#this is what working in recruitment does to you i'm not even kidding

[izacore]

"Ah. I'm cut out for this job." Gong Yoo as the Recruiter/Salesman in Squid Game.

[altocat]

Sephiroth loses memory and it's up to his friends to re-introduce him to his reality

"And this is where you keep your annoyingly organized collection of space-themed postcards," Genesis drawled, opening the desk to demonstrate. "You tend to reserve those for special occasions. The big golden one is for when that old fuck Hojo finally drops off." The silver-haired warrior loomed curiously over Genesis' shoulder, eyes wide, head slightly cocked in puzzled assessment. "And...and this is my office?" "It's where you work when you're not on missions," Angeal affirmed, still slightly awkward as he squirmed in place. "Outside of the battlefield, I mean." "Battlefield?" Sephiroth's quavering voice sounded distant, slightly higher than its usual stoic baritone. He looked between the two men, lost and confused, playing with his hands. "You...you mean there's a war, right? And I'm involved?" "Involved is a bit of an understatement," Genesis sighed. "You're their secret weapon. Their biggest hero. The Wutai War would have fallen to shit without you, much as I hate to admit it. That's what you're best at, fighting. The ads are rather distasteful, though. I don't think you'd get much out of them." "Ads?" Angeal tugged at his collar, swallowing harshly. "Ah...propaganda, really." "You're Shinra's favorite posterboy. It's been that way since 'Geal and I were kids." "They're still all over the place. Those ads, I mean. It's why we get so many incoming recruits every year. All of Midgar's walls are lined with them. Your face is pretty much around every corner." Sephiroth's expression was hard to read, staring down at the floor, his brow knit in tight concentration. He seemed to be thinking, chewing analytically on the tip of his thumb, catlike pupils rippling. He glanced up at the men again, a childish pout ever so slightly creasing against his face, snorting indignantly as he nodded. "Do I receive compensation for this breach in privacy?" "We literally just told you that you're the figurehead in a major ongoing war and THAT'S what you're concerned about?" Sephiroth only huffed, still scowling. "If I am going to be molded into a prized product for public consumption, I would appreciate a fair cut. Does SOLDIER even offer benefits? What about stock options?" Genesis groaned, rubbing between his eyes. "You must have hit your head harder than I thought."

[luna-rainbow]

On Steve Rogers, loss, and loneliness

Unlike some of the other characters, Steve's hurt isn't as plain to the eye. His demeanour is usually one of stoicism and optimism, and it is easy to forget that his story is steeped in loss and loneliness.

Steve's introduction highlighted how alone he was - an orphan, armed with a list of ailments, and hiding behind a newspaper to avoid small chat with other recruits. When rejected by the recruitment centre, Steve shrugs and heads to watch a movie - alone.

Steve is a loner, we are shown, and then just as abruptly - perhaps just like the way it had happened many years ago - Bucky crashes into Steve's world and hooks an arm around his shoulders and noisily talks about an expo and dispels all of Steve's melancholic air. Steve is a loner, except for Bucky.

But Bucky is now leaving to go to war.

Steve is used to being stoic, because there were no adults around him to spoil him. He is used to being buoyant, because Sarah taught him how to pick himself up and carry on. Steve is used facing the empty house and lonely silence -- except for Bucky, who filled his room with chatter, "We can put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids."

So when we hear the anxious strain in his voice as he is informed by Bucky that he is leaving -- it also becomes plain that Steve is also used to loss, or the threat of loss shadowing him, everyday.

In his short life, he has already lost so much. He has lost his health (my thought is he was probably healthier in his early childhood until he caught scarlet fever, and then his health got a lot worse after that). He has lost his father, and all the security of having a family breadwinner. He has lost his mother - to long hours of work and eventually to the disease she was battling against.

What he dreads would happen, does happen. Life seems to have a way of chasing him down like that. Sarah gets sick, and his fear of coming home to find her gone...one day inevitably comes true.

At his darkest moment, Bucky squeezes his shoulder and promises, "You don't have to do it (alone). I'm with you to the end of the line."

It's just enough for Steve to square his shoulders and push on, as Sarah had always taught him to do. Deep inside - possibly buried so deep that he can barely put it into words, he knows that he pulled through because "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky."

I'm going to pause here and emphasise how deeply lonely (and young) Steve was, and how, naturally, the only stable presence — ie Bucky — in his life, through periods of terrible grief and uncertainty, is going to be such a deep-rooted emotional foundation for him (regardless of how you ship).

When the draft does come for Bucky, it's not just Bucky who's unhappy, it's Steve who's also aghast. Suddenly, the possibility of losing his last bastion looms over him, and he remembers the fear and anxiety and the devastating grief of losing Sarah. But it is also a war that needs fighting - so he comes up with a solution: sign himself up. He can't keep Bucky from the war, but he wants to fight alongside him. Besides Bucky, what else does he have to lose?

"Men are laying down their lives, I have no right to do any less. That's what you don't understand, Bucky."

He says this angrily, because the words he can't say aloud are, "You are laying down your life, Bucky, and I might never see you again, and I can't go through all that again, not by myself."

When he hears about the 107th being captured, he has to go. He is saving Bucky, sure, but he is also saving himself, because the pillar, the lifebuoy, the harness that has kept him afloat all those years is Bucky, and he's terrified of sinking.

The serum makes him taller and more women pause to smile at him, but he is still incredibly alone. He sits alone during break, he draws alone in his book, he runs off alone and none of the USO girls even notices until it's his turn on stage.

But Bucky notices him immediately, and says, "I thought you were smaller," and, "Did it hurt?"

Steve doesn't really believe in miracles. His whole life feels like one bad luck after another, even if he forces one foot in front of another and keeps marching on. But maybe at that moment, he feels like Bucky is his miracle. Bucky, who always seems to notice when he's alone and pulls him into his social circle. Bucky, who had seen him lose his dad and Sarah and promised him the end of the line. Bucky, who he - and all the commanders - thought was dead, pulls through and gives him another promise - that he would follow the little guy back into war.

When Steve is finally thrust into the frontline, the losses keeps mounting, man after man are falling, condolence letter after letter is being written. And then towards the end of 1944, the tides seem to finally turn. German forces are waning, the Allied forces are advancing, and quietly, secretly, Steve dreams of home.

And that dream dies with Bucky.

"Honour the dignity of his choice," he is told, but he can't shake off the guilt.

He pushes himself forward, step by dragging step. Nazi Germany is falling. He is taking down Hydra with his own hands…and at the end, he buries them all in the ocean with himself.

His is sinking, but he isn’t afraid, because he is going where all the people who mattered are waiting.

And he is denied even that.

He opens his eyes to a world he doesn’t recognise. They tell him they had won the war.

But no one wants to speak with him about what was lost.

A folder of old photos, the museum of unmoving murals, the silent movies of a smile he would never see again.

He thought he had lost all there was to lose, but somehow life always seem to find something else to take.

What we see of off-duty Steve in the modern world is once again a figure of loneliness. He goes to the gym alone, he goes for a ride on the train alone, he sits at the cafe alone, he goes for runs alone, he goes to the museum alone.

Only during those solitary moments he could truly be Steve Rogers, instead of trying to meet everyone's expectations of Captain America. He is just shy of 27 years old, but suddenly, he can no longer lay claim to youth. Only a dream ago he was "just a kid from Brooklyn", and now he's an "old-fashioned" (as per Coulson) "older fellow" (as per Tony).

He's in the history books, he's on the television, he's in the classrooms; everyone knows of Captain America, but Steve Rogers is lost.

He had been willing to lose his life on the Valkyrie, but what he lost was every living connection and his own identity.

"Must have freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing," the friendly man says to him on their first meeting, but Sam only knows half of it.

The too soft bed and the too quiet room is one thing, the unshakeable nightmares another, but the worst of it is -- this isn't home.

He is marooned in a place that bears eerie resemblance to the world he knew, without being familiar.

Until the moment Bucky's mask comes off.

It's like the anchor dropping. He's now got a connection tethering him to this strange place, someone with "shared experience" that means he is no longer alone, and he is no longer a ghost forgotten by the seventy years of lost time.

"He doesn't know you."

"He will."

He has to believe that Bucky will, because Bucky is proof that Steve Rogers exists.

And once again, Bucky is his miracle. On the brink of killing them both, Bucky reels back from his brainwashing and hauls them both to safety.

Even if Bucky leaves after that, he's left behind something Steve hasn't had for a long time -- hope, and belonging.

"Family, stability. The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago," he says to Tony as he prepares to meet the ragged team of enhanced people that is to become the Avengers. "I'm home."

Stoic and buoyant as he has always been, Steve sets to work building that home for himself. Gradually, we see Steve open up. He forms new connections and new friendships, he talks about his vulnerabilities with people he trusts, and he reclaims his own identity. He looks for Bucky, and waits until Bucky is ready to build that home for himself.

Until it is once again blown apart by the end of Infinity War - he loses not just Bucky, the anchor to his past, but the new family he has made apart from Natasha.

That's why it makes sense that Steve, not Tony, is the one working so hard to reverse the Snap. His family was 5 years ago, Tony's family is now. The people who rallied behind Steve and not Captain America, the people who followed him after he dropped the shield, the people with whom he no longer needed to be endlessly lonely and tirelessly stoic and who loved him for who Steve Rogers was, they all vanished in the Snap.

So even if there was only a small hope, Steve wants them back.

And that's why his decision to leave everything he had built, the sacrifices he had made to bring them back, in order to go into a life of incredibly loneliness and deception is still the dumbest narrative faux pas in the MCU.

[synergysilhouette]

12 nitpicks with "Baldur's Gate 3"

This is a game I hadn't expected to love as much as I do--I think it's one of the best I've ever played--but just to play DA for a second, I thought I'd be nit-picky with some things about it (not that I'm ungrateful, Larian!)

Halsin's romance is rushed and lackluster--Halsin can only be recruited if you join the druids and tieflings against the goblins, and his storyline is only covered in Act II of the game with the Shadow Curse. Afterwards, he's just along for the ride, and if he becomes a love interest, you only get one romance scene followed by flowery words from him when addressing Tav, and the nature of your relationship is confusing, since Halsin finds the word foreign, emphasizes (optional) polyamory, and the implication from other love interests is that you're just sleeping with him. Seeing how the game was eventually patched so you could recruit both Halsin and Minthara, I do wish that it was made that way to begin with, with both of them having more pronounced arcs throughout the story. I have heard that they had cut content, so it'd be nice if it was reinstated someday.

2. The female companions are racially more diverse than the male companions--This isn't really an issue for me, but an observation; for female companions, we have a Githyanki, a drow, two half-elfs, and a tiefling, while for male companions we have two elves and three humans. I suppose they didn't wanna experiment too much for male companions, but I could've seen Halsin as a half-orc like Jord, and Wyll a dragonborn--not that I'd trade out their designs as-is; that's just an observation.

3. We get Yenna in our camp, and she adds nothing--After having the spirit of nature AND a tiefling with newly discovered magic powers in our camp in Act II, getting an average human kid in Act III just because felt dissatisfying. Yenna will come up to you, regardless of whether you're invisible or not, when she will tell you that she can't find her mom. After talking with her, she'll appear in camp a few days later and ask to stay. You can say "no," but it's a weird option anyway. Plus if you do as I did and just misty step off the cliff into town to avoid talking to her, she will still be Orin's victim if the others are not available, even if you never meet her (note: I do not know how this works if the other options aren't available and Yenna is dead). And even when you rescue her, there's the guilt because her mom and her cat are dead, so you kinda feel like you have to let her join. I'd much rather keep Arabella, or find a way for Thaniel and Oliver to bond and then separate, with one of them joining us on the journey if Halsin is recruited. Or another option...

4. Lae'zel and Shadowheart have similar storylines--While the details are different, the overall plot is the same; both women find out that they've been lied to by the culture they've grown up in, and have to decide how they feel about it. The difference is that Lae'zel can choose between helping Vlakith, Orpheus, or stay out of the Githyanki conflict, while Shadowheart just gets to choose between following Shar or turning her back on her. That said, Shadowheart's storyline is much more satisfying and emotional since the goddess erased her memory and now she has to decide how to take that. With Lae'zel, she never really evaluates what it means to be independent like Shadowheart does, first swearing loyalty to Vlakith, then joining Voss when she seems to be lying, and becoming intent on freeing Orpheus when she finds out he's been kept away. Only at the end can you tell her to find her own path. Because her culture highlights strength and a warrior lifestyle, the similar arc she has to Shadowheart can't be executed as well. In fact, one unique thing about Lae'zel's storyline never comes into play during the main story: the githyanki egg. She'll mention feeling bonded to it, and will say it hatched during the epilogue, and that she named him and wants him to choose his own path in life (which doesn't really fit if she chose to stay with Vlakith or Orpheus, imo). It would've been nice if Xan was hatched and kept in our camp, or if the egg is taken from us immediately after leaving the creche, and we have the option to rescue Xan from the SoB and let him join us.

5. Astarion's viewpoint/approval doesn't change--I'm in the minority here I'm sure, but given the sympathy people give Astarion due to his past as an abuse victim and Astarion learning to love himself, I do wish the change was a bit more impactful, with Astarion showing more compassion for others and certain altruistic or optimistic choices earning his approval. Even in Act III, there are a couple of times you get to say you can't believe he's letting his family be led to the slaughter or think of harming them. He'll respond that they're screwed anyway or that no one else looked out for him except you. It doesn't feel like as much progress has been made, and even after Cazador's mission, he's still himself, just with less burdens and more closure. His epilogue epiphany of people not minding you committing murder if it's bad people feels like something he should've learned along the way.

6. Romance initiation is based on the afterparty, for the most part--People will say that initiating a romance isn't dependent on the goblin/tiefling party, but I've only had ONE time where I had the chance to begin a romance began afterwards--or at least, one time where it was someone I was interested in (there were a couple times Lae'zel flirted with me). In my experience, it's very difficult to start a romance after the party, despite having a lot of approval. I'd rather there be a perpetual romance option to pick when talking to a companion, and them accepting once you have enough approval, rather than them coming to you.

7. Karlach's only ending is the "bad/sad" ending--As many will tell you, there was a planned Upper City portion of Act III that included furthering Karlach's quest, with the ending we got in the final version being the bad ending if we neglected her quest. I understand cutting content, but since literally EVERYONE ELSE'S fate is dependent on your decisions (Shadowheart and Lae'zel's loyalties, Wyll being a devil or not, Astarion completing the ritual and killing the spawn, killing Minsc and Jaheira leaving, saving Minthara, Halsin's resolving the Shadow Curse or not, Gale giving into his ambition), Karlach should've gotten the same treatment. If a section had to be removed, they could've moved her quests to the sections of the game that we did get.

8. Getting Minsc when we could've gotten Rolan--While Minsc is a neat companion to have, his lack of a storyline (outside of his recruitment) and being a non-romanceable companion makes him feel almost like a wasted slot to me. If we wanted to add another male companion, I definitely feel like Rolan would've been a better companion, coming across as a cross between Astarion and Gale due to his cockiness and ambitious nature. It'd be fun if he was recruited in Act II after rescuing his siblings; honestly, he wouldn't be on any worse footing than Minthara and Halsin for having limited content, but Rolan has the added benefit of having family that we can interact with, joining Wyll and Shadowheart as the few companions who do. In fact...

9. Only plot-relevant backstories--Okay, this is a real nit-pick, but that's the title of the post! For the most part, characters only mention their past in relation to their quests, though there are brief exceptions: Wyll, Minthara, and Karlach mentioning their mothers, and Tara mentioning Gale's mom. Maybe I just didn't get the dialogue, but I do wish we got more about each character's childhood/backgrounds--and not just in a one-convo-type thing like the aforementioned individuals. I guess I have to give Astarion a pass since he says that after being a vampire for centuries, he can't even remember his eye color, let alone his life before, aside from being a magistrate (which I find SUPER interesting). Plus it'd be interesting to hear more about old flames like Gale and Halsin mentioned, and the conquests Astarion reunited with as spawn.

10. Act II slimming down the number of tieflings--If you do nothing to help the tieflings or side with the goblins during the raid, all of the tieflings die. However, even if you side with the tieflings and defeat the goblins' leaders, several tieflings will die anyway. When cultists corner them in the shadowcursed lands, Zevlor is distracted by the Absolute while the other tieflings are kidnapped and brought to Moonrise Towers, find their way to the Last Light Inn, or are killed on the spot--or in the case of Arabella's parents, killed after escaping the cultists and trying to hide. While these things happen in war (or cultist territory), it felt disheartening to see that the people you went through all the trouble of saving died anyway. It's almost a waste.

11. To be young--This is really scrapping the bottom of the barrel, but I do wish we could make Tav look a bit younger (I think you can look younger than this picture, but this is just a visual aid). I also have this nit-pick for some of the companions, but I'm sure a mod for that will eventually be approved.

12. Getting companions to romance each other--This isn't something I need as much as the other things, but it's still something I thought about when watching origin playthroughs. To my understanding, they're all pansexual (personally I imagine Karlach, Astarion, Lae'zel, Jaheira, and Minthara as male-leaning pansexuals and Gale, Wyll, Shadowheart, Minsc, and Shadowheart as female-leaning pansexuals while Halsin is middle of the road; no idea why, just the vibes), and it'd be fun to pair them up together. Not saying there are endless combinations; I can imagine Gale/Astarion wouldn't be something that exists in the Tav route (especially after Astarion straight-up told me he doesn't want an open relationship/polycule with Gale), but Karlach/Wyll, Lae'zel/Shadowheart, Jaheira/Minsc, Karlach/Gale, Gale/Wyll, and Astarion/Halsin are ships I think of being possible.

Don't kill me! I already love the game as-is, but I did want to point these things out. I was also gonna include a other nitpicks such as the option to have kids/discussing it and Aylin/Isobel being active companions and not just space fillers at camp, but maybe I'll save that for another nitpick post.

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

I'm kind of obsessed with Blackwall's idealized ideas about the Wardens. He was once picked up by a Warden and lulled by the promise of atoning for his crimes and turning his life around, only for that opportunity to slip away when the Warden not only saved him, but sacrificed his own life to do it. This whole experience makes our Blackwall become a Warden in heart, if not in blood, but with his own ideas of what a Grey Warden should be - noble, brave, inspiring, heroic, self-sacrificial. Everything he now wants to embody. He knows well that he's not there, but he wants nothing more than to start from scratch and be that.

In his beliefs, he reminds me a bit of Wynne in Origins who tells the Warden at some point that the Grey Wardens are supposed to be more than killing machines and weapons against the blight.

“There’s more to being a Grey Warden than killing darkspawn and saving the world from the Blight. Ultimately, being a Grey Warden is about serving others, about serving all people, whether elves or dwarves or men. As a Grey Warden, you are a guardian of men. And you guard them because their continued existence is more important than you are.”

However, we know that's not exactly how it works. That's what they want the Wardens to be. The light against darkness. The shield against monsters.

