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[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

After All Is Said And Done

Masterlist After the events of the winter holidays and Jamil’s manipulation, you and your friends are left to pick up the pieces.

Warning: I write the reader as female. Also the reader celebrates Christmas.

Includes: Angst, Female Prefect!Reader, Book 4 Spoilers, references to PTSD and depression, Jamil x Reader if you squint, platonic Ace x Reader x Deuce but can be read as pre-romantic

Honestly, after writing this, I’m thinking about writing a version with Riddle, Azul, Vil and Malleus...

You know I'm still standing better than I ever did

Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid

I'm still standing after all this time

Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind

- Elton John, I’m Still Standing

“Hey Y/N, there’s another one,” Grim called out from the doorstep. You can feel your stomach sink, already knowing just what was left at your door.

“Ugh,” Ace groaned in disgust, “you’d think that he’d give up after all this time.”

You mentally agreed. Ever since the incident in Scarabia during the winter holidays, Kalim has been making an effort to invite you to his parties. Eagerly calling out your name whenever he spots you and enthusiastically telling you to come join him, listing all of the food and music he’d love to share with you. You have to admit, you did have a soft spot for the young heir, his genuine wholesomeness making it impossible for you to outright dislike him. It’s clear as day that his kindness is authentic, that he actually does want to spend time with you and wishes to bring you enjoyment. The kicked puppy look he gives you every time you politely turn him down with a new excuse each time does take a stab at your conscience but you can’t help it. Every time you think about the possibility of stepping into that dorm your mind reels with memories of darkened rooms, harsh reprimands, agonisingly scalding marches, banging on doors until your hands bruised and screaming for someone, anyone, to let you out until your throat ached.

“Just burn it, Grim, you know the drill,” Deuce told the feline, his face twisted into annoyance.

“Hell yeah,” Grim crows in triumph, about to summon one of his beloved fire blasts before Ace swiped the ornately detailed paper from his paws and unceremoniously threw it into your fireplace not even giving it a glance as the flames burned it to ash.

“Don’t even bother,” Ace said, “stuff like this isn’t worth anyone’s time and effort. At least it can be used to kindle the fire for s’mores now.”

You looked at Ace and Deuce and you thanked The Seven for having such amazing friends. Whilst the uncomfortable twisting in your stomach still remained, their obvious attempt at helping you definitely alleviated it. 

The previous winter holidays made it clear just how much they cared about you. The moment that they realised that something was wrong, they put aside their differences and used their own resources to personally check up on you. Granted, you would have appreciated it more if they arrived a few days earlier whilst you were still being kept prisoner but the warmth you felt inside at seeing such friendly faces after so long made up for everything.

When Ace and Deuce had entered Ramshackle with Grim one afternoon to prepare for another impromptu sleepover, with bags of groceries and overnight things in their arms, they were surprised to find it completely silent. Apart from the scuttling and twittering of woodland creatures, the moaning of old pipes and the nervous whispering of the apparitions that lived with you, it was disturbingly quiet.

They felt a collective chill go up their spines, though whether that was due to the lack of heat in this abandoned building, the growing fear that something is wrong with you or the presence of undead spirits huddled up in your living room was unknown.

The ghosts’ head shot up at the sounds of the door creaking closed behind them and the thuds of the boys dropping their bags onto the floor, frazzled worry lining their wispy white non-corporeal forms as they floated towards them. Their clear agitation did absolutely nothing to soothe the trio’s growing anxiety.

“You youngins’ are here for Y/N right?” one of them asked.

“Yeah, we are,” Ace replied, his voice coming out more harsh and aggressive to mask the growing dread.

“Is something wrong?” Deuce’s voice, on the other hand, clearly conveyed every inch of fear that he felt.

“We don’t know,” a taller ghost stated, “we haven’t seen Little Miss in ages.”

“All this time she’s been in her room, without a peep,” another butted in, “it’s been hours and she hasn’t even come down for dinner.”

“And you didn’t think to check on her?!” Ace said angrily, “she could be in trouble.”

“We can’t go in there!” the shortest of them explained defensively, “that’s a lady’s room.”

“And even if we could, what’s the point?” the first one elaborated, “it’s not like we have bodies that can help her.”

“Please go see her,” the second implored, “we’re worried.”

“You really care about her, huh?” Ace noted, seeing the panicked, begging looks that were being directed at them.

“Of course we do,” a ghost stated matter-of-factly, “Little Miss is family.”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Deuce said after a beat of silence, trying to calm himself and everyone else, “maybe she’s just sleeping?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Grim was quick to jump to that conclusion, any conclusion that wasn’t the fact that his beloved henchman is in trouble, “Henchman’s just conked out. She’s fine.”

Despite his cheery words, he couldn’t help the pit forming in his stomach, a deep hole that not even tuna could satisfy. The three of them looked at each other before running up the creaking stairs, with Deuce throwing the ghosts a quick thank you. As they reached the top and made their way down the corridor and towards your bedroom, they could faintly hear the sound of rushing water getting louder and louder. In spite of the darkness enshrouding the passageway, your room appeared to be fully lit, if the hazy golden glow peeking out from under your door was any indication. 

With a firm twist, Ace banged open the door, completely ignoring the sound of it ricocheting off of its adjacent wall in his hurry to see you, only to find your room completely bare of any life. Noticing that the door to the attached bathroom was wide open, the trio rushed towards it only to stand frozen at the doorway. 

The sight they were met with was you, sitting hunched up in your bathtub, still fully clothed sans your socks and shoes. Your shower was still on, sending streams of water down towards your crouched figure, completely drenching you.

“Y/N!” the three of them yelled, racing towards you. Grim jumped into your arms, getting on his hind legs so that he could paw at your shoulder and face, doing whatever his tiny hands could do to get you to notice him. Deuce did the same, stepping into the bathtub whilst Ace turned off the spray of water so that he could grip your shoulders and shake you whilst whisper-shouting your name. Still, you did not react, the only result of their attempts to stir you were your eyes laxly opening at their sudden manhandling, causing them to cease their jostling.

You looked less like a human and more like a marionette who had been cut from its strings. Your eyes, that were usually glowing with personality, all bright, fierce and lively, were currently dull, glassy and doll-like, all dim and staring without seeing. The only confirmation they had that their best friend was not a corpse were the small, dainty, robotic blinks of them and the way your chest would softly rise and fall. 

“The hell, Deuce,” Ace looked more worried than he did before - and considering the amount of near death experiences he’s been through with you, that’s saying a lot, “what are we supposed to do?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” Grim exclaimed fiercely, not moving from where he was nestled against your cold, drenched chest, “Henchman needs you!”

“I know-I know,” Deuce was quick to appease him, “why don’t we start by getting her out of here and into something warm? Then we can figure out what to do.” 

And so he brought you up into a bridal carry. Usually being so close to you would’ve flustered him beyond belief, his shyness around girls amplified around you despite all that you’ve been through together, especially now that the shower water made your soaked clothes stick onto you like a second skin and making certain aspects of your femininity more obvious but his need to help you was far stronger than any bashfulness he had.

He was scared - they all were. To see someone strong enough to fight overblots, to stand by their side and boldly face down the monsters in the mines, to live in this world that they are both literally and figuratively at the bottom of the food chain, so broken was nothing but haunting, a horrific sight that they’ll never be able to unsee.

Ace opened up your closet, grabbing some towels and a pair of pyjamas that he tossed onto your bed, as Deuce carried you to your bedroom, your head resting against the curve of your shoulder before gently placing you down onto your duvet.

“Let’s get you dried up, okay,” Ace cooed at you, smiling softly and speaking with a gentleness that surprised even him. He began to swipe a towel over your sodden frame as Deuce got to work gently drying your hair from behind you and Grim nuzzled, whined and purred against your lap.

“The ghosts told us that you haven’t eaten dinner,” Deuce murmured, “you should change into some dry clothes whilst we go and get you something.”

He got up from your bed and made a move to leave but your hand shot out and grasped onto the hem of his shirt. You continued to look down, not meeting anyone’s eyes as your shaking voice whispered, “don’t go.”

“Y/N, you’re drenched,” Ace said, “and you haven’t had anything in a while. We’ll be just downstairs and we won’t be gone for long.”

“Stay. Please,” your voice was weak and your eyes downcast, “don’t wanna be alone.”

The card soldiers gave each other a look before nodding and climbing onto your bed so that they sat as close to you as possible. You immediately cuddled up to them, allowing yourself to get enveloped by their touch.

“What’s wrong with me?” you whisper.

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Y/N,” Deuce soothed you, gently stroking your head and back like you would a wounded animal.

“Yeah,” Ace agreed with his rival, “it’s everyone else here that’s messed up.”

“Then why,” you did nothing to stop the tears from falling, your words coming out choked from the way your throat was constricting, “then why does all of this keep on happening to me?”

“I don’t know,” the red head sighed in defeat, continuing his ministrations on you.

