#he looks like a man pondering a homicide. in reality he is pondering what kind of chicharrones to order

[columboscreens]

[peraltasames]

mountains and valleys (and all that will come in between) - chapter one

Jake, Amy, and four distinct yet painfully similar times the universe pulled them apart and pushed them back together.

read on ao3

part one: undercover

When Jake leaves Amy standing outside the precinct, her mouth slightly agape and the air sucked out of her lungs, she doesn’t know when she’s going to see him again.

In a much darker realm of possibility that she doesn’t dare to explore for too long, she doesn’t know if she’s going to see him again.

She recalls in vivid horror the time that her old precinct, back when she was a beat cop, received word that one of their detectives was tortured and killed on an undercover operation scarily similar to the one Jake is embarking on. She hopes and prays that the detective the NYPD lost that day five years ago didn’t leave some unlucky man or woman with a confession of love and longing that they would never get the chance to act on.

She stands in place, her feet incapable of movement, for an indefinite amount of time. She isn’t sure if it’s five minutes or an hour that pass by - or, if she’s lucky, the entirety of the three to five months that the FBI estimates Jake’s mission to take - but eventually the wind picks up and a shiver runs up her spine. She feels her phone buzz in her pocket and wonders how long it’s been doing that, how long she’s been completely unaware her surroundings.

Teddy Wells

Hi, Amy. Are you still coming over? It’s unlike you to be late.

Teddy Wells

(2) Missed Calls

There are a million things she wants to do right now: run after Jake (though he’s long gone), scream, throw something breakable, drink an entire bottle of vodka, flee the country. Spending time with Teddy is low on the list. She isn’t obligated to - they haven’t been dating for that long and it’s perfectly okay for her to choose a night in without giving him a full explanation - but blowing off her boyfriend would mean that something has changed.

She can’t admit that she feels as though her entire world has been shifted on its axis. Not to herself. Definitely not to the man she is dating. And not to Jake, either, because he never gave her the damn chance to.

He disappeared like a wildfire that was suddenly extinguished, and she’s left to deal with the rubble.

-

According to the alarm clock next to her bed, which she must arch her body over Teddy’s sleeping form to read properly, it’s nearly three in the morning.

Precisely five hours after the time that Teddy insists they go to bed following their evening crossword, and she’s gotten - in total - about one hour of sleep.

It’s not Amy’s fault. She knows she has to be up in three hours for work and it’s going to be a busy day working as a secondary on Rosa’s homicide case. She knows she’s barely slept all week and her body is hating her for it.

She blames a part of her brain that she knows from AP bio but is too damn tired to recall for the images that appear every time she closes her eyes.

Jake, laughing in the passenger seat of her squad car about the imaginary backstory he’s invented for one of his undercover personas.

Jake, biting his lip and absentmindedly running his hand through messy hair as he stares pensively at a case file, the gears in his mind turning wildly.

Jake, standing in front of her eight days ago and saying “I kinda wish something could happen between us...romantic-stylez”.

The ethical complications of thinking such thoughts about another man while in bed next to her sleeping boyfriend clog her mind, making it even harder to rest.

She trudges to the kitchen, surrendering to her losing battle with sleep. Her socked feet tip-toe on the hardwood floor to avoid any creaking sounds that may wake Teddy.

It isn’t until she raises a glass of water to her lips that she notices her hands are shaking. Her entire body is shaking, actually, which is one of the first indicators of an oncoming panic attack. She tries to breathe slowly, close her eyes and count to ten, like she’s been instructed to. It works some of the time.

“C’mon, Amy,” she mumbles to herself, shutting her eyes even tighter as she feels tears threaten to escape. “Get it together.”

I know you’re with Teddy, and I know it’s going really well.

She shakes her head, slamming her glass down on the counter a bit too loudly. “Stop thinking about it,” she says aloud, willing Jake’s voice in her head to just disappear.

I don't know what's gonna happen on this assignment, and if something bad goes down, I think I'd be pissed at myself if I didn't say this.

Her fingernails dig into her palms as she tries to ground herself to reality. She’s worried that these thoughts and emotions are going to eat her alive.

“Fuck,” she blurts out, her hand coming to cover her mouth the moment she blurts out the word. The Santiagos conditioned their children not to curse at a young age through loss of before-bed reading time, and it’s stuck with her through to adulthood. She rarely swears, and only does so in situations that demand such a word to be spoken. But, damn, if this doesn’t fit the bill, what does?

I kinda wish something could happen, between us, romantic styles.

In the darkness of her kitchen, with not a soul there to hear her, she whispers:

“So do I.”

-

It takes another five days for Amy to confide in someone. She’s not thinking about Jake - one of the rare moments of the past two weeks that her thoughts manage to travel elsewhere - as she sits on Teddy’s living room sofa, reading one of her favourite crime novels while he flips through the channels.

“Do you want to watch this one?”

She’s too engrossed in her novel, which is steadily climbing towards the big climax she’s read a dozen times but never tires of, to look up from its pages.

“Whatever you want, I’m not really watching,” she mumbles, hastily turning the page.

Teddy murmurs words of agreement and selects whatever title he was pondering, and it takes about twenty seconds for Amy to recognize the dialogue.

“You throw quite a party. I didn’t realize they celebrated Christmas in Japan.”

Before she looks up at the screen, she’s briefly transported to several distinct memories of the past few years: Jake’s couch four months ago, a half-eaten pizza and two cans of orange soda in front of them, watching this very movie; a year before that, viewing it (along with the sequel) at Charles’ place during Jake’s surprise birthday party; her first year at the Nine-Nine, sitting in the break room with a shitty laptop on the table playing the film while Captain McGintley took his afternoon nap, despite Amy’s better judgement.

