#jake is the cheesiest man alive

[hamelott]

A Valentine's Day prompt, if you're taking them : Ezekiel has never been in a relationship so he has never celebrated anything like Valentine's Day, and Jake throws his entire hopeless romantic self into trying to show Ezekiel a good time?

you shouldn’t have given me this much power. this is probably the cheesiest, fluffiest thing that i have ever written in my entire life. 

I hope you enjoy!!

He’d only mentioned itin passing, but Jacob hadn’t been able to stop thinking about if for weeks.

They’d been in Jake’sapartment on his couch with his arm thrown over Ezekiel’s shoulders, andEzekiel’s head resting against his chest. Jake had honestly thought that he’dbeen asleep until he’d murmured, “I’ve never done that.”

At first, Jake had beenreally confused on what he’d been talking about but then he looked up at the TVwhich was barely audible but was flashing a shitty RomCom that Ezekiel haddemanded they watch when they got home. On the screen, the characters weresitting in a restaurant that was decked out in pink, red, and white hearts.They were smiling dopily at each other and about to feed each other a spoonfulof their desserts.

“Done what?” Jake askedsleepily. It’d been a long day, and he hadn’t even been watching the video sohe wasn’t exactly sure what was happening.

Ezekiel shrugged againsthim. “Valentine’s Day. The hearts and the roses and the chocolate.”

“You haven’t?” Jakeasked and now he was frowning. Glaring at the TV which was now showing thecouple skipping and laughing through the rain, as ridiculous as that was.

“Nah,” Ezekiel mumbled.“I’ve never really had the opportunity to. Never been in a realrelationship…before this one, I guess.”

Jake hadn’t said anythingelse about it because Ezekiel had passed out right after, but it did lead him to alot of thinking.

And a lot ofplanning.

~~~

When Ezekiel woke up, hewasn’t expecting Jake to be at the end of the bed with a tray of steaming hotchocolate and waffles. He had a giant grin on his face, and he was wearing apair of plastic, heart sunglasses with the glass tinted pink.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!”he said cheerfully. “I made you breakfast.”

Ezekiel, feeling veryconfused, sat up slowly as Jake brought him the tray. “Where’d you get thoseglasses?”

“Cassandra,” Jake said,shrugging. He placed the tray on Ezekiel’s lap, still grinning. It was weird;Ezekiel had never seen him grin that big for so long. “Eat quickly, I have awhole day planned with you.”

“Why?” Ezekiel askedslowly, cutting a bite of waffle off for himself.

Jake shrugged again.“It’s Valentine’s Day, idiot. Eat.”

When Ezekiel was doneeating, he changed clothes and brushed his teeth, and then brought the trayinto the kitchen. Jake was nowhere to be found. Ezekiel rolled his eyes andthrew the dishes in the sink. He wandered into the living room and found Jakesitting at the couch. The glasses were pushed back into his hair, and he wasfiddling with something in his hands.

“What’s up?” Ezekiel asked,leaping over the couch and settling next to him.

“This is for you,” Jakesaid, showing off the thing in his hands. It was a black leather string and onthe end of it, a piece of gray rock attached to it. It took Ezekiel a fewminutes to realize it was a necklace, and a few more to even comprehend that JacobStone was giving him jewelry.

“A necklace?” Ezekielasked, but he took it anyways and strung it around his neck. He picked up thestone and twirled it around in his fingers, frowning down at it. “And what’sthis?”

“It’s a piece ofStumpy,” Jake told him. Ezekiel quickly looked back up and him, and Jakequickly said, “Sorry that sounds really weird! I went back to the collegeforever ago and for some reason they kept some of the pieces of him in the basement intheir archive room. Maybe to document the weird day when a tentacle monster attacked their school? I dunno. But I snuck in and nabbed a piece.”

Ezekiel smirked, lettingthe stone fall against his chest. “You stole something from a collegearchive room? Basically the equivalent to a museum?”

Jacob shrugged, but hisface turned a little pink. “Uh, well, I hate the professor there anyway. Plus,Stumpy was technically yours. I was just…taking him back?”

“Right,” Ezekiel said,nodding slowly at him. “Sure.”

“Whatever,” Jake said,wiping the issue away with a swipe of his hand. “You do like it though…right?”

Ezekiel met Jacob’s eyesand found they were soft and sincere and, above all, absolutely hopeful. Hecouldn’t help the smile that overtook his face as he nodded. “Yeah, I love it.I just feel bad because I didn’t get youanything…”

Jake shook his head, standing up.“Don’t worry about it. You having a good day today is all the gift I need.” Heheld out a hand. “C’mon, let’s get to the Library. We need the Backdoor foryour next event.”

Ezekiel rolled his eyes, but he letJake tug him up.

~~~

At the Library, Jake made a beelinefor the Backdoor and the globe, already figuring something into it. Ezekielfollowed him more slowly, grinning at the way the Backdoor was covered in redstreamers with hanging, pink hearts.

“You do this too?” Ezekiel askedJake, who was biting his lip as he pushed at buttons.

Jake slowly took his eyes away fromthe globe and glanced at the Backdoor. He shook his head. “Nah. Must’ve been,Cass. She mentioned something about taking Estrella on a tour through the Library.”He snorted. “They’re probably in the Secret Garden right now.”

He pressed a few more things andthen the Backdoor began to glow. He stepped towards Ezekiel proudly and pushedhis goofy glasses back down on his eyes. He held out a looped arm towardsEzekiel. “Your magical backdoor awaits.”

Ezekiel sighed and shook his head,but he looped his arm with Jake’s and let him lead them through the Backdoor.

When they stumbled through, Ezekiel hadto blink his eyes a few times because the sun was so bright, which was weird forFebruary. When his eyes finally adjusted, he realized they were at a Mini Golf course.He glanced at Jake to find a cheeky grin and a wink that was thrown his way. “Whatdo you think?”

Ezekiel looked around the piratethemed golf course. He was surprised to find it completely empty save for alone teenager sitting in the booth, lazily looking at his phone. He glanced atJake. “Where are we?”

“Florida,” Jake told him which explainedthe bright sun and warm breeze. “This is Smugglers Cove Adventure Mini Golf Park.”He pulled a notepad out of his back pocket and showed it to Ezekiel. “We’realso gonna go to Branson, Missouri; Lincolnshire, Illinois; and Rapid City,South Dakota. Most of their courses are closed right now, but I got Jenkins tohelp me wire the Backdoor up to get us past the entrances.”

“Isn’t that a felony?” Ezekiel askedhim as they strolled towards the lazy teen.

Jake glanced at him. “Not ifanybody catches us.” He had a shit-eating grin on his face. “You gotta learn tolive a little, Jones.”

Ezekiel snorted. “Who are you andwhat have you done with Jacob Stone?”

