#assuming the apartment is somehow still being paid for after the mayor's death. so she wakes up

[faith-thee-slayer]

In your opinion, what are Faith's best looks over the run of BtVS/AtS?

anon i am SO glad you asked this, because i was already thinking about making a compilation post of her best looks. it took me a while since i had to go thru every single appearance of hers so i didn't forget an outfit...

here are my favorite Faith outfits, loosely in order starting with most favorite:

the RED SHIRT. i will never cease to be floored by how well she pulled it off. very much giving HAEBILF (homoerotic angry evil bestie i'd like to fuck).

the amends outfit!! the "girlfriend visiting her gf's parents for the first time" outfit!! i love soft lighter colors on her, especially light blue. the tan jacket slays every time it makes an appearance.

this denim jacket + lace black top + choker... super underrated look i think, considering we only saw it in this scene and the scene where she tries to get angel to shoot her.

my god, this look. she showed up -> served cunt -> killed a man -> left

this is almost like a companion to her amends outfit. obsessed with how comfy and cute she looks

the tan jacket!! i hope she got a new one, this one's probably at the bottom of sunnydale... this outfit looks cute without the jacket too, just the simple red tank + blue jeans combo.

the partial turtleneck + black denim jacket combo. i feel like this is another underrated one.

she should've worn this more... yup

honorable mentions: orange tie-dye top from the graduation day dream; all black tank top + jeans she has on when buffy confronts her in sanctuary (the brown jacket she wears with it is cute too); denim jacket + dark red top from dirty girls (the scene where she's smoking with spike and she removes her jacket while stretching... YEAH); homecoming dress; sheer longsleeve top + leather pants she wears while angel has her chained up in consequences (both hair up and hair down deliver two similar but unique vibes for the look); white longsleeve and black vest from That Patrol in bad girls; blue longsleeve in empty places; and last but certainly not least, the "i was shooting for sultry, but hey" bombshell look from this year's girl.

thank you so much for this ask, this was fun!!

[buckysgoldenheart]

Escort: Bucky Barnes AU

Summary: You’re a highly paid escort, trained to adapt to any situation the client may need. But this next client is a first: A mother, hiring you for her son.

Words: 3370

I know i’ve done a bad thing and started another series, hopefully small. I am still working on the other ones, but after my dad died, I lost inspiration until this story popped into my head and i kinda ran with it. Anyway, I hope you guys like it and aren’t mad.   -Lauren

This may be triggering in a way. The title pretty much explains what this is about, but it’s not negative.

Part 1:

You had been doing this for long enough to get the gist of want your clients want. Some were lonely and wanted someone to talk to for the night. Some wanted to take you out and brag about the beautiful, young girl on their arm. Some, the usual’s, wanted a fake girlfriend to take to family engagements to avoid scrutiny. But you were not a prostitute in the sense of what people assume. Your boss, Maria, was very clear to all potential clients that her girls do not engage in sexual relations in exchange for money. That’s not what her business was about. You and your coworkers were too expensive for the ‘street creeps and weirdos,’ as Maria liked to put it.

You were a girl strapped for cash and would’ve rather put a bullet in your head than take another retail job to pay for your college classes. And when Maria advertised it to you, that bit about the exclusivity made it seem safe somehow, but being rich or famous, or both, did not make someone any less of a creep or a weirdo. So, Maria was more than willing to put down money for mandatory self-defense classes that you would complete before taking your first job. Now, you and the other girls could kick anyone’s ass, even someone twice your size. At the end of the day, there were worse jobs.

 —————————————————————————————-

You were barely through the front door of your modest apartment, high heels already discarded, when you heard your cell ring. The caller ID was not one you were allowed to ignore unless ill or on the brink of death, which you were neither, so you sighed and slid the answer button.

“Hello, Maria.”

Your boss wasted no time with pleasantries and got right to the point. “I know it’s late and you had a long day, but I need you to get down to the office immediately. I have a client here and after looking at her options, she has decided on you.”

You were slightly taken aback. Her? While it wasn’t unheard of to have women request Maria’s services, it was rare. Most were annoyingly wealthy men with underlying and deeply suppressed self-confidence issues.

You sighed, internally groaning. You were exhausted after some guy’s family reunion today. It was too long and too humid, and his family was too obnoxious; prodding you with questions as if they knew who you really were. But you couldn’t turn down Maria’s requests. It was in the contract.

