#it’s based off a nancy drew cover

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 7 all chapters

I knew the pleasure of vexing and soothing him by turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in.

–Jane on Mr. Rochester, Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

-It's no real mystery, why you dig out your beloved old copy of Jane Eyre. From the early 1900s, it had seen better days when you’d scored it in the local used book store, many years ago. You’d been a teenager then—and those days were long behind you. It seems you never outgrew your liking of a dark and broody anti-hero.

It’s safer to read about it though, than pursue the real thing.

Lately every time Mr. Wick comes into the shop you feel slightly agitated, as though you don’t quite fit into your own skin. You remember the sensation of his fingertips on yours, like a burn.

Mr. Wick sees you reading your tattered novel on your break, but doesn’t comment. You’ve seen him with old classics in hand and reckon he must be something of an aficionado.  

You put it away in your shoulder bag in the back after the break.

The next day, it’s gone.

You know you left it in your bag. Where the fuck could it have gone? Why would someone fucking steal it?

A couple of weeks later, it reappears on the counter by the register you favor.

You hardly recognize it at first, for it has received an encompassing makeover. It has new leather covers with gorgeous embossed gold lettering, and marbled end papers, and the tattered thread of the binding repaired. There are gilded arabesques on the spine and delicately drawn climbing flowers on the cover. You wouldn’t have even thought it the same book, if not for the intricately printed title page unique to your edition, with an old pencil mark in the corner you recognize.

Such a restoration would have cost a fortune.

You knew, because you’d looked into it.  

Further compounding the mystery, there is a beautiful jacquard embroidered ribbon bookmark inside. It’s on the page where Rochester has sat Jane down in the arbor, and is telling her that she has rejuvenated him from his unhappy existence without actually admitting anything, asking in the most roundabout way possible if it would be so very bad to take a second wife who would make him a new man, while his first is still living, the big idiot.

“Is the wandering and sinful, but now re-seeking and repentant, man justified in daring the world’s opinion, in order to attach to him for ever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing his own peace of mind and regeneration of life?”

Jane tells him, of course, that a man shouldn’t base his redemption on another person, but within himself. You are not sure you would have had the strength to speak so frankly to a man you secretly loved.

Well, maybe you would.

You are utterly mystified by the whole thing, to say the least.

But later, you are browsing the local book store, and the owner is reading Anna Karenina in what looks like freshly bound leather. The style looks familiar.

“Did you have that restored?” you ask, feeling like Nancy Drew hot on the trail of a fresh lead.

“Yeah, that new guy in town, John Wick did it for me. He says he’s just a hobbyist, but he does amazing work. Usually you have to send off to Florence for quality like this, seriously. It’s a dying art.”

Darren lets you look at the book, and you are impressed by the craftsmanship.

The spine decoration matches yours. There is a plate in the back that proclaims: Bound by John Wick.

The sneak.

You are touched to the tips of your toes, your heart filled with butterflies. Was the bookmark purposely left on that page, or just a random placement?

You hardly dare hope, and tell yourself it’s an invention of your own fancy. The gift of the book is magnificent enough. No need to further muddle things with secret communications that aren’t really there.

The next day you approach Mr. Wick’s table with hands on your hips, affecting annoyance. “You stole my book.”

He actually has the grace to look sheepish about it, casting those lovely dark eyes downwards.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks. I really love it.” It’s the understatement of the century.

He looks up through his hair, the surprised sparkle in his eyes taking your breath away. Suddenly, he looks ten years younger.  

“Yeah?”

The corners of your mouth twitch. This man speaks like he’s paying five cents per word, you swear. “Yeah. Why didn’t you tell me you bind books?”

He just shrugs, and you cannot help but laugh.

“I’ve never owned anything so fine. Thank you, truly.”

 He nods again, and you sense that you’re maybe making him uncomfortable with your gratitude. You suspect it’s not why he did it at all.

“Will you show me sometime? How you do it?”

There is a flash of something dark in his eyes before he turns his attention back down to his own book. It feels like dismissal, but you have no idea what he’s hiding underneath it all.

Still waters run deep.

“Anytime you want,” he offers as you turn to go.  

You smile at him over your shoulder as you go back to your station, a secret lightness fluttering in your heart. On your break you flip through your refurbished book once more, taking even more pleasure in it knowing that John poured over every detail of it. You don’t know much about bookbinding or leather work, but you suspect he freehanded the little flowers on the front, and that moves you to your toes.

You flip to one of your favorite scenes because you find it so funny, when Jane puts out the fire that nearly burned Rochester up in his sleep, because undoubtedly he’d drank too much earlier to easily rouse, the lovesick scoundrel. Afterwards he doesn’t want her to leave but can’t outright keep her in his room without behaving an absolute blackguard.

“Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look.”

You cannot help but glance up at your tall dark bookworm in the corner, an aching warmth spreading in your heart for the sight of his furrowed brow, his concentration (you think) focused on the tome in his hands.

You know you are a ridiculous thing.

[ndconceptarchive]

Adventure Classic Gaming Interview with Megan Gaiser, Carolyn Bickford, and Sheri Hargus

Adventure Classic Gaming was,

"the premiere website dedicated to classic and retro adventure gaming. We seek to be a comprehensive online resource on classic adventure games and interactive fiction. Our site covers all gaming platforms, both computers and consoles. We cover games by both independent and commercial developers."

It appears that it's now defunct seeing as the most recent articles were uploaded in 2014, but you can still access the website even though it appears to be missing a CSS file.

Here is an interview from the website with Megan Gaiser in promotion for Stay Tuned for Danger published on June 12, 2000:

Founded in 1995, Her Interactive has taken a pioneering role in attracting girls to computer technology through attractive role-playing. The mission of this Washington-based publisher is to design, develop, and market intelligent interactive games for girls.

In 1997, the company has obtained a license from Simon & Schuster to develop an interactive mystery game series based on the legendary teen detective Nancy Drew. Its flagship titles, Nancy Drew: Secrets Can Kill and Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger, have received high praises from both critics and parents.

In this exclusive interview, Megan Gaiser (President), Carolyn Bickford (VP Sales and Marketing), and Sheri Hargus (Development Manager) speak about the company's unique mission, the popularity of Nancy Drew, and what holds in the future for this interactive series.

Sheri Hargus, Development Manager; Carolyn Bickford, VP Sales and Marketing; Megan Gaiser, President (left to right).

What (or who) is the inspiration behind the idea of taking Nancy Drew onto the computer screen?

Megan Gaiser: There are many reasons why we chose Nancy Drew to star in her own computer game series. History was one. Nancy Drew has fascinated girls for generations. We remembered as girls how eagerly we looked forward to getting our hands on the next Nancy Drew book - and realized that if we could create the same kind of anticipation for our games we would have major hits. Also, Nancy Drew is a powerful role model - she's brilliant, intrepid, and successful.

The Nancy Drew mysteries fit our search for content that was non-violent and that didn't rely on gender stereotypes. And, last but not least, mysteries make a great foundation for intelligent entertainment. Their complex plots provide infinite opportunity for adventure, exploration, and problem solving. There's a ready-made sense of community, as players seek help and advice from characters inside the game, from friends and family, and from online resources. Community is key to our plans to enhance our online presence.

Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger is developed and published by HerInteractive.com. HerInteractive.com has a unique mandate in developing non-violent games specifically for girls. Can you explain more fully about your company's unique mission? How do you plan to accomplish this mandate?

Megan Gaiser: Indeed, we are the only developer in the U.S. focused exclusively on the girls market, which is rather bizarre. There are more than 70 million girls in our target age range, and they have about $45 billion to spend each year. All of this potential has been largely ignored by the computer game industry, which found it could sell a lot of violent action games targeting the male audience, and has stayed in that rut ever since.

The market penetration for male-targeted games is near the saturation point. But there's still a wide-open opportunity to target the female half of the population. A recent study published by the American Association of University Women found that girls were largely turned off by the violent and repetitive nature of most games. If they're not buying games in large numbers, it's not because they don't like to play games, it's because few developers are designing games that appeal to them.

And those that do tend to rely pretty heavily on pink packaging, boy-talk and clothes. To assume that those are the only things girls are interested in is absurd. Our games don't use gender stereotypes to appeal to girls. Instead, they rely on the intrigue of a good mystery, and a smart, gutsy heroine. We believe that there should be as many types of games as there are types of girls. That creates such an exciting opportunity, and Nancy Drew is just the beginning.

For those readers who are unfamiliar with Nancy Drew, can you tell us a bit about the background of the legendary teen detective?

Megan Gaiser: Nancy Drew has been solving mysteries and inspiring millions of avid fans for 70 years.

Back in 1905, a writer named Edward Stratemeyer started a company that developed series of books for children. Edward would dream up plots and characters, and hire ghostwriters to write the books under pen names. He created the Hardy Boys in 1927, and just a few years later, he created Nancy Drew. When he died, his daughters ran the company and continued the Nancy Drew tradition.

Edward Stratemeyer's daughters, Harriet Adams and Edna Stratemeyer, made all decisions about what would happen with the Nancy Drew character. This was back in the 1930s when it was highly unusual for women to run a business. Their first ghostwriter for Nancy Drew was a strong, independent woman named Mildred Wirt Benson.

She was an athlete and a journalist, and she wrote Nancy to be just as adventurous as she was. As a matter of fact, at age 94 she's still a journalist, writing for her small town paper. HerInteractive.com sent her a copy of our first title, Nancy Drew: Secrets Can Kill - and she loved it! "Your computer game does exactly what I did when I was writing the books," she wrote. "It makes girls feel like they ARE Nancy Drew!"

In 1979 the Stratemeyer Syndicate signed a deal with Simon & Schuster to publish new books in the Nancy Drew Mystery Stories series. In 1982 Harriet Adams died, and in 1984 Simon & Schuster purchased the Syndicate, becoming both owner and publisher of Nancy Drew. Pocket Books gave the heroine a new look and updated the setting to appeal to Nancy's most recent generation of readers.

Her loyal girl friends Bess Marvin and George (Georgia) Fayne are still at her side, as is her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson. Nancy Drew's popularity spans the globe — she is currently translated into French, Swedish, Norwegian, Finnish, Dutch, Spanish, German, Brazilian, Portuguese, Czech, Hungarian, Polish and Malaysian. Over the years, she has been featured in movies and on television, and even had her own board game.

The core of the Nancy Drew publishing program, the Nancy Drew Mystery Stories, continues to be published six times a year by Pocket Books' Minstrel Book imprint. There are several other Nancy Drew series currently in publication, and a hot market exists for out-of-print copies of the original Nancy Drew books.

In 1998, HerInteractive.com brought Nancy Drew to the computer screen with the publication of Nancy Drew: Secrets Can Kill, followed in 1999 by Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger. Our goal is to make sure that the legendary teen detective clicks with a new generation.

Obtaining the license to use Nancy Drew must be a triumphal accomplishment for the company. How did you do it?

Megan Gaiser: We made a strong case to Simon and Schuster, convincing them that we had the talent, and the passion, to faithfully adapt their teen icon to the computer screen. The critical success of our earlier work played a big part. We have a highly qualified development team.

In addition, we demonstrated a clear understanding of what girls were looking for in computer games, based on extensive focus group research and input from our Teen Advisory Board.

Nancy Drew: Secrets Can Kill and Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger are two titles from the Nancy Drew: Interactive Mystery Games series. How many titles are planned for the series? At what stages of development are they now?

Megan Gaiser: Nancy Drew: Message in the Haunted Mansion is in development and scheduled for a September release. There are over 140 books in the Nancy Dew series - so we certainly have a wealth of content for future games. We believe that we can create a new generation of Nancy Drew fans who eagerly await each new interactive mystery. And now broadband and the Internet offer Nancy a whole new environment to explore, and we intend to take her there.

How long did it take to develop each game? Are all designing tools developed in-house?

Sheri Hargus: It takes from nine months to one year to develop each game. This is the total time from game conception to shipment. The entire team participates in the design process and we spend a good deal of time up front in developing the plot, characters, environments, puzzles and game flow. We have found that early attention to the entire design allows us to stay on schedule and create a superior product.

The art team uses mostly off-the-shelf tools such as Photoshop and 3D Studio Max. The programming is done in C++ and is built upon a proprietary game engine that has been developed internally. DirectDraw is also used and installed as part of the game installation.

At what age of audience do your games aim? What do you feel are the key attractions of the Nancy Drew Interactive Mystery Games?

Megan Gaiser: Our games are designed for girls ages 10 - 15. We are finding that their appeal is actually much broader than that; younger girls are playing them with their sisters or their moms.

And women who grew up devouring every Nancy Drew mystery are eagerly buying the games for themselves. Many computer games portray women in very limited roles - women are too often just the "prize" or the damsel in distress. Nancy Drew breaks many of these molds — she's smart, self-reliant, adventurous — and in the end she is always successful.

In the gaming industry, until recently, girls were never really asked what they wanted in computer games. We asked, and heard they were not satisfied with the status quo of computer gaming: the violence, the lack of storylines, the secret rules. This led us to breakthrough ideas that are a step forward for the gaming industry as a whole. We incorporated all of this knowledge into the Nancy Drew games. And we listen carefully, and then act on, all of the feedback we get from every game.

What is the style of game play in Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger?

Sheri Hargus: The game is a visually stunning single-person adventure and problem-solving interactive mystery. The player navigates smoothly through different game locations, seeing everything through the eyes of Nancy Drew. Each location has rooms and environments to explore; it's loaded with clues, puzzles and other characters. Interaction with characters is through a dialog box where the player is allowed to select different responses and questions while engaged in conversations with the game characters.

The player has the ability to turn completely around in any node by clicking on the left or right sides of the game window. Player input occurs through mouse clicking on hotspots with occasional keyboard input also needed. The player can fail the game in several ways but it is always possible to restart and try again from the same game position. On the average, it takes 10-20 hours for a player to successfully solve the mystery and complete the game.

Both Nancy Drew: Secrets Can Kill and Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger won numerous praises from critics, but what kind of feedback have you got from parents?

Megan Gaiser: We just found out that Nancy Drew: Stay Tuned for Danger is the winner of this year's prestigious Parents' Choice Gold Award for software in the 10 - 18 age group. That reflects the positive reception we've received from so many parents. Our games are cool without cruelty, the perfect answer for parents who would like to give their teen a non-violent game that's not totally lame.

We have heard from moms and daughters who have had a great time solving our interactive mysteries together. It takes on average about 15 hours to crack the case, and two heads are always better than one. Mothers tell us they really like sharing the Nancy they grew up with their daughters. Plus, they have a lot of fun playing the game. We have found that moms (and even dads) are avid participants in many of the online chats about the games - so we know that girls aren't the only people playing our games!