Although it's not entirely wrong, either, I suppose, all things considered. The more darkspawn they obliterate and push back, the more people are protected from them. Of course, sacrificing their lives to fight literal monsters, which means those same monsters don't eat everybody's kids, ultimately is heroic, and it's something that must have been born out of the need to protect the world and its inhabitants (from the Blight). But to have idealized opinions of the Wardens to this degree, you have to ignore all the other shady stuff and the mentality we, as players, also know the Wardens for. The fact that the Wardens are primarily weapons to slay darkspawn, prevent and end Blights, by any means necessary. The last part is important. After all, they are the Grey Wardens, not the White Wardens. They recruit from all walks of life and are famous for taking in criminals. Not to redeem themselves and get a second chance at life, but because they usually have nowhere to go and nothing left to lose. It's not a coincidence that each of the Origins gets chosen by Duncan, not only because he sees them as capable, but also because they are in a situation they can't escape from. Either they join the Wardens, or they're done for.

We know the Wardens from a few games now, but does the public in the setting even know? Does the average person have any idea how far the Wardens are willing to go? Besides grand stories of slaying monsters in the dark and preventing the end of the world? Probably not. The order is very secretive. And it explains a lot. The Wardens end up sounding almost romantic, when being a Warden is anything but. Is it ignorance talking out of these characters? Perhaps.

It once again shows us this aspect of Dragon Age where you can't take everything a character says as a fact, because the setting is full of people who have no idea what they're talking about, but who are absolutely convinced that they do.

And yet, I can't help but also like Wynne's and Blackwall's romantic ideas about what the Wardens are or should be, almost knights in shining armour and all that. They're fairy tales, but they're beautiful fairy tales. And I can't fault the characters for wanting to believe it or even live it. Especially in case of Blackwall, who sees it as a way to make up for the crimes he committed, somewhat. In the end, this might actually be a bigger draw to join the Wardens than, "Got nowhere to go? Come suffer horribly and probably die gruesomely with us!" It all sounds great on paper, though. I can't fault Davrin for trying to find purpose in life by becoming a monster hunter, either.

And maybe a little bit of idealism doesn't hurt. Not only it's good motivation, but in the end, doing things by "any means necessary" doesn't always pay off, either. It led the Wardens into all kinds of trouble, like getting tricked into employing dangerous forms of blood magic and demon summoning, basically into doing their enemy's work for them. In their determination to win at any cost, they helped trigger a cataclysmic event. Maybe having some principles isn't so bad after all.

In the end, I can appreciate that we get to see the clash of the old and new blood in Veilguard, where there's hope for the order to transform into an organization that's less secretive, less exclusive, and hopefully less prone to letting corruption spread through its ranks and make other devastating mistakes. Duncan once said that letting people join the Wardens isn't an "act of charity", and I like how Evka and Antoine go, "Yeah, you know what? Fuck that." And that likely inspires more loyalty. I imagine Blackwall would like that.

[itsa-me-lily]

First: How sfw/nsfw are we allowed to go with asks and whatnot, as well as stuff you won't write? I'm not intending on sending anything crazy, I just don't wanna cross boundaries

Second: Every guy in my family (minus one), married in or born in, is/was military, and I have heard that it's not uncommon for military spouses to cheat on their partner, especially when deployed. I'm not saying dear reader is cheating or anything of the sort, but I could def see some fresh dumbass recruits trying to pull the legendary Lieutenant's wife, if only for bragging rights. Curious how that would shake out (would the recruits ever be seen again, who knows!)

TLDR for the first part, I'm okay with NSFW asks and you can find my list of no goes (as well as the master list for Military Program Spouse) Here

Here is the Simon & Thimble playlist

Now for the second part

Content Warning; Discussion of size (kind of), discussions of cheating (kind of) (please let me know if I'm missing anything)

Also Reader is fat, like size 18/20 pants, like there's a jiggle no matter what she's doing (remember kids fat isn't a dirty word what size you are doesn't define your morality, your actions do)

Also also please know that my brain does not want to let go of Reader telling Simon "well we wouldn't be in this situation if you could pull bitches" but I don't think it's going to fit in this

Honestly the sex talk had gone better than you had anticipated. In the past when you had tried to explain being demisexual and what that meant for your sexual attraction to other people you'd gotten blank stares, been told you were just picky or that you were just talking about a crush that everyone got. You knew it wasn't, but it got old fast. And while Simon stared as you explained yourself, he didn't push or tell you that it was some new made up sexuality.

It was refreshing.

You weren't even that offended when Simon had stated he had no interest of sleeping with you. You'd come to accept that you weren't everyone's cup of tea, not everyone liked a little jiggle in the wiggle. So you'd be two people who legally shared the last name, roommates, broskis if you will.

You'd agreed that any extramarital activities had to be respectful, discreet, and that if it turned serious divorce was an option on the table. Or well, you listed out your ideas in what you thought was a logical manner and Simon just listened before grunting what you thought was an affirmative and then turning on the TV for some sort of sports game. You were a theater kid growing up, you weren't a fan of sport ball. So the two of you started your married lives with the ever perpetual hall pass.

Not that you ever used yours. Again there was the fact that you only felt any real attraction or desire once you had gotten to know someone, felt a connection that...intrigued your soul for lack of better phrasing. And you are a very self sufficient woman. People weren't typically banging down your door to...well bang, so really you just went about your days.

It was probably why you hadn't noticed the recruit flirting with you at first. At first it was just a polite nod and acknowledgement of who you were when you had to come to base to fill out paperwork. Then there were the times you'd run into him while walking through the neighborhoods. Private (or was he Second Private? You never really paid attention) Pearson was alright, a pretty boy who seemed to know it, given how he seemed to preen with attention once you caught on to what was happening. Yeah he was alright but nothing that really wanted to make you deal with the headache of dealing with two men in your life. Plus you were pretty sure he had mentioned something about working with Simon? You were not a person who shit where you ate.

So you played dumb when he tried to flirt with you, and never took him up on any offers to 'help' you around the house or to show you how to use the gym equipment, after hours of course. The cockiest had to have been when he offered to help you 'stretch' any time. The smile he wore when he offered that one was so slimy you felt like you needed a shower after.

It all came to a head one day in the mailroom. Somehow a random package had been delivered to the house instead of on base, and since Simon was out doing god knows what somewhere in the world it wasn't like he could take it with him. So you were doing your good deed of the day and dropping it off. Only to run into Pearson, who was with friends...even better.

You had tried to just smile politely and wave, acting like you were in the middle of running Very Important Errands. It didn't help much. Pearson and Co still came up to you like you were all the best of friends, Pearson even being so bold as to drape an arm across your shoulders, or he tried you. You side stepped him easily enough to his annoyance.

You lightly chit chatted, looking for an opening to excuse yourself. You'd be blunt if you had to, but you really didn't want to deal with any back lash for being a 'bitch'. Though maybe you should have. He must have sensed your deep rooted desire to get the fuck out of there, because Pearson put on the grosses looking grin, leaning in as if to share a secret.

"The boys and I were going to go out for some drinks tonight. Why don't you come with us? Promise we don't bite."

The last part was whispered liked it was a promise of the opposite. You honestly wanted to barf. A) Drinking wasn't really your scene. B) Pearson definitely wasn't your scene.

"As tempting as that sounds, sorry boys. I uh- I don't drink."

"Oh come on pretty girl, one drink won't hurt you."

You wanted to roll your eyes as Pearson tried to tempt you out, reaching to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. Thankfully you had heard little rumors that maybe the 141 was coming home. Simon wouldn't mind you using him as an excuse...probably.

"Really I can't. Simon should be coming home soon and I still have things I want to take care of before he's back."

Maybe it was the threat of their CO being back that caused all of them to freeze for a moment, giving you the opening to slip out from their little triangle they made, making your way to the exit. Pearson must have really been desperate, or just that stupid to practically shout after you.

"Come on, you really can't enjoy him more than me right? Doubt he's really all that great and impressive."

Oh that stopped you in your tracks. Simon Riley was a lot of things, annoying, stubborn, an asshole, rude, louder than the fucking heavens when he snored, a person who didn't care if he used up all the hot water, one could even say he was creepy at times. He didn't open up about things, and acted like socializing was the bane of his existence.

He had a sense of humor that people seldom understood, but he still entertained himself. Scared you half to death dozens of times over with how fucking quiet he was, like he was appearing out of thin air, but he'd try to knock to catch your attention if you were in the bedroom or bathroom. Had what was probably a herculean amount of strength in a single bear paw of his, but you'd seen him try to offer a finger for Tombo to sniff when the little curly mop got curious.

You plastered on the biggest polite smile you had, the one that boarder lined on looking a little crazy with how much it stretched your mouth, and spun on your feet to look at the trio of men who really tried to try you this day.

"You all know my husband."

You didn't actually wait for a response as you walked back to the men, who all started to look like they were regretting their choices.

"Lieutenant Riley. You know, Lieutenant "built like a brick shit house" Riley."

You stopped directly in front of Pearson, hands on your hips as you met his stare straight on, before looking him up and down slowly.

"Really what makes you think you can...measure up?"

The scrunch of your face at the end made it very clear that you had decided that the younger man was severely 'lacking' when it came to any kind of measuring. Clearly none of them had expected you to react like this, given that they just stared gobsmacked as you shrugged and waved them good bye with the tips of your fingers, happily making a sassy exit to your freedom.

Simon Riley was a lot of things, and he was your husband. And no one talked shit about your husband except you.

Edit;

There's a second part I want to add to this that I'll probably work on this weekend. I'm very out of the habit of writing so it takes me a hot minute to get stuff down the way I want it. Anyway I hope you like this! And remember

A) Being Fat doesn't make you good or bad

B) I am a greedy greedy goblin who loves getting asks

[naivegh0ul]

Could you possibly do a soap platonic fic where ghost has a 9 year old daughter and she is the total opposite of ghost, she just rambles and she meets soap at base and they instantly become infatuated with each other and ghost finds them talking about sharks in immense detail to each other???

Oh my gosh that is such a cute idea! 🥹🥹🥹

Soap had no idea Ghost had a daughter. I mean, why would he, of all people, have a kid? Ghost is a lone wolf, "I work alone," may as well be his catchphrase at this point.

So, one night when the squad goes out for drinks, Ghost having been forced to come, Soap is curious as Ghost gets a call. Soap was surprised Ghost even had a phone, he just imagined he brought a radio everywhere with him, like the strict soldier he is.

Soap watched as Ghost stepped away from the bartop, murmuring a low, "Hey, sweetheart." into his phone. He assumed that maybe Ghost had a girl back home, but when Soap listened in further, he was shocked.

"I know, I know. Daddy will be home soon, alright? Behave for the babysitter. Alright, I love you too, sweetheart. Bye."

Wow, was all Soap could think. No way The Ghost has a child. Impossible, simply impossible. But, the way Ghost spoke to whoever was on the other line...

Soap had to investigate this.

For the next few weeks, Soap kept a close eye on Ghost, trying to listen in on his phone calls, peering around him when he was texting someone.

It was a little creepy, yeah, but Soap needed to know whether or not Ghost actually has a little mini-me or not.

Ghost seemed a little off one day, constantly on his phone, being mean to the recruits, (Well, meaner than usual.) It got Soap curious again. Ghost left the base around 2pm, and Soap watched with raised eyebrows.

To his knowledge, Ghost hadn't been called out on a mission, and he had left the base wearing civilian clothes, this all got the wheels turning in Soap's brain.

Ghost came back around 4pm, and Soap immediately went to greet him. Then, he saw it. Actually, he saw her. A little girl, huddled behind Ghost's back, clutching onto his jacket with a shark plushie in her small hand.

The little girl looked up at Soap with wide eyes, a twinkle of curiosity visible. "Hey, lass, I'm Soap. What's your name?" Soap said. The girl glanced up at Ghost as if to see if it was okay to talk to the strange man, and Ghost nodded down at her.

"Beth." She answered, smiling a little up at Soap. "Do you like sharks?" Beth pointed at Soap's mohawk, clearly thinking that it looked like a shark fin.

Ghost chuckled under breath, and Soap nodded. "I do. Does this little fella have a name?" Soap crouched down in front of Beth and gestured to the shark plushie she was holding.

"Sharkie!" Beth exclaimed with a happy smile. She seemed excited to be talking about her plushie. Beth toddled over to Soap and held up the toy, showing it to him while telling him facts about sharks.

Soap looked over at Ghost, smiling to himself as he saw the proud look in Ghost's eyes as he stared down at his little girl. Ghost stepped closer to the two and placed a hand on Beth's head before kneeling down.

"Daddy's gotta go finish some work, alright? I'll be back as soon as I can, you stay with Soap." Ghost said, stroking his daughter's hair lovingly. He lent down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head through his mask before walking away.

Soap felt his heart swell with happiness at the thought of Ghost trusting him enough to let him look after his daughter. "Alright, you little menace, what do you say we go get some ice cream?" Soap smiled as the little girl squealed in excitement and nodded, grabbing Soap's hand.

The entire car ride to the ice cream parlour, Beth was chattering away in the backseat, telling Soap all about sharks. "Did you know that baby sharks are called pups? Like little dogs! Isn't that cool?"

Soap pulled into the parking lot and helped Beth out, walking into the shop with her on his hip. "Mr. Soap, can I have chocolate ice cream?" Beth asked. She tugged on Soap's sleeve, looking at him hopefully.

"Of course you can, lass." Soap smiled, ruffling Beth's mousy brown hair. Soap ordered the two of them some ice cream, getting strawberry for himself and chocolate for Beth.

Beth kept talking the whole time, excitedly telling Soap about sharks, and about that one time when Ghost took her to an aquarium and she got to see a shark in person.

"It was so cool! It was kinda big and scary, but I know my Daddy could fight it off." Beth giggled at the story, beaming as she praised her father.

It was cute, to watch this little girl who is somehow Ghost's daughter despite being the complete opposite of him, ramble about sharks. "Do you work with my Daddy, Mr. Soap?" Beth asked curiously as she nibbled on her chocolate ice cream, smearing some around her lips.

"Yeah, I do. He's my friend, as well." Soap took a bite of his own ice cream, looking over at Beth as she scooped up some of her ice cream and pretending to feed it to her shark plushie, staining the shark's face a little.

Soap checked his watch after a while, his eyes widening as he realised they'd been gone for quite a while. "Let's go back, yeah? I bet Ghost- your dad is missing you." Soap said, catching himself when he referred to Ghost by his callsign, unsure if Beth knew about that.

The girl seemed oblivious and nodded her head, wiping her mouth on her sleeve before she hopped off her chair, shark plushie in hand.

The two headed back to base and Soap took Beth to the 141's common room, putting on some random kids show on the old TV for Beth to watch.

Soap sat back, watching as Beth sat cross legged on the floor and looked up at the TV, watching eagerly as Octonauts played. Beth seemed to be really enjoying the show, giggling loudly, it made Soap smile.

Beth continued to tell Soap about shark facts, pulling one off the top of her head each time a shark would show up on screen. She is actually quite smart, she knows more about sharks than any adult Soap knows.

Neither of them noticed when Ghost entered the room, Soap being too engrossed in the facts Beth is telling him. Ghost watched from the doorway, smiling under his mask as his little girl taught Soap about sharks.

(ok but why is this over 1k words. i think i've become obsessed with parent!ghost and little beth 🥹)

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

1. TEXAS RED

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: if you're seeing this for the first time, welcome! If not, and you were following my other blog, welcome back! Either way, I hope you enjoy this dumpster fire brought to you by my imagination ✨️

Summary: In the town of Agua Fria lived a shooter called Texas Red. Many men had tried to take him, and that many men were dead. A duelist and potential outlaw, with a secret no one knows. The perfect recruit for Dutch Van Der Linde to sweet talk into joining up.

Warnings: game typical violence, gun violence, dueling, old fashioned ways of thinking (no racism depicted in this chapter, but misogyny is mentioned) mild language, Arthur is a grump but also a sweetheart.

WC: 6.5k

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for you, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair? “Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

The light from the outside window is what wakes you first, the brightness pooling over your closed eyelids before they even open. You’re still in Agua Fria, the place you've made a name for yourself. Charlie Brooks, but that's not the one that comes to mind. 

Texas Red. The unkillable. Nothing more than a duelist to many, and even less so to those who don't care for that sort of thing. But to those who dare challenge the big iron on your hip, you are not anything short of a quick handed master. Only eighteen years old, or so they say - it’s what you’ve told them, but like your name, it isn’t true. Whichever way you spell it out, your reputation is the reason people know you; You have the fastest draw on this side of anywhere. 

For someone who's known near and far as the kid who never lost a match, the nickname is a little less than favorable. Texas Red isn't for the blood on your hands, it's for the ginger of your hair. It's factual, not demeaning… but still unfavorable. You do not care much what they call you anymore, just as long as they know what comes with it. Too many men have underestimated your ability, one and nineteen more. 

Here in Agua Fria there's folks that will come from far and wide, just to test your trigger finger. Today is no different. You've spent the night in a hotel above the saloon, so by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, you know there ought to be a man there, ready and willing to die. 

“That's him.” 

You hear from under the breath of the bartender. He served you only last night, one drink of silky whiskey before bed, nothing more. You told him your name, but not the one people know. Word gets around, you suppose. Your pistol has twenty notches on the handle, folks can tell enough from that alone. One of the outlaws that hangs around here does the same thing… except he takes pride in those marks, as opposed to you. You make those marks to remember the weight of your pistol, heavier every time a notch is made.

The man before you is tall and strong, likely a farmer that does heavy work. He has a sly look about him, but you don't feel bothered too much. You think his hands, worn by the sun and weathered by his work - whatever it may be - will not draw fast enough to even graze you. They are too stiff where they hang by his side, probably from pushing a plow, or milling a field. 

He hasn't spoken a word to you yet, but that's what you assume. He's here to challenge me, they always are. No one asks after you otherwise… except for maybe some working women, but that never ends well.

“You're the kid?” He looks you over, a furrowed brow and a smirk brush his features, but it doesn't last. Yes, you think. I'm the kid, and this is my gun.

“Yes sir,” your voice is a little lower, the early morning is stuck in the pitch of it. 

His question was so vague, but having been asked about eight times out of twenty ‘are you the kid?’ makes you a pretty damn good guesser of what your answer ought to be.

He takes another once over after a step forward, and now you can see that he stands about a head taller than you. He's not quite intimidating, but you can admit, the anxiousness of a man initiating a duel is always a thing that prickles your skin, warms your very fingertips. Maybe that's why you shoot so fast. 

“You don't look like a killer,” he looks down, but his nose is somehow still in the air. He wants to prove something, to someone or to himself you can't be sure, but only the most foolish of men dare your gun this way. 

“I'm not one.” 

And he laughs. You don't even think to look up at him, you keep my face forward. I don't have anything to prove, but of course you know you’ll have to.

“You shoot folks, got a name for it,” he settled his hands on his belt. It's a gun belt, sure, but the rounds don't even match the gun at his hip. They look bigger, as for a rifle. This farmer likely shoots ducks. Sitting or flying, that’s not the relevant point. 

He has experience, and that's what clouds his mind. He thinks you’re a sitting duck. 

“I do, but I ain't no killer,” you paused, rounding the man, stepping up to the bar and pointing for a glass of water. This early in the morning, any form of alcohol shouldn't be legal. You reckon it's the very thing that made this gentleman bold and eager enough to try what he's about to. At least you’re pretty darn sure that he's about to, otherwise he’s just an adoring spectator. “I shoot folks as need shootin’, but they always ask for it. I ain't malicious or nothin’.” 

“Maybe you's the one that needs shootin’.”

Atta boy, getting to the point. You have to smile. He looks confused by it and he very well should be… people don’t normally crack a grin when being threatened.