“Everything okay?”

Amy glances down at the book, which she unknowingly dropped in her lap as her eyes fixed on Bruce Willis shooting a gun on Teddy’s television. She realizes with a sharp pain in her chest that this is the first time in years that she’s watched this movie without Jake present.

“Do you not like Die Hard? We can watch something else-“

“No,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “I mean, no, I don’t like Die Hard, but...that’s not what’s bothering me.”

Teddy furrows his eyebrows and turns off the television, twisting his body to face her and, perhaps, to figure out what she’s thinking.

“There’s a reason I’ve been kind of weird the past couple of weeks.”

He prompts her to continue with a slow nod. It certainly has not gone unnoticed the way she’s flinched away from so many of his touches, declined his advances in the bedroom every evening, stared into space for most of their dinners together.

“You know how Peralta got fired?”

Teddy nods again, somewhat more apprehensively. Jake’s been a source of tension for them before, from their first date after Tactical Village Day when Teddy questioned if they had some sort of romantic history and Amy rambled incessantly about how he’s her coworker and she would never date him rather than giving a simple and far less suspicious “no.”

“You can’t tell anyone this, but he had to get fired so he could go on an undercover mission with the FBI. And before he left, he, um...” She swallows the lump in her throat, which now feels incredibly dry. “He told me he had feelings for me.”

Teddy’s eyes widen, and he discards the blanket previously draped over his lap.

“Well, you told him it’s never gonna happen, right?” he asks quickly, anger building in his voice.

“I didn’t really get the chance, he kinda just dropped the bomb and walked away and we can’t have any contact-“

“Do you have feelings for him?”

The right answer to that question isn’t immediately evident to Amy - a “no” would be a blatant lie, but “yes” would immediately terminate a relationship that she isn’t sure she’s ready to see the end of. Teddy is the perfect man on paper, the kind of man that her father would probably approve of upon their first introduction. He’s a good cop, just like Jake, but his approach to detective work is methodical and precise and completely unlike the frantic (brilliant) energy of Jake solving a case nobody else, even Amy herself, could solve. She feels comfortable with him, she feels safe, but she’s wondered from time to time if it’s a little too safe. It’s only logical - there’s no way he can break her heart if he never really has it in the first place.

Regardless of her intentions, she gathers from Teddy’s disappointed glare that the right answer is probably not complete silence.

“I think I-I’m confused.”

Teddy pauses, his ears reddening like he’s gearing up for an argument, but instead lets out a heavy sigh and nods his head. “Okay. I guess you should probably-“

“Go home and take some time to think,” Amy finishes.

“I was going to say we should talk about this, but…if that’s what you need.”

Amy looks at him apologetically and presses a quick peck to his cheek before standing to gather her things.

“I’ll call you on the weekend,” she calls out to him before shutting his front door behind her, scurrying downstairs and to the nearest bodega to buy a pack of cigarettes.

-

The next three months bring longer days and warmer weather to New York. Summer means the precinct is at a more acceptable temperature for Amy’s eternally-cold skin, it means the majority of her colleagues are cashing in their time off and she has more casework to keep herself busy, and this year it means long nights hiding at work to avoid her boyfriend who is still, somehow, her boyfriend despite her weeks of confusion and claiming she felt they were “out of sync.”

Really, the confusion is far from resolved. It definitely won’t be until Jake is back and she can at least speak to him about everything, but it’s become increasingly unclear when that will be as the three-month park passes and they still have little to no information on the status of his case.

It’s a particularly hot June afternoon, shortly before the end of her shift and the beginning of the weekend. She’s heading to New Jersey tomorrow morning (it’s no coincidence that she’s visiting her parents so much more frequently these past few months - Jersey is a Teddy-free zone, and therefore a hard-to-answer-question-free zone) and wrapping up the last of a string of open-and-shut B&Es.

Her head jolts up from her desk when she hears the sound of the captain exiting his office, the familiar clacking of his shoes on the tile floor a sound that she’s taught herself to respond to with alertness.

“Jeffords, Santiago, Boyle and Diaz, can I see you all for a moment?”

She’s up at her feet in an instant, the first to enter the captain’s office as the others follow behind her. Rosa’s the last to walk in, and Holt closes the door immediately behind her.

“What’s going on, sir?” Terry asks, crossing his arms.

“A friend of mine at the FBI has given me some insight into Peralta’s case that I felt I should share with all of you,” Holt explains, moving to stand behind his desk.

She can’t gage from his expression whether the news is that he’s coming home or that he’s dead or something else entirely, but her knees go weak nonetheless and she grabs onto the back of a chair as subtilely as possible.

“What is it?” Charles asks quickly with wide eyes. “Is Jake okay?”

“He’s alive,” Holt says quickly, and Amy’s world stops spinning long enough that she’s able to nod in understanding and stand a little straighter. “The case is going well, and there is a chance that they’re getting close to being able to set up a sting. Unfortunately, the closer that Peralta gets to the Ianucci family, the more their enemies become his. He hasn’t sustained any major injuries, but the danger of the case has grown exponentially…”

Amy watches Holt’s lips move for another minute or two, but the rest of the words fade out into a dull humming sound in her ears. She wants to collapse to the floor or run to the bathroom and throw up, but her feet are glued to the floor.

“Santiago, are you alright?”

It’s not the first time the voice of her commanding officer is the only thing to snap her out of a heavy trance. She looks up at Holt and realizes that he’s done his spiel and his eyes, along with everyone else in the room’s, are fixed on her.

“I’m fine, sir,” she says, supporting her statement with a contender for the most obviously fake smile in history. “I’m sorry, will you excuse me? I think I’m getting a-a call-“

With a small nod of approval from Captain Holt, she’s pushing past Rosa towards the exit and running to the roof. She needs air. She needs nicotine. She needs, and this one is by far the most pressing, to see Jake Peralta healthy and alive.

