darklightcore

[darklightcore]

That's the best Belle's curse breaking that I've seen! That was so interesting how Belle was breaking through Lacey little by little! And I love how Rumple is acting like his original subtle precautionary meticulous s1 self, rather than rushing and impetuous one that they did him in s2.

Also Lacey's portrayal here was so much fun.

And I love how it made Rumple and Henry grow closer in spite Regina cursing Belle just to distance Henry from his grandpa! TAKE THAT, REGINA!!! I think it's also more like Rumple to not give into someone's manipulations. Surely not Regina's.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Author: Applejuice_and_pfeffernuisse

GROUP A: trying to stop smoking; old movies; last stop 

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Is It You?

Lacey sighed, waiting for Mr. Gold to finish talking to Dove on the other side of the parking lot, she was getting antsy to leave.

When her loud sigh of annoyance didn’t get him wrapping up his conversation faster she glanced around and caught the man walking by expertly by his belt loop, pulling him close to her, “Hey there, you got a cigarette?” 

As he dug around for one she looked over his shoulder. She could see that Gold was getting angry because he was waving his hands around as he spoke.

“Thanks.” Lacey’s breathy reply came when the man offered her the cigarette he finally found. She glanced at Gold again and saw that he was watching her.

She parted her lips, looking up at the man expectantly, fluttering her eyelashes.

He cleared his throat and placed the cigarette between her lips, offering her a light.

She inhaled deeply, standing upright, to moan out an exhale of smoke. 

She leaned against the Cadillac as he tried to talk to her, but she had accomplished what she had set out to do, smirking as Gold limped over with a purpose, shoving the man away from her, with just a snarled warning of, “Mine.”

Lacey felt her pulse quicken as Gold’s eyes snapped to her face. She liked it when he was possessive. When he didn’t want someone else playing with his things.

“I thought you were trying to stop.” He took the cigarette from her lips, tossing it to the ground.

“I did, I just wanted you to hurry up.” Lacey grinned, gripping his suit pulling him a bit closer.

 “Besides, I like it when you’re a beast, it’s sexy.”

Gold huffed a laugh, though he looked like he wanted to kiss her, his eyes looked almost pained, and he leaned away.

“We have an evening planned, best be getting along dearie.” His voice sounded odd when he spoke the last word, like it echoed or something. Or like someone else had spoken it with him.

 “I’m ready for that surprise you were talking about.”

Her hand snaked towards his trousers, but he stopped her, “Then come along.” He gave her hand a gentle tug leading her to the passenger’s side and opening the door for her.

As he drove she fiddled with the radio, looking at him in between changes to see if he would hint at what kind of music he liked. There weren’t any saved settings on his option sets so she turned the dial back and forth, wondering if she could find any Van Halen.

Each turn of the dial his facial expression remained the same, she finally let the radio sit at a station playing music from the 2000s. RIght now some girl was singing about walking a thousand miles. 

Commercials chimed and she sighed, bored. 

‘I’m friends with the monster that’s under my bed, get along with the voices inside of my head’ 

The next song perked her up a bit, the tempo good and she tapped it against her thigh, bobbing her head to the beat.

‘Turn nothin into somethin, still can, make that straw into gold chump, i will spin, Rumplestiltskin in a haystack’

The line seemed to catch both Mr. Gold’s and Lacey’s attention at the same time. Gold seemed to snort a laugh, finding the lyrics funny, taking one hand off the wheel and waving it, muttering something just low enough Lacey couldn’t catch and then giggling.

Lacey on the other hand, froze, for some reason the lone lyric of the song, echoed in her mind, Rumplestiltskin. Echoing in her mind again and again. Like something tugging at her memories, something she couldn’t remember right at this moment. 

Rumplestiltskin, Rumplestiltskin, Rumplestiltskin.

She felt the thought dance in her mind, but it wouldn’t stay still, she huffed, looking out the window until they pulled into their destination.

“The fucking library?” Lacey balked.

“There’s an event that I agreed to finance, regrettably I have to make an appearance through it. So it’s just the first stop for tonight.” his eyes had that hurt look in them again, looking at her like he was expecting something from her.

Lacey’s brow furrowed, what was he expecting from her that he wasn’t getting? She spent time with the man, she’d kiss and hang all over him in public, tried to suck his dick, tried to fuck him, but each time he had that disappointed look, What more could he want?

She sighed, “Fine, fine, let’s get this over with.”

“Grandpa!” Henry Miller came racing across the room when he saw that his grandpa and Lacey were walking into the library.

Gold grinned, leaning down slightly to give Henry a big hug, “How’s Operation B going?” Henry whispered.

“Slowly.” His grandpa sighed wearily.

“Hi Lacey!” Henry greeted her with open arms, an offer of a hug.

“Hey kiddo.” Lacey leaned down and gave Henry a tentative hug, which made a strange feeling ripple through her.

“So what’s all this?” she asked, gesturing around.

“It’s an old movie night, the kids get to camp out and eat junk food, while the grown ups who paid for tickets get to sit at tables and be served movie themed food.” Henry explained pointing out different tables.

“Movie themed food?” Lacey asked.

“Food that’s either in the movie or inspired by the movie.”

“Ah.” 

Mr. Gold’s lips pulled up in a smirk before clearing his throat, “Henry can you show us which table is ours?”