“I’ll be right down.”

——————————————————————————

You were still in your dress and heels from the reunion earlier: A simple light blue, but expensive looking, sundress and strappy, silver sandals, when you exited the elevator. Walking down the corridor to Maria’s office at this hour, you couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was around as your heels clicked loudly with your steps. None of the other girls were there. There was always at least one or two.

You shook your head and scrunched your eyebrows for a moment before knocking lightly on Maria’s door. “Come in.” She said from the other side. You turned the handle and stepped in with a pleasant smile. “Y/N,” Maria also smiled. “I would like you to meet your next client.”

Then, she gestured a delicate hand to the woman sitting in one of the luxurious office chairs. You nearly gasped at who was before you. Mid-fifties, hair styled in a neat chignon, tailored suit, with diamonds along her neck and at her earlobes that showed off her wealth.

The Mayor.

“Y/N, sit.” Maria said, slapping you back to your senses. But you did as she said, taking the other chair two feet away from the most powerful woman in the city. You couldn’t take your eyes off her. She oozed power and class. “I would like you to meet Mayor Barnes.”

The Mayor smiled and turned in her seat to shake your hand. “You are lovelier than your picture.”

“T-Thank you.” You replied, shy in the presence of this woman.

After the introductions, Maria began her typical spiel that, when summed up, basically just meant you weren’t a hooker. “Oh, of course not.” The Mayor replied.  

“Wonderful,” Maria smiled and scooted the paperwork across the cherry wood desk towards you and Mayor Barnes. “You will both sign and be under contract. However, Y/N, this is a…unique…situation.” All you could do was gulp. “Mayor Barnes may be your client, but to clear up any confusion, you will not be her escort.”

“O-Ok.” You nodded slightly, waiting for the kicker.

“You will be her son’s.”

Your jaw dropped despite your best efforts to remain composed. Her son. Infamous, sexy-as-hell, playboy James Barnes, who couldn’t manage to stay out of the tabloids for a quick second. Why he would suddenly want a girl like you when women fell at his feet was the most confusing part of this. Well no, the most confusing part was that his mother was the one hiring you.

“You will take on the role of Mr. Barnes’s woman.” Ok, you thought, typical job. “But there is another condition that I have assured the Mayor will be no problem for you.”

You glanced at the Mayor who was looking at you with a sweet, genuine smile; like she was already prepared to accept you into the family. Clearly, this was a well-drawn out plan.

“Mr. Barnes has not been informed about any of this. And the toughest part of this job is that he can never know.”

“I don’t understand.”

The Mayor turned to you a little more, catching your full attention. “Let me explain, dear. My son, as most people can’t help but know, is quite accustomed to putting himself in the spotlight, though it only seems to be negative. He’s been called a number of things. Womanizer, man-whore, troublemaker, a disappointment, but I know my son. He’s just as his father once was; Young and handsome, running around dragging his name through the mud.” You blinked not nearly enough as you listened, and your throat was starting to dry out. Everyone knew of James Barnes and his questionable decisions, but you felt a pang in your heart at the way his mother spit out the names he’d been called by the media. “James is not really like what everyone says. I believe he’s just…lonely. He was so young when I was elected and neither his father nor I could spend much time with him. My own fault, perhaps, but I don’t want my son to keep making these choices. He’s better than this. He’s so handsome and smart and charismatic; he could do great things, but not if he keeps himself on this path. So, what I need from you, my dear, is to become someone James can trust. A fixture in his life, at least for a time. He needs a beautiful woman like you, not these floozies that keep hanging off him. I will have you meet him, accidentally on purpose, and it won’t take much for him to strike up a conversation with you. You are absolutely gorgeous, and James can’t seem to help himself.”

“You want me to be his friend?” You asked. “I thought I was supposed to be his woman, or girlfriend, or something along those lines.”

“I would love if it turned into that, but I recognize that this a job, one that you cannot do forever. I would prefer he not fall in love with you if only to break his heart. I won’t need your services once he turns his act around. I am hoping you can encourage a permanent change.”

“One other thing, Y/N,” Maria began as you digested all the information being thrown at you. “You won’t be taking on any other clients for the duration of this job. It would create some serious problems if the woman in James Barnes’s company was seen with other men. The media would blow up and come to some dangerous conclusions. And before you start worrying about how to pay your bills with only one client at a time, the Mayor is prepared to offer you triple your normal rate.”

