#Hidden Gems Book Box

[hoshifighting]

how do you think each member of svt would take the girl they like out on their first date together? tooth aching sweetness kinda fluff pls 😭

seventeen x first date

seungcheol would probably take you to a nice rooftop restaurant. he’s the type who loves a good view, and he’d want you to see the city lights while you two chat over dinner. “do you like it up here?” he’d ask, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he watches your reaction. something is calming about the way he makes everything feel relaxed, even if it’s your first date. you’d find yourself easily opening up to him, laughing as he shares stories from his trainee days. he’d reach out, taking your hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. “let’s come back here again sometime.”

jeonghan wouldd suggest a day at a cozy café followed by a stroll through a retro neighborhood. “i know this great place with amazing pies,” he’d say, his eyes lighting up. you’d spend hours just talking. when you least expect it, he’d pull you into a cute little shop, insisting on buying you a small trinket/charm. “something to remember today by,” he’d grin. the day would end with a sunset walk, and as you sit on a park bench, he’d lean in close, whispering, “today was perfect, don’t you think?” he would fold when you agree.

joshua would plan something thoughtful, like a picnic in the park 🤧. he’d arrive with a basket full of homemade sandwiches and fruit, looking proud of his efforts. “i made these myself!” he’d say, a hint of shyness in his voice. you’d find a quiet spot under a tree, spreading out a blanket and just enjoying each other’s company. as you eat, he’d strum a guitar, softly singing a song he wrote—no sunday morning rain is falling. there’s a gentle sweetness in the way he looks at you, and you can’t help but feel warm inside.

junhui would suggest a trip to an amusement park. not that he reaaaally likes it, but he saw so many couples the last time he went that he can't help but think it's something romantic. “let’s see who screams the loudest?” he’d ask. you’d spend the day hopping from ride to ride. you’d laugh a LOT, especially when you both try and fail to win a giant stuffed animal. “we’ll get it next time,” he’d promise—but makes a trade with the seller to buy the teddy bear. he's not letting go of your hand. as the night falls, you’d ride the ferris wheel, the city spread out below.

soonyoung would take you to a dance studio for a fun and unconventional date. “i’ll teach you some moves,” he’d say excitedly, dragging you along. he’d be so eager, enthusiastically guiding you through the steps. you’d laugh together, stumbling over your feet, but he’d never let you feel embarrassed. “you’re doing great,” he’d encourage, his smile bright. after dancing, he’d take you for a casual meal at a street food stall, insisting you try his favorite dishes. he would break some dancing limietance your had, and you would leave the date FULL after the agitated dance session. “let’s dance again soon,” he’d say, a hopeful look in his eyes.

wonwoo would opt for a bookstore date, a good excuse to watch you over the book he’s going to read. he’d take you to a quiet little shop with shelves full of hidden gems. “pick out a book for me,” he’d say, curious to see your choice. you’d wander around, exchanging recommendations and sharing your favorite reads. there’s something personal about the way he listens, genuinely interested in what you have to say. afterward, he’d suggest grabbing coffee, and you’d sit in a cozy corner, talking about everything and nothing.

woozi would take you to an upscale restaurant, a place with faint lighting and a sophisticated ambiance. it's not really his scene, but he wants to make the night special. he shows up looking effortlessly cool, holding a small box. “i thought you’d like these,” he says, handing you a delicate bracelet from a luxury brand—that matches his. the evening is filled with soft conversations and gentle smiles. he watches you carefully, making sure you’re comfortable and happy. the whole night, you can’t help but feel a bit spoiled, but in the finest way possible.

minghao plans something unique and spiritual i think? he takes you to a meditation garden, a peaceful place filled with nature and tranquility. “i thought we could try something new together,” he says, leading you to a quiet spot. you sit together, practicing mindfulness and enjoying the serenity. after the meditation, he suggests a quiet walk. the date feels deep and meaningful, a chance to connect on a different level, you know? you leave feeling refreshed and enlightened, with a new perspective on things for sure.

mingyu a hands-on experience. he takes you to a cooking class, knowing you love trying new things. “let’s see who’s the better chef,” he teases, as you both don aprons. the class is fun and interactive, with lots of banter and friendly competition. mingyu is surprisingly good at it, but he’s also super sweet, helping you out when you struggle. you end up making a delicious meal together, and he insists on sharing it with everyone in the class.

seokmin has a flair for the dramatic, so it’s no surprise when he takes you to a theater. he’s picked a play he knows you've been dying to see. before the show starts, he surprises you by taking you backstage. “i know the lead actor,” he grins, as you meet the cast and crew. his enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself laughing and joking with everyone. during the play, he sneaks glances at you, gauging your reactions. it’s clear he’s put a lot of thought into this, and the way he beams every time you smile makes your heart flutter.

seungkwan plans an exciting date at a karaoke bar. he NEEDS to show off his vocal skills. “i’m going to impress you!” he says with a cheeky grin. he picks all the classics, and you both sing your hearts out, cheering each other on. he’s energetic and confident, making the whole experience feel like a concert. between songs, you joke and flirt a lot. it’s a night of fun and music, and you can’t help but feel drawn to him, you two would probably end up making out on the karaoke’s sofa with the mics in hand as the instrumental sounds behind.

vernon would take you to a comedy show, because he loves to see/watch you laughing. “you’ll love this comedian,” he’d say, grinning. you’d spend the evening laughing until your sides hurt, and he’d be just as entertained by your reactions as the show itself. after the comedy club, he’d suggest a late-night snack run, and you’d end up at a 24-hour diner, sharing fries and milkshakes. “you’ve got a great laugh,” he’d compliment. “i had so much fun tonight... with you.”

chan would want to do something active and fun. he’d take you to an arcade, eager to show off his gaming skills. “i’m gonna beat you at every game,” he’d tease, challenging you to a friendly competition. you’d play everything from racing games to air hockey, laughing and teasing each other. he’d win you a stuffed animal from a claw machine, proudly handing it to you. “for you,” he’d say with a grin. after the arcade, he’d take you to a casual burger joint, where you’d talk and joke around.

[theorphicangel]

bookshop owner!reader with tattoo artist!suguru is actually brainrotting my mind.

coincidentally, the two stores are directly opposite each other and you can’t help but be drawn to the simple tattoo parlour across.

in bold, the name of the parlour stands above, clean and glistening windows with italic writing promoting to customers. if you squint you can spot artworks displayed in the window, even from afar you can tell how detailed and professional they are.

you’ve never been one for tattoos, your excuse being that you have a low pain tolerance for getting them. but in reality? you’re scared of the idea of a tattoo being permanent , the idea that you’ll get a tattoo you’ll regret or the design will come out ugly or that it’ll—

“do you need help with that?”

a silky voice interrupts your thoughts as you stood staring at the the shop with a cardboard box in your hand. the box contained one of the last piles of books for the store, new arrivals were to come in the next few weeks finally filling up the shelves.

a tall, long raven haired man stands besides you with nothing more but a friendly smile on his face. he stands in a large dark blue sweater, a paper cup of coffee in his hands probably from the local cafe on the same street as you.

it takes you a few seconds to snap back into reality, noticing piercings on his bottom lip and eyebrow.

“I’m fine! thank you.”

“I can take that in for you or at least hold the door open.” the stranger suggests, raising a brow.

a shift appears in pit of your stomach — would it hurt to say yes?

“that would be great, actually.” you return a friendly smile.

as you make your way inside with the assistance of the coffee scented stranger, he begins to make conversation, helping you to the back rooms. “you interested in the tattoo shop across the road?”

you let out a huff, “oh no, not for me. tattoos seem…” you pause for a split second attempting to find the right word, “regretful.”

“how so?”

you ignore the teasing charm of the stranger and continue to give your explanation.

“well for one… it hurts like shit.” you start, “and what if the designs don’t come out the way you want or the person tattooing you messes up? now you’re stuck with this permanent mark on your body, it just seems like a waste of time and money to me anyways.” you huff, finally placing down the box amongst a pile of identical boxes.

the scent of old wood and dust fills your nostrils. The building was older than most among the street yet it still held some sort of modern look. cosy and comfortable was the atmosphere you had wanted to create for your bookstore and it took you ages to find this hidden gem, sending the deposit almost immediately.

the stranger lingers by the doorway of the back room of the store, his dark hair tied up into a man-bun yet it doesn’t fully restrain the few locks which seem to escape. he’s pretty, you muse, as he opens his mouth to speak again.

“maybe this would be some bad news for you but I actually own that tattoo parlour.”

he says it in a lighthearted tone but that doesn’t stop your stomach from dropping any harder.

“oh.”

awkward silence swiftly crashes into the two of you, your face heats up in record time.

you fucking idiot—

“it’s nice to meet you.” the stranger finally speaks, outstretching a hand and as he does so, his sweater rides up his arms a little where you see black ink begin to pattern across his skin.

“shit, m’ so—

“don’t worry about it, s’ not for everyone.” he smiles again with that friendly smile you saw outside. you shake his hand tentatively hoping that he wasn’t offended by your comments. his palm feels soft in yours, fitting into his perfectly. quickly you pull away before you get too absorbed in your thoughts.

“call me suguru.”

you repeat his name and for a second he swears there’s nothing but pure nectar in your voice.

in a reply you introduce yourself and a flash of white teeth come your way in a full grin. he tries out your name for the first time too, adding a compliment.

“I’ve been wondering when they were finally going to sell this building. ” he begins. “I think a bookstore is perfect for this place.”

your face heats up again and Suguru asks for a tour. the store isn’t fully ready yet but you’re hoping for an opening at the end of the month.

“I hope to get an invite.

“Of course, we’re practically neighbours, you’ll be the first to know the date.”

“glad to hear it.”

as he leaves, you wave him over to the other side of the street watching him open up his store.

for the first time in your journey you can’t help but feel a tiny spark inside of you that makes you feel excited for the change coming up ahead and in particular, getting to know this suguru more…

join my summer event here!

[jobean12-blog]

Falling Fast

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 1,938

Summary: Every moment spent with him pulls you closer to the edge and when you're forced to have time apart it only makes you realize how much you want to be with him.

Author's Note: Here's more for Marcus and our princess! It's so lovely to know some of you are enjoying this as much as I am, so thank you, from the bottom of my heart. All these stories can be read as stand alones but if you want to get into the finer details then you can check out the other's here, in this order: Falling First, Falling Fast, Falling for the Forbidden, Forbidden, A Warrior's Heart (this last one is in the far future). Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 😘

Warnings: sweet softness, tension, more book/poetry talk, stolen moments, a kiss

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

Sunlight filters through the open spaces in the roof and dust dances in the shining rays as you sit with your head bent to a book. It bores you, however, so you snap it shut and place it down on the table.

You reach for the nearest wooden ladder and start to climb. Boxes of scrolls flank you on either side but you’re in search of more poetry from your father’s rare collection of books. Most of them are on the art of war but thankfully there are some hidden gems among the rest.

You stop climbing when you spot an ornate binding and reach for it. When you open the volume, dust floats up and out, tickling your nose and causing you to sneeze. Regardless you keep turning the pages, eagerly absorbing every word while still standing on the steps of the ladder.

“Surely the Princess should not be reading in such a precarious position.”   

“What?” you say with a start, searching the space.

The General stands at the entrance of the portico, his ornamental cuirass dazzling in the shafts of sunlight he walks through as he approaches.

“That’s not a safe place for you to read,” he muses with a smile playing upon his lips.

You look down at yourself as if remembering everything that has happened in the last few minutes all at once.

“Oh…well I…”

You clear your throat and clutch the wooden post of the ladder more tightly. Once the General is standing below you, he holds out his hand to offer assistance.

Your eyes stay locked on his as you place your hand in his own, the warmth of his calloused skin spreading along your arm and right down your spine. He reaches his free hand up and gently cradles your back until your feet touch solid ground.

“There,” he says quietly. “Much better.”

You continue to hold his gaze, swaying closer the longer his eyes stay focused on you and when they drop to your mouth you softly sigh.

The book slips from your hand when you reach for his arm and the sound echoes loudly, dragging you back to reality.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, suddenly breathless.

“The same thing you are Princess,” he answers.

When you don’t respond and the book remains on the stone floor between you, he bends to retrieve it and then takes your wrist, carefully placing the book in your hand.

“Escaping.”

Your breath catches at his confession and the urge to reach out and touch his face is overwhelming.

“General Acacius…”

“Marcus. Please.”

You swallow hard and with a small nod repeat his name in a whisper.

He steps closer, the sound of his name on your lips seeming to create a new spark of heat in his eyes.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, moving closer.

Your back hits the wall of wooden boxes and he places his large hands on either side of your head, caging you in.

“Marcus,” you whisper.

His hand drops to your cheek and his thumb sweeps across the soft skin, lifting your chin and pulling you closer.

The sound of heavy footfalls fills the hall outside the library and his eyes widen and with a muttered curse he steps away from you and moves quickly to a wall of scrolls across the room.

You stand paralyzed, the scent and the heat of his touch lingering.

Your father enters with a stoic expression and when his eyes land on you he scowls.

“Reading your romance again?” he mocks.

You open your mouth to answer but Marcus cuts in. “Actually, she was helping me find something.”

Your father’s head swings around to the General and his face lights up.

“Ah, there you are General Acacius!”

Before the General can say more your father continues, “I do hope she has not been boring you with her nonsense…”

“Not at all,” Marcus says. “She is a most gracious help.”

Your father looks between the two of you, his eyes narrowing.

“And just what is it, General, that you came into my private library looking for?” your father asks.

The General smiles warmly. “Your incredible collection of books on war, of course.”

A sadistic smile splits your father’s pursed lips. “Very good! Unfortunately, you are needed for more urgent matters. You will have to peruse my scrolls another time.”

With that he throws you a repulsed look and turns on his heel, clearly expecting the General to follow.

Marcus waits until the footsteps recede before taking long strides back to you.

“I am sorry,” he whispers as he takes your hand in his.

“What for?” you ask, your eyes tracking the movement as he lifts your hand to his lips.

“I will see you soon,” he promises before pulling you into his chest.

You gasp and lean into him, craning your neck as he dips his head. Your eyes close and your fingers curl against his cuirass but his warm breath merely fans your lips before he presses them to the corner of your mouth.

When he pulls away his expression is filled with yearning, and he gives your hand a squeeze before he lets it fall back to your side. Your lips are parted, and you sway on your feet as you watch him exit the library and follow in your father’s footsteps.

Days go by without a sight of the general and at the week’s end you can feel yourself withdrawing. You can’t focus on reading, every walk you take is spent searching for him, hoping you’ll cross paths and each night you lie awake until you remember nothing else but your dreams.

Dreams of the feel of his fingertips, his lips, his strong body pressed to yours…it’s enough to have you awakening with an aching need.

On one particularly uneventful evening you find yourself scouring the library for your book of Horace poetry. It’s been missing for days.

Deciding another walk might clear your head, you stomp away to the grounds near the Colosseum, wiggling your bare toes in the cool grass outside of the gladiator training school, while you look up at the clouds dancing across the blue sky.

You can hear the distant sound of the wooden practice weapons banging together and the indecipherable grunts and shouts of the training gladiators.

Then a commanding voice rings out over all the others and your breath hitches. You stand with a flurry of ungraceful movements and follow the sound to the open area where men are practicing.

Marcus walks tall between the lines, instructing and repositioning as he moves, all the while watching with keen eyes. You hide yourself as best you can behind the low stone wall and watch.

He’s a spectacle of power and grace and before you realize where your feet are carrying you, you’re standing in plain sight, eyes glued to the General.

“Princess,” one of the training men croons. “Have you come to enjoy the sights?”

Your eyes move slowly away from Marcus and land on the man who is speaking to you, and you lift your chin.

“I am merely out for a walk.”

He flexes his muscles and licks his lips as he eyes you hungrily.

Without warning you hear the crack of a hand against skin, and the man falls to his knees. The General stands above him.

“The Princess may enjoy whatever sights she wants without your commenting on it.”

He then brings his eyes to yours. “Forgive me. I hope you were not disturbed.”

“Not at all General,” you answer. “Just out for a walk…in search of some patience.”

Marcus’ eyes widen ever so slightly, barely enough for you to catch, but then you see his fist flex at his side and his lips twitch with a smile.

“I understand,” he replies. “I have been asked to oversee the training of the new gladiators and have been held up here at the training grounds…it is a test of my patience.”

With this new knowledge of why he’s been missing you smile and ask, “I hope you at least have had time do some reading?”

He steps closer, away from prying ears.

“I have actually.”

His smile is playful.

“Horace again?” you ask.

He nods with a slight incline of his head and says, “I hope you do not mind. It helps to pass the time here.”

“Not at all General,” you smile. “When will you be returning to the palace grounds?”

“Tonight,” he states. “I would like to visit the library again.”

You notice the trainees starting to get rowdy, their eyes warily darting between you and the General the longer you speak.

Marcus clears his throat and looks over his shoulder, causing the other men to straighten up and stand in line.

He starts to turn on his heel to address them but not before he says, quietly enough for only you to hear, “until tonight. Princess.”

The darkness of night blankets the sky and the oil lamp you hold does little to blot out the brilliance of the stars above as they twinkle through the openings in the library roof.

You’re staring up at them when he walks in. His footsteps are sure but quiet and when he reaches you, he takes the lamp from your fingers and sets it down on the table.

“I have never experienced a day longer than this,” he murmurs.

“Marcus,” you whisper, trying to restrain yourself from reaching out for him.

You look him over, noticing a large bandage wrapped around his upper bicep and gently lift your fingers to touch it.

“It is nothing,” he assures you, wrapping his fingers around yours and pulling you into his chest.

