#round two entry

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Author: apple jacks Group: C Prompts: Size matters. She doesn’t “like” you! Sunset.

-

Paint It Black

Gold hadn’t offered her dinner.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought of it. But considering the amount of time she was already going to be spending with him, he thought it best to limit their contact where he could. Assuming she’d have even taken him up on the offer. Which she wouldn’t have, obviously.

Besides, he was having a hard time finding his appetite as it was.

He had decided on a nice herbal tea with a finger or two of his good scotch when he heard the doorbell ring. Opening the door revealed none other than Belle French.

The setting sun was at her back, the soft dying light giving her a soft glow as it washed against his porch. The natural red highlights of her hair were just on the side of golden, and with her sensible blouse and cardigan, she resembled something not unlike how he imagined guardian angels.

“We agreed on nine o’clock,” he said by way of greeting.

“Have you had dinner?”

So prepared he was for I’ve changed my mind, the deal is off that it took him an extra second to parse her question.

“I was just about to throw something together,” he lied.

“Good. I haven’t eaten yet, either.” Belle took a step towards him, and he stepped back automatically. Before Gold could say anything, she’d breezed past him, as if forcing herself into his home was something she did every day.

He looked around his foyer, looking for any instructions on how to proceed. Not for the first time, he wondered if asking Belle for help with this particular problem had been the smartest thing to do.

“I made spaghetti.” She’d found her way to the kitchen, unloading one of her bags on his counter. The other one was on the floor by the door, and he assumed it held her overnight things. “I also brought muffins for breakfast. They’re from the supermarket, so don’t get too excited. Where are your plates?”

The spaghetti was in a plastic container, open now and ready to be portioned out and reheated. Next to the lid was a foil bag that Gold recognized as the garlic bread from the grocery’s inhouse bakery. And there was Belle French, standing in his kitchen with an open and expectant look on her face, like she’d been invited. Like she wanted to be there with him, and hadn’t been coerced into it with the promise of a much needed reprieve for her father’s flower shop.

She didn’t like him. He’d do well to remember that.

“Miss French—”

“Belle. I insist,” she said when he opened his mouth to refuse. “We’re going to be sleeping together. We should be on a first name basis.”

“We are not—”

“We literally are,” she said, interrupting him again.

He ran a hand down his face, feeling every minute of the last week. How on Earth was he going to survive the night with her, let alone the next ten nights he’d dealt for?

“We agreed on nine o’clock.”

The woman seemed to finally take pity on him. “I just want to talk.” She opened the bag containing the garlic bread. 

“I’m pretty sure I made my expectations clear.”

“And what about my expectations?” Belle had given up on being directed to the proper cupboard, so she started opening the doors over the counter until she found his dishes.

“I’ve given my word you’ll remain unmolested. You have collateral should I—”

“I wouldn’t have agreed in the first place if I believed there was a chance of that.”

“Then what more could you want?”

“I want to know why. Why me, why now?” Proving victorious, Belle pulled out two plates from his cupboards. 

“You need the money,” he deflected, opening the drawer of the silverware and setting the kitchen table for two places; he wasn’t a complete beast to make her do all the work.

“So does Ruby. So do most people in town, actually,” she said as if he didn’t know.

He watched as she put the first plate into his microwave, and soon the electric hum was the only sound in the room. After the timer dinged, Belle placed the first plate on the table, complete with a side salad and the garlic bread. She gestured for him to sit while she reheated her own serving.

“I know you can be discreet,” he said finally.

For the first time since entering the kitchen, Belle looked at him. She considered his answer. “I do understand that you have an image to uphold. Word getting out that you suffer from nightmares would certainly do...something to it.”

Nightmare. 

It was too kind a word for the violent, paralyzing terror that dogged his sleep. It wasn’t a nightmare that pulled him from his bed, still sleeping, compelling him to pound on his walls until his hands bruised. It wasn’t a nightmare that had him pacing madly up and down his halls, wrenching his ankle again and again, the pain deeper than bone when he finally awoke.

“The townsfolk already compare you to Scrooge,” Belle said as she sat across from him with her plate. “Knowing about this might be a bit too much.”

 “Scrooge didn’t ask for help fending off his ghosts,” Gold muttered.

“Scrooge didn’t know his ghosts were coming.” She looked pensive. “What ghosts are haunting you, Mr. Gold?”

The scrape of his chair against the tile was loud. He pushed away from the table and his half-eaten dinner.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish up in my study. Feel free to show yourself around. Thank you for dinner.”

“Wait—I didn’t—”

But Gold was already gone, out of the kitchen and down the hall. Away from her. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was hiding in his study when he heard the soft knock.

“Come in,” he said, looking up only as the door opened.

“I’m sorry,” Belle said without preamble. She hadn’t come further into the room, but she wasn’t hiding behind the door frame. “I overstepped, and I shouldn’t have. I just don’t understand why I’m here.”

For the first time that night, perhaps the first time in their whole acquaintance, Belle looked unsure of herself.

“I want to help you, Mr. Gold.”

“Elias.” He owed her that much. Belle was right: if they were going to sleep together, she should have his name.

“Elias,” she said, saying his name slowly. “I’ve already agreed to the terms you’ve laid out. I showed up, didn’t I?”

Gold sighed. He just wanted this month over and done with. The truth was the enormity of his fear was becoming too much for him. Size mattered, and it was too much. Too big. Going without sleep for the few weeks he was affected was out of the question, and sleeping pills didn’t work, only bringing the terrors back in full force once he stopped taking them.

“I can’t be alone,” he said. “We need to share the bed.” He’d learned that from experience.

“So you mentioned. That’s fine.”

“I can sleep over the sheets, if that’s more comfortable for you.”

“But that would make you uncomfortable, wouldn’t it? That’s kind of exactly the opposite of why I’m here.”

“I can get you separate blankets then—"

“I’ve just told you I agree to the terms.”

“It feels a lot to ask of you.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “It’s not more than I’m willing to do.”

Gold sighed again. It was nearing the usual time he turned in.

“So.” Belle said, before he could get his courage up to suggest they retire. She took a brave step into his study.

“So?”