Henry led them to a table near the outskirts of the room that looked like it was half done, just ice water on the tablecloth. 

“Oh, be right back! I was setting up when you got here.” 

Henry rushed back with a couple sets of rolled silverware and a rose.

Gold took the rose, his lips quirking upwards before offering it to Lacey, “Here, if you’ll have it.”

The words echoed in her mind, bouncing around, rattling a cage somewhere inside.

She felt herself reach for the rose, and felt her lips form the words, “Why thank you.” the words weren’t hers.

She felt herself lean down a bit in a little curtsied movement, giggling, the movement, the reaction wasn’t hers.

She looked up to Mr. Gold whose eyes were glistening a bit, she watched as he spread his arms out and leaned down in a similar way before they both rose again. 

That movement, that moment, replaying again and again in her mind, flashes of something trying to come to the surface, as if Gold’s action was overlaying another image in her head, but she couldn’t see the original. Couldn’t capture what he was covering, mimicking, she saw flecks, scraps of the memory, something shiny, glittering in the sunlight, she tried to focus on the glittering, the movements. But when she did, Gold's image was on top of it. Exactly the same movement, precisely down to strands of hair moving.

She blinked a couple times, the thoughts giving her a headache.

“Are you alright?” 

She looked to Mr. Gold, his concern for her was evident, but there his eyes were again, searching her face for something.

“I-I’m fine, just need to sit down.”

He pulled her chair out for her and she sat, placing the rose on the table next to her silverware. 

The lights flickered and the kids all squealed, scrambling for their sleeping bags while they giggled, and grabbed their snacks. Once they were still the lights dimmed and the movie began.

“Once upon a time in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle.”

Lacey took a drink of water as the animated movie played, the girl in blue singing as she walked through the small provincial town.

“Good morning Belle!” 

Lacey flinched, the name causing almost a ringing in her head, something shaking and rattling in her mind like a hive of angry bees.

As a man on screen mentioned baguettes, someone came around with bread baskets and butter for each table, the bread was lovely toasted baguette slices.

“Granny helped with the menu tonight.” Mr. Gold noted as he picked up a slice of bread and buttered it before taking a bite.

Lacey grabbed a couple slices herself, and was more amazed that the butter had herbs and garlic mixed in than Granny not burning the bread.

The whole first song of the movie was giving her a headache, causing her to reach for her head, trying to still the echoes, the buzzing, the rattling. It was worse than a hangover from tequila tornadoes at the Rabbit Hole.

After a while the unease stilled and she was able to relax a bit, especially when the next food came out with a glass of foamy beer, which she chugged right away before picking up her fork and taking a bite of the roasted beef and potatoes.

Lacey turned her attention back to the movie and she watched as the girl started talking to haunted furniture.

The next menu item was placed before each of them, tea cups on saucers.

“Hey wait! My cup has a chip in it!” 

Mr. Gold waved his hand dismissively at her. “You can hardly see it.” He reassured her hastily.

“Just mind your lips, make sure they don’t get cut.”  His tone was calm, but there was a frantic look in his eyes, darting between her and the cup.

She huffed a sigh, bringing the cup carefully to her lips, and taking a drink.

Suddenly everything around her seemed to take on the overlaying effect from earlier, everything was giving her double vision, shaking, colliding. Her head was echoing and clashing everything inside her making her want to scream.

She must have looked as badly as she felt because Mr. Gold grabbed her by the elbow, leading her to a different part of the library.

She let him tug her away because she could barely find her footing, stumbling beside him until he sat her in an overstuffed armchair.

“Are you alright?”  his hand gripping her shoulder.

She blinked a few times, making sure she wasn’t seeing double any more.

“I’m, I’m fine, don’t know what came over me.” She muttered.

“Do you want me to get you some water?” 

She nodded, “Yeah, water, or vodka.”

He chuckled, “I’ll be right back, don’t wander off, I don’t want you to faint.” 

She nodded, he smiled wearily before heading back.

Lacey sighed, wondering what the fuck was going on with her today? Her mind raced until she felt panic rising in her throat, making her scramble up from the chair.

Clumsy steps led her to a shelving display of books, if she could focus on those and distract herself, she was sure she wouldn’t feel so weird when Gold came back.

One book seemed to be bathed in light, more than the rest, she wasn’t a librarian but that didn’t seem like good advertising.

The book that was glowing was old fashioned with a brown leather cover and golden embellishments with a knight looking guy on the cover. But she couldn’t read the cover because it was so brightly lit. 

She reached for the book, and the buzzing from earlier began to start once more and her hand dropped.

She looked at the book again, the weird double sight making her feel drunk, but for the life of her she wanted to know what the damn title was. 

She reached for it again, gritting her teeth, crying out as the buzzing in her mind became louder and louder, when her fingertips brushed the cover she gasped, the buzzing in her head burst, dazzling lights showered her vision and she fainted.

Mr. Gold came back to where he'd left Lacey, cursing to himself when she wasn't there.

He looked frantically down different shelves until he found her crumpled on the floor.

“Lacey!” He shouted, kneeling to her side. 

He gently cupped her face, “Lacey?” 

She grimaced, her nose wrinkling, but it was a reaction.

“Lacey?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she raised a hand, reaching for his face, “Rumple?” 

He nearly choked on the hope filling his heart, “Belle? Is it you?” He murmured.