Jake rolled his eyes at him andreached down, grabbing his hand. “C’mon, this’ll be great.”

~~~

By the end of the day, they’d playedat twelve different Mini Golf courses (and Ezekiel had beaten Jake each andevery time), and Jake had even taken him on a nice little (if not a bit cold) picnicin Central Park. They were just returning to the Library, and Ezekiel wasleaning heavily against Jake’s side.

“Why did we do this again?” Ezekielasked him. His feet hurt, and he was pretty sure he’d gotten burnt in Floridawhich was gonna look weird when he strolled the streets of Portland. But it hadbeen a nice day, so he wouldn’t trade it for anything…except maybe some Aloe.

Jacob shrugged, careful not todislodge Ezekiel from his side. “You said you’d never had a real Valentine’sDay, so I wanted to make one for you. Mini Golf and picnics are, like, thecheesiest date things ever. Plus these glasses are horrible, but everyone knowsthat when you’re in a relationship on Valentine’s Day, you gotta do thecheesiest things known to mankind. Now I’ve put, like, twelve Valentine’s Daysinto you in one go.”

Ezekiel was grinning as he shook hishead. “You’re ridiculous.” He yawned. “Can we go home now?”

Jake shook his head. “No, I gottatake you to do one more thing. Please? We don’t even have to leave the Library.”

“Ugh,” Ezekiel whined, “fine.”

Jake’s grin was so huge that it wasworth the way he grabbed Ezekiel’s hand and nearly tore his arm out of itssocket as he dragged him through the Library. As they walked, Jake rambled, “I foundit a few days ago. Jenkins says he’s never seen it before. He thinks maybe it’sone of the pools turned upside-down. I don’t really care though because it’s absolutelyperfect. It’s the blue door with the golden – ah! There it is!”

He pulled open a door, and Ezekiel immediatelyjumped back. Inside the room was a steady sheet of rain. It ceaselessly fellfrom the ceiling to the floor but, somehow, wasn’t building up in a puddle.Jake glanced back at him, grinning. “What’s a real cheesy, romantic day withouta kiss in the rain?”

“I don’t wanna get wet,” Ezekielsaid, pouting at him.

Jake laughed and tugged him in. “C’mon,trust me.”

Ezekiel reluctantly followed Jakeinside and quickly found he had nothing to worry about. Somehow (Ezekiel wasguessing magic) the rain was still falling around them, but it moved like a sheetaround them and didn’t land on them at all. They walked, perfectly dry, untilthey reached the middle of the room.

Jake was smiling sweetly as hepulled Ezekiel towards him. He rested his hands against Ezekiel’s hips, andEzekiel lifted his arms to rest them against Jake’s shoulders, crossing thembehind Jake’s back. They leant forward until their foreheads were pressed togetherand their noses brushed.

Jake sighed, and his warm breathwashed over Ezekiel’s face, making him scrunch up his nose. Ezekiel quicklywiped the expression off his face and smiled at him, slightly shaking his headand carefully not dislodging Jake. “Thank you.”

“For?” Jake asked even though heknew damn well what Ezekiel was thanking him for. And if he didn’t then Ezekielhimself was going to kick the idiot outta the Library.

“For today,” Ezekiel said. He bithis lip before murmuring, “I’ve never known anybody who’d do that for me.”

“Well, now you do,” Jake said, andthe tone of his voice conveyed just how much he meant it. He’d do anything for Ezekiel, and the feelingwas mutual. He grinned. “I love you.”

Ezekiel couldn’t help the way hislips pulled into a huge smile. “I love you too.”

And he leaned in the extra fewinches and pressed a sweet kiss against Jake’s lips. The rain pattered aroundthem, and Jake’s hands squeezed around his hips.

It really was a perfect day.

[golden-van-fleet]

cabin fever

(I want Josh to take me to a cabin)

summary: It’s Josh being cute in a cabin. That’s it.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: a lot of fluff, swearing 

please be aware this is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever written, I'm not all that sorry about it

for my loves @stardustdanny​ @gustingirl​ love u both very much <3

____

“Josh, please, just get in the fucking car!”

You were 100 percent, thoroughly and completely over it. This was Josh’s idea, but you were designated the one in charge. The semester had completely kicked your ass, and as a congratulations-for-making-it-through-the-semester-alive surprise, Josh had planned a week long getaway to the mountains for the two of you. For the first time since you’d known him, you had Josh totally to yourself for longer than a night, no Jake, Sam, or Danny to share him with. You had been ecstatic, overwhelmed by the thought of Josh caring so much that he would be willing to secretly plan a trip just for the two of you.

That was, until you remembered Josh was a hurricane on legs. He loved passionately, with his entire being, and that reflected in everything he accomplished; through that, it meant he wasn’t the most organized man you’d ever met. You were by no means a control freak, but you had your system and you liked your system. His mind ran in circles and his body followed suit.

Packing with the man was a nightmare. He threw whatever he could into his suitcase, occasionally with a scream of “Kobe! Oh, shit, rest in peace.” It was funny the first time, endearing the second, but you’d be lying to yourself if by the sixth time you weren’t a little homicidal. Half of the time his clothes would land on the other side of the room. And the weather didn’t apply to him, apparently. Half of your suitcase had spare sweaters just for Josh, knowing he wouldn’t pack them himself. You had to double check everything before the two of you left, making sure you both had what you needed, all while Josh spoke every word he’d ever heard into your ear.

“Baby, I love you dearly, but if you don’t get your ass in the car I’m going to date your sister instead,” you threatened.

“You wouldn’t dare, I’m the pretty one, you know,” he quipped, shooting a wink in your direction. “I love you, I’m going, I promise!” With a quick peck to your cheek, he hopped in the driver’s seat. “Now who’s not in the car? C’mon Y/N, get with the program,” he teased.

He’d be lucky if he made it out of this week alive.

His teasing lasted through the entire three hour car ride, grating your nerves and stretching your patience so thin it threatened to snap. You’d taken over the aux and forced him to listen to bubblegum pop the entire ride, belting along to your favorite songs in an attempt to get back at him. He couldn’t care less, his attention instead honed in on how happy you were. Bundled up in his favorite sweater and shielded by your favorite sunglasses, you gestured wildly along with your over dramatic singing and occasional successes at harmonizing with the original artist.

The mood shifted when Taylor Swift’s invisible string floated from the speakers of Josh’s Jeep. His fingers drummed along the steering wheel to the beat, his right hand locking with your left.

“Every time I hear this song, I think of you,” Josh said, throwing a quick smile your way. His grin was so genuine, eyes twinkling with adoration.

“Since when do you listen to Taylor Swift?” You asked, choking back a laugh.

“Since I found out you liked her.”

Your heart could’ve burst from your chest and you had to physically fight the urge to throw your arms around his neck and pull him into the back seat. His grip tightened, his thumb dancing reassuringly across the back of your hand.

As much as Josh had the tendency to act like a child, he also had the capacity to be the most caring man you’d ever met.

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” And it was. You’d had a handful of partners, but none of them had a love as selfless as Josh’s love. He did everything with his entire heart, and loving you was no exception. The smallest details that even you would have forgotten about yourself were permanently burned into his long-term memory. He knew your favorite flowers and would surprise you with them every chance he got. He’d never admit how many songs were written with images of you dancing in his mind. He loved how you’d cry at sappy movies, whereas other partners had rolled their eyes and scoffed in disbelief. Josh knew you better than you knew yourself, and you only hoped you were half as good to him as he was to you.

“You did the same for me, I don’t even think you knew who John Denver was before you met me.” He earned the light swat on his arm for that one.

“I absolutely did, you asshole, I just wasn’t obsessed with him like you are.”

____

Josh outdid himself picking out the cabin. It held an inviting glow, one that immediately wrapped itself around you in the warmest hug. From the second you walked in the door, you never wanted to leave.

Josh made quick work taking your suitcases to the bedroom while you perused the cabin. It was bigger and more modern on the inside than you’d expected. The living room boasted a grand fireplace and an even more grandiose couch in front of it. Well, as grandiose as a couch could be, but it looked like it would swallow you whole if you got too close. The greatest part, perhaps, was the entire wall of windows, a picturesque display of the mountains and the sunset beaming through the glass. Josh met you in front of said windows, his arm secured around your waist.

“This is incredible, Josh, honestly,” you breathed, your arms snaking around his neck.

“I’m glad you like it, mama,” he murmured, kissing you gently. “You deserve a break. You worked your ass off this semester, the least I can do is sneak you away from the rest of the world and keep you all to myself for a week.” He smirked before kissing you again, his hands trailing down your back to rest just above your ass. “Hey, your ass is still there!”

Josh’s head fell back as he laughed when you swatted him again.

“I love you, I can’t thank you enough for this.” The pressure on your lower back increased as Josh pulled you tighter to him. You rested your head on his shoulder, face pressed into his neck. While you had the chance, you pressed a soft kiss into the skin under his ear. He shivered slightly, a delicious shock racing down his spine.

“You don’t have to thank me at all, babe. I promise. I wanted to do this.” He pulled away first, taking your face in his hands. His eyes bore into yours, soul-to-soul. “You deserve this. I missed you while you were finishing your finals, and now I get to be selfish,” he grinned.

____

The dreamy glow of the sunrise dragged you from your slumber, a slight breeze floating through the bedroom. The air was still and far too quiet for your liking. It was then you noticed how cold the bed was without Josh’s heat radiating under the duvet. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you squinted in the sunlight, searching for Josh’s form. The balcony doors were open, alabaster drapes rustling in the wind. Throwing Josh’s discarded sweater over your torso, you slipped on a pair of sweatpants before attempting to find your lover.