How can we order these games? Are they available only online (rather than retail sales)? If so, why?

Megan Gaiser: The games can be ordered through our own website, http://www.herinteractive.com They are also available through many online retailers, including Amazon (where Nancy Drew Stay Tuned for Danger has been in the Top Ten Children's Titles ever since it's release), eToys and Beyond.com.

Bricks and mortar shelf space has been hard to come by; we're a very small publisher in an emerging category. But we are making progress toward obtaining broader distribution by this Christmas — the critical and online sales successes of our first two titles are starting to open some doors.

What holds in the future for Nancy Drew (i.e. sequels)?

Megan Gaiser: Looking beyond the September release of Nancy Drew: Message in the Haunted Mansion; we have a long list of Nancy Drew stories that would translate into fabulous interactive games. We're also looking at other licenses to expand the game playing options "for girls who aren't afraid of a mouse." There are lots of different types of girls, and there are so many wonderful characters that could star as our next interactive idol!

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Based of this idea I had.

Imagine the reader getting continually distracted by Steve being shirtless and Eddie being all like...

😑😒 and those big brown eyes are all sad and he's just a pouty, jealous, baby boy

Most importantly he does not die in this.

Warnings; Jealous Eddie, he's a pouty, grumpy baby boy. Teeny tiny bit angst, Clueless reader, mutual pining. Fluff.

If you enjoyed this then please consider giving it a reblog. It is very much appreciated 😘

I don't give anyone permission to copy my work.

💖💖

You would think that being in the Upside Down for the first time would be the thing that she focused on most but it wasn't.

Instead, that accolade went to Steve who was shirtless and covered in demo bat at bites.

She really shouldn't look but she couldn't tear her eyes away.

When did he get so hairy? it was a good look on him it's just since last year when they met she never noticed it.

Maybe because at that time they were fighting for their lives at Starcourt and this time they... were still fighting for their lives but now he was all shirtless and being distracting.

Eddie was beside her, she could smell his Old Spice aftershave and instinctively stepped closed to him but notices his jaw is tight and he has the cutest pout on his face and big sad eyes.

What happened? Some small part of her told her that he noticed she was looking at Steve and a thrill goes through her. Was he jealous?

Something about him drew her in and they spent a lot of time together because Dustin, Lucas, and Mike were in Hellfire and she would take over picking them up on Friday if Steve was working.

She had started to fall for him but had no idea if he felt the same.

He looked so adorable and grumpy all she wants to do at this precise moment is kiss him.

The ground started to rumble bringing her out of her reverie. Steve grabs hold of Nancy and Robin.

The impact of the ground shaking knocks her off her feet and into Eddie who captures her in his arms as they both hit the ground.

His arms are tight around her waist and she peers up at him - at those gorgeous doe eyes and has the urge to kiss him.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly then darken with something that makes her ache deep down in her core.

Robin clears her throat smirking at them and Eddie helps her up.

She thanks him then turns away her heart racing as she focuses on Nancy who is working out a plan.

Steve's chest is also still very distracting and she sneaks a glance at him.

Suddenly Eddie's denim vest flies toward Steve hitting him on his chest, it knocks him back a few steps.

Eddie's eyes are flashing and he looks very angry.

"For your modesty dude," he stalks away as they begin their walk to the Wheeler's house, and her stomach fills with butterflies at his reaction to her and Steve.

Maybe things weren't as hopeless as she thought on the feelings front?

💞

It had been exactly four days since Vecna was defeated and the upside down was closed for good.

Four days since the demo bat attack almost claimed Eddie's life when he had put himself in danger to distract the bats from getting to Nancy, Robin, and Steve while they lit Vecna's Grinch-looking ass up.

Jim Hopper was back, which was a surprise to a lot of us because we assumed he died in the explosion last summer, El promised she would tell us the full story once Hopper told her.

Since he was back and reinstated as chief of police he had cleared all the false charges against Eddie for the murders that Vecna caused.

Even for a town as strange as Hawkins, it would be hard to explain that a monster called Vecna who was once a human called Henry Creel and supposedly dead- now very dead) was the culprit.

Eddie brings her out of her thoughts as he settles beside her. He's just out of the hospital but is still very sore.

"Jesus h Christ what a fucking week" he groans and she nods.

"I know, will be nice to have some peace and with the Upside Down closed thankfully none of us has to take that trip again"

He huffs.

"I'm sure there were some things that were interesting to you" he grumbles and she stares at him for a second.

"What?" did he mean her looking at Steve?

"Steve has a distracting chest, I get why you like him, he's a good guy, handsome, good with chicks, you dig the bush on his chest," he says and he looks so cute and pouty that she sighs.

"You're a butthead, Eddie Munson" she replies, how can he not see it's him she likes? Sure Steve is handsome and she was distracted by him but she liked Eddie.

"You wanna know my type?" he perks up and looks at her intrigued.

"Steve..." she shakes her head and sighs then lets all the feelings she has pent up out in the open.

"Not Steve, no. I like a hot metalhead who has the biggest, most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen. Who's kind and sweet and so fucking handsome and I adore him. Who I've been falling for and never thought he liked me"

He looks stunned for a second then moves closer to her and kisses her.

"Never thought I like you? Now who's the butthead" he smirks and she rolls her eyes but is still beaming.

"I adore you, princess. That's why I was so jealous" he presses a light kiss to her nose then back to her lips and she wraps her arms around him feeling like she is home- that being in his arms is the best feeling in the world.

[argonianprince]

I’m really sorry to hear about the new Nancy Drew game. I’ve been sitting on a few of those games and never got around to playing them, but I read tons of Nancy Drew as a kid and love the character. It’s sad that HerInteractive seems to have fallen apart like that.

As for the older games, are there any in particular you’d recommend? Or an order I should play through? I got pretty much all of them for crazy cheap in a bundle a couple years ago, so could definitely use a pointer from an expert :)

Omg yes @mallosoar, there are some great starting places with the original games!! I like to recommend them based on setting preference and overall educational theme, out of a few standout ones that I think really encapsulate what the series is like in spirit (and have excellent story, characters, puzzles, and secret locations to find, and a nice balance thereof):

Creepy woods (forestry and American gangster history): Ghost Dogs of Moon Lake

Foggy seashore (marine science and conservation): Danger on Deception Island

Southwestern US ranch (Old West and ancient peoples, animal care): The Secret of Shadow Ranch

Tokyo (Japanese culture, horror, lots of logic puzzles): Shadow at the Waters' Edge

The list of games I would actively steer a new player away from is relatively short tbh. Play order doesn't matter at all, except that some cute little callbacks to prior games might be missed. The first 2 in the series are fun, but they didn't have the formula down yet, so they are a little different. If you really want that OG Nancy Drew experience from the books, Secret of the Old Clock is set in the 1930's. It's a combination of the first ever book of the same title, and Mystery at Lilac Inn. All the games are based on one or two of the books, so if there was a book you remember really fondly it might be worth seeing if there is a correlating game (there is an easy list of the books each of the games is based off on the Wikipedia page). My school library growing up only had like 8 of the books but I remember being ENGROSSED.

Outside of starting with one of the really great entry points above, just choosing play order based on title/cover or description is totally valid. You'll have an idea of where in time each game was published as Nancy's technology level changes (whether she has a dumb- or smart-phone, what kind of computers are usable in the game, etc)

If you play any, I would be OVERJOOOYED if you'd let me know which one you start with and what you think of it!!!!!

Thank you for the condolences ❤️❤️❤️ I'm genuinely crushed ;--; they did our girl detective so dirty ;---;

[typingtess]

NCIS: Los Angeles Season 14 Rewatch:  “Blood Bank”

The basics:  A shootout on a yacht owned by Arkady Kolcheck gets NCIS’s attention.

Written by:  Samantha Chasse co-wrote "Kill Beale Vol. 1" and wrote "Impostor Syndrome" and “Murmuration”.

Directed by:  Benny Boom directed "Ghost Gun", "767", "Fool Me Twice", "Pro Se", "Hail Mary", “Groundwork” and “Perception”.   

Guest stars of note:  Duncan Campbell returns as NCIS Special Agent Castor from “Let It Burn”, Vyto Ruginis joins season 14 as Arkady Kolcheck.  Matty Cardarople returns as Danny, who sold pastries in season 10’s “Into the Breach” and computer supplies in “Imposter Syndrome” in season 12,.  Kathleen Garrett as Miraslava Borisova, Dalia Rooni as Riffat Murad, Nikolay Moss as Kostas Orlov, Jonathan Kells Phillips as Rupert Richardson and Emily Morales-Cabrera as Assistant

Our heroes:   Deal with more Russian nonsense.

What important things did we learn about: Callen:  Giving a deposition. Sam:   Running a taskforce. Kensi:  Nancy Drew on the boat. Deeks:  Swedish nobility. Fatima:   Late. Rountree:   Bodyguard. Kilbride:  Appalled by Arkady’s safe house.

What not so important things did we learn about: Callen:  Now working on Sam’s taskforce. Sam:   Absent. Kensi:   Wields a mean serving tray. Deeks:   Wields a mean sword. Fatima:  Coffee fan. Rountree:   Lost the excuse book. Kilbride:  Found the excuse book.

Where in the world is Henrietta Lange?  Not a mention, though I bet she knew Mira Borisova.

Who's down with OTP:  Kensi dropped her “Mom Tone” when she had to separate Arkady and Mira Borisova.  Kensi and Deeks were fine.

Who's down with BrOTP:   Fatima and Rountree have plans for covering for each other.  Fatima made a friend waiting for coffee.

Fashion review:    Callen wears a dark blue, long-sleeve tee.  Kensi has on an oatmeal pullover sweater that probably looked better in person than on the TV.  Deeks started the episode in a pale pink tee before wearing his Swedish Nobleman blue suit.  A red quarter-zip for Fatima.  Rountree started the episode with a black tee and what looked like a blue lightweight rain jacket before wearing his all black bodyguard gear.  Tell me if you’ve heard this before – blue suit, pale blue dress shirt, medium blue tie for the Admiral.  He also wears a trench coat and looks fantastic. 

Music:   "Makaha” by the Tikiyaki Orchestra is playing in the bar when the Admiral arrives to rescue Arkady.  Deeks and Arkady walk into the auction house with “Rasputin” by Boney M. playing.  A bit of the “Titanic” soundtrack pops up at the end.

Any notable cut scene:  Not today.

Quote: Arkady:  “Grisha?”

Kilbride:  “Guess again.  What sort of a moron decides to make a safe house from...whatever this place is?”

Arkady:  “Am I alive?”

Kilbride:  “Judging by the looks of this table, barely.”

Arkady:  “Listen, a Russian would not look for another Russian in a bar that serves rum-based drinks.  It is a brilliant and delicious plan.”

An Arkady-Kilbride spinoff would have worked.

Anything else:  On a yacht, a Russian woman is showing off the 43rd of the Czar’s Fabergé Eggs to buyers.  There are only 42 known eggs, she has the 43rd which “no longer exists, yet, there it is.”  She is looking for $7 million for the egg.

She wants to share champagne with her buyers but when she calls for one of her yacht staffers to bring a bottle, there is no answer.  The buyer and his bodyguard pull out guns and shoot the woman and her security staff.  They race off with the egg. 

The woman, however, is not dead.  The large necklace she wore acted as a bulletproof vest.

Walking into the office, Kensi and Deeks are debating Rosa watching a dating reality show.  Kensi assures Deeks that Rosa knows the show isn’t real.  This is news to Deeks, who thinks the program is real.  The two debate the contestants, including a “meatball specialist”.  A very amped up Rountree joins them, asking about going into the burn room.  Since it is 9AM on a Monday, neither Kensi or Deeks have a reason to do any early week burning.  Rountree tries to exit but is forced to explain the notebook he shares with Fatima.  It is a track of their excuses for when they are late.  “It’s the only way we can keep our stories straight!” 

Kensi mentions texting each other but Rountree thinks Kilbride would find a digital trail.  Fatima is late and he’s not sure what the excuse of the day will be.  And he needs that right now since Kilbride is looking for Fatima.  Rountree starts with a car appointment but that would mean Fatima scheduled it during work hours, angering Kilbride.  He changes to medical appointment but that worries Kilbride.  Suddenly Fatima has a dog – for an undercover operative, Rountree is bad at this.  And the dog was hit by a car.  Kensi and Deeks offer thoughts and prayers.

Fatima, however, is getting coffee.  Fatima chats with a woman waiting for coffee.  Riffat works for an agency finding housing for refugees from Afghanistan.  After trouble with the barista, Fatima is on her way.

Kilbride walks into an empty Ops, except for Rountree.  Based on the case that just arrived, Rountree wanted to do the debrief alone.  Two Russians were found dead on a yacht in Marina del Ray.  Demetri Fedrov and Simeon Babanin, former Russian military and now with the Wagner Group, are persons of interest in moving cultural and historical pieces of art.  The boat, the Diamond of the Ocean, belongs to Arkady Kolcheck.  “Why am I not surprised?”

Kensi and Deeks enter Ops with news that Arkady was attacked.  They know nothing about what happened on the boat the way Rountree and the Admiral know nothing about the attack on Arkady.  There is a “Who’s on First” vibe going on.  Arkady was attacked at his house that morning but was able to move to a safe house.  He contacted Callen, who wants Kensi and Deeks to ping Arkady’s burner phone.  Callen is giving a deposition so he’s unavailable. 

Deeks thought Arkady was out of the spy business but Kensi thinks it could be his past causing Arkady trouble.  The Admiral isn’t so sure that Arkady is out of the spy business.  Rountree offers to call Callen but the Admiral is going to find Arkady himself.

In a Tiki bar, a rather overserved Arkady is looking for “Grisha” but gets Kilbride instead.  Kilbride is wondering what kind of “moron” makes a Tiki bar a safehouse.  Arkady is wondering if he is alive.  Explaining himself, Arkady tells Kilbride that a Russian would not look for a Russian in a place that serves rum-based drinks.  “It is a brilliant and delicious plan.” 

Ignoring what has led the two of them to “this idiotic moment”, Kilbride wants to know what happened.  Leaving his house that morning, two men with guns came up to Arkady’s car.  He high-tailed it out of there, running over one of the gunmen’s feet.  Kilbride asks if that’s what caused the shooting on Arkady’s boat.  Arkady is confused, he hasn’t owned a boat for 40-years.  “Must be another Arkady Kolcheck.”   Saying he is just a typical ex-KGB Agent who defected to America, “who could want me dead?”

On the maybe not Arkady’s yacht, the original thought is murder-suicide.  Looking at the lack of blood spatter behind one body and the way the blood pooled, Kensi thinks this is a set-up.  The investigation says there was no video but that doesn’t make sense.  A boat this big and fancy would have security cameras, according to Kensi/Nancy Drew.  Deeks tries a mirror but it is one way, not two.  Kensi found a camera in the smoke detector – “Nancy Drew you did it again.”