Tonight, he wears only a cloth tunic, and you can feel the way his muscles tense and shift beneath the soft fabric. Your fingertips glide across the wide breadth of his shoulders and then to toy with the pin holding the tunic in place.

You won’t meet his eyes and his grip tightens.

“Something troubles you,” he states.

“No,” you answer quickly, finally looking him in the eyes.

His eyebrows raise knowingly, and he waits.

“Yes,” you say this time, much more softly. “It is just that…the other night, here in the library…”

Your words die off with a sigh, but he finishes the thought for you.

“Why did I not kiss you?”

You suck in a breath.

“Princess. I would not have the first time my lips touch yours be anything less than perfection and under prying eyes I should not like to have been rushed.”

“Oh,” is all you can say as he easily walks you backward toward one of the stone pillars.

It’s cold when you back hits it, but you don’t care and instead press yourself closer to him.

“Marcus. Please.”

He growls out your name as he slides his hands up the curve of your waist, tucking one behind your neck and the other under your jaw. Your noses brush ever so lightly, and he closes his eyes with a deep inhale as his lips ghost along your skin.

His lips are soft and gentle as they touch your cheek, then your temple, your forehead, and finally they hover just above yours.

“Marcus…?”

“I fear that once I kiss you, I will never be able to stop.”

He breathes the words against your skin and breathes you in before his lips capture yours. It’s soft at first, tentative, but the moment you let slip the low moan at the back of your throat, it becomes insistent and intense, and you kiss him back with equal fervor.

@blackwidownat2814 @hiddles-rose @tripletstephaniescp @lizette50

[wasjustred]

ahhh iloveyourworkssomuch!! 💖 i'd like to request something along the lines of sugar mommy!larissa (maybe with smut, who knows *wink*) 'cause she's all i can think about these days... anyways, happy early new years!!!

Easy Does It - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: Larissa spoils you beyond comprehension. Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x f!Reader Warnings: Smut. A lot of it. (Cunnilingus, fingering, strap-on — all Reader receiving) Word Count: ~4.7k

Author’s Note: I hope this meets your expectations, anon! I originally intended to make Larissa way more domineering, but once I began writing it just didn’t feel like her——I tried to stay true to her character where I could. As always, feedback is welcome ﹠. appreciated! ♡ (un-beta-ed as per usual!) ╱ AO3

The arrangement you and Larissa have has been smoothly gliding along for about six months now: you meet for dinner every weekend, in a town about half an hour outside of Jericho. You wear an outfit she’s picked out for you, she pulls your seat out, you share conversation and good - expensive - food and drinks, and you end on the stoop of your apartment, leaning into the kiss she places on your cheek, with a weekly allowance in cash in your purse. It’s the perfect set-up, nothing you’d dare protest, but sometimes you honest to god wish she’d just break her own rules and rail you ‘till the bed breaks.

Tonight you meet her at The Aviary, draped in a black satin dress with a deep slit up the leg––one of her favorites. Larissa helps you into your seat as she usually does, but before she takes her own, she places a long velvet box on your empty appetizer plate.

“Ooh, what’s this?”

“Open it and see.” A small, proud smirk turns her lips, eyes sparkling. You run your fingers over the velvet and lift at the seam, features going slack with surprise when you realize what’s hidden inside: a collar necklace, glittering diamond-cut, softening into a single falling arc of gems which ebbs, finally, into a small, shining teardrop. Light from the restaurant’s fixtures seem drawn to it, gleaming to and fro in a scattered stream of reflection. Your gaze snaps back to hers almost immediately, heart pounding.

“Larissa, I–”

“Do you like it?”

“I– Of course I do, it’s– it’s so beautiful..” Your voice softens and tapers off as you return your attention to the box before you. It’s probably the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given to you, but you stop short of admitting this. “Help me put it on?” 

Larissa’s smile grows as she gathers the box in her hands, lifting the necklace from its cushion. She moves to stand behind you and tenderly brushes your hair aside; her hands are as soft as anything, so gentle in the way they handle you, securing the piece around your neck. Your own hand raises to rest atop the new weight at your clavicle, and when she sets her palms along your shoulders and squeezes, you shift your hand up to capture hers.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need one?” Larissa presses her lips to your cheek from behind before she retakes her seat, arching a brow in challenge. The answer is no, of course; this is how you work, special occasion or not. She always manages to keep you on your toes, though, far more thoughtful and intimate than any other ‘financeur’ you’ve ever humored in the past: Tennis bracelets set with gemstones which perfectly match your eyes, a new coffee bar set-up when you mentioned off-hand that Starbucks had discontinued your favorite drink, a signed first edition copy of your favorite book she ‘just so happened to come across’ while out of state. Much more than the simple, routine bank deposits and luxury brand pieces that were never quite you which you received from others. Larissa’s gifts have always been astoundingly personal.

You’ve never told her this, but you stopped dating altogether once your little dynamic began. How could anyone else compare? She makes you feel important without ever having to work for it ––– like you’re lovable, worthy, because you exist, and nothing more. You’re breaking  your own rules, being so enamored with her, but you refuse to dwell on it.

“No, you don’t…” You trail off as your food arrives, ducking your head in thanks as the waiter sets everything out before you. Any discussion of her gift to you ends there on Larissa’s own accord, swiftly and advantageously moving on to a new topic as soon as the waiter has left you. The rest of the night is spent sipping expensive wine and musing instead on all of the high-culture goings-on you never get to discuss with anyone else: Art, ballet, classical music. Larissa’s a delicious trove of knowledge and opinions and she impresses you with each turn of a new topic. You often find yourself wondering - not just tonight, but many nights whilst basking in her presence - why she’s chosen you. You can hold good conversation, of course, and have an appreciation for the finer things in life usually reserved for those older and/or wealthier than you, but what’s always been curious, what’s always given you pause, is that she never asks for anything else in return. You have no choice but to ask yourself what it is you possibly have to offer to a woman like her––but you almost always fall short of a satisfying answer.

She’s talking you both through an analysis of the most recent play she brought you to when you take one of her hands in your own, tracing the lines of her palm as you listen. Larissa stumbles over her words at first contact, a rare occurrence for her, and blushes pink at the sensation. When you glance up at her in question she quickly averts her gaze and carries on, moving to smooth her thumb over yours as you continue. You love her fingers: they’re long, delicate, awfully reminiscent of the Greek statues she enjoys waxing poetic about. It’s an instance in which you’re reminded art, very often, echoes us in a continuous cycle of give and take.

You don’t say a word when you notice her face darken another shade as you press a kiss to the inside of her wrist before moving on to dote upon her other hand.

She’s not once explicitly told you, but Larissa’s never expected you to take a physical liking to her. She set the rules she did early on for a reason, knowing she could live with looking and not touching, taking care of you and watching your face turn alight with each gift or special night out without ever ending the evening by your side. No sex necessary, no physical affection expected. But here you are, fawning over her, and she’s never been more conflicted.

To assuage the feeling, she convinces herself it’s the wine that’s made you this way––a good bottle will go a long way, thus your touch must be the product of inebriation, not genuine affection. You’ve both long since finished off your meals when Larissa pays the bill and drives you home as she normally does, to an apartment she partly finances (not fully, at your own insistence that there are some things you should take care of yourself) and walks you to your door, stooping to kiss your cheek. Routine. 

She is right about one thing, however, and that’s the potency of the house wine tonight. Not on your reasoning, but your self-control. You spent the car ride home admiring her profile in the passing streetlamps and traffic lights, studying the way each red light cast itself across her, how the passing headlights of opposing traffic bathed her in a cinematic glow you associated only, appropriately, with Vivien Leigh in A Streetcar Named Desire. Ghostlike, almost. Ethereal. And at that same wine’s behest, you lean further now into her goodnight kiss than you’d normally allow yourself.

It’s as she prepares to leave that you decide - anchored by the weight of the diamonds around your neck - that this is the night you’ll throw caution to the wind, fervently hoping it won’t backfire and end with her rejection and a ruined arrangement that you’d both worked to preserve over the past six months.

“Do you want to join me for a nightcap? I know we don’t usually, but.. I’d like you to. If you’d like to, of course. If you don’t that’s–––”

“Y/N,” she interrupts. You can hardly tell but her heart’s just about burst out of her chest. There’s an inner battle waging right on the precipice of her ribcage and your bright, hopeful eyes staring up at her aren’t making it any easier to parse out. Do you feel obligated somehow to pay her back for the necklace? She knows you know she’d never ask that of you, that your arrangement is not a traditional one, but has she unknowingly pushed the bounds all the same? Did you simply imbibe too much and don’t really have a clue what it is you’re saying?

Or, perhaps.. Most dangerously: Do you mean it?

“I don’t want you to feel as though you have to… ‘pay me back’ for tonight. That was never my intention.”

She volleys her own inner turmoil dead straight in your direction and stares down at you with what might be, if you squint hard enough, a nervous expression.

You lean sideways against the door and cross your arms over yourself, appraising her. Does she really not want you? What the hell does she get out of this if she doesn’t? You just can’t wrap your head around it, and while you insisted to yourself you’d never outwardly question the bounds of your relationship and why they’ve settled where they are, you’ve put yourself at a crossroads.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

She balks.

“What? Of course I do. What does that have to do with anything?” Larissa’s expression is a mixture of incredulity and apprehension. You decide to bite the bullet then as she lingers uncertainly beneath the moonlight.

“I don’t understand what you get out of this. Am I not–– you think I’m pretty but you don’t want to touch me? You pay for my livelihood but you don’t want anything tangible in return?” You both purse your lips simultaneously and you’d laugh if the situation weren’t so dire all of a sudden. “You confuse me, Larissa.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, a small cloud bursting forth as she sighs.

You fucked it, didn’t you? Fucked it right to hell, and now she’s never going to speak to you again.

“You’re an idiot, do you know that?” The air goes still.

…

It’s news to you. 

Larissa suddenly pushes forward and traps you against the front of your door, hands leveled at your waist. “I’ve always wanted you,” she grits out, her arms tensing at your sides. “I just didn’t want you to feel as though you had to. Return the sentiment, that is. You’re too precious for that.” Her voice is low and rough in your ear, strangled. You grab hold of her forearms to keep yourself upright when her tone shoots right through you, breathing heavily. You gradually lift your gaze, poring over every curve of hers as you do, and meet her eyes. They’ve nearly gone black with lust, and a subtle quiver in her lip tells you everything you need to know.

“Kiss me.”

Larissa groans, which is admittedly not the reaction you’d expected, and presses further into you, her nose brushing against your cheek.  You can feel the heat of her grow, ensnaring you in perfect contrast to the cool night air.

“You have to tell me you want it, darling. I need you to say it.” … Oh. A new wave of arousal surges through you as you turn your head ever so slightly, her lips hovering just out of reach. The shared breath between you has become fraught with possibility, with the overwhelming, unspent energy that’s been collecting over the last six months without either of you quite noticing. Of course this is what she needs: confirmation, not that you’re hers but that she’s yours, by choice and choice alone.

“I want you, Larissa. Please,” you whisper, squeezing her arms in an attempt to ground yourself. She says nothing in return, instead immediately closing the distance and engulfing you in a desperate, searing kiss. Your cheeks burn and it’s all you can do not to melt into her fully, sucking in a sharp breath as her tongue slides against your bottom lip. This, this, you realize, is exactly what you’d imagined: Feeling her against you, wrapped up tightly in her arms, being drawn in and freed all at once, struggling to contain the desire you feel pulsing within yourself. It’s like Larissa’s split open your mind and picked through every thought there, coming away with only the most indecent imaginings and putting them to use as her hips pitch forward and her hands grasp achingly at the roundness of your thighs.

“Open the door,” she husks, suddenly ripping herself away and turning you at the waist to face the door. You fumble for your keys as she scores your neck and shoulders with hot, open-mouth kisses, running the tip of her tongue along the muscle that pulls taut there.

“F-fuck.” The chuckle she gives in response to your whimpering, shaking when you can’t fit the key into its slot, only weakens you further. Larissa must know her effect well as she wraps an arm around you to hold you upright, the other grabbing the key from you and swiftly unlocking the door in one go.

“Trust me, I’m trying.”

Laughter follows you both as you take the stairs one at a time, pausing every few to take her tongue in your mouth and run your hands along her front. You bypass the living room once you reach the landing - a feat in itself - and lead Larissa straight to your bedroom, kicking one heel off in the hall and the other at the threshold of your room. 

She stops you just before you reach the bed and holds you steady for a moment: “Hold on, I want to look at you..” You hair is mussed, curls losing their hold in the heat of your entanglement, chest heaving and red. Larissa steps forward to brush her thumb over your lips, searching your face for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

She doesn’t find any.

“Christ, you’re a pretty thing,” she hums. The pad of her thumb pulls at your bottom lip and you acquiesce, tilting your chin up before taking her finger into your mouth, rolling your tongue against its tip, watching her with wide eyes that imply an innocence you don’t possess. A hiss escapes her when your teeth come down around her knuckle and she scowls, gripping your jaw with an intensity that rivets the surrounding atmosphere as she rips her hand away, smashing your lips together once more.

In the next second the backs of your knees are buckling against the edge of the mattress and you squeak; Larissa had slipped a hand over your sternum and shoved, launching you down hard into the bed. Wet heat urges your hips forward as she crawls over you, but her hands swiftly come down to force them back into the mattress, trapping you there.

“Patience, darling.” You scoff as she begins the journey down your body, placing lazy kisses to your lips, cheek, jaw, chest while her fingers deftly work to pull your dress from you. You lift your back so she can snake a hand around and drag the zipper down to its end at the top of your hips, wriggling free and moving to pull at her own dress–––but she grabs your wrists, pinning them above you with a devious smirk. 

“Ah, ah. Let me spoil you,” she murmurs into the crook of your neck, one hand traveling to cup the dampness between your legs. Electricity cracks against your spine at her touch; you’re sweltering and freezing all at once, watching her eyes rake over you with a hunger you’ve never seen on her before. Her fingers draw idle circles around your clit as she works her way down your body, leaving a trail of wetness in her wake where tongue meets flesh, nipping at the precipice of your hip bones, glancing up at you before she licks you through your panties. There’s no helping the whine you turn free when she all but purrs at the taste she gets of you from the soaked fabric.

“Larissa, please,” you huff, lifting your hips up to meet her mouth. She takes three steps then in quick succession: chuckles into the skin of your inner thigh; pulls your panties down and off of you; and presses a series of messy, teasing kisses to your bare sex. Your fingers clutch at the top of your duvet as she finally begins to devour you, breath hitching as her tongue circles your entrance and delves into you. In a moment of white hot desperation, you hook your legs around her, calves flexing against her back as you shudder into her touch. She’s ravenous, consuming you with long, uninterrupted strokes that ride on the flat of her tongue, lapping your slickness up and winding into you all at once. The coil is tight within you already, pulsing with every movement of her mouth. You’re almost worried it’ll be over before it scarcely has had the chance to start, but a quiet, bemused voice in the back of your mind ridicules you: Larissa is nothing if not generous.

“You taste divine,” she breathes, before returning her ministrations to your clit, sucking and popping with the filthiest fucking moan you’ve ever heard. The feeling of her tongue against that tight bundle of nerves prompts your eyes to roll back, eyelids fluttering, and imbues your hands with a mind of their own, working them swiftly into her hair and pulling her as close to your cunt as you can get her, hips lurching in an unsteady rhythm. You can feel her amusement at your desperation as distinctly as you feel her mouth, but it’s quickly forgotten when she slides two fingers into you with an ease that makes you lightheaded. The sound of your wetness is sinful, and you have to admit it only spurs you on.

“Fuck me, fuck me, pleasefuckme––” Larissa’s grinning against you as she pumps her fingers, curling into you with a startling accuracy that leaves you breathless and aching. You press your cheek to your shoulder in a feeble attempt to keep yourself above the threshold dividing pleasure and bliss, useless as she slips another finger into you and flicks her tongue against you, quickening her pace as she follows the mounting tone of your pleas. Every touch spreads a warmth through you impossible to ignore, stirring a frantic need beneath the surface of your skin.

“Cum for me, darling, cum for me, that’s right.” Larissa presses the heel of her hand into the space just below the swell of your stomach and the coil snaps suddenly, sharply, sucking all of the air out of you at the same time that you yelp and tense with equal force, clamping around her face as your orgasm tears through you. She continues to lap at you even as your hands push at her, holding fast to your thighs to keep her place. Your legs shake as she builds you up in the same breath that you’re coming down, a second orgasm already rearing its head.

“I can’t,” you keen, but Larissa shakes her head and unlatches briefly to disagree.

“Yes you can, Y/N––be a good girl for me.” It washes over you when she lowers her face again and wraps her lips around your clit, sucking with an unfazed firmness that shocks you to your center. You’re tingling over every limb, pacing your breaths to ride you through this second crest. “That’s it..” Larissa coos, running her hand over your leg comfortingly. You can hardly breathe as the shockwaves roll through you one after the other, and the darkness of the ceiling above you seems to double in size as you stare in a daze.

Your muscles melt into the mattress one by one, sinking deep as Larissa finally pulls her head away and crawls forward to kiss you; you can taste your slickness on her tongue, familiar and tangy. When you part, gasping for air, you wrap a hand around the back of her neck and press your foreheads together, gazing up into her eyes with the softest look you can muster after so thoroughly falling apart in her hands.

“My turn?” She laughs loud and heartily at your doe-eyed demeanor. You’re itching to touch her, to taste her, and she knows it.

“Mmm, maybe.” Larissa shrugs and rises up from her position over you, sliding off to the side of the bed where you can’t reach her––and not for lack of trying. A whine catches in your throat when she shoots a withering look over her shoulder, patting the space beside her. “Help me with my dress, darling.”