“S’pose you wanna be the one that does it,” You take a drink of the water you’re handed, but it does little to wash away the tickle in your throat, trying to climb its way up in the form of the chuckle. 

“If I gotta be.” 

You’ve never seen this man around town. Being here in this area almost two months, you’ve seen more of the traveling recluses than any of the farmers. Seen more of the local outlaws, too. They never stay long, they cause a little trouble here and there… but never the farmers. They come into town maybe once, twice a month. They harbor most of their own supplies on their land. No need for the town. 

“And you think you'll hit me?” 

“I've never missed.” 

And then that chuckle finally does escape you. 

“I knew twenty men who hadn't, either,” but the other's words were a bit more out of ignorance. They wanted to show off, thought they had nothing to lose. You were just a skinny kid with red hair and a heavy gun that you could barely stand to carry. 

“I like my odds.” 

So you turn to the bartender. He watched this same charade last month. A different man, not quite as tall, but just as confident. He stops wiping down an empty glass, and looks to you with a look of annoyance. What did you do to deserve it? You haven't the slightest clue. When he looks at the challenger with sincerity and condolences, you know what he thinks behind those eyes.

This is a fine young man, he may have a wife and some children. He doesn't know what he's doing, he had a strong drink. He only heard one story, it isn't fair. 

But of course, you can't back out. You’ve never backed out. Never having anything to lose, and like today, no one has ever tried to convince you otherwise. If you die now, you can go out a hero of sorts, the gunslinger of Agua Fria. If you live, then you'll someday die a legend. Texas Red, the unkillable.

You will have to step outside, and you will have to shoot this man, but for the first time, you feel you oughta know his name. You stepped to meet him and offered your hand. It's smaller compared to his. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Robert Sims.” 

He shakes your hand tightly, he wants to show how strong he is… as if that somehow makes him shoot faster.

“Glad to meet ya. I'm-” 

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for you, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair?

“Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

He scoffs, his eyes falling to the floor. Maybe he doesn't wanna do this. He seems to be rolling it over in his head. If he wins he kills you, a scrawny kid with an ugly hat, and not a friend in the world. If he loses, well… he dies. 

But as if foolishness ruled his mind, he settles on his thoughts, and you can see it clear as day when he decides. 

“Are you ready to step outside?” 

And you smile again. He could've been your friend. He seems like a kind enough man, a little arrogant, but a man of honor in himself. He even struck you with a slanted smile of his own, but for no reason other than your reputation alone, he wants to kill you. Always a shame. 

“S'pose so.”

And he doesn't say another word… Ever. 

Thirty paces apart on the dirt road outside, the poor man never even cleared leather, but a bullet rests between his collarbones, and he himself rests on the ground. He’s got a pouch on his hip you noticed earlier, so while everyone around is frozen in place, you carefully go up to his body, stripping the valuables from him before moving on your way. To the winner go the spoils.

You holster your weapon, turn around and face the folks that stopped their journeys to watch. Some had seen the last one, they expected the outcome. Others were a bit surprised. David beat Goliath. The bigger opponent fell. 

You took a walk around the block to settle down, find a nail to notch your pistol yet again. You’ve never forgotten your earlier opponents, but something about this one makes you sadder than the rest. One and Twenty more, and whoever else is stupid enough to have the same idea.

Once you feel at rest you land back in the saloon, but it's not as empty as before, your single friend Robert Sims being the occupant. Now there are three men. There is a tall dark haired man with a mustache and a bowler hat, a darker skinned man beside him against the bar, and a young man that looked all too similar to yourself in complexion and hair color. It was nice to know that you weren’t the only one God would curse that way. 

You don't plan on letting yourself be bothered, so you sit down one stool over, beckoning a whiskey you can shoot to chase the adrenaline. You thought you had calmed down, but sitting here it feels as though you’re in the middle of a footrace, with the speed accelerating instead of decreasing. 

“Charlie Brooks?” The tall man with the mustache was the first to speak, and directly to you. 

These men have guns on their hips, and you hope they are not thinking what the last man thought. You’ve barely calmed down enough from Robert Sims, and your head would hurt having to shoot twice in one day. 

“Yes,” your confusion forced through. 

“I'd like to talk with you. This man here tells me you're quite the gunslinger,” he gestures to the bartender and you give him a glance, seemingly just doing his job minding his business when he's not running his mouth about you. 

“He told ya? Or were you outside?” 

The man had a laugh that seemed comforting almost. It was hearty and full of actual joy. He pat you on the back and you had half a mind to turn away from it for a moment, unsure of why he was so friendly or if you appreciated it yet. It’s been a while since you felt the comforting or friendly touch of someone who didn’t later try and shoot you.

“I did in fact see your show of skill, but I wasn't sure if approaching you after a fiasco like that would end up poorly for me.” 

And so you smile, because his sense of humor is alike yours, and he looks to be unphased by your violent acts of earlier. You technically didn’t break any laws. Didn’t do anything wrong, even by killing a man. He had threatened to shoot your first, if no one claims they saw the duel, you can write it off as self defense… but this man doesn’t seem too deterred. In fact, he looks all too happy having witnessed your properly provoked quick draw.

“I ain't jumpy, if that's what you're worried about.” 

But he had a different point on his mind, so the subject was changed in an instant. 

“Look, son. I'm gonna cut to the chase,” he pointed at your pistol, the newest twenty-one mark shining where it peaked out of your holster. “You have a gift for using that. I could use some talent like yours.” 

And suddenly you’re confused again. Who is this guy? What does he want? 

“I ain't a bounty hunter, sir.” 

“I can very well see that. I'm not looking for a temporary gun, kid. I need someone long term.” 

And suddenly your interest is piqued. The other men haven't said a word, and yet they seem to be a part of this offer, whatever it is. They are fully invested in your answer, on the edge of their seat - metaphorically, since they’ve been standing - while waiting. It’s strange, as if it’s all been plotted.

“Not sure I quite understand,” You slide the empty glass back after taking the second shot of whiskey, but hold your hand over the top, keeping the bartender from refilling a third. 

“If you'd be so kind as to follow me and my friends, I would be happy to explain in further detail,” he steps away from the bar, his hand outstretched to the door. This situation reads danger in every which way, but you don't stray from it. You can’t believe you’re doing it, but you follow along, an open mind. 

Nothing to lose.

-

Your horse was in the stables, an older stallion that was probably bred from war. His coat was full and black, like a starless night sky. Fury, you called him. These other men had put their horses up in the stables as well, but they were quite a bit stranger when it came to interacting with the horse hand. They paid him off so he’d forget any of you had been here. 

These men must be outlaws. Dutch, Javier, and Sean… From the time of their introductions, you were watching them with vigilance. You had started to gather that much from the way people ran inside when they passed, but the other behaviors lead you to believe that they weren’t the typical type. They weren’t just bad men looking for trouble and fun. They had reasoning, and they had qualms about who they spoke to about what. They were careful, if that word can even describe an outlaw. 

You followed them out of town, and down a road a bit. Agua Fria was a bit drier than other parts of Texas, but it had some nice trees here and there, with ponds and hills to break up the dusty roads. When you came to a clearing, a full on campsite set up, you immediately looked around, taking in who you thought would be the most imminent threats. 

“Right over here,” Dutch said, dismounting his horse and leading it to a hitching post. You followed him and the others, and the redhead, Sean, took your horse off your hands. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. 

“This is the camp, ain’t much to look at but we’re all very tight knit, here.” 

You followed behind Dutch, he was the ringleader of all of this, as far as you could tell. He gave the orders, and the others followed. You couldn’t say you didn’t see why. He had all the capabilities of a natural born leader. His presence, his personable way with words, and even his ability to convince a random stranger to follow him. 

“S’cozy,” you said, nodding to each person you passed. He didn’t bother introducing you to them yet, and you figure it’s because he wants to see how well you fit first. No point in getting anyone attached. 

“It is indeed. I’ll have you wait here for just a moment, you can mingle, if you’d like. I’m gonna talk to a few friends of mine,” he told you before ducking into a tent, the flaps falling behind him. 

You huffed a breath, turning to the first face you saw and tipping your hat. 

“Howdy, Ma’am.”

The young woman looked up to you, a sweet smile on her face. She had lovely dark hair and beautiful blue eyes that reflected a clear sky. 

From within the tent, tensions were a bit higher. 

“First Mack and Davey, now this… kid? You can’t keep picking up people like they’re stray dogs, Dutch…” Hosea Matthews, Dutch’s right hand man was the one to speak first. He’d just heard quite a story - which to be fair, Dutch liked telling grand stories - that seemed to be impossible. 

“I know, I know… but you wouldn’t believe it even if you saw it. Hell, even I don’t.” 

“Let me get this straight,” another voice piped up from the corner, standing to make his presence more known. “This eighteen year old kid, who can barely hold up a gun… is the fastest draw you’ve ever seen?” 

“I blinked and the man was dead,” Dutch furthered his point, hearing a low whistle from the youngest man in the tent. They began to peak through the open tent flaps, not letting anyone else see them. 

“Abigail seems to like him.”

“Abigail likes everyone except John these days,” Hosea joked around, sitting himself back down when he’d taken his look at the kid. He was a spry little thing, but looked like a boy still in adolescence.

“Listen,” Dutch began, his hands raised to calm the air. “This kid could mean the difference between life or death in some of our upcoming jobs.”

The younger man looked to Dutch, then to Hosea, and then to the ground, shaking his head. Dutch was like his father, but these fantasies he conjured up sometimes to justify his antics could be wild. 

“He can shoot faster than me?” 

“My boy, I’d let you challenge him yourself if I wasn’t sure he’d drop you where you stand.” Dutch clapped a hand on his shoulder before turning to Hosea. 

“If he’s really as fast as you say, we should keep him. He can’t be of any harm otherwise.”

-

A moment lasted longer than you thought it would, but you’d garnered the attention of not one but two ladies whilst sitting in the shade of the trees. 

Abigail, the heavily pregnant young woman you’d started conversation with, and Tilly, a young lady who seemed to be swooning with every word you said. You didn’t have the heart to say nothing to her, you weren’t even sure you’d be sticking around. 

“And then what happened?” Tilly asked, scooting closer. 

“Well, I guess I shot him. S’how most these stories end, sadly.”

You suddenly felt a bit sorrowful. You’d shot a man down only today and here you’d moved on so quickly. The time of self recovery was getting shorter and shorter. Maybe you ought to stop shooting folks, then you could make some ground on a normal life… but that’s never really been your way, not since you left home. If you stay with this gang, though… the shooting gets worse, and you know that for a fact. 

“But you’re a good shot, probably why Dutch wants ya,” Abigail lifted a brow, nodding towards the tent. You were sure he’d liked you well enough, and you liked this whole tight knit unit well enough. If you shoot enough folk, you reckon you get to stay. 

“Speak of the Devil,” Tilly smiled behind where you were standing, and you took it as a queue to turn around yourself. 

“We sure as hell want him,” Dutch said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “I have some people I want you to meet. This is my partner, Hosea Matthews.”

And the man - Hosea - smiled and waved. He seemed nice, and gentlemanly. He had a kind face, like that of a dedicated father. 

“And this,” Dutch stood aside, revealing another man stood behind him… “Is Arthur Morgan. My enforcer, and right hand man.”

You froze when he lifted his head, hat tipping upward enough to see his face. Your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned his features, falling to the stretch of his body and then roaming back up to the brim of his hat. You weren’t sure if it was from fear or from awe, but the tenseness in your body was thick and unwavering. He had all the toughness of a rugged outlaw, but his eyes were calm, serene. Like pools of oasis water against a dry and scorching desert. A beautiful man by anyone’s standard, but completely unaware of himself. 

Standing before you now, he nodded in greeting, and you had to snap out of the haze that even now surrounded you, clouding your mind and blocking out anything that wasn’t him. 

Sweet Lord above, help me look away… and finally you did, begrudgingly. 

“He’s gonna show you around, give you the rundown of how things are here,” 

“Sounds-” you coughed once, trying to play off your strange behavior as you cleared your throat. “Sounds just fine.”

“Alright then,” Dutch leaned in towards Arthur at the last second, nudging his arm as he did. “Don’t test ‘im before he’s had a chance to settle. I don’t feel like losing two fast guns on the same day.”

You heard the tail end of the conversation, but pretended it passed over your head. You were standing quietly, still halfway in awe of the man. Sandy strands of hair that fell over the corners of his eyes, his strong jawline stubbled in the same lovely color. He let his hat fall over his eyes again, but you were certain if you’d been able to see them again, you’d not be able to look away.

He fell into a slow walk beside you, beginning to lead through the campsite.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

Kid, as if you were actually one… 

“Charlie Brooks, sir,” You replied, holding a firm hand out. This was reflectant of a similar introduction you’d made earlier this morning. Didn’t matter what happened though, you wouldn’t be shooting the man before you. Not even if he begged. 

“Dutch says they call you Red.”

You dropped your pleasant expression, huffing a fast breath to match the new look on your face.

“Texas Red… But I ain’t even from Texas, so,” and it was true. You’d only earned that nickname here. 

“The red part still fits,” Arthur was teasing you. Perhaps this is what Dutch meant by ‘don’t test him.’

You sighed, realizing that you’d found the downside to this ruggedly handsome stranger… “My name is Charlie Brooks.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t get upset, boy… I’m only poking fun.”

You drop the tension in your shoulders… you didn’t like being teased, but perhaps it wasn’t as bad coming from this Arthur character. 

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.”

Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself. 

“You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did. 

You only nodded, and kept walking. 

He had shown you the laundry areas, where the girls nearly strip the boys down just so they have something to do in the daytime. He showed you to Mr. Pearson’s ‘kitchen,’ if you could even call it that. He showed you where the weapons are kept, but not where to refill them. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to yet. You take in every word he says, committing it to memory, not only so you can fit in around here, but also so you can recall the sound of his voice on a whim. 

He shows you down to the sloped rim of the pond, where usually one at the time, members of the camp come to bathe in their spare hours. You wondered how far down the way you would have to bathe, just on the off chance someone might come and see. 

“Bill takes care of the horses, mostly. I’m sure he’ll add yours to his rounds if you ask ‘im,” he mentioned, walking back past the horse rails and troughs. Your horse was standing happily in the sunshine, enjoying the blue skies and grass compared to the dusty and dark stables you always put him up in.

“I’ll remember that,” you say, as if you’ll forget anything else. So far you remember everyone’s name - everyone you passed by, at least - and every individual location of the camp. 

“Miss Grimshaw and the others should have a tent for ya by sundown… if not, just bunk with me until tomorrow,” he offered, hands sat steadily on his gun belt. Your face flushed, but lucky for you, he was much taller and couldn’t see under the brim of your hat when you tilted your head. 

“That’s kind of you,” you nodded in reply, saying nothing more. 

He began to back away, needing to attend to something else, but he stopped short. 

“You’re alright, kid,” he complimented, as best as he could give one, anyway. “See you ‘round.”

And you stood still, watching him walk away with your hands at your sides. 

“I’m in deep shit…”

-

Early to bed, early to rise, yatta yatta yatta. You still hate mornings. The camp wakes at the crack of dawn, and you stir just as some folks are leaving, mounting their horses and setting off for the adventures ahead. You’re fairly certain it’s Dutch, Bill, and that other man Hosea, the one with the kind face.

You did end up taking Arthur up on his offer to bunk for the night. He was kind enough to set up one of the spare cots for you, unwilling to argue about sleeping on the ground and all that. He pegged you for the arguing type and wanted to leave well enough alone. 

He was gone from the tent-like structure by the wagon, away somewhere probably having a cup of that coffee you smelled. They must have had a pot brewing somewhere, because it was the only thing willing you to leave the shaded area you were resting. The sun wasn’t high in the sky, but you could already feel the effects of the heat swirling in around the camp. 

It was strange, going about your morning routine with others present. Washing up your face in one of the water barrels, raking your hair back over your head with your wet fingers to let the hair sit flat before you crushed it down with your hat. You’d been nearly presentable, good enough for the morning, anyway. 

It wasn’t long before you were sitting close to the congregated group, a cup of coffee in your own hands. It wasn’t the best you’ve had, but hey, it helped you keep your eyes open. You didn’t dare interject into the conversation, unknowing of it they would accept it. Not that it mattered, because you liked hearing them interact as is. They were a rowdy bunch, but they had some wit here and there.

After a while, you zoned out during talks of events you hadn’t been to, people you hadn’t met, things you didn’t get to see before coming here. You watched a bunny that leapt across the camp, running into the wilderness ahead only to disappear behind some rocks. You realized by then you were at the end of your coffee cup. You stood up to take it back to Mr. Pearson, but were interrupted by one of the others in the circle. You remember his name is John. 

“How about you, Brooks?” He asked, catching you off guard, for you had absolutely no clue what the conversation was. 

“How about me?” you replied, a furrowed brow as you stopped in your tracks and waited. 

“Are you really as fast as people say?”

You scoffed, a slanted eyebrow to the man when he seemed in disbelief. You don’t blame him, he’s never seen you shoot. 

“Faster.”

“Boy’s got some pride on ‘im. Shouldn’t be too hard to break it down,” the only other redhead in the gang reared his accented voice. “Ay, Arthur?” 

You turned to the man, stoic and quiet, his hat covering most of his face so you couldn’t see what his features were saying. 

“If Dutch says he’s faster than me, I won’t push my luck.”

Except for he wanted to. He really wanted to, and you were curious to see his skill as well. Maybe not against you, because hell… you ain’t never lost before but there’s a first time for everything, and you like it here too much to throw it away. 

“I don’t buy it. That’s just Dutch telling tales like he does,” John stood up and clapped his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Never in my life have I seen someone with Arthur’s shootin’ speed.”

“Never?” 

You knew it was probably not in your best interest to boast your ability on the first day, but shit, it was the only thing you had going for you. You had to make way in this group somehow. 

“Never.” 

“Alright,” you nodded. “I propose a game. Two bullets, our names carved in. We set up a can to shoot and whoever’s bullet gets trapped inside s’the one that got there first.”

Arthur lifted his head, and for the first time this morning, you saw his eyes. Your face instantly got red, but no one seemed to notice, too caught up in the heat of the exchange. 

He nodded once, a slow and decisive nod. He was thinking it over. 

“Sure,” he said, his thick accent coating the word. “Guess I’ll play along.”

And the group dispersed, grabbing everything needed. Arthur took it upon himself to carve the bullets, and strangely, you trusted him not to tamper with yours. He didn’t seem like the type to play dirty. He didn’t look like he needed to be. 

Sean set up the can on a log, a crudely drawn X out of charcoal on the rusty front of it. There were words being exchanged as you both stepped up, opening your guns to drop out all the bullets before Arthur handed yours over. His etching wasn’t too bad, but you dropped the smug look on your face when you saw what he actually put on it. 

“I told you my name’s not Red,” you huffed, taking it anyway and dropping it into the cylinder, giving it a quick spin to line it up. 

“Doesn’t matter, no one’s gonna see it but you,” he teased, loading his own gun and standing beside you, about five yards away from the can. 

“Need me to count?” you joked back, hopefully not in vain. You wouldn’t be pridefully wounded if you lost in all honesty. You’d been waiting for your talent to fail you for a long time now, and without any stakes on the table, you suppose today could be the day. 

Both guns now strapped to your hips, you waited in silence, and so did everyone else. It wasn’t something that needed cheering on, but it was definitely something to be on the edge of your seat for. 