Josh’s hair was illuminated beautifully by the sunlight, a cup of coffee nestled in his hands. The same hands that would seek out the small of your back, the same hands that tangled in your hair, the same hands that your own sought comfort in. His hands might have been your favorite part of his body if there wasn’t so much else of him to love. You leaned against the door frame, taking in his peace. Even with his shoulders hunched over the railing and his back turned to you, he could still exude the same confidence he had on stage every night. You could imagine his eyes scanning the mountains, the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and the gears turning in his brain. Silently, you crept up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Good morning, mama,” he mumbled, turning his head as best he could to see you.

“Good morning,” you responded, fighting a yawn. “Why are you up so early?”

“Couldn’t resist starting another day. I love it out here.”

You could only hum in response, instead choosing to nestle your head into his neck just a little more. You gave him one good squeeze before breaking away, his warmth instantly missed as the chill in the air hit you fully.

“I’m gonna get some coffee. It’s fucking freezing out here.” The wind seemed to pick up just to spite you.

“It’s good for the soul, you wimp,” he teased, shooting you a cheesy wink.

“Oh, fuck you,” you muttered, kissing his cheek.

“Is that an offer?”

____

Josh made sure you didn’t lift a finger the entire trip.

Breakfast? Covered, coffee’s still on in the kitchen. Need to run to town? Josh’s keys were thrown into his hand while he stood by the front door like the sweetest Golden Retriever. As someone used to doing everything your way and without the help of others, the extra mile (that he insisted was the bare minimum) meant the world and then some.

“I know you’re used to your independence, and I adore your independence, but you’re allowed to sit back and let someone pamper you every once in a while.” He was right. He knew it as well as you did, but you hated telling him he was right. As sweet as Josh was, it was your job to keep his ego in check, after all. He placed a mug of his “special” hot chocolate in your hands before tugging your blanket tighter around you. He’d insisted on making good use of the fire pit behind the cabin on what was probably the coldest night in the last five years.

One sip of the hot chocolate told you it was about 90% Kahlua, exactly as you’d anticipated. Its warmth flooded your body, a true sense of tranquility washing over you for the first time in a very long time. The past semester hadn’t crossed your mind once in the four, no five? days you’d been in the mountains. Josh had insisted upon a strict rule only checking any of your devices once a day, long enough to check in with family and make sure the outside world wasn’t burning down around you. The rest of the time was spent with you glued to each other’s hips, perhaps in the hopes that you could absorb the other person.

“I like being pampered by you, I just feel like I can never repay you for it,” you responded. “You treat me like I’m the only person ever worthy of your time, and I love it, I just worry I’m not doing enough to make you feel the same way.” Your gaze bore down into the steaming mug in your hands, too bashful to meet Josh’s eyes.

Josh took your face in his hands before responding. “You accept me for who I am, the good, the bad, and especially the ugly. I know I’m not the easiest person to have a relationship with, but you’re so patient and kind to me and everyone in your life, for that matter. You give so much of yourself to me, whether you realize it or not. You deserve to be loved as much as you love others.”

____

The rest of the week flew by before you could realize it had fully begun.

On the very last night, you’d begged Josh to let you check your phone one more time to see if your final grades had been submitted. He’d played it cool, knowing that if you’d asked him to rearrange the stars just for you, he’d comply in a heartbeat. You’d only been met with a slight teasing of “Oh, is my company not enough?”. He gave you space while you looked, just in case. Josh could feel your heart rate increase as he stood in the kitchen; your pacing through the living room echoing through the cabin and drowning out the record playing softly in the background. With how nervous he was, an outsider would have thought Josh was the one who had just completed finals and was a semester away from graduation.

“I did it!” You cried, your phone falling out of your grip in shock.

“Did what?” Josh called back, racing out of the kitchen and stopping just short enough to not launch himself over the back of the couch.

“I passed microbiology!” The class that had tested your resilience and made you question your major on more than one occasion was now finally over. Josh picked your phone up, a bright B+ staring back at him from the small screen. “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“I’m so fucking proud of you, sweetheart,” he beamed as you threw your arms around his neck. He cradled the back of your head, his other hand gently stroking your back. Happy tears streamed from your eyes and soaked the shoulder of Josh’s shirt.

“You picked up every phone call while I was screaming over this class. You told me you knew I could do it, and I did it. Thank you,” you whispered.

“It’s the least I could do from the other side of the world. You’re fucking incredible. My little scientist,” he mused.

“I felt so bad every time I called, like I was constantly bothering you and getting in the way of you living your dream.”

“If you want to get nitpicky, it’s Jake’s dream,” he interrupted.

“Oh my fucking god, let me talk,” you laughed, pulling back to cup his face in your hands. He did it every time he wanted your undivided attention, now it was your turn. “But you picked up every call, regardless of what time zone you were in. You listened to me bawl my eyes out over this stupid class and my shitty professor and not once did you ever complain or tell me I was being ridiculous or overdramatic. I can’t thank you enough. I mean it, I wouldn’t have survived without your support. You are the best thing to have ever happened to me. And for the record, I’d still say this even if I’d failed the class. This really has been the greatest week of my life and I don’t want to leave.”

You watched as Josh’s smile grew impossibly wider. You weren’t great with words, and you were even less likely to verbalize exactly how you felt. In your opinion, it often left you too vulnerable for your liking. With Josh, you’d been (willingly) forced to break out of that mindset and over time grew more comfortable with expressing yourself to him. In all honesty, someone had to talk as much as he did, otherwise he’d be talking to himself every day.

“We’ll just move out here and I’ll keep you all to myself and we’ll never have to see another soul ever again,” he said, his arms taking their place across your hips and pressing a soft kiss against your lips as you fought back a laugh.

“I’d never say no to you, but I’d also like to put my degree to use.”

“You can study the flora and fauna and all that shit out here. Give me scientific names, tell me which plants will kill me, which animals I can hug, all that good stuff,” he sighed. You laughed out loud this time, your head falling back ever so slightly. It wasn’t the first time you’d laughed that hard at something he’d said, but it felt good to genuinely laugh again. “I’m not kidding, if you told me to, I’d move out here in a heartbeat. Just say the word.”

____

“I meant it, if you wanted to move out there I’d do it.” Josh’s hand was in yours as he drove the two of you back home.

“I know, but you also like to host parties. Would be kind of hard to do that if we lived three hours away from everyone else. Maybe we’ll just vacation there,” you dreamt aloud. “We don’t even actually live together now, Josh. It was nice to pretend though.”

“So move in with me.” He shrugged, eyes fixated on the road in front of him. Your saving grace was the seatbelt, otherwise you probably would’ve fallen to the floorboard in shock. Josh continued driving along, humming to a song on his playlist you barely recognized.

“What?”

“You can absolutely say no, but your lease ends in July, you could move in with me then, or before then, if you wanted to. I would love to live with you. You might as well already live at my house, anyway. You stay there while I’m on tour, this wouldn’t be too different.”

The very man who’d sworn off domesticity was asking you to live with him? You pinched your thigh. It hurt, so you were very much, and now painfully, awake.

You’d never lived with a partner before, and you knew that if your relationship wasn’t strong enough, it’d never survive. Small disagreements could turn into harbored resentment. It wouldn’t be like the week in the cabin the entire time. Josh was terrible about leaving socks all over the floor and you were, admittedly, horrible about leaving dishes in the sink to “soak” for too long. Normal, little things that you were used to could make or break a relationship.

You sat silently for a few minutes to contemplate your next step. You loved Josh for everything that he was, and you knew how disorganized he could be in the same way you knew how he was raised; he respected everyone and everything. You’d had no problem communicating other boundaries throughout the duration of your relationship, and had no problem when Josh communicated his. You loved every part of him, and waking up to him for a week straight had been an indescribable feeling. Even still, this was a huge step.

“You can tell me if you’re not ready for it, my love. It won’t hurt my feelings, I promise.” He squeezed your hand reassuringly.

“No, I want to. I think it’s a great idea,” you grinned, squeezing his hand back.

____

The same feeling you had the first time you walked into the cabin never went away as you visited it in the following years. Josh hadn’t told you for a year, but he’d bought the cabin after your first visit. On your third anniversary, he’d presented you with the key.

“It’s ours.”

[peterbishop]

someone like you

Mark opens his mouth, as if to answer, and snaps his fingers. “She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she? I saw you kissing some chick before I got brought into here. I thought it might have been her, but I couldn’t believe someone like you would end up with someone like her.”

