#group c

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Alfa Romeo SE 048 SP Group C, 1990. A prototype race car with an Abarth-developed chassis mated to the 3.5-litre V10 engine from the stillborn Alfa Romeo 164 Procar. However the SE 048 SP never left the development phase as Alfa Romeo decided to concentrate on 155 touring car programme instead. More recently the SE 048 SP appeared at the 2010 Goodwood Festival of Speed powered by a Ferrari V12

[rumbelleshowdown]

⭐️⭐️

Author: TARS

Group C: graveyard at midnight; baby!Gideon; sleeping fitfully

⭐️⭐️

Burned Out

A/N: Sequel to Whisked Away

Whisked Away’s smoke alarm was already going off when Gold stepped inside. Burnt sugar and cakey heat mingled with the smoke behind the counter. He furrowed his brow at the shouts overlapping in the kitchen, then shut his eyes when he heard the alarm silenced with a rolling pin.

“Got it!” Kronk yelled.

Gold sighed a long-suffering sigh, stacking his hands atop his cane.

Belle emerged from the smoke, coughing and wiping her eyes. Her hair was floury and frizzy, batter flecked on her cheeks and apron. 

She groaned when she saw him.

He smirked. 

“Good morning to you, too, Miss French.” He presented a tiny purple flower he’d plucked from a sidewalk crack. “Lovely as ever.”

A tired chuckle. She handed him the rent and a box of cranberry orange shortbread. 

“I scraped off all the burnt bits this time,” she said, absently tucking the flower behind her ear. 

His smile warmed. Perfect.

“Also,” he said, “consider this formal notice that you have sixty days to renew your lease.”

“Oh. Right. Um, I meant to talk to you about that.”

“About the lease?”

“I… might be selling.”

Gold blinked. “Selling?”

“Yeah, I mean…” She waved a hand toward the hazy kitchen. “I’m not sure anymore. I want to travel. Maybe. I don’t know.” A shrug. “I just thought you should know.”

Gold nodded once, expression unreadable.

“Of course. We’ll talk more if need be.” 

“Thanks.” A flat smile. “I’ve got to go help Kronk. Same time next month?”

“That’ll do, Miss French.”

He saw himself out.

—

On Halloween night, Belle left her apartment in a short dress and pointy hat, dead leaves swirling around her stilettos. It cast quite the spell—one strong enough to lure Gold to the so-called “Graveyard Gala.”

“Thriller” thumped through the trees. Jack-o-lanterns flickered, fog rolled, purple and orange string lights crisscrossed overhead. 

He found her several spiked ciders deep, now wearing a big, feathered musketeer hat. The spiderwebs in the corners of her eyes were smudged. She gasped, throwing her hands in the air when she saw him.

“You came!”

Gold winced. She was loud. And adorable.

“At ease, Miss French—”

He only just caught her waist before she fell over. Belle spun into his shoulder, giggling hard, and he steered her toward a bench.

They split a cupcake.

“Where would you travel?” he asked.

“Wherever the dart lands.” 

“Really?”

Belle looked down, scraping dried frosting from her nails.

“I’m not good at what I do,” she mumbled. “I like it, but I’d like it more if I got to enjoy it. I don’t want to just… go through the motions and tell myself I’m happy. I want to be happy.”

“Do you plan to come back?” 

A hint of pink. “Depends.”

Jefferson approached then—dressed as Mr. Gold. With a plastic spider ring and “Best Costume” ribbon, he donned Gold’s brogue and bowed.

“Care to Monster Mash, Miss French?”

Gold flicked the ring away. Belle tittered as it rattled off a folding chair.

“She’s sitting this one out.”

Jefferson-as-Gold raised his eyebrows, pointing the tip of his cane at him. 

“Nobody tells my little lemon loaf what to do—”

Belle cackled. “You’re what?”

Jefferson broke character, shrugging. “I don’t know, ‘pound cake’ felt off-limits—”

“Get the hell out of here,” Gold snapped.

