

His feet never cease, on the contrary, they pick up the pace, completely disregarding Amy’s deterring signals. The car door smacks shut capturing Amy inside the cab but even then, through the dirty cab window, she’s very clearly telling him off. Her expression only becomes clearer with every step he takes. 

Manson, still very much oblivious to the situation that’s about to be called into existence, makes his way around the cab and gets into the back with Amy. The sound of his door shutting behind him affects Jake the exact same way the sound of a gun going off would: adrenaline overrules his clear thinking and protocol for the given kind of situation is off the table. Protocol means nothing when a dangerous drug lord is about to drive away with your partner - partner slash girlfriend, that is. It doesn’t matter that she’s the NYPD’s best detective. All Jake sees is red and the following words come flying out without warning. 

“Sir!” 

He waves his arms in the air to hopefully catch Manson, or at least the cab driver’s, attention. Perfectly synchronized with Jake’s outburst, Amy’s eyes send him daggers but there’s nothing she can say or do… It’’ll blow their cover. So instead she sits back, acts as if she doesn’t know the lunatic who’s calling out for her date, and waits for the horror that is Jake Peralta’s improv skills. 

“You forgot your wallet back at the club. They’re holding onto it for you. They uh- told me to run after you and let you know.” He’s out of breath from running up to the cab and leans against it as he tries to catch it. Jake has to admit that he deserves the prize for the worst cover story in the history of cover stories. All he can do is pray that their perp will believe it - even if it’s with an inch of mistrust. 

“What?” Manson spits, halfway out the cab and sure as hell looking pissed - pissed like a man who’s getting momentarily cockblocked by a random stranger. 

“Your wallet. Someone’s found it and I was sent to tell you.” Jake stutters from his position on the sidewalk. He can feel Amy glaring at him from her spot behind the window, begging him to look at her so she can let him know exactly what she’s thinking: idiot!

“You couldn’t have brought it with ya, ya moron?”

All night they’ve seen him in nothing but a good mood so it sure does intimidate Jake, just a tiny bit, to experience Manson growling and scowling like an agitated beast. 

“I- uh, sorry. I’m just… super hammered. My brain is probably broken from all the vodkas and… orange drank and whatnot.” 

Jake doesn’t even have to look at Amy to know that she’s rolling her eyes at him. 

“Whatever.” Manson peeks into the cab. “I’ll be right back, darling.” 

Amy smiles without saying a word, but the second Manson is out of sight she’s practically kicking down the cab door. 

“What the hell, Jake?! What are you doing?” 

During their few months of being together, he’s never seen her this mad. Not at him, not at anyone. Even the mattress incident has nothing on the pure acrimony she’s currently displaying. The red color of her dress suddenly carries a whole new symbolism. 

“What do you mean? Ames, he was going to drive you off to God knows where!” 

Why is she so angry when he’s just trying to protect her? His expression slowly starts to match hers and he doesn’t like this color on him - not one bit. 

“Don’t Ames me! And I have my tracker and gun on me, plus backup is just around the corner!” She refuses to step down from her case and it’s as if they forget that Axel Mason will be back before long.

“You don’t know how far away backup is. Also, a tracker and gun won’t keep you safe against a man like Manson!”

It takes a clenching of his jaw to contain himself. Heavy breaths have him feel like an enraged bull, provoked by her red dress (even though technically bulls can’t see color - Amy told him so) and matching stubbornness - an attribute of hers he usually admires. Right now it’s hard to admire though. Even if he knows his girlfriend is very much capable of doing whatever she puts his mind to, he also knows he’d never forgive himself if she was to be harmed in any way, shape, or form; even worse if he’d done nothing to stop it. He’s read through Manson’s criminal record and knows what the man is capable of. 

“So what? You’re running interference because you, the great Jake Peralta, need to keep me safe and be the one to save the day?” 

She’s taken a few steps away from the cab to join Jake on the sidewalk. It’s not for the sake of keeping him company though. Oh no, her arms are very much crossed, body language very clearly cutting him off completely, and if it weren’t for the fact that they’re in the midst of quite a fight, Jake’s eyes would comment on how the crossing of her arms enhances her chest. 

“It’s not like that, Amy. It’s not about being the best or saving the day.” 

“Then what?” She barks and all at once everything around them seems to go silent. It definitely doesn’t ease the weight on the young man’s shoulder, the feeling he seems to be holding back for reasons unknown. How does he explain that he cares deeply for her, perhaps more than he’s ever cared about anyone before, without saying the three magic words? That would be too soon and most definitely the wrong time. 

Still, with Amy Santiago looking at him like she currently is, eyes begging to understand but also filled with fury, he knows that he’s in the wrong and she, as so often, is right. He had no right to interfere. She had it under control and he let his personal fears overrule his professional rationality.

“I’m-” the words get stuck in his throat and he has to clear it to continue. 

“I’m afraid of not doing enough. I know that you’re a total badass but it’s so hard for me to stand by and act like it’s all out of my hands, when my mind is telling me that I can do more and that I’d never be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to you. It’s hard to stay out of your way when I feel the way that I do about you - even if I know you’re fully capable.”

 His nervous shuffling on the spot and adverting gaze cuts right through his previous angry demeanor, a much more insecure side of Jake shining through at perhaps the most inconvenient time. Amy wants to listen and discuss this with him, she truly does, because no matter how much she pisses her off, she also really likes him too. 

Timing is damned, not on their side, and Manson is now once more walking out of the club as he lights a cigarette. Jake, back turned to the club, remains perfectly oblivious to the incoming confrontation. 

 On her part, Amy has a perfect view of her undercover admirer. “Shit.” It’s unclear and mumbled under her breath, enough for Jake to notice but without being able to see Manson, the detective remains confused. “We need to stall.” Manson makes his way towards them and an oh so familiar situation presents itself: they’ve got to think fast.

“Kiss me,” Amy commands through her teeth. 

 “What?”

 “He’s back! We need to stall till the 99 gets here so I need you to shut up and kiss me. Now!”

To an uninformed Jake, this very sudden order profoundly confuses him. The very specific kind of confusion and disorientation reminds him a lot of that time Johnny and Dora staked out the park - he can almost feel the tree pressing up against his back and Amy’s lips on his - and the similarity of the situation will soon catch up with him.

 Usually warm and kind but now burning and stressing brown irises glower at him and Jake knows: he needs to act now; trust her and whatever process her brain has mapped out. So he acts.

Like a whirlwind, he pulls her in by her dress’ soft fabric and shoves her up against the side of the cab, so hard that a thump can be heard. It’s a kiss that, in more than one way, takes her breath away. It’s warm, passionate, and quick but still deep enough to make her toes curl. In a perfect scenario, she would let Jake go on, deepen the kiss and take them where she wants to be, but an entire case is relying on her self-control. 

 “What are you doing, you perv?!”

She pushes him off of her, as dramatically as physically possible, and the anger in her eyes makes an encore.

 Jake has never heard her scream with such high pitch and power, and it’s an understatement to say that it takes him a second to recollect himself - both because of the insanely hot kiss and the sudden scream fit. 

 “Hey! What is going on!?” Manson’s cigarette is long gone, adding itself to the collection of cigarette buds in the streets of Brooklyn. Too focused on hurrying back to the cab where his sidepiece of the evening seems to be in trouble, he fails to notice the exchange glances between the two detectives. Glances that confirm that this is is - their new plan. Like an actor walking onto her stage, Amy quickly switches from Amy to Cassidy.

 “I wanted to smoke a cigarette while you were getting your wallet, but this freak forced himself onto me!” She makes sure to spew out the word freak, hoping it’ll cover up her true feelings for her partner. 

 Amy Santiago is unrecognizable, fully merged with her role as club girl Cassidy, and Jake can’t do anything but play along as they both embark on the craziness that is a very serious game of play pretend. Hopefully backup will make their way to them before Manson has the chance of reducing him to a pile of blood and bones.

 “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you little shit?!” Their perp forces himself in-between the two, punching Jake in the shoulder, hard enough to have the smaller man trip backward. Only by a thread does Jake manage to stay on his feet. 

A threatening that has Jake backing up against, so much that he eventually hits the wall behind him. Now he’s really begging for backup to arrive. 

Yes, he does have his badge on him, hidden under his shirt, but flashing it could cause further hostility and threat to him and, of greater importance to him, Amy. Jake stares straight into the eyes of an enraged Alex Manson, scared but also mildly annoyed by the fact that this macho idiot feels such strong entitlement when it comes to Amy – a woman whom he’s known for approximately thirty minutes. 

Not that there’s ever a good time to feel entitled to decide over a woman.

 “We were just talking.” Hopelessly so, but still, Jake tries to reason with his opponent. Mason obviously caught them with their lips locked. All according to Amy this is the plan that will get them out of this disaster, safely and successfully, and, more than ever before, Jake really hopes she’s right.  

 “Talking? Do you think I’m blind!? I saw you making out against the cab, feeling her up with your filthy hands and lips!”

 At this point Manson has a strong hand on Jake’s chest, keeping him captive against the wall with what feels like a promise to not only threaten but also hurt. A million thoughts race through Jake’s mind. 

He’s not dying, not today, not when an idiot like Axel Manson thinks he can get away with miscellaneous criminal activity and treating women like garbage. Over his dead body, only metaphorically, of course, he thinks and bites the inside of his cheek.  

Over Manson’s notably broad shoulder he manages to get a hold of Amy’s eyes. For the first time since he, to Amy’s great dismay, chose to confront Mason, Amy’s death stare is directed at their perp rather than him. Discreetly, making sure to not make any sudden moves and draw attention to herself, Amy reaches down for the hem of her dress skirt. Her eyes never drop from Manson’s figure, even as she gently lifts the skirt a bit, revealing the handgun she’s been carrying around - Mr. and Mrs. Smith-stylez.

 By all means, even with his life is at stake, Jake takes a millisecond to notice just how fucking hot that is. If this is the last thing he sees before he goes then he won’t complain. If he does survive, then he’ll have to suggest that they buy her a nice garter for them to mess around with. He’s quickly snapped out of his fantasy when Manson pushes him harder into the wall.

“Did you hear what I said? Do you think I’m blind!?”

 Jake’s floundering. 

“It was- uh- an accident.”

 The weight on Jake’s chest instantly increases even further, threatening to crush his bones (or so it feels). Then he sees Manson’s free arms being lifted from his side and prepared to throw what Jake guesses is the first punch.

 “Don’t fuck with me, shithead. Me and a couple of friends from the club are in search of a new punchbag and right now you look like the perfect candidate…”

 Jake knows he should be fearing for his life but all he pays attention to is the fact that their perp has practically just admitted to his gang being inside the club. Just as he’s about to flash a self-satisfied grin, the first punch collides with Jake’s chin.

Amy hears Jake groan out in pain, the gun ready to go, out of the corner of her eye, she sees a familiar blink of blue and red lights around the corner. Backup - she can safely reveal herself and help Jake. 

 “NYPD! Let go of him and put your hands in the air!”

 In one swift motion, well-practiced and with ease, Amy has her gun pulled from her thigh holster and pressed into Manson’s back. The criminal freezes on the spot just as he’s about to throw another punch and allows Jake to free himself as three cop cars pull up to the scene and surround them. Amy doesn’t budge, continuously holding Manson at gunpoint. Her arms tremble from the rush. Still, she doesn’t cease until the sarge tells her to and two of her colleagues have Manson handcuffed.

 “We’ve got him, Santiago.”

 A heavy breath, one she’s held since Manson forced Jake up against the wall, is set free from her lungs. Newfound calmness and satisfaction rush through her veins. 

After carefully securing her gun and putting it back in its holster, slowly coming down from the adrenaline-driven high, the thought of Jake and the punch he just took floods her mind. Adrenaline and anger fully clouded her mind but now that she can think somewhat clearly again, worry takes possession of her entire body. It’s as if her legs, without her brain having to order them to, instinctually take her to where Jake is being taken care of by Terry and a first aid kit.

 “Jake! Are you okay?”

 He barely has the time to turn around. Amid his turn, she throws herself at him, arms around his neck and if Terry hadn’t been right there, holding the bloody cloth that’s been drying Jake’s bloody nose, she would’ve kissed him to the moon and back,

 “Uhmpf-“

 Her hug punches the air out of him, and he should care (with being punched and crushed and whatnot) but he doesn’t, because it’s her and all he wants is for her to be okay. He recovers from the hug attack right away and naturally his arms come to wrap her up. The pounding ache in his lower face, nose, and lips, swollen and slightly bloody, somehow melts away under her touch. Technically, that doesn’t make sense but that’s what he does to her. A loud pounding reappears, this time coming from his heart rather than his head and he knows he’s alive and back with his favorite person - the most badass person he knows, too.

 “I’m okay, Ames.” A pleasant mixture of her lavender shampoo and the feeling of her soft skin (she always brags about moisturizing) lets him know he’s back in his safe house and for a second he closes his eyes, lets himself slip into a momentary trance where no one or nothing can touch him. Neither of them knows for how long they stand there, simply holding each other in silence but eventually, the sarge clears his throat, obviously feeling like the odd one out during this happy reunion.

 “Amy, you and I will head back to the 99 with Manson for your debriefing. Jake, I’ll have officer Wilson drive you to the hospital for a checkup and debrief you there.”

 The couple quickly pulls apart, brutally pulled back to earth, and realizes that there are other people, notably their boss, around.

The night is far from over. More than anything else, Amy wants to be the one to take Jake to the hospital, hold his hand while they wait for the final verdict, but she also knows better than to make professional demands based on personal needs. She opts for a simple “Of course, sarge.” Jake as well.

 To the couple’s relief, Terry sees right through them, smiles, and nods approvingly. Terry loves respecting HR-guidelines but, more than anything, Terry loves love. 

“I’ll give you five.” He gives them both a pat on the shoulder, then he walks off to help with Manson who’s currently painting the dark Brooklyn night with a quite colorful chain of curses. 

The blue and red light flash across Jake’s side profile, enhancing his bruised lip, as his eyes follow the Sarge. Amy watches him watch the scene unfold, and while she would’ve preferred no punches and bruises at all, it definitely doesn’t make undercover, dressed-up Jake look any less hot. She might even go as far as thinking it’s… extremely sexy.

 “You’re an idiot.”

 Her voice instantly catches his attention and him looking right at her only gives her a better view of the slightly split lip. So much for a solid plan, she thinks and cups his cheek in her hand as to inspect him. 