You said nothing, allowing them to embrace you as you buried your face into their bodies, letting their clothes and Grim’s fur soak up your tears and muffled sobs.

It didn’t go unnoticed how your companions became even more protective of you after that incident. Wherever you went, they would flank you like guard dogs, shielding you from the rest of NRC and directing a glare at anyone who so much as looked at you. After hearing about how uncomfortable you felt being around certain people, they were on the lookout, not-so-sublty steering your body away from anyone they deemed unworthy of being within your gaze (you could’ve sworn that you heard Grim hiss at some students a few times).

It wasn’t just them. Your family of ghosts also made an effort to check in on you. Even when you couldn’t see them, you could feel them hovering near you in another room, making sure that you looked after yourself, gently reminding you to eat, sleep and rest. They called you over more often to join them in games, sharing stories and jokes, making sure not to mention anything that they felt could upset you.

Your past self - the person you were before your entrance to NRC, a person that now seemed almost like a stranger to you - would’ve found it smothering, almost demeaning at how they’re affections seemed to infantilise you but now, all you can think of is how much their presence comforts you, how loved they make you feel. It made you feel seen and heard, that at least the small handful of allies in your tight inner circle care enough to consider your feelings instead of sweeping them under the rug like everyone else. Like how a few words here and there and a few taps on the wrist were enough to clean up the mess that was the last overblot.

When the dust settled and all was said and done, everyone else partied whilst you were left hurt and broken and once again left to pick up the pieces of your shattered self.

It’s like your body is in constant fight or flight mode, with someone’s fist persistently banging on the ‘flight’ switch. Despite the anxiety and fear buzzing in you whenever you take a step outside, you feel constantly tired, both physically and mentally, your head feels like it’s perpetually submerged underwater and every bite of food you take tastes like sandpaper. ‘Down’ is the only word you can think of to describe yourself. Just chronically down - buried deep, deep underground with no way of clawing back onto the surface. It didn’t matter where you were or who you’re with, all you can hear is your mind constantly screaming at you that you’re in danger. No matter how many times they tried, the combined efforts of your new found family still couldn’t drive away the intrusive thoughts that crept up on you, the dark cloud of foreboding that would hover over you, the cold stare of the Grim Reaper that would follow you. Waiting. 

You couldn’t fault Jamil for his overblot. Despite the pains of your heart, the logic of your mind knew that he wasn’t truly to blame for tossing you to the ends of Scarabia, for leaving you shivering in the freezing blizzard, your body numbing from its close brush with hypothermia, for sending projectile after projectile after you with the intent to maim, the intent to kill, for leaving the imprints of snake fangs in your body as companions to the myriad of other scars that were gifted to you from him and the overblots that came before. It didn’t take a genius to know that everything he did whilst covered in that disgustingly sticky black ink (the ink that will now and forever be a recurring character in your dreams) wasn’t under his complete control, no matter what your nightmares and the sinister voices that would whisper in your ear during the dead of night told you.

But you allowed yourself to blame him for everything that happened before his subsequent descent into madness; for kidnapping you, hypnotising you, locking you up in a dark room against your will, keeping you away from the only people (and ghosts) that actually cared about you and prevented you from contacting anyone. 

You didn’t blame him for wanting freedom, for holding bitterness because of the cards he was dealt with, you just wished that he didn’t sacrifice your wellbeing in his schemes.

Whilst you did hate him for hypnotising you - in this world you already lost so much control of your life, he had to go ahead and take away even more of it - you resent him even more for manipulating you, for feigning affection in a world that gave you anything but, for using you, exploiting your weaknesses and the fact that you had no one apart from Ace, Deuce and Grim to call a friend.

Whilst Christmas doesn’t exist in this world, you made sure to make plans with your family in Ramshackle - you actually had fun detailing all that you were going to do with the ghosts and Grim: coming up with a menu, making or buying hand puppets to create your own Punch and Judy style panto, asking Sam to stock up on this world’s version of Christmas crackers, and just doing what you can to forget the fact that your friends and family are in a whole other world with no way to even give them glad tidings - but instead you spent it marching in the hot desert, contracting heat exhaustion, fainting due to said heat exhaustion when Kalim (actually Jamil) deprives you of any treatment despite your pleads and complaints, slurring your words and vomiting as you tried to ignore the worst migraine of your life and then spending half an hour breaking down into sobbing fits as you were once again imprisoned in that horrid room.

He made you believe that he was a friend, someone you could rely on. When you lost consciousness in the scorching desert, he gave you medicine and treated you to relieve the pain; when you felt confused and hurt by Kalim’s Jekyll-and Hyde-like behaviour and in anguish over not being able to leave, he provided a sympathetic ear and comforting smile as he gave you words of solace. But it was all a lie; you were suffering in the desert because of him, Kalim was hostile to you because of him, you were chased, treated horribly by the Scarabians and locked up against your will because of him. 

All the torment you felt was because of him. 

When you asked the Dorm Leader of Octavinelle and his underlings for help, you felt sick to your stomach, like scorching acid was leaving your mouth instead of words, at the very idea of having to ask the ones who conspired to make you homeless for help. But you had no choice, and the fact that he put you in a position where you had to go to people that you would rather die than ever associate with again makes you hate him even more.

Although, if you had to be honest, in a strange, warped sort of way, you almost respected Ashengrotto for what he did to you. At least he was honest when he stripped you of your home and the only family you had in this world, at least his malicious intentions weren’t hidden when he slyly slid you that dreaded contract - you didn’t even know why you were even surprised when he sent the eels out to harass you in his attempt at sabotage, he might not have invented sleaziness but he sure as hell perfected it. As dodgy as the mermen are, it would be better to have someone that you know you can never trust than one who takes your trust and then crumbles it to sand with his own hands right in front of you.

And Kalim - God, if your feelings for Kalim weren’t the epitome of mixed then you don’t know what is. On the one hand, the genuine warmth he exuded upon meeting you was unprecedented. Unlike the other students in this school, who openly treated you with hostility and malice before you could even say a word, he was the only one good-natured enough to show you the kindness you had missed from your world. Despite the obvious power imbalance, he treated you as an equal, sweeping you away on a magic carpet ride, treating you to the finest delicacies he had to offer, chatting, laughing and playing with you as if you were a person and not some magicless human that didn’t belong. But on the other hand he disregarded everything you went through under his so-called ‘best friend’s’ schemes. All the pain you suffered, all the scars you gained - both physical and emotional - were swept under the rug as Kalim answered Jamil’s public (“and insincere,” your mind adds) apology with an “I forgive you.”

“I forgive you.”

‘I forgive you’ Kalim says brightly and merrily goes out of his way to include Jamil during dorm activities like the Vice Housewarden didn’t do the magical equivalent of drugging and kidnapping you. Like he didn’t play you like a fool, dangling the possibility of friendship, of the companionship that you craved in this strange and lonely new world, before ripping it away from you and stabbing you in the back. Like he didn’t use you as a pawn in his sick, twisted game, literally controlling you and isolating you from any kindness you could get. It didn’t matter that after this you’ll never be the same again. No, of course not. 

Because in this world, you didn’t matter.

It all comes to a head when the Viper himself is the one that approaches you. 

You’re eating lunch in the dining hall when you feel an arm wrap around your shoulders and you get pulled into Ace’s chest. On your other side you can see Deuce’s hackles raise, his jaw clenching and glaring at an unknown individual with barely concealed anger, looking very much like the ex-delinquent he used to be.

“Whaddya want?” Grim drawls boorishly at the source of your friends’ ire, “we’re eatin’ here.”

“I’m aware of that,” the smooth, velvety voice of the Vice Dorm Leader of Scarabia makes you tense, an action Ace must have felt because you feel his hand squeeze yours shortly after. You writhe in place, loosening his hold and giving you enough wiggle room to get out of his grip. With your hand still in his, you turn to look at the interloper, to see what he says next, “Kalim’s hosting a banquet this evening and he’s asked me to personally invite Y/N.”

“Well she’s not coming,” Grim snapped at him.

“She’s busy,” Deuce said.

“And she has nothing to say to you,” Ace interjected, “so you can go ahead and bog off.”

Viper sighs, “I see. If that’s all.”

He turns around to leave but you stop him, “w-wait.”

At this not only he turns to look at you with bewilderment but Ace, Deuce and Grim as well. You continue, “can I please speak with you outside, there’s something I have to say.”

“Wha-Y/N are you sure?” Deuce said, looking at you with worry.

“Yeah, you don’t have to do this,” Ace agreed.

“He doesn’t deserve it,” Grim said imploringly. 

You smiled at him and pet the fur on his head before giving Ace and Deuce reassuring glances, “I’ll be fine. We’ll be just in the corridor outside so you’ll be nearby.”

“Alright then if you say so. But if he tries anything…” Deuce gives the Scarabian a glare, letting his threat linger.