“It’s me Rumple.” Her voice was gentle, almost timid.

Tears poured as he cradled her in his arms, “Belle, oh Belle, you’re back, you’re back.”

After wishing Henry goodbye, and reporting the success of Operation B, Rumple and Belle left.

They held hands tightly, tethering one another to the present, to this reality, until he pulled into the driveway of their home.

“Last stop,” He murmured softly.

She scooted closer to him, leaning against his chest, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“It’s so good to be home.” She murmured, as her mind hummed happily.

[darklightcore]

I love this idea to no end and it's execution is just masterly

“I’m sorry.” Soft as a feather, his lips touched her cheek beneath her eye. She clutched his hands. He kissed the other side. “Forgive me.” 

This moment lives rent-free in my mind now ;-; ;-; ;-;

I'd have loved to see their first not-date <3 as well as the last <3

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Author: Stella Artois

Group A: trying to stop smoking; old movies; last stop 

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Play it Again

Only two cars parked at the drive-in—one Cadillac and one ancient Toyota with smoke billowing from the hood. Belle stood in front of this car, staring at the smoking engine like she could magic it fixed while tears poured down her face. Casablanca played behind her.

“I’m so sorry,” she called again to Mr. Gold. She wiped at her eyes, as useless as staring under the hood. “I’m trying to stop it. If you drive up, I won’t be in your way anymore.”

She could only hear the movie tinny and garbled from the radio in Gold’s passenger seat, but her ears were too stuffy from sobbing to make anything out. Gold had his windows down and wasn’t even paying attention to the screen. Apparently, Belle weeping was more interesting.

“Your car is dead,” Gold said when Belle poked the engine and hissed. “Give up.”

“This is the last movie they’ll ever show here.” She wiped away the remaining tears. “The last time we’ll ever be the only two people keeping it alive.”

Gold said nothing. 

He was probably right. The car was probably dead. 

“Belle.”

“I’m trying, I promise.” She sucked in a shaky breath, and the tears started again. 

“Belle, get in my car.”

She looked over at him. She and Mr. Gold were at the Storybrooke Drive-in every Saturday night, except for last Saturday because it was her father’s funeral. They parked next to each other, usually chatted through the window. Everyone else had better things to do on a Saturday night, apparently, but Belle and Gold sat in their cars, lonely, watching everything from Citizen Kane to Rocky Horror. 

That was why it was closing. Belle and Mr. Gold alone could not keep it alive. She would miss their not-dates the most.

“Are you sure?”

All but rolling his eyes, Gold plucked the radio off the passenger seat and swept his hand toward it. Belle flashed him a shaky smile, then grabbed her snacks and soda so she could join him.

“Do you want any?” She wedged her drink into the cupholder next to his smaller one, offering him her Twizzlers.

He shook his head, then turned the car on so he could drive a few feet closer, leaving her smoking car behind. 

“Thanks for letting me in.”

“You can pay me back later.” 

She paused, popcorn halfway to her mouth, but the corners of Mr. Gold’s eyes were crinkled, and she let out a laugh. 

“It is the last time,” he said. “After this, we’ll have to watch movies at home alone on a Saturday night.”

Belle was desperate not to think about this. “We could try a movie theater, I guess.”

Gold wrinkled his nose, and Belle laughed again, eyes dry for now. “I like sitting alone in my car.”

“Me too.” Belle swiveled to watch her car smoke. It was petering out. “It’s nice to sit together, though. Instead of having to yell through windows.”

Gold remained impassive, saying nothing. Belle smiled into her popcorn. She had spent enough time with him to know that he was an expressive man if one knew how to read him, so his non-response was tacit agreement.

The movie played on. Belle ate her popcorn, Mr. Gold ate his Raisinets. And then, when everyone stood to sing La Marseillaise, Belle’s tears started again. 

She tried to hide them, but the scene ended, and she was still heaving silent sobs into her bucket. Mr. Gold’s hand appeared with a napkin in front of her, and she blubbered out a thank you as she accepted it.

“You’ve seen this movie before, have you not?” he asked as she dabbed at her eyes.

“I just can’t believe the drive-in’s closing.” And her car was smoking, and her dad was dead, and this was the first time she and Mr. Gold had ever sat and watched together and now it would be the last time too.

His hand appeared in front of her again, but this time, it was to pat her. Without thinking, Belle grabbed his wrist and squeezed it like a stuffed toy. He froze, then his arm relaxed.

The movie played on.

Belle’s fingers stayed loosely wrapped around Mr. Gold’s forearm, and though he struggled to reach into his candy, he didn’t move. It was as though he had given up that arm, detached it for Belle’s use, no longer held any claim to it.

He abandoned his Raisinets and Belle slowed on her popcorn eating. Her tears had dried, but it had more to do with the arm she clutched than feeling better.

“Do you know who bought the screen?” she asked. Maybe it was a company not too far. Maybe she could still go to a drive-in.

“No one.” His arm remained limp in her grasp. “This is its last stop before the junkyard.”

Belle squeezed his arm so hard, he winced. “The junkyard? What do you mean? It’s giant!”

“The market for drive-ins isn’t what it used to be.” Sitting taut, probably because her nails were digging into his wrist, he patted her on the hand. She loosened her grip. “They tried to sell it, but all they could sell was the land.”