In the boat shed, Arkady is finishing a call with Anna as Callen pours some coffee.  Arkady isn’t a fan of the boat shed because it smells like a crab shack.  His safe house has blended drinks.  On the plasma screen, Rountree and an arriving Fatima have the footage from the camera Kensi found.  Most of the footage is useless, it was over there table where the Russian woman was showing the egg.  The woman, however, drags herself into the camera’s range.  Fatima has facial rec but Arkady already knows – “Mira.”  And he claims to know her biblically. 

Mira is Miraslava Borisova, a Moscow museum curator turned black market antiquities dealer.  With Borisova’s access, Arkady was able to put her in contact with people interested in buying what she could provide.  But that was 40-years ago.  Callen wants Arkady to set up a meeting.

Outside of a fancy hotel in Beverly Hills, Callen is surprised Borisova would hide in such a public place.  Being a well dress, wealthy woman, Arkady thinks she’d fit right in.  He’s a bit nervous about reuniting with Borisova.  Callen offers some advice and help but Arkady remind him that he was doing this before Callen was born.  The roach coach is now a plumbing company van with Kensi and Deeks inside with a lot of surveillance equipment.  Callen tells them that Arkady dated Borisova before he met Anna’s mother. 

Rapping on the door, Arkady finds it opened.  He calls for Borisova as he walks inside.  She has a rather heavy coffee table book and starts beating him with it.  Callen asks Kensi and Deeks what’s going on and they’re not sure.  Back in the room, Borisova is furious that Arkady finally calls and it the day she was almost killed.  To get her attention, Arkady pops her with a couch decorative pillow.  She returns the favor. 

Kensi yells that “they’re fighting” – Borisova thinks Arkady set her up in Malta and set her up today – while Deeks is enjoying the “geriatric WWE”.  Kensi wonders if they should go in.  Callen isn’t sure.  Deeks brings up the time Arkady made them de-booby-trap his car because Arkady couldn’t remember how he booby-trapped it.  Kensi brings up a failed mission in Chechnya.  Callen talks about Arkady cursing his engagement to Anna.  They’re going to let Arkady and Borisova work things out for a while.

After Borisova picks up the luggage rack, getting NCIS’s attention, Arkady threatens to remove the tag from a rare Beanie Baby.  When he does, Borisova really starts knocking him around.  Callen, Kensi and Deeks walk into the hotel room just as Arkady goes flying.

Near Ops, Fatima runs into the Admiral while she tried to evade him.  She apologizes for her tardiness.  Fatima tells him her dog is doing well.  The Admiral, a dog lover, wants her to bring in the dog as he recovers.  In fact, he insists. 

In Ops, Rountree apologizes for freaking out and going with the dog.  Fatima is more concerned about finding a dog.  On the big screen, Kensi and Deeks are in the boat shed.  Rountree identified the missing object from the yacht – it is one of eight missing decorative eggs, made for the Russian royal family.  While killing Borisova to steal the egg makes sense, why go after Arkady?  Fatima sends a picture of the egg to Callen, who is interrogating Mira.  Arkady is on the back deck in a time out.

Callen shows Borisova the egg.  She plays dumb but knows she’s been caught.  Callen asks why was the boat registered to Arkady.  Again, Borisova plays dumb until Callen says he’s going to turn the yacht over to the DOJ.  They have a special taskforce that confiscates Russian belongings.  After explaining it is her boat, Borisova tells Callen that she has put Arkady’s name on everything she’s bought – from condos in Cape Town to safe deposit boxes.  For all the world knows, they’ve been partners in crime for 40-years.  It is the perfect revenge – “petty but effective.” 

Bringing up the attack on Arkady, Callen believes someone going after Borisova tried to kill Arkady as part of her fake partnership.  Since the men who robbed her thinks she dead, she’s not interested in talking.  Callen is – the men are still after Arkady and it is Borisova’s fault.  

The men on the yacht were new clients and vetted by an auction house.  Callen is surprised – why would an auction house be involved.  Antiquities have to be stored carefully not in a storage locker rented by the month.  The only people who knew about the sale were the auction house, buyers and the seller, Alexey Pasternik.  Pasternik was motivated – he wanted the sale.  Moving the item quicky meant selling at a discount.  And that means he’s the problem.

Alexey Pasternik died three-days earlier.  He “threw himself” from a 12-floor condo by going through the window.  A suspicious death.  Fatima has a map of billionaires like Pasternik who left Russia days before the Ukraine invasion.  More than half are dead. 

Callen tells Borisova about Pasternik’s untimely fall.  She tries to joke about the Russian national bird being a flightless bird because of all the falling Russians.  Callen wants to know what Pasternik was trying to get away from.  Borisova explains that the billionaires had their loyalty bought by the Russian government.  Lots of money was given to these people and now with the sanctions causing financial pain in Russia, the government wants the money back. 

The government was hiding their wealth with the billionaires – they are blood banks.  Since the government was not happy with the way Borisova was selling off the assets, they went after her and her partner, Arkady.

Doing a ton of exposition, Deeks explains that the money given to the billionaires to invest and spend was reclaimable.  Once the billionaire dies, the money goes back to Russia.  All the murders of the billionaires all over the world was to get back the money.  “This is so much bigger than we thought.”

In his office, Kilbride tells Kensi and Deeks on his smaller plasma screen that the DOJ will not be cooperating with NCIS.  With tactical nukes on the table, NCIS has to be involved in a discreet investigation.  An investigation without Callen, since he is joining Sam’s joint task force.  It is Kensi, Deeks, Fatima and Rountree on this one.

Since they don’t know the gunmen or how to smoke them out, Deeks thinks they should approach the auction house since the auction house still thinks Borisova and Arkady are in business together.  Arkady could approach the auction house to get an item and the insider in the auction house could tip off the gunmen.

Borisova is willing to help but only if she’s running things.  The auction house will have rules for wealthy clients and a well-dressed Deeks – fancy suit, tie, and a medal of some sort around his neck – is just that client as Swedish nobility.  She reminds everyone that the auction house protects objects, not people.  The fire suppression system removes all the oxygen in a room to stop a fire.  If there is a person there, well, that’s a problem for the person.  For her cooperation, Borisova wants a second chance.

Dressing in the boat shed restroom, Borisova brings Arkady a special suit.  He apologizes for leaving her in Malta.  She sort of does the same with today’s assassination attempt.  “Let’s just call us even.” 

Walking into the auction house wearing a tan three-piece suit, a light blue dress shirt and a red paisley tie, Arkady introduces himself to the woman in the reception area.  He is followed by Deeks and Rountree, who is all in black, dressed as a bodyguard.  Asking for Rupert and giving his account number, provided by Borisova in the plumbing van with Castor, Arkady and Deeks welcomed in.  Rountree must wait in the reception area – company policy.

In a waiting area, Rupert is excited to greet Arkady after working with Borisova on his behalf for years.  Rupert starts speaking to Deeks in Swedish – that goes poorly.  Rupert is going to speak to Deeks while Arkady opens his locker.  Arkady is freaking out – he doesn’t have the key.  The earwigs are failing – the building is secure.  When Kensi asks about Borisova, Castor is shown out cold and Borisova is gone.

In the vault area, Arkady is met by an armed Borisova. 

With no response from Arkady or Castor, Kensi and Rountree are going to move into the auction house. 

Entering the locker behind Borisova is Arkasha, the man who shot her on the boat.  Arkasha thought he was going to have to kill Borisova twice that day but she cut a deal with Arkasha today.  She would kill Arkady, turn over her client list and she gets back the egg and her freedom.  Arkasha suggest she shoot Arkady in the head.  She doesn’t.  Instead, she knees Arkasha where it hurts, turns on the CO-2 suppression system and sets off all sorts of alarms.

Making his way through the building, Rountree gets to the vault but can’t open the door.  Rountree shoots open the vault door to find Arkady.

When the alarm goes off, so does Rupert.  He pulls a sword from the wall before Deeks can get his gun out. 

Rountree finds Arkasha and subdues him before they both suffocate.

Arkasaha’s men have Arkady and Borisova.  Kensi causes a distraction and takes one henchman out. 

Deeks finds his own wall sword and he and Rupert duel.  Deeks wins in a way too short scene.

Kensi is stuck between Arkasha’s two men.  Arkady tosses her a silver platter and a vase.  She takes them both out before Deeks arrives.  Promising to make a scene to distract Kensi and Deeks, Arkady wants Borisova to flee.  She’s not going anywhere.  Kensi puts her in cuffs.

Back in the office, Rountree asks Fatima for friends dinner - tacos or udon.  She has to pass -  she’s having a friends dinner with Riffat.  Rountree thinks that’s great.  He also found a shelter that lets people borrow pets – she could use that for the Admiral.  Fatima is just going to tell the truth.  That’s when the Admiral arrives with the excuses notebook.  He also noticed all the same frappuccino cups in Ops so Fatima needs to come on time.

On the back deck of the boat shed, Kensi asks Arkady if he is alright.  He has Anna, Grisha – his family.  He wouldn’t rewrite one minute of his life if it meant he wouldn’t have them.  Kensi asks about Borisova.  She will always be on his credit score with all the accounts she took out.  Besides, that means she is thinking of him.  He shows her the beanie baby.  Kensi tells him she knows it is worthless and so does he.  She says goodnight.

Arkady watches Kensi leave and pulls the beanie baby apart.  Inside is a very expensive necklace.  With the soundtrack from “Titanic” playing, he holds it over the water.  Then decides it was too expensive to drop into the water.  Instead, Arkady takes it with him as he leaves.  Anna calls.  Suddenly, he wants to talk about the open bar at the wedding.

What head canon can be formed from here:    There is a continuity issue because in “Answers”, Deeks joked about writing for a reality series.  Now he’s shocked to find out they are scripted.

My goodness this was a chatty episode.  TV should be show, don’t tell.  This was all tell, tell, tell.  And a generic tell, tell, tell.  This episode works completely in season three.  In season six.  In season nine – you get the point.  A mention of Callen’s wedding here and there but otherwise, Hetty could have picked Arkady at the bar, Sam or Callen could have been on bodyguard duty instead of Rountree. 

And I know the lack of Sam (all) and Callen (a lot) in this episode has to do with the upcoming crossover episodes but just have Sam up on the big screen in Ops telling Callen to drop everything, he’s needed. 

It wasn’t a bad episode – and anytime Arkady shows up, the fun level goes up, up, up – but it just wasn’t much of an episode.

Episode number:   This was episode nine of season 14 (though it was filmed after “A Long Time Coming”), episode 311 overall.

[moonlightreal]

Why the Nancy Drew Games are so Great

I searched the internet for articles about “why the Nancy Drew games are so great” because they are great and I was sure someone out there had articulated why.  I found an article or two, but nothing that quite covered what I was looking for.  So I banged together this list.

Why the Nancy Drew games are so great, by Cupcakedoll

I think it comes down to “they are so very wholesome and pure.”

-Nancy is relentlessly upbeat.  Even when scary things happen Nancy is only a little bit nervous.  Her friends are always supportive.  Ned worries about Nancy but never tries to make her give up her sleuthing.  There is no friend or boyfriend drama.  Even the villains are rarely trying to cause real damage.  Many of the cases are based on misunderstandings or good intentions gone awry.  After the first game nobody dies and the rest of the cases are mostly about Nancy investigating sabotage or mysterious events, a few missing person cases but you know they’re going to be fine.

-Nancy is happy to do your chores. Need someone to dig clams, update your website, paint reproductions of masterpieces, cook any meal, clean hotel rooms, sheer sheep, teach English, assemble a model skeleton, catch gophers, gather gear for a disaster kit, go ice fishing, mix (nonalcoholic) drinks, dance onstage in a catsuit, gather bait, sort bug parts, or feed a tracking device to a pigeon?  Nancy Drew is ready to help!

-The games are weirdly feminist by being unfeminine.  Nancy never voices any particular interest in fashion, makeup, or being on stage.  When you can choose Nancy’s clothes the outfits are as goofy as they are pretty, and she famously has mom jeans in her suitcase whenever we can look in her suitcase. Even in Danger by Design there’s no attention to “prettiness.” Nancy sounding like a responsible adult adds to this lack of teenage girlosity.

-The world of the games is full of repeating characters and products.  With the games made basically on top of each other the creators could throw in lots of references back and forth creating a world that feels like a world.  You can phone Nancy’s friends in the games and they’re always the same so you get to know them and look forward to hearing what they’re up to while Nancy is off solving mysteries.  Between this and the environments, the games are really immersive.

-The minigames and puzzles are fun. Well, mostly.  In every game there’s at least one that I decide must be bugged because I can’t figure it out.  But there’s often also one I come back to because it just has this nice meditative feeling to it.

-They try to be educational but really… aren’t and it just comes off so charmingly out of touch.

-There are a million of them.  The games were coming out two a year so every time I went to the office supply store I could pick one up without really thinking about it. They’re all different enough, different vibe, characters and setting, that there will be some you just love.  And they’re all the same enough to feel comfy and you don’t have to learn new mechanics.

Alas that is the series’ past; there have been changes at HerInteractive that may mean the series has ended or may just mean we need to wait several years between games, like with every other game studio.

If you play the games you may never know the strangeness surrounding them.  There do be some strangeness.

Lani Minella voiced Nancy in all game but one… and Nancy sounds so mature because Lani was in her sixties when she stopped voicing the character.  She had some kind of magical 4-octave voice so she can do that.  She also did some roaring for monsters in Subnautica, among many, many other game credits.  But about the time Ms. Minella stopped voicing Nancy she made a post about “chemtrails,” suggesting she may have gone a little batty in her senior years.

HerInteractive also made a Vampire Diaries game, proving that everything is six degrees of separation from LJ Smith.

And the games were, for a long time, not making money.  The company was funded by a Mysterious Benefactor who thought that the games were worth putting into the world.  Nobody knows who that was, and they’ve probably stopped benefact-ing nowadays since HerInteractive has shrunk down the way it has.

For more, this video:

My favorite game, so far, is Shadow at the Water’s Edge, because Japan.  White Wolf of Icicle Creek also holds a place in my heart.  I haven’t played Midnight in Salem, a game I approach with some trepidation after seeing reports that it isn’t just like all the other ones.  Really, what we want are games that are just like all the other ones!

[ndfan3]

“Why, Nancy, Burt, wha- what are you doing here?” Jim stammered, looking up wide eyed as the girl sleuth and her companion at last revealed themselves by striding noisily into the forest clearing. Nancy eyed the hole close to the base of the hollow oak, a spade thrust into the overturned earth and Jim’s right hand placed on the handle of the tool. “I don’t think we need to ask you the same question, do we, Jim?” the detective responded accusingly. The young man still on his knees, his trousers caked with mud, quickly thrust the artefact he was holding into a pocket. “Let’s see that!” Nancy exclaimed and Burt quickly ran past the girl and grappled with Jim briefly before prising the metal object from his grasp.