-

A dark corner at Shaw’s and several bottles of beer, Amy quickly realizes, is the best and only available antidote for the day she’s had. No Teddy, no smalltalk with coworkers, nothing but the numbing effect of the alcohol on her tired brain.

She hasn’t spent much time here over the past few months. It turns out there are a lot of places that feel just a little bit wrong without Jake around. Some are unavoidable - work, for instance, and the little deli across the street that they both love. Others, she avoids at all cost - the bar, his neighbourhood, that one apartment building on Barton Street where they conducted a stakeout many months ago on the worst (yet somehow, best) date of her life.

“What’s up with you?”

She looks up from anxiously picking at the wrapper of her bottle at her fellow detective and - sometimes, Amy thinks - friend.

“Oh, hey Rosa,” Amy says quickly, already raising her guard. “Um, nothing’s up with me. What’s up with you?”

She sighs as Rosa gives her the look that she knows by now to mean that she is not having any of her bullshit and subsequently slides into the seat across from her.

“Fine,” Amy mumbles after a few moments of Rosa’s hard stare. She’s a little drunk and feeling a lot of emotions, so she settles on the one that’s the easiest to express right now - anger. “I’m mad at him.”

Rosa narrows her eyes. “Teddy?”

Amy shakes her head incredulously. She supposes it’s the natural assumption, him being her boyfriend and all, but she’s never mad at Teddy. He doesn’t do anything wrong. Even if he did, she doubts he could ever make her feel as mad as she does right now.

“Peralta,” Amy clarifies, not helping the look of confusion on Rosa’s face. “He’s…the worst. I’m pissed at him.”

“For what? He’s been gone for months.”

Amy laughs, taking a long swig of her beer until its contents are completely drained. She imagines she looks like a crazy person as she slams the bottle on the table and continues laughing.

“That’s the problem, Diaz. He left for months, right after he-” She hiccups from the recent chugging of her beverage. “He told me he likes me. Like, likes me likes me. For realz, romantic-stylez, likes me. Jake Peralta.”

Rosa eyebrows raise a little bit, but there is no gasp of shock that follows Amy’s confession. After a moment, she simply nods.

“Hold up,” Amy mumbles, her hands gripping the table as she begins to feel slightly dizzy. “Did you know? Did he tell you?”

“No, Jake and I don’t talk about that crap,” Rosa asserts quickly. “But…I suspected it for a while. I think everyone kinda did.”

Amy lets out a sigh of exasperation, suddenly feeling like the worst detective on Earth. Has he really liked her for a while? Potentially before she embarked on her current relationship, satisfactory yet completely dull in comparison to the excitement of bickering with Jake while on a case?

“He just left and now he could get hurt or-or die and he didn’t even give me the chance to respond,” she whines, burying her face in her hands as her hair falls like a curtain around her head. “What a complete ass.”

“So you like him back, huh?”

Amy hurriedly brushes the hair out of her face to look the other woman in the eye.

“I never said that,” she snaps, once again reverting to the defensive. “I-he’s Jake, I wouldn’t-I mean, maybe, but I’m still with Teddy and I’m just confused, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I just don’t want him to die. That doesn’t mean I like him.”

“Okay.”

“It would be nice to get the chance to figure it out, though. With him here.”

“I know.”

“And…I don’t want to lose him.”

Rosa’s eyes soften a little this time, though her tone remains steady: “You won’t.”

Amy holds her coworker’s - no, they’re definitely friends - gaze, nodding slowly. Rosa’s right about pretty much everything. She hopes this is no exception.

“I need another drink.”

“I don’t think so, Santiago,” Rosa stands and blocks her path back to the bar. “C’mon, I’ll take you home. I haven’t had anything to drink yet.”

A few minutes later, in the passenger seat of Rosa’s car, Amy opens her eyes for the first time since they left the Shaw’s parking lot and turns her head to face Rosa as she focuses on driving.

“Do you think me and Jake - uh, romantic-stylez - would be bad idea?”

Rosa pauses and glances over briefly. “I don’t think you’re gonna remember this tomorrow.”

Amy just curls in on herself and gives into her drunken desire to zone out and stare out the window at the passing city lights.

“But no,” Rosa mutters faintly just before Amy passes out. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea.”

-

Amy doesn’t get much warning that he’s coming back. There’s been whispers among their detective squad, but no real confirmation that this would be unlike the many other times they were close to a sting but couldn’t quite pull it off.

She has the weekend off, and Sunday evening she gets a text from Rosa:

Jake’s back. They got most of the Ianuccis yesterday - busted at a family wedding. He’ll be at work tomorrow.

She’s beyond grateful for the heads up, because she has at least twelve hours to compose herself before she’s face-to-face with him for the first time in six months..

On one hand, she’s entirely unprepared to see him. On the other, she’s tempted to drive to his apartment right now and kiss him harder than she’s ever kissed anyone.

The more rational part of Amy, the part that is still in a relationship with a reasonable man for a woman approaching her thirties to be dating, wins this one.

She barely sleeps the night before he returns, her mind drafting a dozen options for what she may say to him when they reunite. Some are more dramatic or cliche than others, many would morally require her to break up with Teddy first. All of them end with some acknowledgement of her feelings, but none end up leaving her mouth when the time comes.

They’re in the evidence lockup, alone in a room together for the first time in so long - it felt like an eternity for her, at least - and she just can’t say it. Not like this, not now, not yet.

“I’m still with Teddy. Romantic-stylez.”