He winces a bit but never refrains. 

 “I know.” The sigh is one of defeat. 

Amy is quick to catch on a runs her thumb across his cheek in a soothing pattern. “But at least we got him,” she comforts. 

 “Yeah, but you were right. I was being reckless and impatient. I should’ve stayed back and let you handle it... Like I know you can. I’m sorry if it came off as me not trusting you or whatever. It wasn’t my intention to compromise you or the mission.”

 “I know…” Carefully to not hurt him her hand slides off his face to instead grabs his hands. “But I do appreciate you apologizing.”

 “Of course. I was wrong and you were right. The Jake and Amy story.”

 A warm, familiar chuckle is shared between the two, somehow resynchronizing them, because this really does feel like Jake and Amy – whatever story they’re currently writing.

 “But there’s one thing I’m going to need you to apologize for, detective Santiago.”

 A charming grin is enough to let Amy know he’s about to hit her with something for her to roll her beautiful brown eyes at. And he, on his part, can’t wait.

 “Oh, and that is?” 

 “I’m going to need you to apologize for looking so fucking hot tonight.”

 “Jake…” Blush instantly replace her normal skin tone. Even months into their relationship he still manages to do things to her that she can’t control. Especially looking like this, all dressed up, tussled hair and bruised face working in contrast. 

 “Like, even with Manson all up in my face, all I could think about was you in that red dress…” He runs his hand along the fabric hugging her hip. “And don’t even get me started on the thigh holster. I was so afraid that I’d die tonight and never get to peel it off of you.”

 “Jake!” She skips forward and shuts him up by planting her hand across his mouth. “The officers or the sarge could hear us!”  

“Ouch!”

 “Oh my God, your lip! I’m so sorry!”

 “It’s fine.” He winces once her hands fly off of him and free his sore lip. “I really should head to the hospital, huh?”

 “Yeah, you really should. Are you going to be okay?”

 “Totally.” Jake confirms, nodding his head yes. “See you at your place later? I’m sure the hospital will let me go home tonight.”

 “Sounds like a plan.” She nods, trailing off but then the opportunity for a clever comment presents itself and she can’t resist.  “If you can you stick to it this time?” 

A teasing glimmer in her eyes and cocky smile lets him know just how proud she is of her own comeback.

 “You got me, babe. But yes, promise I will stick to the plan this time. I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

 “Good...” Without further prompting his girlfriend leans in close, close enough for her breath to tickle her ear, and drops a bomb that’s been threatening to explode since they first walked into the club.

“... And if you can’t then I’ll have to teach you a lesson, detective Peralta.”

Oh, how the hospital better let him go home tonight. 

#idk how i feel about the final result but *throws bone* here ya go #club fic #i literally dont know how undercover cases work so dont be too hard on me #jake and amy #peraltiago #jake x amy #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #jake peralta #amy santiago #undercover #fluff

[blackjack-15]

Are You Poe-ndering What I’m Poe-ndering? — Thoughts on: Warnings at Waverly Academy (WAC)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN, CRE, ICE, CRY, VEN, HAU, RAN

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas (or not links, as tumblr is freaking out with links).

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: WAC, mention of Sabrina the Teenage Witch (the OG live-action show not the horrible CW monstrosity); discussion of the Poe short stories “The Imp of the Perverse” and “The Black Cat”.

The Intro:

It’s time to go to school, y’all — and not just any school; a rich, elite, all-girls school. Welcome to the jungle.

Warnings at Waverly Academy is one of two games that I don’t sort into a category (like “Expanded” “Jetsetting” or “Odd”), the other being the game that follows it (TOT). There are a few reasons for this — the next category really doesn’t apply, but neither does the previous category, WAC and TOT both feature a gradual shift in tone and approach to the games, etc. If I really had to pick a designation, I’d say that these are the “Growing Pains” games, where the world gets a little bit more open — but not all at once, the characters get a little more fleshed out — but not by much, and a few new things are tried with our character rolls — to varying degrees of success.

On the whole, WAC tackles its efforts far better than TOT does, but it does make for a slightly less interesting meta if one was just to focus on what WAC does wrong and what it does right. Instead, we’re going to take a look at how brilliant WAC is tonally and thematically, and how its source material — not kept secret in the game — builds it up and makes it better and better upon replays.

Before I begin, it’s fair to warn you all that my thesis was done on Poe and adaptation theory (and its relevance towards detective novels but I won’t touch much on that part of it), so I might get a bit nerdy. Hopefully it’s still exciting and relatable enough to the game that it’ll make for interesting, rather than academic, reading.

WAC uses Poe’s stories — specifically “The Black Cat” (obviously) and “The Imp of the Perverse” (in my slightly expert opinion) — as thematic (what the game means) and tonal (how the game feels) touchstones, not to mention their inclusion for some of the events in the plot. A brief summary of both is probably important when looking at how they relate to WAC.

“The Imp of the Perverse” is an essay-like short story by Poe that basically states that inside of every person is the desire to do something wrong or incorrect simply because it is wrong or incorrect (not morally, but in terms of self-interest).

In the story, a man commits a clever murder and gets away with it, receiving the inheritance that he wanted from the dead man. The man cannot be caught — there is no evidence of any wrongdoing, let alone any that points to him — unless he confesses. The idea of confessing — not out of guilt, but just because it would be the wrong thing to do — plays on his mind until, driven half-mad with his preoccupation, he confesses and is imprisoned and executed. The titular “imp” is basically a devil on the shoulder who wants what would be worst for our own self-interest, simply because it is the worst.

MENTIONS OF ANIMAL CRUELTY FOR THE STORY OF THE BLACK CAT. PLEASE SKIP IF THIS BOTHERS YOU.

“The Black Cat” on the other hand is pretty much a proto-“Tell-Tale Heart” — an alcoholic man becomes emotionally distant from his cat (a rare sentence, I know) because he things the cat is judging him for being a drunk; one night in a drunken rage, he cuts out its eye and kills it. A fire catches his home, leaving an imprint of the hanged cat upon the only standing wall.

END OF DIRECT MENTIONS OF ANIMAL CRUELTY.

The man and his wife move, and he, after a period of guilt, makes friends with another cat — a cat nigh-identical to the first one, even missing an eye. When he (drunk, as per usual) and his wife are walking down the cellar stairs, however, he nearly trips over the cat and becomes enraged, trying to kill the cat, only to be stopped by his wife. He instead kills his wife, burying her behind the wall of the cellar and bricking up the hole.

When the police come by they find nothing, and the cat has disappeared, so the man feels safe. The police come back to investigate the cellar, the man taps on the wall to boast of how well the house is made — only to have horrific screeching start up behind the wall. The police break the wall down and find not only his wife’s body, but the black cat sitting on it as well. The man breaks down, overwhelmed by his own guilt, and the story ends.

END OF BLACK CAT STORY SYNOPSIS.

It’s pretty clear what influence “The Black Cat” had on WAC — not only does the villain name herself after the titular cat, but WAC is also a story of guilt, hidden crimes, and personal weaknesses that manifest in rage towards other innocents.

It’s actually really interesting that Corine takes the mantle of “The Black Cat” up when she begins targeting other valedictorian candidates; the black cat in the story is sort of a symbol of the man’s sin — a reaction to his sins and misdeeds, and sort of a catalyst of justice. This ties into how Corine sees herself — someone rejected and mistreated by those who are “filthy” themselves, and who must then show others the things they hate about themselves.

It’s Corine’s self-identification as a victim that starts all this, and it causes her to victimize others in potentially fatal ways. The black cat stands for guilt, for the sins of others, and yet it leads Corine further and further away from any justness herself.

The story of “The Imp of the Perverse” has a little bit of a more subtle tie-in to the game; in a way, each suspect does exactly what they know they shouldn’t.

Rachel and Kim are obvious — they really shouldn’t switch back and forth so regularly, nor should they be so sloppy at informing the other as to what they did and who they met that day. Leela, who should be studying if she wants to keep her spot in the race, instead passes the time by playing sports. Mel knows that the cloak-and-dagger meetings are to be an absolute secret, yet wears hair bows that she constantly loses to one. Izzy has her future meticulously planned out, yet refuses to back up an incredibly important paper (and also relies on being popular, yet pursues other girls’ boyfriends).

Even Corine falls under this; by targeting Nancy, she’s ensuring that suspicion will fall on her, as 2/3rds of the victims would then be her roommates. She’s also cutting her chances of being valedictorian by not working hard for it and instead relying on other, riskier methods. Every move she makes leads to it being more and more obvious that she’s behind them — and yet, she continues anyway, just like the man in “The Imp of the Perverse” — leading from a few small incidents to attempted murder.

Ignoring WAC’s ties to Poe renders it as a good, solid mystery without anything remarkable about it (other than the pendulum, of course). Exploring its ties to Poe not only helps set up exactly who the villain is, but also sets the tone for the mystery. This isn’t a mystery of Nancy foiling a villain through her smarts; instead, it’s a story about how guilt and a perverse desire for self-destruction leads a once-promising valedictorian candidate to more and more severe crimes, culminating in the exact opposite of what she was working for.

The Title:

It’s pretty awesome, full stop.

Warnings at Waverly Academy is honestly a great title for a Nancy Drew mystery; it gives us location, a sense of the world we’re in (scholastic), and a vague yet not too vague sense of what’s going on. The alliteration is good, the abbreviation amuses me — it’s just solid all the way around.

There’s not much else to say; sure, you could strengthen it by finding a punchier “w” word to begin with, but that’s just quibbling. It’s great, I love it, let’s move on to the Happenings at Waverly Academy (which, by the way, would have been a terrible name for the game).

The Mystery:

Called in as a professional undercover detective, Nancy’s just young enough to hide in plain sight at Waverly Academy, an upper-crust private school for those girls fortunate enough to be both rich and smart (aside from a few scholarship students, who are simply smart). Nancy’s called in due to a few near-death experiences by students, punctuated always by notes simply signed “The Black Cat”. It’s only a few days until break ends, so Nancy must work quickly to stop the sabotage, find the Black Cat, and solve the mystery before anyone dies.

Nancy, as always, finds quickly that not everything is so cut-and-dried. Each valedictorian candidate has the motive, means, and opportunity to get the other girls out of their way, and all have something to lose. Add in a secret society, the threat of demerits from an overly zealous RA, and the sneaking feeling that there might be a greater mystery behind all of these incidents, and you get a case mostly unlike any that Nancy’s had to crack before.

Oh, and Ned is on the phone, serving the player up with the single punch of testosterone in the game (aside from the hunky Mr. Harris, of course).

As a mystery, WAC is honestly super solid. Lots of characters, lots of clues, lots of red herrings, lots of mini-mysteries going on inside of the larger mystery…it’s everything you want from a Nancy Drew game, and it doesn’t really drop any of the balls it juggles. Sure, the pendulum might be a bit much for you if you’re not up on your Poe, but I think it’s a lot of fun, and for sure a very different type of ending puzzle — not drowning or running out of air or any other ending that Nancy Drew games likes to do.

Let’s go to the movers and shakers behind this mystery, then, shall we?

The Suspects:

Mel Corbalis is the fan-favorite character, so let’s start with her in this huge, estrogen-laden cast. Distinctly of the goth persuasion, Mel is a fantastically talented cello player and a Waverly Legacy, despite the fact that no one at school wants to be caught dead near her. She’s not an outcast the way that Corine is, however, because of her simple insistence on being exactly who she is, and not trying to hide or apologize for it.

Go Mel.

As a suspect, Mel is slightly more suspicious than most other girls, on account of Megan being her roommate, but otherwise sits on fairly equal standing with them all. She’s by far the most outwardly aggressive, but also comes across as simply no-nonsense (a welcome thing in any girl’s academy, believe me). She also has the least of Poe about her, despite her taste in fashion, and is in general a breath of fresh wind.

Next up is Leela Yadav, athlete extraordinaire. She sure can bounce that ball, at least. Izzy’s roommate and just as much a social climber (though in less in-your-face ways), Leela wants it all — popular, athletic, and valedictorian. It’s a lot for any girl to handle, much less one who can’t seem to keep it all together.

As a suspect, Leela’s not bad — she’s as even as (most) anyone else throughout the first half of the game, but falls off a bit when Izzy isn’t specifically targeted by the Black Cat (as most of her gripes are against Izzy, particularly). Leela’s more there to increase the number of students and throw suspicion around, but she does a darn fine job of it, and is well-rounded enough to be genuinely enjoyable.

We’d be remiss not to mention the queen bee (and my personal favorite suspect) at Waverly Academy, Izzy Romero. Snobbish, arrogant, and with apparently the smarts and people skills to back it up, Izzy is the first Waverly girl that Nancy (as Becca) meets, and boy does she set the player up for what Waverly is really like. Izzy’s smart enough to know when she should put in the effort and clever enough to delegate it when she can, and that alone endears her to me, even leaving aside her hilarious dialogue and general vibes.

As a suspect, Izzy is the sole girl who really isn’t set up to be much other than what she is — a girl with more than enough smarts to get power, and enough power to pretty much do what she wants to do. Sure, Nancy can catch Izzy doing stuff she shouldn’t do, but she’s never really a heavy-hitter when it comes to the Black Cat stuff. I love her for that, too. She’s a lot like Libby from the original Sabrina the Teenage Witch show; a bit nasty, but hilarious and effectively harmless — and I’ve always liked Libby-style characters.

And her stint in the Blackwood Society is aces too. Man, this girl does not quit.

Rachel Hubbard, is, of course, actually Rachel and Kim Hubbard, and they are the plot point that WAC is most known for. They actually have marginally separate personalities too, with one being far snappier than the other, and having strengths in different subjects.

Part of the reason I love the Hubbard twins so much is that their presence is so...Poeian. Poe was all about duplicity and mirrors, and the Hubbard twins show off both themes. It’s just a wonderful little bit of a nod to the source material (thematically speaking) of the game, and I adore it.

As suspects, the Hubbards aren’t bad at all; they’re lying, sneaking around, and blatantly “forget” what they’ve said to people, all of which adds up to be very untrustworthy. Were it not for Nancy (and Corine) sneaking around, they might have gotten through their Waverly experience without anyone figuring it out — and that’s something to respect, even if it does make them prime targets for blackmail. And speaking of blackmail…

Corine Meyers is both Nancy’s roommate and 100% our villain this time around. Obsessed with becoming valedictorian and knowing she probably won’t get it, Corine basically puts out self-assigned hits on each of her fellow candidates, attempting to get the title by violence rather than by being worthy. She’s even cunning enough to blackmail the Hubbard twins into doing some of her dirty work, throwing people off her scent. Sure, Corine is a rather pathetic (in the non-sympathetic sense) person who I have little respect for, but she does make a good villain in a Poe-ish story.