“We’ve established why me. So, why now?”

Gold made a noise in his throat. “This is an ailment I face every September.”

Belle tilted her head to the side. “Like an anniversary?”

“Aye. That of my son’s death.”

-

[controversial-blorbo-bracket]

Controversial Character Tournament Round 1: Great White Shark from Real Life

[most-fuck-able-ff14]

MOST FUCKABLE FF14 MAN ROUND 2

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

2023 Sexiest Fictional Podcast Character Statistics Part II

(Image description: A series of nine line graphs showing the total, average, minimum, and maximum number of votes, both in total and separated by bracket, over eight rounds.)

On the whole, the Unscripted Bracket received the most votes in a round while the Night Vale Bracket received the least. A lot, although not all of it, is due to Glenn Close (starting in Round 2). In general, although certainly not every time, matches that were within a fandom received less votes than cross-fandom matches. Besides the entirety of the Night Vale Bracket (which starting in Round 3 had as many polls per round as the Scripted and Unscripted brackets combined and yet received less votes than those brackets did individually, as seen in Graph 1) this can also be seen in the Round 6 dip, which was Wolf 359 vs Wolf 359 and Dungeons & Daddies vs Dungeons & Daddies + Campaign.

Besides the two cross-bracket polls, the Unscripted Bracket Round 4 was especially active, as can be seen in Graphs 1 and 2. At an average of 2,181 votes per poll, this is the was the most active Bracket/Round combo (aside from the champion vs champion polls). Overall, the tournament had an average of 856 votes per poll (not including the preliminaries). The Scripted Bracket never had a poll break 2,000 votes.

Polls with the Most Votes:

Round 8 — Carlos the Scientist vs Glenn Close — 14,319 votes

Round 7 — Glenn Close vs Isabel Lovelace — 10,537 votes

Round 2 — Glenn Close vs Pickman — 3,408 votes

Round 4 — Glenn Close vs Lup — 3,176 votes

Round 4 — Amber Gris vs Moonshine Cybin — 2,381 votes

Round 5 — Glenn Close vs Amber Gris & Moonshine Cybin — 2,381 votes (thanks to @iersei for catching this)

Round 1 — Sans Undertale vs M. Leopold Duvall — 2,227 votes

Round 3 — Glenn Close vs Taako — 2,173 votes

Polls with the Least Votes:

Round 1 — Lucifer Kane vs Gin (Story Break: Heaven Heist) — 186 votes

Round 3 — Amelia Anna Alfaro vs City Council — 190 votes

Round 3 — Huntokar vs Nazr al-Mujaheed — 200 votes

Round 3 — Erika vs Frances Donaldson — 201 votes

Round 5 — Dana Cardinal vs Hiram McDaniels — 205 votes

[bitacrytic]

Just found a story I wrote yeaaaaaars ago. It was set in the garden of Eden and it's basically what I thought was High Fantasy (oh my god!) But now I'm looking at it and the villain and the protagonist are giving me major vegaspete vibes.

Revamping it will take as much stress as writing a brand new story but now, I'm dreaming of vegaspete again.

[paruecake]

So ever since I started getting back into art, I feel like my eyeballs can't unsee brush strokes when I'm looking at digital art. Like, hoh, I can tell that the artist used a round brush there 👀 Which is cool but also very distracting.

Anyway, I've been rewatching That Time I Got Reincarnated As A Slime and I've been staring at the backgrounds and I naively thought to myself, hey that looks kinda simple, maybe I can do that too. Things were going okay with the tree leaves, but when I went to do the actual trunk, chaos ensued. Everything I tried looked like absolute shit. So I decided to do it the same way I did the leaves.

Then when I went to do the backgrounds, the same thing happened. I tried to do the mountains in a different style, and that also ended up looking terrible. And same with the clouds.... lol. So I just sort of decided to do everything in an overly cartoony way. Not sure if it's better or worse, but I definitely hate it less than what I had going before.

[chipjrwibignaturals]

anyway! one of the jobs I applied and interviewed told me today they’re going w someone else which sucks but like. Ah well, it be like that sometimes.

[musical-chick-13]

The thing is. We are starting to get to the point in this poll where I have to decide whether Voting For The Sapphic Couple I Like The Most is more important or Voting For The Sapphic Couple That Might Actually Stand Even The Slightest Chance Of Beating D/stiel is more important.

[incognit0slut]

Hypothetically

Chronically single, you suggest a pact with your best friend to start a family together when you turn forty.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x bau fem reader

Category: fluff/comfort

Warnings: marriage and baby talk, reader is insecure because she feels left out

A/n: This is my entry for the kid fic challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins! This was like a breath of fresh air from all the smut I’ve been writing

"Do you want to have a baby with me?"

The scalding coffee burned his tongue as your question lingered in the air. Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly and patted his chest, his eyes drifting towards you. "Uh... what?"

"Hypothetically," you replied, the tap of your pen echoing against the round table between you. "It's like a pact. If we're both still single in the future, we get married to one another and, well, start a family together."

Spencer felt the clamminess of his palms as he set his mug down, trying to steady himself. He considered you as one of the closest people in his life, if not his best friend, and he was accustomed to your random questions, but this sudden topic of conversation seemed to strike a nerve.

"Where..." he began, wiping his palm along his pants. "...where is this coming from?"

You shrugged casually, the tapping of your pen momentarily ceasing. "Just a thought. I mean, we're both at that age where these things start to cross our minds, right?"

Spencer swallowed, trying to push down the unease rising in his chest. "Yeah, I guess so," he muttered, but as he studied you, he noticed the tension in your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Your gaze flickered away for a moment before you sighed, slumping against your chair.

"I have a wedding coming up this weekend." Spencer frowned, not understanding what you were trying to say. You continued, "And another one next week, and guess what? Two of my cousins are getting married next month."

"What does that have to do with...?" His voice trailed off as realization dawned on him. "Ah, I see."

But you weren't finished. Somehow, the thoughts that had lingered in your mind for the past few days spilled out right then and there, in the middle of broad daylight when you were supposed to be focusing on the case you were working on.