You saw Arthur drop his hand out of the corner of your eye, so you cleared leather as fast as you could in hopes that your shot would land, and it did… or at least, you thought it did. The can went flying and both guns had been fired. 

“Who won?” John yelled over in question to Sean, who went to kneel down by the log, picking up the can. 

“Uh…” He held up the can, showing two bullet holes, before dumping out both bullets from the inside. “Both of em’.” 

And for the first time in any shoot out you’d ever participated in, you were too stunned to speak. You never doubted this man’s abilities as a talented gunslinger, but given you’d never seen him shoot, and knowing your own track record… it was surprising to see. 

“Well,” Arthur turned to you, as the others continued to chat amongst themselves, not sure how to split the bets they had made beforehand. “You beat me.” 

He offered his hand to you to shake, but you shook you head, you didn’t understand. 

“It’s a draw, both bullets hit,” you tried to reason, but he was set on his own explanation. 

“You hit first. Mine went through the top as it was fallin’.”

You shook his hand anyway, but froze in place when he spoke. Could he really tell? Was he that detail oriented when shooting? You’d never known much of your craft, just that you could do it, just that you’d practiced a bunch and got pretty damn good… but you didn’t even think to make that observation. 

“That don’t count,” you tried to absolve him, still feeling as though from what he said alone, he was the better gunslinger. “I’ve never said this before… but I would not duel you, Arthur Morgan. You’ve scared me somethin’ awful with that gun.”

He had a chuckle in his exhale as he let it fall from his lips, a nod and the drop of your handshake. “Guess we both met our match today.”

“I’d say so.”

-

The day was slow. When Dutch and Hosea and Bill returned in the evening, there was some wind of a job coming up, the first one you’d inevitably be invited to. It was discussed quickly and not in great detail, and the heads of the camp still had some ideas churning about it. Hopefully you’d be able to keep up in the heat of the moment, as you’d never done anything like this before. Never robbed folk - alive folk, at least - or taken something as a means to survive. You’ve lived off of bets and fools you shot dead. It was a lousy way to live but it had never gotten as low as stealing or cold blooded murder. 

The thoughts turned over in your head and for some reason you couldn’t seem to lose them, but at the end of the night they were momentarily stalled when Arthur helped you carry the already assembled cot into your new tent. It was simple, just a double sided narrow-pitched tent, no room inside for anything but a cot and a single human. You could just kick your boots under the cot when you slept, that would be the extent of your storage space. At least it had the privacy of the two flaps at the front, current parted like curtains to allow entrance. 

Once everything was set up, Arthur took a step back, but didn’t leave yet. 

“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll owe you one,” you promised, trying to be as casual about his genuine help and concern over you the past day. No one had ever shown this much attentiveness to you, and though you know he’s only acting on orders from Dutch, it feels like he really cares. He’s kind and he’s gentle, despite his rugged appearance and reputation. 

“S’no problem,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking from side to side to make sure everyone had either retired for the night or was too occupied to listen in. “I wanted to tell you something.”

You furrowed your brow, crossing your arms. 

He sighed and met your eyes again, debating his words in his head. Out with it already…

“I know you’re a lady,” he tried to speak evenly, but the tail end of his sentence got caught. 

Your eyes widened before he even finished his sentence. You looked around as well before shoving him inside your tent, too small for one person let alone two. 

“You don’t know anything,” you assured him, suddenly self conscious of how he perceived you. What was it? Your voice? The way you walked? Your body? Was anybody else going to notice? 

“I wasn’t pryin’, I swear,” he said, reaching into his satchel, still on his hip after a long day. “Bill left early this morning, I took care of your horse. These fell out of your saddlebag…”

He held out to you the most damning piece of evidence there could possibly be. Long cotton wraps and a sanitary apron, the brand new woolen padding you’d gotten was pressed inside and ready. 

Shit. You didn’t even think twice about hiding the contents of your saddle bag when arriving here. No one had ever been kind enough to care for your horse, so you didn’t worry. 

You looked into his eyes, firm but not judgemental. When you looked at him just a second too long they turned to a silent fear. Like he was a child getting caught stealing sweets. 

“Don’t tell Dutch,” you begged, and he huffed a sigh, unsure of what to do. 

“I can’t lie to im’,” he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. You were new, this wasn’t just about loyalty, it was about hierarchy. You, the new soldier, could not dare ask the second in command to deprive his leader of the truth. 

“I’m not asking you to. Just don’t tell him, yet. I’ll think of a way to let him know…”

You knew it was a stretch, but he was wonderful with the women of the camp, a man of high honor among the ladies. Surely he would help you, just until you were ready to share your secret. 

“We’re different, y’know? If you’ve been hidin’ all this time out there, that’s one thing… but you ain’t gotta do that here.”

“I don’t want them to look at me differently…” you trailed, silently pleading with him. 

He nodded, the look in your eyes nearly breaking his heart. There’s a story within you, but he’ll wait to hear it. For now, he just complies, hearing your voice at it’s softest point, the feminine silkiness flowing through. You only ever spoke to yourself like that anymore.

“Okay,” he placed a warm hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, before maneuvering out of your small tent. “Just until you tell ‘im yourself, ya hear?” 

You nodded in understanding, a thankful and sweet smile dining your features. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“G’night, Red…”

TAGS: @sheepdogchick3

[trivalentlinks]

back on my weird leverage AUs (this is another darker-than-canon AU)

AU where the events of the pilot episode happens three years earlier, when Eliot is still working for Moreau (but it's towards the end of this period, when he's already starting to question whether he can live with himself like this).

(Let's push up the timeline for everyone else, so Nate lost his son three years earlier, etc.)

Since Eliot isn't on the market, Dubenich hires Quinn as the hitter. Quinn does like guns, and is a little more cheerful, but a little more skittish, but mostly things are the same.

The thing is, Moreau, with Eliot by his side, is much more careful. Eliot never tells anyone about him, and neither does anyone else, so even though this Moreau is just as powerful and influential as he is in canon, hardly anybody knows who he is.

A few months in, the team accidentally end up in Moreau's crosshairs by unknowingly doing a big job against a company that Moreau secretly controls.

They had no idea what they were up against--None of them had even heard of Moreau, except Quinn (who used to work with Eliot on-and-off, before Eliot worked for Moreau), but even Quinn doesn't know anything about Moreau other than that he's Eliot's employer. (He knows that much because Eliot tried to recruit him for Moreau once several years back, but he wasn't ready for the commitment back then.)

So anyway, they really kicked the hornet's nest on this one, and now this little rag-tag team is being hunted by Moreau's private army led by Eliot fucking Spencer, uh-oh, they're all gonna fucking die

(Eliot and Quinn didn't part on bad terms, but they were never really friends, either. They trusted each other on the job and shared the occasional post-job meal or drink, but they weren't friends beyond that. They were certainly not friendly enough for Quinn to think Eliot would go easy on the team on Quinn's account when he catches up to them.)

(Also Quinn knows Eliot well enough to know that it's when, not if, Eliot catches up to them.)

I'm really just imagining a scene where Eliot closes in on Quinn and Hardison, and Quinn, injured and out of ammo (and didn't have a better than 30% chance of defeating Eliot in hand-to-hand combat even on a good day), begs Eliot to let Hardison go, like, "Please. He's nineteen--a teenager. You don't kill kids, right? Teens included?"

(Back when Eliot and Quinn worked together on-and-off, they still sometimes took jobs working against each other. One such time, Eliot didn't kill Quinn when his job would have been easier if he did, and when asked about it, cited "I don't kill kids. Teens are included in that," as his reason, much to then-19-year-old Quinn's annoyance.)

(Quinn knows that Eliot was just teasing him back then--older, armed teens like Quinn were not included in "I don't kill kids".)

(And anyway, based on the rumours, Quinn is pretty sure Eliot left the realm of "I don't kill kids" a long time ago.)

(But look, he's about to die. This annoying, brilliant teenaged hacker who managed to embarrass Damien Moreau (and, more impressively, has almost wormed his way into Quinn's non-existent heart) is about to die. Quinn is desperate.)

(Quinn certainly isn't expecting it when this last-ditch plea actually works.)

[hi-i-love-u-bitch]

Okay I see your "if Hobie and Noir meet they would be besties and punch nazis together" and I totally agree with that! But also consider:

Hobie is Spider Noir's biggest fanboy!

Like in the comics he's like a HUGE Gwen Stacy stan and he's such a goofy little dork about it. In ATSV him and Gwen's relationship is more like chill friends, and I'm okay with that. But I think it be so funny that when Hobie was recruted into Spiderverse society and Miguel was showing him all the other universes with the different Spiderman variants he pauses by the computer screen with that one gritty black and white universe cuz he just saw some guy in a fedora and trench coat PUNCH A FUCKING NAZI!!! WHO IS THAT GUY?!?! HE'S SO COOL!!!

He asks Miguel a million and one question about the guy and when the old grump annoyingly shoos him away he asks Peter as he briefly met him during that one incident in Miles is dimension. When that still isn't enough he asks Lyla to tell him everything she knows on Noir. Now obviously Lyla has no obligation to do this but she's also never seen Hobie this giddy and excited over something other then music. Its adorable, he's almost like a little kid wanting to know everything about their favorite cartoon. Also she low key likes to annoy Miguel and Hobie's rebellious spirit that gets under her straight laced boss is skin which is hilarious.

You know when Gwen first met Hobie she was a bit intimated cuz he just had that "too cool" vibe about him. But as soon as she mentions that she has worked with other Spider people before, which includes Noir, he did a whole 180 and became a complete dork!

Hobie: Get out, you actually met him! 🤩

Gwen: Uh, yeah?

Hobie: How was he like? What did he say? Did he talk about fascist corruption that not only plagued the system back then but even now as well? Was he super cool during the fight?! 😃🤩💫😻

Gwen: ..........He was nice.

Hobie: That's so rad! ✨️🤟🤩

I also feel like, aside from Miles, Gwen keeps in contact with the other Spider peeps from the first movie and tried to recruit them into the Spider society but obviously Noir and Porker didn't join. Porker because he’s a cartoon that follows "toon logic" and Miguel's ideologies are too serious for his taste. And Noir because, and I quote: "The last I heard of a secret society designed to 'keep the peace for the greater good of humanity at any cost' a whole world war came about it. I know fascism when I see it, kid."

Gwen relays that message to Hobie when explaining why Noir isn't joining and Hobie's response to that is: "He gets it! He just like me fr! 😭💕"

I think it be really cute that in the next movie when they finally meet Hobie is kinda awkward and shy. Like this guy has never respected an adult in his life (at least not any that didn’t deserve the disrespect) and with Noir his all like "Hello sir" "How are you sir" "It's very nice to meet you sir!" And Noir is actually just a really nice guy if a little broody but he's heard so much about this kid from Gwen and how much of a good friend he's been to her so Noir already likes him on principle.

Hobie: Uh Mr. Noir-- Parker, sir! It is such an honor to meet you! The work you do in your universe is amazing and I hope to learn more while working alongside you however briefly.

Noir: Ah, Peter is just fine really, or Noir if it gets to confusing. No need to be so formal, we're all on equal footing here. I've heard a lot about you and your world as well from Gwen. Although it does sadden me that such a young man has to take on the burden of saving the world from such a corrupt society yet again, you're going about it quite well. War is hard and ugly and violent but you are amazingly brave to be able to stand up for what is right in the face of it all. If anybody is honored here it is me, for being able to meet such a remarkable young man like you. And knowing that my friends have made such honorable allies in the midst of all this chaos.

Hobie, externally: Yeah, it's whatevs 😎

Hobie, internally: Dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry dont cry YOURE GUNNA LOOK SO UNCOOL IF YOU CRY IN FRONT OF HIM NOW 😭💕😭💕😭

I just think it be really cute if they had a wholesome father-son sort of relationship where they shit talk corrupt government systems and punch fascists together. You know, regular father-son bonding!

(Also I think that's another reason Miguel didn't invite Spider Noir to the Spiderverse, cuz he knew that both of these menaces together would cause a bigger headache than its worth 🤣🤣🤣)

[peapodbond]

tease tidbit tuesday

but once again it is a full part and ah, thanks to @leashybebes for saying that she's kind of lowkey obsessed with this, because so am i.

that was us part five

who decided the first wedding anniversary gift should be paper? what do you even get for that?

it's paper or clocks, depending on the list you look at.

clocks are better?

depends. if you think of them as keeping track of all the time you've spent together, yeah.

god, you're such a romantic.

abby spends the rest of the day sending photos of watches to tommy. they immediately nix any watches that are skinny or square; abby's never seen sam wear one and they all look sort of… industrial. she bets it's exactly the type of watch that his firm would give out for the big anniversaries.

tommy vetoes a few companies because they're ripping off their designs from someone else. when abby asks when he got into watches, he tells her that jordan has a collection.

that's interesting. tommy had dropped jordan's name a few months ago, mentioning that he'd met a guy at the bar and they'd been on a few dates, but not much since. she's assumed it was going well because there was no text about them breaking up, and she and sal haven't been recruited for another bachelor style grindr lineup, but it's nice to know it didn't just fizzle out after a few dates.

now that she's got a watch picked out, it's time for her to do a little digging on tommy's new beau. even sal has been tight lipped, which has meant problems in the past — mike, for one, but there was also colin — though, to be fair, a lot more had been wrong with colin than just the fact that he didn't like tommy's best friend. in the list of crazy exes, colin was definitely at the top.

what's sal think of jordan?

they get along, abby, relax.

how well?

they're at the race track together right now, actually.

sal's into horses?

no, they're both into go karts.

aren't those for kids?

go karts, not bumper cars. they can still go pretty fast.

oh brother.

yep. gina and i are going to have dinner while they're out.

say hi to gina for me! it's been a while.

she says hi, and you still need to tell her what you thought of the time traveller's wife.

talk to you later, tommy!

do you two think eight months is too soon to move in together?

tommy, no, that's a reasonable amount of time.

it's kind of slow, actually.

sal, you asked gina to move in three months after meeting her.

we never officially lived together but sam asked me a few weeks after our six month anniversary.

aside from her questionable taste in supernatural movies, haven't regretted it once.

you watch twilight every year on her birthday.

sal, that's adorable. tommy, if you want to ask jordan to move in, you should.

she watches them, i read. and yeah, you should ask him. i think you have a good shot at landing the guy.

i hate you.

what happened?

abby, two days ago i walked in on those two in the middle of — well, let's just say it wasn't a pg rated movie.

don't exaggerate, sal. besides, you were the one who came in without knocking.

tommy! don't you lock your door?

i have a key. which i am debating returning.

that'll teach you to wait for someone to come to the door.

he's got a point, sal.

i'm leaving you weirdos now. gina and i have plans.

chicken shit!

i have to run too tommy, i've got to pick the girls up from the barn. just ask him! it'll be great.

thanks, abby. no thanks to you, sal.

jordan's out.

sal's text comes in just before a flurry from tommy, and abby scrolls through them curiously. ah, home renovation questions. once they'd started talking again — really talking, not the quick catch ups at bar nights — tommy had told her that most of the changes he'd made to the house had been done between relationships. she wonders if he's clocked why he does it that way, but she is very much not a therapist. she's also not going to get into that with her ex-fiancé.

he wants to know if she thinks a pale grey could work in the downstairs guest room (study, she'd suggested when he bought the place, even though neither of them had had an office job) or if it would clash with the yellow she'd picked for the living room. abby checks the time and gets him on a video call, making him walk her around the house. they decide that the grey will work, and abby reminds tommy again that he's been meaning to get rid of the tile and wallpaper combination in the laundry room.

sal is busy sending abby a rundown of everything that's happened in the last twenty eight hours. it's — a lot. tommy and jordan had gone out to dinner, some little indian spot that was jordan's favourite, and right before tommy could ask jordan to move in, jordan had told him that he'd gotten a promotion that meant he'd have to move to sacramento.

they'd argued — mostly about the fact that jordan hadn't mentioned a move and a promotion was a possibility, but also about the fact that jordan had suggested, once tommy said that he'd wanted him to move in, that tommy come to sacramento instead. tommy had asked if jordan expected him to give up his seniority in the fire department, his house, to follow jordan to sacramento, and jordan had said that he'd probably be moving again in a few years so it wasn't as if it was permanent —

and tommy had come home single after dinner instead of planning a day for jordan to move in.

i mean, it's not like i can blame him for taking the promotion, tommy texts later, when abby manages to get him talking about it. i knew his job was important to him. we just never talked about what that would mean. he didn't even talk to me first. not that he had to, but—

it would have been nice to have been asked.

if i'd known he was approaching la as an expiry date, i wouldn't have hoped for so much in the relationship.

that's just the kind of guy you are, tommy. one day someone is going to want that as much as you do.

yeah, sure. any chance you and sam want a platonic third?

i need someone to help me with the girls' show tack in two weeks, but we're good. besides, since you don't want to move, you should really ask sal and gina that.

[missbunnybunny]

* You have a new message from Widow.*

*Ghost opens message*

Widow:

Ghost: Who's driving? How did that happen?!?

Ghost: Widow respond! What the fuck is happening??

Widow: soap, and I don't know🤷🏽‍♀️.

Ghost: my office, NOW.

_ in the office_

Soap: she lied ! It was her. *pointing at Widow like a kid *

Ghost: Widow's taking the video. 😐😑😐

*Widow :You have activated my trap card*

Widow: hehehe, ya played ya self. * Snickering behind gaz and König*

Soap: I can't believe you.

☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆

*Widow watching soap and Ghost train while eating her Popsicle*

*Ghost does this to soap*

*Widow, almost choking on her Popsicle*

Widow: Kaff! Kaff!

*König hitting her back*: You alright, maus?

Widow: Is he dead 😨???

Ghost: No, he's just being dramatic 🙄 😒.

Soap: Grandma, is that you? am coming.

Widow: No- she Dead.

* My guy soap, seeing the light*

♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•

Ghost: What are you laughing at?

Widow: It looks like the recruits are having a good time. * 🤣🤣*

*Ghost looking outside the window.*

Ghost: Huh,was that Graves? * points to the person getting attacked*

Widow: si, best hilight of my day. *Wipping tears off her eyes* Ah~...hahaha!🤣

Widow: Can I have the recording later?

Ghost: Why not. I'll get a copy, too.

☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆

*Widow explaining what happened to ghost*

Ghost: Repeat that again.

Widow: Wait - no, ma. You see what had happened was😅.....

Ghost: 😶

Ghost:......Your ground.

Widow: Come on, am not 12!!

Ghost: to your room, young lady.

Widow: Fine, but soap was the one that did it. I didn't take the missile and blow up grave's house it was an accident.

*Ghost was left even more confused than when this started. Being a parent is so hard.*

🎶A single mom who works two jobs

Who loves her kids and never stops

With gentle hands and a heart of a fighter

I'm a survivor🎶*

♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•°♡•

*Saop and gaz doing stupid shit *

Ghost: I'm surprised you're not doing it as well.

Widow: Nah, at the top, they have to pass a bush. That shit poison Ivy, no way am touching that!

Ghost: Why didn't you stop them?

Widow: cuz, they having fun, and they look happy😊. Also, if they get sick, I get to eat their snacks.

Ghost: That's vail. Good on ya, kid.

Widow: i think we should probably stop them. I think gaz is gonna go flying at any moment now.

Ghost: ya right.