The hurt, slightly surprised look on Jake’s face - which she has been subconsciously re-memorizing since the moment he stepped off the elevator - makes her regret the choice instantly, but the real sweeping blow to her heart comes when he takes back his confession a moment later.

Later that day - somewhere between the clinking of glasses, Jake respectfully informing her that he does indeed still have feelings for her but understands that she’s still with Teddy, and a quiet walk alone to the subway after she decides she needs some air - Amy back to square one in terms of the confusion as to where her heart lies.

She arrives at Teddy’s at their agreed upon time and lets herself in, taking her boots off and placing them in the orderly line of his shoes on the rack by the door.

“In the kitchen, Amy!”

The sight before her in his large, well-lit kitchen with marble countertops is nothing new. She can estimate immediately that he’s about halfway through his Pilsner-brewing process, which he’s recently become quite obsessed with. Simply through frequent observation, she’s pretty sure she could make Pilsners in her sleep at this point.

“How was work today?” Teddy asks without looking up from the stove. “I heard Peralta’s back from his big, fancy FBI operation.”

The ignores the condescending tone and obvious jealousy, taking a seat at one of the stools and dropping her purse.

“It was fine.”

“Did you finally tell him nothing’s gonna happen between you two?”

Amy nods slowly, staring at her hands in her lap, and then realizes he still isn’t facing her. “Yeah. I told him.”

Teddy adjusts the burner on the stove and turns to her with a wide smile that fades the moment they make eye contact.

“What’s wrong?” he demands, brows furrowed. “Did he give you a hard time? If he’s being a jerk-“

“No.” God, she wishes he was a jerk. It would be so, so much easier if he was an entitled asshole. “No, he was perfectly respectful. I’m not upset, just-”

“Confused?”

Teddy repeats her choice of words from months ago - a word that is still haunting her - and she wants so badly to lie and shake her head and pretend that everything is fine and there’s nothing to be worried about. She can’t do that in good conscience, but she figures she can keep dating Teddy and see where that relationship takes her as long as she’s at least relatively honest with him.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “So, what flavour is this batch?”

She can see it in his eyes that Teddy isn’t happy with her answer, but at least she knows that she told him (part of) the truth as she sits back and listens to him talk about yeast and fermentation for the next forty minutes.

What she doesn’t admit to him, nor to herself quite yet, is that their relationship has been a ticking time bomb from the moment Jake flagged her down outside the precinct six months ago. Whether she likes it or not, it’s only a matter of time before it explodes and destroys everything in its reach.

Destruction isn’t always the worst thing, though. Not when it’s making room for something new and, if she’s lucky, something beautiful.

[thinkyoureholy]

Love Shot [2]

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.

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When does a dream stop being a dream? When does a dream become reality?

Pairing : Do Kyungsoo / [Fem] Reader

Genre : Angst, Violence, Fluff, Smut, Character Death? Detective! AU, Mafia! AU

Words : 2.1k

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt 4. Pt 5. Pt 6.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

-Y/N’s P.O.V-

I stood back with my arms crossed over my chest as I leaned against the wall. I watched him change out of his uniform and into regular clothes, frowning at where he was about to go. It took a few days to implement the plan the chief had thought of but now that it was the day he was supposed to leave I was feeling apprehensive, angry, and unsure of this whole thing. I hated how he kept saying he was easily replaceable when he wasn’t. To me he was irreplaceable, no one would be able to take his place and I hated how he took this so lightly.

He sighed heavily when he noticed the look in my eyes, running his hand through his hair, “Y/N-”

“Nothing you say will make me okay with this.” I said quickly, cutting him off in a cold voice.

“If you’re gonna be pissed at me fine. I don’t regret stepping up, I’ve told you this time and time again. I’m not stepping down. Either I’m the one that goes in or no one does.” He said, his eyes burning with a fire I’ve only seen a handful of times.

I said nothing as I let my hands fall to my sides, averting my gaze and giving my back to him, “Hurry up. Everyone’s waiting outside. Chief said Niko and Juzo will be the ones to take you as close to their place as possible. They’re the ones in charge of this one.”

I began walking towards the door but stopped when I heard his voice call out to me. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper but it was enough to have me freeze in my spot. The sound of his voice tugged at my heartstrings, his next words making me frown.

“So you’re just gonna go like that, huh? No goodbye, nothing?”

I clenched my hands into fists at my side, closing my eyes for a brief moment, “I’m not saying goodbye. Goodbyes are too final and I-” I cut myself off as I felt my emotions beginning to take hold of me, “I don’t want to say goodbye, not to you.”

Not even ten seconds later I felt his hand grab a hold of my wrist, turning me around to face him and wrapping his arms around me. I kept my hands at my sides for a few seconds before giving in and wrapping my arms around him tightly. I didn’t want to touch him because I knew once I did I’d never want to let him go. I’ve been keeping my distance these last few days but now that he was in my embrace I just held on tighter and tighter, not wanting to let him walk out that door. He wouldn’t be able to come home until this whole thing was over, only being able to rendezvous with us every few days for an hour max.

“Then at least a see you later?”

I let out a small laugh, slapping his back lightly and drawing a chuckle from his lips. He pulled away from the hug to cup my face in both his hands gently, his thumb rubbing my cheek, “I’ll be fine. I’ll come back to you the same way I left...I promise.”

Without wasting another second he sealed the promise he just made with a kiss.

-

Junmyeon grinned at the sight of him, the smirk on his face spreading as he looked around the room. The others gathered around him to greet him, Junmyeon making his way down the stairs slowly as he took in the sight before him. Once at the bottom he called out to the man, Junmyeon’s eyes meeting his. Without hesitation the two embraced warmly, Junmyeon resting his hands on the shoulders of the man that stood in front of him. It had been years since the two were able to stand before each other like this.