As a suspect, the game actually makes a pretty good go at not assigning the blame too quickly to anyone, so Corine does manage to hide out in the shadows. Sure, one of the girls who went home was her roommate, but the other was Mel’s, so suspicion isn’t centered right on her. I also love that she’s actually punished for what she does — no amount of sad pictures at the end of the game changes that. Corine actually has the cleverness that CUR tries (but doesn’t succeed) to give Jane, and I think it’s wonderful.

I’m not going to give Megan Vargas or Danielle Hayes their individual chunks, but they are present here as well, standing in as victims so we know that this teenaged effery very nearly had a body count. They really help to give a sense of…well, purposeful disconnection to the game, where the setting and the snow and the fact that these are high school girls doesn’t stop the crimes from being deadly.

The Favorite:

The first thing that I have to say is that I love how the tone and crimes of this game contrast so well with a lot of the games (especially, sorry, CUR). This takes place at a school, your suspects are all teenaged girls…and yet the game doesn’t shy away from how horrific things really are to get Nancy called in. Two girls have nearly died in quick succession from one another, and the girls are going on chasing acclaim. It’s a messed up situation, and the game doesn’t shy away from pointing that out.

These crimes are treated with severity, and the culprit, despite things that might have softened her ending under lesser writers, is punished with total removal. WAC in some ways is a spiritual successor to SCK, in that it takes place at a school, lives are endangered, Nancy is (mostly) undercover, and the culprit is not above killing Nancy messily solely for personal gain. The difference, of course, is that SCK is not done well, and WAC, on the whole, is.

As mentioned above, I have a soft spot for Poeian detective stories, and so I enjoy WAC probably more than I would had they modeled it after, say, Holmesian detective stories instead. The ideas of duplicity, mirrors, guilt, the Imp of the Perverse — the self-destructive tendency to do what we should not simply because we should not do it — these are all present and accounted for in WAC from different girls and facets of the plot (Corine and the secret society both represent duplicity, the Hubbard girls are mirrors, Waverly’s own guilt towards the students it failed, etc.).

My favorite puzzle has to be WAC’s resident cooking minigame, where Nancy prepares hot lettuce sandwiches and definitely underdone cookies to the delight of the gossiping horde. It’s like TRN’s cheeseburger minigame writ large, and every second of it is wonderful — the gossip, the food-making, the unexpected panic of a teacher order — everything. It also helps Nancy keep her head above water, should she be caught sneaking around after hours, and I think that’s great as well.

My favorite moment of the game is when Nancy comes out of the wall in Mel’s room and Mel isn’t having even one iota of her excuses to cut and run. It’s not often that a non-villain will press Nancy so intently when Nancy does something Inherently Untrustworthy, and I think it’s great that a 17 year old girl behaves exactly as one would, demanding an explanation and not letting Nancy wiggle her way out of it. Sheer perfection and the moment, I would guess, that Mel became a lot of people’s favorite WAC character.

I also love everything to do with the Blackwood Society. Nancy goes so…metal there and we really don’t get enough of Metal Nancy. It features one of the few moments of absolutely, unequivocally brilliant voice acting that Lani stumbles upon (the conversation about the bow), and it’s a wonder to behold.

The Un-Favorite:

While WAC certainly has great things about it, it’s not by any means a perfect game. It wouldn’t sit in my top 10, and possibly not even in my top 15, though it would depend on the day. The reasons for this?

A big one is my least favorite puzzle: taking the pictures. It’s a good idea — a gofer quest to help Nancy get to meet each student, talk to them, etc. and make sure no one gets lost in the shuffle (like with what usually happens with Guadalupe in ICE, for example) — and is also great for acquainting Nancy with the Hubbard(s). However, in practice, the interface makes it incredibly obnoxious to do, what with having to retake pictures because the pan or zoom is slightly off, and having to jump around from place to place. It’s a good idea, but could have been implemented far, far more smoothly than it actually was.

My least favorite moment in the game is actually the whole deal with Izzy’s paper being deleted. It’s a dick move — and I have no problem with that, honestly, but the fact that she has no backup is just like…girl, what on earth are you doing where you don’t back up your work.

Adding to that is the fact that even in the far-off yesteryear of 2009, Word autosaves (as did many, if not all, word processors) and a copy definitely would have still been retrievable on her computer, and that the teacher would almost definitely have a previous rough draft or at least outline…it’s a pretty shaky thing to have happen (the not-having, not the deleting), and it does break the game down a bit. I know it’s not that big a deal to most people, but it seriously hampers my ability to stay within the world of WAC and to take the mystery seriously.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Warnings at Waverly Academy?

There’s honestly not too much to do; while not a perfect game, WAC is perfectly solid, accomplishing what it needs to do properly and well, without too many little flaws to mar its reputation.

In other words, it’s a bit like an unsuccessful valedictorian candidate; well-rounded, but not a standout when compared to others that burn a little brighter.

I would, however, re-work the picture task; I’m not sure how you could make it less clunky, mechanically speaking, but it definitely needs it, along with a way to know if it’s a good picture or not before you go through all the effort of going to the library and plugging in the camera. I love the idea — just make the idea work better.

I’d also change the “deleted paper” storyline and go a little more destructive — give the computer an awful virus instead. Sure, her paper is backed up (in 2009, probably on a USB drive, or saved to her email or something), and she has her stuff, but that locks away all personalized notes, study sheets, etc. It’s something that would be pretty damning for a Valedictorian candidate, while also still being firmly in the realm of believability.

And on a smaller note, remove the ability to call Bess in this game. It always goes to voicemail and serves no purpose. Why even include it?

Where WAC really shines is its individualistic approach to each girl and in its permeation of Poeian themes; that’s what makes it special as a game, rather than any of its individual parts. Sometimes, you need to take a break from haunted mansions and carousels and museum thefts and marriage troubles and friends who are always in need of help – and you just need to play a game with gossip galore, hot lettuce bagels, and an actual death-bringing pendulum to round it out.

#nancy drew #clue crew #warnings at waverly academy #nancy drew games #WAC #nancy drew meta #long post #my meta #video games

[vegalocity]

Comforting Hugs and (platonic) kiss on the cheek. Min Yi falls and gets a boo boo so Huntsman has to Comfort her, much to his discomfort. Cause what you wrote with Uncle Goliath was adorable so now it's Uncle Huntsys turn. - Pixel Anon

Affection meme

4. Comforting hugs

8. Kisses on cheek

Whoops i tripped and it turned into feels how'd that happen

--

Huntsman had never wanted kids. He didn’t like kids, he didn’t trust kids, Kids always seemed to be more of a pain than they were worth.

Which was why he wasn’t particularly excited when everyone found out that Syntax had a kid. Some little wannabe detective whom was barely old enough for grade school yet somehow believed she was capable of solving any mystery handed to her but still needed to hold hands with a grownup while crossing the street.

Another thing he didn’t like about kids, they didn’t even have the skills to back up their egos.

The only positive thing he could scrounge together about Syntax's Daughter for a long time was that she seemed to be a rather tough kid. Always tripping and falling and scraping herself up in ways he was (pretty sure) a lesser child would have stopped everything to cry about, brushing the dirt off of her clothes and going back to whatever she was doing. At times Syntax or her aunt needed to pull her away and tell her to bandage up her injuries first and she’d protest over it.

So he’d give her that. She was tough.

That in no way meant he was alright with babysitting just because he was the only one without any plans tonight.

He’d be completely fair and say that he expected it tpo be a quiet night. The brat was in between ‘mysteries’ and was quietly working on one of her arts and crafts projects. He’d figured they’d have no real reason to interact until she’d tell him it was about dinner time and they’d… order in or something, he didn’t know what kids liked to eat.

But that didn’t mean he was okay with it just happening to him to be stuck with the brat all night until Syntax got home from whatever tech-related insanity the Monkie Kid and his ilk had pulled him into.

Though when he heard a yelp of surprise and pain, he’d assumed it was something like, the little gremlin tripping on her own socks or something and falling face first onto the floor or whatever. So he didn’t give it any mind as he continued to sharpen his lucky blade.

Though he didn’t hear any grumbles of annoyance as she continued on with what she was doing, or even laughter at her own clumsy actions. Then she was a little blur of black hair and pink jacket as she darted from the kitchen area to the bathroom, passing by as quickly and quietly as possible.

Now… That was… probably something….

The bathroom door shut with a thud, but he could pick up on sniffling and upset whimpering noises among the sounds of bottles clattering, every so often punctuated by more yelps of pain.

Then he smelled burning. It was coming from the kitchen and sure enough there was a skillet that had fallen to the ground, and a pair of eggs half sprayed along the stovetop, some parts very quickly turning to charcoal.

What had happened put itself together rather quickly and he cursed under his breath at the idiocy of children.

When he returned to the bathroom the whimpering had ended and was replaced entirely with the sniffling, and the rummaging of bottles was replaced with the running of the faucet.

“What are ya doing in there?”

“Nothing!”

“Bull. Open the door kid.”

“It’s okay! I’m okay!”

“Open the door before I break it. Minyi.” The child’s name felt weird on his tongue, but she had to know he was serious.

There was a pause, and then the door creaked open. The kid stood there, moving her hand from the doorknob to wipe at her eyes, the other hand held behind her back.

“You’re really gonna be a stupid kid and hide it from me?”

She rocked back and forth on her heels, her glasses were missing, probably dropped them when she ran in here, so she couldn’t hide her face like she usually did.

After another long pause where Huntsman debated what sort of threat he could make to a six year old without her father finding out about it and finalizing those vivisection plans he was sure he had squirreled away somewhere but constantly denied, the brat relented and held out her hidden hand, and sure enough the sleeve was rolled up to the elbow and the outer side of her hand front he base of her pinky all the way down to her wrist was an angry red.

“Dumb kid.”

She whimpered again and a fresh set of tears began to bubble out of her eyes and he rolled his. “Sit down. I’m not risking your Aunt’s wrath by not patching you up after you did something stupid.” The kid quietly did as instructed and sat on the edge of the bathtub as he opened the medicine cabinet. The burn cream was far too high up for her to have been able to reach.

She had started to cry properly now… Stupid kids crying their eyes out over dumb things.

“Please don’t tell Daddy or Auntie.” she squeaked out when he finally crouched in front of her, holding out a hand for when her own was placed in his.

“Why? You scared of admitting you burned yourself trying to make your own dinner instead of being the rational and smart kid they both keep saying you are?”

The brat kept crying as he finished wrapping up the wound until the entire area was covered over her left hand.

“I can’t cause any problems…” That… gave him pause.

Sure kids want to be good. They might be little shits but they rarely WANT to be bad kids. So if she’d said that she ‘wanted to be a good girl’ or whatever that would have made sense. But… ‘cause problems’?

“What are you on about?”

“Daddy and Auntie have enough problems, and I can’t be one too!” she looked up at him then, sniffing pathetically and hair falling in her face at her vehemence “I gotta be no problems at all! Cuz Cuz… I’m a trooper! And clever, and a delight to have in class!”

….damn here he thought obsessive perfectionism wouldn’t kick in until teen years.

“You’re six years old is what you are.” UGH… he knew what adults were SUPPOSED to do around crying children.

Didn’t mean he had to like it.

Huntsman offered his hand to the kid again, and she didn’t hesitate before sliding her uninjured one into his. He tugged her forward, and she stumbled until her little body collided with his. And to keep her from escaping he placed his other hand on her back. “Who ever told you you ain’t allowed to be a damn kid, huh?”

“Nobody…”

“Kids don’t just pick up ‘delight to have in class’ from nowhere, I'm guessing it was a teacher?”

“No!”

“Then who's messing with the development of clan young? It’s been decades since this clan has had any young, and if our only child in thirty years has had her development messed with…” the kid let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“...Nobody has to… people are always sayin' stuff about how scary it is that me an’ Auntie are the only humans in our family… that you an’ Uncle Goliath eat people… That Daddy used to be handsome but now he’s just….i forget the word… The teachers wanna keep an eye on me, they keep saying that ‘demon behavior’ might rub off on me. And it’s stupid!” She pulled away to look at him again and she’d stopped crying, her face pinched in a pout. “It’s stupid cuz you an Uncle Goliath are super cool! And Daddy is Daddy! But they’re all scared and they shouldn’t be. But…” she looked away again and Huntsman took the opportunity to lift her into the air to steadily walk them back out into the living room. “But if I start bein’ a problem then they’re gonna think its your guys fault. It’s not, but they'll think it. And they're gonna do bad things cuz they’ll think they gotta and It’ll be my fault because I made problems and I can’t make problems!”

….huh….

“Maybe I should show those grownups how right they are about how dangerous I can be, if it upsets you that much.” The kid looked back up at him and he made sure to bear his fangs properly. She’d probably get scared too and he could remind her how he and Goliath were actually in fact quite dangerous, and while her father would never dream of hurting her, those ladies probably had the right idea, too.

And then the little shit laughed at him.

“You’re silly.” But just like that her mood was better. She leaned in and before he could tell her to buzz off or drop her she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for bandaging me Uncle Huntsman. But I messed up the eggs still so I gotta make another dinner.”

“If you really don’t wanna cause problems-” he dropped her, she landed on the couch harmlessly. “-Just tell the grownup in the room that you’re getting hungry. Don’t just assume you know what you’re doing.”

She fingered the bandages on her hand again when she sat down properly in the seat. “Okay. Sorry Uncle Huntsman.”

“Just because you don’t want to cause problems doesn’t mean you have to do everything yourself. You’re literally a child.”

“Okay Uncle Huntsman.”

“Now out on one of your damn movies while I see if there’s anything edible left in this place.”

“Okay!”

More rebound than a beach ball apparently, that kid. Observant too, if she could connect probably idle chatter that… either teachers or parents of friends… would whisper about to not only her and hers, but also deduce the danger of her family being considered ‘scary’ and what she should do to combat it (whether it was a good idea or not)

He wondered how many of those scrapes she acted like she didn’t even notice were just her putting on a brave face because being seen as weak was suddenly something she thought she couldn’t afford to do.