* A few seconds later, gaz did go flying for a few meters or so* ( super Mann 🦸🏾‍♂️ wushh)

☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆•°☆

See ya next time. - missbunnybunny

Please like,reblog, or boost this post, THANK YOU!

[novelizt]

I CAN BUILD A CASTLE OUT OF ALL THE BRICKS THEY THROW AT ME ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ angst + fluff, fake relationship

SYNOPSIS ➺ you recruit the daring anthony lockwood to stage a relationship that will rile up the press and give his company publicity.

WC ➺ 10.9k

DISCLAIMER ➺ actress! reader. the fic also sings the "all these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret" beat. lockwood calls reader "darling" and "starlet" because... you'll read why. i'm not sure if The Daily Gazette is a real thing. if it is, i mean no slander — this is merely fiction and I needed a publication name.

NOTE ➺ this is for the oldest/only child who takes on a lot for their family — i see you. also, imagine the nick-priyanka chair pull; i like to think that it's lockwood and darling in a nutshell. my ideas were all over the place so this came out a bit messier than i anticipated, but it is lockwood content so i hope you enjoy! especially you, @t2sh0 !!

They say the brightest stars are the ones that burn out first. That was probably what the gazette was counting on, at least.

Ever since you stepped into the limelight, and shortly earned the title of London's Darling, they made a dime a dozen in making your business their business. They would sing your name to high praise one moment then drag it through the mud the next.

You were content with letting them run their mouths, because it was no skin off your nose, but you drew the line at insulting your family.

Someone at the gazette thought it would be absolutely riveting to write about the dirt poor origins you were raised from. In the article, they not only criticized you, but put your parents under a microscope as well.

"All that really happened is, their daughter put on diamonds and called herself a queen," the Daily Gazette said. "It's only about time until they return to their roots—of which aren't much."

They insinuated that you might not even be your father's daughter—or if you were, it wouldn't be long 'til you came out to be as ill as he was. They called your mother weak for not being as proacticve in generating money, and you a fool for being their lapdog. No one in their right mind would just sit and let a publication sully their name like that.

If they were going to make up hullabaloo, you were going to step ahead and give them something else to talk about, and what better play than having London's Darling Starlet fall in love?

It had came to your attention that the gazette had set their eyes on one agency in particular: Lockwood and Company. Specifically one, Anthony Lockwood.

Where they besmirched your name, they glorified his. The kid was talented at weaving through a conversation, you'd give him that. From what you'd read, you already knew he liked being in the glare of publicity.

You were taking a gamble when you walked right up to their statute of work without a disguise. If the someone at the gazette saw you, you hoped that they would get the ball rolling. All that would be left to do is recruit Mr. Lockwood.

But Lockwood hadn't been the one to greet you at the door. You tried not to appear too shocked, but no one really expects to see someone geared in oversized cleaning gear. Whoever it was looked more alien than human.

"Arif's?" the curly haired boy inquired.

You were tempted to scratch your head, because what in the world was an 'Arifs'?

You were conjuring up a response, but then the boy was shoved aside. The girl who had taken his placed looked both inquisitive and sleep-deprived at the same time. Some kind of recognition happened in her eyes and you smiled, mirroring hers.

The curly haired boy looked positively disturbed by it.

"Hello," you said delicately. "does Mr. Lockwood happen to be in at the moment?"

"He is," the girl said. "You must be the Darling of London. I've seen you in the papers. My friend, Norrie, would be so happy if you could—"

"Luce?"

You weren't usually struck by strangers but you knew right away, that it must be him: Anthony Lockwood. He had the timbre and tone of a well-trained celebrity. It was no wonder the gazette was tripping over themselves to write him.

"Lucy's busy smiling at the Darling of London, or whatever she called her," the curly-haired boy reported, akin to a child who wanted to see their sibling be scolded.

"George," Lockwood turned his attention with a terse intonation. "why don't you pop on the kettle?"

George's smirk fell. He muttered something at Lucy before retreating to the door beside the stairwell. The wide berth he left gave you your first glimpse of the gazette's most recent favorite.

Anthony Lockwood was a spectacle in a suit and tie, looking exactly like his pictures in the papers. He cleaned up nicely enough. You just couldn't help but wince at the disarray his hair was in.

"Lucy, will you please?" Lockwood gave Lucy a look. She cast a glance at you before hesitantly joining George in the kitchen.

You made a mental note to ask about her friend, Norrie, later. It's the least you could do for her saving you from George.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Lockwood turned his attention back to you. He leaned easily against the doorframe, giving off the impression that he was conversational enough, even if you weren't being very good at being polite.

"Welcome to Lockwood and Co., I'm Anthony Lockwood," he said courteously, flashing a smile that would make the press go crazy. You've seen just one like it on cast mates, but he had done it so well you know he'd practiced to get it perfect, or maybe he was naturally good at smiling. You wouldn't know. His voice waded through your reverie. "How can we help you?"

"The kind of help I need isn't a usual request, Mr. Lockwood," you said forwardly. You glanced over his shoulder before offering a chaste smile. "May I come in?"

—

You didn't expect an audience of three after being lead to the receiving room. Then again, you should have. The reasonable assumption was that you were here for ghost-related troubles. You weren't sure how to clarify that you weren't.

You accepted a cup of tea and took in the air in the room before proceeding. Lockwood was sat right across from you, attentively bent toward you. Lucy was trying to keep on a amiable façade in her seat (likely to get a signature for her friend). George was... being himself. He was an odd one, but he had rid himself of his space suit, so that was nice. None of them seemed to be hostile though. That was always a good thing.

"I have a personal favor to ask of you," you started. You rested your hands over your knees, retaining your resolution. "and it involves the recent rumors about me."

"Which one? The one about your prissy attitude or the inevitable downfall of your entire family?" George wasn't as ignorant as he made himself out to be. He took a sip of tea when Lucy glared his way. Lockwood didn't look too surprised by his snide, George must regularly be like this.

You stifled a laugh of your own, amused by his forward nature. "Both, to be honest. The gazette has been generous with their slander lately." You tapped your finger on your knee. "One can only take so much . . . That's what brought me here. I need your help to keep them under control. You'll be properly compensated, of course."

"Miss Darling—" Lockwood started. It wasn't your name but you let it be since he sounded genuine enough. "—we are a psychical agency. What you're asking, it's out of our area of expertise."

"I am aware of that, but I'm not making this request to Lockwood & Co.," you said firmly. You steeled yourself when you set your eyes on him. He flinched under the intensity. "I'm asking you directly, Mr. Lockwood."

George hunched forward, unsuccessfully staunching a laugh. Lucy had straightened in her seat, eyes bugged out of her head. And Lockwood? The surprise on his face couldn't have been fake. He blinked and blinked, but his brain couldn't catch up.

You went on. "My family's been involved. I can't sit idly by while their names are being tarnished. I need something to dissolve those rumors, or at least distract the public enough to forget about them."

He cleared his throat but it was clear he was still ruffled by your earlier admission. "And how would I contribute to that?"

You tried to sound professional, but even your most prim tone sounded odd when it came to a request like this. "I need you to court me."

George stopped trying to muffle his laughter. He even grew bold enough to take a biscuit to snack on. "This is rich. 'Court' and 'Lockwood' in the same sentence? Never thought I'd see the day. You're better off with someone like Quill Kipps, Miss Darling—was it? At least he can act."

Lockwood shot a glare at George but he didn't budge, smiling as he devoured his biscuit. Lucy had recovered and gave her two cents. "George is right. Lockwood doesn't have the best track record in terms of subtlety."

Lockwood looked affronted. "I'm not as bad as you make me out to be."

"You're right," George said gleefully, smiling at you with his eyes. "He's worse."

"You know what," Lockwood said with renewed inspiration. "I'll help you, Miss Darling. Regardless of what my colleagues have to say." He turned his attention to you. You almost cracked a smile at the sheer determination in his complexion. Anthony Lockwood clearly despised being bad at anything. "I'm at your service, starting this very second." He poked the table to enunciate every word. Amused didn't feel like an apt word to describe what you were feeling.

"I was hoping you'd be the opposite of subtle," you said with a polite smile. "You're an enigma to the gazette, Mr. Lockwood. I need you to attract as much attention to us as you can."

He lifted his chin with that award-winning smile. "Consider it done."

George was still grinning to himself, finishing off his biscuit with a dodgy sort of laugh. Lucy had thrown herself back, likely holding in a sigh by the way her shoulders sunk.

Regardless, you felt hope rush through you as you reached across the table, sealing the deal with a handshake that shouldn't have been half as memorable as it was.

—

Lucy's Norrie had set off the domino effect, and you would be forever grateful for it. It didn't take long for the gazette to catch wind and write up their narrative.

!! LOCKWOOD & CO.'S SPECIAL CONNECTION TO LONDON'S DARLING

Recipients, it has come to our attention that London's Darling has shipped out a special signed poster for a friend from Lockwood & Co. The two parties have never had an interaction prior to this instance. We suspect a budding alliance from two very distinct worlds. More about Lockwood & Co.'s most recent escapade on page 7!

It was the first time you finished reading an article without your jaw tensing. It was doing well for your family's temperaments as well. Your mother was now inquiring about the blooming relationship between you and a certain someone instead of agonizing over the manic rumors told about the family. Whenever asked, you feigned ignorance and left the conversation at that.

—

The next time the gazette wrote about London's Darling and Lockwood & Co., it had been about a genuine act of kindness that had been caught on camera.

The trio had finished up a case late in the morning and you dropped by to gift them a hearty breakfast. You didn't intend for the gazette to pick up on the minute interaction, but they always found ways to weasel their way into things. If you didn't despise them so, you would have given them credit for their tenacity.

!! LONDON'S DARLING NOW BECOMING THE DARLING OF LOCKWOOD & CO.

Recipients, an insider recounts the story of seeing our Darling at 35 Portland Row. Coincidentally, the official offices for the psychical agency, Lockwood & Co. She narrates that the starlet had hand-delivered doughnuts and some other necessities; Actively taking time out of her bustling schedule to tend to the operatives she has recently befriended. For the first time since her limelight debut, she has a heart! Our insider also notes a particularly bright smile from the agency's founder and boss, Anthony Lockwood. Is this another one of our Darling's summer flings? See page 4 for news about Darling's controversial role in unveiled coming-of-age film.

You saw a couple reading the recent print as you were walking to Portland Row. They were particularly giggly, so it was safe to assume that the public was falling for your theatrics.

You arrived to Lockwood's abode with a smile.

—

"The gazette's gone feral, haven't they?" George exasperated, throwing the paper on the table after he had cut out Lockwood & Co's bit in the headlines. "You didn't even have to try for this one, did you?"

"Not at all," you chuckled. "They have a way of finding out, even if we don't mean for them to."

"They could have chosen a better picture," Lockwood murmured, eyes permanently narrowed at the cut-out George had hung on their wall. "I did not look that worn out that morning."

"I can't remember it, so I can't lie," Lucy said passively. She slid a pot of tamarind soup through the disarray of cups and papers. It gave you a wider glimpse of the doodles on the cloth. Lockwood had explained the nuance of the doodles earlier. You strongly believed anyone would find the scrawled notes (and insults) endearing.

You leaned over the table as the fragrance of the soup wafted into the air, like tendrils of smoke tempting you for a taste. You held back a smile and tried not to stare at their dinner for too long. You had more self-control than that, but, despite your best efforts, your stomach had a mind of its own.

Your stomach didn't usually rumble but it had chosen that specific moment to do so. You tried to play it off but the members of Lockwood & Co. had already paused in their steps, turning to you with varying levels of surprise. George looked disturbed; Lucy, startled; and Lockwood, amused.

"Hungry?" Lockwood asked, already knowing the answer.

"Not at all," you waved off. He saw right through your stoicism with a growing smile. "It was just a stomach cramp," you insisted.

He didn't move his eyes away from you as he pulled out a chair, but didn't sit in it. "Can't send you home with your belly doing that, can we, George?"

"The gazette might as well write us up for being terrible hosts," George said agreeably.

Lucy set out an additional plate and bowl. "We have a reputation to uphold, you know."

There was an air of something you couldn't quite place. You saw Lockwood's smile first, amused and welcoming all at once. From the corner of your eye, you found George and Lucy doing the same. There was no other word that could describe the moment other than 'warm'. With a feeble smile, you sat in the chair Lockwood had pulled out for you and tried not to look like a mangy raccoon in the midst of a famine.

Only when the sound of clinking cutlery and plates filled the room did you muster the courage to speak again. "Thank you for having me."

"Don't mention it, Starlet," Lockwood said, nudging your side. "You're the reason our clients have been burgeoning lately."

"Who knew a movie star had so much influence?" George asked rhetorically. "If we keep this up, we might be able to afford more biscuits."

"Even if that happens, the biscuit rule stays," Lucy stated, pointing her spoon at George.

There was always something gleefully odd about this place. Sometimes, it was hard to keep up. "What is this biscuit rule?" you asked, looking between all three of them.

"I'll tell you after dinner," Lockwood promised, carefully placing a bowl of soup next to your plate. "Eat. You must be starving."

You withheld the urge to smile but found that, even with your experties in pretending, you had a hard time acting in the company of Lockwood and Co.

—

"How strict is the biscuit rule rotation?" you inquired Lucy.

You had never experienced sleeping over at someone else's house. Doing so, at your mature age, felt a little zany. Not that you could do much about it.

The expert (Anthony John Lockwood) was firm about not letting you walk home at this dark hour. Even more so because the sun had set earlier than expected. Hence, the reason you found yourself rooming with Lucy for the night.

"Strict," was Lucy's answer; half with you, half not. She was at the vanity, writing in a journal. Likely for her friend, Norrie—if their names scribbled on the front was anything to go by. She looked so focused, you would have guessed she was aspiring to out-write the folks at the Daily Gazette.

Defeated, you heaved a sigh and submitted yourself to a few moments of quiet in a place so unfamiliar.

The bed bounced under your weight. The springs you heard in the mattress reminded of you of home, yet, the stars on the ceiling reminded you that you weren't. Most of them clung on but some had fallen off, leaving behind star-shaped irregularities in the paint. You counted four fallen stars before you were reeled back by the feeling of another weight falling beside you.

"Comfortable, Miss Darling?"

Lockwood.

You righted your posture. He sat up with you, taken-aback by your shift in demeanor.

"Yes," you said stiffly, combing down your hair. "Thank you for letting me stay the night."

"I couldn't let you go in good conscience," he said offhandedly. "Don't be tense. I'm only here to offer pajamas."

Your eyes found the neat pile stacked right beside him. The little act of kindness had warranted him a smile, one he returned with equal sheepishness.

"Thank you," you said again.

"It's no trouble." He flourished his hand as he said it. The springs creaked again when he shuffled off the bed. "Sleep well, Miss Darling."

"My name or just 'Darling' is fine, Mr. Lockwood. 'Miss' is much too formal."

"It's Anthony then, darling." He said it with such resounding charm, you almost regret allowing him to continue on that way. "Sleep well," he trailed off.

He stared at you, like he was looking for something in you. You were accustomed to getting weird, prolonged glances in the street, but you felt conscious when it was him. You blamed it on First Sleep-over Jitters. When you finally averted your gaze, he snapped out of his reverie. With a noncommital smile, he jerked a thumb at the door. "I'm right downstairs if you need anything."

"I'll keep that in mind, Anthony." As you said it, you couldn't shake the feeling similar to stepping into a classroom for the first time. There was a flash of surprise on his face before he schooled his expression, back to his notorious smile.

You wouldn't have known, but he couldn't shake the thought that he'd never heard his name sound so nice before.

He held back a smile as he said, "Goodnight then, darling."

You did worse at hiding yours. "Goodnight, Anthony."

You said his name so carefully, he ought to think he was important. Even if the smiles exchanged were bashful, it encapsulated his world.

He retreated to the steps, halting to occasionally look at you before Lucy had gotten sick of his snail pace and told him to bugger off. She had taken her side of the bed when her journal entry for Norrie was finished.

"Is he always that odd?" you asked her, taking the pajamas and heading to the bathroom to change.

The clothes were light, but they weighed much more to you. Who could blame you for admiring a simple shirt and pajama pants? That was your first sleep-over, after all.

Past your ogling, you could still hear Lucy's voice through the door. "Who, Lockwood? Not usually. Suppose he wants to make a good impression."

"Because I'm your highest paying client?" you inquired in a sing-song tone, slipping the shirt over your head. You should have expected the smell of lavender to engulf you.

Lucy snorted, laying back on her pillows. "Because he's a fan, Miss Darling."

"You can call me by my name, Ms. Carlyle," you chuckled, trying to keep your tone even as you examine which way the pajama pants go.

"And you can call me by mine, Miss Darling," she retorted.

When you got your pajama situation under control, you poked your head out of he door. "Touché, Lucy."

She tipped her invisible hat. "I try, Miss Darling."

"Is my name ugly?" You questioned, tone bordering on a sigh. You set yourself down on the vacant side of her bed, planting straight into the pillow on contact. "Just tell me that it is, I won't be offended. Why else would people avoid it like the plague?"

"Miss Darling does sound odd, doesn't it? In my opinion, it's quite regal. You should change your surname to it, honestly. The word just fits you."

You exhaled, catching sight of the stars on the ceiling once more. "And who gave you that absurd idea?"

"Lockwood did," she told you, taking you by surprise. You physically reeled at the fact. "He watched—What was the name of that film again?—Timeless. You played the teenage version of the main character. He wouldn't shut up about the movie for ages, said your character was his favorite. I believe her name was—"

"Darling..." you whispered the same time she said it.

"—and he kept going on and on and on about how you were the epitome of the word. He wouldn't put a stopper on it," Lucy shook her head, recalling his raving vividly. "We couldn't get him to shut up, even while we were off on fieldwork. Eventually, it stuck with us. I couldn't unsee you as 'Miss Darling'. Then the press started calling you 'The Darling of London'. It only proved his case. If there was a word more fitting than 'insufferable', 'Lockwood' would be it."

You believed snorting was the only correct response to that.

"I'm surprised he hasn't fallen over himself trying to impress you," she chuckled. Lucy crossed her arms over her belly, cozying up to her pillow. "Don't tell him I told you though. He might take away my turn in the biscuit rotation. He can be petty like that."

"Sounds childish," you muttered.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Lucy said with a shrug. "He already thinks he's God's gift."

"He's in the good graces of the Daily Gazette. So, he's close enough to it for me," you chuckled.

"Only you would think that." Lucy shook her head. "Go to sleep, Miss Darling. Else you'll have nightmares 'bout him."

"Is that a real warning?"

Lucy shut off the lights. "Yes," she said into the dark.

It was far too late for you. Just seeing the gentle limerence on the ceiling brought your thoughts right back to him.

Unbeknownst to you, Lockwood couldn't put his mind to rest either. Him knowing you were just a stairwell away was an involuntary shot of adrenaline.

—

Amusement parks smelt like burned popcorn and sugar. It was unbearably noisy but the neon lights and the shining attractions negated the cons. Lockwood thought he might just kiss you for bringing them here on a Thursday.

There were enough people to make the place feel alive but it wasn't so crowded that they couldn't get on the rides they wanted to try.

He namely appreciated that fact because Lucy and George didn't look too upset about being out of their element. They looked excited, even. Lucy was glancing at a shooting game and George was oddly fascinated by the horror house.

As if driving them here wasn't surprise enough, you dropped a heavy pouch in each of their palms with the simple instruction to knock themselves out.