“Give that back!” Jim protested as Burt handed the item over to Nancy. “You have no right!” The girl scanned the piece of metal and quickly worked out its significance. “It’s a Mesquakie ceremonial bracelet.” she confirmed. “Part of the treasure that the dig is looking for. No wonder our “guide” here sent them off in the opposite direction.” Jim looked abashed but said defiantly: “Those California professors are idiots! They know nothing about Illinois Native American culture or its value! I could make thousands on the private collector market!” Nancy gave the man a cold look. “Not now you won’t, Jim.” she told him. “I think you will find that unofficial treasure hunting of Indian treasures is strictly illegal in this state.” Jim looked downcast and said nothing more. Nancy turned to Burt and pressed the bracelet into the man’s hand. “Hurry and try to catch up Professor Andersen, Burt.” she urged. “This is clearly the real site. It’s not too late for them to uncover the whole of the Mesquakie Horde before their dig license runs out.” Burt looked past her shoulder at the miserable looking Jim. “Will you be all right alone with him?” he asked, eyes narrowing. Nancy nodded. “Don’t worry, Burt, I’ll tie Jim up after you have gone - just to be on the safe side - I promise.” she answered. “I’ll be fine.” Burt smiled. “I know, I should be more worried about him than you, Nance!” he laughed, and turned and took off at a trot in the direction the archaeologists had been headed after being misdirected by their cunning guide. After Burt had gone, Nancy picked up a coil of climbing rope and looked severely down at the glum looking and seated Jim. “Stand up, my friend,” the girl detective told him, “I’m going to tie you up so you don’t cause me any mischief while we wait.” Jim gave her a bitter look, but slowly rose to his feet and placed his hands behind his back without being asked.

My interpretation of the story behind the cover to The Message in the Hollow Oak, The Nancy Drew Mystery Stories #12 (1935 and 1972)

[ao3feed-nace]

Perfect Cover

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/509qU36 by Reviewdiaries When Nancy gets a case that sends her off to a weekend house party, Ace tags along as her perfect cover fake date. It'll all be fine, she's a professional, she can cope with pretend dating Ace for forty eight hours. At least, that's what she tells herself whilst the case unravels and they find themselves in ever more compromising positions. Words: 19262, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Nancy Drew (TV 2019) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Nancy Drew, Ace (Nancy Drew) Relationships: Ace/Nancy Drew Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mutual Pining, There Was Only One Bed, The couple that sleuths together, Roadtrip, Friends to Lovers, AU - based in canon, canon adjacent, Fluff and Smut, Solving mysteries and falling in love read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/509qU36

[heartofarcanum]

@it-lives-week Here’s my MC, Jamie, for Day 1 of It Lives Appreciation Week!

We all play together

[butler-on-beale-street]

Unforgettable | E!Austin Butler X Plus! Reader | Part 1

Warnings: some vague descriptions of plus sized body. Aside from that, just the beginnings of a wonderful story.

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: I have enjoyed writing this so much--it's probably been my favorite fic I've written so far. This fic is not exclusive to only plus readers, however it was intended for that audience in mind. I received several fic requests for a plus! reader, but this story is specifically based on a request from @im-just-star-dust. You may interpret this fic as Elvis himself or as Austin's version. This fic will end up being several parts. I have written nearly 10K words already and it's just the beginning. Dig your claws in and stay awhile.

Where’s the manual for what to do when the most famous and most beautiful man in America walks into your bookstore like a neighborhood regular? 

“Evelyn!” you shouted across the storefront, buried in stacks of new books that had just arrived off of the truck. At this pace, you would be in the position for several hours. So, considering how dead the book shop was, you decided to slip off your mary janes and walk around in your socks. “Evey! Gimme some help, will ya?” Loading several boxes on a single dolly, you decided to do the work yourself without her, sticking your tongue out of your mouth to concentrate. You wheeled the rickety dolly to the book stacks, heaving a sigh before getting down on your knees to place the books on the shelves. 

“Stupid girl,” you sputtered to yourself. Too busy writing love letters to her darling, that’s what. Wish that was me. As you knelt, you kept pulling on your hose and stockings, just to make sure you were covering yourself modestly. You wanted to be like every other small, dainty girl who wore pretty little outfits and got away with showing a tad too much skin. You wore a sky blue cotton blouse with a peter pan collar. Delicate embroidered cherries adorned the fabric. It was one of your favorites, so you wore it often. You wore the top tucked into a navy blue wool skirt that just barely grazed your knee. It was a cute outfit, but the skirt fit you tighter than it should and your knee high socks kept rolling down your legs, reminding you that you were just a bit too large to fit the style of the time. You sighed and sat on the floor with your legs crossed, reaching for the boxes of books. You pulled each title up to the shelves one by one, meticulously organizing them label by label, author by author. You had left a small notebook tucked in one of the boxes so that you could keep track of inventory, writing down the serial number of each copy before putting it on the shelf. Only, when you checked, it wasn’t there. You looked into the boxes several times, hoping that it would appear upon second check, but you had no such luck. Looking up at the stacks, you saw that edge of the notebook hanging over the edge of a higher shelf. You reached a hand up to one of the shelves to pull yourself up from the floor, but it was a bad mistake. The entire shelf tilted precariously, falling with you. “Oh no!” you yelped, reaching for the gigantic shelf in a feeble attempt to right it. 

“Woah, woah, woah!” a voice boomed, from the other side of the shelf, pulling it away from you so that it wouldn’t topple completely. To your dismay, all of the books on the shelves tumbled to the floor in mess. 

“Mercy!” You spat, pulling your hands up to your face in frustration. “Ugh.” You bent to pick up the books and start again, loading them each back on the shelf. As you bent again, a hand reached down to the mess, picking up a pile of books. “Nancy Drew. Hmph,” You heard as you pulled more books into your arms. “How long you think they’ll keep writing these?” 

“As long as they’ll fly off the shelves I reckon-” you responded before being choked to silence when you stood up straight to see who stood in front of you. “Elvis Presley.” You said, plainly, as if he were the embodiment of the Lord Messiah in front of you. You were shocked into speechlessness. If you hadn’t caught yourself, your internal dialogue would have slipped out of your mouth right there in front of him.

“Yes, Ma’am. How’d you know my name?” He said with a sly wink, bending down to pick up more of the books that had fallen. “I’m just kiddin,’ doll. What’s your name?” He gave you a kind smile as he placed the books on an empty shelf. 

“I- I’m Y/n.” You said, still reeling at the fact that the most famous man in America and maybe even the world was standing directly in front of you. 

“Hmm.” He said, biting his bottom lip, pondering over a thought. “Can I call you Cheeks? You’ve got big ole cheeks just like me. Real pretty.” Embarrassment raked through your body. It felt sinful to finally have a man comment on your appearance, let alone Elvis Presley. You nodded shyly, avoiding eye contact. 

“Colonel don’t let me out often,” he said in an almost whisper. You watched as he poked his head around the end of the stacks, eyeing the entrance of the bookstore. “I came in when you had no customers.” You furrowed your eyebrows, still confused as to why this man was in the middle of a Memphis mom-and-pop bookstore. “Tired of hiding from everybody, you know?” He asked the question as if to get words of agreement, but in reality, you really didn’t know what it was like. You still nodded. 

“Are you looking for something in particular, Mr. Presley?” You asked the question, finally finding enough courage to speak. He almost recoiled when you called him by his last name. 

“Please! Just Elvis. I don’t even let my lawyers call me by my full name. And surely a pretty girl like you. You can call me Elvis.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick of gum, inserting it into his mouth. “Want a piece? It’s clove flavored. My favorite.” He stuck out the candy to you and you took it, thanking him. “So what do you say I help you pick up these books and get this all back in working order?” He said, smacking audibly on his gum. 

“Oh, no. No, don’t worry about it. I can clean it up–”

Elvis reached out his hand and took your forearm in reassurance. “I want to. I’d like to feel useful. Something outside of the newspapers and radio.” He bent and picked up more books and you let him. 

“It’s about to be lunch hour. It’s going to pick up.” You warned him in a soft tone.

“What if I asked you to close for the day? Maybe I could help out a bit, clean the place up? Dust off some shelves. Idk…look pretty?” You paused at the proposition. 

“Uh, it’s not my place. This is my uncle Harold’s store.” You answered. 

“Is he here, maybe in the back? I’ll be happy to speak with him.” You observed him, how his eyes lit up at the idea of working the most boring job known to man. 

“No, he’s home for the day. Me and my little cousin are working today.”

“He got a telephone? I’d be happy to pay for a full day’s loss–even more.” He practically jumped out of his sports coat. 

“There’s a phone in the back office,” You said, stepping out of the way of the books and onto the sales floor, letting him follow you from behind. “Are you sure you want to help out? I just sell books.” 

“Well, Cheeks,” He said, trying out the nickname. “I love books. I don’t look the type, but like reading all kinds of books. And I need a break from the world. From the noise.”

Uncle Harold didn’t believe him at first, even when Elvis took the phone from you. “Hiya, sir. This is Elvis Presley…yes sir. Yes. Yes sir. Yes, that’s me. I got my social security card on me if you’d like to see it,” He chuckled, causing your insides to stir. You struggled to look at him. How in the hell was he more gorgeous in real life than on television or in the pictures? You cleared your throat as if he could hear suspect thoughts swimming in your head. “Yes, I’ll cover today two times over. Your niece,” he paused, forgetting your name, putting his hand over the phone. 

“Y/n,” you reminded him with a smile. 

“Y/n! She is lovely, sir. Seems like the type to put me to work.” He winked at you before focusing back on the call. “Come over for dinner?” You heard him say the words, and you immediately felt like you were going to vomit. “Well, I’d love to.” You leaned against your uncle’s desk as they continued to chatter on the phone. “Mississippi pot roast?” He said, raking his hands through his sleek pompadour, messing it with the tips of his fingers. “I’m a Mississippi Man myself. Mm–Yes sir. Yes sir. Six o’clock?” He looked at you while he spoke. “I’ll be there. Mmmhmm. Yes sir. See you then.” He hung the phone up on the wall. 

“Looks like I’m having dinner at your place tonight,” he said, chewing on his gum, looking proud of himself. 

“Looks like you are,” you said wide eyed, bewildered at what just happened. 

“You said that your cousin works with you? Is she a ghost?” Elvis said, stepping out of the office, his hands tucked in his pockets. “No, she’s probably smoking by the back door.” You stepped out of the office and turned a sharp corner into a dark, wood paneled hallway that led to the back staff entrance of the bookstore. The back door, just as you suspected, was pulled ajar and you could see a ray of sunlight beaming through onto the linoleum floor. “Evelyn.” You said out loud. “Evelyn,” you said louder, jutting open the door. 

“What on earth do you want?” She asked, turning and grabbing the door, swinging it open. She blew a puff of smoke in your face as she held a lit cigarette between two fingers. You fanned it away. “It’s not like we were busy.” In her other hand, she held the most recent volume of Confidential magazine with Elvis on the cover. You looked down at it, amused at the surreality of the moment. “He is so dreamy,” she said, taking another puff of her cigarette. “Not afraid to shake things up a bit. Little bit of a bad boy. Wonder how many woman he has to tear off of him on a daily basis.” 

“Quite a lot, miss. But today, I’ve gotten a bit of a break.” Elvis finally spoke, stepping into the light. 

You watched with a raised eyebrow as Evelyn dropped the magazine to the ground along with her cigarette. Her jaw went slack as the man from the cover materialized before her. “No. Way.” She said, splitting both words with a pause in the middle. “Elvis goddamn Presley,” she blurted, the obscenity carelessly falling from her mouth. 

“Evey!” You scolded her. 

“Okay, so uh. When were you going to tell me that you were hiding him?” She said, stomping out her cigarette and closing the heavy door, leaving the magazine forgotten on the concrete. 

“I just walked in with my own free will if you’d imagine it,” Elvis said with a smirk. “Business wasn’t exactly boomin,’ anyhow.” 

“Hold on a second, let me get this right,” Evelyn said, walking beside the two of you as you walked back into the store front. “You’re literally the most famous man on Earth right now and you choose this hell hole?” 

“Evelyn, watch your mouth.” you warned, glaring at her. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just shocked.” She said, throwing her hands up in front of her. “How am I supposed to react?” 

“Well, Little miss Y/n took it pretty well, I think,” Elvis said, looking down at you with a grin. You didn’t usually like men to look at you. You knew what they were thinking most of the time. You were too chubby. Your curvaceous figure wasn’t attractive, and even when someone would show interest, they were never convicted enough to go steady with you. You liked the way Elvis looked at you, though. His demeanor was relaxed and charming, and he made an effort to look you directly in the eye when he spoke. 

“I knocked over an entire bookshelf trying to get up from the floor. Elvis saved me from becoming a pancake,” You said, his name feeling slippery and insecure on your tongue. You felt his arm swing around your back, taking you by the shoulder and pulling you in. “Glad I could swoop in and save the day. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to Captain Marvel Junior.”

“Who?” Evelyn said, her face scrunched in confusion. 

“You don’t know who he is?” You and Elvis both said in Tandem, looking back at one another before looking back at her. 

“He’s my favorite superhero. Loved him growing up back in Tupelo.” Evelyn eyed Elvis with half suspicion and half admiration, unsure of what to say next. “Say, uh,” Elvis began, leaning against the nearest wall with his pointer finger resting under his nose in thought. “You girls know where I could get something to drink in here?” Two minutes later, you were back in the tiny back room behind uncle Harold’s office drinking cold bottles of Coca-cola. 

“There ain’t much better than a fresh coke, I’ll tell you that,” Elvis said, tossing back the bottle for a large swig. He leaned against a tall filing cabinet. 

You sat on the corner of the kitchenette counter, slightly more aware of your body now that there wasn’t much left in terms of introduction between Elvis and yourself.. You tugged at the hem of your skirt and tried your best to be subtle with your attempt to pull up the knee-highs that were constantly rolling down your calves. “I know where there’s something a bit more…interesting.” You offered with a flirtatious wink. 

“Oh yeah?” Elvis responded with a wide smirk, his eyebrows raised with mischief. “And just what are you up to, Cheeks?” 

“Cheeks?” Evelyn asked, her eyebrows knit together with confusion–or jealousy. She looked at you, her eyes wide with disbelief before looking back at Elvis. 

“I know where uncle Harold keeps his booze,” You said with a wicked smirk.