"And a close friend I went to high school with just gave birth while another friend from college announced she's two months pregnant. And look at me," you exclaimed, your arms flying around. "No wedding. No pregnancy. Spencer, I don't even have a boyfriend, heck, I forgot what it's like to go out on a date!"

He watched as your brow furrowed into a frown, and although your demeanor was all over the place, he couldn't help but notice how you still managed to look pretty.

"Spence?" You asked, nudging his leg with your foot under the table. "Are you listening to me?"

He blinked, momentarily pulled from his thoughts by your voice. "Sorry," he replied. "I'm listening."

You gave him a skeptical look, but the tension in your shoulders seemed to ease slightly as you leaned back in your chair.

"I just... I don't know, I feel like I'm left behind." You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, I'm happy for my friends and all, but sometimes it feels like everyone's moving forward but me. Like I'm stuck in this... this rut."

Spencer wasn't sure how to respond. On one hand, he knew how it felt to want something that seemed out of reach, but on the other hand, he felt like it wasn't his place to offer advice when he wasn't even sure what the future held for him.

"I get it," he finally said, trying to gather his thoughts. The least he could do was try to offer some comfort. "But just because you haven't reached those milestones yet doesn't mean you won't get there eventually."

"But what if it doesn't happen? What if I'm still all alone and nobody loves me when I'm gray and old?"

He frowned at you. "I'd still love you when you're gray and old."

"Platonically. You love me as much as you love JJ. Or Emily. Or Penny, or even Morgan." You leaned over the table. "I want to be loved passionately by someone who is head over heels for me, who can't imagine a life without me. I want to feel that kind of happiness."

His frown deepened. "I don't think you should find happiness in another person."

"You're missing the point," you groaned, crossing your arms. "I'm not saying I want to depend on someone else for my happiness. But is it too much to ask for someone to share it with? To feel like I'm someone's everything and not just another friend in the group?"

His expression softened as he listened, a sense of familiarity washing over him. He remembered feeling the same thing once, or maybe more than once; he wasn't sure. He had lost count of the times he felt his life was falling short.

But he realized the more he thought about the why—why was he so different? why couldn't he find love?—the more he felt worthless, and he hated that. So what was the best thing he did to ignore those thoughts?

Bury himself in work, because to him, pushing those feelings aside was easier than confronting them. But now, as he looked at you, it felt like he was seeing his own reflection and your words hit him harder than he expected.

"No," he quietly agreed. "It's not too much to ask for."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm tired of waiting for life to happen to me." Your gaze slowly met his. "So I came up with a plan."

His throat felt dry as he recalled how this conversation started in the first place. "The... baby plan?"

You nodded enthusiastically, sliding into the seat next to him.

"Think about it. If we're both still single when we're..." You paused, furrowing your brow as you did a quick calculation. "Forty? Yeah, let's say we're both still single when we're forty, with no partners, or like, no friends with benefits?"

You shook your head.

“Just... with no one in our lives—we get married. You and me."

He blinked, trying to process your proposal. It was unexpected, to say the least, but there was a strange logic to it that he couldn't quite shake. The idea of marrying his best friend as a backup plan was both absurd and oddly comforting.

"But what about... love?" he asked cautiously. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"

You paused, considering his question before responding. "I mean, I don't think it's impossible," you said, leaning back in your seat. "Haven't you ever heard of the saying, 'Marry your best friend'?"

His gaze lingered on you, his heart beating hard against his chest. "You're saying that we can fall in love?"

Your eyes met his, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Who knows?" you replied softly. "Stranger things have happened."

Spencer shouldn't entertain the possibility. After all, who knew what could happen in the future? It seemed like an absurd thought, but as he stared at you, it was hard not to imagine a life with you as his wife.

He imagined you in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards him with a radiant smile on your face. He pictured you both in the house you had just bought, dancing joyfully around the empty rooms as you unpacked boxes together.

Then thoughts of you being pregnant with his child—or maybe even children—filled his mind, and he envisioned a future where your kids would run around in the backyard with a pet dog trailing behind.

And then he considered the prospect of growing old with you, watching as your children eventually started families of their own while you found comfort in each other's company. All of these possibilities didn't seem so bad, because if anyone could understand him on a deep level, it was definitely you.

Maybe this crazy plan of yours wasn't so crazy after all.

"I... I guess it's not impossible," he finally admitted. Then, not wanting to seem too eager, he added, "Hypothetically speaking."

"Of course," you replied with a smile. "Hypothetically speaking."

Suddenly feeling flustered by your gaze, Spencer looked away and focused on his coffee, bringing the mug to his lips. Then you heard laughter and footsteps drawing closer, and soon Derek and Emily entered the room. Their eyes immediately landed on the two of you, sitting closely together at the table.

"What are you children whispering about?" Derek's voice interrupted, his eyebrows raised curiously as he glanced between you.

You didn't miss a beat. “Spencer and I are having a baby together."

Spencer choked on his coffee, his eyes widening in shock as he coughed and sputtered. You quickly moved to pat his back.

"Well, we're gonna get married first, right, Spence?" you added with a grin, glancing at him expectantly.

Spencer finally managed to regain his composure, clearing his throat awkwardly as he shot you a sideways glance. "Um, yeah, of course," he stammered, his cheeks still tinged with embarrassment. "Hypothetically."

Derek and Emily exchanged bemused glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Emily's curiosity seemed to win out as she lifted a hand, turning her attention back to you. "Care to explain?"

"We were discussing our backup plan."

"Backup plan?" Derek echoed. 

"Yeah," you replied with a nod. "In case neither of us finds the right person by the time we're, oh, I don't know, forty or so, we figured we'd marry each other and start a family."

Derek placed a hand over his chest, feigning hurt. "And you chose Pretty Boy over me?"

"I'm not going to compete with all your lady friends," you shot back, rising from your seat. "Come on, Spence, let's grab some lunch and brainstorm baby names."

He stood up, giving you a pointed look.

"Or do you want to discuss how we'd make those babies in the future?"

"Well, I was thinking of Amelia if it's a girl..."

You grinned, linking your arm through his before guiding him towards the door. Derek and Emily observed the natural closeness between you two, how you were practically clinging to him and how he seemed to be comfortable with it.