After agreeing to meet up before dark, the group broke into three. Lucy went off to win herself a rapier, George was off to scare the clowns in the horror house, and Lockwood was trailing behind you.

"You can do your own thing, Anthony," you reassured, lined up for cotton candy. "I can handle myself in daylight."

"Darling, I'm a gentleman. I can't leave a dame alone in such a vast scape," he replied, bold enough to tap your nose. "What kind of make-believe boyfriend would I be if I did?"

He was amused by the way you rolled your eyes. Lockwood was convinced that only you could make something so trivial so enigmatic. Warmth prickled on your cheeks, turning them the same shade of pink as the cotton candy the store owner handed to you. You ordered one for Lockwood before telling him, "Press isn't here—they'd have to pay the tall entrance fee to enter. At ease, soldier."

"Negative. I'm staying by you—as a very concerned friend," he rebutted with resolve, asking for a brief pause to receive the cotton cone spun for him. "Is that so bad?"

"I thought you three deserved to enjoy some time away from work," you confessed.

You didn't know where to head so Lockwood steered you toward a bench, guiding you with one hand on the small of your back. It took all your effort to keep your expression neutral but you continued to chatter, biting down the urge to grin like an idiot.

The only way you knew how to distract yourself was to speak. And speak, you did. "You're either working with ghouls or with me for you know what. I thought you'd be sick of me by now," you joked.

"Of you? Never."

He said it like it wasn't an arrow straight to your heart, and you couldn't shirk the feeling that you should have prepared yourself better. He was Anthony Lockwood, after all.

Like the heathen he is, took a sizeable bite out of his fluff of cotton candy. In your favor, your attention was drawn somewhere else. His upper lip was crusted in princess pink sugar and he was flashing his princely smile, completely unaware of his mustache. You pressed your lips together to keep your laugh in.

He lowered his head, trying to meet your eyes, to no avail. You screwed them shut and curled into yourself to keep your composure.

He cocked a brow. "Cute as you are, I want to know what are you laughing about."

"Nothing," you said unconvincingly. You took a glance at him and snorted.

With a pinched expression, he looked at himself in the reflection of a metal stall then he rubbed the sugar away with the sleeve of his coat, scarlet tinging his ears.

"Never speak of this," he told you.

You mimed yourself zipping your lips and he nodded, satisfied.

Your composure broke the moment he crossed his arms and hunched into himself like a kid.

—

You'd been to that same amusement park many times in your life. You rode the same rides back when you were a starlet in the entertainment world. You won the same prizes when you wanted to impress your parents. You ate the same food you did when you were a tyke.

All those memories, and none of them compared to experiencing all of it with Anthony John Lockwood. His incandescence weaved into every new memory, leaving his face seared into the back of your eyelids. Even if you tried to deny it, the pain in your cheeks reminded you that you spend hours on end smiling with him or at him.

Despite your best efforts, his presence made you feel something you never expected to feel for anyone. There was no word for it, and you refused to give it a name.

When the sky theatened to turn orange, you snagged his arm and drove him all the way to your favorite ride. Even if you craned your neck all the way, you could never see the top of the ferris wheel. Perhaps Lockwood could, but you were too timid to ask.

The decorative lights looked weak in daylight but it was magical nonetheless. Nothing could complete your day like hopping into your favorite gondola and seeing the park from all the way up.

When you pulled him back, he had to complain. "That one was empty." Lockwood frowned at the dandy green gondola that circled past.

"No, no. We can't take that one, it has to be this one."

Lockwood had never seen so much excitement shine through your usually collected demeanor. It was like a breath of fresh air. He couldn't bring himself to fight you on it.

When the coral pink gondola swung to a stop and creaked its doors open, you pulled him right into its bowels. The interior was vandalized with countless pens and markers. Even in the chaos, he recognized your penmanship. It was messier than it was now but it was undeniably yours. Only you swooped your 'y's that extravagantly.

Someday soon, I'm going to be the biggest star you'll ever see!

Some of the ink was scratched off but the message stood the test of time. He wondered if you remember even writing it, but one glance at you told him all he needed to know. You paid no mind to the vandalism, eyes enthralled by the rising view outside. He felt his cheeks ache from the beginnings of a smile. He forced it down when you laid your eyes on him.

"Just wait 'til we reach the top. The pathways form a giant star if you look down. There's nothing quite like it."

Endeared, he asked, "How did you find that out?"

If your smile was anything to go by, the memory was very fond to you. "The first time I passed an audition, my parents took me up here and told me to look down. I was terrified of heights back then but they told me some things were worth conquering fears for." You let out a seraphic laugh at the memory. "I saw the giant star . . . and I swore that I'd be a bigger star than it one day; that all their sacrifices would be worth it. They did their best to support me and my pipe dream. I would pay back their labor, ten-fold."

"And you did," Lockwood said in an out-of-breath kind of way. You didn't know what to make of it.

"And I did," you whispered in reply. "I even scribbled my promise somewhere in here. I don't remember where exactly. May have been scratched off."

"Maybe," Lockwood chuckled, leaning his side against the wall; hiding your kiddish penmanship from your view. He had no explanation as to why he did, but he'd rather you to focus on the present. You achieved a lot between then and now. He thought it was much nicer to look forward than to look back.

He didn't realize how long the trip to the top would be. The silence didn't feel tense or forced, it was comfortable. Like an air of understanding had made the air warm instead of still.

Perhaps it was you and how unguarded you had become since stepping into the gondola, but all he knew was that your honest heart inspired him to be brave. He took a leap in a brightly painted gondola, miles up from the ground, just about to touch the clouds.

"My family would have loved seeing this," he said.

Your eyes tore away from the view to look at him. Curiosity whirling in those eyes of yours. "Where is your family? I don't think I've seen them. Are they abroad?"

When you looked at him like that, he forgot all his fears. "They aren't around anymore."

Your expression heartened. You turned all your attention to him. "I'm so sorry, Anthony. I shouldn't have—"

"No," he interrupted you, a ghost of a smile on his face. "I want you to know."

Your lips quivered, forming something that was a half-smile, half-frown. "I don't know what to say..."

"You don't have to say anything. I just thought you should know." His eyes fell to his knees, picking at the frays of his coat sleeves to distract himself. "My parents were researchers. They wanted to know what rituals other cultures had to communicate with spirits and keep themselves safe. They were working when they passed away. My sister, Jessica, she was ghost-touched." Everything came out when he was looking directly at you. Knowing you were paying attention was solace enough. "You should have seen the ghost when I was done with him, ha. As for my family . . . Even if they're not around anymore, they continue to remind me of the most valuable lessons. I do my best to never forget."

"Must be why you're so protective of Lucy and George," you said lightly, offering him a sunrise of a smile that brought back the color into the world.

"I am," he said with renewed confidence. "I'd do anything for them."

"Like make deals with prissy, troubled actresses?" you jested, bumping your knee against his.

His lips twitched, threatening a smile. "Yeah." He bumped his knee to yours but didn't move away, content with being close to you in any way you'd have him. "Exactly."

A smile crept up your face. "You have a wonderful family now, Anthony."

"I would say the same but I realize I haven't met them yet."

You threw your head back, laughing. The sound was so precious, he wished he had half the hearing of Lucy to remember it well. "Someday, Anthony. Someday..."

"I'll hold you to it."

The light that filtered in turned yellow, touching your face with gold. The sun was dipping between the far hills and, finally, your gondola had reached the pinnacle of the wheel.

You gently cupped his chin to turn his attention to the view. Your touch made his breath hitch, but the view had successfully stolen the air from his lungs. Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn't have predicted just how breath-taking the view was.

True to your word, the amusement park was laid out in a way that made the pathways draw a star—the stall lights that began to appear accentuated the shape. The stripped roofs of the attractions were like swirling patterns that encircled the the display. For lack of a better word, it was stupendous.

Your voice matched the sereneness of the moment. "My grandparents said that seeing fireworks from the top of a ferris wheel was an experience like no other, but with the Problem and the curfew, we might never be able to see something like it..."

"Wouldn't hurt to dream though, would it?"

You chuckled. "No, it wouldn't..."

Vaguely, in the reflection of the window, he saw your smile. A true, unfiltered smile. It's the brightest you'd ever appeared to him, and it was worlds better than the view you were gawking over.

The magic fizzled when the gondola began to decend, bringing you closer to earth and away from the utopia in the middle of a ferris wheel.

He couldn't recognize you once your mask came back on. Lockwood didn't realize why until he saw a flash of light in the corner of his eye.

The gazette had spilled coffee all over a perfectly good day.

—

!! LOCKWOOD'S DARLING

Recipients, we can confirm that there is a blooming romance between London's favorite Starlet and Lockwood & Co.'s charismatic leader. In the middle of a busy week for both individuals, they set aside time for a romantic ferris wheel ride in Starcrest Amusement Park—an ideal recreational venue for families and couples. See also: additional reports from our inside sources on page 7.

!! A DARLING'S DARLING

Recipients, we have more news on London's most fetching young couple. Both Darling and Lockwood have been growing bolder in putting their relationship in the spotlight. Recent reports state that Darling had invited Lockwood and Company to her film set — a feat of trust we haven't seen from her until she'd been swept of her feet by her latest and only suitor, Anthony Lockwood. He even presented her a bouquet of her favored flowers upon visiting. Backstage photographs from our insider on page 3!

!! A NOT VERY INVISIBLE STRING

Recipients, London's most captivating young couple was spotted wearing matching red-string bracelets, shifting to the 'private but not secret' path in their relationship. However, we always fetch you the ripest updates on their heart-stopping romance. More on page 4!

—

You were more than pleased by the sound of swishing newspaper and the snip of scissors. George had extracted another pretty picture of the recent news and hung it on the wall of achievements.

"Featured on a handful of headlines and it hasn't even been a year," Lockwood said, sounding very pleased with himself. He barely lifted a finger and Lockwood and Co. already had five additional clippings to their wall. "Gazette patrons are calling in to have us take care of visitors with all this media exposure." He set his hands on the stair newel and set his chin on them, looking up at you. It may have been a trick of a light but he was more radiant from where you were standing. "I have you to thank for that."

"You're the one helping me," you smiled. "I haven't heard a bad word about myself or my family. The peace is . . . unsettling. They really are bent on painting you as a saint, Anthony."

"Am I not?" he smiled.

You returned it, just as joyous. "That's the charisma I need for my birthday ball."

That made him straighten and grow brighter, if that were possible. "Birthday ball?"

You nodded, returning your eyes to Lockwood & Co.'s wall of accomplishments. "Lucy and George, too. It's a black tie event, and, yes, you may bring your rapiers."

He tilted his head, jarred. "What kind of people will be in attendance if we're allowed rapiers?"

"The most terrifying kind," you said with exaggerated dread, starting for the door. "Extended family I don't know well and journalists."

He sped ahead, clicking the door open for you. "Petrifying."

"Very," you chuckled. "Can I expect you to be there?"

He leaned toward you and you deluded yourself to believe he was doing so for his own benefit, but you knew damn well that there was a camera in the corner of your eye. Lockwood had caught sight of it before you, crowding you against the doorframe to paint the stomach-fluttering picture of a boy who simply couldn't resist being near his girl.

The idea was far more appealing than it was supposed to be.

His voice sounded saccharine up close. "What kind of flowers does your mother like?"

You titlted your head. "What for?"

"It's common courtesy to gift the in-laws. It wouldn't hurt to be prepared." He grinned at you, and you couldn't help but return it.

"She likes roses, and my dad is a fan of Ferrero Rochers."

"Noted," he chirped. He tugged a strand of your hair lightly before pulling away, taking his warmth with him.

You mustered a convincing enough smile. "Goodbye, Anthony."

"Goodbye, darling starlet."

He should have known you were going to do something. You grew up under the limelight, after all.

You've kissed many boys but he hoped you don't kiss them like you kissed him. Truthfully, it was only a kiss on the cheek, but he'd recall the feeling of your lips at the most untimely moments. He was ghost-touched because he couldn't shirk it.

—

You gave them a plot of the house. So, they did expect your house to be massive. What you did not tell them was the fact that your birthday ball was a masquerade ball. Lockwood was quite struck as he watched people file in with half their faces concealed under frivolously decorated masks. Lucy and George were just as confused.

"You're sure you didn't hear her say anything about this?" Lucy asked, hugging her arms as the evening chill began to creep in.

"Positively. Would I lie about something like this?" Lockwood replied, readjusting his grip on the generous bouquet of roses.

"Lie or not, we have to head in eventually. Unless your girl has a butler or handmaid who'd fetch us," George nipped. It was bad enough that Lockwood had forced him into a suit, but he had to stand in the freezing cold while passerbys walked right into the grandeur of your family's estate. The chandeliers casted gold silhouettes across the shadows. George bet it was warm in there. "Perhaps a visitor will come put us out of our misery."

"Keep your shirt on, George," Lockwood said firmly. "Perhaps having us enter without decoration was her intention."

"Who goes to a masquerade ball without a mask?" George scoffed.

"Lockwood & Co., apparently." Lucy rolled her eyes. She cast a nervous glance behind her but found lanterns had been lit. They smelt of lavender, reassuring her that despite your family's reputation, you weren't ignorant to the Problem. "Shall we head inside or face the treacherous cold?"

Lockwood, thoroughly done with their snideness, promptly decided on the former. He rolled his shoulders back and righted his posture before joining the line to the threshold.

"I see a buffet," Lucy said with new-found energy. Suddenly, the cold wasn't so unforgiving.

"Is that a chocolate fountain?" George inquired. Even if he did his best to keep his tone even, they caught the subtle intonation on the word 'chocolate'.

"Compose yourselves," Lockwood reminded primly. "we are representatives of the agency as well as guests, so, do try to mingle before losing yourselves in the smorgasbord."

"Sure."

"Absolutely."

Lockwood didn't know who said what, but he knew their answers were merely supplementary. They would bolt for the buffet as soon as the made it past the front door. At least their concerns about the lack of disguise were put to rest.

As they neared the doors, the warmth from the inside began to thaw away their frigidness. By the time they stepped into your abode, they were swallowed by the luxury. The word 'cold' didn't exist in a place as decadent as this.

The velvet curtains were pulled back fully, showcasing ceiling-length windows that glimmered with reflections of your guests, . A large chandelier illuminated the ballroom, washing everyone in supple, golden light. It brought out everyone's best features. Even the floor was polished so perfectly, it could have been a mirror.

If he didn't know better, Lockwood would have thought he walked right into a fairytale. He didn't realize Lucy and George had made their escape until he looked behind himself to find them gone.

He didn't have to idle by for very long. Like how sun rays pierce through storm clouds, you parted the crowd. You shone under the chandelier-light, a star put on earth, and you smiled so brightly he had to think you only smile like that for him. Lockwood lost his words, but his mouth was moving.

You were chuckling when you neared. Only when you dodged the roses and leaned on your toes to kiss his cheek did he realize that you didn't supply yourself with a mask either. His earlier guess had been right.

Whatever mirage he was in the middle of was cut through by two more figures coming into view; your parents, most likely. You resembled them a lot.

His joints went rigid but he was experienced enough to project an easygoing energy. All while he repressed bubbling exclamations.

He played on his best smile and reached for your father's outstretched hand. They met in the middle for a firm handshake.

"You must be the lad our little darling speaks so highly of," Mr. Darling chuckled. He had the kind of smile that put everyone in the room at ease. It reached his eyes. He must be the one you inherited your eye-smile from. A nail of guilt hit him right on the head because it was obvious that the man didn't know his daughter's romance was a fad. "Anthony, is it?"

"You're correct," Lockwood said amiably. His smile widened as he watched your mother's eyes gravitate to the bouquet of roses. "Anthony Lockwood, at your service, sir. And ma'am . . . These are for you." He offered the arrangement to your mother, who accepted them with the grace of a royal. You must have inherited that from her. He would have found it adoring if another strike of guilt didn't come down on him.

"How courteous," your mother said, hiding a smile behind her newly acquired bouquet. Her eyes moved to you and you shared a look Lockwood didn't quite understand. His stomach churned. Your mother then shot a peculiar look at him — like she could see right through him. It made his blood run cold.

Lockwood didn't have the option to ponder on it. Your father had seized Lockwood's attention with a firm pat on the shoulder. Lockwood had to tense his back to keep himself from toppling over.

As grayed as your father was, he had the kind of voice that commanded authority. "Don't be coy, boy. You can call us Ma and Pa. If our little starlet likes you enough to introduce you to us, you must be something special."

Lockwood glanced at you, momentarily paused by your smile. "She's the special one between us, sir—"

"Pa," your father corrected.

"Pa," Lockwood rectified smilingly. He wasn't sure what about it made him feel so melancholic and comforted at the same time. "I should be groveling at her feet. I'm very lucky to have caught her attention."

"I like the way you talk. It's no wonder she's so taken by you, Anthony."

Your father surprised Lockwood with a boisterous laugh. He was sure the room tremored for a moment. Lockwood was happy enough to laugh with him, the same time his heart was pounding against his ribcage.

The exchange was interrupted by your mother's squeal of delight. She had found the Ferrero Rochers laying in the bed of roses. She, with bright eyes, brandished them to her husband and Mr. Darling looked positively thrilled by the surprise.

"And thoughtful, too." Your father gave Lockwood the kind of nod you'd only get after you ask for their daughter's hand in marriage. "He's a keeper, little darling."

Lockwood's smile shook. Your mother looked at him strangely once more. He tried to regained himself.

Guilt.

Guilt.

GUILT.

It was drowning him, yet, he kept his cool. (At least, tried to.) You didn't seem to notice the change in his attitude.

You, with your rosy cheeks and resplendent smile, hooked your arm with Lockwood's and said, "I know, pa. That's the plan."

—

"That was not the plan," Lockwood respired, loosening his tie as soon as he stepped into open air. Even when he breathed in lavender, his lungs felt as if they were stuffed with cotton.

You had lead him to a balcony to give him a moment of reprieve only to be met with a glare. So much for being bad at acting, you were convinced his earlier niceties were real.

You regarded him with crossed arms, your cool façade practically a wall between you. "I invited, and you came. That's all that happened here."

"You made a spectacle of me," he rasped, his breath coming out as frost. "I would have been alright with that, but you brought your parents into this. They don't even know you're doing this, do they?"

The way he motioned between you as he said 'this' made you feel like someone's dirty secret. The way you faltered was laughable. Your heart clenched and your nails dug into your palms. You replied the only way you knew how: stronger.

"I don't see what the big issue is, Anthony," you scoffed. "I pay you, you do as I say. What if my parents don't know it's a ploy? The point is to set the stage for the press. I told you that."

"God," he laughed without feeling, raking a hand through his hair. He was heaving like he had just ran a marathon, face turning red. "You don't get it do you? We don't play with people. I don't want to play with people. And that's your family, starlet! Does it not bother you that you are lying to their faces?"

"No, it doesn't," you replied, stoically, standing your ground. "and neither should you. You know I'm doing this for them."

"Are you?" Where you stepped back, he stepped forward. He scoffed. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "It's ironic that a whole ballroom of people hiding behind masks are more honest with themselves than you are to yourself."

"What are you implying?" Your words come out through gritted teeth.