You waste no time in flipping over onto your knees, shuffling over to her and grappling with the zipper of her dress. You flush when she laughs both at your inability to get it down in one swift motion and the frustrated little growl that bubbles up from your chest.

“Not funny,” you complain, gritting your teeth as she shifts and the zipper gives, revealing the smooth, snowy expanse of her back. Instilled with a renewed sense of hunger, you push the fabric away from both of her shoulders and continue the journey down and around to her breasts, thrilled she’s forgone a bra tonight as you palm the supple flesh there and roll her nipples between your fingers. The sigh she expels is a ragged one, her hands dwarfing yours whilst her head falls back against your shoulder. You revel in the sight of her lip caught between her teeth.

“I want to fuck you.” You just barely catch it in between her labored breaths and your own thunderous heartbeat, but you do, and you turn to glance at her curiously before her meaning hits you square in the face.

“But––”

She cuts you off. “I want to destroy you, Y/N. You can taste me later,” Larissa mutters, pivoting without another warning and capturing your lips again. You wouldn’t complain if it weren’t for the utter distress you felt to get your hands on her. She doesn’t give you a chance to rebut, however, as she slips out of her dress and climbs over you, guiding your hands to grip her ass. “Later, I promise.” She pulls back to appraise you, taking a rigorous inventory that she’ll commit to memory if it’s the last thing she does: Your flushed skin, the way you can’t keep still under her touch, the unmistakable shine of desire in your eyes.

“In th-the nightstand,” you stammer. Suddenly the realization that Larissa is here, in your bed, and you, at her mercy, is too much at once. You’re trembling with need and anticipation. She tilts her head at you, one second, two passing before she follows your guidance and pulls the drawer open, grinning wickedly at what she finds there.

“Harness?”

You nod vigorously, propping yourself up on your elbows and directing her through another drawer of your dresser. The slow, methodical way in which she fastens the leather around herself surely burns itself into your brain, and you can’t help the shameless moan that seeps out when she smooths an indulgent layer of lubricant along the silicone from base to tip, a delicious sight between her legs.

Larissa approaches with an emphasized swing to her hips, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to your lips before she nudges you to scoot back into the middle of the bed, positioning herself above you with a hand on either side of your head. She dips her face down into the hollow of your throat. 

Her voice vibrates against you despite her hushed tone. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

Your brain short-circuits at her words, imperfect timing. God, she’s fucking hot.

She lifts her head again to catch your gaze and smirks, nibbling on the tip of your chin. “Use your words.”

“Yes, yes, I’m ready,” you rasp, drawing your nails down the broad expanse of her back in anticipation.

The moment she slides into you is pure ecstasy: your toes curl and you haphazardly clamber for purchase upon her skin as she buries herself deep within you, stalling for a few moments to give you time to adjust. The way Larissa groans into the motion draws out an amusing - filthy - rumination about her being able to feel every stroke as with her own body, delighting in your wetness. She fills you seamlessly, snapping her hips against you before slowly drawing herself back, only to repeat the pattern and plunge into you as deeply as she’s able. It’s bruising and pleasurable all at once, how she brushes up against your walls and the ridges of the toy hit what your mind insists is every nerve-ending within you.

You rock together desperately, bodies moving as one as if you’d been doing this for centuries, mapping each other out and bringing each other to your peak. You savor the novel, tangled scent of sweat and arousal, a newly formed association with the sound of Larissa’s broken whimpers now frozen in your psyche.

A startled breath leaves you as Larissa abruptly anchors her weight to one side and pulls you on top of her, flipping your positions. Her arms wrap tight around you, looped at your back and around your shoulder as she fucks up into you at a crushing pace. You whine into the crook of her neck and realize you’re on the verge of tears, an overwhelming wave of pleasure and desperation wracking your body. Quiet grunts accompany her each thrust, slowing just so until it’s a steady pattern you can count to like clockwork, brutal and sharp at every buck of her hips. Your knees are aching, folded as they are, but the tight, coiling sensation within you overrides any and all discomfort, merely a quiet nagging in your brain; your focus is settled precisely on the angle of her cock and how her nails dig into your skin as you grind against each other. She’s close, too. You can feel it. It’s there in the shallowness of her breaths, in the urgency of her pelvis against yours, in the subtle arch of her back. You try to meet her where she’s at in your muddled state, pitching your hips backwards and down when she thrusts upwards––and you know it’s worked when she gasps and her hands scramble to lock together at the small of your back.

“Yes, that’s it darling. Just like that,” Larissa pants, using the leverage of her hold on you to help you fuck yourself. The only sounds permeating the room are that of your mingled breaths and her cock driving into you with a consistent, almost unforgiving rhythm. 

“Pleasepleaseplease, ohfuck––” 

“Y/N–––”

She tenses with you and cries out as your orgasms hit you both at once, ravaging you beyond reason. You’re hyper-aware of the way her breasts feel pressed against you, the way one of her hands flies up to bury itself in your hair as you ride her through your climax. Larissa’s hips stutter as she whines into your shoulder, sinking her teeth into you, and you marvel at the feeling of her muscles clenching around you, from the sinewy stretch of her arms to her thighs rested between your own.

Everything you’d hoped for. Fantasized about. Greedily deliberated again and again whilst watching her across the table in another fancy restaurant in another unfamiliar town.

Larissa is careful as she pulls out of you, slow and deliberate so as not to disturb the tenderness there. You remain curled on top of her but she doesn’t complain, rather rubbing your back in long, languid movements and whispering affirmations in you ear, a sweet mixture of ‘breathe darling, I’ve got you’ and more headily, ‘you did so well for me, you’re so good, you took me so well’. When you allow yourself to fall to the side of her, she shimmies out of the harness and tosses it somewhere off the edge of the bed, ignoring its clatter as she wraps you up in her arms. You burrow yourself further into her warmth and sigh at the feeling, content.

“Now is it my turn?” you ask, voice low and raked over with exhaustion. The belly laugh she gives is worth all the weariness in the world. “You’re incorrigible!”

[ratwithhands]

Fun fact I used to consume a lot of Land of the Lustrous stuff.

Anyways this is one of my many Land of the Lustrous OCs, Vivianite. Mohs hardness of 1.5, dark green/blue in colour, and very old. Due to the nature of his weak composition, Vivianite can't actually do much of anything, and has had to live under very specific conditions.

Vivianite wears a tight full body uniform to hold any chipped pieces in place, and is kept in a box stuffed with loose cloth to ensure minimal damage. If he comes into contact with light, he begins to oxidize and darken, so he's kept in a windowless room with curtains over the entrance.

That's all to say he's isolated and bored. He spends much of his time inactive, but he'll jump at the opportunity for conversation if there's someone around. Certain gems visit him to chat, get guidance, or give him the recent news. A task given to some gems is to clear his room of dust, and maybe bring him some books if he's up for it.

Vivian sees himself as an older sibling/friend to many of the other gems, and as such he's very keen on providing a listening ear and giving advice where possible to those who need it. He's essentially emotional support in a can.

Other notes/details:

not all gems know Vivian exists! He's hidden away so most gems wouldn't see him unless they were actively looking for him. A lot of the older ones know about him, but the younger ones don't

Rutile is endlessly tired of having to glue him back together so often due to his softness, which is part of why he has a tighter uniform to keep all his broken pieces in place

Vivian struggles with walking, he tends to be slow and stumbly

the tanks in Vivian's room are for jellyfish. Gems who are sent to clean his room have to switch out the jellyfish too. They're there to provide a faint light source so he doesn't go completely inactive

Vivian, despite living in a box in the dark, has a lot of technical knowledge about things as a result of millennia of going through the library collection. He' a living encyclopedia and can usually offer some answers if a gem has questions on a particular subject

his internal structure is basically a lot of shards stuck together like fibers, so he does minor repairs on himself by affixing strands of his hair into empty spots. He's had his fingers repaired and replaced this way often

In the few instances where Vivian has gone outside, he has an abnormally high amount of energy as a result of his inclusions being able to work at full capacity in the light

If I remember anything else I'll add it, anyways have a good day!

[solohux]

Thief Kylo Ren is the best in the galaxy at what he does. No job is too big, no treasure too hidden, no jewel too sacred. So when he hears about the gem of Arkanis, he’s intrigued. Said to be red in colour and locked away in the bowels of Arkanis Academy, the gem is said to be so heavily guarded that no one has ever set eyes upon it. It’s the pride and joy of the Arkanisian people, a source of hope. Therefore, Kylo has to have it.

Getting into the Academy is harder than Kylo anticipated but he works at it, disguising himself as a tutor and using his manipulative Force-powers to trick these weak-minded fools into letting him behind enemy lines. It isn’t long before he’s in General Brendol Hux’s private office, looking for the entrance to the gem’s hidden vault. He finds a hidden keypad that has a 16 digit passcode on it but Kylo has worked through tougher doors than this one. Soon enough, the wall parts to reveal a turbolift door. Whilst descending, Kylo changes his clothes from that of a First Order tutor and back into his thief-like clothing, complete with gloves so that he can handle the delicate gem into his bag to sell on to the highest bidder.

But none of this is what he was expecting. He thought there’d be a plinth or a case with the red gem inside of it but instead, the turbolift doors open into a white room where there’s a screen of duraglass in front of him and living chambers behind it. There’s a bed, a kitchenette, a desk and massive piles of books and blueprints. And standing amongst it all is a beautiful, red-haired man. He looks to be about Kylo’s age but is slight in stature. He’s barefoot, dressed in a white shirt and white pants, looking more than alarmed at the intruder in front of him.

Kylo tells the man that he just wants the gem of Arkanis and then he’ll leave.

“So that’s what they call me,” the man shrugs, huffing a laugh out before picking up his fallen chair and sitting back at the desk, resuming his work with the blueprints.

Kylo’s confusion is palpable. It cannot be that this skinny man is the gem that he’s been searching for. He can’t be. Someone would know that there’s no jewel, just a man in a glass box.

Kylo introduces himself to the man. The man tells Kylo that his name is Armitage, the mind behind all of the ingenious designs of the First Order’s military and armoury. Annotated blueprints for the First Order’s Starkiller planet are pinned to the wall as well as drawings of ships and blasters and stormtrooper armour. There may not be a physical jewel to steal but Kylo is content enough with stealing the gem of Arkanis for himself, to use Armitage’s ideas and creations for his own financial gain.

So he does. He breaks Armitage out of his glass cage and they escape, with Kylo making it very clear to Armitage that he is his prisoner and will be treated as such. Armitage doesn’t seem to care what happens to him so Kylo’s threats are meaningless; Kylo has never come across anyone who is long scared of him and it’s strangely endearing. Kylo finds himself calling Armitage ‘gem’ a lot whilst they’re cooped up in his ship whilst he travels back to his home on the other side of the galaxy. Armitage is snarky, making quips all the time.

But all Kylo has to do is get back to his hideout without the gem being harmed or escaping. He hadn’t accounted for the feelings that would develop along the way. Armitage is beautiful in every way.

Can a thief truly call himself a thief if he allows his own heart to be stolen?

[n7punk]

She-ra (2018) Official Merch

I've made a loooong post about She-ra merch and its weirdness, but I wanted to summarize it in the most comprehensive list of official merch for the 2018 Netflix reboot that I could assemble. I'm sure I've missed some stuff, though, so I'll update this if I find anything. Thanks to everyone who contributed, especially Clare and Tippen.

I did deep dives (with pictures and details) on con exclusive and promotion exclusive merch. Basic info on those is included below the read more of this post.

Everything with [L] at the end of its bulletpoint - or an * inside one - has a photo in the long post. I provided links to official photos/listings when possible, but most of them are defunct.

Pins/Accessories/Clothing (active):

A bunch of jewelry (necklaces, rings, earrings) and enamel pins from Han Cholo (+ one iron-on patch). I've seen resellers claim the chibi pins were exclusive to a convention, but they're up on the website. The long post* has pictures of these if they ever go down, and the actual convention-exclusive ones can be found in the con post.

Amazon print-on-demand clothing (+ tote bags and pop sockets) with a lot of different designs that are hidden on the site but still purchasable, see this post for details, and here's the direct link. Once you find a design you like, you can search its name in the regular search bar (for instance, there's a shirt design called "Power Stripes Catra," for that one you have to search just "Stripes Catra") to see all the kinds of items it comes on, usually a variety of tops/outerwear, maybe a tote, and sometimes pop sockets.

Bioworld also had licensed merch, but some designs are hidden on their store page, so the link shows everything available but includes both the reboot and the 80s original. As of writing, they have one lunchbox, two adult t-shirts, one adult crop top, and two youth shirts for the reboot.

Media (active):

A DVD of just the first three seasons (there's a box sleeve version that includes stickers and it's never clear in listings if this is the only version and they just don't show the sleeve or if they're two separate things). This is still for sale at multiple retailers, but there's no way we're ever getting a full boxset.

There were a couple of books: the Rebel Princess Guide, the Legend of the Fire Princess graphic novel, and then some small "novels." These are still available at multiple retailers, but the novels weren't made by the crew and at least some of these contradict basic facts from season one, so they're less canon than many fanfics despite being licensed.

Everything from this point on is out of production and only available via resale.

Toys/Figures (defunct):

Eight fashion dolls. The line had Adora, Glimmer, Bow, Catra, and She-ra (season one version), Battle Armor She-ra (2-pack with a model of Swift Wind featuring their Battle of Bright Moon looks), and a deluxe She-ra & Shadow Weaver 2-pack (SDCC 2019 exclusive). These dolls were supposed to be Target exclusive, but the rollout was botched and now they're collectors' items. There were also four cancelled dolls that were supposed to be part of the line.

Two Super7 action figures in a Catra & Adora 2-pack with limited articulation. They're rare collector's items too, though this time it's just because they were a limited run. [L]

A plastic toy Sword of Protection and shield sized for children. The sword lit up and said "For the honor of Grayskull!" when you lifted it. The gem was semi-transparent and had a picture of She-ra under it. This was a Target and Amazon exclusive (Mattel & Target are always holding hands 🤝). [L]

Clothes/Dress-up/Accessories (defunct):

Four licensed She-ra costumes (season one version) of varying quality: a Target-exclusive one in limited sizes, one from Disguise in a wider range of sizes, one from Party City (as well as a wig and Sword of Protection prop licensed under Classic Media) for children, and one from Rubie's Costume Company (with a season one Catra costume to match, as well as separate accessory packs and wigs for both characters) that was also available at Party City. [L]

Her Universe used their Netflix license to make three shirts, two jackets, an earring set, and a wallet. Photos in the long post* if these links go down (they are discontinued, after all). Bioworld (remember them?) are actually the producers of the earrings with their name rather than Her Universe's branding being found on the backing card.

Hot Topic made a few shirts (like, three. I don't have the primary link for the third design). [L]

Misc (defunct):

Zaks Design-A-Tumbler, a plastic see-through drink tumbler with a sticker sheet provided so you can place the character graphics inside as desired. Features the key character art seen on most other merch for the Best Friend Squad as well as the sword, the moonstone, Swift Wind for the horse girls, and some random sparkles and hearts to fill space. It was available via Amazon and Walmart.

Comcanroll made a Sword of Protection keychain, also defunct. [L]

Beneath the cut are con exclusives and promotional items that were not for sale (at all, or at least by themselves) but that you can still probably hunt down online. Also... still available apps.

I can't believe this is real but there are two apps. She-Ra Stickers is available on iOS and Android and is exactly what you expect: "stickers" (pngs) to send in texting conversations. She-ra Gems of Etheria (also still available on iOS and Android) is a match 3+ game. It doesn't have micro transactions or ads (since, you know, the whole thing is an ad) so it's actually better than most things on the app store.

@tippenfunkaport also made a post about "digital merch" (backgrounds, printed papercrafts, etc) that Dreamworks posted online.

Promotion Exclusives:

I made a separate post for promo-exclusive merch. Things marked with an [L] still have photos in the long post, but photos are better gathered for all of these things in the promo-exclusive post, so please look at that one if any of these interest you.

Lootcrate/Lootwear made a pair of socks, a notebook, and a tumbler all featuring the season one She-ra silhouette. These were only available as part of their subscription service and not for individual sale. [L]

A Sonic kids meal tie-in that featured: magnets of the characters, funko-esque She-ra and Hordak figures, Swift Wind & Imp "straw buddies," and a small inflatable toy Sword of Protection. [L]

The following is promotional material that was never available to the general public:

A statuette of She-ra sent out to family bloggers to promote season four. Very limited due to the tiny production and being fragile. [L]

An equally rare metal lunchbox was sent out exclusively to influencers to promote season one.

Media press kits included a number of items that made it to the public as con-exclusives (see below for more details): collectors cards, buttons, and a foam tiara.

Stickers plugging the Dreamworks Careers' socials were also produced, likely for recruitment. [L]

Gray zip-up hoodies with a small sword on the front (pocket area placement) and a larger logo on the back were made for the crew and never available outside of Dreamworks.

A shirt featuring a graphic of She-ra riding Swift Wind with the She-ra logo in the corner - distribution & source currently unknown. Looks similar but is distinct from an existing Amazon POD design. Best guess is it was given out at an event (con, reviewer promo, employee event, etc), but I'm putting it here since I have no clue where it was from.

Con exclusives (defunct):

I made a separate post for con-exclusive promo items. Some of these still have photos in the long post, but photos and details about which cons they were available at and such are gathered in the con-exclusive post.

Button pin sets (4 sets, 4 buttons each) were at comic cons. These were possibly also available on Amazon for a time but I can't find confirmation on that beyond a backing card logo that could just mean the backing card itself was produced by Amazon. They aren't for sale now either way.