With that you get up and wordlessly walk out of the dining hall and into the empty hallway adjacent to it, knowing that the other was following you without having to turn around and look. You stop at a corner and after taking a deep sigh to brace yourself you turn around and tell him with varying steadiness, “I just want to say that as much as I appreciate Kalim’s generosity and hospitality, I’m afraid that I have to decline.”

“Quite the journey just for one sentence,” he raises an eyebrow, the only expression his inscrutable face allows, “you couldn’t have said this back there?”

“It’s best if I told you this one-on-one just to get it out of the way. Make it clear that I’m the one who told you that I can’t attend and my friends have nothing to do with it. Now if you’ll excuse me-”

“But that’s not all you want to say, is it?” his question pierces you like a blade to your chest, releasing all of the air that was in your lungs.

“Whatever it is you want to say to me,” he intones, his voice as calm and collected and fake as it always is, “I can take it.”

Jamil Viper was many things but an idiot is not one of them. After Kalim’s first five consecutive rejections, he was well-aware that the so-called emergencies, errands and other assorted tasks were just excuses you made to prevent you from outright telling the Dorm Leader that you just didn’t want to attend. He can’t say he blamed you. He understood that you had a less than stellar time during your last visit to the dorm - after all, he was responsible for it. He tried explaining to Kalim that perhaps it would be best to leave you alone but his bleeding heart refused to understand that you were just being polite. He did consider you a friend after all, and truly wanted to pay you back for everything that you did to help him and his dorm during the holidays and to hear your refusals disheartened him, sending him whining about how he wished he could make you happy to thank you for all that you’ve done and make up for what happened. Jamil’s statements that maybe you just wanted to be left alone fell on deaf ears as the young heir decided to send another invite through him. Jamil bit back the remark that he would be the last person you wanted to see and begrudgingly left to do his duty.

“What if what I want to say to you is that the very sight of you makes me sick?”

You’ve got to hand it to yourself, despite having over a decade to fine tune his poker face and hide his inner thoughts, his eyes visibly widened, shock flashing over his features before immediately regaining their usual unreadable appearance.

You would’ve relished at his slip up, that for less than a second you were able to gain an upper hand over the man who toyed with your vulnerability and orchestrated your suffering, if you didn’t have a voice in your head warning you that it could all just be another ploy, another way for him to trap you in his coils and squeeze until you choke.

That’s what snakes do after all. They patiently lie in wait, completely unassuming and unthreatening, before they strike so fast and so viciously that its prey is completely helpless to the onslaught of venom that’s injected into its neck. 

He continues to stare at you, speechless so you continue, clenching your hands in a desperate attempt to stop them from shaking and willing your voice to stop wobbling despite every nerve in your body yelling at you to hightail out of there, to get away from the threat, the danger, that you’re not safe, just run, just flee to the refuge of Ramshackle before you inevitably get hurt again.

“I can’t look at you without wanting to throw up. Every time I see your face all I can remember is  what you did to me, how you used me, how my feelings were nothing but toys for you to play with to make you feel better. You hurt me. In one of the most unforgivable ways possible and I don’t think that I can go back to the person I was before the holidays.”

“You know what?” you laugh bitterly, shaking your head at yourself, “honestly, I can’t say that you’re completely to blame. It was my mistake for actually being stupid enough to fall for your act. If my time in this world taught me anything it’s that I should never let my guard down. I should’ve known that you never wanted to be my friend, that you, just like everyone else here, only care about yourself, without giving a damn about who you have to hurt to get it. It’s my fault for not learning from my experiences, for deluding myself into thinking that someone can actually like me in this damned place. God, I’m an idiot. At least now I know better than to believe your deception.”

“Y/N-”

“Was it fun, at least? Did you enjoy it? Taking a helpless, magicless girl and using her to satisfy your own twisted schemes? Taking my powerlessness and using that as a stepping stool to make you feel better? Manipulating me like your little lamb for slaughter? At least, I can say that the whole experience taught me something and it’s that no one here cares about me, that apart from Ace, Deuce and Grim, I have no one. So I think it would be best to tell your Dorm Leader that unfortunately, I will not be attending. Or not. You could just hypnotise him. Either way is the same to him.”

You turned around and was about to go back to the comfort of your friends, before tossing a few parting words over your shoulder: 

“Congratulations, Vice Dorm Leader Viper, you’ve achieved what you wanted. You said that you did all of that so you can finally have your actions acknowledged - well, here you have it. Now I can’t go a minute without acknowledging what you’ve done.”

And with that you walked away, meeting up with Ace, Deuce and Grim as they wrapped their arms around your shaking body and walked you back to the sanctuary of Ramshackle.

[rokuhoku]

a piece of your history.

Pairing: Namor x Filipino!Reader

Rating: Mature, Comedy (No smut but there is tension)

Summary: It hurts to not be able to properly recreate your traditional pre-colonial Filipino clothing, and Namor takes notice of this feeling of yours.

Word Count: 2,578

Content Warning: Mentions of colonialization

Disclaimer: Namor is kind of cold and dark towards reader!! Idk if its ooc but i would imagine that he would generally be apprehensive towards a surface dweller. you have been warned

___________

Reminder: This fic is part of a Namor x Filipino!Reader miniseries, but can be read on its own! Miniseries fic(s):

a piece of your history. / "beloved."

__________

“Do you like it?”

You asked, grinning, slightly turning yourself around in order to fully show off your work proudly.

Namor hummed, sitting in the water by the shore of the beach. He was always like this, meeting up with you now and again. 

“Is this the wear of your people?” He asked. You grinned and nodded, letting out small chuckles while fiddling with the fabric between your fingers. You had always wanted to make the Pre-Colonial traditional clothing of your Filipino ancestors, it was the closest thing you had of home as of now. 

The process was tedious, you admit that. So little resources or references online on how your specific region’s clothing looked– much less how it was made, due to how much the Spaniards burned and banned, but you had still managed to gather enough to make one as accurately as possible.

“It’s… beautiful.” He simply says, eyeing up the clothes and how it wrapped around your body, causing you to tear your eyes away from him in fear of showing how his compliment affected you in such a way. 

“Why have your people stopped wearing this? Are they not your traditional wear?” Namor asked, remembering the photos of your family that you had shown him. They were wearing what you had called a “baro’t saya” and “barong” for the celebration of “Buwan ng Wika” as he recalled it.

“It’s gorgeous, and made by the hands of your people instead of the colonizers.” He continued, “It escapes me on why your people have abandoned wearing your traditional garbs, instead choosing to wear what they gave you.” This statement slightly irked you, causing you to deadpan at him.

“Dude, we were enslaved and tortured by them for more than 300 years.” You crossed your arms. “Do you think we abandoned it willingly?” You were met with silence, and for once, Namor was the one who was left speechless by bluntness.

“... Right. My apologies.” Was all Namor could reply, causing you to let out a small laugh, shaking your head. It’s not often you’re the one leaving him silent, with him often bashing “surface dwellers”, causing you to regularly remind him that you yourself are a surface dweller. 

Namor never had a proper reply for that.

However, even if you were happy with your work, you still frowned and sighed. You dragged your fingers along the cloth, wistfully looking at its patterns. Namor’s eyes followed the way your face curled up to a grimace, causing him to frown even more (if that was even possible) in confusion. 

“It’s not much, though. The fabric’s sorta cheap ‘cause it was the only one I could find that had this specific pattern. I had to pick between comfortability or accuracy.” You sulked, sitting down on the dry sand close to him. You hugged your knees close to your chest, already itchy from the scratchy inside of the fabric.

“I chose accuracy, of course… for them.” You vaguely finished, slightly bitter on how hard it was to make your country’s real traditional clothing in an authentic way. You palmed the sand, looking for your bag before taking out your trusty cellphone. 

Ah, surface dwellers and their hand-held yet fragile technologies… Namor thought as you typed and scrolled away at your phone. 

“I mean, look at this!” You held your phone out, showing what appeared to be a real life replica of your garbs, just made in a better way. Namor narrowed his eyes in confusion. 

“So your people still make this?” 

“Well technically yes, but no? God, I wish, though. This is just a historical costume for entertainment…” You replied, huffing. 

“Tangina talaga ng Espanya…” You grumbled under your breath. Namor chuckled at you, as he had heard you swear in your mother tongue (he was sure it was a swear– it was literally the first word you had taught him) at one of your country’s past colonizers.

“Jay, ba'ax jaaj le je'elo'...” He replied, agreeing, though this did cause your face to slightly feel warmer. You would never admit it to his face, but him speaking his native language was kinda hot.

You let out a small chuckle, before wistfully sighing and looking at the sky. 

“You know… I’m kinda jealous of you and your people of Talokan.” Namor rose an eyebrow at you, his head turning to look at you. You put your hands up in mock defense, clearly meaning well.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way! And yeah, you guys have faced struggles with water pollution, junk and also colonizer stuff… It’s just… y’know…” You trailed off, suddenly feeling bashful. Namor’s gaze softened, as he nodded to indicate that you continue. You breathed in deeply.