Derek turned to Emily as you disappeared down the hallway. "Do you think they'd actually get married when they hit forty?"

Emily shook her head. "Nope," she replied confidently. "I give it a year until he's already down on one knee."

He laughed, nodding in agreement. With the way Spencer's gaze lingered on you with unmistakable affection, it seemed like it was only a matter of time.

[dustjacketmusings]

Wow that post about how people don't understand bracket seeding was spot on

[rumbelleshowdown]

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Author: LikeASparkInTheDark

Group: C

Prompts: Sunset. She doesn't "like" you! Size matters.

-

Second Hand Assumptions

“Father, where’s Tilly?” 

Moe French turned, looking at his daughter blankly, “She was just here, I almost tripped over her loading the truck.”

Belle bit her lower lip continuing to look through the store. She had left briefly to pick up the keys to the library from the mayor.

She didn’t bring Tilly along because she wasn’t sure how dog friendly her new town was, she left her with her father hoping Tilly’s separation anxiety wouldn’t spike.

“I can’t find her anywhere, where is she?” Belle’s voice was panicked. She was in a new town, and no one knew her or Tilly except her father. 

Moe’s mouth was in a grim line, “I don’t know Belle, she might have just snuck out.”

“Were there any customers while I was gone?” She asked, trying to think of an explanation for her missing Australian Terrier.

“No customers, but that bloody Mr. Gold was here to remind me I was late on rent,” Moe paused thoughtfully, “maybe he saw her as an opportunity for collateral.”

Belle’s eyes widened, “He wouldn’t hurt her would he?”

“That man is capable of anything.” Her father’s voice was ominous.

“I need to find her,” Belle grabbed Tilly’s leash before running out of the shop, her heels clicking on the tile.

He felt slightly guilty but that dog held Belle back from so many things, she’d refuse to go out because “Tilly needs me”, it couldn’t be left alone for more than an hour. Belle would be better off without it, at least that’s what he told himself when he’d taken its collar and nudged it out the door.

“Higher dad!” Henry shouted.

“Be careful!” Arran shouted at his son and grandson, from the park bench he sat at. They had been playing at the park, but his bad leg started to throb and he needed to sit down. 

“Wait!” Henry shouted.

Henry squinted looking with each upward swing before he started dragging his feet in the dirt.

Arran followed his eyeline, for a moment he thought it was a fat squirrel running through the grass. 

“I’ll catch it!” Henry jumped from the swing and ran towards the animal.

“No Henry, it could have rabies!” Neal shouted, chasing after him.

Arran quickly rose from the bench limping to where Henry was crouching down. 

Arran wrinkled his nose, “What kind of rat is this?” He asked as he looked at the tiny creature, it wasn’t his idea of a dog.

“It’s not a rat grandpa, it’s a dog, I wonder why it's alone.” Henry looked around the park to see if there was anyone around.

“A dog? That's not a proper dog, size matters with dogs, this is a rodent of some kind. Now a sheep dog that's a real dog.” 

He turned to his son, raising a finger, “Do you remember Colonel?”

Neal grinned at the memory, “Yeah, I used to ride on his back like a horse.”

“It’s not wearing a collar.” Henry announced.

“Well what should we do? It’s too late for the vet to be open to scan for a chip.” Arran frowned.

It had pointed ears and long tan and black fur with a scruffy face. It’s tongue was hanging out and it was panting in his grandson’s arms.

“We’ll look around the park to see if anyone is looking for a dog.” Neal suggested.

“Here Grandpa.” 

Arran balked in protest, but Henry was already shoving the dog into his hands.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” 

“Hold her close grandpa she’s scared!” Henry advised before they ran off.

He leaned onto his good leg and raised the dog to eye level.

“Listen here you little rat, There will be no urinating on my suit, no leaving nasty little bugs on me, and no-”

“Let go of that dog!”

Arran's head snapped from the dog's face to the face of a beautiful stranger.

“I said unhand that dog this instant!” 

“Excuse me?” He held the dog closer to make sure the stranger wasn’t some dog napper, though she wasn’t wearing a spotted fur coat.

He was struck at her beauty, the sunset setting off the auburn in her hair that fluttered in the wind, big blue eyes glaring at him, her lips a lovely shade of red, pursed in annoyance. Before  he realized that she had said something else in her memorable accent.

“I’m sorry wha-, your dog?” 

“Yes MY dog, or did you not know that when you stole her from my father’s shop?”

Arran’s head tilted slightly to the side, “What?” He scoffed, amused at her accusation.

“My father told me all about you Mr. Gold, how you walk around this town like you own it. I didn’t think you’d use a dog for collateral.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest, relieved at finding Tilly, but angry at finding her with Mr. Gold. She wanted to snatch her from his grasp but she didn’t want the man to retaliate and toss her into the pond.

Mr. Gold seemed amused at her words.

“I didn’t steal your dog, do you think she’d like me this much if I had?” He jerked his head to gesture to Tilly, who was unfortunately cuddling into the crook of his arm.

It was Belle’s turn to scoff, “She doesn’t “like” you!” 

Arran’s amusement grew as the woman stomped her foot with that argument, making her skirt flutter. 

Fortunately Neal and Henry returned from their sweep of the park.

“Hi Belle!” Henry greeted the woman with a wave.

The woman, Belle, smiled warmly, and Arran felt his heart stutter in his chest. He was glad that smile was not aimed at him, or else he might act in foolishly.

“Um, hi, who are you?” Neal asked, raising an eyebrow.

“This is Belle, she’s the new librarian. I saw her on our field trip to city hall today with grandma.” Henry answered.

“This woman is accusing me of stealing her dog.” Arran said at the same time.

“Steal your dog? My grandpa would never steal someone’s dog.” Henry's brow furrowed at the thought.

“Your grandpa?” 

“Yeah, my dad. He may be many things, but he isn’t a dog thief.” The other man, Henry’s father grinned at her.

Belle was trying to catch the trail of thought that had gone through her mind, flustered she turned her gaze back to Mr. Gold, “May I have Rumplestiltskin back please?”