(or, a suspect uses jake and amy's relationship against jake)

read on ao3

-

Sometimes, they hold hands walking into work. And sometimes, she presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before leaving to brief her beat cops on the day. Her fingers may linger on his wrist for a moment too long and Charles breaks into the widest grin, but they wouldn’t have it any other way. They never fully shied away from PDA while they were dating—being married, however, makes it all that more enticing. “Sorry,” Jake will say to the role of Rosa’s eyes, “I just love my wife.”

It’s never been a problem; not even when Gina made mention of their “bang me eyes” being on full display the week following their honeymoon, much to their horror (resulting in a secret tryst to the third floor supply closet to get it out of their systems). They are simply in love, endlessly enamored by one another, and no one can imagine it another way. Parts of a whole: Jake and Amy. With one comes the other.

Even more so with their wanting to get pregnant. Jake whispers how beautiful she looks when she surprises with him a cup of coffee, and her lips ghost the shell of his ear when she tells him how much she loves him in that dark green shirt. It’s shared smiles and glances that say more than any string of words. Everything feels more alive, more infused with attention and care, since they decided to start trying for kids. It’s precarious and tangible and real. Love is that, Jake decides after one particularly mind-blowing night: it’s him and Amy and knowing that they’ll create a being out of their own adoration.

So, sue him if he cups her cheek when she gives him a goodbye kiss before heading for the elevators. And for whispering, “Oh, the things I would do if we weren’t here…” with a wink to follow. She goes in for one more kiss—cue faux-gagging from Rosa—and tells him she’ll see him in a few hours. His eyes continue to follow her, watching and falling in love all over again, before she disappears downstairs.

Terry walks over to Jake’s desk and drops down a file. “I need you to question Mark Robinson.” His eyes flick towards a man, appearing mid-forties and fairly fit, standing in the nearby holding cell. “He’s our lead suspect in the 87th street robbery case.”

Jake looks through the file. “Didn’t Amy arrest this guy?”

“Yeah, but she’s busy with a seminar this morning. It’s a pretty open and shut case—read the file and you’ll be fine,” Terry says.

Jake nods, “Sounds good,” and starts reading.

-

“Who are you?”

Jake slides into the cool metal seat, flicking open the manilla folder before him, and cooly smirks. “Jake Peralta, detective extraordinaire.”

Mark Robinson cocks his head, almost with disappointment. “You didn’t arrest me.”

“Quite the astute observation there, Mr. Robinson,” Jake says, probably too sarcastically. “Maybe you should be a detective.”

“What happened to that Latina chick?” Mark asks bluntly.

Jake’s jaw twitches, slightly caught off-guard. “I’m taking over the case. Now, Mr. Robinson—“

“That’s a shame,” Mark laments. “I wanted to see her again. She’s pretty sexy.”

“Sir,” Jake says, curt.

“Like, so hot. I would let myself get arrested again if she was on the other end of it.”

“Sir, you’re here to answer my questions. I don’t need the commentary.”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t find her attractive?”

Jake’s teeth start to grind. “You’re talking about a highly decorated sergeant. I would suggest not saying another word about her.”

“C’mon, it’s all in good fun. Just some locker room talk, man.” Mark gives him a smarmy grin.

“No,” Jake levels, words sharp and slight. “It’s not. Now again, Mr. Robinson, we have eyewitnesses who place you on 87th street at the time of the robbery. Would you like to explain why you were there?”

Mark opens his mouth, as if to answer, and snaps his fingers. “She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she? I saw you kissing some chick before I got brought into here. I thought it might have been her, but I couldn’t believe someone like you would end up with someone like her.”

Jake takes a deep breath and curls his hand into a fist, trying to restrain himself from hitting the table. Mark’s eyes flicker down to Jake’s left hand, his silver wedding band shining in the light, and breaks into a laugh. “She’s your wife? This keeps getting better.”

Jake thinks back to the Keri Brennan case, one of he said, she said, which proved to be harder on Jake than he anticipated. Amy opening up to him in the break room, about her old captain and expectations and how this is normal, for her and for women as a whole. She looked at him with wet eyes and spoke in sullen words, and he almost couldn’t meet her gaze, feeling helpless and hopeless. She never needed him to protect her, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to do so. He held her hand tightly on the yellow couch that day and continued to hold it tighter when they left work.

He watched feminist documentaries and thought he got it. But this, looking Mark Robinson in his sleazy eyes and listening to sordid words drip from his mouth without care—Jake feels like he’s back in the break room, realizing and understanding all over again.

“Shut up,” Jake says lowly.

“Did I get to you, detective extraordinaire?” Mark disparages, positively gleeful.

“No—I just don’t have time for dicks.”

“Oh, I definitely did.”

Jake slams the folder shut. “Clearly, you don’t want to be here. Neither do I. I could be doing so many other things right now. So, just admit that you broke into that woman’s apartment, and we can move on.”

“Nah,” Mark says, casual and nonchalant. “I’m having fun.”

“You stole tens of thousands of dollars of jewelry off her dresser. Felt good, didn’t it?” Jake prods, sinking to the man’s level. “To just take advantage of her?”

Mark laughs. “You think you’re going to coax it out of me?”

“She’s quite the beautiful woman, but she didn’t want you, did she? You must have met her at a bar, maybe followed her home, but she said no.”

The suspect wrings his hands together. “Nice theory there, but no.”

“So, why were you on 87th street?”

“Just taking a walk. Is that a crime now, too?”

“No, but having no alibi definitely points toward you being guilty.”

Mark falls quiet.

“C’mon, Mark. Just say you did it. We’re sending cops to your apartment soon, anyways. You really think they won't find anything?”

Again, no response.

“If you admit to me that you did it, maybe we’ll lessen your sentence.”

A beat. The man’s forehead wrinkles, thinking.

“Fine,” Mark spits, laughing. “I did it. I robbed that bitch—she just made it too easy not to.”

Jake stands up from his seat. “See Mark, how hard was that?”

Mark breaks into a grin, still laughing. “And I know I could rob your wife’s heart too.”

“Oh, you fucking wish,” Jake sneers, and leaves with the slam of the door.

-

Jake tosses the file onto Terry’s desk and says, “He confessed,” before quickly turning to leave the office.

“Hold up there, Peralta. Where are you going?” Terry asks, and Jake spins on his heels.

“I gotta go see my wife.” Terry gives him a dubious look, and Jake sighs. “If you see the tape from the interrogation room, you’ll understand.”

-

Amy is doing paperwork when Jake brings her face into his hands, kissing her softly, slowly. When he breaks away, she looks at him warmly, trying to fight off the smile that tugs at her lips. “What was that for, babe?” she asks.

“I just wanted to let you know I love you,” he says simply.

He thinks he’s hiding it, but he knows she can sense the slight change in his demeanor. She’s his wife after all. “I love you too, but seriously, Jake,” she says, “what is it?”

He pulls over the chair that resides next to her desk, his voice low: “I questioned the man you arrested, Mark Robinson.”

“Did he confess?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“That’s great.” She pauses as his head drops down, their eyes no longer meeting. “It’s not great?”

“He said… things that I can’t get out of my head.”

“Like what?”

Jake lets out a heavy sigh. “He saw you kiss me before I went to interrogate him and basically used it against me. He couldn’t believe I was with someone like you.”

“Oh,” she breathes.

“And he was just saying awful stuff about you, calling you a chick and—god, I wanted to punch him, Ames. I really did.”

Her hand falls to his, giving it a squeeze. “Babe—“

“You’re my wife,” he says so surely. “And I love you, and I know you love me but—“

“But nothing,” Amy cuts in. “The guy was just being an asshole. He doesn’t know you nor understands the millions of reasons that I’m in love with you.”

Jake softly smiles at that, almost blushing.

“You’re kind and brilliant and everything. My everything,” she says, and Jake thinks his heart could burst the way it batters against his ribcage with all-consuming love.

“I married the cheesiest person in the world.”

“Yes, you did,” she smiles back. “And no one can change that.”

-

When Jake heads back to his desk, Mark is getting taken out of the holding cell in handcuffs.

They make eye contact and maybe, Jake waves goodbye with his left hand, purposely showing off his wedding band. And maybe, he proudly grins and mouths ‘she’s my wife’ as Mark scowls. And maybe, he holds up his ring finger as if he were flipping the bird.

But when the workday ends and he brings his arm around Amy’s waist just as they exit the precinct and she leans into his side, sweetly whispering his name? That’s a definite.

[maxsevenbetterplaylist]

somewhere only we know – jake peralta x reader;

author’s note: still the cheesiest woman alive. no surprises here. i like this one better though jake’s slightly ooc and the end kiiind of sucks. you’ll see what i mean. i also would like to say most of the songs here are songs i quite like. hope y’all like it too;

pairing: jake peralta x reader;

request: all me, but i feel like i should tell you it’s a “your soulmate can listen whatever song you’re listening to in their head” soulmate au;

word count: 2316 (back at it with decent sized one shots yes);

TW: uh i think there swearing. a lil alcohol. that’s it;

You grunted against your pillow when, for the third time that night, Lionel Richie's voice resounded loud and clear into your head. The only thing you actually wanted to be doing all night long was sleeping, for you had a long day coming up on the next morning, but your soulmate didn't seem to know or care about that. It was actually quite weird. By now, you were used to the violent swings on his music taste – 90s hip-hop in one minute, 80s disco in the other, you just didn't get it at all –, but listening to stuff at three in the morning? No, this wasn't like them. 