“Well, I mean, you guys got to keep your culture intact, no outside forces ripping it away from you.” You mumbled, picking at the sand that got between your nails.

“No forgotten gods… no forgotten stories… no forgotten practices.” You longingly looked at the sea.

You snorted, though. “Even if they tried, you could still put up a fight and protect it.” You smiled at him, causing him to avert his gaze and look back at the ocean.

“I just… I just wish I could salvage at least a small part of it.” You finished, already feeling your throat close up and tears form in your eyes. God, why did you have to be so emotional? Putangina naman… 

For a beat or two, Namor stayed quiet. You already felt dread setting in your stomach, oh god. What if he had another diva moment and dove back in the water? Before you could panic even more, you heard the water move, as water droplets seem to fall from sky and onto you. You looked up in confusion, squinting your eyes at Namor, who had stood up from his place to sit closer to you.

“... May I see more of these garbs?” 

Your frown was replaced with a smile, as you swallowed back the lump and blinked away the oncoming tears. “Sure! I have so many saved and printed– it’s important to have references before crafting, after all!” 

Your signature grin was back as you happily took out what looked to be a plastic bag containing pictures that looked similar to your clothes. You happily explained away, showing him more and more photos– though he did notice that you had backed up a bit when he came a bit too close to your personal space. 

He followed along as you showed more and more photos– along with more pictures of Pre-Colonial jewelry that you wanted to replicate yourself. He noticed the way you would stop and longingly gaze at them, before continuing on with explaining.

Namor watched the way your eyes would brighten as you talked more and more about your history, before they would dim as you brought up on why it was not used by your people in the modern day anymore. 

“... And yeah, that’s pretty much what my own region wears! Though, it does get a bit tricky to see if it really is my region per say,” Namor looked at you, a bit confused but waiting for you to continue. Your smile grew wider. 

“All regions basically have a lot of similarities and differences! So sometimes it gets a bit confusing.” You rambled, before noticing yourself and getting a bit embarrassed. Namor softly smiled at you. 

“This just shows how rich the cultures of your people are, in etail.” 

You blinked before letting out a joyous laugh, surprised that Namor of all people complimented you! (Well, to be more precise, your heritage). You were about to reply before your eyes caught sight of the time on your phone. “Ay gago! Ang late na pala! I still have to call my parents!” You put on your coat over your work, before shoving your phone back in your bag. 

Before you could properly stand up, a hand on your wrist stopped you. Your brain loaded for a few seconds, your eyes following the hand and how it trailed back to Namor. “Come back here in two days time.” He asked (more of demanded).

You gawked at him, this was the first time he ever confirmed that you were going to see him! Most of the time, he simply came and went as he pleased. The look in his eyes already made it impossible to say no, so of course refusing him was not an option. 

“I-I…” You stammered, meeting his eyes that had so much emotion in them. You gulped. “Okay! See you in… two days, dude!” You quickly went on your way home.

Namor nodded at you, before he caught sight of the familiar plastic ziplock you had left behind. Before he could call out to you, you were already too far away, and if he were to approach you someone would surely see him.  

Namor watched your back fade from the distance, already confirming the idea forming in his head. He nodded to himself, before grabbing the ziplock bag and diving back into the sea, making sure to not let anything get wet. 

__________

You practically ran towards the beach as you grinned, excited that your.. Friend(?) or Frenemy(?) personally requested your presence. You cleared your throat and attempted to act cool, though severely failing, before sitting down by the drier parts of the sand, admiring how beautiful the waves looked. 

A few moments later, a familiar head peeped out from the water, causing you to laugh and wave at him. Namor uncharacteristically bore a grin at you, continuing to get out of water, the droplets from his hair magically disappearing with each step.

“I have a surprise for you.” was the first thing he said as he offered you a hand in getting up. You nodded, though a bit confused now. 

In his hands, you had finally taken notice of a makeshift waterproof bag tied by a drawstring along with a familiar plastic ziplock of papers. “Ay, onga pala! I accidentally left my papers…” You exclaimed, surprised that he kept them in such good condition.

Namor gingerly handed you the drawstring bag first, urging you to open it. “Please, have a look inside.” You hesitantly took it in your hands, noting the way the fabric practically had gold woven into it.

What you saw took your breath away, 

it was Pre-Colonial indigenous Filipino clothes.

You ran a hand through them, the fabric being silky yet cool to the touch. Just as how Filipino clothes were theorized to be. Somehow, Namor had found a way to wove it with gold, just as what your research had said. You felt tears well up in the corner of your eyes, it felt like a piece of history was being given back to you. 

 “Well? What are you waiting for?” Namor’s voice snapped you out of your stupor. You looked back at him, open-mouthed and too shocked to reply. He chuckled at you. “Try it on, in etail.”

Namor politely turned around, silently trying to hide and bury the way he felt when he heard fabric shifting and the likely assumption of you undressing. 

Your breath hitched as the feeling of the fabric against your skin was a comfortable one. It was perfectly tailored and made for you, as if someone had memorized every inch of your body down to the smallest details, the robes fitting like a glove on your body. 

“You can look now…” You managed to practically croak out, forever feeling thankful at such a kind gesture from no one other than Namor himself. 

The moment Namor turned around, he swore that he felt slightly lightheaded from how you managed to take his breath away with just your look. You looked like you were in your natural element, your most natural state.

It almost felt as if this was how you were supposed to be. 

The way the gold-woven fabric hung off your own copper skin had him thinking of thoughts he swore he would never have of surface-dwellers, and perhaps the most euphoric feeling was seeing the look on your face; the genuine joy and happiness. 

But wait, something was missing. 

He narrowed his eyes at you before rummaging through the bag he carried with him. Namor gently brought out familiar looking jewelry, though with its own twist.

“These… are also for you.”

Namor took your hand and placed it in his, slipping on a rather detailed and delicately made golden ring. He took both of your wrists and placed on them gold bracelets adorned with what appeared to be a jade material.

All the while, he made direct eye contact with you. You practically shook under his gaze, deeming it to be too intimate. 

Before you could process anything more, you felt the heat of Namor’s body behind your back, as you heard gold clinking together. His hot breath fanned on the back of your neck, as the heat in your ears never seemed to go away. 

You felt a heavy weighted necklace be placed onto your collarbone, before a click behind you was resounded. Namor’s hands lingered for a split second on the nape of your neck, before he practically ripped himself away and stood back, afraid of his own actions.

Your breath left your body for what felt like the nth time in the past 30 minutes, as you took the necklace between your fingers and observed the intricate designs of gold and jade beautifully fused together. 

All of this jewelry should have felt heavy, but to you they felt as if they were perfectly crafted and made for you and your people. It was as if these were all made with heavy and careful detail, making sure that they perfectly aligned with your own practices but still with its own twist and charm from the gifter.

You could never take back what the Spaniards have taken from your country, but it felt like a lost piece of your own heritage was being directly gifted to you, you could practically feel the pride of your ancestors. This was all so overwhelming. 

“K'uk'ulkan…” 

Namor suppressed the heat he felt as his natural name rolled off your tongue in such a breathless manner. 

Now, it was your turn to surprise as he did not anticipate that you would tackle him in a hug. You buried your face in his neck, not scared anymore of what he’d do. Namor’s own hands hesitantly placed themselves on your backside, before they tightened around you.

“Salamat… Salamat talaga, K'uk'ulkan…” Namor felt hot wet tears drip onto his shoulder. 

He hugged back even tighter.

“Mixba’al, in etail.” 

__________

BONUS:

“Okay, now ‘putangina mo’ means I like you.” You said to Namor, though the way you tried to (and failed) to hold back your laughter made him doubt that that was the meaning of the phrase.

“Is it really now?” You laughed, nodding profusely. “Hell yeah it is! We Pinoys use it all the time to compliment each other! Like, ‘putangina mo tol, ang guwapo mo nakakabakla ka na!’ ”

“ ‘Nakakabakla’?” Namor narrowed his eyes at you. Were you just messing with him? You laughed even more, clutching your sides by how much it hurt.

“Gaga, uto-uto ka talaga.”

Namor had a deep feeling in his stomach that you were insulting him (he was right) so he stood up and sighed, walking back towards the sea.

“What the-! Hey! Where are you going?!”

“K'a' ak'ate.”

“Aw c’mon K'uk'ulkan! Can’t you take a joke?!”

He was already gone by the time you had said that.

[slocumjoe]

Love your work, really encapsulates the various companions.

Love to see how the companions should react to a companion who either collects a bunch of prewar stuff or just gives them a bunch of little goofy gifts all the time.

Romanced or not, either is fine I think this works well for all of the companions.

(because some of us show effection like crows and give our friends and loved ones little stupid things that make us think of them.)