Belle’s eyes filled again. Not only was the drive-in closing, but they were killing it. Junking it. Something so significant, so big, something no one would ever anticipate just disappearing, would be hauled away to a landfill, gone forever.

“Belle?”

“I’m fine.” She wiped her eyes with buttery fingers. “I just don’t understand—” She hiccuped. “I don’t understand why no one wants it. It’s beautiful. It’s a piece of history. It’s part of our town. It was always there for us whenever we needed it, and maybe it wasn’t the most practical in the world, maybe there were other screens doing it better, but it was always there.”

“I know,” Mr. Gold said softly. “I know what it’s like to lose something that you thought would always be there.”

She looked at him, and he was looking at her. Slowly, eye-contact only interrupted because of the tears that kept getting in her way, she twisted her hand until her fingers laced through his. His breath stuttered, but again, he didn’t move.

The movie played on.

Belle finished her popcorn. Mr. Gold finished his Raisinets. They reached for their sodas at the same time and their free hands bumped. Neither mentioned it.

Rick and Renault walked off together, and the movie ended. The score played, and neither Mr. Gold nor Belle moved. They watched until the screen turned black, until the radio station turned to static.

Mr. Gold’s hand twitched in hers. She thought he would pull away, free his hand to turn the radio off, but he just flexed his fingers.

“When is it going to the junkyard?” Belle asked over the static.

“Monday.”

Belle stared at the screen. If only she could fold it up, stick it in her smoking car, drive off with it. 

“They aren’t junking the projector, necessarily.”

Belle turned to him and, in doing so, looked for the first time at their hands clasped together. They had watched at least a hundred movies together from the safety of their own cars, but sitting here in his passenger seat, her cold fingers tight in his, felt as natural as breathing.

“What are they doing with it?”

“They’re selling everything they can—popcorn machine, soda fountain, cash register.” Gold swallowed. “I’m not sure what’s been bought. I suppose whatever doesn’t sell by the time they have to vacate will be trashed.”

Belle twisted in her seat to face him, yanking his hand as she did because she wouldn’t let go of it.

“So I could buy it?”

Mr. Gold’s mouth parted. “And do what with it?”

“Save it!” 

“Belle, it’s not a person.” He swallowed, licking his lips, and then squeezed her hand. “It’s just a machine.”

Just like her car. It stopped smoking, but she had no illusions that she’d be able to drive it home. Once Mr. Gold left, she’d probably have to wait for truck to tow her freedom away.

“It’s not just a machine. It’s—it’s how I spent my weekends for the past two years.” She tried to blink her tears away. “It’s how I met you. How we got to know each other.”

Mr. Gold looked back at her car, more of her life headed for the junkyard. He swallowed again. Was he nervous?

“Is that important to you?” he asked softly. “Getting to know me?”

They both looked at their hands, at Mr. Gold’s shiny blue ring and Belle’s chipped red polish. Why had Belle never sat in his car before?

“It’s the most important part of coming to the drive-in.”

He turned the radio off, bathing them in silence. Belle’s ears rang. Her face hurt from crying, and her swollen eyes blurred everything.

“I didn’t attend your father’s funeral.”

“You sent food,” Belle said. “It was a big help.”

He frowned like she wasn’t understanding his clearly stated thesis. 

“I would have come,” he said. “If I’d known.”

It would have been nice to have his hand to hold, to have someone handing her tissues, someone firmly at her back when she wanted to collapse, to be her legs when standing felt unbearable. 

“I should have told you,” she said. 

A tear spilled over. Mr. Gold watched it like a cat with a bug. Without the static, Belle’s heart pounded loud enough to hear. Did Mr. Gold’s? 

He cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed the falling tear. Belle pressed her hand over his.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You sent food,” she repeated. “You’ve never done that for anyone else.”

Another tear. His thumb couldn’t reach it. Mr. Gold leaned toward her, tracking it like a hawk. Belle couldn’t breathe. 

“I did wish you were there,” she said.

“I’m sorry.” Soft as a feather, his lips touched her cheek beneath her eye. She clutched his hands. He kissed the other side. “Forgive me.” 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” 

He pulled far enough back to meet her eyes, but Belle followed after him until their noses touched.

“That’s kind of you,” he said, voice no more than a breath. 

Without another word, Belle kissed him on the mouth. For the first time since she’d taken his wrist, they let go of one another, but it was only so Belle could run her hands through his hair. He held her cheek, her elbow, gripping like she might disappear.

They kissed until the concession building’s lights shut off. Belle broke away first.

“Do you think we could convince them to play one more?” she asked. “Since it’s the last night?”

Mr. Gold’s hands slid off of her, slowly like he didn’t want to let go, but then he was shifting around to reach for his wallet.

“I suppose if anyone can convince them, it’s me.” 

Belle laughed, and Mr. Gold’s mouth twitched. He looked back at her once before getting out, brandishing his wallet, and Belle was surprised to find that, after all the crying, a warmth spread along her chest and arms and fingertips. 

Her car sat, hood open. Eventually, she’d need a tow truck. Her backseat was full of receipts and sweaters and umbrellas, but cleaning that out could wait too.

The screen crackled to life. Mr. Gold emerged triumphant from the concession building, and Belle, smiling so hard it hurt, turned the radio back on.

“They didn’t have any other movies,” he said, sitting back down. “But he said he would play it again.”