“K.” 

When Belle could breathe again, she nudged a very murderous Mr. Gold.

“If I’m not your little lemon loaf, what am I?”

“…My tenant.”

—

The week before Thanksgiving, two things happened: Belle got a buyer, and the bakery burned down.

Gold came out of the shop’s back room after nightfall, slowing when the blaring sirens and bright red lights converged on his street. Something grim crept in, his confusion inexplicably turning to dread. 

No...

He ripped the shop door open and froze.

The bakery was in flames. Above it, Belle’s apartment was engulfed.

His stomach dropped.

Gold staggered across the street, lights, helmets, and hoses blurring. Sounds fading. The ambulance was empty. The firefighters pushed him back. He grew lightheaded—

“Mr. Gold?”

—and collapsed with a relieved sigh. 

Belle stood near the curb, eyes dazed, face and pajamas streaked with soot. He ambled toward her, numb with adrenaline, and draped his jacket around her shoulders.

When their eyes met, her face twisted and fell into his chest with a sob.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” he whispered, holding her close. “It’s okay.”

She clung to him, sniffling into his shirt. He shut his eyes and pressed his mouth to her hair, his thumb stroking the back of her neck.

“You’re safe, love. It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry I burned down your building,” she whined. “Are you mad?”

Gold huffed out a laugh. Inhaled the cinnamon and smoke in her hair.

Held her tighter.

“I have never been happier.”

—

Storybrooke showed up in Belle’s hour of need. She stayed in Gold’s cabin, grateful for its solitude. Boxes of donations showed up on the porch. Casseroles filled the fridge. 

Her buyer backed out.

Gold came by on Black Friday to surprise her with a new stand mixer. He found her tossing and turning on the couch with the TV on, stuck somewhere sad. He brushed the creases from her brow with the backs of his fingers.

Belle bounced between borrowed kitchens in town, determined to show she wasn’t out for the count. She made it work, but it left her frazzled and feral.

One night, a tray of lemon bars landed upside down in the snow. Belle threw herself onto her car and shrieked.

“I needed those for tomorrow!”

“You’ll have them,” Gold said. “My kitchen’s free.”

She looked ridiculous trudging up his stairs with her stand mixer under her arm. 

He loved it.

Clouds of powdered sugar filled his kitchen, whisks furiously scraping metal bowls, everything slick with melted butter. Obscenities hurled at a roll of cling wrap.

When she finished, Belle blanched at the state of Gold’s kitchen.

“Oh, my god.” 

She dislodged a batter-covered spoon from between the blinds. 

He raised an eyebrow.

“I-I am so sorry,” Belle stammered. “I will clean all this up, I—"

Gold kissed her.

Stepped right into it—gentle and unhurried, like it was always meant to happen this way, right down to the lemon zest on her lips.

They parted softly, breaths trembling.

“That just happened,” Belle said.

“Yes,” he rasped, stunned.

Belle looked at his mouth. Wet her lips.

“Is it going to happen again?”

“Oh, absolutely—”

Belle launched herself into his hungry kiss.

—

Milky morning light quietly stretched across the bed. Wet tires droned by outside, plying at the soft, warm silence. A clock chimed downstairs. 

Belle smiled into Gold’s shoulder. “We’re not even on a first-name basis.”

“Do you want to be?” 

“Mm, no.” A wink. “Feels naughtier.”

Gold’s grin sharpened.

“In that case, Miss French,” he growled, sliding down to kiss her neck, “your rent is overdue.”

She gasped, eyes fluttering shut. “Surely an… arrangement can be made…”

Gold hummed, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along her collarbone.

“How about… I buy your bakery,” he said, “and you,”—another kiss—“send me postcards.”

She laughed. He didn’t.

“…You’re serious.”

“I’ll pay 150% your asking price.”

Belle sputtered. “W-Why?”