I mean, yes, they had this weird thing going on. Usually, they'd only blast stuff out loud during the day, but on the most random timings. Lunch? Usually pretty silent. But three thirty-six in the afternoon on a a Tuesday, when they should be working and you were in the middle of an important meeting? Funky Cold Medina would come at full volume. Nights were thankfully quiet, yes, but at times he seemed to randomly pull an all nighter and listen to music in a pretty psychotic pattern. As you discovered after some research, they also enjoyed very much Die Hard's soundtrack.  None of your friends' soulmates were weird like this, and, at this point, you'd narrowed it down to two possibilities – either their personality (which had to be very creepy) or their work (maybe he was something like your friend Amy, from the 99th, a night shift detective) was to blame, and you were hopeful that someday you'd figure out which. 

When All Night Long came on again, you decided it maybe was time to fight back with some of your music. You rolled through your sheets, sighing audibly, and picked up your phone, trying to think of the calmest thing you could. Snap, that was it. Quickly opening Spotify and your sleep playlist, you hit play on Of Monsters And Men's Love Love Love, turning the volume up so your soulmate could hear it through Lionel's voice. After a while, the song stopped for a good half an hour, and, when it was put back on, it was immediately cut off. You were finally, finally at peace, but you somewhat knew they weren't. Before finally going to bed (and actually sleeping, thankful for the silence), you picked one last song: The Moon Song, by Karen O. 

Jake had been having quite a night. He was sure thankful for finally coming back to New York after all the time in Florida, not to mention being reinstated to NYPD and his precinct; but despite saying that it was nothing, being on the night shift was starting to get to him, and Boyle wasn’t helping too much (although that wasn’t his fault, and he knew it). That said, when he asked his friend repeatedly to blast the Night Boys newest anthem while heading from one precinct to another, he didn’t exactly pause to think about the fact that his soulmate would probably be trying to sleep while he was working.

He was kind of surprised when calm folk music started playing inside his head, why were they up until now and listening to music? And, although it wasn’t Jake’s kind of music, it was good, he had to admit. Better if you were trying to sleep, yes, but still good. Oh, shit, they’re trying to sleep. He realized it was probably a big inconvenience for his soulmate that he was listening to Lionel Richie at 4 in the morning, but, well, what could he do? It was the job. And it wasn’t as if his soulmate never listened to stuff when he needed to focus – he recalled very well the first time his soulmate had listened to Funky Cold Medina. He was chasing after a drug dealer, and, when he finally caught him, instead of reciting the Miranda Rights, he asked the guy why he was so fly, and, very confused, the suspect answered “Funky Cold Medina?”

Still, the next time Charles put the song on, Jake told him to cut it. He told himself it was because everything else was garbage that night, but deep down he also didn’t want his soulmate to hate him for working the night shift. In response, he heard a quiet ukulele song playing inside his head. He knew that one from the movie Her! He took the song as a thank you, smiling slightly as the melody finished and it all became silent again.

You hated being stood up on, but it seemed to have happened again. There you were, at Shaw’s Bar, Brooklyn, waiting for your so-called date, who should have showed up one hour ago except they didn’t. You rolled your eyes and sighed. You weren’t asking for a knight on a shining armor or even your soulmate, you just wanted a decent night and maybe a fling with whoever your friend had set you up with this time. But no, not even that you’d get.

You tapped your feet to the rhythm of Ice Ice Baby, which was playing on Shaw’s speakers. It was usually the kind of thing your soulmate liked listening to. You smiled a little thinking about how they’d probably be hearing it inside their head right now, but thinking of it made your mood even worse. Leaning over the counter, you waved at Hank. The man turned to you, a kind smile on his face. “Hi, Y/N! You look great. Anything special?”

“My friend set me up on a date, but they stood me up.” You told him, and he frowned. “Yeah, it’s no biggie. Same as always, Hank.”

“Beer it is.” He told you, turning around to grab a bottle and open it. You flashed a smile at him, taking it.

“Thanks, Hank.”

“Always a pleasure, Y/N.”

You looked around the familiar bar, sighing. You’d lived in Brooklyn for most of your adulthood, and had to admit there was no place like Shaw’s. It was always a very alive place, with a good ambience and nice people. Your favorite days to be there were the Fridays when the 99th precinct’s squad hanged out there after work hours. It had always been cool to observe them, but, for a while now, you actually started talking to them and they liked it when you stuck around. Most people found their cop stories too weird or bloody, but there was nothing better for you than listening to the detectives talk about their work with little interventions that mostly concerned yogurt or Die Hard. Even when they weren’t there, however, it was like home to you. Plus, Hank knew you by now, and you got some pretty cool discounts for that.

You knew your soulmate was up to something when, as Vanilla Ice’s voice faded out, a song you knew very well came on – Somewhere Only We Know, Keane’s version of it. You made a face at nothing. That was so not your soulmate’s kind of thing. They had done this before, yes, but always to prank you just when it was getting good or to draw your attention – and, right now, they had it. When the song started playing again, for no apparent reason, you blinked twice. What the heck were they doing?

You hadn’t noticed someone sitting right across from you, so you jumped slightly when Amy Santiago’s voice pulled you from your daydream. “Hey, Y/N! You’re here again and – wait, is there anything wrong? Why’re you all dressed up?”

You blinked at her, trying to find  your way around words. “Uh… Date. Got stood up.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The detective said, reaching across the table to put her hand on yours. “But you know what, it’s probably – ”

“No, it’s no big deal.” You cut her off, and Amy frowned at you. You smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. It’s just… My soulmate’s been messing with me.”

“Oh, really?” She asked, eyes plugged on your face but an uncomfortable smile on her lips. As if she knew something you didn’t. “What are they up to?”

“Um, Ice Ice Baby was playing right before you came in, right?”

“Oh, no, the squad and I came in as it was fading out.” Amy told you, sounding more surprised by the second.

“Right.” You nodded dismissively. “And they really like that kind of music. I think that when they realized I was listening to it, they wanted to do something back for me, so they started playing a song I like but they never did. I thought they were gonna prank me or something and ruin it completely, but they didn’t. They’re actually still playing it.”

Amy seemed to be staring and someone behind you, but, when you did, you only saw the squad. She turned back to you with a smile. “Okay, okay, cool.”

“So… You’re the detective. Any theories?” You asked her playfully, but Amy swallowed hard.

“Maybe,” Amy started, and you could see her struggle. “Maybe y-you – ”

“Is there anything you wanna tell me, Ames?” You asked her, still smiling, and she sighed. Before saying anything, she looked around, downed her shot and leaned over the table.

“Look, I think I know who your soulmate is.” She secreted and your jaw dropped. “But calm down.”

“How?!” You blurted.

“On our way here,” she said rather carefully, “someone in the squad could hear Ice Ice Baby inside their head. Then, when we got here and heard it playing in the exact same timing, they thought their soulmate might be in here and decided to try and play a certain song, because they knew their soulmate liked it, to see if they could find out who that person is.”

You blinked. Then again, and again. Your soulmate was a cop? You weren’t sure of what to say. “Who is it, Amy?”

She pursed her lips. “I probably shouldn’t tell you.” Amy confessed, and you sighed. She was probably right – you couldn’t risk any coincidences –, but that was a really big bummer. “I know, I know, it sucks. But, uh, I do have an idea.”

Your eyes lit up. “Tell me. Now.”

“Okay, but you have to relax.”

“AMY!”

“A-ah I’m sorry!” She said, sitting up straight defensively. “Th-they told me they had one version of that song on! Why don’t you put the other and see if they realize it?”

“That’s actually a really good idea.” You told her, sitting straight again after the little threat. You smiled at the woman. “Thanks, Ames.”

She straightened her collar, trying to look normal again. “My pleasure to help, Y/N.”

You picked up your phone and earphones from your purse, feeling Amy looking at you and then at someone behind you. You took a deep breath as the song in your head stopped for the 3rd time, hitting play on the same moment. This time, along with the guitar and drums from the original version, there was a soft piano, from Lily Allen’s last cover of it. You didn’t even have the time to look around before someone else barged into your table.

“Amy, you’re not gonna believe this!” You look up to see detective Jake Peralta, one of Amy’s friends from the squad, now sitting by her side, showing her his phone excitedly. He had a huge smile on his dork-y face, and a single earphone on his left ear. “My soulmate played the other version! My plan worked! Now I just need to find someone who’s using earphones and – oh, hi, Y/N, I didn’t see you there. Sorry, I’m just kind of pumped about a soulmate thing.”

You blinked at him. Then blinked again. Was the universe kidding you? A detective? A childish, eccentric, fun and extremely hot detective? Jake didn’t quite understand what was going on – he wasn’t exactly the most observant person you knew. Amy smiled rather knowingly now, picking up her empty cup as she got up from her seat. “Hey, Y/N, why don’t you show Jake what you’re listening to?”

Shaking slightly, you turned your phone’s screen to him. His confused frown slowly turned to a gentle smile. He looked up at you, checking your earphone before taking his own off. He shoved his phone inside his pocket, along with the white strings, and sat down, looking at you. “Soo… I guess this is a thing?” He said, trying to break the ice, and you blinked once more before ripping your headphone off and slapping his arm. “Ouch! Wrong start here, Y/N!”