Triple, you thought. Somehow that made you feel guilty. You already felt bad about this type of job. You were going to be deep in a lie that would last longer than an afternoon. A lie that could potentially hurt someone when your time was up, and the thought of Mr. Barnes learning who you really were made your stomach turn. No one in their right mind would swallow that discovery with an accepting smile.

But you agreed; Not that you had a choice. You signed the contract and Maria gave the Mayor your work number so she could contact you to let you know when and where to show up so you could conveniently run right into James Barnes.

———————————————————–

For the first time, you were nervous. James Barnes’s face has been splashed all over every magazine and stupid celebrity TV program for months, and you couldn’t deny how insanely attractive he was. He was rugged and beautiful at the same time, with a smirk you wanted to kiss and eyes to melt your soul. Not only that, but there was the fact that you would be in the most intense spotlight. While the other men you’ve spent time with were wealthy, they weren’t typically the kind of famous that drew too much attention. Certainly not enough for anyone to remember your face once the job was done. But this was different. A woman by James Barnes’s side for longer than an evening would bring about a nauseating level of attention, but you guessed that’s part of the reason you were getting triple the pay.

You sighed as you plopped down on your couch for the night, stretching your legs out in your comfy sweats and turning on the TV. Flipping through the channels, you immediately stopped when you caught James’s name coming out of some done-up woman’s bright red lips. As she spoke to the camera, she would gesture behind her to the large screen with James’s picture on it, his hand clearly on some random model’s ass. His new toy.

Finally looking away from his face, you focused on what the host was saying about him. “James Barnes, notorious, sexy bad boy and ladies’ man, caught seen with his newest fling, model and actress, Svetlana Antonov. Will this last? If you ask us, she’ll be gone by the end of the week. But who will be next?”

With a groan you clicked off the TV and tossed the remote to the side. “Vultures,” You mumbled. And then, suddenly, you wondered what would be said about you.

——————————————————————

Mayor Barnes, or Winnifred, as she preferred you now call her considering your new ‘personal relationship,’ phoned you no more than two days later. What you hoped would be something simple, like a coffee shop interaction or running into James on the street was, in reality, much more extravagant. The Mayor’s annual summer fundraiser ball. Only the best of the best A-list celebrities, financiers, and hotel heiress’ where invited; People who could donate a significant chunk of change in return for a reputation boost. This is where you would meet James Barnes.

Winnifred had sent over a deep blue Oscar de la Renta gown that had small diamonds speckled around the fabric making it look like the sky on a clear night, with a flowy-ness that when you walked gave the illusion of a refreshing breeze following your steps. There were also matching drop earrings and subtle, silver heels.

You felt amazing in the dress. Not like a princess, but a queen. Thankfully though, you were permitted to do your own hair and makeup. You let your hair tumble over your shoulders and kept your makeup delicate but glamorous enough to match the high quality of the gown.

You looked at your phone, quickly checking the time before slipping it into your clutch. Ready or not, it was time for you to go.

———————————————————————–

To your surprise, Winnifred also sent a limo to escort you. A note sat on the seat cushion that read ‘you couldn’t possibly arrive at the most exclusive event of the year in a cab,’ signed with a cursive ‘Winnie’ in the bottom right corner. You supposed she was right; it would look odd. This way you wouldn’t stand out negatively.

Inside, you gasped at the grandness of the ballroom. Not only was it nothing you had ever seen before, but it was something you couldn’t even imagine if you tried. It wasn’t what you pictured when told it would be a ball. It was more like a black-tie party in an up-and coming-club. The room was dark, but not too dark, with bluish-purple up-lighting, and private, velvety, plush lounges lining the walls that could be hidden by thin curtains. Some danced to the top 40 hits the DJ was playing, but many, mostly the older men, sat chatting and drinking expensive alcohol as young women, much like yourself, draped themselves over their laps.

You realized you had been to something like this before, but not nearly as nice. You had been the girl a man held at his side like a trophy; told not to speak, but to stand there and look pretty. It was like looking through glass at a piece of your life from a different angle. And it looked pathetic. But you had to push that thought from your mind because you had a job to do; one you had signed a contract for.