This was one of the first requests I got, which means it's been a while, so thank you for your patience 💕

Anyway more of my X6-88 is a grumpy, prickly little asshole propaganda

Companions and an Old World antiques collector/magpie person

Cait; always owned only what she could have on her person, so someone who just...has shit, seemingly because they found it shiny, is alien. Even more so once they start trying to share. That's when she freaked out. People don't give Cait shit unless they're looking for something in exchange. If ever convinced that no, this is a present with no strings attached, Cait is even more weirded out. Over time, will come to understand that this, like, a peace offering thing. Oh, alright, it's like cats bringing you mice. Got it. Might start returning the favor, so long as they're okay with small-scale stuff she can easily find.

Codsworth; Panic. Feels an obligation to take very good care of whatever they give him. Will make meticulous spaces for the gifts. Ends up basically playing Barbie with it all. Puts it on pillows, always dusts them, carefully arranges them in ways that he thinks would make the items happiest. Gets nervous if other people even look at their trinkets, or the gifts they've given him. It doesn't help that everything is an antique.

Curie; One of the companions who's doing the same thing. She's curious, she wants to see all there is of the world. Sometimes that means hoarding little baubles. Loves round and shiny things. Their collecting doesn't faze her, nor does the gifting; it's how many things they find. Curie has trinkets, but they...they have a treasure trove. Where are they finding this stuff? Legally, she hopes?

Danse; Doesn't mean to, but ends up treating them as, like...a bloodhound for historical items. Go, boy, go find a pre-historic flipphone from the 2000s! Danse himself is a tip-tappy puppy when bygone technology is involved. Getting presents though...different story. Unless it's tech, something for him to use, he's uncomfortable. Not extremely, like in any other situation where someone expresses affection towards him, but enough he recoils and blinks the first time.

Deacon; Whatever they give him is now a prop for the one-man comedy show that is Deacon Railroadagent. A magnifying glass, and he becomes Nick for awhile. A newspaper, he's complaining about election results and how the taxes are gonna go up. A stuffed animal—Oi, 'e's jus'a l'i'le stree' urch'n, mista, spar'a gohl' coin fah suppah? How could you enable him like this. How could you.

Gage; If you're not pawning it, why bother? Gage thinks like Cait, less is better, easier, not a waste of time and space. Sure, sometimes they scrap shit for parts, but not always. Sometimes they just put it around, decor or whatever. If given anything, 98% chance he is turning around and selling it. If he likes them, will slip it into their bag or personal living space. If very close, he'll keep the damn thing, just...don't ask where it is. Somewhere? Wherever it is, he didn't make caps off it. That's good enough, right...?

Hancock; Will keep precise inventory of their collections and point out if they do or don't have something, when they stumble on a potential new item. Has a surprisingly good idea for authenticity, the goods, as it were. You will never get swindled, buying an antique with Hancock. Sixth sense. It's weird. Why do you know what this one baseball pitcher's favored pen for autographs was? Keeps every present he's ever been given, will make a separate pile for the stuff they give him.

MacCready; Soul. Mates. Always trading shit. Always going off on their own for a certain item they know the other would love, only to run into each other at the exact same item. If they share a home, the only thing keeping it from being a thriftstore is the stickers. Mac is a magpie. He's a collector. He likes having things. Used to satisfy this interest with Hancock as a bro's night, but now. It's like watching penguins throw the same shiny rock at each other over and over.

Nick; doesn't mean to, but flirts hard-core. Got a thing for antiques, huh? You know vintage finery when you see it, don't you? Those hands of yours really know how to handle Old World treasures, don't they? Nick. Nick. Please. He doesn't notice. Will need to be told, hey, you sound really horny. Horrified. He's made those jokes to every mechanic that gave him a tune-up. People who had their hands inside him. This includes Danse.

Piper; Just let her read the newspapers they find, and she's a happy camper. Also not a collector kind of person, but a present is a present. Honestly, though, also on the side of "just sell it." Unless it's historically important, especially sentimental, or useful, the extra caps would be more practical. She's never going to say that, hell no, and she'll find them little trinkets to add to their collection, but internally, wonders if it's a coping mechanism or something.

Preston; Is uncapable of having things after Quincy, always paranoid about needing to be on the move again. Feels lingering dread around magpie types, now, privately considers them Chekov's Gun. Now, Preston understands this mostly irrational and pushes it down whenever he gets a little twitchy about it. Will even enjoy talking about their collection, especially if there's historical shit. But there's always a tiny little goblin voice whispering "this poor bastard"

X6-88; Why are you hoarding garbage? Are you making your own scrap yard? Wait, this is all to keep? All of it? Oh. So, why are you hoarding garbage? Just to have? So it is a scrap yard. It's a neverending cascade of increasingly judgemental questioning. Like when children get curious and are unintentionally Satan's Water Torture. Will try to aid them in their collection by giving them things he thinks they'd like, but is...literal garbage. Gets magnificently indignant if they decline. TRASH IS TRASH. WHATS WRONG WITH THIS TRASH?!

This situation would have even the most incompassionate Institute scientists consider that synths could be people with free will. Because they sure as shit didn't make him like this.

[arecaceae175]

Authenticity Ch. 22: Vocal Stim

Summary: Wild, Hyrule, and Four are foraging for mushrooms. Wild expresses his excitement with vocal stims.

615 words, fluff. For requests made by Inessen and TenacityShades on AO3.

Warnings: brief mention (like, two sentences) of ableism and Wild being forced to hide his autistic traits. It’s mentioned in relation to his time as a knight Pre-Calamity

“Is this one good?” Four asked, pointing at a growth of mighty thistle.

Wild hopped over and knelt down next to Four. “Hm. It is, but it won’t work in the soup or the risotto. We need more mushrooms. That’s mighty thistle. It grows in fields and plains, mainly. If I cook it right, it helps my attacks do more damage for a while. Flora isn’t quite sure how it works, but she thinks it has something to do with increasing the adrenaline or the muscle tone, or something.” 

“Are you going to take it anyway?” Four asked with a smirk. He was very familiar with Wild’s collecting habits. 

“I’m gonna take it anyway,” Wild said as he plucked the flowers from the plant. “It’s pretty abundant around here, so it’s fine to take as much as we find.”

Four nodded then got back to his feet to resume their search. Wild followed, bouncing on his toes happily. He loved foraging. 

“Shroom, shroom, shroom,” Wild said as he bounced. 

“Wild, over here!” Hyrule called. Wild rushed over to Hyrule and found him kneeling over a thick growth of Hylian Shrooms. 

“Shrooms!” Wild exclaimed as he knelt down. 

“Shrooms,” Hyrule echoed with a nod. 

Wild inspected the mushrooms to make sure they were good to eat. They looked perfect for harvesting, so Wild picked them and added them to the growing pile in his bag. 

“Nice,” Hyrule said. 

Wild jumped to his feet and flapped his hands happily. Foraging was so much fun!

“Shrooms!” Wild said. 

“Shrooms,” Hyrule echoed again. “That’s so fun to say.”

“Shrooms!” Wild agreed. 

Sometimes Wild got a sound stuck in his mouth. It didn’t happen very often, but when it did, he would find himself repeating the sound over and over and over. When he’s upset and gets stuck on a sound, making the sound helps him calm down. Most of the time, though, the sounds get stuck when he’s happy. Making the sounds helps him feel the happy feelings, and share his happy feelings with the world. 

Wild remembered clearly the first time a sound got stuck in front of Flora. They were in Lurelin helping a fishing crew clean their catch for a feast. Wild was repeating the word fish. Flora stared at him for a long time, then smiled widely and joined in. 

Later, she explained that Wild only ever did repetitive sounds in front of her, Before. He never spoke when he was assigned as her knight, so that was the only time she heard his voice. She also said that while Wild never explicitly told her about it, she believed he was taught not to make repetitive sounds at all. Hearing Wild make sounds, especially happy sounds, always brought her joy and comfort. 

Since that conversation, Wild has been letting himself make repetitive sounds more and more. It sometimes made him anxious to do sounds in front of people he wasn’t comfortable with, but he was working through that. As long as he was comfortable and happy, it shouldn’t matter if others gave him weird looks. The sounds always made him feel better, and in his memory no one had ever told him to stop, so he didn’t.

“I got one!” 

Four’s voice brought Wild back to the present. Four was holding an Ironshroom.

“Shroom,” Wild said happily. He bounced over to Four, inspected the mushroom, then put it in his bag.

“Four, you should say shrooms with us,” Hyrule said. 

Four shrugged. “Sure, why not. Shrooms!”

“Shroooooooooms.”

“Shroom, shroom, shroom.” 

Hyrule giggled. “It doesn’t sound like a real word anymore.”

Wild’s smile was wide as he bounced through the forest to find more mushrooms. 

“Shrooms!”

[indnwitch]

HOW THE FUCK DO I COOK THAT IM BROKE AS SHIT (HTFDICTIBASVV) , Master post:

[emmersreads]

We Ride Upon Sticks - Quan Barry

4/5

I enjoyed 92% of We Ride Upon Sticks and that’s mostly because I approached it with the right attitude: it ain’t that deep.