“I had to, after you blasted All Night Long through an entire night when I should be sleeping!” You told him but rather playfully. Jake frowned back, trying not to laugh. “But, seriously, Lionel Richie, man?”

“I was working the night shift with Boyle! We needed motivation!” He replied, and you giggled slightly. For a second, neither of you said nothing, then Jake cleaned his throat. “You look great. I mean, yes, you are beautiful, but you’re like… Dressed up.”

You smiled awkwardly. “Yeah, I know. I was supposed to be on a date tonight, but I got stood up on.”

“Oh. Sorry for that.” He said, then hit your arm playfully. “But hey, think positive! If you had gone, you might not have met your incredibly handsome soulmate AKA me, so that’s cool, right?”

You looked away from him, blushing slightly. “I guess so.” Another moment of silence went by, and you put your phone away before he cleaned this throat and went,

“Hey, should we get drinks and a booth? I feel like we could use some talking. Maybe I should buy the drinks, as an apology for the Lionel incident?”

You smiled at him, pursing your lips again. “Yeah, sure. And after that, if you have a minute why don’t we go – ”

“Somewhere only we know.”

[paigerambles]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAYLEIGH!! (PT. 4) @lists-andrandomshit​

“That looked easier on TV.” ( Isobel & Logan )

“I know babe but just give me like, ten...twenty, maybe twenty five takes and I’ll get it just like that too.”

“That sounds painful.”

“Only if I don’t stretch first.”

“Who’d have guessed you could pull such a face?” ( Isobel & William )

“Who'd have guessed your legs could actually go that high?”

"Why are you wearing that?”

“Look Isobel, there's only room for one bitch in this relationship and I'm afraid that position has been filled. Goodnight.”

“That was a bad plan.” ( Dean & Jesse ) 

“There is no such thing as a bad plan, only plans that didn’t exactly go to...plan. ---Right, okay. Quit looking at me like that. I never should have gotten on Jase’s bike. If anything, Rose is just gonna think I am like, 3000% more loser-like than she already did. Now, can you please just draw Garfield on my cast and leave the judging for when they give me more pain meds?”

“That’s mine!”

“Oh hey sorry man. I didn’t mean to do that. Behind your back. I guess it was just an honest mistake, right? ... I’ll get you another soda.”

“Why yes, I am as think as you drunk I am.” ( Dean & Sapphire )

"Maybe we are meant to be.”

"That’s the cheesiest pickup line I’ve ever heard.” ( Alex & Jesse )

“Then just call me mozzarella, Vandervort ‘cause I’m on a roll. A pizza roll.”

“They’re coming.”

“... Harry Potter? No! The Walking Dead. No, hang on. I got it! You’re doing you whenever we’re at a charity shindig and your parents come over to warn you not to break anything. Else. I nailed it, didn’t I?”

“You could have died!” ( Alex & Logan )

“I know. I know that! I just--- Look, not that I don't appreciate it but... Why do you care so much, Alex? Why do you care so much about me?"

"You could have killed someone!” ( Alex & Vanessa )

"If he ever darkens the door of this diner again, I just might succeed.”

"This seems familiar.” ( Scarlett & Logan ) 

“C’mon Scar, don’t give me that look. I’ve definitely never used this exact and brand new excuse before to bail on a tutor sesh with my number one brainiac. Thus, this cannot seem familiar. What's familiar is you not throwing on your glad rags and doing a few rounds of shots with your protégé. That's what's familiar here.”

“This stays between us.”

“Scarlett... I know. Look, I know you still think that I'm some kinda idiot but I'm not completely clueless. You don't have to spell out what this means to you, how important it is. I get how serious it is. I wasn't gonna tell anyone what happened but if you need me to like, sign something or something then draft it. I'll use a glitter pen and everything. Whatever you need. But for the record, I still think he is completely undeserving of another thought from anyone, especially not you.”

“You coward.” (Scarlett & Sapphire )

"Oh what? You think that you're so much better because you hide your bottles of wine and pretend that you don't cry your eyes out every night? That just because you shrugged it all off and acted like you knew that dad was gonna do it all along--- You know what, I don't care. I don't care what you think of me or how I choose to deal with all the crap that keeps happening and happening. You can take your 'brave face' and just go straight to hell, Scarlett."

“You don’t need to be so gentle.” ( Scarlett & William )

"I just wanted to let you down easy, Scarlett... Logan was never going to be good enough for you anyway, okay? Okay. I'll see you later."

“Truth hurts, don’t it?” ( Jake & Sapphire ) 

“Yeah, you hear that. I guess I just never thought I'd have to hear any of that from you, Jake.”

“Want to hear a secret?”

“Yes, but only if it's a really good one. This is as sober as I'm getting this week so lay it on me, my lips will be completely sealed. But if it's that I'm the prettiest girl in the whole world then chill --- I already know that.”

“We need to talk.” ( Gunnar & Tessa ) 

"Serious face? I didn’t even know you were capable of having one of those. Don’t tell me... Blake Shelton didn’t get voted Sexiest Man Alive? ---I’m kidding. I- What’s wrong?”

“We’re moving too fast.”

"You’re the one who wanted to do the pony rides after getting corn-dogs. I’m just saying, there’s only one of us in the wrong here. It’s not me. It’s you, it’s you Gunnar.”

"You drive me crazy!” ( Gunnar & Logan )  

"You’re welcome.” 

"Well that was unexpected.” ( Freddie & Logan ) 

“Dude, I know. Since when does William Huntzberger ever show up to one of our games? Or just show up, period! Who invited him? You... You didn't invite him did you? Wait, what am I saying... William Huntzberger doesn't get invited anywhere, he just shows up unannounced like he owns the place which, even if he does, is just plain rude. Have I had enough whiskey to justify throwing all my chips at his stupid face?”

“What are we doing here?”

“It's called...relaxing. Now, I know you're used to living in the lap of luxury but let me tell you this: you haven't known luxury, until you've known luxury. Freddie my man, my guy... Welcome to the spa that hot stone massaged the bickering out of freshmen year Isobel Prescott, Charlotte Montgomery and Jessica Knightly. You are good to pay, right? Or do you want me to just throw it on my tab- yes, I have a tab here- and you can hit me up later?”

“You have ten minutes, so make it quick.” ( Freddie & Emmeline )  

"How about you just reign it in, Robin Hood. Relax, I'm not here to make sure your ass goes down for 10 plus years without parole. I already dropped the charges and paid a little extra so no one tells your mom about this. Now drop the attitude and let's talk like civilized robbers and robbees."

“What are you afraid of?” ( Felicity & Emmeline ) 

“What am I afraid of? Oh I don't know... How about everything! This is- God, this just isn't happening, okay? We are not having this conversation. What am I afraid of... He's marrying my sister. He was always going to marry my sister and- and it doesn't matter if I suddenly have- suddenly noticed these stupid feelings, I can't. I can't do anything about them. And that sucks! That's terrifying. I'll never get to do anything about them because we're stuck, trapped in this Fairchild-Donovan bubble and he doesn't even see it. Even if he did... He's Julian. He's my best friend and I- I can't ruin that. And what about Lucille? I've hurt her enough. I've done enough. I am so sick of feeling like this, of being terrified to even breathe around him and I just want it to stop. There. Are you satisfied?”

“What are you touching?”

“... I left a packet of Doritos underneath the couch cushions.”

"You lied to me!” ( Felicity & Nick )

"Well--- What the hell was I supposed to say, Felicity? That I was scared things were going to actually go somewhere? That I wasn't ready to be the guy with the perfect girl and the life that made perfect sense? That- That my parents were ready to call you family and practically put the ring into my hand and then onto your finger? I messed up, I know that. If I could go back and do things differently then I would. Or I'd at least try to but... It doesn't matter now."

“You mean everything to me.” ( Baby!Felicity & Nick )

"You’re not so bad yourself, babe.”

“You owe me.” ( Felicity & Logan )

"You are ridiculously hot when you’re being vaguely threatening.”

“You. Come. Snuggle. NOW!”

“I thought you wanted breakfast? I- I mean, yes ma’am. Miss. Felicity.”

“What are you?” ( Jenny & Nate ) 

“I- What? I’m... Just out the shower?”

“What do you need?”

“This is sort of embarrassing but I don’t... I don’t really know how to work the...oven and uh, the cooking instructions on the back of this are in a really small font. And- You’re totally judging me right now, aren’t you?”

“What happened to you?” ( Caisson & Bella ) 

“Don’t act cute, Andrews. I think we both know exactly what happened. Please don’t take this lightly: do not fuck with my practice piano again.”

“What have I done this time?” ( Caisson & Tessa )

“You tell me. This is the fifth time this week someone’s spontaneously lost their eyebrows around you. That’s the kind of reputation that sticks y’know.”

“What if someone catches us?” ( Julian & Emmeline ) 

“Then we’re screwed.”

"What sort of noise was that?”

“Hey, this has always been my laugh. Don't be a buttface, thank you.”

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?” ( Tripp & Emmeline ) 

“Don't be a bitch baby, Vanderbilt. It's not like I'm tossing you out the window or anything... But if you're not gone before my roommate gets home from her shift, I am going to toss the Armani down the garbage chute. I'll do it”

“What were you thinking?”

“I don't know, Tripp. Everyone was just being so loud and it was like every time I tried to speak, to get out one little word, my throat started to close up and I couldn't focus anymore. It was just a blur, a big pointless blur of selfish and petty people who I- I was so desperate for the approval of. Still. Even after everything I've been through, everything I did to get away... I was like a little girl waiting for mommy to tell me she loved me more than the big white bow in my hair that meant everyone's eyes would be on me at her ball. Her ball that she did love so much and I... Can- Can we just go back to not talking? I feel like we're much better at that.”