“Man did I miss you.” Junmyeon said with a grin, watching a familiar glimmer in the man’s eyes shine through.

“You don’t know how great it feels to be back.” He replied with a grin of his own.

-

I bounced my leg up and down anxiously, trying to focus on the task at hand but my mind kept wandering. My temporary partner looked over at me when the car began to shake.

“Can you stop with that? People are going to think we’re up to something in here.” Chanyeol said, glaring over at me.

I didn’t give him a response but stopped like he asked. I couldn’t get my mind off of Kyungsoo, focusing on the stake out we were doing proved to be difficult. The chief put me on a different case while we waited for Kyungsoo to get back to us with any intel, making Chanyeol my partner for the time being. We were investigating a homicide case, the evidence pointing to the boyfriend but we needed more proof, something more solid to nail him. The prosecutor wanted us to catch him in the act so to speak. He had already been a suspect of two previous murders but the court refused to acknowledge the evidence, saying circumstantial evidence wasn’t enough to convict a man of murder.

“Have I ever told you how much I hate our justice system?”

“Yeah and you serve that justice system.” Chanyeol replied, sounding bored as he stared out the window, “It’s not like we can change it. We might be the best damned detectives this country has ever seen but that’s all we’ll ever be. We’ll never be taken seriously for anything and be told to get back to doing our jobs. This country is all kinds of fucked up...all countries are.”

I sat back as I let his words sink in but I didn’t get to ponder too much over it as we saw the suspect step out onto the street from his apartment building. I could see a grin spread across Chanyeol’s face as he clicked his tongue, the two of us climbing out of the car and following after him. We kept our distance, making sure he didn’t see us. Every time he turned to look over his shoulder Chanyeol and I had to make it seem like we were focused on other things, going back to following him the moment he turned forward again. We had been following him for a good fifteen minutes when a woman walked out of a building and got in his way. By the way he spoke to her we guessed that they knew each other. The longer they spoke the more familiar her face was starting to seem to me. My eyes widened as I cursed under my breath, grabbing onto Chanyeol’s shirt and dragged him with me as I hid behind the wall of a nearby building.

“What the hell is she doing here?” I asked mostly to myself as I pulled out my phone.

“You know her?”

“Its Sooyoung.” I said before addressing the person I was calling, “Jungho check out Kim Minseok’s records. Does he know a Kim Sooyoung?”

“Got it.” Was his only response, the sound of his fingers typing away on his keyboard the only thing I heard for a few seconds before his voice came through, “Nothing. They didn’t go to school together, shared friends or acquaintances, absolutely nothing links these two.”

“Fucking bitch.” I cursed under my breath before saying a quick thanks to Jungho and hanging up.

I leaned over and peeked into the alleyway only to curse once more when I noticed they were gone. Chanyeol took a peek as well, surprised to see them gone, “Where the hell did they go?”

“They’re recruiting.” I said before heading back to the car ,ignoring his question.

……

I pushed open the door to the meeting room; Niko, Juzo, the chief, and Jungho already inside as Chanyeol followed in after me. I didn’t bother with greetings as I walked to the front of the room, pulling over the board and beginning the paste the pictures up onto it.

“They’re recruiting. Or they’ve been gathering members from under our noses this whole time.” I said, pointing over to the picture closest to me and listing them by name, “Byun Baekhyun, Kim Jongdae, Oh Sehun, and now Kim Minseok. They’ve been gathering people, ones we’ve been looking for. Between all of them they’ve committed murder, arson, robbery, and hacked into federal databases. This is why we’ve never caught any of them. Sooyoung is sent out to get these guys and the leader of their group integrates them into the group and helps hide them from us, this is why they’ve become more of a nuisance over time.”

Everyone thought over what I had just said, the concern evident on their faces. It all made sense, why we could never arrest them. Every lead we had on them seemed to disappear and we were never able to get close to them ever again.

“Or they were always apart of their group. Think about it; a murderer, an arsonist, a burglar, and a hacker? Those are all necessary personnel to have when in the mafia. These may have just committed the crimes we know of on their own and the idiots left evidence behind.  Why would the leader risk having them rat him and the others out?” Chanyeol said, grabbing everyone’s attention, “Sooyoung wouldn’t reveal her identity to them so easily unless they already know each other. We only know her identity  because you got lucky enough to get her mask off the last time you were chasing her and the cameras happened to be recording.”

“How many members are in this group?” Jungho asked

“Ten.” Juzo answered immediately before continuing, “There could be more but we’ve only seen ten so far.”

“This is a lot bigger than we thought.” The chief said, with a heavy sigh, “Y/N I’m putting you back on this case, Chanyeol you join them as well. We need all five of you on this.”

With that he left, leaving us on our own. Niko and Juzo immediately began to tell us all they knew but I couldn’t focus. My mind was on Kyungsoo. He was in there, with those types of people all by himself. If he was found out I know they’d kill him no questions asked, but not before they made him suffer before hand. I frowned as I stared down at the table in front of me, zoning out of the conversation entirely.

-

“Did you really think we didn’t know? How much of an idiot do you take me for?” He asked, kicking his leg out.

Kyungsoo let out a groan and curled in on himself as he lay on the ground, blood coming out of his mouth. He coughed violently for a few seconds before spitting the blood onto the floor. He looked up and gave the man a smirk, the man staring down at him in contempt. The man leaned down and grabbed onto Kyungsoo’s collar and lifted off the floor slightly before delivering a swift punch to his face. He punched him over, and over again until his eye had swelled up, his lip busted open and blood flowed out of his nose. Kyungsoo seemed to be having trouble breathing as his breaths started becoming more and more labored. The man above his chuckled at the sight, letting Kyungsoo fall back to the ground as he took a step back. He wore a wicked grin before raising his foot and stomping down onto Kyungsoo's leg. Kyungsoo let out a cry of agony, the snap of his bone breaking echoed off the walls.