At its name the dog began wiggling in Arran’s grasp until he held her out to Belle.

“Rumplestiltskin?” He couldn’t bite back that smirk that he knew was dancing on his lips.

“That’s a weird name for a girl.” Henry piped up.

Belle took Tilly in her arms, holding her tightly against her sweater, giving her a squeeze, “That’s what the shelter named her, I call her Tilly for short.”

Mr. Gold seemed amused as he watched her slip Tilly’s leash on.

 “Henry I better get you home to your mom” Neal nodded a farewell to Belle and gave his father a parting hug.

Belle held Tilly close to her as Mr. Gold hugged his son tightly, and then gave Henry a large hug too. Surely a dognapper wouldn't be such a family man.

“Love you grandpa!” Henry shouted over his shoulder as he and Neal walked away.

Mr. Gold’s smile was rather lovely, Belle mused to herself, before she realized his attention was now solely on her.

“I’m sorry for accusing you of stealing Tilly.” She murmured softly, feeling ashamed that she had judged Mr. Gold just on rumors from her father alone.

“I’m sorry your father felt the need to bestow that assumption onto you.” He shrugged.

After fidgeting with Tilly’s leash Belle broke the silence between them, “Your wife must be ready for you to come home, I understand if you’ve got to leave.”

“My wife?” he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips.

“Yeah, isn’t Mary Margaret your wife? Henry said it was his grandma that he was with earlier.”

Mr. Gold was trying very hard not to laugh outright in Belle’s face, “Miss French, I assure you, Mary Margaret is his grandma on his maternal side.”

Belle felt the blood drain from her face as he laughed.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go find a bridge to jump from.” Belle muttered.

“How about, instead,” Arran started, taking a tentative step towards her, petting the top of Tilly’s head.

“There's a restaurant just out of town called Marco's,  how about we take Tilly for dinner on the patio? That’ll give you a chance to form your own opinion about me instead of having a secondhand one.”

Belle tried to repress the smile that was bursting to break across her face, “I’d like that.” 

Arran Gold smiled and he held out the crook of his arm to Belle. She let the smile take over her face and she slipped her arm through his, with Tilly cradled in her other arm, they left the park together.

-

[that-house]

Went bowling for my roommate’s birthday at a place with basically no automation or sensors in the lanes, manual score entry for each frame, and very lax security.

So we made a wheel of 25 power ups and debuffs and everyone spun it on their turn.

The available effects:

Switch Names with Another Player (you get their spot on the scoreboard and they get yours) (this is mandatory even if you’re in first)

+3 Points this frame

Bowl 2 balls at once, one in each hand

Gutter balls give you another throw, as many times as it takes for you to successfully hit the pins twice

The worst player bowls for you this frame

The worst player bowls for a player of your choice the next time that person would bowl

The best player bowls for you this frame

Bowl it with your eyes closed

Bowl it backwards between your legs

Bowl it with your feet (this one nearly broke someone’s foot)

Bowl it with your knees

Spin until dizzy, then bowl

Spin the Wheel 3 More Times

Permanent -1 to all subsequent frames

Choose a number besides 0, if you hit that many pins this frame you get a strike, else get a 0 for this frame

Coin flip: strike or zero (this came up like five times and the flip was won once)

First throw this frame has to be a gutter ball

Balance on one leg for the frame

Tell a joke (no stakes to this one)

Pick someone to bowl for you, they have to do their best

Give -3 to someone’s next frame

Automatic 7 on this frame

Permanent +1 to all subsequent frames

Half points for the frame (round down)

Edit the score in one frame of your choice, for any player (once per game, then cannot be achieved again by ANYONE)

You get to throw one more ball each frame. You don’t spin the wheel anymore

It was fucking hilarious. One player spent two consecutive turns bowling with his knees, which went about as well as you’d expect (4 gutter balls). We all sucked and it was a great time

[marchlione]

.

[littlexdeaths]

eddie munson x shy fem reader

warnings: lots of cute first date jitters, reader is clumsy, also a lot more cheese 🧀 — take your lactaid besties.

part one | part three

a/n: i’m honestly blown away by all the sweet comments on that first little blurb. shy reader is 1000% me, so this is very near and dear to my heart. i hope y’all like this one just as much! also big kisses to my lovely angel @undead-supernova for looking this over for me <3

“This looks stupid.”

You huff, glancing at your reflection before rushing back over to your closet for the 3rd time in a span of twenty minutes.

But Nancy grabs your wrist from before you can make it there, pulling you down onto the bed beside her.

“Everything you’ve tried on has been cute… I don’t see the problem here.”

You groan and flop back onto the mattress, covering your face with your hands.

“I wasn’t exactly trying to go for cute, Nance.”

Your words are muffled behind your palms, but she gets your message loud and clear.

“I know you want to impress him, but my best advice is to just be yourself… that’s why he asked you out in the first place, right?”

You sigh, uncovering your face to look up at her. She has a brow raised, and as much as you’d hate to admit it— you know she’s right.

“Do you always have to be right about everything?” you puff out a small laugh and she beams, nudging your knee with hers.

“Of course, I am the brains of this operation, remember?”

You roll your eyes fondly before returning to your feet, smoothing over the denim of your skirt when you meet your reflection once more.

“Oh god, what about make up?!”

You only managed to change your shirt one last time before Nancy had to practically barricade your closet door shut with her body. Reminding you that, once again, you looked great.

It doesn’t help much to soothe that little voice in the back of your head that disagrees— but the rumble of an engine and a blaring guitar riff distracts from those thoughts momentarily as the panic finally starts to set in.

“Shit, shit, shit! He’s here already?” you squeak, glancing over at your beside clock.

6:45 pm.

He was 15 minutes early.

“He’s early… color me impressed.” She grins before peeking out your curtains.

“I’m… I’m not ready, Nance.”

Your heart is about to pound out of your chest and your palms are beginning to sweat. She steps away from the window to put her hands on your shoulders, face full of determination.

“Just breathe, okay? I’ll go down and let him in, you just take a minute and come down when you’re ready.”

You nod dumbly, eyes widening further when the doorbell rings.