A foam She-ra crown and flat plastic/foam Sword of Protection, handed out at multiple cons.

She-ra socks designed after her uniform (including a cape on the back) seem to have been given out at cons. Photos are only in the long post* because they aren't good and I ran out of room.

There's a number of official poster designs that were handed out (mostly as mini posters) at cons, but most listings online are reprints.

Collector's cards were handed out at cons, probably SDCC.

Temporary tattoos, stickers, bookmarks, and coloring sheets were handed out at Power-Con (years unknown) and possibly other locations, likely those that sold the Scholastic books. [L]

A plastic shopping bag, made to be a disposable advertisement, exclusive to Anime Expo 2019. This one also don't have a photo in the con exclusive post because it's just one of the poster designs already in there, but there is a (wrinkly) photo in the long post*.

[wishingstarinajar]

so i said in the last ask that i had some head canons. and i wrote one out. it ended up being a lot longer then it was meant to be but here is it. (also im not the best at writing, having dyslexia sucks so sorry if it sounds a bit off or anything.) hope you like it :)

Case has a secret room in his lab/office. 

This room is hidden behind a bookshelf, and to open it you need to pull on a certain book and the middle shelf moves to the side, like the secret doors in movies. 

Once the shelf moves you're greeted with a long dark hallway. No light. No sound. It's all pretty scary and spooky until you reach a big metal door with a complex lock on it. Your first thought is that it's just another room filled with experiments and computers. Or maybe something darker. That's why it's so hidden.  

But if you somehow manage to unlock the door (or it was left open) then…

The first thing to catch your eyes is a big fancy old shiny gramophone sitting on a dark red-wood cabinet with records stored neatly underneath it. Above the gramophone is a photo of Case, his brother and queen, in a golden frame to match the horn of the gramophone. Under your feet in front of the door is a little dark red doormat. It looks pretty old.

The left side of the room is full of sewing equipment. Everything is neatly laid out. There is a big table in the middle with an industrial grade sewing machine mounted to it. Near the table is one of those fancy expensive mannequins with a half finished project pinned up on it. 

Against the wall just next to the door is a small desk with a big pin board hanging on the wall above. The pin board is covered in photos, patterns, little sketches of coats and corsets, a few buttons and gems on it too along with some scraps of fabric and post it notes. 

On the desk there’s a notebook with a hand made pattern next to it, as well as a little cup holder with pens, pencils and chalk. Next to that is a tiny annoying dog shaped pin cushion and a little box filled with sewing needles and more pins. You can never have too many pins. 

Sitting just under the desk is a little red stool on wheels. 

Around the room, and under the big table there are boxes and containers. You can't see inside them. it must just be storage. On top of one of the containers is an older looking sewing machine and an over-locker. 

The walls are lined with shelves filled with big rolls of all different types and colours of materials and fabrics. 

At the far corner of the room there’s a set of drawers that matches the red-wood cabinet of the gramophone with golden handles and trimming. On top of the cabinet is a lamp and an empty wine glass. 

Next to that cabinet is a big rack of clothes, That are all mostly the same colours that Case likes to wear, that being red and silvery shiny grey. Most of the clothes are corsets or have some kind of corset built into them.

The other side of the well lit room is mostly empty. This is when you notice the fact that the floor of this secret room is wooden. It’s a nice change from the cold tiled ground of the lab. 

The only thing in this half of the room is a big dark red well loved comfy looking armchair with a little grey pillow sitting on it. In front of the armchair sits a matching ottoman. On the back wall of the room, near the armchair is a small window covered by some dark red curtains that match the red doormat. 

Just next to the armchair is a wine rack filled with fancy bottles of fine wine. The top of the rack acts as a table and has a few wine glasses resting on it. The glasses look pretty fancy and expensive, one has a golden handle and a few others are made of clear crystal with ornate patterns and designs in them. 

You overheard something about Case liking to dance. Perhaps this big open space is where he practices. 

The only other thought that crosses your mind is why keep all of this hidden? (the answer to that is this as the only other room big enough that would fit the big sewing table and the armchair.) 

You shouldn't enter rooms you weren't invited to~

Damn, you went in-depth about his stuff! But it's all rather fitting for him, very fancy. Nice work!

I really love the last bit because, yes x'D Case doesn't hide away his corsets, sewing machines, designs, gramophone and records. He's too proud of these things. Just cozy at home, away from the lab in Waterfalls and prying eyes.

Megalosomnia belongs to @megalommi~

[petrolstationflowers]

Do your sims yearn for the dark embrace of the mines? Obsess over shiny stones, have a collection of hard hats? Why not give the Mining career a go, where they can dig up all the dirt and rocks they desire! This is the last in the batch of requests from Catrillion

This job is available for YA - Elder, and you can join via the Science Lab. No opportunities, uniforms, or books. Please note you will need Ambitions installed as you need the hidden Collecting and Consignment skills.

Three skill tones are available at work, with no boss or coworkers:

Swing Pickaxe (Athletics) Gather Resources (Collecting) Sell Findings (Consignment)

Please note Collecting and Consignment are both hidden skills, which you can track through MasterController. Athletics and Collecting appear at Level 2, but Consignment won't appear until level five. The carpool will also not show up until level 5. This career only goes up to level 8.

Levels under the readmore:

Pet Rock Collector - 10 simoleans p/h, 12:00 - 16:00, M-F Description - You’re down to eating wildflower salads and artistically stacking rocks you find in the park because you can’t afford decor. Times are tough and the grocery store isn’t hiring – what to do? Luckily the old mines have just opened up again and they’ll accept anyone without claustrophobia and enjoys hitting rocks. It’s better than the unemployment office, so get applying! Human Canary - 12 simoleans p/h, 06:00 - 14:00, M-F Description - Nothing quite says “expendable,” like being told to monitor the gas levels lest they get too high. You’ve been given a box with a scary looking radar and a blinking light and told when the box starts beeping, sound the alarm and tell your fellow miners to get out. If you don’t die from carbon monoxide poisoning, there actually might be a career in this! Cart Pusher - 15 simoleans p/h, 06:00 - 14:00, M-F Description - Another unfortunate soul gets to be the canary now you’ve moved on to bigger and better things. Granted, it’s only wheeling carts of coal and mined ore along the tracks so they can be sent to the surface, but you’re getting your step count in and there’s less danger of suffocating. Do a good job and you might actually get to sit down next time you’re promoted! Rock Inspector - 20 simoleans p/h, 14:00 - 22:00, M-F Description - A chair… a coffee machine… central heating… after too long working underground, this is bliss. You’re tasked with sorting the rocks into anything that might be remotely valuable, sorting your pebbles from your coal, your diamonds from your quartz. You’ll need a keen eye to tell them apart and plenty of patience, so stock up on podcasts and polish your magnifying glass. Consignment Carrier - 25 simoleans p/h, 09:00 - 17:00, M-F Description - Finally, out into the fresh air! Your bosses have deemed you trustworthy enough to take the gems and coal to the local consignment store and barter the best prices for them. Strong arms are a must, as well as the gift of the gab – because if you get short changed, it’ll be coming out your pocket. Money Seeking Miner - 50 simoleans p/h, 06:00 - 14:00, M-F Description - Fresh air is great and all, but there’s gold in them hills and you’ve got bills to pay. Since there’s been talk of mysterious yellow eyes in the mine, workers have quit en masse and management are offering big incentives to get back down in the pit. Plus they’ve promised that if you find anything fun, you get to keep it! Gem Seeker - 75 simoleans p/h, 06:00 - 14:00, M-F Description - The mines are lovely, dark, and deep, and you’ve spent so many hours down here, you’re forgetting what sunlight looks like. You’re in the more lucrative veins now, digging out gold and rubies as big as your hand, but you’ve heard of the legendary pink diamond and are determined to find it. Who knows, maybe that’s your ticket out of here? Mine Owner - 250 simoleans p/h, 10:00 - 16:00, M-F Description - You’ve found it, the pink diamond in the rough! After swiftly selling it for millions of simoleans, you’re making enough to take over the mine itself and take over operations! What will you look for? Rainbow gems? Shang Simlan artefacts? Perhaps pull up as many space rocks as you can to try and entice the aliens? On the flip side, maybe you should get back into painting pet rocks with all your free time…

Translations: I've included the English Strings in the file; if anyone is talented enough to translate, I would be incredibly grateful, so please let me know in the comments!

With thanks: To MissyHissy's career building tutorial!

[moonbeamwritings]

a parisian date with tendou

pairing: timeskip!satori tendou x gn!reader

wc: 1.4k

warnings: none

the poem referenced at the end is “Les Amoureux” By Madeleine De Scudéry

← prev. date | next date →

“My babbbyyyy,” Satori sing-songs, arms spread wide to greet you at the airport. “My baby’s here!”

You all but slam into his chest and within seconds he’s lifting your feet from the floor, twirling you around as he presses dozens of little kisses wherever he can reach. Satori lets out a pleased sigh as he squeezes you closer, crushing you into a hug. 

“I missed you so much.”

You capture his cheeks in your palms and plant a sweet kiss on his lips. “I missed you more.”

He returns you to your feet, but doesn’t let you slip away so easily. As you start to walk towards the exit, Satori loops his arm around your shoulders, tugging you close until no space remains between you. “Nuh-uh. Not possible. I almost withered away and died without your kisses!”

“You sound like Tinker Bell,” you tease, pinching his cheek.

Satori puffs his chest out a bit as you stop to wait for your cab to pull up. “We’re the same, her and I. We understand each other.”

The two of you make idle chit-chat as you push your weight into his side, his arm curled tightly around your waist, occasionally exchanging kisses to keep Satori alive.

When the cab finally pulls up, Satori is quick to pull your suitcase from your palm and the backpack from your shoulders, carefully packing them into the back of the car. Snapping the trunk of the taxi shut, Satori grins at you eagerly. “Are you ready for a Valentine’s Day in Paris, baby?”

The Valentine’s Day festivities start with a trip to the bakery down the road. On the walk there, Satori tells you he comes nearly once a day for a coffee and to gossip with the sweet older woman who owns the place. Apparently, he started watching her cat in exchange for French lessons and now they’re a dynamic duo. 

She gushes when the bell over the door signals Satori’s arrival, reaching across the counter to smooch both his cheeks. And when she locks eyes with you, she gives you much the same treatment, excitedly rambling in French.

Unfamiliar with the language, all you can do is smile and nod as Satori responds in stride. It flows from his tongue with practiced ease, hands moving animatedly as he gestures to you and then to the display case. You catch a thank you and a chocolate croissant order somewhere in there, but that’s where your French knowledge starts and ends.

When she turns to pull the treats he ordered from the glass display case, Satori worms his arm around your waist, brimming with pride. “She said you’re very beautiful, and she’s mad that I haven’t brought you around before.”

“You talk about me?”

His grin only grows. “Of course I do! Nicolette knows everything.” He pinches your side. “Even about all the times you’ve drooled all over my pillows.”

Scandalized, you reel back. “You didn’t.”

A kiss lands on the crown of your head in an attempt to soothe you. You can feel Satori’s smile against your hair. “I’m kidding. She thinks you’re un ange — an angel.”

Your cheeks burn as he pulls away and takes the box of treats from Nicolette. You both give your thanks, and she tells Satori to bring you back in before you leave. With a promise that he will, you set off to eat your pastries in the park.

Bellies full to bursting with fresh pastries and with sunshine warming your cheeks, Satori brings you to what he calls hidden gems. The streets bustle with life as he brings you first to a bookstore with old wooden floors and a creaky staircase that leads to shelves of vintage books that stretch far above your heads. 

Satori plucks a thin book with a red spine and gold lettering from the shelf and smiles. Long, lithe fingers flick through the different pages, his eyes scanning over the letters. In the silence, you crowd his space, peering over the top of the book to catch a peek at the yellowing pages. 

When his eyes meet yours, he taps the tip of your nose. “They’re love poems.”

“Since when are you a poetry kinda guy?”

He tucks the book under his arm and takes your hand. “Mm,” Satori fixes you with a gaze you can only describe as sweet before he leans in to kiss you. “I’m feeling inspired.”

The next “hidden gem” is a tacky, over-the-top souvenir shop close to the heart of the city. It’s jam-packed with tourists, all standing shoulder to shoulder as they peruse the Eiffel Tower-shaped hat options and the gaudy shirts with Paris plastered across the front with an Eiffel Tower as the “A”.

“This is a hidden gem?” You ask, cringing at the neon pink lettering of the shirt in front of you.

“Maybe not hidden,” Satori corrects, plopping one of the hats on your head, “but definitely a gem.”

The moment you’re able to, he crams you into the photo booth in the far corner, taking a little photo with a poorly designed Parisian border, one decorated with baguettes and berets and bright red hearts. In it, he’s squishing your cheeks in his palm to give you a fish face and pushing his nose into your cheek, lips puckered.

You leave that store with a keychain that proudly displays the new photo and a design that reads, “the city of love” plastered in sparkly black font below it.

Satori’s tour of Paris continues with a brief stop at his work for chocolate. There, a photo of the two of you together is pinned on the family cork board behind the counter. And as Satori puts his order in, his co-workers threaten to steal you away from him, friendly affection for your boyfriend glimmering in their smiles and hidden in their jokes.

Next, he brings you to a quiet rose garden tucked away from the hustle and bustle; a spot where you spend a quiet moment, munching on delicious chocolates and taking a break from the onslaught of tourists.

“Act natural.”

“What?”

With the dull snap of a stem, Satori tucks a soft pink, and thankfully thornless, garden rose behind your ear. Once it’s perched in its new spot, he presses a kiss to the shell of your ear before whispering, “You’re really not supposed to pick the flowers.” He pushes a stray hair away from your face, jostling the rose a bit as he does. “But I think they can make a Valentine’s exception, don’tcha think?”

After a long day filled with food and little shops and the warmth of Satori’s hand in your own, the whirlwind tour of his new home city comes to an end at the base of the Eiffel Tower at ten o’clock at night. Tourists and locals alike still meander about, sharing kisses beneath the twinkling landmark, but the cool night air has quieted the sidewalks, giving you a moment of peace. 

The moon sits high and bright in the sky, as you curl up between Satori’s legs, his chin hooked over your shoulder as he reads from the love poems book resting in your lap. Love settles and blooms between your ribs as beams of moonlight decorate the pages and kiss Satori’s fingers where they curl around the book. Your hand moves on its own, coming up to circle his wrist, rubbing a soothing thumb into his skin.

Satori’s voice travels on the breeze, the French rolling from his tongue in soft lilts — a poetry reading just for you. “... Les indifférents n'ont qu'une âme; Mais lorsqu'on aime, on en a deux.”

The concluding line is punctuated with a beat of silence and a kiss to the plush of your cheek.

“What does it mean?” You ask quietly, as if speaking any louder will shatter the moment.

He rereads the poem, kissing your temple every few lines. “... The indifferent have but one soul,” he translates, “but when you love, you have two.”

You nuzzle your cheek into his before turning in his arms, capturing his jaw in your palm and leaning in for a kiss. It feels like a promise, a press of your lips with a sense of finality. At that moment, you decide you never want to do this with anyone else.

“I love you,” you tell him the moment you part.

He regards you with honeyed affection, snuggling close to peck your nose and then your cheek before finally meeting your lips again. As the light of the Eiffel Tower casts his face in pretty, amber shadows, he assures you, “I love you more.”

[onestormeynight]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers 🩵

Okay, I got this. And I need this cause the serotonin ain't tonin right now.

A good book that isn't disgustingly popular. I just picked up the Scythe trilogy by Neal Shusterman and it's my entire personality now. There is something about finding the hidden book gem and sharing it with your circle that is way more satisfying than picking up a book everyone and their brother recommended. BTW, if you've read it, I want to know what color your robes would be (i'd be a light gray) and who your patron historic is (I would be Scythe Stevie Nicks.)

Cats. All of the. Lazy, active, one brain cell, too smart, orange, black, calico, tabby. I love them all. Trust me, I will never tire of seeing your cat. I maintain my are cuter but I'm biased and it's not that deep.

Vivziepop. Look, if you haven't fallen down the Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss rabbit hole, please come join me. It's great down here. It'll be a happy day in hell. Anything Alastor makes me swoon, I love that cannibal. I just want to hold Angel Dust and tell him it's gonna be okay. I wanna send Moxie and Millie to just handle the problem for him. I could listen to Husker (Keith David) read the phone book.

Coffee. I am one of those picky people. I get my beans within the week they were roasted, I grind them myself, I use a french press, I don't let the beans be ground for more than 30 seconds before the water hits them. I know I sound bougie, but I promise you I'ma make you a top 5 cup of coffee. Trust me.

People commenting on my story posts showing they read it. Look, I know a lot of people just throw a heart and I am not ungrateful for that. I love that, too. But when one of you takes the time to read the post and comment even just about their outfit, I love it. It makes my whole day. I'll read it three or four times, even if I can't respond in the moment.

Thank you so much for the ask!

[aria0fgold]

A confession of wishes for a future without you.

Ren sat up from the bed, he couldn't sleep. He's been lying down for hours now, eyes closed even, and yet he still couldn't find his own sleep. Morgana laid beside him, sound asleep. He carefully got up, so as to not disturb him. Making sure to walk quietly in his room while looking for something, anything to help him sleep. A book, a distraction, whatever it is that he can find. So he began his search and not even a minute later, stumbled upon a box. One far too familiar that he froze when he saw it. How many months had it been since he had that box now? He doesn't know, didn't want to keep track of that time, didn't even want to think about anything in regards to it at all.