Belle took his hand, settling in to watch the beginning without her smoking engine obstructing her. They had eaten all the concessions, and without any other distractions, they leaned toward one another. 

Belle turned to Mr. Gold. He turned to her. Ignoring the console between them, the straws from their sodas in the way, the movie he’d bribed the theater to play again, their lips met. They kissed, and their hands moved, and the radio and the smoking car and the junkyard fate of Belle’s favorite place fell away.

The movie played on.

[darklightcore]

THAT IS THE MOST EPIC PANCAKES MAKING I'VE SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE XDXDXDXDDXDXXDXDXDXXDD

YOU CAN DO IT GIRL!!!!!!!

I loved that Rumple was so feverish that he gives Belle basic human communication xDxD

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Author: redvelvet

Group B: coming down with cold; pancakes; "you are kidding me"

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Hot and Cold

Belle crouched, bringing herself level with the cast iron pan. Its surface glistened with a thin layer of hot fat, and the discs of batter that she’d carefully ladled in had bubbled and puffed and started to set. She’d done everything perfectly this time, following the instructions to a tee. 

Of course, that was what she had thought last time, and the time before that. And this was possibly the least involved recipe in the entire cookbook. Hope sprang eternal, though, even for a hopeless princess-turned-caretaker. She could do this. Anyone could do this.

And it was time.

Plucking a thin metal spatula from its home in the porcelain crock next to the grand stonework stove, Belle tested its weight and balance before choosing the angle of attack. One thrust and it was fully between a cake and the pan; another flick and she’d turned it, landing it on the hot surface.

Victory. She closed in on the second. No time for hesitation now; she slid the spatula underneath, and with a snap of her wrist…

Half of it was climbing the steep side of the pan. Belle could have screamed, but there was no time for that. She made quick work of turning the remaining two pancakes, and once that was done she was left with one laying perfectly, another bent at a ninety degree angle, and two overlapping at the edges—a pancake partial eclipse.

The spatula landed on the cooktop with a clatter. It would have been the floor, if there wasn’t still a full bowl of batter. If she hadn’t already resorted to porridge, thirteen days in a row. If the sun wasn’t already climbing in the sky.

If it wasn’t already time to remove the damned things and begin the second batch.

With a sigh, she set about scraping the wayward pancake from the side of the pan.

They weren’t so bad, she told herself. Certainly misshapen, but what did that matter once they were past the lips? And what was a bit of uneven browning between friends? Or between an evil wizard and the princess he’d dealt for?

Right as she was about to push through the double doors, she hesitated. Maybe it would be better to start over. Or to make it a full fortnight of porridge?

But if she knew Rumplestiltskin—and it had been long enough that she did indeed feel like she knew him, or a few of his eccentricities, at least—breakfast set the tone for the rest of the day. If kept waiting for too long in the morning, he was liable to be more beastly than usual.

He’d been getting snippy about porridge too, and she had put herself through a lot of trouble to get that exactly right. Who knew that something as simple as serving breakfast required bravery?

Belle took a deep breath, put on the happiest of faces, and paraded in.

“Tea’s coming,” she said cheerily, then busied herself with arranging a place setting for him. She carefully avoided making eye contact, but she could see well enough through peripheral vision that he was sitting at the wheel. 

Was he watching her? If he was, did she even want to know?

Once the flatware was in place, she had no choice but to face him head on.

Rumplestiltskin aimlessly pushed the wheel, staring blankly at a spot somewhere beyond his hand. That was unusual enough, but even more unusual was the wool blanket he’d draped over his shoulders. There was a fire crackling in the hearth, and the room was roasting.

“Are you alright?” Belle asked, before she could stop herself. Drat. Why hadn’t she taken the easy opportunity to escape?

The wheel slowed and stopped, abiding by friction rather than his hand. He didn’t answer and didn’t look up until she had ventured within arm’s reach.

“Keep your distance,” he muttered, “in case this is catching.”

Belle took a large step backwards. Catching? 

“You’re ill? I didn’t think the Dark One could get sick!”

“I don’t,” he snarled, wrapping himself tighter in his blanket as he stood and shuffled to the table. “I’m certain this is a supernatural affliction of some sort.”

“Who would have done this to you?”

“Only a precious few would be foolish enough to try,” he grumbled. “Let’s just say that the bridge trolls should count themselves lucky that I need them alive for now.” With a sniffle, he plunked himself down in his chair and surveyed his plate. “What happened here?”

“I happened,” Belle sighed. “Sorry. ” He raised an eyebrow and poked at his fork without picking it up. “I’m sure they taste better than they look. And isn’t the saying, “feed a cold, starve a fever”?”

“I think I am feeling feverish, actually.”

Belle planted both hands on her hips. “Oh, stop. How do you expect to feel better if you don’t eat?”

At that, he pressed a finger to his brow. “Don’t worry your pretty—ah.” He waved her off with his other hand. “Don’t worry your head about it.”

A flash of warmth rose into her own cheeks, entirely unrelated to whatever was plaguing Rumplestiltskin. She turned away; quickly enough, she hoped, that he hadn’t noticed.

“The tea’s coming right up,” she called over her shoulder.

For all of its unsettling charms, the Dark Castle wasn’t haunted; save for the serenade of the odd enthusiastic owl, Belle slept well enough at night.

Because owls weren’t known for their mastery of human language, being pulled from sleep by the repeated hiss of her name was not something she had ever expected.