Eddie’s here… actually standing on your front porch. Bouquet of flowers grasped tightly in his own sweaty palms.

“Thanks, Nance.”

She just gives you a reassuring smile before starting down the stairs and opening the front door. To say Eddie is surprised when Nancy Wheeler appears at your front door instead of you is an understatement.

“Uh… please don’t tell me I’ve got the wrong address,” he steps back to take a look at the number on the house again.

“No, you’re at the right place. She’s just finishing getting ready, come on in.”

Nancy can see the way his shoulders sag in relief before he steps past the threshold. Dark eyes wandering around the interior of your entry way in utter curiosity. Pictures of you and your parents line the walls, but one in particular catches his attention.

You’re smiling up at the camera, eyes scrunched closed behind the round frame of your glasses— with your two front teeth missing.

The sight has him grinning despite himself, already catching more of a glimpse of the girl that’s been on his mind for the better part of that year.

“So… where are you taking her?” Nancy asks casually, leaning against the doorframe of your kitchen.

Eddie turns then, still clutching the flowers tightly in his fist.

“The Palace… and then Benny’s. But don’t worry, I’ll have her back before 11 pm. Scout’s honor.” He grins, raising his other hand in a mock salute.

You can hear their voices floating up the stairs, which only seems to worsen the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. You take one last look in the mirror to straighten your top and make sure your eyeliner wasn’t smudged before you turn the knob and make your way down the hall.

The creak of the floorboards alerts them both to your presence when you slowly begin to descend the stairs. Your hand grips the railing tightly, eyes finally lifting once you reach the landing.

“Wow,” he whispers in dumbstruck awe.

You can feel your skin warm under the intensity of his gaze, tucking your lower lip between your teeth to hide a grin.

But the sweet moment is quickly squashed when your foot catches on the edge of the step, and you go tumbling forward. Eddie drops the flowers in his haste before closing that short distance between you to catch you in his arms. Your bodies collide, much like what happened earlier in the cafeteria.

Only this time he doesn’t let you go right away.

“Steady now,” he chuckles, and your eyes can’t help but drift lower to stare at his lips. “You okay?”

You nod, not fully trusting your voice when he’s so close like this, you swear he must be able to hear how fast your heart is fluttering beneath your ribs.

“Oh goddammit, the flowers.” Eddie groans, making sure you’ve got your footing before he bends down to pick up the crumpled bouquet.

“Uh, I promise they weren’t like this when I got here...”

He hands them out to you with a sheepish grin, the apples of his cheeks now flushed a soft shade of pink. And from this close proximity you can see the faint freckles dotted along the bridge of his nose.

Man, he sure is pretty…

“They’re beautiful,” you smile, finally finding your voice. “Thank you.”

“… well, you two should probably get going, right?”

You had almost forgotten Nancy was even there.

“Oh what about—” you gesture to the bouquet in your hands, but she quickly cuts you off.

“I’ll put those in some water and lock up for you, sound good?”

You don’t have much time for protest when she carefully takes the flowers from your grasp and nudges you right into Eddie’s chest. You apologize between small giggles when he steadies you again, and Nancy disappears into the kitchen.

His eyes are almost sparkling in childlike delight at the sound of your laughter, and it’s something he’d like to continue hearing for a long time. Eddie guides you both toward the front door. His rings clink against the knob when he swings it open, taking a slight bow before motioning you forward.

“Your chariot awaits, mi’ lady.”

The Palace is packed by the time you arrive, but for a Friday night in Hawkin’s— that’s no surprise.

Young teens dart between the different games with renewed excitement while Keith watches on with a bored expression. Eddie’s hand is held loosely in your own, fingers intertwined while you decide what to play first.

You both agree on air hockey, allowing him to tug you toward the table with a newfound pep in his step. He hands you the blue paddle, teasing telling you that red is always his color before he crouches down to slip two coins in the slot.

“Prepare to be demolished, sweetheart,” he grins cheekily.

Your stomach flips at those seemingly innocent words, and Eddie silently pats himself on the back for how flustered he’s already made you. That’s not something he’s used to, making a pretty girl fumble over her words. But it’s something he’s decided he wants to see a lot more of tonight.

Eddie ends up winning two rounds of air hockey, but his victories were entirely due to the fact that you were so distracted. Poised across from him, you spent more time admiring the way his tongue poked out from between his lips in concentration— or when he had to pull his wild hair back into a bun when it kept flying into his face.

Not that you would ever mention that little fact to him.

“What’s next?” you ask, unable to hide your glee when he takes your hand without hesitation this time.

“Have you tried Dragon’s Lair?”

He nods his head over to the game that was just recently abandoned in a fit of rage by short boy with dark hair. If you were being honest, skee ball and air hockey were more your speed when it came to arcade games. But the look of absolute delight on his face has you willing to try regardless.

And just as you suspected, you’re terrible at it.

You’re barely able to get past that first level without dying repeatedly but Eddie continues to give you an encouraging smile while he leans against the machine. He adores the way your lips are pouted in a slight frown when the dragon engulfs the knight in flames again.

“Here,” he mumbles, sliding in behind you. “Let me help.”

His arms cage you in against the machine, and you can feel the heat from his chest seeping through the thin cotton of your blouse. Ringed fingers gently hover over where yours are stationed on the controls, and in your nervous state you don’t notice the way his fingers tremble slightly.

Eddie guides your hands with ease, all but playing the game for you at this point. But your focus is no longer on the dragons and knights. They instead settle on his hands, and how they completely engulf yours in size. And the way his chain bracelet rattles against your skin with each flick of his wrist on the joystick.

They continue to travel a little higher, noticing how the muscles in his forearms contract each time he pushes that red button in rapid succession. It has your mind wandering to places that it definitely shouldn’t be…

Like how his hands would feel gripping your hips…

Stop that.

When you take a shuddering breath, you get another whiff of his spicy cologne when he leans his head forward. The faint hint of tobacco and mint still lingers on his lips when he blows a breath out in frustration when he finally looses that round.

The words GAME OVER flash across the screen in brightly colored letters, and you feel a little disappointed when he begins to remove himself from you. But you’re suddenly feeling a little bold, gently turning to grab his hand before looking up at him.