A small black box with intricate designs painted in red, it wasn't locked, in fact, it can easily be opened. But Ren never did open it. He didn't want to, he didn't want to know what's inside it, didn't want to face the reality that Kaito— that he— that his friend is… He wanted to bathe in the pool of lies he made for himself, that Kaito's sudden disappearance isn't too much of a big deal, that someday, maybe just maybe, he'll come back again. He continued to lie to himself like that, ever since Kaito disappeared.

Perhaps, it's time to face reality once more.

Ren took a deep breath, opening and closing his hand in an effort to steady its trembling, in an effort to gather enough courage to open the box he had been avoiding ever since he first saw it, days after he lost all contact with Kaito. It was hidden underneath the bed, Ren moved it somewhere else, farther from him yet in its own safe place. Just like what he wished and hoped for Kaito as well, far from him yet safe. So he kept wishing, over and over again.

Please be safe, please be safe, please be safe.

That's how wishes work, right? To think it three times, say it thrice, and believe with all your heart for it to be real. So he held onto that hope. No matter how small it was, he held onto it like a precious gem nestled within his palm, threatening to shatter at the slightest jolt.

Ren took a few more deep breaths, until finally, he reached for the box and lifted its lid. In it was a letter, white with a blue ribbon, and a monocle beside it. Ren can feel the gears in his brain coming to a halt, slowly… slowly… it'd freeze in time, but not now, not yet. Mechanically, Ren stood up and walked towards the bed, he sat by the edge, near the window to put an arm on, to lean his body on. For support maybe, for a hope perhaps, that once he's finished reading the letter. Kaito would appear in his white suit with his cape flowing in the wind, the magician in the moonlight.

That's what this is, isn't it? A confession of secrets. He had an idea about it, infamous internationally wanted criminal, Kaito KID was Kaito Kuroba's other identity. He had a feeling that was the case but never pursued the thought, it'd be unfair, won't it? For Ren to intrude into Kaito's secret when he has his own secrets to hide. So it'd just be fair, to not know. To pretend to not know anything. To pretend that the thief he saw on the rooftop that day isn't someone he knows even though he's so painfully aware of it. It's only fair that way.

Ren took another deep breath, swallowing hard as he prepared to open the letter, setting aside the box with the monocle still inside by the window sill.

His heart skips a beat at the sight of his name, written by Kaito's hand.

“Dear Renren,” it starts, “How are you? Knowing you, you probably didn't open this letter until months had passed, I bet! ”

Ren quietly chuckled at that, he was right. Kaito was always too good at reading people. “That's alright though, I won't blame you because I'm such a gentleman,” A small face was drawn there, it looked like Kaito smirking at him, how cute. “I'm sure you've already seen the other item in the box, it was right on top of the letter you're reading now after all! ” He drew a monocle then. Ren held his breath as he read through the next passage.

“What I'm about to tell you, is a confession of a secret! You can't tell anyone about this! This is our own little secret.” A winking Kaito was drawn there, adorable. Ren giggled as he whispered to the wind, to himself, and to the Kaito that wrote the letter.

I promise.

“I'm Kaito KID.” Party poppers were drawn on both sides of that phrase, confetti doodled around it, he really was adorable… “Although… I had a feeling you already knew about this.”

He really was good at reading people.

“It's so anti-climactic doing this on paper too. I wish I could tell you in person instead, I'd love to see your reaction.”

Ren's breath hitched then. His mind slowly drawing a blank, please be safe, please be safe, please be safe. He repeated in his head. Like a chant, a good luck charm, filled with the hope burning his chest, threatening to explode.

“Renren… I know this is kinda cliche but by the time you're reading this, I probably didn't make it after all.”

Ren gripped the paper tightly then, and immediately let go. He shouldn't… ruin Kaito's letter. There was… there was still more to read through… A prank, maybe, a mistake perhaps, please let this be a nightmare he can wake up from. Ren took a deep breath, gathering himself to continue reading once more.

“Hey, Renren, I may not be there while you're reading this but I can tell you're sad right now! Come on, turn that frown upside down! You know I don't like seeing you sad, right…?

…I'm sorry.”

Ren inhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the urge to cry growing deep inside him, like a dam waiting to burst, a pipe waiting to break, a heart waiting to shatter. It took him a moment to continue reading it.

“I know, I know... there's a lot of questions you want to ask right? And I… I don't think I can answer any of it, after all...

Hey, Renren… How about a magic trick? It'd be hard to pull this off in a letter but here! ” In the next part, four cards were drawn face down, or rather, drawings of four small face down cards were partly glued to the paper, a small tape keeping it shut. “Pick one!”

Ren reached for the second card, carefully peeling off the tape, behind it revealed an 'Ace of Hearts'. Ren bit his lip then, to stop it from trembling.

“Hehehe, You chose the second card, didn't you? And no! Before you start thinking, 'it doesn't matter what card I pick, all of them is the same.' Well, then mister! You can open the other cards to double check it! I assure you that they aren't all the same! ”

And so Ren did. He carefully peeled off the tape from the rest of the cards.

The first card revealed an “I”

The third card revealed a “You”

The fourth card revealed a “Forever”

The last card, was stained with a droplet.

The droplet, was accompanied by another then.

Ren couldn't stop himself anymore. He put the letter on the window sill, slowly, carefully, with a trembling hand, he reached for the box, brought it on top the letter as weight. He reached inside it, for the monocle for him to hold, to steady his trembling hands. Ren sobbed, quietly, soundlessly, he cried in silence so as to not disturb anyone.

“…Ren?”

But that was all in vain at the sound of Morgana's voice.

“Are you… crying?! What happened?! What's wrong?!” Morgana shot upright at the realization, immediately running to Ren's side. Ren couldn't really answer him even if he wanted to, so Morgana looked around for answers. He didn't need to look far.

He stared at the box, at the letter, and at the monocle Ren was clutching. It was enough.

“…Oh.” Morgana's ears drooped and twitched, he didn't quite know what to do, Ren's cries makes his heart ache, he wanted to comfort him but how? Grief isn't so easily comforted. After thinking awhile, Morgana settled upon sitting beside Ren. “I'm… I'm here for you, okay?”

Ren couldn't answer still, but he was grateful for it. Grateful for Morgana, grateful that there's someone there for him while his world was breaking. Kaito was so unfair… selfish…

. . .

Seconds passed, and then minutes, Morgana had found where the tissue box is and moved it near Ren, he had found a water bottle nearby too, placing it just beside the tissue box. Minutes passed, and then hours. The empty trash can that Morgana moved near Ren as well now contained tissues, the water bottle that was once full was nearly empty. And the quiet cries that filled the room turned into quiet sobs.

Morgana rubbed Ren's back with his paw, in hopes of comforting him further. Until finally, Ren calmed down. Enough to take deep breaths to compose himself.

“…Thanks…” He whispered, voice hoarse.

“Mn… How are you feeling now?”

“…Tired.” Ren glanced at the letter.

“Why don't you wait until tomorrow to continue reading it?” Worry was evident in Morgana's voice.

He should, he really should just wait a bit before reading again, that fit of crying made him tired enough to want to sleep already but… He wanted to finish reading it tonight.

Ren gazed out the window, he stared at the sky, as dark as it was that faithful night. He stared at the stars flickering on and off, he remembered the split second he saw the stars reflected in the eyes of that magician as he turned to face them. He stared at the moon, peeking through the buildings, it was a full moon, much like that night. The view of the moon behind a mysterious magician donned in a white suit and top hat with a cape flowing behind him. It was a magical sight that Ren will remember no matter how much time has passed.

Ren took a shaky breath. He reached for the letter, the monocle in the other hand.

“I'm sorry…” Ren's eyes stung, “I deserved to be yelled at right now, you can call me unfair, and selfish, and stupid! You can shout it to the sky, I'll be sure to hear it. But Renren…

Ren. I wanted to tell you how I felt, because I doubt I'd have a chance to say it to you if not now. I'm sorry, maybe I should've told you about it before… this. But then I think, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for hurting you way more than how you're hurting now, all because of me. Just know that, I love you, and I want the best for you, even if I'm not around you anymore, even if I'm not there anymore. I'll always love you forever and ever! All the times we spent together were the most precious memories I have… Well, had.

Hey, Renren… Promise me you'll find someone else to make you happy, alright? Someone, something, anything! I want you to be happy. You better be looking up at the night sky with a smile! I'll be sure to see it.

I love you, Ren.”

[misspearly1]

When Two Worlds Collide Series

Chp1 || Chp2 || Chp3 || Chp4 || Chp5 || Chp6 || Chp7 || Chp8

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader x Arthur Morgan 

Chapter One: The Hidden Antique

WC: 4.9k

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Friends to Lovers. Flirting. Little bit of fluff. Eventual Smut. Arthur doesn’t make an appearance in this chapter. A little background and build up in the story first. 

AN: Ok, my loves. This is pretty much an introduction and a lead up to what happened (in relation to the kinktober crossover fic). Starts off with Joel, then Arthur will eventually make an appearance. I’ve broken up the story because posting large works can be a little difficult on tumblr (it crashes terribly lol). I hope you enjoy the first chapter though. Thank you!

You’ve often wondered about the evolution of a yard sale; like where did the idea originate from and who came up with it? Or why does it feel so exciting to sift through second hand goods, looking to buy something that catches your eye? Perhaps it’s because you can sometimes come across antiques hidden amongst the cluttered pile, and finding something that’s not only expensive, but lavish, decorative and useful too, is very exciting indeed. 

These questions spring to mind this afternoon when passing through a neighbourhood adjacent to yours. You were in the process of driving home after a long day at work, but stopped the car with a sudden burst of joy when seeing a yard sale sign. They always said one man’s trash is another man's treasure, and while you’re not a man, you do believe in that saying and felt it was worthwhile to take a look through the household goods laid out across the front lawn. 

Of course, it looked messy and disorganized with the chairs, tables and even the sidewalk bestrewn with clutter, but you have a little experience with locating the valuables amongst the household junk. You have a keen eye for these things, and it paid off really well too because not even thirty minutes after you stopped the car, you managed to bag unopened box of fairy lights to place around your home somewhere, several scented candles to use for those nights you’d love to take a relaxing bath, a summer dress with the price still attached which is perfectly timed since the summer season is here and many new books to read as well.

But the most valuable item that you bagged today is the mirror. A hidden gem, you might call it, as the mirror was buried behind an attics worth of trash. It’s body length in size, oval shaped and sturdy, embellished with finely hand carved details in the wooden frame and it would fit perfectly in the corner of your bedroom. Even the stand it came with was worth a pretty penny. The whole piece is a vintage antique and highly valuable.

Having said that however, you didn’t want to hustle the man selling the item and told him that it was worth more than the asking price, but he already knew. Josh Sinclair — the seller — reassured you that the price was right for him. He just wanted to get rid of the damn thing as it had been collecting dust in his grandpa’s attic for years, and the reason he drove the price down is because it’s plastered with a heavy layer of soot and black paint.

According to Josh, his grandpa tried to burn the mirror years ago, but failed with the attempt and just painted it over instead. Frankly, you wouldn’t have taken any interest in buying the thing if you didn’t know how to clean it up and bring it back to a good condition. It’s not something you’re planning to sell once you restore it. You want to keep it in your home.

Though, you still didn’t feel comfortable with the asking price and debated a little more with the man, and in the end, you both settled on forty bucks and now it's yours. You paid for your other items then took them to your car before opening the trunk and folding the back seats down. After a struggle and muttering a string of curses under your breath, you dusted your hands off and turned to look at Josh, still feeling guilty for how little he was taking. The mirror is worth thousands. 

Reaching into your pocket and pulling out another thirty dollars, you presented it to the man for all of his help. “Here, take this — please.” You persisted and quickly explained. “This mirror was worth so much more in its prime. I feel bad taking it off your hands for only forty dollars and you did all the heavy lifting anyways.” You smiled, hoping it would seal the deal and to your relief, the man didn’t refuse your offer and accepted the extra cash. 

“Thank you, Y/N… Thank you.” He replied gratefully, holding your eye contact for a moment as he nodded with appreciation. You returned the nod and began walking around the car to the driver's door. He opened it for you and waited till you were sitting inside comfortably before shutting it. After you had turned the key in the ignition, you opened the window and looked up at the man with another smile as he said goodbye. “It was nice meeting you. Come back anytime you see me having another yard sale, ya hear?” 

“I sure will. Thanks, Josh.” You beamed. When he stepped back and gave you ample room to drive away without the worry of squashing his feet with the tires, you looked in the rear-view mirror and watched his figure gradually get smaller while driving down the street. You think about how his face and personality will always stick in your memory. He has bright ginger hair, pale freckled skin, a large birthmark over his right eye and he was so kind, sweet and patient with you too.

You’ll never forget your interaction with Josh because it was nothing but a pleasure and you’ll certainly be coming back again when he next hosts a yard sale. Maybe next time, you could even invite Joel Miller to tag along with you. He sure likes a yard sale just as much as you do. In fact, it was only a few weeks ago that Joel dragged you to the flea market near town to buy some decorative items for his house as he was in desperate need of your ‘expert opinion’. But to be quite honest, you don’t think the man really needed your opinion at all. He had that covered all by himself. You just think he just wanted your company for the day, and you didn’t mind at all because he’s become someone that you enjoy spending time with. And of course, he is really handsome too. 

Joel is your neighbour. He lives next door to you and often spends most of his free time sprucing up his home interior after only just moving into the neighbourhood two months ago. He has a brother named Tommy, a chunky brown Labrador named Rex and a fluffy white Persian cat named Felix. The man's house is warm, welcoming and chaotic, especially with the exciting activities that Rex and Felix get up to. You often watch them from your back porch playing in the yard. They’re so cute together, but you miss them dearly as they’ve been staying at Tommy’s house for the last week. 

While Joel has been busying himself with the home décor ever since he moved in, he’s recently taken it upon himself to put his skills to use and just fully renovate instead. His daily work and passion is carpentry after all, which means his house is currently looking a little worse for wear with the scaffolding poles set up, the bags of cement along his front porch and the large yellow industrial dumpster placed on his front lawn. The place is simply too messy and dangerous for Rex and Felix to be around. They can’t even play in the backyard anymore as it’s covered with even more waste that needs to be discarded. 

For the longest time, you have thought about getting a dog for yourself and yearned to have that connection that Joel has with Felix and Rex. You love to watch him interact with the little guys. They’re more like his babies rather than pets and sometimes he just sits out back and plays the guitar for them while you eavesdrop from next door. Sometimes he even sings for them, albeit it’s very quiet and only a few words here or there, but the notion of singing to his little fur babies is most adorable. 

Clearing your mind as you pull into your street, you look upon the eyesore that is Joel’s home and laugh sweetly when seeing the man scratching the back of his head as he stood on his front lawn. He looked a little frustrated and confused while overlooking some building plans with his buddies, as if he were trying to figure out what the next best step was. But that focus and concern etched on his face was distracting to say the least as you try to drive without staring at him too much. It’s dangerous to gaze upon him like this while behind the wheel. 

You snap out of your ogling and focus on the road, keeping Joel and his buddies in your line of sight as you drive carefully. The house may look like an eyesore right now, but you know that once it’s all said and done, it’s going to look perfect. Joel and his brother do most of the work themselves, but some of their work friends pitch in to help whenever and wherever they can. It’s really rather generous and thoughtful of them. You adore that he has friends like that, and secretly hope their generosity extends to his neighbour with the big heavy mirror in the backseat of her car. 

Parking your car up in the driveway and hopping out, you walk around the back and open the trunk. “Hey.” You waved to Joel as he looked in your direction. He said something to his friends before making his way over, no doubt telling them he’d just be stepping away for a moment. They all smirked and whispered amongst themselves, watching the man like a hawk as if he were approaching his crush, and the mere thought of you being his crush made your cheeks burn. 

“Hey, doll.” Joel greeted you in that thick southern drawl as he approached. “You need some help with the groceries—wait… What’s all this?” He cuts himself off to ask, his tone sounding slightly offended. “Did yer go back to the flea market without me, girl?” 

“No, Joel. I would never.” You barked out a laugh and shook your head at the man. “There was a yard sale in the Sunlight Grove neighbourhood. I stopped the car and bought a few things. Look –” you pointed a finger. “–I even bagged this really cool antique mirror.” 

“Oh yeah, that is cool.” He agreed, then furrowed his brows a little upon noticing the thick soot and black paint on the mirror. “You can fix that, right?” 

“I hope so.”

Reaching for the cardboard box filled with your candles, books and fairy lights, Joel reaches for your summer dress and pulls the straps around his neck, laying the clothing over his chest before turning to his friends with a loud whistle. “Hey pretty boys… Come help me with this thing will yer.” He asked, oh so politely. You and his friends laugh at him plenty, your smile growing bigger and wider over his sense of humour before he turned back to face you and winked. “This dress works a charm. I can see why you bought it, darlin’.”  

“That's actually not why I bought it, but thanks Joel.” You giggled and shook your head at him again. Turning away and heading towards your porch steps, you quickly mount the stairs and open the front door then place the cardboard box of goodies to one side momentarily as you help the guys out however you can. Joel didn’t even lift a finger. He just left his buddies to do all the heavy lifting while leading them into your house. He was even swaying your dress around flirtatiously which earned himself a couple catcalls and wolf whistles. 

“Getting real comfortable wearing that, aren’t you?” You pointed out and teased, to which he returned the playfulness confidently, “Oh yeah. M-hm. Why? You think it looks pretty on me?” 

“Oh yes. It’s very pretty, Joel.” You nod seriously without any trace of a lie in your tone. It actually did look good on him. The pattern and colours paired so well with that dark brown head of hair of his and that deep summer tan on his skin. You often spend every morning reminding him to put sun cream on before heading out to work, sometimes even texting him on your breaks and reminding him to add another layer. He needs that protection, but boy does he look good with a nice golden tan.