“Well, plane tickets aren’t cheap, Miss French,” he quipped. “And believe it or not, your happiness matters to me.” He swept the curls from her face, whispering as he fell into her eyes, “I’d like to be responsible for it.”

Belle’s smile bloomed. He already was.

“You could come with me.”

Gold shook his head. “This is for you. I’ll have a bakery to rebuild, besides. You could come back for the grand re-opening.” 

Belle swallowed against the lump in her throat. She let out a giddy squeak, kissing him hard.

“Deal.”

—

Two weeks later, Belle left. Gold got to work.

He sold half the business to Kronk, content to be a silent partner. They kept everything the same—rebuilding, not rebranding. 

Belle sent him postcards filled with exclamation points and love, counting down the three months to a re-opening that exceeded expectations.

He drew her into a long-overdue kiss when they flipped the CLOSED sign that day.

“I’ve much enjoyed your postcards, Miss French.”

“Good.” She bit her lip. “Because I have one more.”

“Hand-delivered?”

“Yep.”

He accepted it with a puzzled frown. No stamp. No message. Glossy and thin. He turned it over.

Belle smiled as his eyes widened.

He smoothed his thumb over the sonogram, speechless. 

“Belle…”

When he finally looked up, he blinked, feeling his whole purpose shift when his gaze landed on her stomach. He took her in his arms, awed and beholden.

“Do you want this?” he asked.

Belle held her breath. “If you do.”

“Oh, I do,” he laughed. Something caught in his throat. “Very, very much.”

Belle positively glowed. “Don’t think I’ll be sitting around ‘til then.”

“Not you,” he muttered affectionately.

“If you’re hiring, I have experience.”

Gold smirked, utterly and happily besotted.

“We are looking for a manager.”

[burnertracfone]

Akane Murokasa 室笠アカネ by AmoEmo

[dyannawynnedayne]

Which character parallel do you like the best?

Euron and Bran: art by @seaworthit (1, 2)

Propaganda is encouraged!

Euron and Bran

Flying Dreams

“When I was a boy, I dreamt that I could fly,” he announced. “When I woke, I couldn’t … or so the maester said. But what if he lied?” Victarion could smell the sea through the open window, though the room stank of wine and blood and sex. The cold salt air helped to clear his head. “What do you mean?” Euron turned to face him, his bruised blue lips curled in a half smile. “Perhaps we can fly. All of us. How will we ever know unless we leap from some tall tower?” The wind came gusting through the window and stirred his sable cloak. There was something obscene and disturbing about his nakedness. “No man ever truly knows what he can do unless he dares to leap.”

AFFC, The Reaver

“Fly or die!” cried the three-eyed crow as it pecked at him. He wept and pleaded but the crow had no pity. It put out his left eye and then his right, and when he was blind in the dark it pecked at his brow, driving its terrible sharp beak deep into his skull. He screamed until he was certain his lungs must burst. The pain was an axe splitting his head apart, but when the crow wrenched out its beak all slimy with bits of bone and brain, Bran could see again.

ACOK, Bran II

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Jon and Ramsay

Heir After Their Trueborn Brother

“Mother.” There was a sharpness in Robb’s tone. “You forget. My father had four sons.” She had not forgotten; she had not wanted to look at it, yet there it was. “A Snow is not a Stark.” “Jon’s more a Stark than some lordlings from the Vale who have never so much as set eyes on Winterfell.” “If Jon is a brother of the Night’s Watch, sworn to take no wife and hold no lands. Those who take the black serve for life.” “So do the knights of the Kingsguard. That did not stop the Lannisters from stripping the white cloaks from Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Boros Blount when they had no more use for them. If I send the Watch a hundred men in Jon’s place, I’ll wager they find some way to release him from his vows.” He is set on this. Catelyn knew how stubborn her son could be. “A bastard cannot inherit.” “Not unless he’s legitimized by a royal decree,” said Robb. “There is more precedent for that than for releasing a Sworn Brother from his oath.”… “Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice.”