“Where are my clothes?” ( Tripp & Logan ) 

“Trippsy, please... Use your indoor voice. I'm not even awake yet and I only have one leg in my pants and I don't even know where the other one is. Clothes are just society's way of caging your soul, man. Don't let them take that from you. Be the nude you wanna see in the world.”

“Where did you find this?” ( Ruby & Sam ) 

“You think Amber is the only one who ever saw your first headshot? Think again, Ruby Roo.”

“Where do you even find this sort of thing?” ( Ruby & William )

“Trust me, you're better of not knowing. But ah, if you need anything... I am the guy who can get it for you.”

"Where were you?”

“Here, there, everywhere... Why? Are you expressing some sisterly concern for me?”

[300videotapes]

FINCHER CLUB : The Movie Keeps Going

There is an indelible mark or aura found in a film and the consensus would be that the director is the one who left it. One can debate that creating a film is a team process and thus many finger prints, but all teams have captains at the helm and for this paper let us decide the director is the heart of the process. As the auteur theory would suggest these people take over the author role of the film, as a picture is not just words expressed, but several different elements orchestrated by a conductor. Just as a novelist will often have a tendency to have his habits and old familiar phrases the same can be found in a director of cinema. Like the concise brevity of Raymond Carver or the sexual deviances of John Irving’s characters we can read it name unknown and yet feel like we see their name above the work. The director does this as well, but with so many more elements such as coloring, editing, and acting performance. Wes Anderson has bad fathers in his stories or perfect choreography to the tiniest detail. There is an undeniable difference between a conversation of characters in a Robert Altman Film than there is in any other films that exist in the English language but he did not write the dialog. Quentin Tarantino is proof of Auteur because he steals all the fingerprints from the best and the cheesiest auteurs around. We are also to conclude that not every director is an auteur just as every film is not a piece of art, but sometimes entertainment or a cinema for cinema’s sake. We are however fortunate that auteurs do exist and they create rich, strong bodies of work that for the most part stand out from other filmmakers and have a flavor all their own. In almost every film in his vast career bouncing from science fiction to thriller to neo noir there is an imprint left in the work of Auteur Director David Fincher that creates a signature style and storytelling we can expect from him. One such technique that we see often is the use of Montage Theory by putting two opposing images and creating a third result.  David Fincher has had a strong body of work spanning from Alien 3 to Gone Girl. There are definitive Fincher Techniques that immediately tell you that this is his film. From the inventive graphic titles to the green tinge of the cinematography it is apparent when Fincher wants you to know his style. From early on in the dawn of Computer Graphics Fincher stretched its capabilities to the limits and yet you would never compare his cinema to that of Michael Bay or The Wachowski’s. David Fincher likes to use every corner of space, but he doesn’t like the shots to feel cheated as if the walls were torn down to achieve a shot. I believe he was very influential to Inarritu’s Birdman in the fluid nature of it’s cinematography helped by lo fi Computer graphic design between days and nights of the character. When in most films it is obvious who is the star, this can be more difficult task with David Fincher. In Zodiac we follow not just the victims, but different angles of investigation from multiple sources played by Robert Downey Jr., Mark Ruffalo and Jake Gylenhaal. Neither Jesse Eisenberg or Andrew Garfield were on screen stars until after their shared starring in The Social Network which is not the typical vehicle for such maneuvers, but thanks to Fincher’s equal display of both of their talents they became important to Hollywood. I cannot stress enough how important Fincher’s Music selection and score choices are to his craft. The use of score in a Fincher film is never to evoke an emotion, but instead suggest a familiar feeling. The right pop song creates a new definition forever, as was the case with “Herdy Gerdy Man” by Donovan in Zodiac. The most common thing I see about Fincher is his use of the theory of Montage. In Fight Club we see opposing images of what is assumed to be normal and what is actually going on. In fact that is sort of the point of the film that seeing both Tyler and Jack should equal out who you really see. Editing is a very strong attribute that defines Fincher. On a second or third watch of the film you might notice that a technique of splicing that is described in a scene is executed several times with what appears to be single frames of Tyler before Jack ever meets him. In The Social Network during the opening credits we see two opposing images back and forth of what college life can be: lavish parties or staying in your room with your computer trolling. Fincher uses all the tools available at his disposal to keep your mind tingling from the first frame to the last frame in his films.  If Seven was the picture that got people talking about David Fincher then Fight Club was the film that made him unforgettable. An incredibly daring adaptation that stayed miraculously true to the book more than most adaptations and yet had it’s own distinct flavor that makes it more memorable than the novel. One of the biggest pet peeves of Hollywood is too much narration and there is a lot of key narration created by Chuck Palahniuk. Fincher expertly uses the aforementioned computer graphics to give interesting visuals that make every word seem like gospel from a punk rock god. When Jack, played by Edward Norton, rants about corporate America we don’t just see his face we get a point of view of the garbage heap or consumerism within every wastebasket in America. Where at the time computer graphics were most known for action and science fiction films Fincher used and continues to use it to make the mundane come alive. The Dust Brothers Score is composed so methodically that almost entrances you to join up with the Space Monkeys of Project Mayhem. There is also the incorporation of synthesizer noises to give dramatic emphasis on a moment without being too flashy. Fincher never has the music say, “hey it is time to be scared for the main character,” instead it says, “you already are.” Both costars get so much time on screen that you cannot assume who is the star even despite the name recognition of Brad Pitt and so many scenes are stolen by the introduction of Helena Bonham Carter to American cinema.  Ten Years After Fight Club we still see similar styles in his collaboration with writer Aaron Sorkin: The Social Network. There are obvious scenes containing Sorkin dialogue that are not usual for a Fincher film and yet you could also say these scenes are directed like no one else would. We usually would see far less sound design on the opening bar sequence discussion and the song definitely tricks you into a false sense that the date is going well before the shit hits the fan. There is also a boat race later in the film that seems much more epic because of the song choice and because it is a great metaphor for being first to market with Facebook.  Computer graphics appear in this dramatic non-adventurous film. Instead of just split screen like a Disney twin film Fincher uses advanced technology to have an actor play both Winklevoss’ Twins and show the actor Armie Hammer’s range. The coloring is most certainly stamped by Fincher as there is again the green tinge of his cinema that you even see sneak into his television work. The editing is fiercely used to create an environment for each situation and rising tension in which should be a cookie cutter biopic about a kid who became a billionaire. Not only the cuts in the flashbacks from the interviews with the lawyers, but the escalation of the character Eduardo Saverin’s hate of Napster creator Sean Parker when he recounts meeting him. The absence of cuts when he lets a scene breathe is also very Fincher as he decides to just use a movement of a camera or the eery stillness of the camera. A decade later we know when we see a film from this auteur even when it is a biographical film, because it is also an original piece thanks to his taste and style.  The idea of the auteur has been obscured by difference of opinions as to whether it is the thematic storytelling or the panache of a director that sets him apart from others. It is my opinion that one is an extension of the other that shows itself depending on the inclination of the auteur. To concentrate on theme is a representational tool that the artist chooses to use because that is how they like to adjust their focus in contrast to others. Peter Wollen states in his essay “The Auteur Theory” that there be “two main schools of auteur: [either] those who insisted on revealing a core of meanings, of thematic motifs [or] those who stressed style and mise en scene (364).” I think if the critics of the past were to redefine their idea of style to more than just theatrics and visual settings they might realize that there is a greater juxtaposition at hand rather than division. I find this division to be a hasty prejudicial decision to separate art as either something that makes you think, or something that ensnares the senses. Both avenues work the brain and thus they are more akin than separate, as it would be assumed. Fincher can both take us on a wild ride and make us think about a bigger picture when looking at any of his film. All the elements at his disposal create a point of view unlike any other just as the next auteur can. From a scientific view what makes an auteur is the constant choice to be an auteur and not an exhibitor.    But an honest simplification of the auteur by Wollen is far less of a crime than that of Timothy Corrigan in his essay, “The Commerce of Auteurism.” Wollen is simply taking the ideas of the past and trying to show the historical divide of auteur theory. Whereas Corrigan wants to be jaded and believe, “modernist corrections, discussions, or deconstructions of the romantic roots of auteurism need to be taken another step towards recontextualizing them within industrial and commercial trajectories (419).” This argument is no different than believing the chicken came before the egg. If an auteur is just a marketing tool than so were the early beginnings of punk rock before it’s fragmentation and evolution. Without a body of work I don’t believe the director or the audience can truly know whether the director is an auteur. The first film is a trial and error often staying in comfort zones. The second film can either be experimental or play to the audience. If the creator continues to play to the audience then they are what I referred to as the exhibitor and not the auteur. The auteur just keeps making stories and can’t help but leaves his mark. After a fair amount of work is done you can distinguish the auteur from the exhibitor by the advertising of the film. One just sees whether they say “from the maker of alien 3” or, “another film from visionary David Fincher.”  