-

My eyes flew open as I gasped, sitting up in bed immediately. I looked around in a panic, trying to feel around for Kyungsoo but when I didn't feel him my heart dropped. My breathing sped up as I grabbed my head in my hands, bringing my knees to my chest. The image of him bloodied on the floor with I don't know how many broken bones and injuries refusing to leave my mind. I knew it was just a dream but it seemed so real like it was a memory instead of a simply dream. I reached over to my nightstand quickly, grabbing my phone and dialing his number. I was halfway through dialing when I remembered he left his personal phone behind, seeing it laying on the nightstand. I couldn't stop the tears from escaping as I thought back to the dream, my heart constricting in my chest as not being able to hear his voice, to know that he was okay.

“Please...please be okay.”

[recentanimenews]

Wave, Listen to Me! – 09 – The Ecstasy and Agony of the Man-Child

When Minare gets a friendly text from Mitsuo after her bear attack broadcast, her first instinct is to borrow Mizuho’s laptop so she can Google “how to buy a gun” (much tougher in Japan than the U.S.) with which to shoot him as she promised herself.

Mizuho calls for amiability, which Minare translates as “murder him socially instead via doxxing.” When Matou and Mizuho both pooh-pooh that idea, Minare agrees to a date at Mt. Moiwa…with no apparent plan in place. Her only prep involves an “aggessive” outfit and dark red lips, knowing he prefers light pink. It’s the little things!

No doubt Minare’s first question going into the date is “what gives with the sudden contact after months of nothing?” and in that regard, it’s fitting that her outfit includes a sleuthy fedora. It should be noted that Minare has possibly never looked hotter than she does here, and that’s definitely intentional. It’s provocative, yet also self-conscious.

When they first meet up, she can’t help but blush while thinking how he hasn’t changed a bit. It hasn’t been that long, Minare! He then proceed to throw her off-balance, first by paying for his cable car ticket (1700 ye/person—not cheap!), then offering up her favorite torimon, and then handing her a brown envelope containing 250,000 yen, half of what he owes her. What gives, indeed!

While pondering the possibility of becoming ensnared in an eternal limbo of debt repayment, Minare’s first word in edgewise is an accusation of infidelity by Mitsuo (she heard from a friend he was walking with another girl). That’s when Mitsuo owns up to the fact he indeed befriended a girl, but totally glosses over the particulars of that relationship and goes straight to the story of her trying to stab him.

Mitsuo is hungry and wants curry, and lets it be known by a kind of specific man-child whine that has an almost Pavlovian effect on Minare. However shlumpy this guy looks and how possibly insincere he’s acting, it’s obvious Minare had legitimate feelings for this guy, and there are parts of him that are still thoroughly disarming.

Here’s someone who planned to kill him when he became an abstract bogeyman, but now, in the reality of their reunion and his M.C.T. (Man Child Terror) field, her homicidal designs all but evaporate. Yet once she hears the details of Mitsuo’s brush with death, it doesn’t take long for Detective Koda Minare to forge a theory about the other woman’s motive: she must have also lent Mitsuo money.

There’s a constant push-and-pull going on throughout Minare and Mitsuo’s date that is both all-too-realistic and extremely fascinating. The pain of his past betrayal and her suspicion over his present motives is always on one end of the scale, rising and falling from prominence as Mitsuo works his practiced Suga charm.

Minare is happy and excited to just be on another date again, after much drinking alone, and self-commiserating, and breaking-and-entering of Oki’s place. She even considers the possibility that even a creature like Mitsuo could change for the better after nearly being offed by the latest victim of his adorkably breezy treachery.

For all his faults, Mitsuo is Minare’s type, whether he’s being “cute”, commenting on her lip color, suggesting they do one activity after the other, demonstrating growth by paying his fair share, or telling her the words “there’s no one better than you.” It must feel so good for her hear words like that from someone with whom she’s shared so much history, both good and bad.

Minare is sufficiently hungry for domestic affection that she slips easily back into the comfort and familiarity of Mitsuo’s place, even reflexively making coffee when they’ve already had a ton of it throughout the day. She also takes comfort in his very specific preferences, like what drink goes best with what food.

But when Mitsuo toasts their reunion and “reconciliation”, Minare’s dormant rage re-surfaces, vowing to keep her heart shut tight until the full amount is paid back. He assures her he borrowed it to be a co-signer for a friend’s debt and always meant to pay her back.

Having presented himself as a Good Guy who helps people in need, Mitsuo’s head finds Minare’s thighs, which he admits he’s missed dearly. Minare, in turn, fishes out the ear pick she left there which is so beloved she gave it a name—Onikirimaru!—and proceeds to clean Mitsuo’s ears “for her own sake and pleasure!”

Since it’s been a while since they’ve done this, she’s elated to find a “gold rush” in there. How adorably disgusting! Not to mention intimate. And despite having planned to kill him only yesterday, she still falls for his upside-down face as he once again points out his preference in lip color, and Minare removes the deep red with a tissue.

It is here, where Minare realizes how Mitsuo’s Man-Child nature seemingly encourages her to take the lead while in reality making her the subservient one. It’s a shtick he probably does without even thinking. But the spell is immediately broken when she spots a strange bit of trash when tossing her tissue.

After a sip of coffee, Mitsuo references the “coffee kiss” they’d often do another lovely detail that speaks to the specific intimacy of these two people. Minare leans down for a kiss, but stops mere inches from his lips. Suddenly, she’s Detective Koda again, she has Mitsuo in the box, and he’s not getting out until she’s heard the truth from his un-coffee-kissed lips.