“Are you old enough to be drinkin’?” Elvis asked, stepping forward off of the cabinet. “You’re just a pretty little thing.” You were 19, but appeared younger than you actually were.

“You gonna tell?” You fired back, challenging him. You were always a wallflower, but something about the man standing in front of you made you feel like you needed to prove that you deserved to be speaking to him. You wanted him to find you attractive and cool. 

“You are a wild one, aren’t you? Maybe I should call you my little wild cherry,” he said, stepping towards you, pinching the fabric of your shirt, referring to the embroidered fruit. He stole the air from your lungs as he stepped close to you. Though you stood calmly, it took a moment for your brain to stop its internal panic. He let out a belly laugh. “Oh you’re so cute. Not used to the flattery, are you, Cheeks?” You averted eye contact with him, offering a modest smile. “Go fetch the stash for us!”

You walked out of the kitchenette, letting your body finally sag in a massive release of breath. What the hell is Elvis Presley doing in my bookstore? Chatting it up with me–flirting with me? You couldn’t help but argue with your internal dialogue as you fished through your uncle’s office drawers, finally finding a bottle of whiskey tucked behind a stack of undesirable bank statements. You pulled the bottle out and swished its contents back and forth, walking the bottle back into the kitchen. “Not much left,” you said, holding it out in front of you.

“That’s alright,” Elvis said, gesturing for you to hand it over. “I’ll buy him another.” He turned around and peered at the acrylic overhead cupboards. “You got any glasses?” He asked, opening up the doors to the cabinets, peering into them. 

“Coffee cups,” Evelyn said with a shrug. Elvis looked back to her over his shoulder. “Well, it ain't the Taj Mahal, but it’ll do.” He pulled down three mismatched coffee cups, blowing puffs of air into each one, clearing out any settled dust. “Don’t tell your daddies I let you drink on the job.” 

“I smoke. I drink. I’m one step away from a reprobate,” Evelyn said, grabbing a coffee cup, waiting for Elvis to pour her her share of liquor. 

“Meanwhile your little cousin here,” He eyed you as he poured. “She’s an angel.”

“She’s two years older,” Evelyn corrected him, taking her cup to her mouth and taking a swig. You watched as her eyes twitched as the bitter-sweet alcohol went down.

“Are we gonna get any work done?” You asked, a bit uncomfortable with the conversation. 

“Oh, work. That’s right,” Elvis said, handing you a coffee cup before tipping his back to his lips, looking at you from over the rim. You took a swig of the whiskey, trying your best to not make a face. 

***

“Damn,” you said with your hands on your hips as you looked down at the mess of books still strewn out on the floor. Evelyn let out a big sigh. 

“I’m not cleaning that up. Not even with Elvis Presley in the building.” She winked at Elvis, biting her lip. 

“Go off and write totals in the ledger, then. It’s fine. I made the mess anyway.” You crouched to begin picking up the rest of the books from the floor, noticing that Elvis was still standing there. “Oh, you can go hang with Evey, I got it.” He watched you for a moment before crouching down with you. “Ah, but you know.” He said slowly, considering his next words. “I kinda like this mysterious girl. I wanted to learn a bit about her. Can’t really do that when I’m crunching numbers with her cousin, can I?” 

You looked at him for an extended moment before clearing your throat and describing the organizational system. “Nancy Drew. Goes above the label “Na.” We’ve got nine copies in stock right now.” You handed Elvis the stack of books for him to order on the shelf. “Make sure the copies equal what’s on this,” You said, holding up the notebook from earlier. 

“Yes, ma’am. Put me to work,” He responded. 

You spent several minutes organizing the shelf back to its previous condition-perhaps even more tidy than before. You found out quickly that he knew how to make you genuinely laugh. It was a rarity that you found hilarity in your daily banter with others. Elvis, however, was extremely charismatic and authentic. 

“Looks pretty damn good if you ask me,” He said, clapping his hands together, signaling work well done. You nodded your head. 

“Tell me, Elvis. Need a job?” You asked with a wide grin, that only seemed to grow bigger when he threw his head back in a throaty wallop of a laugh. 

“I’m destitute, Miss. Please, oh please hire me.” He said, throwing his hands up in a beggar’s fist.

You rolled your eyes playfully before checking off the inventory list in your notebook. “So uh, what do you say we close up shop.” Elvis said softly. 

“Elvis, It’s only been like half an hour.” You replied, raising your eyebrows.

“And? What if I said I wanted to take you girls out on a joy ride. Maybe buy you a little thing or two. On me, of course.”

“I really shouldn’t. We told Uncle Harold that we’d still be worki-” Elvis brough his pointer finger to your lips. 

“Shh.” You did as he asked. “You’re with Elvis Presley. It may be big headed of me, Cheeks. But I like you. And I don’t wanna waste the day twiddling thumbs in here, even if I was originally trying to get away from fans.”

“So you want to run from them with us?” You asked him, crossing your arms across your chest. “Mm, might be fun to have two pretty girls like yourselves around my arms while we walk downtown.” The thought of being paraded around town with fans flocking around you made you absolutely queasy. 

“Oh, I- I don’t know,” you hesitated. 

“Oh come on, Y/n. He took your hand, sending bolts of electricity through your consciousness. “Take a chance. For me.” He willed you to look up at him, his cerulean eyes flooding your mind body and soul, daring you to say no to the man in front of you. 

“Okay.” You decided.

“Okay?” He repeated, his eyes lighting up immediately.

You nodded with a smile. “Yes.” 

“Ha!” He patted you enthusiastically on the back. “I knew it. There’s a spark inside of you, Y/n. I can hear it buzzin.’” He shook his finger in the air, emulating electricity. “We just gotta get it out of you.” 

End of Part 1.

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[nancywheelersgirlfriend]

the pleasure is mine (to die by your side)

(3,103 words) read on ao3 :)

It was 1994 and Robin Buckley woke up with no blankets on her side of the bed. She wasn’t particularly surprised - even when the harsh winter weather wasn’t raging outside their bedroom window, Nancy was infamous for stealing the covers over the course of the night. It wasn’t her fault. It was innate. Some secret urge to be warm. Robin ran hot, anyway. Her metabolism made her a human furnace.

So when she blinked awake at a bleary six in the morning, eager to turn back over and frankly not wake up again for the next three days, Robin simply turned over on her side. She tossed a haphazard arm over where she guess-estimated Nancy’s shoulder was underneath the pile of fabric. She pulled the lump closer to her chest and let out a contented little hum; just like a furnace.

Robin hand pawed at the comforter, yanking it down far enough to both ensure Nancy’s ability to breathe and press a kiss to the side of her warm neck. She splayed her fingers out at the base of Nancy’s collarbone where her ratty sleepshirt had slipped over the course of a turbulent night. She nuzzled her nose against Nancy’s curls. They spread out over the pillow like a biblical halo.

“‘m up,” Nancy mumbled. She clearly wasn’t. Robin pressed her responding grin into her hair and nodded encouragingly. “Did you have good dreams?”

“Yeah,” Robin said. Her foot, reaching forwards in exploration, hit the end of the comforter. Score! “I dreamt I got to wake up next to the most beautiful girl in the world, cold as shit.”

“Aw,” Nancy drew out the word, trying and failing to turn herself over in the mass of comforter and limb. “Baby, ‘m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Now you can warm me up,” Robin replied, mischievous toothy grin carefully disguised by the dark room as her absolutely freezing foot dug its way underneath the comforter and landed on Nancy’s leg. Nancy immediately sprung upwards, yelping as she leapt into a sitting position. Robin nearly got herself knocked off the bed.

“You bitch!” Nancy accused, but it was hard to sound serious when she was laughing so much. Underneath the comforter, which had flown half up in the chaos, Robin took the opportunity to slip completely underneath. Inside the blanket it felt like a womb. Nancy’s laughter was dimmed but no less beautiful. Robin lunged on her legs, shimmying up her hips, her waist. She pressed a quick kiss to the mole on Nancy’s left hip. Her face popped out from the line of the comforter.

Robin grinned up at Nancy, hair all mussed and arms coming to wrap their way around Nancy’s waist. Together they tumbled back down onto the bed, Robin and Nancy no longer two people but one ball of warmth.

“Let’s sleep in,” Robin suggested. Nancy turned Robin’s head with her hand to press a smacking kiss to her cheek. 

“Let’s stay here forever,” Nancy added. Robin’s hand squeezed her thigh in a resounding ‘hell yes’.

* * *

Robin -

Yes we’re fine and no, we don’t need money. Come down and visit us sometime. New Hampshire isn’t that far from Greenwich, seriously. Plus you guys have a car - pretty lucky for that. Mike wants to save up but I don’t see the need. If we had a car, we’d have to go to Hawkins. That sounds like Hell. So we got a cat instead. Picture included, of course. But you’ll have to come down to touch her. Mike says I should enclose a bit of her fur as a test sample for you two. Why do I love him again?

* * *

Robin looked up at Nancy’s hazy form, disguised by the steam coming off of her abnormally large coffee mug. She was gorgeously tired. Sat in a little cafe somewhere in Bath, where the brick walls peeled themselves apart and the barista gave up her post to chat up the guy working the pick-up window, they had breakfast.

“You want a bite of my croissant?” Nancy asked. She was picking apart her pastry. The little flakes fell to the plate. 

“Let’s trade,” Robin agreed. She pushed over a bite of her cinnamon roll. Nancy dropped a piece of hers into Robin’s open palm, brushing their fingers together as she did. They ate them at the same time and smiled around their food.

Nancy nudged the side of her foot against Robin’s big combat boots. She scribbled something down on the open and inked-up notepad on the desk in front of her.

“Whatcha writing?” Robin asked, nodding down at the offending paper. Nancy passed it over to her, laughing as she watched her quickly lick off the sugar icing as to not dirty the pad. Robin squinted her tired eyes, red-faced and fresh. A child. “Hm. Red wheelbarrow. Red hair. Who’s got red hair?” She tilted her head. Nancy reached over and tugged representatively at a strand fallen out from behind Robin’s pink-tipped ear.

“You’re so red all the time,” Nancy said.

“Is that a good thing?” Robin replied. She leaned down to take a tentative sip of her burning hot coffee. It scalded her tongue. It reminded her of being alive. She smiled into the rim of the mug.

“What color am I?” Nancy asked, moving forward to rest her chin on her open palm. Robin hummed contemplatively and dipped a finger in Nancy’s tea. It was equally hot and swirling. Nancy paid no mind.

“You’re green,” Robin said decisively. Nancy raised a questioning eyebrow and stole another piece of Robin’s cinnamon roll. “Like the forests back home.”

“And the forests here aren’t green?” Nancy asked, laughing.

“It’s a different kind of green,” Robin elaborated. She passed Nancy back her notepad, watching as she jotted down two words - different greens - in the margins of her work-in-progress poem. “It’s a warmer green. Even though you run cold.”

“You’re not red just because you’re burning hot all the time,” Nancy protested. She held up her tea cup in offering. Robin took it and tasted it experimentally. It tasted like floral. It smelled like Nancy. The green coloring swam in front of her eyes. She loved this coffee shop.

“We’re Christmas colors,” Robin gasped. Nancy stole her coffee mug out from underneath her hand. 

“I’ll toast to that.” When they knocked their mugs together, the liquids splashed into each other. 

* * *

Anyway, El’s been begging to go see the beach, so I think we’ll head out soon enough. She’s just finishing her last exams and then we’ll have the winter off. She finally decided she wanted to study biology. I think it’s perfect for her. And Lucas’ book - it’s great. Just great. If you want, we can send you a copy. He’ll sign it and everything. He’s very excited. I hope you’re doing well.

Love always,

Mad Max

* * *

Robin tucked her nose into the warm fabric of her scarf. On the cobblestone street of their little backwater town, the ground was getting littered with snow. Nancy was a few feet in front of her, gloved hands picking at a haphazard stack of books outside. They rested atop packed cardboard boxes, scribbled on with unreadable words and backlit by the yellow-stained windows of the bookshop they were in front of. A red, messy sign that read ‘ONE DOLLAR’ was taped and half-off the main table. 

“Anything good?” Robin asked, words muffled by the thick wool. Her scarf was roughly knit, a gift from Joyce Byers (who was attempting to find something else to do with her hands besides chain-smoking). 

“A signed copy of Frankenstein,” Nancy said, shaking a small paperback around enticingly.

“Signed?” Robin repeated incredulously.

“I didn’t say by who,” Nancy laughed. Robin snatched the book from her willing hands, cracking it open to the inside of the front cover. Therein lied a note written by blue pen: to suzie christmas 1960. “Wonder why Suzie gave it up.” Robin furiously flipped through the pages, uncaring that it was decades old. As she did so, a group of about twenty pages suddenly came apart from the spine and fell onto the snow-covered ground. The two women watched it flutter down, barely holding back their laughter.

“Probably that,” Robin said. She handed Nancy the book, who tucked it back into the book Jenga game in front of them. “You wanna go in?”

“Did you even have to ask?” Nancy replied. As they squeezed their way through the tiny, handbuilt doorway, Robin let her fingertips brush Nancy’s waist. It was a dangerous game, even in their sweet, sleepy little town. The older woman at the register seemed seconds away from passing out. Robin let her fingers stay on Nancy’s waist. 

“History section?” Robin suggested, letting her eager eyes stray down the stacks of bending bookcases. She caught a glimpse of a book about ancient Europe and nearly foamed at the mouth from excitement.

“Science fiction!” Nancy argued. Robin followed her dutifully.

“Haven’t you lived through enough?” She groaned dramatically, leaning on the shelf as Nancy shifted meticulously through the books. Robin registered how far back they’d gotten in the bookstore - nearly at the back. They were completely alone. As she watched Nancy pick out the leftovers of the shelf in front of her, she shook off her scarf.

“They’re raising the prices,” Nancy muttered absently, flipping with fast fingers through the Ks and Ls. Robin draped her scarf around Nancy’s neck. The wool fell in front of her eyes.

“Guess who,” Robin sing-songed. Nancy’s hand came up to yank down at the fabric, smirking up at her much taller girlfriend. She stepped back so that her back hit Robin’s chest, pressing them together. 

“Hello, beautiful,” Nancy said, tilting her head up to meet eyes with Robin. The scarf fell to the floor, completely forgotten. Robin’s hand drifted to grab at Nancy’s chin, holding her face in place as she leaned down and connected their lips. Nancy laughed at the position, spinning in place to fully face Robin in between the tight bookshelves. Robin squeezed her chin and then dropped her arms to wrap them around Nancy’s waist. She yanked her closer. They melted together.

Robin slowly pressed Nancy into the bookshelf, wooden grooves and all. She tilted her head and suddenly her mouth was falling open in pure contentment, Nancy responding tenfold. Her hands shot up to grip at Robin’s hair - a habit Robin loved teasing her about. 