He stood tall, more intimidating than you'd ever seen him. The gauntness in his eyes were more pronounced then. His stature made your composure slip. His words made your knees buckle. "You're an actress. You're a professional at what you do. Even in your own home, you have a façade. Maybe you are, in some twisted way, doing this for the sake of your family, but I can't see that anymore. You're stringing them along . . . As far as I can see, you're just as bad as the gazette makes you out to be. I don't even know if you've been lying to me for the sake of keeping your mask on."

You feel the full force of his words drop down on you. Taking a few steps isn't enough to quiet the rush of throughts crowding your mind. All you see is his despondent face and a hundred and one headlines flash before your eyes.

He takes your hand—making you wish the circumstances were different—before he dropped his red-string bracelet into your palm. It felt heavier than it was supposed to. You couldn't pry your eyes away.

When he turned and left, your thoughts turned into white noise. He had taken every joy with him, deserting you in the muted chatter of what was supposed to be a celebration.

—

!! TROUBLE IN PARADISE

Recipients, it is to our sorrow that the couple that took the country by storm, Darling and Lockwood, seems to have called it quits. Lockwood no longer flaunts the bracelet that had started a trend for couples on this side of the globe. It is unknown whether he had lost it during a skirmish or willingly stopped wearing his. With Darling's trail of broken hearts, it's safe to assume the worst. The Starlet seems to be continuing activities, as usual. The ice princess, unmoved by a romance put to the grave. On a lighter note, read more about Lockwood & Co.'s achievements on page 7.

—

The gazette went for the jugular with that one. For once, they wrote something that had some truth to it. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Even your newly developed habit of morning walking barely helped your heartbreak. You've never mourned for something that never was, but, damn, did it hurt. You knew you were in too deep when your feet carried you right to 35 Portland Row.

You stared at the agency plaque for an unnecessary amount of time before you folded yourself over and hugged your knees. At the time, George and Lucy would be out running errands before a case and Lockwood would be arranging their bags inside. Perhaps the security of knowing their schedule made you so confident to sit and wallow the death of what could have been.

Yet, you couldn't mourn that in peace. The silence was interrupted by a shutter. You lifted your head and spotted a paparazzo who didn't even try to hide his presence. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties and already fading. He had a smile on but it set off alarms in your head. You didn't have to ask. You had a feeling. The gazette was all too good at dampening a sunny day.

You stood up quickly but found yourself backed against the wrought-iron gate.

"The Darling Starlet of London... Quite the title. Never thought I'd get to see you in person." His smile widened. You didn't budge. Even with your fiercest glare, he didn't get the message. He looked down at his camera before his smile fell. "Do you know how upset we were when you started going out with that... that pathetic excuse of a human—"

"He's an agent," you cut off. "and he's the reason degenerates like you get to walk the streets without being ghost-touched at every turn."

"Degenerates?" He laughed, covering his mouth. "Oh, Darling Starlet—" The name you found home in was chemical coming from him. "you should know that we made you. He's lucky the chief likes him enough. You'd be nothing without us."

"Without the gazette?" You scoffed, tempted to roll your eyes at the fool. "You do more harm than good."

"But we make or break a career." His hand came away from his mouth, revealing a smile made of pointed teeth. "and what would happen to your folks if your reputation makes a sharp decline, hm? Your father needing all that medicine, your mother taking care of him... What would happen if our little darling turned out to be a little bitch?"

Your anger was boiling over, but the fear of that possibility had crippled you. Words died in your throat. Your will fizzled to nothing. You felt blood drip into your palm, nails clenched into your flesh.

You were still trying to regain yourself when the cold of the gate was pardoned from your back. A familiar warmth replaced it, an arm coming around your middle and a voice that quelled all your fears sounded in your ears. A rapier crossed the distance, severing the neckstrap around the photographer and sending his camera into the pavement. It's lens shattered and the photographer let out a yell.

"If you ever talk to my girlfriend like that again, a broken camera will be the least of your problems."

"Anthony J. Lockwood," the paparazzo snorted. "Your agency hinges on the exposure you get from us. Don't play hero when you know you're defending a sham."

"I'm defending my girlfriend," Lockwood's grip tightened on your hip, and his rapier shined in the light. Your heart did immeasurable things in lieu of Lockwood's doing. "and if you ever threaten my family like this again, I will come after you. The gazette isn't the only publication in London, and I've built a rapport with enough people in the industry to secure my place. I'm not afraid of you."

"You—"

Lockwood turned you around, covering you from view and urging you toward the door. "Head inside, darling. I'll take care of this."

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for resentment or even hate, but found none. His eyes were sunlight through bottles of whiskey. The smile had disarmed you, finally getting through to you.

You took a few hesitant steps before he nodded, assuring you that it was alright. He made sure you were safety inside before he returned his attention to the photographer.

"I do have morals. So, I'll be civil." Lockwood poised his blade. " That said, get off my street before I show you how proficient I am at my job."

—

Some part of you was desperately hoping that things would smooth themselves out after what had transpired. When he offered you his coat before telling you that he'd be walking you home, you knew you were in over your head.

That same night, you flipped the events over in your head. Clenching and unclenching your newly bandaged hand to remind yourself that it was real.

You didn't get much sleep with his voice echoing in your ears and his eyes burned into the back of your eyelids.

—

Your mother must have known something was wrong with you. You mistaked salt for sugar in your morning coffee, you walked into a wall on more than one occasion (a large vase had fallen victim to your daze), and you refused ice cream for the first time in your life.

In the middle of the day, Mama Darling decided that she'd seen enough. She set her knitting things down and urged you to put your book down. You obliged because you couldn't absorb the words anyway.

"My darling girl," your mother started. Her tone is so heartfelt, you felt yourself lax in your seat. A smile came to your face as she caressed your cheek, just as she'd always done. "You've always been such a kind child. So selfless . . . Your only flaw is that you need to know when to let go of your fear and let us handle ourselves, dearest."

You stared at her, lost. She simply smiled, taking your hands in hers. "I know your recent escapades with Anthony were a play, my dear girl." Your spine calcified, heat prickled your eyes. "I always knew. I'm honest when I say he's good for you. He brings out your ugly smile— Don't frown, I mean it in a romantic sense. I know the look of love when I see it, dearest. Don't sacrifice it for pride or fear, my girl. Go get him back."

"Ma," you shuttered, pausing to collect yourself. You were choking on yourself and that wasn't the worst of it. Your vision had blurred from your tears. "you and Pa need me to focus on my career. I have to—"

"No, you don't." She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and swiped her thumb across your cheek. "You'll always be a princess in the eyes of the public, dearest. Any person with two eyes and common sense will see that. You just have to break out of your shell, actually talk to the journalists. Just not the ones from the Daily Gazette—they are something else entirely."

"They are, aren't they?" You manage to laugh through your tears. Only your mother could make you feel these many things at once. She saw right through you. "Right now, Anthony doesn't even want to talk to me. I'm so scared that if I try, he'll tell me everything I don't want to hear. I'm scared he'll see all the nasty things the gazette talked about and hate me for them."

"Darling," your mother said sternly. "we just went over the fact that the gazette is complete and utter bullshit."

You can't help but snort. The rare curse from her had broken through to you. "Sorry, Ma."

"Don't be sorry, my dear girl, be brave." She flipped your hand over and drew lines across your palm. She did it three times before you realized what she was doing; she was drawing stars. "Some things are worth conquering fears for."

The Starcrest ferris wheel. Stolen smiles. Dreams of fireworks.

Your mother smiled at the renewed light in your eyes. She didn't question you as you bolted to the exit.

"Home before dinner! You may bring Anthony!" she called just before you smiled and closed the door behind you.

—

"Lucy?"

"No, this is George."

The world must hate you. You couldn't do much about that. You coiled the telephone wire around your finger as you took a deep breath. "This is... darling."

"I don't know anyone with a ridiculous name like that. Sorry."

You bit your cheek, inhaling the urge to sigh. "The prissy actress."

"Oh. You." He shuffled, crossing his arms. "Speak, before I hang up."

"I have a favor to ask of you," you winced, already expecting the worst.

"What's in it for me?"

You took a breath. "What do you want? Biscuits? An allowance? Access to the VIP collection in the library—"

"All of that, and you have yourself a deal."

"Done."

—

"George— You're usually against room invasion," Lockwood quipped, allowing himself to be dragged up the steps. "and Lucy wouldn't be happy about this."

"When I tell her what I bargained, she'll be fine with it."

"Bargained?"

"Not that important right now, Lockwood. Sit. And for all things grotesque, don't move."

George had pushed Lockwood into the mustard seat beside the attic window. The latter was ready to protest, confusion evident.

A resounding pop had interrupted him. The lights in the room shifted. The shadows stretched and receeded. It took a moment for Lockwood to realize that there were fireworks going off outside.

On the third floor, he had a bird's eye view of the shower of sparks in varying shades of blues, reds, and yellows. He was wondering where the firework show had come from, but his questions were put to rest with a singular look onto the street.

Other than the tins of fireworks, he saw you—looking much like a panicked frog while lighting the fireworks. You looked absolutely ridiculous. His perceptions of you had been thrown to the wind, and he couldn't help but smile.

The last firework burst into pink sparks, lighting up his eyes and your silhouette; embedding itself into his memories. When the air had cleared, he cracked the window open.

"What are you doing down there? Have you gone mad?"

You cupped your hands around your mouth, shouting an answer at him. "Lighting fireworks! You like dem?"

He shook his head, endeared. "How do you even know how to light them?"

"I don't! It was about time I learned!"

"You really are a lunatic..." he chuckled.

You cocked your head. "What did you say?"

"Come in!"

You showed him your thumbs, scuttling to the front door.

Lockwood had never raced down the stairs so quickly before. He apologized quickly to George, who he had almost bumped to ground floor, and Lucy, who had just gotten home with groceries. He raced for the door; hair a mess, breathing short, but smiling widely. He greeted you with the same smile he had on when you first met.

Cute as he was, you couldn't take it anymore. You reached up, fingers brushing his forehead and fixing the strands that had been bothering you for ages.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing you said. You were still heaving from outrunning fireworks but he wasn't in much better shape. "I was scared, and my first instinct was to act like I don't care, but I do. I care so much. About you."

"I got the message," he laughed, looking over your shoulder to the smoke remnants of the showcase.

"No, I'm not done." You took a breath, bracing yourself for it. "I want you to know about me, too. Pa has been sick for a long time. He worked through it so they could afford my commute to and from auditions. The money Ma made was used for medicine or keeping me in school. We struggled for a long time. Some days, I couldn't sleep because I felt so helpless. I wanted to give back to them with every fiber of my being. When I finally could, I never wanted to go back to having nothing. I was willing to do anything to stay where I was—"

"Darling, I get it—"

"—and I lost sight of who I was doing it for. I was so comfortable in allowing anything just to keep a pristine reputation—"

"Darling—"

"—and I hurt you. I never meant to, I'm so sorry. I realize now that I was wrong and I should have been more honest with you because I don't just want to be colleagues anymore—"

"Oh, shut up already."

He bunched your shirt in his fist, pulling you to him with the anticipation born from a thousand dreams. When his lips touched yours, it felt like all of this was worth the wait.

You were sweet and a little smokey, he could have laughed but settled with smiling into the kiss. You stole a breath from him when you nipped at his bottom lip. He could have spent the night like that but the resounding boom from outside made the two of you jump, breaking away from The Best Kiss Ever™ to see the last of the fireworks finish off the moment with golden sparks.

Lockwood couldn't stay upset. After a short laugh, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him right back to you—giving him another kiss to think about for the rest of his life.

—

!! THE COUPLE OF THE CENTRURY, BACK AGAIN !!

Recipients, after a short-lived break, the couple of the century are back—stronger than ever! Various photographs have been taken of them: Dancing in the foyer of the Darling estate, partaking in Mrs. Darling's notorious tea parties, and running away from premiers to steal time for themselves. To see more of them, see page 4!

That was possibly the last good article written about anyone coming from the gazette. Not long after that, they began to be brazen in their attempts to tarnish your reputations. They published photos of the two of you flipping off the photographer, spitting your tongues out at unwanted paparazzi, and spreading the most degrading rumors you had ever heard.

At the same time, the gazette had been losing viewership to London Squire, who was only gaining traction with every article written about the It Couple of Europe. Soon enough, the gazette had lost all credibility; reduced to a mere scandal sheet. It was a breath of fresh air.

The public was enamored by your honest nature and respected the fact that you'd prefer to keep your relationship private. Though, you would be the talk of the town once the Squire got a hold of an exclusive interview.

The topic? Vows, silver rings, and rapiers to cut wedding cake.

DARLING-LOCKWOOD

— It's now official. Our Darling Starlet is off the market after exchanging vows with Lockwood & Co.'s founder and president, Anthony Lockwood. The union took place this weekend in a private ceremony with close family. The couple reveals that the ceremony was grand but they would like nothing more than to keep it to themselves. We are honored that both Mr. & Mrs. Lockwood has given us the opportunity to publish a few pictures taken during their most special day. The writers here at London Squire send all our warmest regards to the newly weds.

The picture wasn't much; Just a scene recreated from the movie that earned you the title of 'Darling'. Even when you shared his name, he persisted in calling you his darling starlet. Though, he takes the utmost pride when he does call you his missus.

NOTE ➺ i don't know if i can get all my 1989 tv songfics done in time but i plan to get them all published before the end of 2023 !

i hope this finds you when you need it. as always, don't be afraid to leave your thoughts in the comments or reblogs. i love to read feedback so don't hold back!!

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

[k-dokja]

Can I ask for a fic on Schneider (eleceed) with a reader, to the outside world he doesn't seem that affectionate but when your by yourselves he clings on to you and doesn't let go.

On god, if he had more screentime and characterisation he'd dethrone Kayden immediately okay trust me 😭

You can't say you're affectionate either. By nature, mind, but the circumstance also forbids you to be perceived as weak. You can't say Schneider's stonewall attitude ever bothers you, it's only expected that he'd stay aloof even after you got together.

But... nothing prepares you for this.

"Five more minutes..." He groans when you try to move, his face buries into your chest. His effort to keep you trapped in the bed is formidable with his weight alone.

You try to wiggle a little, see if he'd do anything to let you go, but he won't. "Schneider," you don't have the heart to reprimand him when he's this cuddly in the morning, but you really have to get to work. You have a mountain of documents to go over with this new batch of recruits for Frame.

He responds to you with a grunt, nuzzling your chest with his nose before he glares up at you. It'd have been intimidating to anyone else, but you only find his frown resembling a kitten pouting. "Five," he reaffirms before pressing his face into your torso again, a pleased rumble emits from his throat.

"You're such a big baby," you huff with resignation, having no choice but to settle down until he has his fill of you in the morning.

And a light sleeper, too. You muse as you ruffle his hair affectionately, you haven't expected him to wake the moment you try to slip out of bed. The moment he caught your waist and pinned you down, you lost the battle, but you can't say you mind it all that much when he's so warm and cuddly.

Even with your generosity of giving him another five minutes on top of his original five, Schneider shows no movement. An amused huff slips out past your lips. "Five minutes is over," you nudge him, patting his back to wake him up.

He grunts in answer, "Five minutes is over when I say it's over."

You roll your eyes at his petulant answer, trying again to push him off you but achieve no success even when he's heavy with sleep. "I'm going to call Roist and show him what his master looks like in private."

Schneider tightens his hold around you. A warning, maybe. "If he knows better, he won't have anything to say," Schneider grumbles but he does relinquish his hold on you. For a moment, you mistakenly take his action for mercy, but he goes to pin you down by the shoulder instead.

"Besides, that was hardly worthy of alerting the kid," he scrunches his nose as he surveys your dishevelled state, and then, a self-satisfied smirk takes place upon his lips. "At least do something worth scandalising him over."

"Sch—" Before the question has the chance to form upon your lips, Schneider seizes whatever word you have left to say with a swift kiss. He never stops being rough, even with you, but his aggression turns into molten passion when he holds you. Your surrender is set in stone as you melt under him, once again a captive to his affection.

"You're going to make me late for work," you manage to drawl when he lets you go, but your cheeks flush with a dizzying heat and all you want is for him to kiss you again.

He smirks, "We still have five minutes."

Well, it doesn't sound so bad when he says it like that.

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

jealousy, jealousy || I.N. x Reader

Summary: Watching the guy you have a huge crush on be a pretend couple with one of the prettiest girls you know for a photoshoot isn't the perfect way of spending your morning, that's for sure.

Who knows though, things might start looking up sooner than you'd expect.

Word count: 3.9k

Genres: college AU, fluff with a little angst, idiots to lovers (but only one of them is an idiot and it's not IN)

Warnings & Tags: reader has anxiety, reader is insecure, someone is verbally unpleasant towards the reader, kissing, Tzuyu from Twice is in this

series masterlist

A/N: So this is part one of my lil project for Stray Kids' anniversary! I've got three one-shots written so far, so I'm confident I'll be able to post the maknae line in the next few days, and then take a couple of days to finish the hyung line or post them as I write them, I'll see. I hope you'll like it!

For this one-shot, please do suspend your disbelief for the way the school work is described in this lol, think of it as an artistic rendition or as something out of one of those shojos that go wayyyy overboard.

The shoot is supposed to start at 10, which means you’re there at 8, and the second you walk through the door you’re already plagued with thoughts that you should have shown up half an hour ago. Even as you’re the only one from your team there, you feel the familiar lump forming in your throat. Your mind goes over everything that needs to be done, everything that can go wrong, everything that is likely to go wrong, and everything you’ll end up taking the blame for.

You force yourself to take a deep breath. You focus on the end of the shoot — supposed to be at noon, but likely to actually be at 2, and it should be around 3 by the time you finish cleaning up —, on how you’ll be able to get back to the quiet of your home afterwards, and on how the atmosphere here isn’t too bad, this early in the morning. You’re not the only one here, you’ve already met the tired eyes of a few of the other students who you suspect didn’t go home last night, but there is something light in the air. You saw the sun rising on the way over and the light is still gently pouring in through the windows.

What a shame this won’t last.

When the others start rolling in, you’ve set up your little corner, just the way you like it. Your lights, your mirrors, your brushes and products, right where they should be so that they’ll fall right under your fingers when you need them. It helps you breathe a little better, but the lump doesn’t go away. It’s alright; you’re used to it by now.

Nari’s the first one to walk in, which isn’t surprising considering she’s the one directing the shoot, and it’s her clothes that the ‘models’ are going to be wearing. That is to say, the students she’s recruited to model for her, just like she recruited you into doing the make-up for her. The two of you aren’t close, not even friends, but you’re good at your job and a bit of a pushover, which makes you the ideal target for that kind of things.

She waves at you with a tense smile, but you know it’s not meant for you, she’s just stressed out. She always is. Unlike you, though, she has a tendency of taking it out on others, and that explains at least half of the tension in your shoulders today.

You need to learn how to say no to people.

Tzuyu, from the dance program, enters next, looking unreal as always. You’ve worked with her a few times before, too. She’s a sweetheart and you know she’ll make your job easier.

The same can’t be said about the next person to make his way through the door, whose apparition you’ve been waiting for since you got here, embarrassingly glancing at the door every few minutes.

Yang Jeongin walks in like he owns the place.

To be fair, he kind of does. Also enrolled in the fashion course, he’s pretty much the go-to when it comes to getting male models. Hwang Hyunjin, from the dance programme, is the second one, mostly because he’s harder to get a hold of — and because, you’ve heard, his girlfriend is pretty scary.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he walks over to your spot. His coat is thrown casually over his shoulder, his walk confident, and stylish glasses that you know he doesn't need rest on the tip of his nose. He died his hair back to black recently, but you can see it’s still damaged from the light pink that was his previous color.