… Minyi really was a tough kid, wasn’t she?

--

Send me stuff!

#lmk OCs #lmk Huntsman #letters to vega #Vega writes stories too #affection meme #I slightly edited the prompt bc Min Yi's a little tougher than that #but sheis still 6 and thus inherently stupid #OC: Minyi

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Officer Cutie Pants

Anon Request: Can I do a request on our sweet little detective, where he frisks, cuffs, and has a lot of physical contact with the reader, maybe some light hearted smut at the end? :P

A/N: This became a story, but I hope it still satisfies your request. I tried some third person for a change bc I get bored with “Y/N” and “you.” However, there are some places where I had to use a “Y/N,” but I did try to limit it. Feedback welcome, as always, especially if you are like omg stahhp this is way too much “she/her” and “you” flows better sis👏

WC: 6087

Warnings: Reference to a jackass in a club who doesn’t know what “no” means, minor physical violence of said jackass, SMUT (18+ please)

* * * * *

Mike hides his laugh behind his hand as Baxter’s girlfriend pushes her ass into her boyfriend, grinding back into him as he tries his best to still her hips. His forearms are strained with effort as he holds her at bay.

“Y/N. Get. In. The. Car,” Baxter growls out before adding a quiet, “Please.”

“Youuu are gonna have to cuff meee,” she sings, twirling in his arms and wrapping her hands around his neck. “Andstuffme,” she loudly whispers, causing Mike to laugh as Baxter looks ready to die on the spot.

The night had been a fairly quiet patrol, so when Mike and Baxter got a call for a drunken disturbance outside of a nightclub in their area, they both sat up a little straighter as their adrenaline kicked in. Baxter’s breath hitched as he remembered something, his palms all of a sudden very sweaty; he rubbed them over the starchy fabric of the uniform pants that covered his thighs, and Mike glanced over from the driver’s seat.

“What is it?”

“Y/N is there tonight—I just … I’ve got that feeling. Something’s happened.”

Mike’s foot pressed harder on the accelerator as he flipped on the siren.

“Hey, Mike!” she calls, suddenly aware of his presence. “Bax is bein’ a loatboad of nofun.”

“A loatboad, huh,” Mike says as he walks over, his arms crossing as he looks down from his substantial height of 6’5 at both Baxter and Baxter’s girlfriend.

“I can handle this,” he says, glancing up at Mike before returning his eyes to his girlfriend’s face.

He grasps her wrists and removes her hands from his neck, gently pushing her back. She giggles and leans against the cruiser, her head tilting up to look at the night sky.

She is absolutely drunk off her ass, along with at least three of the five friends she had been partying with.

“I wanna press charges against that bi—”

“Careful, sir,” Mike says, cutting off a guy who is almost the same height as himself, except it looks like this guy currently ran his nose into a doorframe. “You wanna tell me what happened here?”

Mike maneuvers his body to block Baxter from the view of the guy who is now insisting that Bax’s girlfriend assaulted him.

“I’ll tell ya wha’ happened!” she interjects, raising her head from its spot on the car and struggling again.

“Tell me what happened,” Baxter says, moving so that his back is to Mike’s, further distancing her from the man claiming assault.

Her eyes are filled with a wild anger until she realizes her boyfriend is the only thing she can see. She blinks, then grins at him.

“Le’s go downtown, Officer Baxty-Babe. I’ll take my pants off ‘n you can do that thing you do that makes me—”

“Please, please stop, sweetheart. You need to focus and explain what happened, or I am going to have to arrest you. Which means mountains of paperwork,” Baxter explains, moving to try to capture her gaze long enough to hold her attention. “Which means it will be a week before I can do that thing to you again,” he adds in a low voice, pulling a wide smile from her as her bloodshot eyes finally settle on his again.

Staring intently into Baxter’s eyes always makes her feel like she is being scrubbed raw. His eyes look dark in the dim light of the street, but they still hold that same pull that had initially attracted her. She quickly found out that dating a cop was hell, constantly worrying about what might happen to him, and after an initial few months of swearing she was going to break it off, and Baxter showing her why she shouldn’t, she acquiesced and let herself fall ridiculously in love with him.

Which suddenly occurs to her to say.

“Iloveyousomuch,” she gushes, her eyes filling with tears. “You’re so sexy ‘n smart ‘n officery ‘n I jus’ looove you.”

Baxter blinks, a long, slow blink of patience, and releases his grasp on her wrists. He moves his hands to her face and asks her not to cry.

“‘M not cryin’!” she declares, laughing as she flings herself into Baxter’s arms, finally able to make full body contact with him, her hands travelling south to grasp his ass at an incredibly high rate of speed before he snatches up her wrists again.

“Stop!” Baxter says loud enough to make her freeze, the tears she swore she didn’t have in her eyes returning.

“Okay,” she mumbles, stepping back and going slack against the car, so slack that she just keeps sliding until she’s sitting on the ground, her ass suddenly cold as it connects with the asphalt.

Gracie and Kendra move forward to help their friend, but Baxter holds out his hand, stopping them.

With a sigh, he kneels, thankful his girlfriend can’t make any more sudden moves.

“Sweetheart,” he says gently. “Please tell me what happened.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Can’t.”

“You can’t remember?”

“I re’mber.”

“Then why can’t you tell me?”

She finally looks up, sniffling but not yet crying.

“You’ll kill ‘em.”

Baxter’s fingers flex as he suddenly realizes he should’ve trusted that feeling in his gut all along. He looks up at Gracie and Kendra, and they are frowning.

“Did you see what happened?”

“Not until after she hit him—but it was for a good reason, Bax,” Kendra answers.

Baxter turns his attention back to his girlfriend.

“If you told the girls, you can tell me, too.”

“Gonna kill him ‘n you’ll lose your job—”

“I am an officer of the law, Y/N,” Baxter says, his voice even and soothing, the exact opposite of how he really felt. “I took an oath to protect and serve. The least I can do is protect the woman I love.”

Gracie hiccups as tears fill her eyes and she softly says, “He won’t kill ‘em—ya gotta tell him anyway.”

Too drunk to have felt Baxter’s shift in demeanor from one of embarrassment to controlled anger, she feels reassured by Gracie’s appeal.  

“Tell me what happened,” Baxter requests again in the same soothing voice, his eyes trained on her face as she looks slightly over his shoulder and into the small crowd that had gathered.  

“We were dancing. ‘N it was fine. All the girls. Guys too. Some guys, couple a guys. Some guys started dancing. Yes. Wasn’t even really payin’ attention, just dancing ‘n then one of em was pullin’ me away, tellin’ me he was taking me home ‘n I said no ‘n he wouldn’ listen so I hit em—just like you taugh’ me,” she finishes, suddenly happy again as her face splits into a wide grin as she mimicks her upward, palm-flat punch toward Baxter’s nose.

He grabs her hand in time to stop her from accidentally hitting him, but this time, instead of restraining her, he presses a kiss to the back of her hand.

“Good girl. Now, can you stay right here for me? Don’t move?”

“I like it here. ‘S comfy,” she says patting the ground and leaning her head to the side.

Baxter’s movement is a blur as he brushes past Mike and starts in on the guy who apparently couldn’t understand the word no.

“Turn around. Put your hands behind your back,” Baxter says as he pulls his cuffs from his belt.

Mike is on immediate alert, ready to back up his partner. He acknowledges the backup officers who had arrived only a moment ago, and they work to push the crowd back.  

“What the fuck, man? I’m the one with the busted nose!”

“I said turn around,” Baxter growls as he steps forward, his eyes fixed on the guy’s face. “In my area, no means no.”

“I never touched her,” the guy says, an edge of panic creeping into his voice as he realizes he’s not going to be able to use the sympathy of a few fellow men. Neither Mike nor Baxter have any tolerance for men who don’t respect women, especially intoxicated and vulnerable ones, although it turned out that this guy’s target was not at all vulnerable.

“It was loud—I didn’t hear her. I swear, Officer,” the guy babbles as he complies to being cuffed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes dart back and forth

Mike steps forward and hooks Baxter’s elbow, angling him so he could lean down to his ear, “Bargain. Get him to drop the charge against Y/N if we let him off with a misdemeanor disturbance. Guy doesn’t have a record.”

Baxter’s eyes turn up to Mike’s and they are hard, unwavering, but Mike doesn’t look away. Under his partner’s gaze, Baxter’s anger falters and logic takes hold again.

“Interview Y/N’s friends while he cools his heels in the backseat. I’ll check in with the bouncer to make sure he’s never had an issue with the asshole before.”

Mike nods and is once more greeted by a cheer as he approaches Baxter’s girlfriend, a few of her friends joining in this time, making Mike grin and shake his head yet again. Meanwhile, Baxter walks the guy in custody to the backup’s cruiser and puts him in the backseat.

At least she’s okay, he thinks before he begins to clean up this mess of a night.  

*  *  *  *  *

Groaning, Baxter’s girlfriend lifts her head from the mattress between the two pillows she had fallen onto when she passed out. She has a vague recollection of her friends helping her into bed, but at the moment, much of the night was a blur.

Rolling over, she thinks hard.

Dancing. Lots of dancing.

Shots. More shots than dancing.

God, what got into me?

There is a rustling and a few thunks from the kitchen that make her sit up in bed, her heart picking up speed as she listens.

“Hello?” she calls, wondering if Gracie, Kendra, or Eliza had spent the night.

Clutching her blanket to her chest, she holds her breath as heavy footsteps scuffle down the hall.

Baxter appears in the bedroom doorway, a smile on his face and an apology for scaring her on his lips.

“You did scare me! Last night … bit of a blur,” she sighs as she lays back down.

“How much of a blur?” he asks as he moves farther into the room, his hands settling into the pockets of his gray sweats. He still has on his sneakers, and he’s wearing a black, LAPD t-shirt from the 5-k run the county hosted a few weeks ago.

She’s quiet for a moment and then sits up with a gasp, her eyes wide as she begs Baxter to tell her she’s wrong.

“I didn’t … oh my god. Please say I didn’t. That guy’s nose. OH. MY. GOD. I tried to—while you were on duty. Oh god, Bax. I’m so sorry!”

Baxter only smiles a little.

“So you remember it all?”

“The details are a little hazy—what happened to the guy I … bopped?”

“It was a little more than a ‘bop,’” Baxter says, pulling his hands from his pockets to make air quotes.

“I think I may have overreacted,” she says as she bites her lip, realizing that her mouth tastes like a drifter took a bath in it.

“The bouncer corroborated that he got pushy. It’s club policy to kick anyone out that makes physical contact, though. Apparently, you didn’t like that.”

Closing her eyes, she thinks back and remembered issuing quite a string of profanity as the bouncer escorted her out.

“Who called the cops?”

“The guy you slugged. Guess he has a modeling gig next week and no insurance. He wanted the ‘crazy bitch’ who hit him to pay for the damage she caused to his livelihood.”

“He was a model?” she asks, her lip turning up in confused disagreement. “No way.”

“Way,” Bax replies, sitting down gently on the edge of the bed.

Her eyes squint as she thinks hard about what transpired, frowning as she looked to Baxter’s face. It is still fixed in what she calls his “cop face.” His features neutral, his mouth closed and his eyes alert as he waits for her to talk—he has the patience of a saint, which makes him a damn good policeman.

“We were all dancing—a big group of us. The guys came up and pulled a few shots from the floating tray for us. I was feeling pretty stellar by then anyway, but I remember the feeling of his fingers closing over my wrist—tugging me away from the dance floor. I told him I had a boyfriend, but he shrugged. It was that fucking shrug. He pulled on my wrist again, and the rest is a blur—I do remember the way it felt when my palm connected with his nose—shit! I have a bruise!” she exclaims, looking at the bright patch on the heel of her palm.

Baxter’s eyebrow rises and he scoots closer, reaching out to take her hand in his to examine her palm.

“Are you mad at me? I don’t blame you if you are.”

Baxter closes his eyes for a moment, then raises her palm to his lips, pressing gently into the bruise.

“No. I’m not mad, sweetheart.”

“Am I in trouble?”

Baxter chuckles, his lips vibrating against her palm.

“Would I be here about to cook you a big hangover breakfast in my sweats instead of my uniform if you were?”

“I feel like I’ve sullied your sacred uniform,” she says, her grin shy before splitting into one of joy. “Wait—did you say breakfast?”

“Mmhmmm.”

“You are the best boyfriend in the universe!”

“I know. And I also know you will somehow think of a way to repay me for the merciless roasting I took at the station when Mike opened his dumbass mouth.”

“I will kill him. I don’t care how big he is.”

“You’ve clearly proven what a tigress you are,” Baxter replies, his face becoming more open as he relaxes, knowing that his girlfriend really is okay after the ordeal.

“Just you wait,” she says, her headache momentarily forgotten as she darts toward the bathroom.

“I shower … you cook!”

Baxter smiles and shakes his head as he stands and makes his way back to the kitchen.

As soon as the bathroom door shuts and she flicks on the light, she remembers her hangover. Opening the medicine cabinet, she pops a few ibuprofen and scoops up some water from the running faucet. Unable to take the dirty feeling any longer, she brushes her teeth as she turns the shower on and lets it get hot.

About 20 minutes later, she emerges from her bedroom, showered, comfily dressed, and feeling mostly human, to the smell of bacon and coffee.

Baxter is pushing around eggs in her skillet as she walks over to him, bacon on the burner beside the eggs, and another skillet of potatoes sizzling on the back burner. Standing behind him, she pops her chin onto his shoulder and slides her hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“You smell good,” Baxter says through a smile that she can only hear.

“So do you,” she purrs as she turns into his neck and nuzzles, enjoying the slight stubble along Baxter’s jawline that meant he had gotten ready in a rush to come and see her.

“Is that so?”

“Shut up,” she bites back playfully, her hands moving to grip his strong thighs from the inside of his pockets. “You know you smell better, look better, and are an infinitely better human than any idiot fuckboy in a club who thinks ‘I have a boyfriend’ is a challenge.”

She feels Baxter chuckle again, and as he steps slightly to the right, she pushes her hands deeper into his pockets, inadvertently exposing a strip of his stomach between his boxer-briefs and his t-shirt.

“Hey—if I get a third degree burn from bacon grease on my junk, I am going to be pissed at you.”

Laughing, she relinquishes her boyfriend and moves to pull down two mugs for coffee.