This novel is best appreciated as a lighthearted and goofy romp down memory lane. The marketing blurb compares it to Stranger Things and that’s an absolutely delusional comparison; both works trade in 80s nostalgia, but that’s where the similarity ends. It’s better to think of We Ride Upon Sticks as a teen comedy with a faintly supernatural flavour, like Ouran High School Host Club, Derry Girls, or in my mind especially, British comedy St. Trinian’s. Everything, from the supernatural to the interpersonal, is to be jeered and mocked with 2 kool 4 skool teen swagger. And that’s a lot of fun.

I enjoyed the book on its own terms — it’s a genuinely heartwarming picture of teenage friendship and rebellion, and I did indeed laugh at the jokes — but I also liked it on a meta-level. It’s nice to have an unapologetically queer and feminist high school comedy without it being bogged down by mawkish emotional problems. I know I was once a teen constantly beleaguered by mawkish emotional problems (twas the era of Fall Out Boy and 21 Pilots), but as an adult that isn’t the part I look back on fondly. In other words, the art style of Heartstopper is very cute, but manzo do they have problems. We Ride Upon Sticks nails how irony-poisoned and allergic to sincerity we were as teens, and for some reason that meant a lot more to me than teenagers working through their emotions using healthy coping mechanisms and clear communication.

The only thing that really bugged me in the majority of the novel was the unceasing reoccurring jokes. Quan Barry loves a running gag. They come back so constantly and with such absurd regularity that it came back around to being funny for me (through I think a less easily entertained reader might find it simply unendurable instead). But that’s the majority of the book, and I want to move on to the 8% of We Ride Upon Sticks that I didn’t enjoy: the ending.

An unavoidably huge part of this novel is that it is socially conscious. It wants to do right by the feminist, queer, and BIPOC struggles of 80s teens and it wants you to know in the clearest most thoroughly explained language possible. Some readers might find this sanctimonious, but I thought it was fine. One weakness of this approach, however, is that it is always very obvious when the author fumbles the bag.

In this case the bag is the character Corey Young, formerly ‘boy’ Corey.

Spoilers for the ending of We Ride Upon Sticks.

The novel ends with a flash forward to our characters reuniting as middle-aged women so we can see what happened to the Danvers Falcons in adult life. I liked the idea and I liked the fact that for more of the characters their formative years continued well after high school graduation. The one I didn’t like was boy Corey. In the intervening years she has come out and fully transitioned. Now, I know a lot of trans people in real life and also I understand obvious foreshadowing, so I saw this coming a mile away. It was not a Reveal. Problem is the book so desperately wanted to treat it as one. We get this super long fake out scene before the book reveals that Corey is a woman now! Surprise! Were you expecting a man! I found that kinda tasteless.

What bothered me more is that while we hear a lot about the team’s anxiety about reuniting with Corey — will they say the wrong thing? Did they made transition harder for her? — we never hear anything from Corey herself. I’d put this down to a lack of authorial confidence. It feels like Barry is a lot more familiar with how it feels to be friends with a trans woman than how it feels to be a trans woman. That’s not a problem in and of itself, but I felt we needed to hear Corey’s side of things too. Is she excited to reunite with all her friends as her authentic gender? Is she apprehensive about spending time with people who only knew her pre-transition? This book is all about centring marginalized perspectives, that’s why it spends so much time explicitly calling out the ways the characters themselves fails at this — that it was disappointing for it to end by cantering a bunch of cis women’s anxiety about being accepting enough over a trans woman’s thoughts. Since this is what the book is All About, the comparatively small detail has an out-sized impact.

I already didn’t like the specifics of the reveal, and its general effect didn’t work either. It is one of a whole bunch of fake outs and twists in the flash forward section. There are so many that it fucks up the pacing, since the story is now being told essentially in reverse to accommodate the dramatic reveals. It ends on the note that the Danvers Falcons’ success was never the work of the devil, the idea of supernatural intervention just gave a bunch of teenagers the excuse they needed to work hard and band together. I thought that was really sweet, but it takes so long to get there that I was just ready for it to be over.

On balance, this is a recommend from me. I like that it’s fun and lighthearted, but it is also a queer novel that isn’t afraid to be ironic and crass. I enjoyed the absurd 80s references and the overplayed jokes. I liked that sports fiction can be for girls sometimes!

Let the hairspray wash over you and don’t worry about what the long term effects of all those CFCs will end up being.

[bagsbusiness]

Hermès Reselling: Irrational Investing or Fashion Flipping?

There is no denying the appeal of Hermès purses. However, some people feel that they are unaffordable due to the exclusivity and exorbitant retail costs. This supports a robust resale market where astute people profit from owning Hermès items.

But is becoming an Hermès reseller a guaranteed path to riches, or a gamble fraught with risk? Let's delve into the world of Hermès resale to see if the profit margins justify the effort.

Remember that you can become an Hermès reseller and sell or buy your original Hermès handbags on Resellers Connector without commissions.

The Hermès Resale Landscape: A Seller's Paradise?

Hermès's controlled distribution strategy creates a constant demand that outstrips supply. This scarcity translates to high resale values for certain Birkin and Kelly styles, especially in exotic leathers or limited-edition colors. Resellers can potentially fetch five to seven times the retail price for these coveted bags.

However, not all Hermès items are created equal. Classic canvas Constance bags or less popular newer models might only retain their retail value, or even depreciate slightly. Understanding the specific Hermès models with strong resale potential is crucial for success.

Challenges on the Hermès Reselling Road

Building Credibility: The luxury resale market is competitive. Establishing yourself as a trustworthy seller takes time and effort. Authenticity is paramount, and potential buyers will scrutinize photos, descriptions, and your reputation before committing. Building a positive online presence through platforms like The RealReal or reputable consignment stores is essential.

Sourcing Hermès: Obtaining Hermès directly from boutiques is notoriously difficult. Sales associates often prioritize long-term clients, leaving resellers with limited options. This can lead to relying on secondary markets or auctions, which introduce risks of inauthenticity and higher competition.

The Hermès Boutique Blacklist: Hermès is known to be wary of resellers. Frequent purchases of popular models might flag you, making it even harder to acquire future inventory directly.

Time Investment: Researching, sourcing, photographing, listing, and negotiating sales takes considerable time. Factor in authentication fees, potential returns, and the time it can take to sell a specific item.

The Math of Hermès Reselling:

Let's consider a scenario. You purchase a pre-owned black Birkin bag for $10,000. After authentication fees and potential repairs, you list it for $20,000. Factoring in a selling platform's commission (typically 15-30%), your profit could be around $5,000-$7,000. This seems lucrative, but remember, it's not guaranteed. The bag might take months to sell, and there's always the risk of not finding a buyer.

Is Hermès Reselling Right for You?

Hermès reselling can be profitable, but it's not a get-rich-quick scheme. Success requires passion for luxury goods, a keen eye for trends, business acumen, and significant time investment.

Alternatives to Consider:

Curated Vintage: Focus on vintage luxury pieces from various brands. This offers a wider selection and potentially avoids the challenges of acquiring Hermès directly.

Freelance Personal Shopping: Utilize your fashion knowledge to help clients find the perfect Hermès pieces, either retail or pre-owned.

[modafirmauk]

Exploring the World of Designer Bags and Accessories

Designer bags are more than just fashion statements; they're functional companions for our daily lives. But with so many options available, navigating the world of designer accessories can feel overwhelming. This guide explores the diverse world of Designer Purses & Wallets for Women, messenger and Crossbody bags, backpacks, and even pre-owned finds, providing you with the information you need to find your perfect match.

Purses & Wallets: Everyday Essentials with Style

Purses and wallets are the cornerstones of any bag collection. When choosing a designer purse, consider your lifestyle and needs.

Totes: Perfect for carrying everything you need, totes are ideal for busy professionals or anyone who loves to be prepared. Brands like Longchamp offer spacious yet stylish options.

Clutches: A timeless and elegant choice for evening outings, clutches come in various sizes and materials. Explore Bottega Veneta's woven leather clutches for a touch of Italian craftsmanship.

Crossbody bags: A versatile option for everyday wear, crossbody bags offer hands-free convenience. Saint Laurent's iconic "Le Sac YSL" is a classic example.

Wallets are equally important. Consider functionality when choosing yours:

Cardholders: Ideal for minimalists, cardholders offer a slim profile for everyday essentials. Mulberry offers sleek and stylish cardholder options.

Bifold wallets: A classic choice, bifold wallets provide space for cards and cash. Gucci's signature leather bifolds offer a touch of luxury.

Zip-around wallets: Offering security and multiple compartments, zip-around wallets are perfect for those who carry a lot. Michael Kors offers a wide range of functional and stylish zip-around wallets.

Stylish Messenger & Crossbody Bags: The Perfect Blend of Form & Function

Messenger and Crossbody Bags offer a stylish alternative to traditional backpacks. They're perfect for carrying essentials while maintaining a polished look.