ASOS, Catelyn V

“Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison. In the Vale, Domeric had enjoyed the company of Redfort’s sons. He wanted a brother by his side, so he rode up the Weeping Water to seek my bastard out. I forbade it, but Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father. Now his bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?”

ADWD, Reek III

[most-enchanting-magical-girl]

[okosen]

[yahoo201027]

Vote 2025: The spotlight shifts to the cartoon community once more on this Easter Sunday with a basket filled with matches with one candidate coming out of a surprising victory, two winless candidates, and a newcomer in the voting tournament. Willow Park from The Owl House as she takes on Hailey Banks from Hailey's On It in Group C; and both Bender from Futurama as he takes on Benson Dunwoody from Regular Show in his voting tournament in Group D. Who will win? You decide! Vote today!

[gaslightgatekeepgirlbosscombat]

Group C, Round 2, Poll 6:

Propaganda under the cut

Korn

he sits in his little grandpa sweaters and plays chess and is like "heehee i'm such a harmless old man see I even retired from being a mafia boss and let my son take over look at me I love and support all my sons and let them date as many boys they want and be eccentric and everything aren't I such a good dad" meanwhile he's been manipulating his middle son for so many years now that he doesn't even realize that he's being manipulated, his eldest son has been written off as crazy and eccentric and no one takes him seriously and he has no problem enforcing that idea, and his youngest son doesn't trust him one bit but can't tell his brothers about how shady their dad is because he's the only one who sees it. Does all kinds of other shady shit like killing his foster sister's husband and then keeping her secretly locked away in an attic for like over 10 years, manages to manipulate her son into joining the mafia family (all while not telling him his mother's true identity or that she's even still alive), and then also withholds the fact that he's the son of his foster sister even when his son starts dating the guy. He's playing everyone around him like a fiddle so he can have his little powerful mafia empire.

Phillip Wittebane/Emperor Belos

(SPOILER) Has been gaslighting everyone he knows for hundreds of years (before he kills them or just discards them). Claims god won't love them if they don't do what he says (i.e., participate in his plot to genocide them). Girlbossed his way into becoming the emperor of a land of people he hates.

Gaslited the entire Boiling Isles into giving up their freedom to do any magic in favor of some cool tattoos that can murder you. Gatekept the door to the human realm. Girlbossed his brother fatally with a knife

This mother fucker gaslight, gatekeep, girlbosses his clone of his brother, the main character, A WHOLE FUCKING DIMENSION!!??? He even tries to gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss in his final moments!!!

[oopsalldadsderby]

THE FINAL ROUND

(Congrats to both of our finalists! Reminder of the criteria. Names are formatted as [dad name(s)] & [kid name(s)].)

[undertale-ost-tournament]

STAGE 1, GROUP C

Top 2 qualify, 3rd has a chance.

Music under the cut.

[cartoonmeangirlbracket]

[horriblehistorieschild]

Group C had so much potential but delivered none of it. Congrats to Denmark though.

[rumbelleshowdown]

⭐️⭐️

Author: Applejuice_and_pfeffernuisse

Group C: graveyard at midnight; baby!Gideon; sleeping fitfully

⭐️⭐️

Pumpkins and Elixirs

“This is the costume you chose for Gideon?” Rumple asked, trying to hide a chuckle as he took the babe from Belle as she tightened her old green traveling cloak around her shoulders. 

“He looks adorable! Emma had said it was customary for a baby’s first Halloween outfit to be a pumpkin.” Belle balked as she fastened the clasp around her neck.

“He’s adorable dear, but it’s a bit late to trick or treat isn’t it?” he glanced at his watch.

“Shouldn’t be too late for what I have planned.” Belle said mysteriously.

“Well, good, I suppose I’ll grab the carseat.” 

Belle stopped him, lifting her cloak, “I have the wrap, he might sleep a bit better with that.”