“You are so sexy, Mister Officer. I can’t help myself—as we clearly learned last night,” she banters back with a slight eyeroll at her own behavior.

“Can I ask you something?”

She puts Baxter’s coffee on the counter closest to where he’s scrambling the eggs, and then leans into the edge before replying, “Of course.”

“Why were you so shitfaced last night? I’ve seen you have a good time, but that seemed … out of character. Or maybe not? I’m just curious.”

“It’s a very legit question, Bax. And you’re right … a little out of character for me.”

Pausing, she takes a sip of her coffee. Baxter turns the burner off for the bacon and moves it from the heat. He turns the potatoes down before running his spatula through them, making sure they don’t burn. Sitting her coffee down, she moves to a cupboard to grab a plate and a few papertowels.

“Sometimes I just want to get fucked up. I wanna not worry for a night. Not overthink. Let the constant yammering in my head take a night off, ya know?”

Baxter nods and asks for two bowls for the scrambled eggs and the potatoes. She moves to the cupboard again and pulls out two white bowls, ones that are just a little bigger than the cereal bowls.

“Any particular worries?”

“Work, always.”

“I feel you on that one,” Baxter replies as he looks around for a serving spoon.

She reads his search and reaches into the drawer to pull one out.

“Toast?” he asks.

“Oh yes. I need all the carbs to quell the queasy.”

As she carries the bacon and eggs to her small in-kitchen table, she says quietly, “And you. Pretty much always.”

Baxter clicks the toaster down and turns to look at his girlfriend, his eyes narrowed and his lips a little tight.

“Me, huh?”

Chewing slightly on the skin behind her lower lip, she crosses to the toaster and leans on the counter opposite of Baxter.

“We talked about this when we first started dating, but I didn’t realize how consuming it would be. I think about the what ifs all the time. I love you. What would I do if—"

“Hey, hey,” Baxter says, cutting her off as he moves into her body, his hands coming up to cup her face.

In return, she slides her arms around his waist, her fingers moving under his t-shirt to touch the bare skin of his back.

Baxter and Y/N look at each other for a long moment before he closes the distance and kisses her, his lips forming perfectly against hers in a tender moment of genuine affection.

When Baxter pulls back, he holds her gaze as he says, “Imagine how I felt hearing that call come in for a club I knew you were at. When I saw you standing outside, I thought I was gonna be sick.”

She looks into Baxter’s eyes, and then both of them jump as the toaster pops, both of them uttering a soft giggle.

Bax presses a quick kiss to her forehead before pulling the toast out and setting it on a plate. She lines herself up behind him again and kisses between his shoulder blades over his t-shirt.

“Let’s both try to worry less.”

“I’m more concerned for any … what did you call him? Idiot fuckface?”

“Boy,” Y/N says, laughing. “Idiot fuckboy.”

“Fuckboy who tries to steal you away.”

“Never, ever gonna happen.”

“Even though I make you worry, like, all the time?”

“You’re worth it—you just may have to answer a few more what are they called? 213s?”

Baxter laughs, his teeth flashing, “Shit, sweetheart. If I had to answer a 213 for you, I think that would be the end of our relationship.”

“What’s a 213?”

“Use of illegal explosives.”

“Oh! Well, then. Nevermind. What’s the whatever I was code?”

“You came in as a 415 and a probable 390.”

“Oooh two codes! Yay me!”

Baxter is still smiling as he sits down catty-corner from his girlfriend.

“A drunken disturbance—pretty typical for a club call. Sorry to disappoint.”

After scooping half of the scrambled eggs onto her plate, she looks at Baxter with sincerity and says, “Thank you for not arresting me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong—technically.”

“I’m still thankful.”

“And you’re still gonna repay me,” Baxter says, his voice low and his eye shutting with an exaggerated wink.

Laughing, she shakes her head as she takes a big bite of eggs and reaches for the bacon.

“I’m more inclined to fuck you into next week for making this amazing breakfast.”

Baxter’s lips pull down in an exaggerated frown as he shrugs before declaring, “Or we could read this as two separate thank-yous from the tigress. She can feel free to make an appearance whenever she likes.”

“As if I need a reason, Bax.”

Their eyes meet for a moment before Baxter clears his throat, grinning as he tucks into his breakfast.

Conversation flows easily between the two of them, and soon enough, both are leaning back in their chairs, sipping the last dregs of their coffee.

“How’s your hangover?”

“Mostly cured, I believe,” his girlfriend says from over the rim over her mug.

“You going to the gym?”

Baxter shrugs, his fingers drumming on the table.

“In that case,” she says, standing up slowly from her chair, “I think we oughta treat ourselves to a lazy day … in bed.”

“I like … the sound of that,” Baxter replies slowly, taking his girlfriend’s proffered hand. “I did have a really long night. Some drunk broad came on to me while I was arresting her.”

She spins around, feigning offense, and Baxter laughs, his hands whipping to her sides to tickle her. She bats at him and speeds down the hallway to her bedroom, pausing to turn only to be met with a body full of her boyfriend as he tackles her onto the bed.

Still laughing, they look at each other for a moment as their smiles quietly slip into an intense kiss. They both taste like coffee and bacon, their shared meal a reminder of their shared lives.

Baxter settles between her legs, his growing hardness evident through the forgiving material of his sweatpants.

She is dressed only in sleep shorts and a thin t-shirt, so when she pushes her hips into his, she moans at the friction when he bucks back into her.

Baxter’s lips kiss at her chin before he nudges her jaw up by tangling one strong hand in her hair and pulling.

Her lips part with a silent sigh as he kisses down her neck, soft, slow, long kisses where he presses the whole of his full lips against her skin before moving down a fraction to repeat the action. The feeling of his lips on her skin has always driven her wild and today is no exception.

She knows she’s already wet, but she doesn’t want to be needy for him. She keeps thinking back to Baxter’s banter in the kitchen and wondering if it really did hide an insecurity: perhaps he needs some reassurance that he is the sexiest man she has ever been with, that no “model” will ever turn her head when she knows she is coming home to Baxter. Her drunken teasing last night outside of the club meant nothing; she was out of her mind.

But right now—right now, she is here and more than willing to show him how important he is to her.

With a growl, she pushes at Baxter’s shoulders causing him to look up with heavy, confused eyes. With every ounce of lust she feels, she flips Baxter over and straddles him, thrusting her hands in his hair and mimicking his earlier tug of her own head.

“I want you.”

Pulling even tighter on his thick curls, she flattens along his body and starts to nip along his jaw, the stubble chaffing her lips and scratching against her teeth as she mouths at him before moving down his neck.

She licks along the strong muscle and settles into the indentation between the muscle and his windpipe to suck at little patches of skin, not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough for Baxter to shiver as he wonders if it will.

She works her way down to the exposed skin at the neck of his t-shirt, pulling on the fabric with her teeth before sitting up so she can maneuver him out of it.

Baxter lays back slowly, propped on his elbows as his girlfriend swirls her hips against his bulge. His mouth falls open and a sigh escapes as she pushes him down again.

He’s fit; his lean muscles standing out enough to make her lick her lips in appreciation and run her hands over his pecs, kneading them before lightly pinching his nipples into stiff peaks. He’s sensitive, everywhere, which always makes their time in the bedroom all the more satisfying.

She flattens her body along his again, his cock now pressing into her stomach as she leans down to kiss across his chest, moving to his right nipple to pinch it between her teeth.

Bax moans and reaches to run his fingers through her hair, pushing it out of the way so he can see her lips on his skin.

Flicking her tongue, she plays with his nipple before moving to the left one to repeat her ministrations, her right hand back to kneading that strong muscle before sliding up to his shoulder and back again.

He has soft skin, mottled with freckles that make her want to kiss them all every time she sees them and a thin smattering of hair on his chest that scratches lightly against her lips as she continues to kiss his chest before following his happy trail to his stomach.

Humming in the back of her throat with pleasure, her tongue swirling through the trail of softer hair, Baxter can barely control his hips. They are desperately trying to rut against her body, and she has a strong feeling he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

Sitting up slightly, she places her hands on his hips and pushes down.

“Behave for me or you’ll spoil all the fun.”

Baxter looks down, his face the perfect picture of debauchery: cheeks flushed, eyes heavy, and indentations on his bottom lip where he’s been biting.

He blinks, long and slow as if coming out of a fog, then huffs out a tiny laugh, his hands moving up to run through his hair before settling behind his head.

Her eyes trail over the way his biceps flex and she can’t help but reach into the course hairs of his underarms, scratching just enough to make him twitch before she smirks and returns her hands to his stomach.

Moving her body lower, she’s straddling his lower thighs now, Baxter’s thick cock clearly visible beneath the grey fabric, and at this point, she’s barely able to stop herself from stripping and mounting him on the spot.

But she wants him to know how much she needs him and from this angle, he can watch her face, also flushed with swollen lips from kissing his torso, fill with an unabashed desire as she grasps the bulge of his dick.

Slowly, she squeezes, not quite wrapping her hand all the way around his covered length, but pressing into him and sliding upward, jerking him off in the most teasing manner she can manage until a spot of precum leaks through his underwear and stains the grey of his sweats an even darker grey.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re killing me,” Baxter mumbles as his big blue eyes are flicking between her hand and her face, almost begging but not quite.

She takes hold of the waistband of his sweats and works them over his hips, Baxter lifting his ass off the mattress to help.

They repeat the process for his underwear, but she scoots down the bed to tug his clothes off. After pulling his socks off, too, she scratches her nails along the bottoms of his feet, making him jerk again, his face grinning as she pinches the big toe on each foot.

“So sensitive,” she breathes, her voice sultry.

She runs her fingers through the thick but soft curls of his leg hair, sliding them up and over his knees, slowing down only to push his thighs apart so his entire package is on display.

He’s so pretty, perfectly proportioned, and she reaches out with both hands to lightly grasp each testicle. She plays with the soft skin and watches Baxter’s cock jump as she applies more pressure, switching his balls to one hand so she can give them a good squeeze.

She takes the base of his dick in her other hand and very lightly begins to stroke him, once again watching the way her boyfriend responds to her touch and feeling the ache in her pussy which has become so pronounced that it feels like its throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

Sliding the thumb of her hand that was playing with his balls beneath them, she presses her thumb into his perineum and begins to move in firm, tiny circles, massaging him until his thighs are twitching and his chest’s rise and fall quickens.

She bends over now to take the tip of Baxter’s cock in her mouth, licking the precum from his slit first before closing over his head and lightly sucking. She slides her mouth over him, taking as much of his shaft as she can until Baxter begins to breathlessly plead.

“Stop—stop. I want to come inside your pussy.”

As if she couldn’t get wetter, the way Baxter’s mouth moves as he pleads sends a fresh wave of arousal to her center.

“Ride me, please. Wanna watch you.”

With a quiet groan at his words, she slides off the bed and strips out of her clothes. Baxter’s head turns to watch and he licks his lips before pulling on his worn, bottom lip, doing that thing that always makes her feel like a teenager again, crushing on the cutest boy she’d ever seen.  

Baxter shifts on the bed, adding another pillow behind him so he’s sitting up a bit more as his girlfriend straddles his hips. Still holding herself over him, she reaches between her legs and slides her fingers through her slickness.

Holding them up, coated in the evidence of her arousal, she murmurs, “Look at what you do to me, Bax,” before slipping them into her mouth.

“Kiss me,” he says, his eyes trained on her lips as she removes her fingers, the intensity of his gaze a bare beacon of his desire to taste her.

Leaning forward, she braces her palm on his chest as she kisses him, and with her other hand, she maneuvers his dick to her entrance, sliding down onto him, pulling his groan of satisfaction into her own mouth as she deepens the kiss.

“You feel so good,” she groans out as she breaks the kiss and stills her hips so she can just bask in the sensation of being filled up by the gorgeous man underneath her.

“So fucking good,” he answers.

After grabbing onto a fist full of dark curls and tilting his face up, she gives him a wicked smile as she starts to move, rising up and falling down at a teasingly slow pace.

She loves the feeling of control, but what she really loves is watching the way Baxter’s mouth falls open as he pants out his pleasure, his hands sliding over her hips and reaching up to grasp her breasts. He pulls on her nipples before he lets his hands fall to her hips again, silently encouraging her to bounce on his cock before asking again.

“Fuck me. Show me how much you want me.”  

All teasing is dispatched with as the room fills with the sounds of their pants and moans, both of them lost in the bliss of good sex between people who know what their partner likes and what their partner needs.

Her clit is swollen, aching for his touch and as he nears his orgasm she waits, patient, wanting him to come inside of her, wanting him to get lost in his own pleasure.

Baxter’s hand slides around and tries to touch her, but she grasps both of his hands and brings them to her breasts, squeezing them with him as she grinds into him, swirling her hips before rising and falling, repeating the motion until she can tell he’s about to come because his chest is red and when she steadies herself with one hand over his heart, she can feel it beating hard.

His hips buck up erratically into hers as his lips purse with an exhaled breath and he begins to groan, his face twisted into a magnificent ecstasy as he lets go, his hot cum shooting thickly all over her inner walls, the feeling something she would struggle to explain but nonetheless it’s a feeling that causes her eyes to close at the intimacy of it.

His heartbeat is slowing as she opens her eyes, unable to stop her smug grin at the way she’s left him damn-near cross-eyed after coming for her, but as he begins to wiggle out of her body, it’s clear he knows she needs him, really needs him, so Baxter pulls her to him as he flips her onto her back and quickly moves to between her thighs.

He admires his handywork for a moment, his thick fingers playing in their mixed arousal before he latches onto her clit and sucks. He glances up and her head is thrown back as her hands grasp her breasts; she looks like a goddess to Baxter as she pulls on her nipples and bites her lip, finally giving herself over to his mouth.

He releases the pressure and flicks his tongue rapidly over her clit before sucking again, this time, his suction pulling out her orgasm in a near-violent wave of release as his name echoes off the walls of her bedroom.

Baxter licks lightly at her clit, coaxing her down until her thighs press against his face, signaling him to stop. He presses a kiss to her mound, then to her stomach, right beneath her belly button before he presses a final kiss to her sternum and lays flat, his head nestled between her breasts.

She reaches down and swipes at the sweat along his hairline, running her hands gently through his hair.

“Mmm. Mmhmm,” Baxter sounds, and she can see his eyes are closed, his dark lashes resting prettily along the skin beneath his eyes.