“Show me again?” you mumble, chewing nervously on your lower lip.

Eddie grins down at you, eyes flicking down to your mouth for a fleeting moment. But his next move has your brain about to melt out of your ears.

He takes your lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, carefully removing it from between your teeth. He allows the pad of his thumb to graze over your lip while the other slips around your waist. Eddie guides you back around by your hips, quickly resuming his position behind you.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92 @blckbrrybasket @your-nightmaredoll @missmarch-99 @fandom-princess-forevermore

[professorpryde]

Atlanta Exterior

[charliemwrites]

Mean Simon, Part 5

Another thing in the queue done 😎 also plan on reformatting this so it has a proper title and pretty dividers tonight.

Content: Established kidnapping situation, dub-con touching, Fear Play/Kink

Simon and Johnny come home from deployment to you snoozing in the den. The house is clean as always, smells like lemons and linen, but there are signs of you everywhere. A half-finished puzzle on the coffee table, a book on the arm of the couch, a cup left on the kitchen counter. Not the spick and span catalgouesque space they left.

Simon’s a little surprised to find he doesn’t mind. Something in his shoulders eases at the sight of you. A soft thing to come home to, nesting up in his and Johnny’s territory. A novelty that hasn't worn off.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Johnny coos, dropping his bags in the entry and beelining for you.

The sound of him startles you, fingers curling tight into the blankets. You make a nervous sound of protest, disoriented as you blink against the afternoon light. Not that he cares, smothering you beneath his weight and kissing your face.

“Johnny…?” you yawn, slow to release the fabric. Take a moment to calibrate and then nudge gently at his chest. “S’mon doesn’ like shoes on the carpet.”

“That’s right,” Simon rumbles, “so I’m having a hard time understanding why the fuck they’re there.”

Johnny jolts, shoots him a sheepish look over his shoulder. All it takes is a narrow glare for him to skitter away, mumbling apologies and excuses about missing you. Simon ignores him for the moment.

“Here, pet.”

It takes you an extra beat to realize he's talking to you, but then you’re up and padding over to him, rubbing at your eyes. You stop within arms reach (progress, he notes) and peer at him through your lashes.

“Hi, sir,” you chime.

Not quite what he had in mind, but it’s a start.

“Good while I was gone?”

You tilt your head. “Yes? Unless… there was something I was supposed to do…?”

He huffs in amusement. Such a nervous, sweet thing. He pats your head, smirks a bit at how you fluster, hands fidgeting.

“House looks fine,” he says by way of answer.

“Oh, I-I left some things out…” you mumble, glancing at the few unobtrusive items. “Sorry.”

“Just keep it under control, yeah?”

“Yes, sir.”

Johnny, just finished removing his boots and gear, wraps himself around you from behind. You place a hand slowly on his arm in return, hiding that you don’t melt into him the way he does to you.

“Are you hungry?” you ask.

Not especially, but Simon’s never hungry fresh off a mission, belly warm with more than his share of slaughter. But the thought of your cooking is appetizing.

“Make something.”

“Okay.” You wiggle a bit and tap at Johnny’s tight arm. “Johnny?”

Simon bites back a chuckle at the helpless look you shoot him.

“Shower, Sergeant. Now.”

“Yessir,” Johnny grumbles, slow to unwind from you. Petulant little shit.

As soon as you’re clear, Simon snatches him by the scruff. You jump, eyes rounding.

“Off to the kitchen, little one. The mutt needs one more run ‘round the yard I think.”

Johnny whines, but Simon’s watching your face, noting the fear that flickers across it while you inch away. Just as he suspected, even seeing Johnny disciplined is enough to shake you.

“Yes, sir,” you reply more fervently, turning on your heel and nearly bolting.

He lets out a breath. One thing at a time. For now, he’s got a spoiled pup to bring to heel.

Simon’s been busy these last two weeks.

Johnny on his own is nearly a full time job. Even after he got you, the pup is high energy and too clever for his own good. A working dog, that one. And finding “work” for him to do (especially since he’s been banned from entertaining himself with your pretty holes) has kept Simon rather occupied during this leave.

Add you to the mix and Simon’s bloodlust has been slower to boil over than usual - too busy to miss his guns.

He’s been acclimating you. The No Touching directive seems seared into your muscles, a good lesson to have, an important rule for your own safety as much as Simon’s preference. But it doesn’t serve him any longer. He’s trying to retrain you to Johnny’s rule, No Touching Without Permission - but of all your apprehensions, this one seems the worst.

You’ve gotten braver about speaking to him. Only stutter over every other sentence rather than every other word. You still pick and choose carefully, tune your voice to the notes of conciliation, but not silent unless spoken to anymore. Simon’s almost proud.

But the touching issue. That’s what he really wants to break.

You can at least share space with him now without startling at every little thing. Curled up on the couch, you’re folding laundry. Johnny’s gone off to shower, busy in the garden all afternoon. The telly is on, a sci-fi movie that Simon isn’t interested in but you seem to enjoy.

You're cross-legged in a loose pair of shorts and the jumper Johnny stuffed you into (with his own name across the back, the little shit). Quiet, calm. He likes the way you fold clothes - imprecise, a little messy. Not the perfect squares he and Johnny make.

“Pet.”

You turn to him, expression curious. Much better.

“C’mere.”

You pause. “Can I finish this shirt?”

He nods. There’s only a tiny shake in your hands as you do. Then you stand and shuffle to close the small distance.

Still not touching.

Lazily, he spreads his knees apart, feet planted wide and beckons you closer with a finger. This time you do hesitate, knee bent to step forward for one beat… two… then you finally force yourself to squeeze between his legs. You don’t even brush against him. It’s almost impressive.

“Told you to c’mere, didn’t I?” he drawls.

You brow furrows, confusion turning your plush lips into a cute little pout.

“I - am I not… here?” you ask.

He practically purrs. “No.” He gestures again. “Here.”

You suck in a tiny breath as it seems to click. “Y-your lap?”

He hums. You open your mouth, close it. Fidget and then open your mouth again. Nothing comes out.

“Not gonna say again, pet,” he rumbles.