“We meet again,” Tzuyu chimes from her seat, grinning from ear to ear, and Jeongin smiles in response, his expression changing entirely the second he does.

“It’s great to see you, Jeongin,” Nari purrs as she approaches, before she sets her eyes on you. “Are you done with Tzuyu? We really need to get started here.”

You know you shouldn’t let her speak to you like that, you have no reason to, but all you can think about in the moment is to pacify her to ensure that she’ll leave you alone.

“I still need a few minutes with her,” you say, and Nari huffs in annoyance, before her attention is captured by a guy setting up the lights and she power walks over to him.

“Do you want me to tell her something?”

You shoot a surprised look at Jeongin, who’s staring at you with a frown on your face, and you immediately look away. You hope it looks like you’re just focusing back on Tzuyu, and not like your heart jumped up to your throat when you met his eyes.

“It’s fine,” you say, “I know how she gets on shoots. “Just sit down and I’ll be with you in a second.”

He nods slowly, eyes still on you as you busy yourself around Tzuyu, but the tension remains in his jaw, which you don’t miss. It gives you a pang in the chest — shit, you don’t like when people are displeased with you.

It also makes his jaw look really good.

Tzuyu leaves to go appease Nari as soon as you’re done with her, and you’re relieved when she’s dragged away to go put on her clothes.

That doesn’t last, though, because next thing you know you’re a few inches away from Jeongin’s perfect face, and he’s staring straight at you.

You swallow. Then you grab one of your brushes, and you get to work.

“No late night snacks this time?” you ask, half-teasing because the last time you’d worked with him, his face had been somewhat puffy from it.

A smile breaks on his face, and immediately there are flowers blooming in your chest. He can look so serious and unapproachable one second, but as soon as his lips curl and his eyes crease, he’s a whole other person.

“I didn’t want to make your work harder,” he replies. You feel yourself freezing, and then you turn away to grab another product, praying that you didn’t just stare dumbly at him for too long.

“You got started on your take on the modernized hanbok already?”

He hums in reply.

“I have one sketch. You?”

“I’m counting on the rush of adrenaline I’ll get the week before to finish it,” you admit.

You’re too focused to see the curiosity in his eyes when you say that. You do, however, notice him tilting his head, and you immediately correct him, fingers sliding along his jaw to pull him back in his correct place. As you do, you feel him swallowing, and you’re quick to remove your hand.

If you’d been looking, you’d have noticed his ears turning red.

“You were the first one here, though,” he says after a few seconds of silence.

“Oh, yeah, that’s because I don’t want to let people down. I’m the only one who’ll get in trouble if I procrastinate too long.”

And even then, you won’t, you’ll just spend a horrible week telling yourself you’ll never do that again.

You inevitably will.

God, you’re so tired of living with yourself, sometimes.

“You should tell me if you need a last second model,” Jeongin mumbles. He’s careful not to move his lips, but you’ve perfected the art to understand that language over the years. The comment makes you laugh.

“You're always completely booked for shoots on the last week,” you grin. You yourself still give a few hours of your time here and there, though you don’t stick around very long. You know that Nari plans her shoots ahead partly for that reason. It’s kind of flattering, if you think about it.

Someone with her drive and her talent gets to have a shitty personality, you suppose.

“I’ll get Hyunjin to replace me.”

There goes your heart again. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that the only time you spend with him goes like that, because you’re too cowardly to approach him during class, and it’s not fair that invariably—

“Are you done soon?” Nari shouts from behind the screen she’s put up to make a corner into a changing room.

“Just a few minutes more!” you reply before focusing back on Jeongin. “I’ll think about it,” you tell him, though you know yourself well enough to be able to tell that you’re extremely unlikely to go through with it. Just the drafting of the text would take you hours, and actually sending it? The idea is laughable.

You really wish you were normal with that stuff.

“Don’t move, I’m almost done,” you say, and he goes still, and your heart’s hammering in your chest, but at least he’s no longer saying things you’re at risk of misconstruing.

As he closes his eyes to let you put on the finishing touches, though, you know you’re in for a long day.

“Jeongin, can you put your hand a little lower? Tzuyu, smile with your eyes please? Now tilt your head more to the right? More? Jeongin, look at the camera but like, from the side, from— Okay, two seconds for touch ups, and then we’ll need to get things done a little faster everyone, alright?”

Nari’s forcing herself to smile so much that you think she might cramp. You rush past her to get to Tzuyu and Jeongin, carefully touching up their make up where you need and adjusting a little for the light. You also pat Jeongin’s forehead to catch beads of sweat that formed under the artificial light, and he gives you a grateful nod as you do your best not to think about things you shouldn’t be thinking about.

“We’ll be done soon,” Tzuyu says cheerfully, but even she seems to be forcing her smile at this point. You don’t blame her for it. You do, however, think she’s not being very realistic about how much work they have left.

It’s 11.30 and they’re nowhere near done. The start of the shoot ran late because of Nari’s adjustments to the clothing. After that, there was a heated conversation between her and the photograph over the subject of filters, leading to the guy throwing his hands in the air and quitting on the spot, meaning she’s the only one there. You can tell she’s fuming, and though you have sympathy for that, you’re also pretty terrified of becoming the subject of her ire.

“You’re not messing him up, right?” she asks, glaring at you, and you jump away from Jeongin.

“Sorry,” you say automatically, even though you haven’t done anything wrong. “I’m all done.”

She looks at him critically, trying to find flaws in your work.

“He has a spot on the chin,” she says finally, “seriously, if you don’t get your shit together we’ll never—”

“You don’t speak to her like that,” Jeongin interrupts her, and his voice sounds sharp and cutting.

The air freezes in the room. You risk a glance in his direction. He’s staring straight at Nari, lips curved ever so slightly downwards in distaste.

He also does have a little spot on the chin.

Shit.

Nari’s staring at him, too. She’s paled, and her lower lip is shaking.

“Sorry,” she finally says, voice trembling. “Sorry, I’m j-just— We don’t have that long and— Sorry.”

She looks small and vulnerable, and your heart melts on the spot. You can’t help it.

“It’s okay,” you say, “just give me a second to fix it.”

Jeongin exhales slowly next to you, but you suspect it’s in annoyance, not in relief. Still, he leans towards you to give you better access to his face.

“You don’t have to placate her,” he mumbles, lips barely moving.

“I know,” you reply. “It’s just easier that way.”

He frowns, but doesn’t add anything. For a second, you almost tell him that you wish you could stand up for yourself, that the truth is your ‘freeze’ response strikes you every single time and you can’t figure out what to say, that if you could, you’d—

“All good?” Nari asks.

You give her a nod and, this time, she doesn’t say anything about Jeongin — or about Tzuyu, for that matter. So you walk back to your spot, and you watch as the shoot continues.

You don’t really like watching these. That’s generally true. You have friends who do, who think that ‘this is where the magic happens’, but you know all the magician’s tricks, and that leaves no actual magic for you. Still, you’re needed here. You suppose you could have quit on the spot after Nari’s outburst, but it’s— you can’t actually do that. So you’ll stick it out until the end, even if you’re not enjoying yourself.

And that is particularly true as Nari directs Jeongin to pull Tzuyu closer to him. As he does, neither of them questioning it because they’re used to it by now, you find yourself sucking in a discreet breath between your teeth. Jeongin’s hand seems large over Tzuyu’s shoulder, long, pale fingers gently brushing against the skin and for a second, you think about the electric feeling that would run through you if he ever—

Just thinking about it makes heat shoot through your entire body, and you swallow. At least no one’s looking at you.

Another direction from Nari, and Tzuyu puts her hand over Jeongin’s chest, shooting a bold grin at the camera.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Direction. They step away from each other, but Jeongin reaches out for her, and she delicately places her fingers into his open end, both of them longingly staring at their hands.

Your fingers dig into your arms.

Direction. Keeping Tzuyu’s hand in his, Jeongin brings it to his lips and they gaze into each other’s eyes. They look perfect together. They’re both stunning, and you know there’ve been whispers about them on campus already, in no small part because they’re often reunited for these shoots.

But God does it burn in your chest to look at them right now.

“We’re done!” Nari shouts at 1.50 pm. Behind her, the group that’s supposed to get the room at 2 is huffing and puffing, but you don’t think a fucking panzer could have gotten her to clear the space until she was happy with her work.

You should be relieved. You’re not. You won’t be until you’ve locked the door to your room behind you.

“Wanna get a drink to celebrate?” Tzuyu asks Jeongin. Her smile’s back to its usual brightness, now that the tension’s mostly gone.

You start picking up your stuff, but, embarrassingly, you’re very much focused on hearing his answer to that. You wish you wouldn’t be doing that, because that’s not any of your business, yet you can’t seem to help yourself right now.

You probably would have caught it if Nari didn’t stop by your side just then.

“Hey,” she says, “I am really sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have said that.”

The thing is, you’re pretty sure she meant it then, but now there’s a lightness to her voice that you find��� annoying. It seems to you that she’s already moved on and expects you to do the same. Normally you would, but after having spent the last two hours watching the guy you have this stupid, hopeless crush on all over one of the prettiest girls you’ve ever seen, something in you just— snaps.

“I think you’ll have to find someone else next time,” you tell her with a polite smile. Her face falls, and you immediately feel guilty. You shouldn’t. Probably. Should you? Are you being mean? Are you doing something wrong? Does that make you a bad person?

“I— Okay,” she says, and this time her voice’s much softer. She looks down at her feet. “I get it. I know I’m not easy to— Yeah. I’m sorry.”

You thought standing up to her would feel good, that you’d feel Schadenfreude over this moment. This is the furthest thing from that. Actually, you only manage to bite back your own ‘I’m sorry’ at the last second.

“I just— this environment stresses me out,” you still say, speaking too fast. “It’s not really good or fun for me and—”

“Sure. Don’t worry about it.” A deep breath, and then Nari nods at you politely. “Well, I’ll get to cleaning up my stuff.”

And just as you’re replying “Same,” she’s spun around on her heels and started putting the clothes away.

You don’t know where that leaves the two of you, but that reaction makes the moment just a little easier on you.

You wonder, vaguely, if she did that on purpose. You don't linger on the thought though, and you go back to your own program, walking towards your little make-up station to start putting stuff away, getting everything back to its place in your bags. It’s something you slow at, just like you’re slow at setting them up, but it also helps you getting back to your normal self. With every object coming back to where they belong, you can breathe a little easier.

You still notice almost immediately the presence behind you, and you’re not particularly surprised to find Jeongin there. You give him a smile, and gesture at the chair.

“If you give me a second, I can get some of that off your face,” you say as you gesture to him. Camera make-up would look quite strange outside, and he’s been to enough of these things to know that at least as well as you do.

“I heard you told Nari off.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess you, uh, were right.”

That’s not all that happened there, but that will have to do.

When you glance at him, though, he doesn’t look happy about it, a frown barring his expression, and your fragile confidence immediately falters.

“Do you think that was a bad idea…?”

His eyes widen and he's quick to shake his head.

“No, not at all, you did good!” You can’t help but smile at the words. He’s younger than you, but somehow keeps behaving like he’s not. “I just like working with you.” He gives you a sheepish smile, lips pressed together.

“Sit down,” you say like your heart didn't skip a beat, “the least I can do is not let you go out like that.”

So he does, and even though you still have stuff out that you should be taking care of, you lean close to him and get to work once more.

There’ll be other shoots, of course, Nari isn’t the only one who requires your services. In fact, you’re surprised that he’d have thought of that at all. You know that it didn’t cross your mind, probably because you think these moments mostly as fueling your delusions.

The idea that Jeongin could actually enjoy spending time with you hadn’t even occurred to you.

Huh. That might say a thing or two about your self-confidence.

“So, you’re going out with Tzuyu after this?” you ask before your thoughts start running wild.

His eyes open.

“We’re going to get drinks, yeah,” he says, a cautious edge to his voice. “You should come with us, actually.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “I don’t know if she’d be very happy if I did that. Wouldn’t want to third wheel, you know.”

You hope you do a good job of keeping any bitterness out of your voice. You certainly try your best to appear nonchalant, like you’re merely doing small talk while you’re removing his make-up, even if you avoid meeting his eyes, knowing that it would

That might be why it takes you by surprise when Jeongin’s fingers wrap around your wrist, interrupting you. When you look at him, you find him staring at you with a surprisingly serious expression.

“You wouldn’t third wheel,” he says, which you certainly don’t think warrants all of that.

“It’s fine,” you reply, attempting to joke about it even as the breath is knocked out of your lungs, because you will not be caught dead misreading the situation for something it’s not, “if anything getting a date with Tzuyu is—”

Then, several things happen at once. The hand around your wrist pulls you forward and you stumble, just as his other hand shoots up to cup your face.

And then he’s kissing you.

His mouth is warm, his lips soft, his fingers carding through your hair, and suddenly you’ve lost your balance and you’re half sitting in his lap and any attempt at forming a coherent thought is swallowed by what is happening.

A very, very distant part of your brain is thankful for Nari’s screen, which has been moved to the make-up station to make place for the group that comes after you, but that is only a fleeting thought, because still, Jeongin’s kissing you. His hands are gentle, holding you like you’re a porcelain doll, but his lips are fierce, and you feel, briefly, his teeth grazing against your lower lip. His right hand travels from your wrist to your waist, and you’re pulled even closer to him, and now you’re pressed against his chest and all you can think about is how you want more of this.

When he moves away from you, you’re panting, breath short, and you can only stare at him with wide eyes.

“You wouldn’t be the one third-wheeling,” he says.

“What,” you say in response, ever the eloquent one.

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair while the other one remains on your hips, not quite squeezing, but not letting go of you either.

“I— thought I’d made it pretty obvious I was interested in you,” he mumbles.

Oh. Uh, yeah, about that…

“I, uh, I assumed it was just wishful thinking,” you admit under your breath. “I mean, we don’t really, uh, talk outside of these shoots.”

He sighs and puts his forehead against yours. Your noses brush, and you’re acutely aware of the fact that you would just have to move a little to kiss him again.

“I— always looked forward to seeing you,” he admits quietly, almost shyly, something you’d never thought you would see, “but you always looked like you wanted to run away when I came up to you in class, so I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, just— just shy, I think.”

It makes him grin, and you realize that seeing that specific look on his face makes you want to kiss him even more. If you were bolder, you would, especially right now, but you don’t think you can dare to just yet.

It’s fine, though, because he’s the one who kisses you, briefly, tenderly, and then he looks at you like you’re one of the world’s seven wonders.

“Want to go make Tzuyu feel like a third wheel?” he asks, rising an eyebrow.

You laugh, and you can’t know it, but his chest swells with pride when you do.

“And then I can take you on a proper date,” he offers. “If you’d like.”

‘If you’d like,’ he says, and you suspect that he knows exactly how much you’d like that, but you humor him because how could you not.

“I’d love that.”

this was my first time writing for IN and this made me realize that he's probably the member whose personality I'm least sure how to write, so I hope you enjoyed it still and I'll see you tomorrow for Seungmin's part! Any feedback, comment, reblogs or asks are extremely welcome, I may not be able to get to it right away because I'm working on the rest but I they're much appreciated ❤️

[svtellify]

kotlc: unraveled review [SPOILER WARNING]

keeper of the lost cities 9.5: unraveled by shannon messenger ★★★☆☆ *parts of the review were taken directly from my goodreads review of the book!

“I tried,” he told the empty room, wishing it made him feel like less of a failure.”

see, if you told me a year ago i'd sympathize with alvar and not mind reading about him, i'd assume you were trying to start a fight.

that being said: this wasn't a necessary book for the series. is it going to provide some helpful context going into book 10? sure. definitely. would it have also been better served as part of a post series anthology of short stories (see: keefe short story, fitz short story, tam short pov) that didn't quite fit into the series elsewhere? yeah. was it a cute short novel about my favorite character that expanded on a lot of what i've been waiting to see explored? also yeah.

before i continue, i want to add that i'm not the target audience of this series, not by a long shot. i was ten when i picked up the series in sixth grade, when only the first three books were out and had to suffer the wait for neverseen. i'm twenty one, and will have finished my master's degree before book ten comes out. i'd like to think i've grown up with the series, but i know that also means outgrowing the majority of the fanbase, since this is a kid's series. i hope the kids reading this can still find some value in my words though!

i'd argue that unraveled shoots itself in the foot a bit in terms of the series as a whole. kotlc is best told through sophie's perspective, because it's limited and lets us see the lost cities through the pov of someone else who's also equally new to it. unraveled breaks up that rhythm and lets us see our own world through keefe's eyes, as someone unfamiliar with it. it works, and it doesn't.

what unraveled does best, however, is drive home that while kotlc is told from sophie's perspective, it's very much more than just her story. keefe has equal stake in it, at this point, and it's only inevitable that they'll share custody of the rest of the story because of what's to come next. it's a story about the lost cities, about the change that needs to happen there, even in a species that's effectively immortal. a change that we've slowly witnessed two warring groups attempt to bring about.

(it's rather fitting given current political events, but i digress. kotlc is not a modern day political commentary, and i stand by it. the series took shape in the early 2010s and has meandered its way through the 2020s. it's applicable, but not intentional, if that makes sense.)

i loved that shannon tackled keefe's abuse directly, along with his trust issues and myriad of trauma. it's been building up and needed to be addressed so i'm glad we were able to see that.

it's also evident in unraveled that shannon's ready for something a little more mature (unlike let the sky fall.) writing-wise, and like jjk before it, i'm curious to see what kotlc would've looked like as a YA book with more room to explore it's darker themes. she does a great job with it as a middle grade series, but there's tones throughout unraveled that show better writing, so i look forward to book 10 and whatever her next project will be!

onto the annotations!

i have been waiting for someone to talk about this. and while i'm not like. alvar's number one fan now or anything, i think he was kind of the perfect person to talk about this. he's directly responsible for some of this, starting with trying to recruit keefe on numerous occasions and the role he played in keefe's involvement with the neverseen.

he's also fitz's brother. fitz, who's been a general disappoint at best to cruel at worst when it comes to keefe and his mom and his familial abuse. alvar might not understand all of it, but i'd like to think that he gave keefe a bit of closure on the vacker-keefe front. and on keefe's general guilt.

this is here purely because it hit like a gut punch. it's so simply written but i think we all need to hear it sometimes.

keefe being down bad for sophie is the funniest thing ever actually, but this is written so cutely ;(

a south indian dish name drop in a kotlc was not on my radar. i love it though?

it's a short book, there's not much more i think needs to be mentioned. it's good, nothing mind blowing, and the characters shine when shannon doesn't have to juggle the whole ensemble and then some. it did what it needed to⎯fill in some gaps that the cast expansion got in the way of and draw us back in for book 10. and it worked.

i wasn't particularly looking forward to this or dreading it⎯i've been too busy for either lately, but there's something very special about reading from a series you've grown up with, something so heartwarming about finding magic in a book series that wasn't necessarily written for your age group.

i don't want to make this too long, so i'll just say: i'm looking forward to book 10! i'll be well in the middle of med school secondaries and hopefully interviews by then, but it's a lovely reprieve to anticipate.

3.5 stars.

(also wanted to drop the kotlc playlist here for anyone interested in a series reread. catch me rereading the series when i'm out of the trenches of finals 🫡)