Half-dreaming and unable to see the source of the call in the darkness, she bolted upright and shrieked.

“No need for theatrics,” Rumplestiltskin grumbled. “It’s only me.”

Belle clawed for her blanket and pulled it up to her collarbones. “What—what’s going on?”

“I need your help, dearie.”

“Now?”

“Oh, no.” His impish affectation, it turned out, was even more off-putting when nasally. “I’m here in the dead of night to request a spot in your social calendar for tomorrow afternoon. Yes, now.”

He was already halfway down the stairs. Belle shook her head in disbelief, threw on her robe, and followed him into the darkness.

“How’s this?”

Rumplestiltskin was hunched over the workbench, but he dragged himself up to examine the mortar at her query.

“More elderberry,” he snapped before cradling his head in his hands again. And less flame on the cowslip, it’s about to boil over.”

Belle sighed, popped a small handful of berries into the mortar and picked up the pestle to start grinding again.

“By all means, continue doing that loud enough to wake the dead.” he moaned into his hands.

“I’m not sure that it’s possible to quietly grind plant matter into paste,” she quipped back. “But you’re welcome to do this yourself, if you’d like.”

“Could I see straight, I would.” He glanced over again. “More catnip—never mind, it’s good enough.” Reaching across the table, he selected a tiny vial and handed it to her. “Three drops of this, now.”

Belle squinted at the spidery writing on the label. Monkshood Extract.

“You’re kidding me. This is poisonous!”

“It’s toxic,” he corrected, and her eyes nearly rolled out of her head. “And not for me. Three. Drops.” When she failed to respond, he looked up again. “Please.”

She shook her head in disbelief, then popped the cork from the vial. “I wonder if people will believe me when I tell them that the Dark One killed himself with his own cold medicine.”

“Haven’t you heard that the dose makes the poison?” He watched her carefully this time, glassy-eyed. One drop. Two.

“Not that the dose makes the toxin,” she breathed. Three. Belle looked at him expectantly. Rumplestiltskin looked back at her.

The cowslip brew bubbled over.

“Oh no, I’m so—” Belle flailed for a rag, but Rumplestiltskin put his hand on hers.

“Don’t,” he said, and with a wave of his free hand the whole mess disappeared in a cloud of smoke. “Are you trying to give yourself a burn?”

“No, I…” she looked down at the fingers encircling her wrist, then threw her other hand to his forehead, then his cheek. “If anyone’s burning up, it’s you, Rumplestiltskin.”

He leaned in to her touch and closed his eyes, and Belle made a decision of her own.

“Enough magic for tonight,” she said. “I have a better idea.”

“I can’t believe you trusted me to do all that,” Belle mused, wringing a cloth over a bowl of water. When she pressed it to his forehead, he sighed and tension lines around his eyes smoothed. If the Dark One’s demise via pharmaceutical misadventure was an outlandish tale, what did that make nursing him back to health while he languished on the couch? “I can’t even cook breakfast.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Rumplestiltskin pinched the bridge of his nose without opening his eyes. “And I can’t think of anyone else who would have allowed herself to be dragged from bed.”

“I wasn’t aware I had a choice.”

His eyelids opened into slits. “You always have a choice.”

“Well,” Belle said, wishing she still had something to do with her hands. “I’m here to take care of you, aren’t I?”

“Not like this.”

“I mean, I know I’m terrible at it,” she continued, plucking the cloth from his forehead.

Rumplestiltskin draped his hand over his eyes. “You aren’t terrible at it.”

“Really.” Belle swirled the cloth through the cool water. He’d never made a secret of what he thought about her cooking. Or her cleaning prowess, for that matter. What was she to do with this (albeit, small) admission to the contrary? She let the cloth sit in the bowl of water. “Do you want more tea?”

He shook his head.

A silence settled between them as he fidgeted in discomfort and she debated whether she should offer the cloth again. 

“Belle,” he murmured, finally. The way her name rolled off of his tongue made her a flutter rise in her chest, as did the glance he stole before turning into the couch’s high back. “Our deal was the best I’ve ever made.”

At sunup, Belle checked on the couch and found it empty. She also found the bowl in the kitchens, empty of water, and the cloth dry and folded neatly next to it.

Things were back to normal, it seemed.

Right down to—

“Porridge, again? You can’t be serious.”

“It’s my specialty.” Belle shrugged, biting back a grin. “Which is exactly what you want, isn’t it?”

Rumplestiltskin wrinkled his nose, but he still picked up his spoon. “I’d peg your specialty to dusting, if anything.” He was sniffling, voice definitely still a bit nasal, but at least he was no longer wearing a blanket as a cape. “Speaking of which.”

Belle stared down at the feather duster, freshly materialized into her hand. Someone was certainly feeling better. She cocked her head, fixing him with a look. He stared back, unflinching, a smile playing at the corner of his lips as brought his spoon up to them.

“Belle,” he said, just as she turned to go. She glanced back. He said nothing for several beats, and, unbidden, her heart took on a chaotic flutter. “Thank you,” he said, finally.

Belle hid a smile of her own behind the duster.

“The tea’s coming right up.”