Messenger bags: Offering a professional and practical vibe, messenger bags are perfect for work or school. Burberry's iconic check print messenger bags are a timeless choice.

Crossbody bags: Versatile and fashionable, crossbody bags come in various sizes and styles. Chanel's classic flap bag is a timeless crossbody option.

Women's Leather Backpacks: Luxury Meets Practicality

Leather backpacks are a stylish and practical option for everyday use. They're perfect for carrying heavier items while maintaining a sophisticated look.

Structured backpacks: Ideal for work or travel, structured backpacks offer organization and style. Balenciaga's City bag is a popular choice for its sleek design and functionality.

Convertible backpacks: Offering versatility, convertible backpacks can be transformed into totes or Crossbody bags. Tory Burch's convertible backpacks are a practical and stylish choice.

Pre-Owned Designer Bags: Sustainable Luxury for the Savvy Shopper

Looking for a unique and sustainable way to enter the world of designer bags? Consider pre-owned options. Reputable online platforms and vintage stores offer a treasure trove of authentic pieces at a fraction of the original price.

Environmental benefits: Choosing pre-owned reduces your environmental impact by giving a new life to existing bags.

Unique finds: Discover rare and vintage pieces that are no longer available in stores.

Cost-effective: Enjoy the luxury of designer brands at a more accessible price point.

Choosing the Perfect Designer Bag: It's All About YouUltimately, the perfect designer women’s handbags are one that reflects your unique style and complements your lifestyle. Consider your needs, explore different brands and styles, and don't be afraid to invest in a piece that you'll cherish for years to come. Whether it's a timeless purse, a practical backpack, or a unique pre-owned find, the designer bag world offers something for everyone.

[confidential-couture]

Unboxing the 2023 Goyard Goyardine De Trunk | Get Up to 20% Off This Diwali! 🎉 Sale Ends Nov 1st Get ready to unbox pure luxury with us as we reveal the stunning 2023 Goyard Goyardine De Trunk! This exclusive and timeless piece combines Goyard's impeccable craftsmanship with the iconic Goyardine canvas, making it an absolute must-have for designer bag enthusiasts. Join us as we explore every intricate detail of this collector's item, from its unique design to the artistry that sets Goyard apart. ✨ Diwali Special Sale! This festive season, treat yourself or a loved one to the luxury piece you've been dreaming of! Confidential Couture is offering up to 20% off on select preloved luxury bags and accessories for our Diwali Sale. It's the perfect opportunity to indulge in designer treasures, whether you're looking for Goyard, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, or more iconic brands.

🎉 Sale Ends November 1st Hurry! Our Diwali sale ends on November 1st. Make sure to explore our collection to find the perfect bag that suits your style and occasion. Don’t miss out on these amazing deals and the chance to own a piece of luxury at a fantastic price. Why Choose Preloved Luxury? Buying preloved allows you to enjoy high-quality, authentic designer items at a fraction of the price while also supporting sustainable fashion. At Confidential Couture, we ensure every piece is authenticated and of the best quality, so you can shop with confidence. 👉 Shop Now: https://confidentialcouture.com/ 🌟 Follow us for more luxury unboxings, styling tips, and exclusive offers! Subscribe for more exclusive content, and let us know in the comments which luxury item you'd love to see next!

[paddockbunny]

I’m selling some of my old designer pieces and the AUDACITY some people have. Jacquemus bag, used once for a wedding, RRP £500+, this dumb fuck offers��..£65! £65!!!! It’s on for an incredibly fair price at £350 and they offer £65?!

THEN insult me, the bag and the fact I said no by telling me I’m out of order for not selling it to them for £65! So I block and report but then go on to their own page where, what I found can only be described as an abomination. Random shit from sweatshops and dodgy market stalls for £45!! Most of it doesn’t look remotely real and what I would call “Turkey specials” (aka fakes)

Then as if it doesn’t get worse she has the sheer gall to be listing a pair of what I can only describe as “trash worthy” (they’re so damaged and wrecked) Dolce & Gabbana (like, love, they were cancelled years ago…they’re vile people) heels for £199.99!!!! The only place these shoes should be going is in the bin. They’ve been thoroughly worn and trashed. The leather (if it’s even leather) has come away from the heel, the soles are completely filthy and should have been replaced, you can see the toe marks heavily ingrained into the bed of the shoe as they’ve clearly been worn to death.

One of the reasons she claimed by Jacquemus bag was only worth £65 was because it’s 5 years old and literally said “it’s pre-pandemic” (wtf does covid-19 have to do with a handbag in the first place????) Like, honey, babes, these manky D&G heels can’t even be found online they’re THAT old, they have zero authenticity, no dust bag (which all designer shoes come with dust bags), no receipts, no nothing and are TRASHED and you’re still trying to sell them for £200 in the same breath as you claim that my bag which has been worn once, pristine, comes with dust bag, box and tags, bought from Selfridges on Oxford Street with a receipt to prove it, kept on a shelf in my closet out of sunlight etc. is worth £65?! HAVE A DAY OFF!

[windupcloset]

How to spot super fake Chanel bags in 2022 ?

With the black market bag industry's increasing quality and attention to detail, used Chanel bag authentication has become both an art and a science. It used to simply be a matter of a question of, "Does the bag come with an authenticity card?". But very good fakes, or "super fakes," are coming with fake but very persuasive authenticity cards. 

Specialists with years of experience in Chanel authentication review everything from bag quilting, hardware, material selection, stamps and holograms, letter embossing, and more.

If you love Chanel and don't have years of authentication experience, here's a detailed guide to the science of Chanel handbag authentication that you can quickly check out at home or while traveling. 

As authenticating Chanel bags is also an art that requires years of refinement, such as identifying scent, texture, weight, softness, and awareness of vintage bag aging, we highly recommend that you always have your bag authenticated by a trained professional or buy it from a trusted retailer offering a guarantee of authenticity.  

Spoiler: If you' re authenticating a pre-owned Chanel bag that uses a chip instead of a hologram (year 2021 and above), skip to step 2 down below. Later on in this post, we will cover the new NFC chip technology embedded in Chanel bags produced since April 2021.

💸 SELL YOUR CHANEL

1. Check the Serial Numbers/Date Codes:

So you want to know if the purse is authentic, then what should you do first? If the bag has an authenticity card, it may not be real. There are some ways to tell if it's a real Chanel card, but for counterfeiters, it's much easier to make a persuasive card than the bag itself. Look for a sticker with the serial number on the inside of the bag.

Chanel serial numbers will vary depending on the year the bag was made. Comparing your serial number to the chart below will tell you when your bag was made :

 Figure 1: Reading Chanel's serial code

The year of manufacture of the bag is determined by the number of digits in the serial number and the first digit(s) of that number. If your bag has 8 digits, it was produced between the end of 2005 and today. 

For 8-digit serial numbers, the year is identified by the first two digits (for example, 24XXXXXX is late 2017-early 2018). If your bag has a 7-digit serial number, the year of production is determined by the first digit (for example, 6XXXXXX is 2000-2002). 

If a bag's serial number does not conform to the Chanel formula or has more than 8 digits, it is most likely a fake. In rare cases, you can find vintage Chanel bags with a 6 digit serial number. Most bags made in 1986 had a 7-digit number starting with zero, but in the early 1986 bags, the first zero was omitted and the 6-digit number started with 1 or 2.

Chanel's 2020 date code on its handbags is 30XXXXXX. If the date code on your handbag starts with 27XXXXXX, 28XXXXXX or 29XXXXXX, it was made in mid/late 2019.  

Of course, the Chanel formula is readily available information, so advanced counterfeiters could create a serial number that matches the table above. Pay attention to the font, glitter and x-cut of the hologram. You need to look more closely at the serial number sticker: it will never be a plain, boring sticker that looks out of place. 

Authentic Chanel serial number stickers will contain a combination of CC logo markings, an "X" shape cut into the strip to prevent removal without damage, and small reflective spots in the strip. 

Also, if you find "Chanel" printed at the top or bottom of the sticker, it is not a real Chanel bag. This is a common feature of counterfeit stickers. "Chanel" is meant to be printed on the side of the sticker. 

If you've looked all over the bag and still can't find a serial number, it can also be an authentic vintage Chanel made before 1986.

 Figure 2: What does a Chanel serial number look like?

 Notice how they combine several unique identification and security features: iridescent flecks, CC logos, and "X" markings on the plastic. The date code stickers are usually very small and can be found either on a small leather tab, as in the example below left, or inside an interior pocket, or in a corner of the bag's interior.

💸 SELL YOUR CHANEL

2. Examine the Stitch Quality and Stitch Count:

When you buy a Chanel product, you not only get the highest quality materials, but also meticulous craftsmanship. The seams must be flawless, with no loose threads, dents or other irregularities. 