“I think that was the best cure for a hangover I’ve ever had.”

“Not the bacon? Or potatoes?” he mumbles.

“No—definitely just you. You are the ultimate cure for a hangover.”

“Box me up and sell me. We’ll never have to work again.”

“Like I would ever fucking share that with any other human on earth. You’re mine, Officer Cutie Pants.”

Baxter laughs, his breath a warm puff across her skin. He twists his position, his chin now resting on her chest so he can smile at her, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“I’ll be only yours as long as you’ll be only mine.”  

“Hmm,” she replies, pressing her lips together in mock-thought. “I think forever sounds like a good amount of time.”

“Forever it is,” Baxter answers, pushing up to lean over her face, his kiss full of a gentle, loving warmth.  

* * * * *

Our fancy bean never wears sweats, so this is all I’ve got for reference material:

Special thanks to @sherlollydramoine for nurturing my muse at 2 am 💞 

Tags: @ramimedley @clumsybookworm18 @r-ahh-mi​ @aboutthatmelancholystorm​ @alottanothing @sherlollydramoine @txmel @diasimar @hah0106 @flipper-kisses @rami-malek-trash @ramisgirl512​ @dancing-disco-deacy @just-a-queen-bee @eightiesriot @s-k-y-w-a-l-k-e-r @breadnbutternips

#detective cutie pants #rami malek #baxter baxter #baxter #Rami Malek smut #detective cutie pants smut #detective cutie pants x reader #female reader #rami malek character #little things

[frankhardys]

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and ask you the same question that you said in post/634991197509795841 but the opposite

i’m assuming by this you mean why i primarily ship nancy/frank instead of nancy/ned. this might get long, so i’m throwing things under the cut.

first of all, i think i’ve explained before (maybe not recently) that i base a lot this reasoning from the games even though i have read (and still collect) the original nancy drew books. 

that being said, i have definitely also mentioned before that ned’s lack of character development across all 33 games (though i’ve never played MID) is honestly disappointing. at least in the earlier games, i’m thinking 1-5, he had some semblance of a personality, but in the newer ones he is merely reduced to a static character as nancy’s token boyfriend. i can’t ever forgive the writers for just completely wiping him clean, so to speak. even bess and george, other minor characters, though we see them in a couple games, have 10x the personality that ned does. 

all that to say, i love ned and i think we can salvage the bit of him that the game writer’s ultimately destroyed. he is kind, patient, smart, humorous, and willing to do whatever it takes for nancy and their relationship. my problem with ned/nancy as a couple has little to nothing to do with ned, but how nancy treats ned as a result. 

she is, for one, blatantly inconsiderate. i know a lot of that has to do with her getting really swept up and taken by her cases that she often just forgets about the people she leaves back home. that’s not to say that she doesn’t apologize for her actions, but in general, that kind of behavior is just not something i can overlook, especially paired with the fact that ned is just... he’s so in love with her, and she can’t even bother to phone him to tell him she’s not only going to miss their anniversary dinner, the one that he planned, but that she was going to fly across the country. her priorities are just all out of whack. i enjoy the fact that she’s “career” driven, and i think that’s a big pro for the games in general is that we finally get to see a woman who is ambitious, fearless, and smart. however, i don’t think any of that gives her the excuse to just... forget about her relationships with others and walk all over people, namely ned, even if she’s not consciously aware at the time that she’s doing it. 

ned is romantic. i’m not sure if that’s expressively canon from just the games, but we can all make a solid assumption that he cares a lot about nancy and wants to spend time with her. i don’t think nancy matches that level. book nancy and ned were perfect because both of them, repeatedly, talked about their love for one another and a lot of the books centered around their relationship. game nancy and ned simply do not have that same amount of chemistry. or, at least, it’s one-sided. ned is constantly fighting for her time and attention and she literally could not give less of a shit about him. i mean, we literally get the option to not return the ‘i love you sentiment’ in SEA. we have the choice to say something else. if the game developers really wanted to hone in on their relationship, i feel like that should’ve been a given. 

i’m actually a big proponent for nancy being alone because i really don’t think she has the emotional intelligence right now to be in a stable (and mutually beneficial) relationship. she is so passionate about her cases and being a detective that i feel like that just overwhelms her need to be with someone. not to say it’s completely off the table, but right now, i don’t feel like that’s something she needs. 

i will totally and completely admit that my love for frank/nancy has completely stemmed from my headcanons for the both of them and my undying love for frank hardy. strip away all of that, and i think they would make a good couple simply because their careers are majorly aligned. the things that upset ned probably wouldn’t upset frank as much. nancy’s complete lack of regard for romance most likely would be fine, since game frank isn’t really... romantic. i mean, we don’t get any canon clues or conversations suggesting he would be, besides that he is crushing on her. my headcanons peg him as a hopeless romantic, but again, that’s just me projecting. a big criticism of this pair is that they are so similar that their relationship would be boring, and i definitely agree. taking it as it is, they are very much alike. i think i am just inclined to pair them together mostly, actually 85%, because of my headcanons for the both of them. but knowing that this is a discussion about canon traits, it’s not really appropriate for me to bring that up (unless you want to know, then i’ll definitely discuss it). 

as for nancy/someone else: i am a huge joe/bess supporter (though i know that’s a... not common opinion) and don’t think joe has the emotional intelligence either to be in a relationship so he and nancy wouldn’t work. i don’t think nancy would even take him seriously, to be honest, at least not right now in this phase of life. that’s not to say that he is stupid, childlike or in anyway inferior to his older brother, but just that if he made any romantic advances, i feel like she would just... brush them off, much like everything else. 

i am also fascinated by deirdre’s character, and it’s been proposed that she and nancy would make a good couple. i’m totally down with that, but i think deirdre’s character, much like every other side character, needs to be developed more. i think she has a lot of love to give, and perhaps those feelings would be translated better with someone like ned, instead of nancy, who is constantly halfway around the world without even a goodbye. i also didn’t play midnight in salem, so i have to wonder if my opinions about the two of them will change as a result of that game!

sorry this is so long, clearly i have thought about this a little too much. i appreciate everyone who offered up their opinion on my post! i like hearing different perspectives.

#nancy drew #ned nickerson #frank hardy #joe hardy #deirdre shannon #ask #anon

[kareofbears]

blinding lights, chapter 2/4

Their height gap is a wide one, but in no way is Sumire going to let Akechi keep looking down on her. “It became my business the minute we wanted the same thing: to fix this reality.“

—

Akechi and Sumire have to traverse through the events of the third semester without Akira (or rather, against him).

Read on AO3 or you can read below! whatever works for you :-)

They both agreed to meet at noon at an address of Sumire’s choosing. Considering that Tokyo is still in a post New Year’s mindset, the streets and the stores that reside there are fairly sluggish; only a few elderly couples and a handful of families with toddlers tugging them along are mindlessly walking through the streets of Shibuya.

Akechi takes one look at the restaurant. “No.”

“Huh?”

“No,” he repeats, glaring at the adorable restaurant with no small amount of disdain. “Why here?”

“I thought that a small, public setting like this would be smart,” she scratches her cheek. Maybe she’d misheard when—”Kurusu-senpai mentioned that you liked this type of food, back before school went on break.”

“Did he now?” His tone is light, but his jaw looks worryingly locked in place. “How kind of him.”

“We can go somewhere else—”

“No need,” Akechi narrows his eyes at the bright neon signs once more before going through the glass double-doors. “I’m not so petty as to refuse a restaurant for no good reason.”

“Okay,” Sumire says for a lack of better response, following him in. Why Akechi has such a fierce vendetta against eating at an IHOP, she’ll probably never know.

They were seated right away by a flustered waitress. Akechi smiles at her, charming and non-threatening. It’s almost kind of jarring seeing it now.

After she shakily hands them the laminated menus, she stumbles away to the kitchen—no doubt to rave about how sweet the detective is in person, how approachable.

“Finally. I was afraid I’d snap at her if she’d stayed a moment longer.” He starts skimming the menu, ignoring her curious stare. “You have a question.”

“I do, but I don’t want to come off as rude.”

“I’ve dealt with people who would dispose of me if I so much breathed the wrong way,” he flips the page. “Give me some credit.”

She thinks of the halls in Shujin, filled to the brim with rumors and hate and animosity towards her. This aspect, at the very least, can act as a middle-ground between Sumire and the boy in front of her.

“You’re not really the Detective Prince, are you?”

“Of course I am.”

“But it’s an act, isn’t it?”

He chuckles mockingly. “Everything is an act, Yoshizawa. There isn’t a single person out there who isn’t pretending in some way or another. But, if you’re referring to how I’m no longer keeling over to lick people’s gum off their shoe, then sure, I’m not really the Detective Prince.” Akechi pauses when her eyes dart toward the kitchen. “Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. If it’ll benefit me, I can be whoever I need to be.”

The door to the kitchen bursts open. Akechi smirks. “Exhibit A.”

The waitress returns, slightly red and clutching the handle of a steaming coffee pot like a lifeline.

“On the house,” she blurts out as she pours the hot liquid into their mugs. “Um, are you ready?”

They give her their order (Sumire gets a breakfast platter with double pancakes while Akechi seems adamant on not ordering anything on the breakfast menu, asking for cream and sugar instead). When they finish, Akechi flashes the waitress a smile, tilting his head so that his brown hair brushes his shoulders, and induces yet another wave of red to flood towards her cheeks.

She scampers away and Sumire gives him a look. “Did you trick her to...get coffee?”

“To prove a point,” he corrects. Lifting his mug, one sniff has him grimacing. “Leblanc has truly spoiled me. This smells rancid.”

She lifts her own mug; it smells delightful. “That sounds exhausting, having to constantly change how you act.”

“Perhaps. But if it gets the job done, then I can’t complain. Survival, after all, must come before anything else, only closely followed by the notion of winning. Many times, those two coincide.”

“And if you get caught in the act? What happens then?”

“That doesn’t happen.”

“Sure it does,” she picks up her teaspoon and absentmindedly stirs the contents of her mug. “Why else would you be interacting with me without your…persona?”

“You think you caught me in the act?” He asks, an eyebrow arched.

“Oh, no, not at all. But someone must’ve figured it out for me.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “It’s a bit of a stretch to say ‘figured it out,’ but in a way, yes. It’s more coincidence and luck. Less figuring out and more,” Akechi pauses. “A different perspective.”

Leaning back into the (slightly sticky) faux leather of the booth, he folds his hands together in a polished manner. “Are you sufficed with this interview? Or is this an interrogation?”

“I thought it was more of a nice chat,” she replies.

“Chat?” Sumire freezes. Akechi’s voice had dropped an octave, and her stomach along with it. “Chats are what people have when they’re gossiping about what some boy is doing after school, or when they have the luxury to waste time. Chatting is what friends do, Yoshizawa, and forgive me if I wasn’t clear enough. However,” he leans forward, his red eyes dark and lips pulled back ever so slightly. “Being allies with the same goal does not make us besties.”

He leans back, and Sumire can only stare at him. She tries to push away the intense waves of disappointment, irritation, and embarrassment at tricking herself twice now. A million words are stuck on her tongue like a fly caught on sticky paper—struggling, but an ultimately fruitless endeavor.

“Okay,” is what comes out. Clearing her throat, “Let’s focus back to the matter at hand then, shall we?” Sumire spoke timidly, but not out of fear of the man in front of her, but rather in fear of scaring him away. It’s obvious he has a bus load and a half of issues, but they’re allies and right now, they don’t have anyone but each other. This is one objective she can’t afford to slip up on, and with her knowledge of the Metaverse being shaky at best, she needs all the help she can get.

“Let’s.”

As he’s about to continue, the waitress returns with Sumire’s staggering order, Akechi’s sugar and milk (in tiny, blue capsules) and mysteriously straightened hair. “So sorry for the delay,” she says, most of her attention on a boy who seems infinitely more interested in the creamer than her.

“Thank you,” Sumire blurts out when he doesn’t reply, more to fill the awkward silence than anything. At least it seems to snap the waitress out of whatever disappointed stupor she’s in, after the detective had a full one-eighty on his personality.

The waitress walks back, shoulders drooping, and Sumire points a side eye at Akechi. “That was mean. Kindness has its own benefits too, you know.”

“Alright, Maruki. Can we get a move on?”

“Please.”

Akechi folds his hand over each other. “I mentioned that I’ve worked with the Thieves in the past.” At Sumire’s nod, “I believe that can be used to our advantage.”

She frowns, and picks up her fork. “Our advantage? Did you learn something back then?” She starts cutting into her pancakes, the scent absolutely mouth-watering.

“Not quite. Most of the intel I gathered from them were useless. Never in my life did I need to know about half of the bakeries in Tokyo, or which days of the week were the most plentiful in terms of grocery sales. Really, it’s all garbage. However, three things were clear by the time my truce with them had ended.”

He plucks a single capsule from the table, inspecting it with interest. “One: Kurusu Akira is very good at what he does. It pains me to admit it, but he’s powerful, much more than lets on. His ability to utilize multiple Personas to fill in any holes his team might have, the natural tendency to anticipate his opposer’s attacks. This made me knock out the initial strategy.”

“Which was?”

“Battle him on the spot,” he answers nonchalantly. “Beat some sense into him, in whatever form that may be. However, as history decides it, that plan was doomed to fail before it even began. Maybe as a last resort.” Sumire very nearly asks him what on earth he could be referring to in terms of history, but Akechi continues before she works out how to ask without setting off another aggravated landmine. It’s a lot like her floor exercises; one misstep can be her downfall.

“His power also extends past the Metaverse,” Akechi crosses his legs neatly. “He’s made a plethora of confidants splattered across the city, ranging from ridiculous to slightly worrying. The most crucial of those confidants, as you can imagine, are his pesky friends.”

Placing the capsule back onto the table delicately, he continues. “The second is what I’ve mentioned before, back in the palace—Kurusu would walk backwards into hell for his little troupe. However, the very notion of teammates demands more than one side of the party.”

He begins to stack the capsules on top of each other until a structure is created on top of the polished table (they both pretend not to notice the elderly couple eyeing them with annoyance). “And finally, number three—” Akechi leans back, gazing uninterestedly at the miniature pyramid made out of eight creamer capsules. “Is that every single one of his teammates would do the same for him.”

Like a lock and key, the pieces of it click in her mind. When he lays it out like that, it’s almost obvious.