“Oh fantastic, let me grab my costume and I’ll be ready.” 

Rumple limped to their bedroom and opened their closet, happy to surprise Belle with his outfit. Something he hadn’t worn since their time at the Dark Castle. He snapped his fingers and he was dressed in his old tunic and leathers, his cloak around his shoulders. He frowned for a moment as he looked in the mirror, something was missing. He grabbed his old walking stick and came out to the living room where she was finishing getting Gideon in the wrap.

“How do I look?” He asked, swishing his cloak to the side.

She looked at him, her eyes widening, a soft gasp escaping her lips before she came closer smiling fondly, “Like my imp.”

Rumple wrapped his arms around her placing a kiss on her nose, “Now my dear, where are we going at this hour dressed in our old clothes?”

“It’s a surprise, but we’d better get going, we can walk, it won’t take us long to get there.” She helped him loop the diaper bag backpack over his shoulders, making sure the buckles were closed.

Rumple raised an eyebrow at his wife trying to think of all the places close enough to walk as they stepped out of the house and into the night.

Belle reached for her husband’s free hand as they walked along the dark street. Most trick or treaters were gone by now, unsurprising since it was almost midnight.

She was hoping that this would work, she felt the bulge in her pocket where the vials were that she’d placed before they left, the books she had read recommending the mixtures for the ritual that she had read about for this night.

“The graveyard?” Rumple’s voice sounded in confusion as they got closer to the hallowed ground.

“Most people call it a cemetery in this world, but yes.” Belle gave Rumple’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I know you’re all for holidays for Gideon, but this is a little much dearie.” Rumple’s brow furrowed as they walked onto the walking path that wound through the cemetery.

Belle smiled at the old name, “C’mon.”

Rumple felt his chest tighten slightly as they kept walking, he paused when he saw the bethel white stone that bore his son’s name feeling ice wash over him.

Belle noticed Rumple’s hesitation and she let him get his bearings for a moment before squeezing his hand again and leading him forward.

“I-I don’t think Gideon can get any candy here.” Rumple stuttered.

“We aren’t here for candy.” 

Rumple glanced at her, his brow furrowed, unsure of why they would be here.

“Belle I-” 

“Do you trust me?” Belle asked softly.

Rumple swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, “Then come with me.” She squeezed his hand and led him closer to Baelfire’s grave.

When they reached the shadow of his headstone Belle helped Rumple slip the backpack from his shoulders placing it on the ground, cradling Gideon’s head while she did so. 

She pulled one of the small vials out of her pocket unstoppering it, muttering to the night as she poured it on the ground around the headstone.

“Belle-?” Rumple didn’t know what to say, what to ask his wife as he watched her walking around the stone marker for his eldest son.

She reached into her pocket and pulled one of the other vials to pour something into the palm of her hand. The other dipped into the liquid and wiped a streak across his forehead, then her own, and then their infant sons.

Belle placed her hand on Rumple’s chest leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him, as she did a flash of light tunneled around them. 

He broke their kiss wrapping his arms around her, wanting to protect her and Gideon from whatever was happening, cradling her head and making sure the baby was between them. 

“Papa?” 

Belle watched as Rumple’s eyes widened at the voice, before he whirled around.

“Baelfire?” His voice rasped the name of his son that he loved more than words, and that he had lost.

Baelfire, Neal, smiled hesitantly, not sure what to make of the situation either. He had a glow around him, as if someone had traced his form with a sparkler.

“It worked.” Belle whispered.

They both turned to her, both faces flickering with worry, she smiled sheepishly as her gaze roved between the two of them.

“What have you done?” Rumple’s voice rose an octave in fear, thinking of all the repercussions for bringing back the dead, for stealing from Death, from any form of necromancy.