You inhale deeply. And then, as if he’s a bear trap about to snap closed, you start to climb over him. Slowly, so slowly, you ease each of your legs over his, hands hovering until you nearly lose your balance and have to use his shoulders for support. You’re straddling him, but none of your weight is on his thighs; you’re up on your knees and trembling.

He meets your eyes. Waits.

“Sir… I…”

“All the way.”

Embarrassed heat radiates off you as you lower slowly, until your soft ass is pillowed on his broad thighs.

“Good girl,” he soothes. “See, that’s not so bad, is it?”

You shake your head, but you’re not able to meet his eyes. He’s starting to see why Johnny fawns over you so much. You make such precious expressions.

“Eyes up.”

You drag your gaze to his - and this time he does coo. You’re all teary and overwhelmed, nearly holding your breath, fingers twitching on his shoulders.

“You’re doing so well, lamb.”

You’re struggling to maintain eye contact, so he takes pity, appreciating the entirety of you on him instead. Admires the round pudge of your thighs and bent hips, the curve of your spine staying upright. He thumbs your ribs, feels your heart rabbiting against them.

“Breathe,” he coaxes.

You inhale sharply, blinking hard. His cock jumps against the waistband of his joggers.

“I-is there…?” You stop. He nods for you to try again. “W-why, um… this?”

“Think you ‘n I could use some exposure to each other, eh?”

You blink. “E-exposure?”

“Mm.” He raises a hand, gradually so you can see it coming. Twists a strand of your hair around his trigger finger - lets it bounce back. Does it again. “Can’t have you skitterin’ about like a kicked dog.”

“Oh.” You blink. “I-I thought…”

He waits for you to finish the sentence, but you just press your lips together nervously. Still a work in progress, then.

“‘F I wanted that, you wouldn’t be up here.”

Never mind the months he spent ignoring your presence and scowling when you got too close. Or the week he made a game of spooking you just before this all began. He doesn’t want that anymore.

You may be Johnny’s toy, but Johnny belongs to Simon. Besides, he got you for Johnny. Only right that he plays with you too.

“Alright, little one. Off you go before the pup comes back and makes a fuss.”

You scramble as quickly and carefully as you can back to your end of the couch. Simon turns back to the telly and lets you be.

Johnny, bless him, doesn’t notice that you’re any quieter than usual.

The next time he has you climb into his lap, he’s drinking bourbon. You’ve cast him one too many glances from your side of the couch, keep losing your place in your book.

When Johnny eventually shuffles off to shower and prep his pretty ass, Simon calls you over again. You crawl across the couch and sit back on your heels at his side, more curious than frightened for once.

“You want a sip?” he asks, tilting the glass towards you.

“…please?” you ask.

He hums. “Tilt your head.”

You only jolt a little when he cups the nape of your neck, urging your head back. Understanding, you part your lips - though you must be expecting the glass. You squeak a little as he seals his mouth over yours, golden drops of bourbon sliding off his tongue onto yours.

He lingers, the taste of you mixing with the alcohol into something heady. Your mouth is so sweet and yielding, tongue shy as it grazes his. He licks across your dull canines, relishes in the noise trapped in the back of your throat, before pulling away.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“It burns,” you mumble, a bit high-pitched.

“You’ll get used to it.”

With liquid courage in your tummy, you make the journey into his lap a little quicker this time.

“What’re you lookin’ at, huh?” he asks, leaning back to watch you through lidded eyes.

“You, um… your jaw. You usually wear the mask,” you explain, flushing.

“Pull it up to eat,” he points out.

“‘M usually eating too, though.”

He snorts in amusement. “Nosy little thing.”

You must hear that he doesn’t mean it because your voice isn’t especially sincere when you mumble, “sorry.”

Your eyes keep roaming what little of his face is available, though. And your twitchy little fingers keep flexing in his shirt.

“Ask.”

“Can I touch?”

He hums. “Ask nicer.”

You blink, consider. “May I please touch your face, sir?”

He grunts the affirmative, mouth dried by the honeyed lilt to your voice. Sugar would taste bitter in comparison.

Your fingers brush featherlight across the point of his jaw. Follow the line of it until you reach a nasty scar from a hunting knife. Trace it twice before creeping along to his chin. You repeat it for the mark there, all the way up to the corner of his lips. He snaps his teeth, making you yelp and jerk back.

“That was mean,” you complain quietly.

“Poor dear,” he croons, flashing his canines again.

“D-don’t bite… please.”

He makes a noncommittal noise, but you still take the chance of skimming those gentle fingers across his mangled cheek. It’s a strange sensation, charged. Sends odd prickles across his entire face, down his spine. Not even Johnny touches him this softly.

Simon’s teeth and jaw ache with the urge to sink in and shake. You’d give like a ripe peach, he just knows it. Would taste just as good. His mouth waters.

“Enough.”

You instantly pull away. Not even a squeak of protest. He flutters his eyes open; you’ve got both hands clearly visible and to yourself. Smart thing.

“You scared ‘o me?” he wonders.

You don’t answer, but the indent your teeth press into your bottom lip is answer enough.

“Good. Should be.”

You swallow, start to lower your hands, intending to get off his lap. He snatches up one of your wrists before you get far, the bones so delicate in his grasp. You gasp quietly, but know better than to try to escape.

“Didn’t tell you to go yet.”

“O-okay,” you breathe.

Eyes on yours, he drags your hand closer, brushes his lips across the tender meat of your thumb. Your fingers stay lax, but your pupils are blown out. Slowly, deliberately, he presses his teeth into the flesh and closes his jaw until you twitch, expression tightening with discomfort. There.

He stays like that for the count of three, then lets go.

There’s a perfect imprint of his teeth in your skin. Might even bruise. Pretty.

He twists his wrist, flattens your palm against his. So much smaller than his, more elegant. More delicate. A much different animal from him, but still you belong in his den.

“Breathe,” he reminds without looking away.

You inhale shakily. Practically squirming now. He drops his hand and presses the bourbon glass into yours.

“One more for the road.”

You take the tiniest of sips. He chuckles at the face you make as you hand it back.

You don’t like the taste as much as from his lips.

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