She whimpered into Robin’s mouth, a quiet little noise Robin heard like a bomb. She pushed her farther into the shelf in reply. One of her hands balled up a bit of Nancy’s sweater in her fist, fingertips skimming her skin. As they tussled against the stack, a group of hastily stacked books fell to the floor.

Robin pulled back, eyes deer-like and scared. But the woman at the front made no move to come back and see them. She kept Nancy close to her chest, both blinking back to the present.

“You make me forget where I am,” Robin told her as Nancy bent down to grab at the poor, damaged books. Nancy set them back onto the bookshelf with a final pat to their covers.

“You make me forget I’m alive,” Nancy retorted. She scooped up the scarf and tossed it around her neck with a wink. It looked much better on her, Robin thought. Everything was beautiful on Nancy Wheeler.

* * *

Nance and Rob,

We’ve got a guest room with clean sheets if you want it. Come out and escape the New Hampshire snow.

Jon and Argyle

* * *

The dimly lit sign nailed up outside the teensy church said the Christmas candlelit service was at 8 o’clock. Robin tilted her head to check it out, admiring the lopsided Jesus figure atop the sign. She resisted the urge to fix its position.

“Snowball?” Nancy offered from a few feet away. Robin turned on her heel just as Nancy was pitching back and tossing said weapon, which she’d balled up from the multitude of snow at her feet. Robin raised her hands too slowly. The snowball hit her square in the chest, soaking through her coat. She grinned challengingly and made a ‘come here’ motion with her hands. “No, no, I already gave it to you!”

“I want to return the favor,” Robin protested, bending halfway over to scoop at snow blindly - she couldn’t tear her eyes from a pink-cheeked Nancy even if she wanted to.

“You really don’t have to,” Nancy reassured, but it was too late. Robin threw the snowball way over her head - it hit the back of Nancy’s hip as she shrieked and leapt away.

“No, no, you ran away,” Robin said, words dipped in laughter. “Come back, let me get you again.”

“I think one was enough!” Nancy squealed as Robin rushed forwards like a bull, hands piled high with snow. “Rob!”

“Come here, you coward!” Robin accused, but it hardly held any weight with how much she was giggling. Nancy dodged again. Robin scooped up more snow and stumbled forwards, puffing out her cheeks and turning a little green. 

“Rob?” Nancy asked, all concerned. She stepped forward, hand on Robin’s shoulder. Robin grinned mischievously up at her for a second before she made a gagging sound. She pretended to throw up the snow all down Nancy’s coat, stumbling into her and her hand. Nancy gasped from the sudden cold. “Robin Buckley!”

“It’d sound better with Wheeler after it, wouldn’t it?” Robin said, grinning like a fox. Nancy rolled her eyes affectionately. She let Robin pull her in close, pressing their equally soaked chests together for warmth.

“I dunno, I think Nancy Buckley has a good ring to it,” Nancy mused. Unbeknownst to Robin, she began to shuffle snow with her heels. 

“You would never give up your last name,” Robin argued. Nancy hummed in agreement, reaching up with one hand to cart her fingers through Robin’s shaggy hair. As her girlfriends’ eyes shut in contentment, Nancy reached down with her other hand and grabbed loosely at snow. She slammed it down onto Robin’s head. The snow leaked down onto her face as her eyes snapped open, betrayed.

“You traitor!” Robin shouted. She barreled into Nancy, sending them both tumbling onto the snow. They rolled around in the snow, tussling for control and better access to ammo, getting increasingly colder and wetter as they went. Robin shoved snow down Nancy’s sweater along her spine. Nancy managed to get a few flakes into Robin’s open, accusatory mouth. 

“Truce?” Robin gasped, chest heaving as she flopped onto her back in the snow. The steeple above, towering over them like God himself, peered over her. Nancy’s face, flushed and beautiful, appeared for a moment before she was flopping down beside her. 

“Truce,” Nancy agreed, equally exhausted. Her gloved hand flopped out on the snow to grab at Robin’s hand. Their fingers tangled together. It was a ball of warmth. Robin shut her eyes and let out a sigh, breathing in the smell of snow.

* * *

Robin, please please please let me come over and visit. I’m so sick of Oregon. Okay, that’s a lie. I love Oregon. I love teaching. But I want to see you. Maybe become a Robert Frost. Maybe read some Nancy Wheeler poetry. Maybe ordain your wedding? Kidding. Kind of. Call me!

Your best friend, 

Steve

* * *

Robin squinted into the lit fireplace, embers sizzling as it kickstarted itself. Outside the snowstorm raged. On the coffee table in front of her was a spread of letters and postcards, collected from friends. All waiting to be responded to. They’d been silent for too long.

But as she watched Nancy putter around in the kitchen, cooking up a batch of rocky road cookies and working on another round of coffee, Robin couldn’t help wishing they were the only two people in the world. Living in this little cottage off the side of the road, surrounded by mountains and wind and birch trees, it felt like they were. She smiled to herself. Nancy swore as she burnt the tip of her pointer on the hot, rumbling oven.

“Cookies are almost done!” Nancy called out, turning her head in Robin’s vague direction. She knew where she was. She looked almost shrunken in the low doorway from the living room to the kitchen, the doorway Robin had to duck through everytime she passed - or hit her forehead on the rim as a consequence of not thinking. Still Robin appreciated the hobbit hole. She liked feeling so close and so small. She’d never been able to feel that way before, at least not positively.

It was hard to believe anything had happened. Hard to believe it would never happen again. She let herself close her eyes and shift on their lumpy couch, head to the plush back and body warmed by the fire. The letters spoke like her friends. Robin wished they were here, in person. Then again, it was nice for everybody to be somewhere else.

“You wanna lick the spoon?” Nancy asked, waving around the spoon enticingly. She pretended to drop it into the sink, laughing as Robin’s face twisted up in childish pain. “You know I would never!”

“Nance, you’re evil,” Robin promised. She managed to get up off the couch anyway, stumbling through the doorway (ducking her head) to reach her girlfriend. She came to stand beside Nancy in front of the oven. The cookies within rose like little babies. Nancy passed her the spoon. Robin gave her a kiss on the cheek as thank you. She devoured the leftover batter like a starved man. Nancy just laughed. She looked adorable in her overalls, too big for her body and perfect for her soul.

“You’re a child,” Nancy retorted, leaning up against the counter a with a grin. Robin shrugged, unaffected. She dropped the spoon into the waiting bowl, which had been disposited in the sink. Soapy water splashed up onto the sides of her long sweater sleeves.

“You love me,” Robin challenged. Nancy reached up to twirl a bit of Robin’s hair around her finger and nodded in easy agreement.

“I do,” Nancy said. “I will.”

“Forever?” Robin asked. Nancy pursed her lips, the smile on her face that seemed permanent whenever she looked at Robin. She stepped closer and watched. 

“Longer than that,” Nancy promised.

“Cheeseball.”

“Nerd,” Robin replied snarkily. When she leaned down to kiss Nancy, she met her halfway - arms around her neck, feet stepping on each other, the whole shebang. The oven dinged tellingly. Robin tightened her grip on Nancy’s waist. There was no point in letting her go. 

[favefandomimagines]

Hidden (ace.)

Summary: after the run in with the wraith, you hide the fact that you’re injured from Ace. Until it’s impossible to hide it anymore.

AN: takes places in the beginning of season 2 after the whole thing with the wraith in the woods. It was both Nancy and the reader on the bus when the wraith attacks it, reader gets hurt pretty badly but covers it up.

Reader and Ace are in an established relationship

Request: @clairbear2002 “Hey, I was wondering if you could do Nancy drew ace x reader maybe where the reader gets hurt or cursed and tries to hid it from ace please?”

You weren’t afraid to throw yourself into a dangerous situation. Almost every time you and your friends are faced with something life or death, you’re the first to put yourself in harms way.

It was what made you and Nancy so close, because she was prone to doing it too. You joked you were born under a gold star because you have never once gotten hurt; yet. George thought you had some weird death wish, Bess tried to psychologically diagnose you based on your family situation but Ace was just Ace.

He was supportive, yet knew when to tell you something might be too much for you. Though he hated it when you were so quick to risk your life especially when you didn’t have to. But he knew that you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t ready to protect and help your friends.

Now, apart of you believed that your luck was starting to run out when you were trapped in a bus with your best friend, a supernatural creature attempting to kill you both. You thought you both came out physically unscathed, but you soon felt a deep stinging in your side and felt the blood seeping through your shirt.

You couldn’t tell you friends, especially with everything that’s going on with the Aglaeca. Your injury was very low on the list of worries you all had right now. But Ace could tell the second you were all walking out of the woods that something was wrong. You walked a bit behind the rest of the group and it seemed as if your mind was elsewhere.

It wasn’t until you got back to The Claw when Ace confronted you about your behavior. You were sat in a booth near the window and you were pale, your skin was slicked with sweat. He knew that something was not right.

“Are you okay?” He asked, sitting across from you. “I’m fine. Just tired.” You lied. Ace knew you well enough to know when you were lying and you definitely were. “Tell me the truth, Y/N.” He said.

You paused for a moment before signing and lifting the sleeve of your shirt. On your forearm was a deep, bloody gash that did not look good.

“Y/N,” Ace started. “I know, okay? I should’ve told you when it happened.” You said. “Why didn’t you?” He asked “I don’t know. I guess I never thought my good luck streak would end.” You answered bashfully.

Ace stood up and grabbed the first aid kit from the kitchen. He sat back down next to you and began working on your arm.

“Y/N I love you. Which is why I need to tell you that you’re not invincible and your not indispensable. You matter to so many people and I hate seeing you put yourself in danger all the time. If anything ever happened to you, I wouldn’t know what to do.” Ace said.

You watched him as he cleaned the wound on your arm, afraid of you looked up your tears would fall. “I’m sorry.” You whispered. “Hey, hey, don’t cry. I just don’t want to lose you.” Ace said wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’m sorry, Ace. I guess I never thought how me acting so recklessly would make you feel and that’s so selfish of me and-“ You stared before Ace cut you off.

“Stop that. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t throw yourself into dangerous situations. It scares me to death, yeah, but that’s the Y/N I fell in love with.” He said. “I love you too.” You replied. “Now, let’s get this cleaned up I before it gets infected.” He said.

You smiled up at him, wondering how the hell Ace was able to put up with you the way he did. But you were grateful that he does because you couldn’t do it without him.

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

etcetera, jemima and electra for the book ask

Etcetera used to drag her big board books in one paw with her stuffed bear juggled in the other arm over towards anyone who would give her the time of day (her mom had a whole library of little books for her that she kept in a shoe box for Etcetera to easily access). If they were sitting with her, she'd collapse bodily on their side or make herself at home in their lap, effectively trapping them, and nudge the book at them until they got the hint. Some cats read better than others, in her humble little opinion - the ones who do the voices and have her touch the illustrations or point to things were always her favourites, but she gave every cat a chance. If they bored her, she'd give them the message loud and clear by closing the book (usually on their fingers), and wandering off, but if they *didn't*, she'd ask for them to read it again. And again. And again. And...again.

Nowadays she's a Babysitter's Club type of girl - she loves YA series in that thread, so BSC, Pony Club Secrets, The Gymnasts, you name it (she has all of them). She also loves her Animorphs and Geronimo Stilton books, and relates maybe a little too much to Junie B. Jones and the Ramona books by Beverly Clearly.

Electra is a highlighter, too, like Grizabella, and a scribbler from time to time. She always puts her own handwritten little index at the front of every book with a legend, so she remembers which colour highlighters mean what. She's more a Goosebumps and Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys type series gal, but has equal amounts of collector's urges as Etcetera in that she *also* has all of them and always looked forward to a new one (she'd be the type who would have lined up outside of a bookstore waiting for new releases - iykyk).

She likes hiding herself away to read in her secret spots so she won't be disturbed - her mom helped her string little fairy lights in the space so she could retreat there whenever she wanted - usually with a biscuit she's snatched. Electra also thought her reading under the covers with her little lamp was perhaps the most genius and sneaky thing; never mind that she was hardly subtle about it. She and Etcetera swap their books back and forth often.

Jemima has very little interest in books, but she's got an extremely invested interest in stories. She'd rather sit and listen to someone telling her a story than to read one. Anyone who's willing is asked for a story, and she collects them like little trinkets in a bag, listening quietly the first time around, but then excitedly interjecting details if she's heard it before. She's a *big* lover of Fairy Tales and stories that centre around magic and mythology (she was a Greek Mythology and Dragon kid).

That being said, the one book she will gladly sit and listen to all day every day is A Little Princess , which is one of her mother's favourites and she was reading to her even before she opened her eyes, she reckons. She knows every beat of that story by heart, and it makes her feel warm and safe when someone pulls that book from the shelf and pulls her to their side and reads it. Jemima believes that the stories cats choose to tell are very telling of who they are as individuals, and she can often get a read on someone based on what sorts of tales they tell her, or what books they choose to read her. Even if they’re poor at it, it’s the thought that counts in Jemima’s eyes. She’ll appreciate it and warm up to you anyways. 

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Love Me Like You Drew - chapter two

Fandom: Nancy Drew Pairing: Nancy x Ace Rating: E Chapter: 2 / 6 Word Count: 4861

Chapter summary: Nancy Drew? Collect call from the attraction you’re fighting. Will you accept the charges?

Read: chapter one

So not everything about this picturesque little town was quite as perfect as it would’ve been in a Hallmark production. Faucets cracked. People (Nancy, specifically) ran over nails in diner parking lots and punctured their tires. There was a murder hotel.

…Which was where Nancy happened to be staying. Served her right for trying to upgrade after the shabby place in Boston.

Obviously, she hadn’t known about the Breaker Hotel’s reputation until after check-in. Without a reservation, and right in the middle of camping and beach-going season, she’d just been happy to get a room. She’d eavesdropped to learn the short version from the trio of ghost-hunter wannabes waiting in line behind her. (Creepy noises, temperature changes, blah blah blah, sounded like a textbook hoax to take advantage of precisely the brand of chump the hotel had successfully managed to attract.) She’d wanted to ask what was up with the dorky tourists, but the face of the woman behind the front desk—her nametag read “Amanda”—suggested this happened a lot.

“Between you and me,” Amanda told her in a low voice as Nancy’s credit card transaction went through, “it’s bullshit. Just a tourist attraction. Nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah,” Nancy said. “I figured.”

“You seem like maybe you’re here for work, so I just wanted to assure you that there won’t be any supernatural interruptions.”

She printed a copy of Nancy’s bill. Accepting it, Nancy gave the woman a shrewd look, though she was also smiling.

“I’m sure Horseshoe Bay gets overrun with summer vacationers. What makes you say I’m here for work?”