[darklightcore]

OMG THEY HAVE TO OUTRUN THE SEA /*0*/

Belle comforting him to sleep got me MELTED

I'M SO CURIOUS ABOUT THIS VERSE /*0*/

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Pseud: BookishTapestry

GROUP C: antique hunting on weekend; sweater; drowning

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Fleeing Tides

Weekend after weekend, every idle trip after another, Mr. Gold sought out these places. Every day off, he found himself in another store full of all these old items. Searching, puzzling through them, as if there were some secret to be uncovered. He was not a man to believe in mysticism or in sentiment, so he wasn't entirely sure what gripped him. It was always the ones by the sea that drew him closer.

He searched the aisles as if he could hear a heartbeat calling him to something. So far nothing - he always left with a strange feeling of emptiness and disappointment. Which was silly - how could a man be disappointed not to find something he didn't know he had been looking for?

Mr. Gold lingered, looking at the small toy horse on display.

"Looking for something for the kiddies?" a clerk smiled politely.

Mr. Gold snorted at the question. "Me? No, I have no children." His tongue felt heavy when he said that, for some reason. He wasn't the fatherly type, it was a ridiculous idea. "Good workmanship, that's all."

He left the same as before, empty-handed.

He was walking down the street back towards his accommodations when it happened.

His chest shuddered and he started coughing. Not just coughing, but choking. He doubled over, leaning on his cane, trying to gasp for air that he couldn’t find.

He coughed until it passed, leaving his throat feeling grainy. His tongue... tasted of salt. He looked down at his hand.

Water. Sea water.

He should be alarmed, he thought, vaguely. Something empty in him squirmed, like seeing a shape darting by the corner of your eye but finding nothing there to notice. His mind sought for a response, a reaction, and was only met with a wall of nothing. Odd, then, was the thought he settled on. He wiped his hand clean with his handkerchief and carried on.

---

He was just passing between old brick buildings - perhaps one was a library, he thought - when it happened again. He staggered, spluttered up more of the saltwater, grimacing. The second contraction of his lungs brought up not just water, but something else. Something tasted like... coppery.

Blood. Not his own, he knew instinctively.

Not his, but familiar-

The memory hit him as if both buildings collapsed on either side of him.

"...I told you, I'm fine. It was just a little fall..." a soft voice floated to his ears.

A warm body pressed against his, he could feel her heartbeat against his chest.

"See?" a smile, with pink lips that made him dizzy just to be near...

Darkness to the press of a warm mouth, of a gentle kiss, her bottom lip leaving blood on his own, the taste of iron-

Belle.

Belle.

He came back to reality coughing up the last of the salt and iron taste, his head throbbing badly. He had forgotten.

The seizing in his chest turned into burning. He had forgotten Belle. Something was very, very wrong, and sure as hell he was going to find out what it was, and where his wife was.

----

Belle floated, the weight on her chest felt so peaceful, so heavy. Such deep, difficult serenity. Nothing to do but surrender to it...

---

Now that he knew… something, at least, other memories still evaded him. His head throbbed and some of his thoughts were like moving through sludge.

He searched the antique shop again. The next and the next, he knew what Mr. Gold had been looking for; he had known it like an instinct under his skin, the compass at the center of him that always pointed towards Belle. He could find his way back to her four realms over and he would never let that cease, not even with the power of magic or fire or evil between them.

It was in the fifth one he found. The little vial of pebbles looked innocuous to the untrained eye, but to the Dark One who had studied so many magical texts... oh, yes, they were much more than that.

---

Heavy, heavy, heavy... the slightest ripple of agitation, but calmed quickly... it was so nice and dark here...

---

Rumple found himself impatient on the journey back to the beach he had dredged up that it had happened. He sat in the dark of the train, staring out the window at the barely visible walls of the tunnel they were passing through.

His headache worsened, grasping for memories it was still renewing, then-

He saw Bae's face in his mind's eye. In an instant, every part of him ached.

The salt on his face that time was not that cursed water.

Not at first. He felt it dislodging from his lungs painfully between choked sobs. For a moment, everything burned - his throat, his chest, his heart, with pain, with guilt, with loss, with a want so intense it would put spots in his vision if he dared to open his eyes.

He was bringing up more and more of that saltwater. He was running out of time.

---

"Rumple." She had said, her voice quiet where she leaned against his shoulder. "Sometimes... sometimes I wish I could see the man you would've been. If everything hadn't... hurt you like it did."

"I know," he murmured. He looked at the angel on his arm. "I wish I could be that man, the man with no darkness, the one you want."

She had shook her head, going to refute it, going to say. 'You are the man I want.' but the crash of the waves drowned out her reply.

---

Rumple stood by the edge of the water.

He raised his hand, chanting the words he had to recall with perfect clarity. The paste in symbols over his skin burned. He ignored it.

He would be damned if he’d lose another love to the sea.

---

Belle started coming to... the heaviness. The heaviness!

Can't breathe, oh no, no, oh gods-

She thrashed, fighting against the water, her chest heaving with false attempts to breathe. She grasped for something, anything to find purchase on. Her body was shoved by the current-

For an awful, truly awful moment, Belle thought she was stuck in some sort of unearthly void, no up or down, nowhere to go but choke on darkness until she lost her mind. Something like that would be thought of in the Dark One's worst vengeance, she could imagine. Forever-

A hand grasped her wrist - her other hand finding the arm attached, fighting her way up towards it. Two hands now, finding a desperate grip on her slippery skin, yanking her upwards with a familiar force.