Looking around, you had no idea how the hell you were going to find James Barnes. His mother only told you he was wearing a blue suit. Not much help you realized, when you actually began to search.

After thirty frustrating minutes of sifting through bodies, you decided you needed a drink, and once you reached the bar, you figured maybe James would be the one to accidentally find you. What is that thing people say? Once you stop looking for a man, a man will come to you, or something like that. You hoped that was the case because you were sick of looking. So instead, you sipped your wine and people-watched.

After some time, you realized you probably looked like an uncomfortable wallflower. You started to explore around a little more, but with your gaze distracted, not watching where you were going, you slammed your shoulder against another’s and your wine glass fell from your hand. The dark liquid splashed all over the floor, and though no one heard the glass shatter over the music, the woman whose white dress was now stained with little red droplets certainly did.

“You LITTLE tramp!” She screamed over the music. “Look what you did!”

Before you could even apologize, the woman shoved you back with a growl and murder in her dark, brown eyes. She looked familiar and a second later you recognized her as Svetlana Antonov: model, actress, and James Barnes’s latest fling. And then…

“Babe, c’mon. It was an accident.” James Barnes. He looked down at the dress with a little chuckle. “It’s no big deal,” He said. “You have twenty of these designer things.”

When he looked up he met your eyes, and while you thought you saw his breath hitch, yours certainly did. Magazines and TV didn’t do him justice. “I-I’m sorry.”

James licked his lip as he stared at your own, then you blushed as the blue-grey irises trailed down to the curve of your throat and back up to your eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”

“James!” Svetlana shrieked, and for the first time you noticed how heavy her Russian accent was. When he didn’t glance her way at her outburst, the model/actress/fling stomped away, muttering curses in her native tongue.

You wanted to stay and talk, but his presence had somehow stunned you into silence. Then you remembered something his mother told you over the phone: ‘Play a little hard to get. James could use a challenge.’

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” You smiled your sweetest smile that held a dash of sexiness. “I should probably go—”

“We haven’t yet.” He said, effectively cutting you off.

“I’m sorry?”

“We haven’t met yet.”

Your lips formed an ‘O.’ For whatever reason, you didn’t expect a comeback. “I’m James.” He reached out and took your hand in his rough yet warm one, then placed a kiss on your skin. “You can call me Bucky.”

You pulled your hand back and said a simple ‘Ok’ in response to his forwardness. He chuckled.

“And you are?”

You took a step back, smiled again, and cutely cocked your head to the side. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. I doubt we will be seeing each other again.” Then, you sauntered off, leaving James ‘Bucky’ Barnes speechless where he stood.

 ————————————————————————

At two in the morning, you were done. Your exhaustion had hit a new level and all you wanted was a hot bath and your warm bed, but you still had one trick up your sleeve that you hoped would peak James’s curiosity about you just a little more.

Some guests had left making it easier to hunt down your target. The second you actually began to look, you saw him causally leaning against the bar as he sipped a whiskey, staring at you like it was all he had done since you ran into him earlier. You kept eye contact long enough for him to smirk seductively. But, instead of going over to him like you knew he expected, you kept walking to the exit.

You didn’t see James’s smirk drop. You didn’t see him slam his whiskey glass down and quickly tip the bartender. And you didn’t see him trailing after you, but you knew he was. Because despite how he made your pulse increase to dangerous levels, you were good at your job, and his handsome face and charming smile wasn’t going to change that.

“Hey, wait!” You heard behind you. ‘Right on time,’ You thought, but you kept walking until a familiar warm hand wrapped itself around your upper arm and spun you around. “Wait.”

He was breathing a bit heavy and you made sure to bat your lashes in the moment where silence was between you. “Hello, old friend.”

He kept hold of you, darting his eyes over every feature of your face. “Friend’s know each other’s names.”

“What?” you gasped jokingly, your eyes widening along with the act. “Who told you that?”

His eyes narrowed and he inched his face closer to yours. “My other friends.”

“Oh, well, you and I have very different customs.”

James released your arms and crossed his own over a broad chest. “You’re really not going to tell me your name?”

“Is there some kind of law that requires I do, James?”

“Bucky.”

“James.”

“Bucky.” He stressed.

You sighed. “Fine…Bucky. I don’t see why you could possibly need my name.”