But that is after the eggs have already hatched.  If we were to believe in the aforementioned two definitions of auteur one might hastily fit David Fincher into the category of an auteur that puts style over content. This would be understating the importance of Fincher’s editing choices. Fincher often uses cutting to give more meaning to his work. Earlier I mentioned that in “The Social Network” he showed two vast parallels of college life. Nameless partygoers ready for debauchery and bad decisions placed against our protagonist heading home to a night of feeding off his frustrations and lashing out passive aggressively. There isn’t an escape from a discussion and he has placed it smack dab at the beginning of his film like a thesis in an essay. There is a negative connotation towards both types of Friday night options at college based on the music, the lighting, and the speed of the film. Together these two images create a third image of what Fincher sees as the third option to the night, the option that pops in your head as you watch. So even though the textual author Aaron Sorkin could easily overshadow Fincher he isn’t, because Fincher is the prominent contextual auteur of the film. As Sergei Eisenstein said in a quote found in Lev Kuleshov’s “Principles of Montage”, “The interaction of separate montage segments, their position, and likewise their rhythmic duration, become the contents of the production and world view of the artist (142).”  Film can be argued to the tiniest celluloid as to whether there is more or less going on in the picture that was done with or without a purposeful thought. But what can’t be argued is a repetition of evidence that appears in several pictures. There is evidence within David Fincher’s body of work that unmistakably notes him as an auteur. There is a compositional style both in the editing and musical choices present in all his pictures. The large casts of stars in his films get equal time to shine and display their amazing performances. Where auteurism is usually a hidden aura we can actually see Fincher’s is a dark green shade over his images. It is seen more so in the computer techniques to that beautify the ugly in a commercial ore residential setting. To not identify him as auteur or to believe in the auteur is to disrespect the craft of film and assume that all pictures are the same. But if the novel shouldn’t be judged for it’s cover a film shouldn’t be judged either.

[maxsevenbetterplaylist]

last option – jake peralta x reader;

author’s note: wow i am the cheesiest woman alive i can’t believe i actually did this. it’s so bad but i’m on the b99 hook (rewatching all of it) and i guess there’s no easy way out. also i never had a prom because duh i’m brazilian so i had to actually go out there and research to discover when did proms take place i hope i did it right. enjoy;

pairing: jake peralta x reader;

request: all me, but requests are in fact open;

word count: 1268 (iagain, small);

TW: uh i think there swearing. also lots of cheesiness whY AM I LIKE THIS;

It was an April Monday in your senior year. When the bell of your last period that day rung, you stopped running to breathe in properly, along with all of the other students and slowly walked up to the spot you'd left your stuff by the court's corner, PE always got you like that. As per usual, you best (and likely only) friend was waiting for you at the door, a big mocking smile on his face. 

"Y/NN!" Jake Peralta yelled, using the childhood nickname you were most embarrassed of. Of course, he did this every Monday at the last period, picking you up from your Physical Education class, because he you had a little crush on the probably-on-steroids coach. You rolled you eyes in responde. "Do my eyes mislead me or are you glowing?"

"Now, that's kind of flattering." You retorted, walking side by side with him through the hallways. 

"I was actually talking about the sweat." Jake raised his eyebrows.

"Yep. Knew it was too good to be true." You chuckled slightly, practically feeling Jake's smug smirk as you both exited the building. 

The sun was shining brightly, and that, added to the crowd of teenagers that (as Jake insisted) had as their sole objective making your lives miserable, made the school's parking lot look like hell. Of course, neither of you had a car, so you just scooted through the students, drawing as little attention as possible, trying to get to the bus stop. Jake, on the other hand, didn't bother to be discreet. 

"So, Y/N, word is you have no date to prom." He announced, still smiling, and you rolled your eyes. Of course Jake's preferred place to do that was in the middle of a crowd, where you didn't feel the least comfortable. You sighed when you saw a group of girls pointing at the two of you and laughing – you were so used to it by now, you could practically pretend they didn't exist. "Not that I thought that someone would ask you. Not with your lame clothing choice."

"Jake, you helped me pick this shirt last spring." You reasoned, and he raised his eyebrows in response, pointing his nose ring with one finger. You held back a chuckle. It was ridiculous. 

"Never trust my fashion sense, Y/N." He told you, and you let out a laugh and looked numbly at the street. Jake swallowed. It was really hard for him not to say anything stupid when you looked like that, laughing eyes, sweat dripping and all. He forced himself to keep on teasing – no, Peralta, you do not have feelings for your best friend. "Anyways, it does look like that leaves you with one option only."

"Eew, Jake!" You said, smiling at him, and he felt his heart swell. "I'm not going with Headass Danny!"

"I wasn't talking about him!" Jake defending, forcing himself to laugh at the idea. "I also still don't know if I believe that the most popular guy in school asked you to prom and you said no."

"He did!"

"But he denied it!"

"So now you trust Headass Danny more than you trust me?" You asked, raising a single eyebrow at him as you saw the bus approaching. 

"Well, you can be a sly fox, Y/N." He faked seriousness.

"Headass Danny, Jake? Headass Danny?" You asked again, more pausedly, and he opened his mouth to answer and shut it again. The bus creaked as it stopped right by your side. "Yeah. I figured." You turned your back to him to climb into the yellow vehicle, and Jake made a face before following you in, cursing himself underneath his breath. He followed you to your usual sit on the old bus. "Anyways, who did you mean by last option?"

Jake scratched his neck, throwing his backpack on his lap. He inhaled deeply, trying to gather the courage he needed to ask you to go to prom with him. You can do this, Peralta, just ask already. He looked up at you to finally say it, only to realize you were looking at him firmly, waiting for his answer with a little smile. 

His courage dripped away even faster than he'd thought it would. "Well, I overheard Lee Phillips still hasn't got a date." He joked, knowing how much you founds Phillips pathetic and putting on his usual smirk. You laughed very forcedly, pretending to even wipe a tear. 

"Jake, you are disgusting. Lee Phillips!" You said, still laughing and looking out the window as the bus went further and further away from the school. You didn't realize Jake was looking at you the whole time, disappointed at himself, until you looked back at him and he was caught a little aback. "Looks like I'm gonna go with you, after all."

He blinked twice, really fast, eyebrows raised. You repressed a chuckle. "Sorry what now?"

"Don't give me that face, you jackass." You told him, nudging him playfully and smiling. Jake almost melted into his seat. "I waited long enough for you to invite me to go to prom with you, and I'm just tired of it."

"You’re kidding me, aren't you?" He asked you. "Nice job. Where's the camera, Y/N?"

"Just shut up already, Peralta." You shook your head pitifully. "Do you think I'm stupid? You don't have the guts to ask me out, but I'm not sitting and waiting forever, so I'm telling you we're going to prom together."

Jake opened his mouth to shoot back an answer, then stopped and shook his head. "You're right. I'm sorry." He said in his awkward voice, then looking up at you. When he saw you looked a little tense, despite the confidence in you voice, he couldn't help but offer you a little smile. "Thanks. I'll pick you up at 8?"

You blushed slightly, and trued to hide it by looking out again. "Sounds good. Can we have dinner at your place? My parents will be out of town again, and you know I can't fry an egg."

"Yeah, sure." He replied, pursing his lips slightly. "I also kind of need to know what colour you're wearing."

"Only if you promise you'll let your mom pick the corsage."

"Y/N, that's not how it–"

"This is not open for discussion, Jacob."

"But Y/N–"

"Nope."

"Ok, fine!" He gave in, throwing his hands up despite smiling widely. "My mom will pick the goddamn corsage!"

"It's blue. And you have to lose the nose ring."

"You're clearly overstepping here."

"This is the thumb cut. I might go with you but certainly not with that thing."

He inhaled again, rather annoyed. "Ok, I won't wear it. But, if I catch an infection, it's on you."

"Jake, that thing's so dirty that you're more likely to catch an infection by keeping it on." You told him earnestly, raising an eyebrow.

 "And you are a killjoy but probably right." He said nicely. "Shouldn't have bought the plastic one."

"Plastic, man? Seriously?" You questioned. "Remind me of why I agreed to go on a date with you again?"

"Because you find me extremely handsome and also are wildly attracted to me?" He suggested, and you raised your eyebrows. "Or maybe because you know I'm pathetic like Lee Phillips and decided to have mercy on my coward self?"

You smiled, trying not to grin completely, and subtly took the hand resting on Jake's leg, intertwining your fingers and immediately looking out the window again. While you blushed, Jake tried to fight a shit-eating grin and failed miserably, staring at your hands and then your face. 

"Sounds about right, Peralta."