“You seem very focused. Driven, you know? Not like a lot of our… esteemed summer guests.” Rich was the word Amanda tactfully refused to say. “There are a few locals who could do with a little more ambition too.”

She certainly had someone in mind with a comment like that, but it was Nancy’s turn to be tactful and not ask, especially when Amanda appeared to realize she’d gone a step beyond a welcoming rapport. It was the kind of vague criticism you’d throw around with friends in the know, not guests at your place of work. That sort of thing happened to Nancy though—people opened up to her. Although it wasn’t the same as making friends, since she rarely offered anything in return, the one-sided human connection of listening while someone talked was great for gathering book material.

Nancy took her bag up to her room—nary a glowing pair of eyes beneath the bed or bloody message on the bathroom mirror—and left the hotel to explore the town on foot.

Gathering book material indeed. She hadn’t had to try too hard with that yet, had she? As if the scenic setting weren’t enough, as if she couldn’t easily fictionalize the Claw into a bistro or an ice cream shop. On top of those things, Horseshoe Bay had offered up a Horseshoe Babe who wouldn’t have looked out of place on a single Harlequin cover. Even the historical romances—he had the sweep of long-ish hair that worked for a lot of time periods. Give the guy a billowing white shirt and you were good to go.

It probably should’ve felt like a gift, and would have to anyone less cynical, but Nancy didn’t trust it. She couldn’t base a character on that guy. With his sopping-wet shirt and his earring that she wanted to tug between her teeth. Never mind too good to be true: he was too real to be fake. A romance hero who’d come to life and refused to be put back in his book. No reader would place their trust in this man. The only purpose he could serve in Nancy’s story was to throw her off. She was going to walk around this pretty little town and forget all about him.

And his name was Ace. Real name? Nickname? Nancy didn’t know, but she couldn’t have come up with a more brilliant one for him if she’d tried. Best of the best, the name implied, accomplished in just three letters. And his last name? Bess had told her, giving Nancy a knowing look as she’d walked her to her car. Hardy. Only positive connotations there: strong, brave, resilient. It was a word Nancy would use to describe herself taking a chance on George’s clam chowder. Naturally, being a romance writer, she also appreciated the short cognitive jump readers would take from “Hardy” to “hard-on.” Wholesome and erotic. The man had range.

Not that she’d ever use his real name.

And she wasn’t using him for inspiration anyway! Period!

Nancy groaned and pulled open the door of the next store she passed—an antique shop. For a while, she wandered the cluttered but curated aisles, examining the cubbies of rolltop desks; gently tinkling the foggy, hanging crystals of heirloom chandeliers; staring at painting after painting after painting of ships on choppy seas. The sloshing waves reminded her of the sink at the Claw. Yeah, no, this wasn’t helping.

“We also have antique jewellery,” the man working there told her, one last attempt at a sale to the clearly distracted woman strolling aimlessly around his store. He stood behind a glass counter that held up the cash register but also contained an assortment of pieces that caught the light. She gave it a cursory glance to be polite. So many hideous brooches.

“Thanks,” Nancy said, granting him a parting smile, “but I’m good.” She touched her fingers to the locket hanging around her neck and exited the store.

As she walked down the sidewalk, she slid the locket back and forth on its chain. It had been her mom’s and now it was hers. Inside was a picture of Nancy as a baby, held over her mom’s heart for so many years, a constant symbol of her love even when teenage Nancy fought with her over petty, stupid stuff. Her mom’s love had been the steadiest she’d ever known, but sometimes (particularly right after losing her), Nancy felt like she should’ve loved her better in return. Thank goodness her dad had picked up the slack.

She remembered her parents in love, together at home, abroad in France and Switzerland. If the traces of pain in Nancy’s novels had come from the darkest weeks of her life—her mom wasting away and her dad stressing over the mounting medical bills he refused to discuss—then the persevering love story came from all their family’s good years. Seventeen years after her birth, her mom and dad had still held hands at the movies, posted the same kissing selfies to both of their Facebook pages, and teased each other across the table at family dinner. They’d made fairy tales look trite and exposed the best romcoms as pathetic imitations of the real thing. Where was Nancy supposed to look for the real thing now that her mom was gone?

Horseshoe Bay, apparently. That was the answer she’d come up with, the straw she’d grasped at when personal experience wasn’t giving her results. Oh, she had flings; Nancy smiled to herself as she thought of those. Owen. Abe. Gil. Park. Plenty of fun at the time, and a couple who’d wanted more than just something fun, but none of it had ever been serious for her. She’d never sat across a table from a man in a swanky restaurant and felt what she’d seen between her parents at their own dining room table. Was that the great lie of her career—that the Nancy Drew had never been in love?—or was it the secret to her bestseller status? Maybe it took a person who was always wanting and never getting to pen the most raved-about romance.

At the café, she picked up a latte and an idea for her next activity to take her mind off of… Dammit, she’d nearly managed to forget him. But she pulled out her phone and brought up the website printed on the poster in the café’s window. Sure, she could go for an historic tour. She checked the times. One was starting soon.

She made her way to the starting point behind a small, white church and exchanged perfunctory smiles with the rest of the tour group. It wasn’t large, though still larger than she’d anticipated. Could be that there was a little more depth to this place than met the eye. The air was fresh and, so far, waiting on the lawn was worth the grass stains on her white sneakers.

When the tour began, Nancy was impressed by the carefully preserved houses—now under the care of the town’s Historical Society—and the amount of information that had been recorded to facilitate the guide’s unending stream of dates and anecdotes (dry as many of them were). She was considerably less impressed when she asked the guide for more information on historically significant female residents and had her question ignored. She repeated herself and he told her (after an irritated sigh) that there weren’t any historically significant women of Horseshoe Bay and its environs.

Because Nancy knew when it was productive to challenge someone’s blatant sexism and when it was a waste of her time, she offered the guide an eyeroll and walked out of the old house. She’d been through this enough times—men who believed that anything for or about women was devoid of value. This type of man left snide, unoriginal comments about her books on review sites. They stood in the back at her signings and heckled loudly across the low, sultry tone in which she read aloud to her giddy fans. They followed her on Twitter only to foul her DMs with their unsolicited pictures, claiming to be giving her exactly what she obviously wanted, why else would she write that kind of book? This type of man was lazy, hateful, and small-minded. Only someone who wanted to be vile to women would do or say any of that to a person whose work they plainly hadn’t understood or read. Anyone who’d read her books would get out of them what Bess had.

Bess.

Nancy had started walking back towards the center of town, but she paused and checked her watch, then pulled out her phone. Bess would be off work by now. Dinner plans might be nice.

They’d exchanged numbers before parting earlier. Likely, Bess was already itching to give her a call. Nancy could beat her to the punch. She scrolled through her contacts and found the one that had to be the Claw waitress. She laughed. She’d watched Bess enter her phone number, but she’d missed the name she’d put in to accompany it: the water droplets emoji. Cute. Nancy didn’t know whether it was a naïve emoji usage to reference the waterfront restaurant where they’d met or playful flirting by a fan who’d read three whole novels of Nancy describing a woman receiving a generous amount of sexual pleasure, but she could straighten that out later if necessary. For now, she smirked and tapped to call.

It rang three times, and then…

“Ace’s phone, this is Ace.”

“Uh…”

Alright, so not a naïve emoji usage, but a dirty trick from Nancy’s new friend. Bess might’ve been sunshine personified, but the woman had an agenda. Nancy had to admire that.

“Hello?”

She closed her eyes and smiled through her wince.

“Oh, hi, Ace. This is Nancy, from before? At the Claw? I think Bess gave me your number instead of hers by mistake.”

His laugh in her ear made her feel like she’d just tripped over her own feet. Foolish and girlish and hopeful as a rising tide.

“By mistake? That doesn’t sound like the Bess I know and love.”

God, he was warm and had a good sense of humour. She had to end this call.

“Could you possibly give me the actual phone number of the Bess you know and love?” she requested. “I was hoping to make dinner plans with her.”

“Dinner plans? Yeah, no problem. I should just gently inform you that Bess does have a girlfriend and—”

“Just friendly plans, Ace.” But it’s sweet that you look out for her.

“I see. And you would be wanting to keep things ‘just friendly’ because Bess isn’t your type, or because you’re already seeing somebody, or…?”

He was meeting her lapse of girlishness head-on, his probing question boyishly transparent.

“Are you asking if I’m single?”

“…And if I was?”

“Then I would say…” Nancy was surprised to hear herself speaking in the teasing voice she used when reading passages of her characters flirting. The voice she used when she was flirting. “…could you give me Bess’s phone number?”

Another soft laugh.

“Yeah.” He recited the digits.

“Thanks, Ace. And, uh, I hope you found yourself a dry shirt,” she couldn’t stop herself from adding.

“You were thinkin’ about that, huh? I was thinking—"

Oh, she could guess what Ace was thinking, and she hung up on him midsentence. What else was she going to do? Explain to him exactly how important it was that she stay on track while she was here and that her swiftly growing attraction to him (they’d had two conversations—one if you stipulated that both people actually had to speak for it to qualify) was not on her itinerary?

Nancy shook her head and called the number that had really better be Bess’s this time.

Bess answered much more promptly than Ace had. Probably because she had Nancy’s real number and saw her real name pop up on the screen.

“Nancy! Hi!”

“Hey, Bess. So, two things.” Nancy began walking again as she spoke. “First, would you wanna grab dinner tonight? I’ve already worn out my welcome on the Horseshoe Bay historic walking tour, so I’m kinda at loose ends for what to do with myself.”

“Aristotle’s tour? Ugh. Sorry about that.”

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“I know he’s a prick,” Bess stated. “Do I need to know more?”

Nancy laughed.

“I guess not.”

“Dinner sounds great though. Lisbeth—that’s my girlfriend—texted me that she’s working late tonight, so I’d be glad of the company!”

“Ok, great. Second thing… aren’t you wondering how I got your number?”

After a pause, Bess gave her a cheerful, “Whoopsie!”

That definitely confirmed that it hadn’t been an accident.

“I’m assuming you spoke to Ace then?” Bess fished.

Nancy rolled her eyes and shifted her phone to her other ear. Her face felt warm all of a sudden.

“Briefly,” she said.

“…And?”

“And I’m willing to bet you’ll ask me again over dinner. Why don’t you pick a place and text me the address?”

“What do you feel like eating?”

“I’m not picky,” Nancy said, then thought to add, “but maybe not chowder. George’s was delicious, but I think I should stop while I’m ahead.”

“Not dinner at the Claw then,” Bess joked. “Although… you know who’s working the dinner shift?”

Nancy laughed loudly at Bess’s shamelessness.

“You seem to feel oddly entitled to a say in my love life for someone I just met,” she observed.

“Please,” Bess countered. “I’ve had a window into your heart for years, Nancy Drew—I’ve read your books. Plus, I have an eye for this sort of thing.”

She’d be the perfect meddling best friend, Nancy thought when they hung up, if this were a book. Bess’s wingwoman-ing was brazen yet endearing, a solid foundation for a character loyal to the love interest... who’d be nothing like Ace Hardy. Ace Hardy made his first appearance soaking wet. Ace Hardy flirted on the phone, but not in a gross way. Ace Hardy was so close to the pinnacle of romance readers’ ideal fantasy guy that their eyes would cross trying to separate one from the other. Literature’s Ace Hardys existed in other stories, but not in Nancy’s.

An hour later, she walked into the unassuming little place Bess had chosen for dinner. There were no wailing, sandy-footed children, but it wasn’t fancy either; Nancy didn’t feel overdressed in the skirt and heeled sandals she’d changed into. If the restaurant had been larger, she might’ve had to scan the space more than once to spot Bess. Out of her uniform and in a dress with poofy, semi-sheer sleeves, Bess was transformed from clumsy waitress into someone dazzling and self-possessed.

“I hope I’m not late,” Nancy said, slinging the strap of her purse over the back of her chair and sitting down.

“Not at all! I only got here a minute before you did.”

“You look… different.” She couldn’t not comment on the distinct change.

Bess smiled, taking her words as the compliment Nancy had intended them to be.

“I can’t say I often sit down to dinner with many celebrated authors, but I do put in an appearance at Aunt Diana’s monthly soirées, and we are expected to dress for the occasion.”

“‘We’?” Nancy inquired, assuming it wasn’t the royal we, though Bess’s British accent did muddy the waters.

“Oh, all of the assorted cousins.” She fluttered a hand. “The Marvins. One of Horseshoe Bay’s founding families.”

“Of which you are…”

“The prodigal niece,” Bess supplied. “Right down to my history of felony. Shall we order? They do a nice carbonara.”

Nancy blinked.

“Ok, but then I’m gonna need you to tell me more about that.”

“It’s not nearly as interesting as it sounds.”

It really was, and Nancy argued this over appetizers—Bess had soup while Nancy chose salad, the least soup-like option. Bess was a fascinating person to have stumbled across, and she blushed when Nancy told her that too. The more she spoke about herself, the more intrigued Nancy became. She was reaching for the notebook and pen in her bag before she even realized what she was doing.

“How would you feel about it?” she asked.

“Having pieces of my background be the inspiration for something you wrote?”

“Or you, as a whole, inspiring one of the characters. Not that I can really promise that yet. I don’t have a plot, and I would still make serious alterations to adapt anything you told me into fiction, but…”

“Oooh, Nancy! I would be flattered!”

“Really?”

“Like I said before, dream come true. Even though,” Bess said, taking a breath to calm herself, “I understand that it’s just a possibility.”

“And the character would really only be recognizable to you and the people who know you well. She wouldn’t be completely you, just… shades of you.”

“Absolutely. I can’t wait to tell Lisbeth!”

Bess really couldn’t wait; she got her phone out right then and there and happily tapped out a text. Her joy was infectious and Nancy was grinning as their server cleared their plates and brought out the mains. Nancy had taken Bess’s advice with the pasta and Bess looked up across her own steaming bowl to give Nancy a smug look like, See?

“So, what does Lisbeth do?” Nancy asked.

The majority of the personal details that had been shared tonight were Bess’s, but even a fleeting foray into Nancy’s realm of writing was enough to make her slightly skittish and eager to turn the conversation back onto her dining companion. She swirled her pasta and awaited Bess’s response.

“She’s a police officer. Formerly state police, but she settled here after things grew more serious between us and the snatches of time we were stealing around her work schedule just weren’t cutting it.”

Nancy’s eyebrows lifted.

“The cop and the criminal.”

“Romance fodder if you’ve ever heard it, right?” Bess remarked sarcastically.

Nancy frowned and set her fork down.

“Bess, I mean it. I’m surprised, but—”

“But love… is surprising,” Bess finished for her. She smiled softly down at her pasta. “Yeah.”

Just when it felt like they were in safe territory again, Bess raised her head, went, “Speaking of…” and brought up Ace.