“How else am I going to see you again if I don’t at least have your name so I can track you down?”

You hummed in thought. “Don’t you already have a woman whose name you know? The model?”

“She’s not my girlfriend if that’s what your implying.”

“I wouldn’t care if she was.”

“You sure about that?” He asked, his lips quirking.

“Yes, I am…Bucky.” You chuckled. “Anyway, I should go. Early morning.” But, as you turned, he grabbed you again, this time your hand.

“Please.” He said to your back.

You smirked to yourself, knowing you had won for the night, then faced him again. The pleading look in his eyes almost broke your resolve.

“Y/N.” You said.

James smiled in victory. “Last name, too, sweetheart. I need both to find you.”

You rolled your eyes with a small grin. “Y/L/N. Happy now?”

“Very.”

Then, he let your hand go and watched as you left out the front doors.

tags: @dugan365​ @moonlightimagination​ @pietrotheavenger​ @marvel-fanfiction​ @hawkeyeharrington​ @dani-si​ @alyssiamking @wintersoldier98​ @then-there-was-me-emily​ @prxttybirdz​ @tessvillegas @xceafh​ @jazzwoman897​ @fandoms-who​ @meganwinchester1999​ @ufffg​ @debra77​ @rebelliouscat​ @anise-d-castle6​ @projectxhappiness​ @buckybarnesappreciationsociety​ @lowkeysebby​ @stringgeek13​ @quotemeow @notmyfault404​ @jjamesbbarness​ @stangirl4eva​ @guera31​ @sophiatomlinson23​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @hiddles-rose​ @vibhati123 @mywinterwolf​ @picapicapicassobaby​ @lokilvrr​ 

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  Storybrooke, Maine

Chapter 1:  Backstory

His name was Mr. Gold.

Mr. Gold was all he'd ever gone by, all he could ever remember being called with perhaps the one exception of Master Gold when he was a boy. Looking back, he couldn't remember a single person who had ever called him by his first name; no teachers, no friends, not even colleagues. No one ever asked him for his first name, and he'd never met anyone who needed it. He was only Mr. Gold. And he liked it that way.

He preferred to be Mr. Gold. Nameless, mysterious, and formal as it was, his lack of a friendly name afforded him a level of respect and fear with those he lived among. Some people worked years to develop that kind of reputation; it came simply by giving a name for him.

"Hi, I'm Gary," they might say, extending a hand.

He had only to stare at that hand, tighten his grip on his cane, and inform them, "you can call me Mr. Gold," and then sit back and take satisfaction in their immediate discomfort.

As a boy, he supposed it was possible his mother might have called him by his first name. His father had always told him that it was she who gave him his first name, after an uncle or a cousin or some relative he'd never met. It didn't particularly matter to him; giving him his name hadn't exactly made his mother want to stay with him. Or his father. Though after she'd left him to grow up with his father, he couldn't say that he blamed her.

His father was a cold man, clever and conniving. He'd often traveled while he'd been alive, leaving him home with the servants who called him Master Gold and entertained him to the best of their abilities. They never particularly cared for him, but to be fair, he never cared for them either. Young as he was, he'd always been aware that they were paid to look after him in his father's stead. Until one day, his father came home, packed a bag, and never came back.

The servants had explained that his father had found work elsewhere that was no place for a boy his age. So he was informed he would be moving across the sea from Scotland to America. His father had a sister there, who lived with her partner, and they'd agreed to keep him with them. All on his own, a boy of only eight, he'd made the journey by plane, then train, then car to his aunt's home in a dreary little place called Storybrooke, Maine.

Somehow he had hoped for more when he'd arrived, that he might have friends or find someone who was happy to spend time with him, but what he found in America was heartbreakingly similar to Scotland. It was another house, filled with servants that helped him dress and tutors to help him learn. At least, his aunts were around, and unlike his father, they did care for him, show him love and consideration, but they isolated themselves from the town they lived. So much so that all of them, himself included, were treated as outcasts.

His aunts were the talk of the town. He didn't go out often, but on occasion, one of the servants who was fond of him took him somewhere as a treat. Everywhere they went, whispers followed.

"That's the young Master Gold," they whispered.

"Gold…as in-"

"The very same!"

"It's scandalous! Imagine, a woman living with another woman as if they were married."

"And now they're raising a child together?!"