Sumire gestures to the pyramid. “May I?” At his nod, she (reluctantly) moves her barely-touched plate out of the way and considers the structure before her.

“Kurusu-senpai is doing this for his friends,” she states.

“Indeed.”

“So, if we plan accordingly…” extending her pointer finger and, carefully, prods the base. All eight pieces fall over, the one at the top crashing down to earth the hardest.

Sumire looks up to see Akechi smiling at her, if one would be willing to call it that; it’s slightly too sinister to be called a grin, with the way his eyes are filled with subsided manic energy, though it’s shadowed by the forelocks of his brown hair—he’s the spitting image of a classic Disney villain if it were an R-rated film.

“Now you’re playing the game.”

—

The plan was simple. Straight forward.

It wasn’t too different from a hostage situation—you can’t make a move if the hostages are held over you as leverage, forced to comply with whatever the gunman wanted so long as nobody gets hurt. Take away the citizens and suddenly the situation gets a lot simpler.

Maruki had, inadvertently or not, held a gun to the Thieves’ heads with Akira playing negotiator. All Akechi and Sumire have to do is remove the hostages from the scene safely. If Akira, the negotiator, can’t be reasoned with, then they’ll just have to place their trust in the rest of them to convince Akira themselves. They just need a bit of a wake-up call.

Really, it’s a simple solution to a complex problem. All that’s left is the execution.

—

YS: are you there? i’d like to ask you something. AG: What? YS: i understand that splitting up would be smarter to make this a lot speedier and id like not to stay in this reality any longer than necessary YS: but after thinking about it, isn’t it better to do it together to guarantee success? if we can’t fail on convincing them that their reality isn’t real, then doing it together is probably a good idea! AG: That may be true. I’d like this entire fiasco to be over as soon as possible. YS: same! And you also know them way better than i do :) AG: Please don’t remind me. YS: noted AG: Are you opposed to meeting in leblanc tomorrow? We can begin our plan there. YS: starting with Morgana-senpai? that’ll be good actually. he’s the only one i at least kind of befriended AG: You’re aware that he’s not here, right? That he is not physically reading the word ‘senpai’, right? YS: yes AG: Just making sure.

Leblanc is blessedly empty when they enter, the blunt yet strong fragrance of coffee beans seeming to waft from every direction with only the slightest hint of smoke drifting towards them from the bright orange tip of Sojiro’s cigarette. He tilts the corner of his lip up at their entrance, even as his eyes light up with curiosity.

“Morning,” he greets, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and snuffing out its embers on the ashtray. “Sorry bout that, shouldn’t be smoking in front of you kids—Niijima gives me a nasty look whenever I do it. So, what can I do you for? If it’s coffee you want, it’s on the house.”

“As tempting as that may be, we’re going to have to decline,” Akechi answers. He’s once again donning a mask of pleasantness, layered so thick that Sumire has to wonder how she ever believed it. “However, we’d love to speak with Morgana for a moment, if you don’t mind?”

“Sure,” Sojiro jerks his head at the wooden staircase. “Head on up.”

They nod their thanks and make their way upstairs.

Sumire had learned early on in her life that she wasn’t someone who was prone to falling for jump scares. Horror movies aren’t really an issue for her and haunted houses were always more of an interesting location to gauge visitors’ reactions rather than try to get anything out of it herself. Often times, it is psychological horror that affected her, the creepiness of it sliding into her mind that causes her to shake and tremble.

Even though Akechi had reminded her once more, even if she spent a good amount of time trying to picture if, even though on a technical level, she knew what she would be looking at—

“Yoshizawa? Oh, Akechi too! I didn’t expect to see you guys here.”

—Nothing could have possibly prepared her for the sight of human Morgana.

He’s sat on what she’s almost sure is Akira’s bed, though it’s a futon placed on top of a bunch of grocery pallets. He has dark hair that could be mistaken as black had the sunlight from the window not shined on him, and the only remnants that could have resonated his cat form is his once-collar turning into a gold chain paired with his bright, blue eyes. With a manga perched on his lap, he looks like an ordinary boy that she wouldn’t even think twice about.

It's a really unnerving thought.

“Hello Morgana,” Akechi says when Sumire can’t seem to find her words. “May we speak to you for a second?”

“Of course! Make yourselves at home. Er, sorry it’s a little messy,” he stands and clumsily beats the run-down couch with his human hands. “Don’t know how I never noticed the mess in here before—”

Sumire leans to Akechi, eyes never leaving the fussing boy. “You’re right.”

“About?”

“This is truly harrowing.”

“You overheard that conversation?”

“—But better late than never!” Morgana finishes, giving the sofa one last pat and gesturing for them to sit. “Oh, and just let you know, I can’t stay for too long; Lady Ann wants me to carry her stuff while she walks around Shibuya and, well what kind of gentleman would I be to say no?” He laughs, so elated that it’s almost like they missed out on a gut-busting joke.

“That’s fine, this won’t take long, Morgana-senpai.”

Morgana juts his chin out, poorly concealing his smugness. “Anything for you, Yoshizawa! Just like back in Odaiba.”

He blinks, brow creasing. “Odaiba...with Akira.” His tone turns confused, like the words that were coming out of his mouth were leaving without his consent. “That was a wild day, we just found a Palace. And you had your awakening, and I was so shocked and….” A hand comes up, clutching his head and eyes scrunched tightly. “I was…”

Sumire and Akechi lock eyes, the same thought going through their mind: it’s the same reaction that Akira had. A weight left her shoulders, knowing that just as they planned, it wasn’t difficult to remind them of the true reality.

What they didn’t expect was for Morgana to disoriently glance at them and say in a quiet voice, “I gotta go...take a walk.”

“Wait, hold on—” Sumire tries.

“Feel free to stay, but I, uh, have to think,” Morgana moves towards the staircase, only half-glancing at their perplexed faces before escaping.

They don’t move until they hear the bell ringing downstairs.

“That could have gone better,” Akechi sighs, voice tight with mild irritation.

“I don’t know why I didn’t put two and two together and predict this. I mean, that’s pretty much my reaction, too!” She throws her hands in the air. “I was too distracted by how Kurusu-senpai reacted.”

“Well, as we learn time and time again, Kurusu is the exception, not the rule.” Akechi moves to lean against an old work desk, and rather than normal student supplies littering it’s surface, it has strange-looking metals and hardware. “While it’s a shame to have failed in recruiting the cat, all is not lost. As long as we can convince one of them, it’ll at least be enough to make Kurusu hesitate. That’s all we need.”

“Is that the best move?” she asks, walking around the room and inspecting the fun little knickknacks strewn about. It’s probably not the most courteous move of hers to look at someone’s room without permission, but she can’t help it. “Should we try and convince Mona-senpai?”

“It’d be a waste of time, especially while we have six other people to speak to, and our time frame is limited as is.”

“Maybe they’ll naturally come to realize it, without our prompting? He already seemed pretty on the fence about his memories.”

“Perhaps. But like I said, I don’t do gambles.” Sumire peels her away from the realistic-looking ramen bowl just in time to see the flint in his eyes. “And hell would freeze over before I let this counterfeit reality become the real one.”

Sumire smiles, though her eyes are just as hard as his. “I understand the sentiment.”

They regard each other for a long moment.

Akechi readjusts his coat. “We should leave and try again tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Oh, maybe Boss is still up for the free coffee he mentioned.”

“Ugh, finally some good news.” They head down the stairs. “Hopefully we can make it quick—don’t want to take any chances.”

“Chances? I thought you liked the coffee here.”

“Oh, I do. But the regulars here might put a bit of a damper on the—”

The moment Akechi’s foot hits the main floor, the door to Leblanc swings open once more and a young girl with bright orange hair bursts in.

“--Situation.”

—

YS: who should come after Morgana-senpai? AG: It doesn’t matter. AG: But there are a few people who I want to postpone, if possible. YS: that’s fine, but why? AG: No reason, but if we can guarantee that we’ve convinced the others before them. AG: It’s a stroke of luck that Morgana’s wish was easy to figure out, but we have no such advantage afterwards. However, I have a select few...intuitions, for what their wishes might be. YS: that’s better than nothing! Lay them on me. AG: For some of them, nothing may be the better option.

“Ah, did you forget something?” Sojiro chides, chuckling. “I told you to double-check your bag before running off.

Futaba slaps her forehead. “Gah, I know, but there’s no way I’m missing out on a day of Akihabara with mom! It’s like getting the motherlode cheat in the Sims.” She hops over the counter and slides behind the bar, very nearly knocking over the yellow landline. “Agility plus three!”

“We have guests, Futaba, and business is hard enough as is without you jumping around.”

“Huh? People? Futaba scans the cafe, her mouth rounding to a perfect O as she is, in fact, not alone. “People! People I know!”

Sumire waves, charmed at the other girl’s exuberance. “Sorry to intrude.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s nice to see this place having some people around to move the dust every once in a while,” gesturing to the wall of canisters, her arm outstretched like an experienced realtor. “Feel free to have whatever you’d like, free of charge!”

“Futaba,” Sojiro exasperates, with no small amount of adoration laced in every syllable. He turns to them in a what can you do? gesture. “She’s right, though. Say the word and I’ll brew something up.”

Futaba gasps. “Mom! She’s still out there waiting. Oh, big brain idea comin’ in!” She redirects her outstretched hand to point at them, still standing awkwardly at the staircase. “I’ll bring mom in here and introduce you both!”

Akechi stiffens on her left. “No need, we were just about to—”

“Ah, ah, ah! Nope!” she interrupts, already halfway out the door. “I’ll be back before you can recite the national anthem.” Futaba runs out, leaving the ball ringing behind her.

“That girl is a whirlwind,” Sojiro says gruffly. “Hope she didn’t scare you off. Especially you, Akechi,” he ducks behind the bar, rummaging through its shelves. “You ran out real fast last time you came in here.”

Sumire’s eyes dart towards Akechi when he doesn’t answer. “Are you okay?”

He’s about to answer when Futaba decides to burst in for the second time, chest heaving and face pink. A grin takes up every crevice of her features as she clutches the hand of a woman looking fondly at her. “I come bearing gifts! Well, a gift.”

Sojiro sighs. “Sorry Wakaba, can’t reign her in like you can.”

“You’d be a fool to think anyone reign her in,” Wakaba laughs, before tilting her head curiously at Akechi and Sumire. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“They’re friends with Akira and I!” Futaba says, chest puffed out. “Yoshizawa and Akechi, meet my mom—” For a split second, Futaba’s eyes widen before grabbing the counter’s ledge. “Nngh…”

“Sweetheart?”

“Futaba, what’s wrong?”

Sumire turns to Akechi, a clear question in her eyes. What triggered it?

“My head,” Futaba groans. She removes her glasses and rubs her eyes furiously with her palm.

However, the minute she pulls her hand away, Futaba’s eyes open and Sumire feels her stomach lurch uncomfortably. Those are no longer the eyes of the girl playfully giving away the contents of a humble coffee shop to mess with her dad; they’re the eyes of someone who’s confused, shocked, and, above all else livid.

And she’s directing it all at Akechi.

“Mom,” she says, voice trembling. “I feel better, so let’s go.”

Wakaba frowns. “Are you sure? You look so pale."

“Don’t worry! I just—I just really want to go.”

Futaba throws another glare at Akechi and an inquisitive look at Sumire before leaving, her previous energy sapped away.

SIghing, Wakaba gives them an apologetic look. “Sorry about that. Futaba has such a one-track mind. I’ll be sure that she apologizes—”

“Don’t,” Akechi says. “She doesn’t have to apologize for anything.”

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you," some of the tension in her shoulders dissipate. “I’m so glad to have people like you looking out for my Futaba.”

Akechi doesn’t say anything, even when Wakaba gives them a wave, following Futaba out to the backstreets of Yongen.

It was quiet for a long moment.

Sojiro clears his throat. “You still up for that coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Akechi replies, his voice possessing an odd quality to it. “I must get going now. If you’d excuse me,” In a few quick strides, he’s out of the door.

Sumire bows quickly. “Thank you for having us,” she says politely before following him out.

Looking left and right, Akechi is briskly heading towards the station. She catches up to him with ease.

“You knew that would happen,” she says flatly.

He keeps walking. “I did.”

“And you didn’t tell me? Didn’t you think that, I don’t know, would have affected our mission?”

“I didn’t tell you because it’s none of your business, and if I’m not mistaken, that’s still the case.”

“None of my business?” She ups her pace and stands in front of Akechi, forcing him to stop in his tracks. With him standing six inches taller than her, their height gap is a wide one, but in no way is Sumire going to let him keep looking down on her. “It became my business the minute we wanted the same thing: to fix this reality. I’ve come to understand that you’re not interested in being friends, but do not go against your own word by refusing to see me as an ally.”

They stare each other down for a few seconds, a handful of the neighbourhood’s residents whispering about them and scuttling away in fear that they might get caught in the middle of some teenage spat.

“Fine,” he relents. “It wasn’t the best move to withhold information. This won’t happen again. But,” looking around, there’s still some people milling about, an old man dutifully listening to the radio. “Not here.”

“Do you promise?”

Akechi scoffs and moves around her. “Would you like to pinky swear?”

“Akechi.”

“Fine, yes, I promise. Are you really such a goody two shoes that you need a damn contract?”

Sumire frowns. “Goody two shoes?”

“As straight laced as the student council president herself,” he confirms, pulling out his commuter's card as they near the station. “At least Niijima broke out of it once she realized what she was fighting for,” he looks back at her. “Have you?”

Clenching a fist, she says, “You have no idea what I’m fighting for. And I’m still not sure if you know what you’re fighting for, Akechi.”

His gaze hardens. “I know damn well what I’m fighting for. Not everyone has philanthropy running through their veins. That’s Kurusu’s job.”

A crowd of people exit their trains, filling up the station. By the time it dissipates, Akechi is gone.

—

YS: shouldn’t we try to approach Sakamoto-senpai first? YS: i’m sure kurusu-senpai doesn’t play favorites, but he IS his best friend, and, well, in love with him. it would be smart to guarantee that he’s on our side AG: True. Whether we like it or not, that jester is an important factor to the success of the mission. AG: But that’s why I think we should save him for last. It’s better to guarantee everyone first and then Sakamoto as a last resort. YS: (´;︵;`) AG: ...What. YS: that’s rude to sakamoto-senpai. he’s really nice! AG: No, I mean what is...that? YS: an emoji? i love them, they’re very expressive. AG: Stop that. YS: .·´¯`(>▂<)´¯`·.