“Hey um...” You snap out of your mindless gazing once again. “Do you have any WD-40 in your garage? It will help with removing the paint and soot off the mirror.” 

“Yeah, sure. I got a couple cans you can take.” 

After the mirror was gently placed in your lounge, you grabbed an old sheet and placed it underneath before heading outside with Joel and the guys. You walked towards his garage and thanked him for letting you take a can of WD-40 as well as borrowing a scraper and some industrial cleaning wipes too. “I wanna get started on the mirror right away, but I’ll come back later and bring a couple beers for you and your friends.” 

“Will yer be wearing that pretty dress when you come back to see me with those beers?” He grinned and gathered a sarcastic round of applause from his friends as they all mocked him jokingly. “That’s some next level flirting right there, Joel.” One of his friends said, his words making you stifle a laugh, yet hearing him confirm that Joel was in fact flirting with you made you smile a flattered kind of smile. 

As they continued to laugh and jeer at him, you rolled your eyes at their remarks and replied loud enough for them to hear. “Yeah, sure. I’ll wear the dress just for you, Joel.” You throw him a little wink before turning to walk away, the sight of his smile making your stomach flutter and your heart skip a beat. He looked so shy in that moment when his friends honed in on him, as if they were revealing some big secret about how he feels about you. It’s no secret that something is slowly forming between you and the man, but it’s still too soon to assume that it’s more than just friends. 

You like Joel’s company. He likes yours. And that’s all there is to it for now. 

Upon entering your house and releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you made your way into the lounge and got to work right away with restoring the mirror. You have a few tips and tricks up your sleeve when it comes to restoration, and WD-40 is just another trick you’ve learned to use along the way. It works wonders for a lot of things around the house too. You used up the last of your own supply the other week when cleaning your bathroom mirror and shower doors, lifting the stained fog straight off the glass. 

With a little music playing from your stereo, you took your time removing all the dirt and grime from the mirror bit by bit with gentle scrapes and wipes. It was actually really rather relaxing and enjoyable. You lost track of time as the hours rolled by quickly, and before you knew it, the cicadas and crickets had alarmed you that it was night time outside. You didn’t even notice the sun going down. You were so invested and focused on the mirror instead. It looked a hell of a lot better though. You’ve made a big dent in the progress and can actually see yourself in the reflection now. All that’s left to do is remove the soot and paint from the crevices in the wood. 

Reminding yourself of those beers you promised Joel and his friends, you exited the lounge and made your way into the kitchen, then retrieved a four pack of cold Budweiser's from the fridge before heading toward the front door. That summer dress was left hanging on the coat hooks along the wall, and the half-hearted you made to Joel crossed your mind as you contemplated whether or not you should actually wear it for him. 

After a moment thinking about it, you set the beers down on the cabinet and reached for the dress, deciding to fulfil all of your promises. Even if you weren’t being serious earlier, you concluded that there really wasn’t any harm in wearing the piece of clothing for him. Besides, you wanted to see how it looked and felt on your body anyways. 

You were just in the middle of taking off your sweater when there was a knock at the door, the sound so sudden and startling that it made you gasp and jump on the spot. “Who is it?” You called out. 

“It’s just me, doll." Joel answered reassuringly from the other side. You quickly pull your sweater back over your head and hold the dress behind the door as you open it, greeting him with a surprised look on your face. “Hey. I was just about to come outside with those beers when you knocked. It gave me a fight.” You laughed bashfully, noticing the way his eyes dropped to look at your clothes. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, darlin’. I came to tell you that me and the guys are going out for dinner. You wanna come with us? They keep badgering me to check out that new diner in town so I thought we could go out instead.” He explained, but his words went right over your head. You didn’t even hear him at first. You were too caught up on the fact he looked at your clothes, checking to see if you’re wearing that dress for him, and the way he looked a little disappointed that you weren’t was saddening. If he had just knocked on your door a few minutes later, then he would have seen that you were wearing it for him. 

“Um.. It’s okay, Joel. Don’t worry about it,” you stammered. “I’ll keep the beers for some other time instead. Have fun with the guys…” you pause midway through your sentence with the sudden realization that he actually offered you to go out with him and his friends. You didn’t hear him, and it’s too late now to fix your mistake. He already began nodding with acceptance of your answer, and there was yet another disappointed look in his eyes. “... Y'all stay safe out there too,” you quickly add, finishing your sentence. 

“We will.” He nods, then holds your eye contact for a few moments while shuffling on his feet awkwardly. You could see that he was hesitant on deciding whether or not he should lean in and kiss your cheek goodbye, so you took a step forward and prompted him to. He finished closing the gap, and you watched as he closed his eyes when leaning in to plant a chaste kiss on your cheek. His lips were soft and plump, pressed against your skin so gently before he stopped back. It was bliss, and you yearned to feel it again.  

“I’ll see yer sometime tomorrow, darlin’." He said with a deep smile that displayed his relief and joy. You know that he saw you holding the dress when he leaned in to kiss you. And you can see with your own eyes that it made him feel less rejected and more optimistic that something was still there between you and him. 

“See you tomorrow." You muttered and threw a goodbye wave to his friends waiting for him in the car. They all waved back and quietly said their goodbyes too before one of them opened the back door for Joel to hop in.

You probably should have closed your front door and got back to what you were doing at that point, but you didn’t. You instead waited for him to look at you through the backseat window, and you’re glad that you waited too because when Joel’s eyes met yours, he blew you a kiss and still wore that same joyous smile.

It was as if he could hardly wait to see you tomorrow.

Later that night while laying in bed, the entire house shrouded in darkness and complete silence, you open your eyes the moment after you hear a noise echoing through the walls. It sounded like metal clanging against metal, and it was so faint and barely noticeable at first that you wondered if one of your neighbours were watching something on their TV so loud that you could hear it from here. 

You didn’t roll over and close your eyes right away and instead chose to focus on those noises to pinpoint their location. You know Joel is home and laying in bed right now because you were awake at the time when he came back from dinner with his friends. They were so quiet and respectful of how late at night it was, not wanting to disturb your sleeping neighbours. 

As that metal clanging noise subsides and is replaced with several men hooting and yelling as they ride horseback, you assumed that someone couldn’t hear the old western movie they were watching and finally rolled over to ignore it. Although you could hear the movie and all of the sound effects, you didn’t mind all that much as you’re used to something playing during the night anyway. Sometimes you even play some music on your phone and turn the volume down low just to have that background noise while you sleep. 

Now that you're facing the direction of your window however, you narrow your eyes with focus and just make out the waving beam of light coming through the blinds. It was Joel signalling you. He occasionally does that whenever he sends you a text and you don’t reply, but since your phone was under your pillow, you slip your hand underneath to retrieve it and read his text. 

‘Darlin’, you’ve left your TV playing downstairs. I can see your living room lit up with light,’ he wrote and you quickly text him back, replying: ‘Joel, I shut everything off before I came to bed. Are you sure it’s my TV?’ 

You look at your window again and focus on the gaps between your blinds, noticing that he had climbed out of his bed now to look through his window and check. ‘Yeah, sweetheart,’ you received a text from him, then another one shortly after. ‘It’s definitely your TV. I can hear that it’s a western movie too. I didn’t know you like that sort of stuff :).’ 

Overlooking how happy that little smiling emoticon made you feel, you couldn’t shift the anxiety in your stomach and decided to just go downstairs and check. Maybe you forgot to turn your TV off after all and you’re worrying over nothing. You quickly shoot another text to Joel before climbing out of bed, ‘Yeah. I like that sort of stuff :). I’m gonna head down and shut it off though. It’s really late and I don't want any complaints from the neighbours, lol.’ 

Exiting your room with that worry still gnawing away at your gut, you grabbed your metal baseball bat just for precaution and started making your way downstairs. You definitely remember turning everything off and you’re finding difficulty in rationalizing how your TV is even on right now, but as it turs out, Joel was right all along. There was a western movie playing in your living room. You could hear the movie as you walked down the stairs and see the bright flashes of light flicking across your walls. 

With another text from Joel chiming through, you look down at your phone and read what the man wrote. ‘What does 'lol' mean?' He asked, and it made you giggle before he quickly sent another text. 'Maybe we could watch a movie together sometime? I’ll bring the snacks and even cook dinner for you.’ His offer made you smile as you think about what it would look like to cosy up on the sofa together.

You entertained the thought for all of two seconds before lifting your head to look at your TV in the living, and seeing that it was shut off instantly brought that panicked feeling back to your stomach by tenfold. 

You stood still, frozen in place with fear as you realized where the source of those sounds and bright flashes of light were coming from — behind you in the mirror. It was displaying a series of images and producing sound, and it’s physically impossible that it could even do that, yet you could see those images in the reflection of the black TV screen and hear the sounds over your shoulder. There was a group of men riding horseback yelling as they shot at the sky. It looked so surreal. You couldn’t believe what your eyes were witnessing and your hands began to tremble so violently that you dropped the baseball bat to the floor below. 

A flood of text messages came through your phone from Joel, no doubt asking what that clattering noise was or asking if everything is okay. You don’t know for sure. You couldn’t even look away from the TV screen to look at your phone right now. You were too afraid to take your eyes off what you were seeing in the reflection. There was a man lying against a rock around the edge of a campsite, a dark cowboy hat on his head pulled down as he slept peacefully before the next image took over and was replaced by a large oak tree on a hill. 

You eventually gathered enough courage to turn around and take a proper look at the mirror. It’s as if you were looking into a TV, the sight unbelievable as it was only hours ago that you saw your own reflection, not what you’re seeing now. There’s no possible explanation as to how it's possible, and despite how afraid you are, there is also a sense of curiosity to know more as well. You continue to watch and drink in the displayed images, watching them cycle through like a slideshow. 

The first image was of workers hammering giant nails into an unfinished train track, hence the noise you heard earlier of metal clanging against metal. And the next image was a wide shot of a small town and the land surrounding it, a place that looked to be over one hundred years old. You’re almost certain you saw a big wooden sign over a building that said ‘Saloon’. 

But before you could see the next image, your attention was torn towards your front door with Joel pounding his fist against it urgently. “Y/N, open up,” his voice demanded through the wood, “Is everything okay in there, doll? I heard a commotion and I’m worried. C’mon, I need yer to answer me.” 

You could hear that concern in his tone and watched as he twisted the handle with force, damn near ready to break the thing before his knuckles began rapping at the door again much louder now. “I’m coming.” You called out shakily.

Walking towards the door and unlocking it, you stepped back as he pushed his way inside and reached out to hold your arm. “What’s wrong, girl? Did someone break in?” He questioned instantly and pulled you close, almost moving you behind him actually, as if he were shielding you from whatever spooked you inside the house. You looked like you had just seen a ghost, and your state of shock worried the man, so it’s no surprise he’s acting so protective right now.

“No — no one broke in." You managed to utter, then pointed a finger in the living room as you fully stepped behind him now and held onto his bicep. “It’s that mirror. Something’s wrong with it.” He looks at you with furrowed brows, as if he couldn’t believe you were so alarmed over a mirror, but his expression softens when he realizes that you’re being genuinely serious. You looked like a deer in the headlights.  

Joel decides to take a look by peeping his head inside your living room and sees for himself that the source of light and noise isn’t coming from your TV like he expected. He turned back to look at you with a mildly confused expression and reached past you to shut your front door. “I ain’t ever seen a mirror play a movie like that before.” He said with bewilderment, then stepped into the living room with you to investigate. As he takes a closer look though, he now fully understands why you were so alarmed in the first place and asked: “How the fuck is it doing that?”

“How the hell should I know?” You retort, your voice laced with as much concern as his. Moving towards the mirror together cautiously, you stick to the man’s back like glue and remain close as he scans the object with his eyes and searches for answers. 

“I can’t see anything that can explain it,” he mutters cluelessly, “There’s not even a little projector at the top, speakers or a power button to explain how this is possible.” You nod in agreement with him and feel a whole hell of a lot safer that he’s seeing what you are seeing. It was reassuring and validating your reactions that he, too, found it so bizarre and inexplicable. You couldn’t find a rational explanation, and neither could he. 

However, curiosity got the better of Joel as he reached out to touch the mirror. It didn’t feel right and you had a horrible feeling in your gut, but before you could even think about stopping him or voicing your concerns, he was sucked inside with so much force that he yanked you in there with him.

You screamed and yelled while falling into a seemingly endless void of darkness. It was no longer than two seconds really, but it felt like an eternity before finally breaching the other side and landing on tall blade of grass with a soft thump. You were beneath a tree... a large oak tree.

And it was the very same oak tree you had seen earlier. 

Next Chapter

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[tattooedsiren]

tagged by my forever faves @cinematicnomad and @crazyassmurdererwall to list seven comfort movies. 📽🎬🍿

i need you to know that this was super hard and my original list was ten movies and i probably could've kept thinking of more. but i've listed seven below in alphabetical order.

con air - john malkovich is iconic and the cast is a+ and it's fun and silly and endlessly quotable. most quoted lines: hard to pick between 'put the bunny back in the box' and the 'define irony' spiel

the fifth element - fuck the haters i will forever be obsessed with chris tucker as ruby rhod. the aesthetic is amazing and the cast is on point. most quoted lines: 'aziz light'

the many adventures of winnie the pooh - winnie the pooh was my childhood, both the books and this movie. will never get sick of watching this one.

the martian - i can't believe how much humour they got into this (i know this was a controversial best comedy movie win back in the day but unpopular opinion alert: there have been way less funny movies and tv shows going into the comedy category in recent years). anyway, this is probably one of my fave films of the 2010s.

oceans eleven - they just don't make em like this anymore. smart without being too high brow, stylish, laugh out loud funny, cool, fun. we need more heist movies in general tbh. most quoted lines: okay, i don't really quote it, but the 'and for God's sake, whatever you do, don't, under any circumstances…' bit will never not make me laugh.

return to me - a hidden gem in the romcom genre, a movie that's genuinely funny and super romantic in a really sweet and earnest way. if you haven't seen it get onto it. most quoted lines: 'I have never said 'hell', you son of a bitch'

that thing you do - honestly a perfect film. snappy writing, perfectly cast actors, every song is an absolute bop. i have both the theatrical and extended versions that i alternate between depending on how much time i have. most quoted lines: 'you gotta be quick, you gotta be quick with me, i'm from eerie pa.' followed by 'i quit

i'm only just coming back to tumblr from a bit of a hiatus so i don't know who's around and/or who hasn't done this already. if you see this and wanna do it please do and tag me, even if we're not mutuals, i love seeing peoples comfort movies.

[fellpurpose]

MAGE DRAGON DID NOT KNOW WHERE HER FEELINGS WERE, for lots of factors of to-day, but mainly, in the bond she had grown with a certain, dull blonde-haired artist. he was all that she despised; intellectual in the wrong form, awfully loud to a discomfort, and a human. but, she could not deny the power that thrummed beneath his veins, commanded thus only by thunder and lightning. his theatrics, though, could be bent to a beneficial angle, in the possible form of distracting what he would then ruin.

how unfortunate, then, that all hopes of dragging his reputation through the remains of her wrath were immediately dispelled upon the sight of him; facing the wall of the library’s corner, gesturing wildly and without possible coherence, and mumbling to himself in a voice that was too loud to be whispers but too quiet to be discernable.

zephia’s smile immediately contorted into a grimace, the small box in her hand nearly crushed beneath her fist from shock.

“...right,” came her small mutter, followed closely by a curt hum as she took to softening her expression, “odin? step away from the corner, would you? i come bearing a gift.”

it was not much. a substitute for a present she would prefer━━━claws at the slope of his throat and a crook in his spine from kneeling━━━but she learned long ago that suffering must be introduced as a grace before it can allow for a sacrifice of blood. she cannot offer the intimacy of drawing blood together until he sees why there was an intimacy in the loss.

when odin turned, zephia quickly thrust the gift at him. a small, square box that, upon opening it, revealed a rather quaint gem. pale in color, though there was no denying the flicker of a sangria tint within its dull shine.

“it is a simple ability of mage dragons, creating magical objects and the like.” a pause; mage dragon’s smile twitched. “in light of you entertaining me in the armory, i gift you a charm of luck. do not exert it, for you can only use it minorly.”

but this sacrifice━━━a draw of the magic buried deep within her as of her demise, stalling her strength for but a day━━━would bear fruit. zephia would see to it that he returned the favor, whether by blood or trust, he’d be bound to her by this mere gift. thus, her expression brightened, sangria eyes narrowing with a senseless joy and her hands clasping as a sign of gratitude. 

“i heard that it was human custom to present others with gifts to-day, so here. take it, please.” she played the interaction with faux innocence, smiling as she added, “we are not friends, nor are we close, but i pray to the fell dragon that our bond grows, either way.”

( HAPPY VALENTINES DAY, from ZEPHIA to ODIN ! ) p.s. "elix they haven't even finished the armory thread" ok but i want an excuse to send sara funny threats via vday so look away from my indulgence orz odin's this close ( pinches my fingers ) to getting his fifth hound badge ( this is a lie )

in the shimmering haze of his own grandiosity, every gesture is a flourish and every word a soliloquy. just like the protagonist of the tale enclosed in his clutch, the mage thinks himself an enigmatic figure in this cast-off corner of the library. a theatrical virtuoso! the maestro of melodrama! he, who possess a flair for the dramatic, rivaled only by the gods themselves!

yet amidst his opulent realm of self-adulation, there comes a moment of surprise —the sound of the familiar voice. odin turns suddenly. zephia is met with a sharp gasp! and the rapid thud! of the book he shuts close.