"Just goes to show you that when you have money, you can do as you please, no morals!"

As a small child, he never understood what they found so scandalous. As a teenager, he grew to understand their conversations but still didn't understand why they were so flustered by his aunts. It wasn't as if his aunts interjected into the business of others or flaunted themselves about town. For the most part, they stayed hidden and out of sight, sending servants to do their tasks, content to love one another behind closed doors. His aunts never bothered with them, and he couldn't understand why they had to bother with his aunts. As far as he was concerned, they were the best people he'd ever known.

The women doted on him as his father never had, calling him "darling" and "sweetheart" and "dear boy," but they never brought themselves to call him by the name his mother, "that pitiful woman" they called her, gave to him. They played games with him and taught him to knit and cook. His aunts bought him everything he needed or wanted. A dog for a companion, a playground for exercise, a car when he came of age to drive, and a top-notch education at the local catholic school that kept him out of the public schools. He hated the nuns who taught him, he thought they were cruel and judgmental of his family just like the rest of town, but it was because of his education that he earned him a spot at the best law school the country had to offer.

He was sad when he had to leave them for school; away for months on end, he missed his aunts. Storybrooke and the rest of her citizens he couldn't care less for. But his aunts…he missed them terribly. He missed them so much that he returned to Storybrooke and opened his own law firm when he graduated. His aunts were primary investors, of course, but he worked hard and found he was successful. A little of this, a little of that, it was enough to keep him busy, enough to buy him his own home in town where he could stay on the weekdays and go back to his aunts during the weekends. It was an embarrassing rosy pink color, but aside from that, it was perfect. It was one of the biggest houses in town and grand beyond measure. As soon as he had it repainted, it would be nearly as intimidating and mysterious as he prided himself on being. However, that wasn't what his aunts saw when he bought it.

"It's big enough to put a family in, darling!" his aunts smiled when they saw it.

He'd smiled and blushed at their insinuation, but all the while, his stomach turned over. A wife and children…he knew that was the natural order of things, and yet…he couldn't see it for himself, and it wasn't something he wanted enough to pursue. He couldn't see himself ever meeting someone that would make him want to give them his first name. He couldn't imagine having a child and potentially screwing them up as his father and mother had with him. He couldn't see how any woman would ever want to deal with his leg.

It was a burden. And the cane was a pain. Truthfully, he couldn't remember the injury. It felt like he'd had it all his life, but he was cane free in his memories as a boy and at law school. He assumed it was a car accident, perhaps something that crushed his ankle and took his memory away because when he tried to remember, tried to pull a memory from his mind to relate to it, he found a blinding pain in the back of his skull that demanded he stop thinking about it. There were times he tried to remember to ask his aunts what had happened, but he always seemed to forget. Probably because his aunts thought nothing of the affliction, they treated him no differently, no better or worse than they ever had with it. But he was certain a woman wouldn't want someone as broken as he was. True, his family had enough money he could shower any woman in jewels all the rest of her life, take her around the world on grand, expensive trips, meet all the most powerful people in the world. But he didn't want a woman who only wanted him for his wealth. He wanted something real; like his aunts had. After years of watching them together, years of battling back the stigma, and just being happy to be with one another, that was the life he dreamed of having. But he had so little experience with the opposite sex he had no idea how he'd ever discern what was real from fake. So there was no need to take the risk. Besides, why did he need to? Things were good. He had his reputation, had a home that he loved, and had his aunts…why did he need more?

It was September when his world fell apart.

His aunts died barely a month apart. Cancer had claimed his aunt's partner quickly, so quickly he hadn't been prepared for it, and nor had she. A few weeks later, his father's sister had died. The doctors gave him a laundry list of reasons why it had happened; old age, failing heart, high blood pressure...but he knew why it had really happened. She'd died of a broken heart. He was a stern and serious man, unrelenting and unforgiving; it was what made him a good lawyer. He believed in material things, in money and power, in black and white, and things he could see. But he believed, truly, with his whole heart, that it was heartbreak that took her. His love hadn't been enough to keep her on this earth. And so they'd left him alone in it.

In the months that followed, he wished he wasn't a lawyer. He knew, from experience, that it should have been easy. He should have made funeral arrangements, liquidated their property and their assets dismissed the staff, and gone on with his life. But nothing was simple, and he soon learned the truth about his aunts that led to complications.