“Everything is alright, nothing bad is going to come from this, it’s Samhainn the division of the year between the dark half and the light, a celebration of the end of harvest, and at midnight at the start of Samhainn, the boundary between our world and the world of those who have died become weaker, and it lets spirits come and visit their families if the proper elements are in place. So, I wanted to see if it would work for you to see Baelfire, for all of us to visit one another.” As Belle explained quickly, she noticed both Rumple and Baelfire relax. 

Rumple turned to Baelfire rushing to him in two strides before he wrapped his arms tightly around his son. 

He felt Bae hesitate only a moment before he also wrapped his arms around his father, both of them squeezing tightly.

“My boy, my boy.” Rumple murmured, pressing kisses to Baelfire’s cheek, forehead, neck, anywhere he could. Baelfire’s form wasn’t completely solid, but it was closer than he was ever going to get again. 

Baelfire felt tears welling in his eyes as he let himself be a boy again, let his father drown him with love, wanting to hold on to this moment as long as he could. 

“It’s good to see you Bae.” His voice was thick with emotions, the tears welling in his eyes.

Belle smiled softly as the two men in her life greeted each other with such tenderness it made her heart ache. She grabbed the blanket from the backpack, shaking it out on the ground, before grabbing something else from the bag, before going over to Rumple and Baelfire.

Baelfire opened his arms to greet Belle with a hug, but Belle angled herself sideways before reaching up with one arm to hug him in return. 

Baelfire’s brow furrowed in confusion as Belle beamed and looked to Rumple, who laughed and then looked up at his eldest son, before reaching for Belle's cloak and moving it to the side.

“Baelfire, this is your little brother, Gideon.”

Baelfire’s eyes widened and the glowing outline around him crackled, “I have a brother?” He whispered softly.

“You have a brother.” Belle murmured, gently undoing the cloth, taking Gideon out of his wrap, “Would you like to hold him?” She asked, gingerly offering the baby over. 

Baelfire’s lips trembled as he nodded.

Belle smiled as she handed over Gideon to his older brother. His little face was scrunched, his brow was furrowed, but once Neal held him, Gideon’s eyes opened, he looked at the bright lights radiating around his older brother reaching for him with a sweet coo.

Rumple whimpered next to Belle as she wrapped him in her arms, “Let’s all sit down,” She gestured to the spread out blanket.

She helped Rumple lower himself to the ground as Baelfire gingerly sat with Gideon in his arms.

“Guess turning into a pumpkin at midnight was a real cautionary tale.” Baelfire chuckled, noting the little costume his baby brother was wearing.

“It’s a ritual of Samhainn to keep the fairies and evil spirits from taking you.” Belle murmured.

Baelfire laughed, “I wondered why you were wearing the clothes from the Dark Castle.”

Belle leaned against Rumplestiltskin as he and Baelfire talked, catching up, she added in some things here and there, but she wanted this time to be about them.

Baelfire shook his head in wonder, “This is so great, I’m so happy to see you both and be able to actually talk to you. How are you both doing? How’s Emma? How’s Henry?”

At that moment a low rumble began to sound through the night air, getting louder as it approached the cemetery.

Belle smiled softly, “You can find out for yourself.” 

[dyannawynnedayne]

Which character parallel do you like the best?

Sansa and Ned: art by @francy-sketches (1, 2)

Gerry and Arthur: art by imjustapoorwayfaringgeek

Propaganda is encouraged!

Sansa and Ned

Social Role as Masking

Bran's father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. He had taken off Father's face, Bran thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell.

AGOT, Bran I

Joffrey frowned. Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord."

ACOK, Sansa I

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Arthur and Darkstar

Skilled in Arms

They whispered of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, deadliest of the seven knights of Aerys's Kingsguard, and of how their young lord had slain him in single combat. 

AGOT, Catelyn II

She touched one of the cyvasse pieces, the heavy horse. "Have you caught Ser Gerold?" He shook his head. "Would that we had. You were a fool to make him part of this. Darkstar is the most dangerous man in Dorne. You and he have done us all great harm."

AFFC, The Princess in the Tower

[most-enchanting-magical-girl]