( behold! see what is bestowed upon those who yield to the majesty of fate! )

within her grasp is a precious treasure. the pale hue of the gem, like the delicate blush of a rose petal, appears ethereal against the backdrop of her fingers. upon closer inspection, he can discern a hidden richness—a whisper of sangria, as if the gem holds within it the essence of twilight's warmth. an undeniable allure —a subtle charm that draws the eye of a chosen one and stirs his imagination. "that opulent finish...to stare at it...so alluring...like losing oneself in the twilight dusk-!"

odin's eyes grow wide. at long last, the grandiloquent maestro is rendered speechless (a rare occurrence in the annals of his dramatic repertoire). he returns the faux smile with sincerity, bowing his golden head as he takes gift into his own capable hands. "th-thank you, my lady!" and thus, the curtains of his ego part temporarily, revealing a glimpse of humility beneath the veil of extravagance. eyes mist with emotional wonder, and features alight with awe and gratitude. ( could this be confirmation? could he really be all that he aims to emulate? )

"ahem. but i would hardly call it SIMPLE! your skills are most impressive. and this attitude of yours...so casual in the face of a dark art as complex as conjuration...to be expected of a being with your ILLUSTRIOUS POWER!"

he beams, thoroughly delighted by this new development. "you heard correctly! now, let us be allies in shadow. two paragons of darkness who walk the lonely path of the fell arts. with this exchange...i hope you'll come to think of me as a reliable friend and companion."

the gem is turned over carefully in his hands. a thought occurs suddenly, and bright eyes turn pleading. "WAIT! before you leave, lady zephia...you must tell me what exquisite name you've bestowed upon this treasure! a most feverish, fervent yearning burns within me...the anticipation of knowing its name pierces me with a MILLION and one knives of pure agony- !"

[thestraggletag]

The Caretaker, Chapter Two

AKA: A Rumbelle Sugar Daddy AU… kinda.

Rating: Explicit.

Summary: Belle French had never thought helping came with strings attached, confident that in a community people naturally tended to help each other, until the day she needed help to keep the library open and no one seemed to care. No one but Mr Gold, whose penchant for dealing could always be counted on, even if the price for his generosity was known to be steep.

At first Belle thought it was a power move, to have her about. The first time he called she was very apprehensive, but nowhere near regretting her deal with Mr Gold. Marco and his crew had been to the library just the day before, taking measurements and making a more thorough assessment of the work needed, going as far as to check the work done on the roof, determined not only to fix the damage the water had made on the building but to also ensure it would not happen again. He seemed to hold little esteem for the people the town had hired to do the original patching on the roof, but was too polite to say something about it. He had even gone above and beyond and done a general assessment of the building itself, commenting on the poor-quality glass installed on the windows of her apartment, letting her know it would be wise to replace them as soon as possible, as he doubted they would resist many more Maine storms in the state they were. 

Mr Gold had delivered on his promise almost at once, so Belle felt a bit glad to finally be able to start paying him back. The first time he called her it was to his shop after hours. She clocked out promptly at six PM, which she usually did not do, preferring to organise some section or do some minor cleaning until right before dinner time, and went across the street towards the pawnshop. The inside was dimly lit, contrasting with the well-lit street outside and to Belle it felt a bit like stepping into a cave of wonders. She hadn’t been flattering Mr Gold when she complimented him on his shop. The place was fascinating, full of character and hidden gems, secrets to be discovered. The way the curios created a labyrinth, the clutter accentuated by the busy yet elegant pattern wallpaper, the myriad of old pieces of furniture that overflowed with items at the top, it all had its charm. Then there was the fact that no item that she could see was ordinary. Everything was antique or unusual, belonging to some sort of bygone era that made them foreign yet recognisable.

She told herself not to look, but it was so difficult. Everything seemed to catch her eye, from the dusty books on the shelves to the sparkles of the pieces of jewellery strewn about. But the most intriguing thing was the man standing beside the cash register. Mr Gold looked composed, almost indifferent to her presence yet acutely aware of it at the same time. He was dressed sharply, as always, but once more without his suit jacket, his shirt cuffs pulled back from his wrist by the golden sleeve garters he wore. He was very much like his shop, familiar and yet someone out of time, beyond the normalcy she knew.

After exchanging basic pleasantries he instructed her to take a seat on a nearby desk. It contained the only 21st century piece of technology: a sleek, shiny laptop.

“I need to do some work to get a couple of candelabras I’ve sold up to snuff before they’re delivered, and I don’t have the time to catch up on some basic paperwork. I wish for you to update the inventory. But please make a pot of tea first, you’ll find everything you need in the back room.”

His tone was not unkind, but it did not invite chatter and there was an air of authority in it that Belle noticed right away. She made her way to the back room of the shop, noticing that it was too littered with stuff, noticeably either broken pieces or things that had not been polished or cleaned yet. There was a small kitchenette in a corner, where she found small boxes of loose-leaf tea, meticulously labelled, a complete tea set and an electric kettle, along with sugar, honey and a small carton of milk in the nearby mini-fridge. 

Determined to give him his money’s worth and prove her usefulness Belle set out to prepare the tea, finding a darjeeling that smelled ripe and fruity that she liked, taking care to warm the pot before putting the tea in and pouring the water. She found a lovely wooden tray big enough and piled on the honey, sugar, the milk in its little pitcher, a saucer, cup and silver spoon, along with the full pot, mindful Mr Gold would likely want more than one cup. When she brought it over, rather proud of how good it all looked- the tea set was rather lovely, bone china with a delicate blue and gold pattern- he barely glanced at it.

“Pour me a cup, please.”

The please seemed rather perfunctory, perhaps, but the librarian didn’t mind. She prepared the cup carefully, put a spoonful of sugar when he asked for it and held it out to him. Belatedly she remembered that she hadn’t offered him milk, and hurriedly did so.

“I prefer the blood of newborns, but milk is fine.”

The comment startled her into dropping the cup, her nerves finally getting the best of her. He frowned, for the first time showing an emotion that wasn’t mild interest, and clarified:

“It was a quip. Not serious.”

She knew that. Even if she thought the worst of Mr Gold, which she didn’t, she would not have assumed anything that shocking or garish to be true. It had simply caught her by surprise. Her grip on the cup loosened, sending it crashing to the floor. Panic immediately flooded her. The cup was clearly expensive and, as far as she had been able to tell, the tea set had been complete and intact a second ago. She picked it up, happy to see that it hadn’t shattered to pieces, but anxious about the sizable chip it had on a side. This would certainly draw Mr Gold’s anger. The man clearly had a passion for antiques, and even if half of the town rumours about his temper turned out to be false, it still didn’t look good for her.

“It’s-it’s chipped.” She paused, licking her lips and looking at it. “I mean… You can hardly see it.”

She didn’t know why she said that, given the size of the missing chip, but Mr Gold merely shrugged, unperturbed. 

“It’s just a cup.” He went back to his work, instructing her to simply get another cup.

“Two, if you please. I do not like to drink tea alone if I have company. And bring some biscuits. They’re in the red tin next to the stove.”

Belle was too relieved to question his insistence on her taking tea. Besides the tea did smell rather lovely, and it had been ages since she had allowed herself the luxury of good honey. She brought back the two cups requested, along with the shortbread cookies she had found and served them both, trying to commit Mr Gold’s preferences when it came to tea to memory. Then she settled down to do the data entry he requested, enjoying the couple of cookies she had taken for herself, the salty-buttery taste of the shortbread complimenting the fruity flavour of the tea. 

It was, she had to admit, less eventful than what she thought it would be. A bit awkward, with all the silence, but otherwise rather enjoyable. Data entry was something Belle could do with barely any need to concentrate, so she had been able to focus on the tea and the biscuits, on enjoying the warmth inside the shop and the cosiness of it.

The next few times were spent much in the same way, and Belle soon grew less anxious about the encounters and more bored with the stifling silence. Besides that she would actually say she enjoyed her time at the shop. Mr Gold would always have her prepare tea or heat up whatever lunch he had for the day, and there was always plenty to go around and an offhand comment for her to eat too, which more than suited Belle. Between tasks she’d be able to roam around the shop and explore and whenever she did have to do something, it was never too tasking, or unseemly. File some papers, do some data entry, ready an antique that was about to be shipped the way Mr Gold had shown her. She didn’t think any of it was worth the favour Mr Gold had done her in return, but she theorised it was perhaps a power thing, to have her about and give orders to. 

Once she moved past her initial apprehension Belle felt determined to make conversation with the pawnbroker, which she knew from their previous encounters at the library was possible. Mr Gold, either on purpose or being true to his nature, responded first with monosyllables, but she would not give up, recalling the books he had taken out previously and enquiring about them, cajoling longer and longer responses from the pawnbroker till he felt compelled to ask her things in return, even if it was only to give himself a break from talking.

Once the conversation started flowing it was pleasant. More than. Mr Gold was witty, with a biting sense of humour that sometimes ran towards the macabre, but that was something they both had in common. He was also well-read, beyond just the books he had favoured in visits to the library, and rather well-travelled. They found they had a lot in common as expats adapting to American culture, and shared a love for history, theatre and period dramas. The more she talked with Mr Gold the more layers of him she uncovered, bits and pieces of the man behind the mask. None of it was personal at all, mostly superficial stuff, but still, Belle began to feel like she was the person in Storybrooke that knew Mr Gold best.

The first weekend he summoned her to his home the nervousness returned tenfold. It wasn’t just the change of venue but also the intimacy of it. What would he have her do in his home? She knew what Ruby would say and it was almost absurd, but the anxiety still lingered. The icy walk towards the edge of town, where Mr Gold lived seemed daunting, and even the eccentric colour scheme of the pawnbroker’s house could not shift her mood. Inside the house was warm, though, and beautiful to behold, a truly well-preserved Queen Anne with gorgeous ceilings, expensive Persian rugs and all sorts of interesting antiques that made it a natural extension of Mr Gold’s shop.

Once Mr Gold had helped her take off her coat, scarf and gloves- the later were dreadfully threadbare, but she did not have the money for a good quality replacement and she didn’t want to spend money on cheap gloves that would barely last her the winter- he directed her to the kitchen, which was a lovely combination of old and new, with ultra-modern appliances designed to fit into the decor instead of standing out like metallic eyesores. She saw that, on the counter, there were a myriad of supplies, including flour, fresh blueberries and sugar.

“What you do you want me to do, Mr Gold?”

He looked at her, a bit puzzled.

“I thought it rather obvious. I want you to bake. I greatly enjoyed the bakesale you organised, though in retrospect, knowing where the money ended up in, I regret purchasing so much. As I have understood you did all the baking.” 

Belle did recall Mr Gold purchasing a lot of stuff, including several of her blueberry muffins, a special family recipe. Given what she now knew about his eating habits and what she had known for a while about his extreme dislike for the nuns- she sort of understood that one, after Mother Superior’s manipulative appropriation of the funds she had raised for the library- none of what he said surprised her and she gladly set out to bake. It was a vastly different experience from the rushed, anxious baking she had to do for the doomed sale. Mr Gold’s kitchen was bright and airy, with a lovely view of the backyard from the many windows that let sunlight in. She was also not pressed for time and did not have to make dozens of treats, so she could take her time with the muffins, making sure they came out perfect. Baking was something that reminded her of her mother, who had taught her when Belle was younger and Colette had yet to get sick. 

At some point the faint sound of music- something by Clara Schumann, one of her piano concertos- reached her ears, adding to the pleasant feeling and also to her growing knowledge of Mr Gold. Soon enough the kitchen was full of the pleasant aroma of freshly-baked and cooling muffins, and she set out to make tea unprompted, knowing by then Mr Gold’s afternoon-time habits, deciding to serve it in the kitchen. The dining-room felt too cavernous.

When she called the man for tea, knocking on his study before entering, she was a bit happy to see she had surprised him, but he followed her easily enough, not even protesting at being made to take tea on the kitchen island, though he did inquire about the location.

“The dining-room looks fit for a state dinner. This is cosier.”

She enjoyed one of her muffins, but did not expect the rest to appear on their shop tea rotation the next week, thinking Mr Gold might want to keep them all to himself. It soon became a routine for her to go to his house on weekends, sometimes one day and sometimes both, to bake or simply hang around waiting for deliveries that he ‘could not be bothered with’. To Belle it meant lounging around gorgeous rooms full of amazing antiques and perusing Mr Gold’s collection of not-quite-collectible-but-still–very-old books, finding a treasure trove of interesting books about botany, a subject she had previously not known Mr Gold to favour. He also seemed to collect old cookbooks, some which looked rather well-worn, ranging from delicate French cuisine to more peasant fare dishes and Victorian cooking staples. There was always something in the fridge to warm up for lunch, and something yummy for tea, which meant Belle ate better those days than during the rest of the week.

It was a bit of a holiday, it felt like. When she stayed home invariably someone always seemed to come knocking in need of her time, either David with some emergency at the animal shelter or Leroy needing someone to help him with some convent initiative he- for some reason he refused to tell her- signed up for even though he lacked the skills or time for it.

But no one was looking for her at Mr Gold’s. She could relax knowing the sound of the doorbell did not bring with it some desperate friend in need of her time and attention. It did not mean people did not pester her for her time during weekdays, which left her having to improvise excuse after excuse, but though she didn’t like lying, what she had always found difficult about saying no to people was the feeling of guilt afterwards. She did not feel that now, with her time conveniently taken up by her deal with Mr Gold.

She began to be happy about the arrangement for something other than the visible improvements being done to the library, even though friends and acquaintances were growing a bit frosty with her, recriminating her for her lack of help, acting a like they were entitled to her time and leaving her wondering whether she had ever said no to people before.

She must have, surely, though she could not recall a specific example.

“What’s your first name?”

The question came out of nowhere, but once she said it she could not take it back. She was in Mr Gold’s shop, taking a pause from the task he had given her to drink her tea. It was ghastly outside, rainy and windy, and even the short walk between the library and the pawnshop had ruined her pristine appearance. Her hair, frizzy from the humidity, did not seem to want to cooperate with her and settled tucked behind her ears, which was irking her.

“My own business.”

The Scotsman’s response was caustic, but Belle had grown used to his dry tone. He was all bark and no bite when he was like that.

“I promise not to tell anyone.”

“Not knowing it will help you keep that promise.”

She could not help the unbecoming snort of laughter at that, but she had grown comfortable enough around the pawnbroker not to care about it. Instead she attempted to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear yet again, frustrated by how it refused to stay out of her face.

“What harm could there possibly be? This is not some folk tale where giving your name to the fairies has consequences or something.”

“You do look a bit fae-like. Bright eyes, delicate features.”

The unexpected compliment, in the midst of their banter, made her blush and look down, her hands grabbing the inkpot he had left for her, along with the pen he had instructed her to refill with ink. She delicately unscrewed the Montblanc, making sure the cartridge was empty and the spring lowered down before she dipped it into the pot, rotating the tip of the cartridge to fill it up. Her unruly lock of hair chose that moment to leave its perch behind her ear, flopping almost straight into the ink. 

“Careful there.”

She hadn’t heard Mr Gold get closer, but suddenly he was right next to her, carefully lifting up the unruly lock of hair and fixing it in place with something he placed on her hair. Belle touched the thing carefully, feeling something that felt like small stones or maybe pearls. It was a beret. She removed it, noticing it was a beautiful piece, with small stones that seemed like diamonds and perfect little pearls, making up flowers and leaves. The style was very Art Nouveau, soft and romantic. Which meant it was likely very expensive, and her first instinct was to give it back. Or try to.

“Oh, Mr Gold, you shouldn’t bother. I can’t accept it, what if I break it or something? Like your cup?”

“It’s a trivial little trinket I’ve had lying around for ages. And it keeps me from fearing that lock might find its way into my tea later.”

“Nothing in this shop is a trinket. Take it back.”

She held out the beret again, frustrated when her hair decided to do her dirty and obscure her face again. Mr Gold rolled his eyes, studying her to gauge how determined she was about the topic before his gaze turned predatory and a dealer’s smile began to inch its way across his face.

“I’ll make you a deal, Miss French.” He paused, perhaps for effect, and Belle had to tell herself not to focus on the way his voice turned into a soft, beguiling purr when he was proposing a deal. Something to unsettle his potential victim, she supposed, and it did unsettle her, but not in the way she thought he intended. “I’ll give you my name if you accept the hair clip.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to think about the catch. This deal did not seem to benefit Mr Gold at all, except the pawnbroker never made a deal he did not stand to gain from, so there had to be something there that she wasn’t seeing. Nothing materialised, but she did not spot a hidden trap either. She may not know why Mr Gold wanted her to have both the beret and his name, but she would benefit anyway.

“Deal.”

Carefully, trying to make her frizzy hair look artfully teased instead, she combed through it before placing the beret to both secure the hair and the style she had put it into.

“There, done. Now you.”

“My name’s Alexander Uilleam. A constant reminder of my dead father.”

“That was also his name?”

“No. He hated me.”

Belle did not have to ask what he meant by that. After all, she had always half-jokingly thought so. And it did not necessarily come as a shock that a man as abrasive and prickly as Mr Gold had not had a happy or easy childhood. She could tell that the reveal had left him a bit discomfited, vulnerable, so she thought to put him at ease.

“Alexander is a lovely name. Elegant. It suits you.” She paused, glad when she caught a hint of a pleased smile on the edge of his lips. “May I use it, when it’s just us?”

“If you must.”

It didn’t take long for Belle to realise her deal with Mr Gold-Alexander- was not about power. If anything, he strived to be discreet when it came to their arrangement, never requiring anything of her that would expose their interactions to the judgemental people of Storybrooke. So she began to theorise that Mr Gold was lonely, which is why he kept her around. He tried to pretend otherwise, sometimes ignoring her and other times acting like her attempts at conversing with him or her mere presence was an annoyance he bravely chose to bear, but it was a poor act, at least now that she could read him better.