He admits he lost the 500k at the tracks, but came into the 250k after helping out the relative of a rich oil executive (again implying his charitable good-guy nature). Minare admonishes him for his get-rich-quick nature, urging him to live more frugally by, for instance, learning to cook.

It’s a lure the Man-Child can’t resist; he assures her everything will be fine; why should he cook when there’s so many good, cheap restaurants? Quite literally taking matters into her own thighs, Detective Koda locks Mitsuo’s face in a leg-lock and shows him the suspicious piece of trash: a free magazine full of recipes with a single dried bell pepper seed stuck to the cover.

It’s evidence not just that someone interested in cooking was in the room, but made Mitsuo’s favorite stir-fry recipe, indicating an intimacy with the other woman he had been concealing from her. No need for a judge or jury; in Minare’s eyes, Mr. Suga is guilty. His sentence is what must be some kind of professional wrestling throw that drives his head hard into the floor.

No longer under the influence of Mitsuo’s smile after seeing him lie once more while wearing it, Detective Koda puts her fedora back on and tells him she’ll forgive the remaining half of the money she lent him. It’s preferable to letting him to betray yet another woman to pay him back.

While she harbored abstractly (and ultimately impossible) murderous designs prior to their reunion, this Minare is wiser and more level-headed in her condemnation and handing down of punishment. Mitsuo may be glad to be off the hook for the 250k, but if he was being honest when he said there’s “no one better” than Minare, her refusing to take him back is harsh punishment indeed.

This episode was a thrilling, layered, ultimately bittersweet tour-de-force depicting the games played, battles fought, and lies told behind easy smiles and flirtations of two people. You really get the feeling Minare would prefer being in a happy loving relationship with Mitsuo, but she just can’t trust the bastard, and there’s no indication he’ll ever stop fucking up and lying about it.

As Minare enjoys a decisive moral and tactical victory, the episode doesn’t overlook the bitter tragedy of that. If she’s the hard-boiled private dick in an old noir crime novel, Mitsuo is the “homme fatale”. In the end, her loyalty to the truth and her solidarity with women prevailed.

By: sesameacrylic

[kreatingvip]

The Power of the U.S Embassy

  Green-Man

When I move, you move: U.S Embassy

By Ken Overman It was a cold and snowy morning in December, location Downtown Detroit. The light snow was covering the ice, setting many dangerous traps for the illegal immigrants.  I stood outside a Government building, next to an aged man, awaiting entry. I blew the warmth from my body as if nicotine smoke because the staff was opening late. The procrastinating city caused us both to feel violated. I expected a punctual staff to greet me, just as rapidly as my taxes are withdrawn.  I stood in the cold, attempting to decode the confusing language on a form sent from an automated intercessor.  I soon found out many others were there for the same reasons. The police provided a heavy presence, so I was uncomfortable wearing a black hooded coat. The man next to me was wearing a red overcoat, which I didn’t think was appropriate coloring in this gang territory. Gang graffiti spray painted on the wall nearby, threatened repercussions. Yet, I assumed any gun toting operatives wouldn’t think the senior citizen was a rival. I noticed that the man had similar attributes to my father.  His winter hat encompassed friendly features, which caused the encounter to seem surreal. I sighed then huffed, feeling neglected again by the Mayor and City Council. Our body language affirmed that we were in the same boat. Thus, we turned down our noses, unbaled our faces and greeted each other. I soon discovered that the man was from the Middle East, Jordan. Ahmed warmed himself up by telling me how it was to live near the desert.  He also told me about having seen a beautiful mirage. We shared a laugh, but hesitated. We were venturing off the grid, unto our first minds. This kind of peaceful behavior seemed forbidden. However, I made sure that he knew I was a working man, not a criminal. He likewise smirked, informing that he didn’t have any terrorist affiliation. So, we talked between the freezing winds, as we awaited entry. "The thoughts of misplacement quickly caused me to look within. I wasn’t trying to relate the African Americans struggle. However, the result is the same- a lifeless body due to violence. " The conversation soon froze upon the embassy in Jerusalem. “More violence around Gaza and Lebanon,” Ahmed yelled, removing his gloves. “Rockets will be shot at Israel!” Rapidly, we became warm discussing how many angry people there are worldwide. “Many Countries have warned, and revoked the move of the embassy,” I griped. We discussed in detail how the U.S President should let them negotiate peace, in their own way. We recognized how the U.S. allies, articulated disparagement toward an affront to the already-frozen U.S.-led Israeli-Palestinian peace process. Yet, the U.S is threatening to cut-off aid to certain countries. Outrageously announcing to cut 290 million of funding to the U.N. I felt compelled to ask Ahmed, “Do you think those angry about the move will perform more terrorist attacks in America?” “No,” he replied, replacing his gloves. “…there will certainly be more Rockets and unrest in the Middle East.”