The fact that Nancy had essentially nothing to tell didn’t stop Ace’s best friend—“platanchor,” she called it—from coming at her with questions from every angle. What did she think of him? What had they said on the phone? No, not a generalization, the exact words, couldn’t Nancy recall them? Bess’s poor, wounded Ace had gone through a painful breakup last month and Nancy’s arrival was nothing short of fortuitous. It would be so good for him to have someone come into his life who knew a thing or two about love.

Balking at the casually dropped L word, Nancy felt it was time to interrupt.

“I’m sure your friend is great…”

“He is,” Bess interjected, nodding enthusiastically.

“…but I’m just here to gather ideas for my next book. I’d be honoured to have you as a friend, but I don’t need you to be my matchmaker,” she concluded gently.

Bess held up her hands and bobbed her head to acknowledge Nancy’s wishes.

“Alright. If that’s what you want. I won’t interfere.”

“Thanks, Bess.”

“We’ll just see what happens.”

“Which will be nothing,” Nancy assured her.

“Which will be nothing engineered by me. I can’t speak for the universe.”

“The universe?” Nancy laughed. “Trust me, the universe couldn’t care less about me.”

They finished dinner, squabbled over the bill, elected to have dessert after all, squabbled over the bill again, and then Bess offered to drop Nancy off at her hotel. With all the talking, two hours had sailed smoothly past, but the sun was still in the sky when they stepped outside. Nancy decided to take advantage of the long summer evening and walk instead. She and Bess parted with a hug and a promise, on Bess’s end, of a pending introduction to the much-praised Lisbeth.

Nancy sighed to be alone.

Bess was awesome. Really, surprisingly awesome, and in the collision of their meeting, Bess was definitely a shooting star falling to Nancy’s earth rather than a head-on traffic accident that left no survivors. Still, Nancy was naturally independent. Talking about love spooked her, talking about the universe’s imaginary awareness of her made her feel sour and motherless. She liked being able to match her pace to the unhurried slip of the sun and letting her long shadow trail along behind her. She liked being able to get in her car and…

Her car. Shit. She’d parked it at the hotel, checked in, and forgotten about the nails in the tires as she’d looked for ways to pass her afternoon. Thankfully, she didn’t need to drive anywhere in a hurry, but she’d still have to find a garage that could put new tires on before she left town. Nancy cringed at what replacing at least two of her tires (she’d spotted the nails in the front wheels and groaned, too annoyed to inspect the rest) was going to do to her budget. Good thing she’d be saving on gas by walking everywhere. The scenic part of Horseshoe Bay was small enough to wander comfortably.

Why waste time? Nancy pulled out her phone and searched for garages in Horseshoe Bay. It looked like there were a couple farther inland, in the west end neighbourhoods where permanent residents of the town lived. She didn’t want to make that trek tonight. She scrolled a little and found a garage by the Bayside Claw. Jeeze, she’d barely noticed it on her way in, propelled by her empty stomach. The place didn’t have a website, so she didn’t know the hours, but it wasn’t far. She could walk.

In under fifteen minutes, she was at Nickerson’s Auto & Boat Repair. The bay door was open and there was a light on inside, so Nancy approached, ignoring the smaller door and the darkened office she could see through its square window. A station wagon had been driven forward into the garage. The mechanic was obscured by the raised hood.

“Um, hi,” Nancy said, skirting around the side of the car. “Would it be possible to make an appointment…”

Her voice trailed off as a man stepped out from behind the hood. A man with an inquisitive expression and floppy blond hair that was falling into his eyes. Familiar floppy blond hair. Familiar eyes.

“Hey.”

Ace Hardy smiled at her. He extended a hand, glanced at it, then wiped it on the leg of his jeans, leaving a dark smudge. The grime wasn’t what she was afraid of. When he offered his hand again, Nancy gave it a tentative shake. She forgot to tell him her name; he didn’t open his mouth to give his. The shirt he was wearing had had its sleeves cut off, old cotton rolling softly at the seams. It left his arms exposed. Her gaze landed on his biceps, but she kept it moving, pulling her hand back.

“You are… not who I was expecting,” she admitted. “Do you work here too?”

“Nah, this is Nick’s place. George’s boyfriend? He lets me use it after hours when I need to. Nobody touches Florence but me.”

He shot an affectionate look at the station wagon.

“That— That’s Florence?” She pointed.

“The one and only,” Ace said proudly. “My girl needed an oil change and it’s a beautiful night for it.”

A beautiful night for an oil change? Did they write that into some kind of fisherman’s almanac around here?

“Sure,” Nancy said. “Can’t beat the combined scents of sea and auto shop.”

“You got it.” In a swift move, Ace closed the hood and perched on the edge, giving her his full attention. “How was dinner?”

“Dinner? Oh, dinner with Bess.” Right. She’d forgotten he knew about that. During her falter, Ace’s gaze fell to her legs. He glanced quickly away like he didn’t mean to stare, then quickly back like he did. “It was productive.”

Nancy stepped to the side and rested her elbow on the car’s roof. Hopefully, Florence wouldn’t mind. She just had to put some space between herself and those arms. That earring, glinting in the yellow light of a naked bulb. Those thighs in his dirty jeans. Every part of Ace made her want to bite him.

“Productive? You make it sound like a business meeting.”

“Some of it,” Nancy said.

“What else’d you guys talk about?”

You.

“This and that. Do you know where I could leave Nick a note? About my car?”

“What happened to it?”

Nancy sighed.

“Nails in the tires. I ran over them in the Claw’s parking lot.”

“That’ll be Frank. I’ll talk to him. He’s redoing Darlene Fowler’s roof and he was in for lunch today. Darlene just moved into a new place that’s really kind of an old place, and—”

“Ace. I’m good. Don’t need the whole story, just new tires.”

Ace nodded and dug his phone from his pocket.

Looking down at the screen, he asked, “How many contacts do I have to share with you before I’m the one you wanna call?”

Nancy checked her phone and realized he’d sent her Nick’s number. She raised her head, flustered by his question.

“Uh, thanks,” she said instead of answering.

She pushed off of his car. Immediately, he stood, at the ready.

“I can give you a ride, if you want? Where are you staying?”

What were the odds that he’d just ask Bess if Nancy didn’t tell him? Besides, nothing would happen because she told him. Telling him wasn’t the same as inviting him to come up to her room. God, how easy would that have been though? I heard there were ghosts here, Ace. Can you check for me? Maybe over by the bed? I’m scared. Playing the “rescue me” card wouldn’t be like her at all, but Ace didn’t know what she was like.

Ah! It was so hard to ignore him when half of her brain was scheming up ways to sleep with him! Why did he have to go and play sexy mechanic the same day he’d won first prize in the impromptu wet t-shirt contest he’d basically forced her to conduct in her head?

“At the Breaker,” she said.

“Ah, the murder hotel.”

“Apparently. I don’t need a ride though.”

“You sure? It’s getting dark.”

Nancy glanced over her shoulder and, sure enough, the sun was finally starting to set, splashing a vivid red-orange across the bay.

“So it is,” she said. She pulled a flashlight out of her purse and held it up for Ace to see. “But I came prepared.”

“As a former Eagle Scout, I admire that.”

“Cute.”

“What was that?” He looked eager, grinning. Nancy could hardly suppress her own grin as she backed out of the garage, clicking the flashlight on.

“I didn’t say anything. I think you must’ve gotten water in your ears.” She pointed at hers to demonstrate. “From before.”

“I’ll get ’em checked and listen for your call!”

“I’m not gonna call you! Goodnight, Ace.”

“Night, Nancy.”

She made it back to the Breaker Hotel while the sky was still a lingering violet, velvety navy blue held at bay above it and perfect black above that.

She’d spent her walk wondering about the roominess of Florence’s back seat.

[naceisonthecase]

40s/Film Noir-esque Nace AU

Summary under the cut

Nancy Drew, lone woman at the Horseshoe Bay Detective Agency, prefers to work alone. That is until, her boss, Everett Hudson, decides to pair her off with a returned WW2 soldier and code breaker only known as Ace.

The two are assigned to the case of heiress Diana Marvin’s missing necklace. Simple. Everyone that has passed through the Marvin estate is considered a suspect, including Diana’s great-niece Bess — Ace’s friend from his time overseas in the war effort. Ace vouches for Bess, against Nancy’s better judgement, and she is brought onto the case as a confidante.

Together the three of them work though and solve the case and the missing necklace is returned. Things can return to normal and Nancy can once again work alone.

Then, Bess turns up evidence that there is something more notorious going on and the simple jewelry theft was a cover up crime. She sends a request to meet at The Claw (the diner they’d used as a headquarters to pass information). When Ace doesn’t show and based on the new evidence, Bess and Nancy worry that the local gang, The Road Back, must be holding him hostage or worse.

When they do locate him at an old warehouse, Nancy finds Everett Hudson there. She reveals that she has realized that he is The Road Back's leader and that she has already called back-up to to take him into custody.

Meanwhile, Bess finds Ace tied up on the warehouse grounds.

After, Everett is detained, Nancy helps Bess untie Ace.

As three leave the scene, Nancy is shown to have plans to leave the HBDA and work independently. Possibly with a partner.

[summersun4youforever]

✨ Tag 9 people to learn more about their interests!

tagged by my fav @loulovehome thank you pu hope that this quells your curiosity! 

MUSIC

fav genre? not to be that person but i think i have a toe in most genres, i suppose my favorites have got to be anything taylor swift does, pop punk, r&b pop/new age r&b, and bluegrass

fav artist? again, not to be that person but i love so many artists! let’s do this based off of genre: taylor swift, 1D, 5sos, massive focus on ZAYN, the Avett brothers, and counting crows

fav song? fav song of all time (since i was young) is going to be come around by rhett miller but more currently i’d say you are in love by taylor swift and dRuNk by ZAYN

song currently stuck in your head? i have no idea how it got there but i have stressed out by 21 pilots stuck in my head??

5 fav lyrics? ok let’s do this kids. edit: this went in a “fav love song lyrics” way so sorry in advance.

1)  I hope that I don't sound to insane when I say / There is darkness all around us / I don't feel weak but I do need sometimes for her to protect me / And reconnect me to the beauty that I'm missin' (January Wedding - The Avett Brothers)

2)  Hands around my waist / You're counting up the hills across the sheets / And I'm a falling star / A glimmer lighting up these cotton streets / I admit I'm a bit of a fool for playing by the rules / But I've found my sweet escape when I'm alone with you (Disconnected - 5sos)

3)  This is the worthwhile fight / Love is a ruthless game / Unless you play it good and right / These are the hands of fate / You're my Achilles heel / This is the golden age of something good / And right and real (State of Grace - Taylor Swift) 

4)  What if I changed my mind / What if I said it's over / I been flying so long / Can't remember what it was like to be sober / What if I lost my lives? / What if I said "Game over"? / What if I forget my lies? / And I lose all my composure (Back to Life - ZAYN)

5)   I never said I was perfect / Or you don't deserve a good person to carry your baggage / I know a few girls that can handle it / I ain't that kind of chick, but I can call 'em for you if you want / I never said that you wasn't attractive / Your style and that beard, ooh, don't get me distracted / I'm tryna be patient, and patience takes practice / The fact is I'm leaving, so just let me have this (Jerome - Lizzo)

radio or your own playlist | solo artists or bands | pop or indie | loud or silent volume I slow or fast songs | music video or lyrics video | speakers or headset | riding a bus in silence or while listening to music | driving in silence or with radio on

BOOKS

fav book genre? murder mystery and young love!

fav writer? jane austen, lisa jewell, and rick riordan (nostalgia ok?!)

fav book? the way i used to be my amber smith, rebecca by daphane du maurier, and then she was gone OR watching you (both by Lisa Jewell)

fav book series? i guess the whole percy jackson situations? i have everything RR every wrote, and i liked it all but i havent touched the older ones in ages

comfort book? not one specifically but the nancy drew books

perfect book to read on a rainy day? bird summons by leila aboulela

5 quotes from your fav book that you know by heart? i hope i can name five...

1)  “The point is, life has to be endured, and lived. But how to live it is the problem.” “I am no traveller, you are my world.” (both are My Cousin Rachel by Daphne Du Maurier)

2)  “And I’m terrified he’ll see through the tough iceberg layer, and he’ll discover not a soft, sweet girl, but an ugly fucking disaster underneath.” (The Way I Used to Be by Amber Smith)

3)  "I cannot make speeches, Emma," he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing. "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it. Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover. But you understand me. Yes, you see, you understand my feelings and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.” (Emma by Jane Austen) (sorry for the length, the shortened versions were not cutting it for me)

4)  “Read, read, read. That's all I can say.” (The Secret of the Old Clock by Carolyn Keene)

5)  “...amazing how boring you can get away with being when you’re pretty. No one seems to notice. When you’re pretty everyone just assumes you must have a great life. People are so short-sighted, sometimes. People are so stupid. I have a dark past and I have dark thoughts. I do dark things and I scare myself sometimes.” (Invisible Girl by Lisa Jewell)

hardcover or paperback | buy or rent | standalone novels or book series | ebook or physical copy | reading at night or during the day | reading at home or in nature | listening to music while reading or reading in silence | reading in order or reading the ending first | reliable or unreliable narrator | realism or fantasy | one or multiple POVS | judging by the covers or by the summary (im a very judgmental reader) | rereading or reading just once

TV AND MOVIES

fav tv/movie genre? i like dramedies, mockumentaries, and procedurals 

fav movie? ive got a massive list on my phone but ill pick Doob (No Bed of Roses) and 3-Iron as my favs for today

comfort movie? 2000s romcoms, im talking clueless, 13 going on 30, how to loe a guy in ten days, ten things i hate abt you, legally blonde

movie you watch every year? mamma mia and all listed in prev question

fav tv show? too many, currently im rewatching arrested development

comfort tv show? new girl

most rewatched tv show? new girl

ultimate otp? shawn and jules from psych (ultimate bc ive been watching since diapers literally)

5 fav characters? winston bishop, stiles stilinski, bellamy blake, clarke griffin, lydia martin

tv shows or movies | short seasons (8-13 episodes) or full seasons (22 episodes or more) | one episode a week or binging | one season or multiple seasons | one part or saga | half hour or one hour long episodes | subtitles on or off | rewatching or watching just once | downloads or watches online

super fun even though it took me an hour lmao, I'm tagging @technosoot @hometothecanyonmoon @sassylilnoodle @sushiniall @rosegold-thorns no pressure and sorry if youve already been tagged!

edit: i somehow managed to forget what i consider to be one of the greatest opening verses ever???? so bonus lyrics:

Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog / Where no one notices the contrast of white on white / And in between the moon and you / The angels get a better view / Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right (Round Here - Counting Crows)