Her theory seemed to confirm itself when he began to take her to auctions and estate sales. She had known before that Mr Gold sometimes made those trips- people tended to make a big deal out of him being out of Storybrooke and, therefore, not able to pop out of nowhere to ask for people’s rents or whatever else they thought he did- but she had never given it much thought until he had told her she would accompany him to an event in Lewiston, some sort of estate sale. He would take her of the clothing, since this was a business event and so it was his responsibility to provide her with appropriate attire, and gave her the details for a Bergdorf account, telling her to order whatever she pleased. Her polite but immediate refusal was met with an offhand comment about how their deal was for her time, and he could not take her to the auction unless she purchased suitable clothing. Therefore, her refusal to buy clothes would be a breach of contract.

Belle’s sense of wounded pride at the notion that she was lacking quality clothes to wear to a special occasion was somehow lessened by the fact that she had lost a good part of her wardrobe to the damp and rot inside her closet, and the fact that she had sold some of her best shoes and dresses just a few weeks before she had made her deal with Mr Gold, needing that extra bit of cash to push her over what she thought at the time was the finishing line of her funds for the library, before they had mostly gone to her father. She had been able to afford some of her more expensive pieces by restoring antique books in her spare time, but she didn’t have any at the moment, hadn’t had for a while. Her wardrobe was severely limited at the moment, and Mr Gold was so blindingly rich he probably wouldn’t notice the change in his bank account even if she bought half the clothing her size on the website.

“Just the one outfit.”

“And a coat, don’t forget.”

She ended up buying a Givenchy powder-blue knit mini-dress, which she could pair with a plum-coloured cardigan and black booties she already had, and after much fighting she added a Burbery cashmere trench coat, something that she could get a lot of use out of without ever looking out of place. A few days later he had called her over to his shop to hand her the packages, without a hint of reproach in his face at the expense of it all.

“I forgot to ask you to add gloves, so I took the liberty to order a pair for you. I apologise for the presumption.”

The dress fit like a dream, and the coat was incredibly warm. But the gloves were her favourite part: exactly to her taste, a pair of woven leather and cashmere gloves that fit her hands perfectly and were soft like butter. But above all, they let her know that Mr Gold had cared about her comfort and took the time to ensure she would be warm while on their outing.

The outing itself was more fun than she had expected. The ride was amenable enough, with Belle in charge of the thermos of tea and the conversation and Mr Gold in the mood to be conversational. He clearly had a passion for antiques and did not mind indulging her curiosity on the subject, coming across both as knowledgeable and engaging. As for the event itself, Belle never quite understood what the point was of her being there. Her only expertise were books, and she did feel rather proud when she could point out a few neglected but salvageable first and second editions amongst the things sold from the library of the estate. He didn’t seem to mind, though, seeming to need her only for chatter while he perused everything with a calculated eye, sometimes pausing over a particular lamp or a certain piece of furniture.

Once they had made two full tours of the place- with Mr Gold perhaps leaning a bit on her, to hide his more pronounced limp, given the amount of walking they had done-he seemed to have made up his mind, quickly arranging the purchase of two lamps, a clock and three Bohemian crystal pieces, a decanter, a jar and a vase. It was a thing of beauty to watch him haggle, inscrutable as he pointed out a flaw or minor cosmetic detail and argued about the sellability of some of the pieces in the market. In the end he got exactly what he wanted at a good price, judging from the satisfied turn of his lips, and he was even kind enough to invite her to a late tea in a charming little cottage-style inn on the road back to Storybrooke.

There was no mistaking her enthusiasm when he brought up another trip, this time to an auction, and she did not even put up much of a fuss when he insisted she get herself a new outfit. She would find a way to return the clothes to Mr Gold once their deal was done and he could not stop her, and in the meantime she had come to have a better grasp of his fortune, which was bigger than what she had previously imagined. He truly did mean it when he said her purchases were of little consequence to him. Soon she had amassed a modest array of dresses, blouses, skirts and a few accessories, which she tried to expand with a few tasteful pieces from her own wardrobe. It was the sort of clothing she has always dreamed of wearing every day but had never had the funds for. And her guilt at spending Alexander’s money lessened by the obvious pleasure in his face every time he saw her in a new outfit, especially when she made subtle efforts to match him. A few times he would present her with a scarf or a similar accessory, saying something about the weather or some other excuse in an offhand manner, knowing she did not believe him but would not comment on it. It was sweet, and his taste was impeccable.

And though dressing up was fun, and the antiques were fascinating, it was Alexander that made each trip worthwhile. He was a great companion, more than eager to share his knowledge and explain his decisions as they both studied each item on display. He would defer to her when it came to books, and she was happy when he made a few purchases explicitly because she had recommended them.

Once or twice he took her to gallery openings in Portland or formal dinner events, where obviously the underlying purpose was to network and socialise. She had been hesitant at first about looking for dresses, till she finally managed to snag a fourth thousand dollar Marchesa crepe gown in deep red at under half the price. She had told him so the next day, over the moon about the steal.

“But was that the dress you liked best?”

“It was for that price.”

The night in question, when she had shown up to the pawnshop with her hair artfully teased and swept up and her make-up impeccable, he had a box from Louboutin in his hands.

“What is this?”

“Well, you did save all that money with the dress, so I needed something to do with the leftovers.”

The shoes inside were stupidly gorgeous, shimmery strass fabric pumps with a 4-inch heel, more than easy for her to manage. 

“This is not what I was hoping for when I bought the dress, you know.”

“No, you were hoping to get one over me. I hope you realise there is no doing that, Miss French.”

“Belle, please. I can’t have you buying me shoes and not using my given name, at least.”

Had she known Alexander less she would’ve thought this was a way to flex his power over her once more, but now she saw it as a kindness from a person unused to expressing positive feelings to other people. That night had been particularly pleasant. He required her to only look good and contribute to the conversation when appropriate, and they both delighted in people-watching whenever he did not need to socialise. Belle even got him to dance, just a little, even if he had to lean rather heavily on her. When he had driven her back to her home, the Cadillac barely gaining on the dawning morning sun, she had felt almost unwilling to leave.

“You know, you don’t have to get me things for me to enjoy spending time with you.”

“I don’t? That’s not usually my experience.”

In an act of what she would later categorise as temporary madness she reached over to kiss his cheek. He was warm, and smelt still of his sandalwood cologne.

“I mean it. I rather like spending time with you. More than with anyone else, really.”

Something, she wasn’t sure what, had changed between them after that innocent little kiss. On the one hand Alexander himself seemed… softer, more at ease, less likely to dodge personal questions using quips or non-answers. She found herself opening up to him about her mother, who had died when she was very young, and how that had conditioned her, she supposed, to hide her troubles.

“She was sick for so long that I didn’t want her or dad to worry about me. It was easy to push things aside and try to find ways to help. Mom would always know, though, when something was wrong with me. She wasn’t fooled, and wasn’t deterred. She would often tell me she was my mom and it was her job to worry over me and not mine to worry over her.”

“A rather exemplary mother, then. I’m glad.”

They were having tea, both deciding at the same time to abandon their respective tasks, given the late hour. They were sharing the last scone between them, huddled together near the radiator in the back of the shop. The weather had turned frightful, and it was forecasted to continue so.

“But when she died… dad was left alone. And he didn’t have mom’s sixth sense for these sorts of things, he was rather helpless. I enjoyed being useful, finding ways to contribute. I didn’t expect that to create a- a rift of sorts. I love him and I know he loves me but… I don’t think he knows me very much, or how to interact with me. And I don’t know how to interact with him on a more real basis. Tell him when something is bothering me or I have a problem.”

Alexander, Belle had quickly surmised, had an abysmal opinion of her father. She had also assumed correctly that his own had not been great either.

“It’s a father’s responsibility to care for their child. There’s no excuse for shirking parental responsibilities.”

“Is this about your own father?”

He had talked briefly about his childhood, mostly about the two old women who had brought him up till they had died when he had been around fourteen, and had only mentioned his mother had died in childbirth.

“No, but he certainly wasn’t father of the year. Would make your own look downright decent.” He paused, pouring himself another cup of tea slowly, as if trying to make time. “I had a son. He was the world to me. I cannot imagine a parent, any parent, not being willing to do whatever it took to ensure their child’s happiness.”

In spite of the myriad of rumours going around Storybrooke about Mr Gold, many centred around his past before he came to town, Belle had never heard any about a child.

“You have a son?”

“Had. Balfour. A lovely boy, bright and full of life. His mother left us soon after he was born, but I made sure he never once felt her absence.” Alexander’s voice sounded soft and affectionate, his accent more pronounced as he told the story. “He was full of plans. Wanted to be an architect, a lawyer, and a doctor. Like kids often do. I worked hard so he would have the choice to be whoever he wanted, to be the supportive father I had always wanted my own da to be.” He paused, hands tightening around the repaired cup he favoured- why he insisted on using the one she chipped she had no idea- to the point she feared he might shatter the delicate china and hurt himself. “But it didn’t matter in the end. There was a car accident- a driver fell asleep at the wheel, I was told. He didn’t make it, and neither did Bae. I got out of it intact. Well, mostly.”

She didn’t have to ask him to clarify with the way he glanced at his ever-present cane, propped up right next to his chair.

“Did it happen here, in Storybrooke?”

Surely not. Belle could not imagine people would hate the pawnbroker so unabashedly if they knew what had happened to him.

“Yes. Less than a year after we moved in. Bae is buried on the edge of the local cemetery. He wasn’t baptised and Mother Superior pitched a fit at the notion that he would be buried on consecrated ground. So I bought the land right next to the cemetery, and made it look like it was part of it. Commissioned a bench so I could sit with him from time to time, but it got harder and harder to do so over time.”

It was no wonder there was an all-out war between the convent and the pawnbroker. Belle was rather amazed the Scotsman hadn’t evicted them ages ago.

“Would you like to go there sometime?”

Alexander looked up at her, surprised, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that he did not need to visit the grave alone.

“I couldn’t possibly use our arrangement in that way. It would be too much of an imposition.”

“It would be outside the boundaries of our arrangement. Of my own free will.”

“Why?”

Had Belle now known Alexander better she would’ve been tempted to find the question insulting. But to the pawnbroker the idea that someone would do anything for him without getting something in return seemed an impossibility.

“Because I want to.”

He did not press her, but smiled sadly into his cup, determined to avoid eye contact, likely feeling rather vulnerable and raw.

“You’re too good a person. I’ve always thought so.”

He let the subject drop after, pointedly beginning to muse out loud about the upcoming weather, a clear message for her to move along.

She didn’t bring it up afterwards, and neither did he, but something seemed to loosen up about him, some invincible barrier he had struggled hard to maintain between them dissolving into nothing. He no longer felt the need to pretend he didn’t like it when she interrupted his work with a cup of tea, chiding him about his long hours, or pretend he did not buy strawberry jam for their scones because she preferred it to the blackberry one he usually kept.

Other things changed. She no longer waited for a summons, sometimes stopping by his shop simply to avoid having lunch alone or to share something she had recently baked- she seemed to have a lot of spare time now that people seemed to have stopped asking her to do things for them, and she felt a bit bad that she was rather enjoying it. He never turned her away or commented on her unexpected presence, and Belle theorised he was scared she would stop doing it. Alexander was a man used to loneliness, but he clearly craved social contact. And physical touch, which had rather surprised her. She was a very tactile person herself, but she had tried to refrain herself from touching the pawnbroker too much at first, convinced she was imposing herself on him, only for it soon to become clear to her that he welcomed the touch. It was easy to see in the way he seemed to subconsciously lean on it, sometimes chasing her hand as it retreated. 

When she realised he was not adverse to her touch but rather the opposite she increased it, determined to bring some much-needed human contact back into Alexander’s life. She grew used to walking but his side leaning slightly against him, arms linked together, noticing he leaned right back, or to linger when she touched him to get his attention. With time she even grew comfortable straightening his tie and setting his hair to rights when the wind made a mess of his veritable mane. She enjoyed it too, the growing bits of intimacy that made her feel nervous in a way she hadn’t in years. 

She didn’t allow herself to delve too deep into what it all meant.

“Hey, long time no see stranger.”

Belle looked up from her half-finished piece of French toast, smiling up at Ruby in what she hoped was a placating way. She had been too busy with Alexander and the crew at the library putting the finishing touches on their work, which sometimes meant letting them into her apartment, to visit the diner, which meant she had not seen Ruby in a while. She was hoping her friend wouldn’t read too much into it.

“Hey, Ruby, sorry about that. It’s been a bit crazy at the library with all the work going on.”

It was more than a passable excuse and she thought it would be more than enough to dispel the shadow of suspicion in Ruby’s eyes. But it seemed to merely give her an opening to plop down on the seat in front of hers and lean on the table, her hair perilously close to her food.

“Speaking of that I’ve been meaning to ask you… How on Earth did you get the money for the fix? I mean, you were really worried about it a while ago.”

It would’ve been easy to hide, to say that she had managed to squirrel the money together over time. She hadn’t told Ruby about her dad’s financial woes, after all, so it would be believable. But all Belle could think about was that she could not believe Ruby was interested about that now, after months of very obviously trying to avoid the subject and redirecting the conversation when it did come up. Belle had told herself that her friend wasn’t being insensitive, she just didn’t understand how much she was worrying over the matter. It seemed she had been wrong.

“Now you want to talk about that? Because I thought you didn’t care. You certainly acted like you didn’t all those times I tried to talk to you about it before.”

“Hey, hey, let’s not get defensive! I was just asking, trying to be a good friend. It’s just that I haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to know how things were going. Granny and I miss you.”

“I didn’t move to another town, Ruby. The library is right across the street, you could come in at any point to visit.”

“Well, I-I don’t get many breaks. You know how much of a hardass Granny is.”

“Have you seen the library’s working hours? I’m the only librarian, Ruby, if the library is open then I’m working. Yet I’ve always made the effort to come in here, to spend money I do not have on tea and a scone so we could chat a bit and you could complain about your grandmother, your job or your love-life, and conveniently avoid asking me about my own. So why the sudden interest?”

There was something in there, something in Ruby’s eyes. Something that wasn’t the genuine concern of a friend, and she hated that she was pretending to care about things Belle had wanted her to care for a long time to get it out of her.

“Because I think I know! I know you did something, something bad! You made a deal with Gold, didn’t you?”

The waitress hissed those last words quietly, and the diner was almost deserted, but Belle still found herself looking around, making sure that no one had heard. She was not embarrassed or ashamed about her deal with Alexander, didn’t mind that people would judge her if they knew. But whatever that deal had created, whatever the relationship between them was now, she knew she wanted to keep it private, like something precious that wasn’t meant for other people to see.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

It felt wrong to lie to Ruby more than to anyone else, but the surprising anger she felt towards her helped with that feeling. Belle had not known she had been accumulating so much resentment, small things piling on top of each other, anecdotes and slights weaving together, things she hadn’t thought about much at the time but that had clearly stayed with her, adding to the rift that she now saw growing between her and the person she thought of as her best friend. It wasn’t just that she hadn’t had the time to visit Ruby recently, it was that she hadn’t felt the urge to. Even before she had made the deal with Alexander, coming into Granny’s had felt more like a chore. Ruby would preemptively beg her not to talk about the library, remarking she was tired of hearing about it and dismissively assuring her it was a non-issue and the council would come around and pay for the repairs in time.

“Meanwhile you’re scaring the customers away every time they come. They’re tired of hearing about it Belle, and Granny cannot afford to lose her regulars.”

Belle had accepted it at the time as Ruby looking out for her Gran and trying to boost her confidence about the council funds reaching her in time. But it had meant she could not talk about anything going on in her life, all of it consumed with the situation. So she had kept quiet, and tried to ignore the sting when Ruby didn’t seem to notice or mind that Belle was not telling her anything about her life, or that she was growing thin and pale and seemed vaguely anxious all the time. It hadn’t seemed to matter at the time, but, suddenly, it did.

“I saw you! The other night, all dolled up and getting out of his monster of a car in front of the library, at almost five in the morning. I couldn't believe it, so I was trying to give you the opportunity to explain yourself!”

She knew exactly what Ruby had seen. There had been a party a few nights ago that Alexander had wanted to use as an excuse to show around a newly-restored a blue-glass scarab necklace by Lalique, hoping it would catch the interest of someone and he would be able to sell it directly instead of having to negotiate it being put up for auction in an upcoming catalogue of Christie’s. She had purchased a lovely De la Renta made out of gold lame for the occasion, strapless with a sweetheart neckline to let the necklace shine and had put up her hair in a rather fetching imitation of a Gibson Girl bouffant. It had been a lovely night, draped over Alexander’s arm, both of them people-watching to pass the time whenever it was not mandatory for them to mingle. By the end of the night she had been pleasantly tipsy and he had confided in her that he had an informal offer for the necklace. ‘A little south of six figures’ he had told her, smiling that predatory smile at her, a little bit softened by the obvious admiration in his eyes at what he saw as her accomplishment. It was the first time Belle had consciously thought she wanted to kiss him, wanted him to lean close enough that she could reach his hair to pull him close and press her lips against his. 

And now Ruby was making it all sound something that wasn’t. Something unseemly.

“Whatever you think you saw it wasn’t what you’re trying to imply.”

She fished out her wallet from her purse, glad she did not have to scrounge up enough for the food and the tip amongst the loose change in her purse.

“And I don’t have to stay here and hear you imply I’m selling myself for the library or something. You know where to find me if you want to see me, but don’t feel rushed to do so.”

She waved at Granny on her way out, head held high and a weight off her chest.