Instead of taking the train right away, Sumire decides to take a look at the inner workings of Yongen.

It’s a lovely little area—away from the insatiable hustle of Shibuya but close enough in case you want to indulge yourself in shopping and the never ending waves of shoppers. Yongen is like it’s younger, humbler cousin; small groceries, a quiet movie theatre, batting cages, and of course, a quaint cafe with a dedicated fan base of elderly couples, pretentious film critics, and a large group of teenagers.

She goes to none of these commodities, finding herself drawn to the second-hand shop run by a kind old man. An expensive habit it may be, but Sumire has always fallen back to shopping whenever she’s feeling frustrated at the world. She may not have a closet worthy of Vague, but it’s an enjoyable distraction at the very least.

And after that conversation with Akechi, she’ll take any distraction she can get.

Sumire takes a deep inhale. It would be laughably easy to let herself snap on the detective, with the stunt he pulled earlier. This mission is difficult enough as it is, especially without the mind games. It’s like playing tug-of-war with a brick wall; she’s lost the game before she even began. No, she refuses to lose. If there’s one thing she’s learned in gymnastics (except how to execute a flawless aerial cartwheel) is that half the competition is the mindset you have walking on to the mat. If you take a step with the slightest belief that you’re going to fail, the medal was doomed to fall in someone else’s hands.

Sumire begins to shop even harder.

She’s in the middle of inspecting a strangely charming glasses case that her father would absolutely love when she hears a surprised, “Yoshizawa?”

Nearly dropping the case, she turns to find a sweaty, grinning Ryuji, hand gripping one of his earphones that she can hear even from here. “Sakamoto-senpai!” Carefully placing it back down, she heads towards him, waving. “Do you run in this area?”

“Heck yeah! Life hack:” he looks around like someone who’s about to spill the beans on nuclear codes. “If you look tired enough, Boss’ll give you free drinks.” Sumire can’t help but laugh, and he goes on. “And y’know, I see ‘Kira here all the time, so that’s always a plus.

She fights not to let the smile drop from her face. “That must be nice.”

“Eh, it ain’t half-bad,” he says ruefully, but there was no hiding the clear fondness his voice possesses. “Hey, you got something goin’ on right now?”

“Um, not particularly.”

“Eff yeah! How about you and I walk around? There’s a real nice park down the street and, uh,” his expression turns sheepish. “In all honesty, you look like you could use a bit of a breather right now.”

Three things run through Sumire’s mind in the span of a breath: Ryuji’s definitely one of the nicest senpais she’s ever had, Akechi would probably warn her that hanging out with Ryuji might be stupid on her part, and that’s a huge part as to why she’s most definitely going to agree to spend time with him.

“I’d love to, as long as I’m not interrupting your workout in any way.”

“Nah, I’m on my cool down anyway.” Yanking out his other earphone and shoving them in his track pants (trademark Shujin red and white). “Let’s get this show on the road!”

“Yes, let’s!”

A fourth thought ran through her mind; a quiet, subdued, selfish thought that she herself is too wary to consciously think about. Her goal right now is an honest one. She just wants a window—the same window that Akira had looked out from. What does he see? What’s going through his mind when he sees Ryuji? All she wants is a little bit of perspective.

“What were you listening to?” Sumire asks. “During your run.”

“Oh, nothing crazy,” Ryuji shrugs. “Just some political podcasts.”

“Really?” She always assumed he listened more to punk songs that hurt her ears.

“Yeah, I mean there’s a lot of shit going on in the world, and there ain’t much I can do ‘bout it. I might as well get pissed off in, like, a smart way, so I know what I’m talking about.”

“That’s really impressive! I usually don’t listen to anything while I run since I have to actively focus on my form.”

Ryuji’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “You run? I mean, yeah, no duh you run, you’re like all gymnasticsy and stuff! And you don’t listen to music?”

“Not really.”

“That’s hardcore. That’s like what monks do on the mountains.”

“Oh, I’m nowhere near that level.”

“You’re closer than I am, at least. You need crazy good concentration when you do your…” Ryuji does a messy hop-and-spin move. “How long you been doing that by the way?”

“Gymnastics? Since I was really young.”

“No way. You gotta tell me about it!”

The two of them walk around the park with Sumire explaining her journey of experiencing the competitive world of gymnastics (carefully exempting the darker parts) and Ryuji oohs and ahhs at the appropriate times, eagerly asking her technical questions on her regimen with a crazy amount of detail. It’s clear that he’s passionate about athleticism and Sumire can’t help but be infected by his genuine enthusiasm, asking him for tips on how to avoid cramps while running long distance in return.

But one thing that Sumire can’t help but notice is how permanent Akira’s presence is in their conversation, despite not being here physically. Whether it’s Ryuji mentioning him in passing, or rolling his eyes at something he did, or just asking in a teasing tone if Akira’s actually a good senpai (“c’mon, he ain’t here, I’m no snitch I promise!”). Despite all that, it’s obvious it’s all done with a bucketful of tenderness; a clear and unbreaking thread that ties the two together that no blade in the world can cut apart.

And that’s the moment that Sumire realizes, only for a split second, she got what she wanted: perspective.

While she herself may not harbor those feelings, it’s easy to see how someone could—especially if they were a transfer student who had distressing rumors surrounding them since day one. Sumire can understand the impact that one person may have on you when it feels like you’re fighting all of Shibuya. She can comprehend the need to fight for that person’s happiness—after all, isn’t that what she’s doing?

A realization jolts her as she watches Ryuji speak, eyes bright and hands moving animatedly, that he’s probably still under the rose-tinted lenses of Akira’s wish.

He drops her off the station with a wave once they’re done. Sumire’s left to deal with sifting through which parts of their conversation was either byproduct of the wish or which was the real Sakamoto Ryuji.

—

AG: There’s also the matter of finding their locations. Some of them aren’t as straight forward in their hangouts, while others are as predictable as playing poker with Sakamoto. AG: Knowing Kitagawa, he would be loitering around the museum in Ueno. It would be easy to ambush him there.

They find Yusuke gazing at the portrait of Sayuri in Ueno the next day.

It was an odd sight, seeing Sayuri out in the open again. Sumire only knew about its history through public knowledge—a once internationally renowned artist named Madarame had been stealing his students’ art and abusing them under his care. While Yusuke’s name had initially been anonymous, it was impossible to completely leave him incognito with how massive the case had been; the painting of Sayuri, once praised to high heaven and appreciated by people who had never even picked up a paintbrush, forever bastardized and tainted by the greed of Madarame.

And now it’s on display once more.

“Let’s get this over with,” Akechi says as they close the gap between them and Yusuke.

“Be nice,” she reminds him, and clears her throat. “Kitagawa-san?”

Yusuke slowly peels his eyes away from the painting and lights up once he processes who was speaking. “Yoshizawa, Akechi, hello. Have you come here to look at my mother’s painting as well?”

“Yes,” says Sumire. “It’s truly beautiful and...a shock to see.”

He nods, his vision trailing back towards the portrait. “It’s all thanks to my sensei’s unyielding patronage that I’m lucky enough to view it from a museum,” Yusuke speaks with warmth, a tone contradicting the bluntness that Yoshizawa had associated him with. “Everyday I thank the hand of fate that dealt my cards; had I not had my sensei supporting me, I don’t know where I’d be today.”

Sumire swallows. “Do you mean Madarame?”

“Of course!” Yusuke claps his hands together, elated. “Speaking of, would you two like to join us for dinner tonight? I’d so dearly love for you both to meet him,” Yusuke smiles and she feels her chest tighten. “To spread the word of my sensei’s excellence as a thank you for what he’s done for my mother...nothing would make me happier.”

You don’t know them like I do. You don’t know how much it means for them to have their lives back.

Akira’s voice enters her mind, and she almost sympathizes with his words. Mostly though, all she can think about is the cruelty of letting Yusuke continue on like this.

“Kitagawa,” Akechi cuts in, unfazed. “Is that Sayuri you were looking at?”

Yusuke’s brow creases. “Sayuri...? That isn’t what it’s called….”

“Is Madarame-san a good sensei?” Sumire presses, and holds back a flinch when his resolve begins to crumble in front of her.

“Madarame,” he whispers. “Am I being fooled again?”

“Only if you let yourself be,” says Sumire.

“So focus,” says Akechi.

They wait with bated breath as they watch Yusuke struggle to reign in the whirlwind of thoughts flying through his brain, clenching his fists and shoulders tensing.

And then, slowly, he raises his head at them, defeated.

“Excuse me, but I must be going.”

Sumire winces, and stretches her hand out. “Kitagawa—” But he was already gone.

Beside her, Akechi lets out a hiss. “Useless. They’re all useless.”

“We still have four to go,” she reminds him. “And please try to understand his pain. He lost his mother and he has to find out that he was being used. That’s horrible.”

“Oh, boohoo. So did I, but you don’t see me having a breakdown in the middle of a museum.”

Her eyes widen and Akechi scoffs. “Save me the pity bullshit, we don’t have time for that. Besides,” he heads for the exit. “That hasn’t bothered me in a long, long time.”

—

YS: oh, i know where one of them may be! Takamaki-senpai frequents the underground mall, and i bet we can find her there :) AG: Understood. AG: (*❛‿❛)→ YS: sorry? AG: What? You were correct in that they’re useful for conveying expressions. AG: The arrow indicates that it’s pointing. I.e. you have a point that Takamaki is probably there. YS: ooh! I never thought about it like that. nice one!

Sumire didn’t know how she didn’t realize it sooner.

Rumors are a staple of Shujin Academy; if you weren’t the focus of one, you’d be the one spreading it—the gust of wind amidst a wildfire. In her first year, there were really only three hotspots in the rumour mill that were constantly being shoved in Sumire’s ears: the vulgar used-to-be ace of the track team who’s now a violent delinquent, the serial killer/arsonist/elephant trafficker criminal transfer student that came in early April, and the gorgeous foreigner that no one can take their eyes off, least of all the coach of the volleyball team.

Sumire isn’t a stranger to the cycle, having been the focus of one ever since she was made an honors student. While it had made her life unnecessarily difficult, it granted her a different outlook on those three. It has shown her an obvious truth that people seem to forget when they’re parroting false facts: most rumors aren’t true.

The delinquent isn’t actually a delinquent, but someone who refuses to stay quiet in the name of injustice. The transfer student is only a criminal in the eyes of the law, someone who had the opportunity to save someone and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again, no matter the cost. The foreign student is just a girl who’s unfortunate enough to end up in the spotlight of an irredeemable scumbag of a teacher that never hesitated to hold his power over students.

But.

There was another rumor that followed Ann, one that didn’t get displayed on a billboard and screamed from the rooftops. It was passed around quietly, like a drug deal, and it was buried beneath the Kamoshida hearsay.

Most rumors aren’t true, but seeing Ann and Shiho interact with each other in the mall, Sumire didn’t know how she didn’t realize sooner that they’re head-over-heels in love with each other.

“Ugh, Shiho, I seriously can’t stop thinking about that spike you did in the last game!” Ann gushes as they shop for shoes. “It’s just like bam! Like some kind of cannon! I’m so glad it was taped.”

“Stop, you’re overreacting,” Shiho rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling wide enough that it wipes away any heat.

“No way, I’m gonna keep yelling about how incredible my girlfriend is until—Oh, hold on Shiho—Hey! Akechi! Yoshizawa! Over here!”

Ann enthusiastically waves them over. “Fancy seeing you two here. Doing some New Year’s shopping? Shiho and I are just celebrating the fact that she was the MVP in her last volleyball tournament,” she puffs out her chest. “But it really stinks that I couldn’t be there to watch in person with her, with her school being so far and all. She’s coming back this year, though! I’m so excited!”

Sumire nods, smiling, and tries not to stare at Shiho. Everyone’s seen a glimpse of what Shiho looked like after that day. No one thought that she’d be walking at all anytime soon, and even after intensive therapy it would be difficult to bring it back a hundred percent. But here she is now, speaking casually about playing in a volleyball tournament like she was born to do it.

“Oh my God, Ann, they don’t need to know that.” Shiho turns to Akechi, sheepish. “Sorry you hear all that, especially when I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Suzui Shiho. It’s good to meet you, detective.”

“Pleasure,” he replies, smiling politely. “It seems to me that you’re looking much better, Suzui-san.”

Sumire should really stop being surprised at the complete lack of reservation that Akechi possesses when it comes to reminding people of the true reality, no matter how heart-wrenching their past is.

“I’ve always been fine,” says Suzui, the comment flying over her head. “I hope you’re doing well, too.”

Akechi’s eye twitches and Sumire hurries to jump in. “It seems the two of you are happy,” she glances at Ann, and tries not to feel too bad when she says, “Especially considering what happened with Kamoshida.”

A beat passes before Ann’s gaze begins to cloud over with a now-familiar expression of disorientation and pain. Holding her breath, hoped that they could finally have their first ally amongst the Thieves.

Then Ann shakes her head aggressively and they knew it was a lost cause.

Chuckling nervously, Ann grabs Shiho’s hand. “Sorry, I just remembered we had plans to go somewhere. See you later!” Ann begins to drag Shiho—and herself—away.

Akechi clicks his tongue. “Four people in a group founded on justice and they’ve chosen to ignore their own. This is getting pathetic.”

“We still have three to go,” Sumire says. “There’s still time.”

Eyeing her with disdain, “How is that you don’t seem the least bit bothered about this?”

“There’s still three people to get to! And, not to mention, there’s a possibility that they’ll come to terms with their feelings in due time.” She tilts her head. “Have you forgotten the bonds that Kurusu-senpai has with his friends?”

“Of course not.”

“Then it’s fine,” she says. “We just have to believe that they’ll be there for him when he needs him most. Even if they aren’t here at this very moment, that’s okay.” Tucking one of her long, red locks behind her ear, she smiles. “Faith is an advantage in its own right.”

#owo? whats this? another chapter? #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #p5 #p5r #goro akechi #ryuji sakamoto #sumire yoshizawa #kasumi yoshizawa #blinding lights #akiryu #pegoryu #akira kurusu #writing goro like a piece of shit is just so good its like therapy BUT YOU GOTTA DO IT RESPECTFULLY #i may hate him but i dont hate him. no <3 #anyway wear a mask and social distance #mine