Chanel bags are also characterized by a high stitch count: in most cases, there must be 10 or more stitches per edge of the diamond quilting. This keeps the bag strong and prevents the leather from swelling. The exact number of stitches may vary depending on the type of Chanel bag, but if you see an unusually low number of stitches, it's probably a fake.

This is not a rule of thumb, however. You will encounter authentic quilted Chanel handbags with less than 10 points per diamond edge - usually smaller bags or different styles of 2.55.

Caution: If a Chanel bag has less than 10 dots per edge of the diamond quilting, it may be a counterfeit. Get close to the bag and count the dots! Chanel bags have a very high stitch count to preserve their shape and make them more durable. You should count about 10 stitches per diamond edge, but this number can vary depending on the model.  

        Figure 3: Stitching of a Chanel bag 

 3. Examine the materials :

Chanel's material is in a class of its own, giving the bag an ultra-luxurious aura. This is where many counterfeiters fail because they can't replicate Chanel's quality. 

Even counterfeiters who manage to use better materials and construction - counterfeit bags known as "super fakes" - often lack the attention to detail applied to authentic Chanel bags. Here's what to look for.

Figure 4: The quality of Chanel material

 Unfold the flap and examine the back of the CC locking plate. If you've identified the bag as old by the serial number, you won't be confused by the flat head screws on the locking plate. 

More modern Chanel bags have exclusive star-shaped screws. If you see flat head screws (the ones in the shape of an "X"), you are facing a fake. Chanel never uses phillips head screws in their hardware.

Also, make sure that the color of the bag's hardware (silver, gold) matches the CHANEL marking inside the bag. 

If you see a "Made in Paris" stamp, the bag is fake. Chanel only uses France and Italy for its "Made In" stamping. 

However, it is normal to see "CHANEL" and "PARIS" engraved on the material, and counterfeiters often mistake them for the "Made in" stamp.  Also, if you don't see any "Made in" stamp, know that the bag is probably a counterfeit!

Figure 5: Chanel material to watch closely

4. Make sure the C's overlap correctly on the CC logo

Please always make sure to scrutinize the CC lock, designed by Karl Lagerfeld in the early 1980s. Check that the C's overlap correctly, that they are the same width and have flat edges. 

Confirm that the right "C" overlaps the left "C" at the top, and that the left "C" overlaps the right "C" at the bottom (pictured above). Next, make sure the CC padlock is centered vertically and horizontally on its leather flap: if the placement looks wrong, it's a fake. 

Another easy clue to detect is that the edges of the "C's" are flat on real Chanel bags - if you see rounded edges, it's a fake. If you see a stamp on the CC lock, the bag was made in France; if there is no stamp, the bag was made in Italy. Make sure the stamp is clear and visible. Fakes rarely have legible stamps.

 Figure 6: Chanel CC Logo

🤑 SHOP AUTHENTICATED CHANEL

5. Look at the patchwork pattern and the symmetry

The most noticeable feature, at first glance, of the majority of fake bags you''ll encounter is the stitching pattern. Real Chanel bags are flawless in terms of shape, symmetry and alignment of the stitched diamonds. 

On Chanel 2.55 Flap bags, check the back pocket of the bag: on authentic 2.55s, the quilting pattern on the back pocket aligns perfectly with the pattern on the bag itself. 

It is very common for counterfeit Chanel bags to misalign the diamond quilting between the flap and the rest of the bag. If you see a blatant misalignment, you can consider the bag a fake.

Figure 7: Chanel back pocket

 You can tell a real Chanel bag from a fake by looking at the quilting. On the left, a fake bag: the quilting is clearly not aligned between the pocket and the bag. On the right, a genuine bag: the stitching pattern appears seamless between the pocket and the bag.

Caution: If the quilting pattern on the bag’s back pocket doesn’t line up perfectly, the bag is highly likely to be fake.

It's also noteworthy that as the bag ages and is worn, the leather tends to soften slightly and the padding may not line up perfectly. A bag with this minor imperfection may still be real, so be sure to check the other areas! 

6. Closely analyze the zippers

Zippers are easily overlooked, but be sure to inspect them carefully as they often have many signs of authenticity. Chanel uses different types of zippers depending on the bag, but the most notable are the Lampo, DMC, YKK, zipper, triple "C" in a circle, and an unmarked closure for very old Chanel bags.

Be sure to open and close the zipper to get an idea of its quality. The closure should be smooth and seamless - a luxurious experience, just like every other aspect of an authentic Chanel bag.

Figure 8: What do the Chanel zippers look like?

 Caution: If you see a zipper that looks like it came from a sweater on a supposedly  real Chanel 2.55, this is more than likely a fake.

 Lampo zippers are typically found on authentic Chanel bags of various types. Check the underside of the zipper pulley mechanism to see the mark.

🤑 SHOP AUTHENTICATED CHANEL

Update: In 2021, Chanel switched from holograms of serial numbers to microchips

Chanel has launched a new initiative from April 2021: microchips inside a metal plate. This metal plate now replaces the self-adhesive hologram and authentication card.  The metal plate is approximately 1.2 inches wide and color matched to the bag material. An interlaced CC logo and an 8-digit alphanumeric serial code appear on the front of the plat form. A microchip is embedded in this metal plate.   The chip is usually placed inside the bag and, for WOCs, inside the zippered pocket. The alphanumeric code no longer allows you to know the year of production at a glance. All of the bag's information is now digitally encapsulated in this microchip, which includes creation, distribution, purchase and even repair dates.  

  Figure 9: The new Chanel microchip

With the microchip using near field communication (NFC) technology as well as blockchain technology, the data is impossible to alter. The microchip can only be scanned using chip reading machines in Chanel stores to retrieve this information.  Although criminals may be able to replicate the appearance of the metal plate to some extent, they will not be able to hack into Chanel's computer systems.  Authentication cards and holograms can be forged or misplaced. The microchip cannot be replicated.   On the resale market, we are excited that Chanel has introduced state-of-the-art technology to protect what is most valuable, authenticity. Here at WINDUP CLOSET, we are happy to say that our extensive authentication work and ability to spot super fakes is helping Chanel in its fight against counterfeits.  

6 Easy Steps to Authenticate a Chanel Bag:

Serial Numbers/Date Codes - Validate the serial numbers/date codes based on the year produced. Remember, Chanel bags made in 2020 should have the date code 30XXXXXX. Chanel bags made in 2021, 2022 and later use NFC chips instead of hologram stickers.

Stitch Quality and Stitch Count - Validate if the bag has 10 or more stitches per edge of the diamond quilting.

Hardware – The chain must feel heavy in your hand because of its top quality. Screws on the back of the lock plate have to be flathead or proprietary star-shaped on newer bags.

CC Logo - Make sure that the C's overlap properly whether it is hardware or a stitched logo.

Quilting Pattern and Symmetry - Check if the quilting pattern on the bag’s back pocket lines up perfectly.

Zippers - Make sure to check for most commonly used Chanel zippers, such as Lampo, the DMC, the YKK, the Eclair zipper or the triple 'C' in a circle.

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[audrinawf]

I’m the last person that’s going to look down on anyone for their job but have you guys seen the Louis Vuitton SA on YouTube? Her video about people coming into the LV store with fakes was so nasty. I get that you guys don’t like it when people come in with fakes and demand that they fix the bag. But the way she was accusing so many people of wearing fakes? Like? How do you know it’s fake if they just went into the store and were looking at stuff? Unless they specifically came in and asked you to authenticate it? Or maybe you took a look at their appearance, skin color or whatever you deem as not able to afford LV and decided that they definitely bought a fake bag. And besides that her tone was disgusting. And the way she made fun of people that came in with a gifted or thrifted bag and accused them of lying ? Do you know how many people end up buying fakes in the pre owned maket? Too many. Not everyone buys a replica intentionally.

And the way she started insulting people like? Girl please sell your LV bags and invest the money on yourself? Fix your lashes, fix thise eyebrows, and your walls cuz they are hella streaky…do you have makeup on your walls or what is that? The way your whole disposition is a mess makes me think your bags are fake as well because how do you live in a shack and own all kinds of luxury bags? See how people can judge you as well.

And also I’m the last person to look down on any kind of work but these SA’s need to remember that they are sales associates at the end of the day. You’re not a share holder of the brand, you’re not the CEO, you’re a sales associate and since my cousin worked at LV I know damn well that your salary isn’t good enough to be this snobby. But you know what they say? No one’s as snobby as the new money and the upper middle class who desperately want to be apart of the 1%.

[glamluxemama]

Is Your Pre-Loved Designer Handbag a FAKE? Expert Tips to Avoid Scams

Watch this next: You Won’t Believe the MOST ICONIC Designer Bags of the Century #iconicbags https://youtu.be/idXO6GQ-U38 Authenticate your designer items! Use the code “CANDACE15” to get 15% off any authentication at LegitGrails: https://bit.ly/48ONVWF Pre-loved designer bags are an amazing way to save money and own luxury, but buying second-hand comes with a risk: counterfeits. In this video, I…