Light came down to meet her, blinding her, and she gasped in more water until-

Her head broke to the surface, coughing and gasping, her chest convulsed, and Rumple was pulling her up, pulling him into her arms.

"Belle! Belle, Belle-" his urgent, strained voice was the first thing beyond the thrum of the ocean she had heard for so long, she wanted to cry in relief.

He hauled her back through the water, then to her feet, and when those wouldn't hold her, up into his arms. They finally hit shore and he stumbled first, dragging her down with him. He dragged them both away from the water like a cat would its kitten from a pond.

"Belle, shh, breathe, breathe for me-" he coughed, and for an eerie, fitful second, they were both silently coughing up the same water. He drew in a harsh breath and her lungs eased. "Breathe, love. There you go, there you go."

She was shivering against him as she gagged and coughed. He held her close, rubbing a hand over her back, urging the water out of her lungs. She blinked salt from her burning eyes.

"Rumple, Ru-" her hands curled weakly in his wet shirt.

"Shh, shh..." he watched her chatter and reached for his pile of things, haphazardly shaking out his sweater before pulling it over her head. It plastered to her, but it was better than nothing. "It's just me. Keep breathing. Stay with me, Belle."

She took deep, jagged breaths until they finally evened out. She rested against him, fully trusting, clutching onto him.

"...What-" she started to ask and then muffled a pained sound into his shirt when her head ached, memories trudging back in.

"No more wishes for either of us, alright? Not in general. Not to any deity." His voice was harsh and rasped in her ear. She nodded with him.

They sat like that, shivering on the beach for a good few moments longer.

Rumple watched the tide pull in, lapping up towards them. He dragged his bag closer, digging out a necklace. "Belle."

She looked up and he slipped it around her neck.

"A protection." he answered before she asked. "Against the goddess. The further we go inland, the better, but for the time being... she's going to be mad that I undid the deal."

"She's going to be mad you remember?"

"No." he spat again, trying to get the taste of salt from his mouth. "No, when we wished... the price for my unassuming, unburdened life was you. All magic comes with a price - but you, you would not be my price to give.”

She sat up against his chest. Her blue eyes were a better blue than the ocean – one Rumple could believe in.

"She thought I was the reason you had been hurt-"

"No, no." he stroked her hair back. "But if I hadn't been hurt in the first place, I never would have found my way to you. You... I wouldn't give you up for all the pain I have suffered, no."

"Love..." she leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth. His head swam.

He wanted to collapse. His heart fluttered more like a trapped bird than a ram on the fence of his ribs now and he could breathe, for just a glorious second.

She kissed his hand, over his wedding ring, and then spat out sand that got in her mouth for it. She giggled, he laughed.

Then he choked.

She pulled back, concerned.

"I didn't just forget you." His words wavered, heavy with guilt and horror. "I couldn't remember your face, or... or Bae's."

She pulled him down into a warm, wet embrace, and let him shake.

"But you do. You do." she said softly.

Even in the depths of his madness he had never, never forgotten about his son. Not in the worst moments. She kissed his temple as he trembled, and not from the cold. She wound fingers in his wet hair and held him close.

“Your turn. Breathe.” She whispered.

---

When they managed to get away, get washed, and Belle slumped tiredly in his arms in bed, he stared at the ceiling.

What kind of husband and father could forget? He had been cursed many times in his life, hurt... but he had never suffered the same sort of amnesia as the others. He was supposed to be above that. The Dark One. The most powerful sorcerer of the Enchanted Forest. If nothing else, he should prove to be a stronger man for his family than that.

Belle stirred. She saw him, still tense and awake, a sight not unknown to her. She leaned up and kissed him clumsily, tasting of her, and finally not of the sea.

"Shhh..." she mumbled on instinct, out of habit. "It's okay... m' here... sleep..."

His heart melted into a pool in his chest, the warmth of her filling every fiber. She was like magic.

He kissed her temple and inhaled her. It still took most of his willpower to let the motions bring him down to sleep. He let her even and clear breathing soothe him.

The rest... the rest could wait until morning, when he took her back home and they figured out how to outrun the sea. He had his Belle.

[darklightcore]

[x]

[darklightcore]

The Red Shoes ♥️

A ballet piece inspired by the 1948 film based on the story by Hans Christian Andersen! 🩰

[darklightcore]

White Rabbit Serenade

[darklightcore]

Planettes No.5: Jupiter

[darklightcore]

I'll stop a car, and I won't use my thumb! What are you gonna do? It's a system all my own.

Claudette Colbert as Ellie Andrews in It Happened One Night (1934) dir. Frank Capra

[darklightcore]

Young people in love are very seldom hungry. It Happened One Night (1934) dir. Frank Capra

[darklightcore]

Into the Unknown

[darklightcore]

The unexpected reason why the drive-through line is so long

[darklightcore]

Winter is a lean white hound, who walks by night and makes no sound

[darklightcore]

A heart's a heavy burden. HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE (2004) Dir. Hayao Miyazaki

[darklightcore]

MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO 1988 | dir. Hayao Miyazaki

[darklightcore]

When I was a kid I had a poster of Mei fishing on a tree branch, sitting next to Totoro. When I sat down to draw yesterday that old poster beamed into my brain and all I wanted to draw was my version. Except I thought this time Totoro should be fishing.

[darklightcore]

closing hour