Why had the townspeople always bothered with them when his aunts had never bothered with the town? Because they had bothered with the town. It was theirs.

He hadn't known it until after their death when documentation they'd had since before he'd even moved to America arrived, explaining to him that the land Storybrooke rested on belonged to his father and his aunt. Because his father couldn't be located, he was next of kin, and now it was his and his alone. The land, rental agreements, business contracts...legally, it was all his. The town existed and had a government of its own that demanded taxes, but everything outside the scope of politics fell to him. He loved his aunts, but he'd never been angrier in all his life. They'd never explained any of it to him, never told him why they owned the land or the contract they had with the city, they never taught him how to collect the rents or deal with the mayor.

He didn't want to do it. In fact, he was tempted to turn it over to the Mayor and let her handle it, but he could hear the voice of his father in the back of his head preaching to him about money and power. Whether he'd planned on it or not, he was the most powerful citizen of the town. It wasn't something he took lightly, and he wasn't about to give it up easily. So he didn't. He crafted a persona for himself; he created a new mask, one that he wore for the Mayor, for the police, for the tenants he had to collect rent from, and the family he'd hired to help him. Mr. Gold was a name everyone knew. They didn't dare whisper about him or his aunts, not in his presence, lest he raise their rent. They didn't cross him. They didn't approach him. They didn't bother him. For the most part, they let him be. It was good, but it also meant that his firm suffered the consequences.

It was fine. He didn't need the money; he didn't need to work. His aunts had set him up so that he could sit at home for the rest of his life and never leave the house if he so pleased, just as they had. But he wasn't them. They'd had each other, and they'd had him. He had no one, and he found himself longing for structure, for something to invest his time in, for something to occupy his days when he wasn't collecting rent or arguing with Regina Mills.

The answer came to him when one of his tenants on Main Street informed him they wouldn't be renewing their lease. Oak's Pawn Shop and Antiques was closing. Mister Oak, his wife, and his dog were moving to Florida for retirement. They planned to sell the merchandise and move out, but when he stepped inside to talk about their contractual obligations, his heart had stopped.

He loved old things. He loved their delicacy, the story behind each one, the mystery that their history presented him with. He loved the feel of the dust beneath his fingers and the coziness of the little shop. The bell on the door was darling, but it suited the place, the squeaky antique spinning wheel was familiar in a strange way, and every little thing he saw or touched seemed inviting. It felt like coming home. He hadn't had that since his aunts had died.

Foolish as it was, he'd made a deal with the Oaks on the spot, leave the shop to him, and he'd let them out of their contract and pay them a handsome sum of money. They'd taken the deal right then and there. Two weeks later, they moved to Florida. Three weeks later, a new sign was installed over the door that said, "Mr. Gold Pawnbroker and Antiques Dealer." He taught himself the business, read every book the Oaks gave to him, let his new work consume him, and soon fell into a happy routine.

Each morning he woke up, stretched, and got into the shower. He dressed in a suit, adding layer after layer to make any who felt the need to deal with him feel underdressed. That was a trick he'd learned as a lawyer. In the morning, he read the newspaper, cooked himself some breakfast, eggs usually, with spinach if he had it. He drove to town and parked his car in the lot or on the street. He didn't live far from work, but he wasn't about to walk there. With his leg, he'd never manage, and besides, walking might give the impression he cared about something. He walked down the street every morning. Sometimes people lifted their eyes to him in acknowledgment. He never returned the favor. As he unlocked the door to his shop, he glanced at the abandoned library on the corner across from him. It always made him feel uneasy, probably because it was becoming an eyesore. One of these days, he was going to file a complaint with Regina about that, but today there was too much to do.

Inside the shop, he opened the blinds and took a deep breath of the musty smell that came with age. It still felt like home, probably more like home than his pink house, which he still needed to get painted. He turned the sign behind him to "open" in case someone felt like coming in to make a deal but then escaped to the back room just like always. It was his favorite place in his shop. The spinning wheel he'd first seen when he bought the place was back here, along with a fold-away cot for nights he got carried away and just decided to sleep there. There were two tables crowded into the back that he could use to polish or repair or clean or whatever he needed to do. On the table was an old clock he'd bought that no longer worked. That was his task for today.

It was just another day in Storybrooke.