Subconsciously, I thought about the Embassy move being delayed by prior Presidents. Trump was only doing as he promised during his campaign. I started to highlight how all U.S Embassies are in other Capitol cities.  America hasn’t determined whether it’ll be moved to West or East Jerusalem. I Pondered the proposed railway station to be built near the Western Wall and named after Trump. Ironically, it is one of the holiest places for Jews to pray.  Yet, I remained silent. I knew that the only real issues are foretold unrest and bloodshed. Ahmed looked for the line to move, while hugging himself. He turned toward me saying, “Er-the important thing is that now all Muslims, Christians and Jews have a place to worship. Soon, it will become a place of only one religion!” We paused for a minute, looking to see if the building was open- It wasn’t. Consequently, the conversation continued. The cold winds shivered us quickly to the issue of how the crisis is only a way for the bankers and others to make money. Repeatedly, our winter hats nodded in unison. I felt as if I’d known Ahmed for years. It was a solemn moment, experiencing a fellow human wanting the best for others. We were both disgusted that such violence and hate manifest, when it comes to worshiping God.  We acknowledged that there is always a culprit, slithering as a Cobra snake. The Corporate greed which camouflages its clothes, deterring the focus from God. Throughout history there are a heartless few, who pride themselves on the ability to drive a violent, money-making deception. Though I had never met Ahmed before, I assumed that he had experienced a lot of pain. Whether it being troubles of the Middle East or trauma in America. I could hear weariness in his voice. Sounds of sufferings from the same vicious narrative. I realized Ahmed’s situation involved the Holy land and many other important factors. The thoughts of misplacement quickly caused me to look within.  I wasn’t trying to relate the African Americans struggle. However, the result is the same- a lifeless body due to violence. All the while, far away from the danger is a manipulative profiteer. I saw Ahmed look up at the sun which provided some warmth. The heavenly body was punctual in granting nature and humans a dependable source of energy. I was grateful. I felt compelled to tell Ahmed my feelings about crime in the black community, which is also in a state of emergency. Ahmed uttered a few words of encouragement. Rare silence then ensued. Ahmed and I again looked at each other, as if relaying a strong message that we are not victims, but God’s chosen. “The brown people are killing each other because of a lack of empathy and greed,” Ahmed whispered. I looked up beyond the sun, envisioning what a thriving community would look like. I was motivated to the reality of cities such as Black Wall Street. Suddenly, I could see the long line inching forward in the distance. I prepared for the warmth of the building.  Ahmed continued looking at me, as if happy to meet a young man who is aware. It seemed as if he witnessed promise in me. The last of a dying breed. A brown man not willing to give in to the mindset destroying the community. I turned fully towards him, as if preparing to hear the departing wisdom of my father. However, Ahmed didn’t say a word. In silence his piercing eyes spoke volumes of the many times he could’ve joined with the oppressors. He quickly turned away.  Then he inched towards the doors, humbly motioning for me to enter first- displaying patience. While being searched by security, we acknowledged other, but did not speak. After a few questions, Ahmed was cleared to proceed.  I extended my arm to give him a fist pump, but he opened to properly shake hands. As the mysterious man vanished into the hallways, I thought of the firm handshake. I envisioned the many world leaders similarly shaking hands, to prevent those in Palestine and Israel from causing blood shed. I pictured a diplomat capable of protecting the future. I fancied the UN signing and shaking hands in negotiations, creating an atmosphere that displays fairness. My concern soon shifted locally, towards the Governor and the city servicemen. I imagined a City Council of thoughtful enforcers. Men and women void of prideful egos, but concerned with city growth. I foresee their meetings ending with firm handshakes, instead of fist bumps, and under the table contracts. I could feel myself being enraptured in the utopia of truth. Still there was a reality block needing attention.  ‘There will never be peace, until justice is served.’ I lowered my head humbly in reverence to the thought. I took a seat in a quiet hallway. I used my phone to look up some statistics. First researching the Middle East death totals.  Sadly, “13,000 Israelis and Palestinians were killed in conflict with each other between 1948 and 1997. Other estimations give 14,500 killed between 1948–2009.”  This data is according to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute- Wikipedia. Opening another window in my browser, then searching African American deaths to violence, I was bombarded with horrific numbers. ‘Detroit logged 316 murders and non-negligent manslaughters last year…’ According to FBI uniform crime reporting, Huffington Post.  I eventually scrolled upon the saddest thing I’ve seen all day. “Homicide is the leading killer of children over age 1 and under 18 in Detroit.” According to data analyzed by the Detroit News, Huffington Post. Becoming dizzy, I quickly closed the browser. Processing that many dead bodies and grave sites was overwhelming. My reasoning moved into a numeric grid, overflowing in generational wealth for an evil profiteer.  I sighed, walking towards the elevator, to take care of my business filing. After validating a bureaucratic step that I had already taken, I was introduced to a new artificial intelligence. I conceded then left the building. I was infuriated, that I had to take off work and stand in the cold, due to their tardiness.  Then to be told to listen to an automated response and enter a numeric code, to hear information that I should’ve received a month ago. I was angry! I felt as if some organizers should protest or cause the people to suffer, for not respecting my time and tax dollars. I see it all around the city with bad roads, fragmented school systems, and decaying infrastructure. ‘I didn’t think they should have any peace, until I receive justice!’ I stormed into my home and plummeted on the couch. I pulled out my phone to look up people from internal affairs or any other controversial media outlet.  I fired up my phone, to immediately see images of yellow tape, securing the crime scene, of another life taken senselessly. My revengeful feelings were stopped in their tracks. All the time and effort I was ready to devote to causing some hell, for the troubles I received, were halted. My breathing slowed.  I moved my thumb slowly over the page. I was taken back to the caring feelings that I had while alone in the city building hallway. I felt a sense of unity amongst men that will one-day manifest. It made me happy to recall the beautiful rays of the sun, warming us while standing outside. Indeed, we are all one, enjoying the greatest grace, of the sun in Detroit. The same sun that shines over the Israelis and Palestinians. Novel Excerpt: Beginning of the End Author- Ken Overman “Robert felt good. He smiled for several reasons. It was a short workday. He is married to the sexiest woman, in the company. Lastly, luck provided a great parking spot, in the usually dreadfully crowded parking structure. Robert had endured a six-day war against his male coworkers, who tried to entice Denise into romance. Robert had succeeded using strategic showmanship, such as sudden appearances out of thin air, and lavish gifts. The former patriot had allies, who would inform him of any type of infidelity.” Spread the word Read the full article