#moonlight91

[deliriumsdelight7]

A Change of Seasons

Hello @moonlight91!  It is I, your backup Santa!  The first two chapters (out of six) of your gift have been posted, and I’m working diligently on the third.  I hope you enjoy it!

“Rumpelstiltskin.”

Belle, Queen of Avonlea and first of her name, stood in her best finery - such as it was.  The hem of her golden gown was ragged and stained, the exquisite beadwork of her bodice frayed and missing several precious stones.  

In better times, she wouldn’t dream of holding onto such a worn, haggard dress.  But these were not the best of times.

Despite its condition, this was the finest dress she had left.  All others had been sold to keep some meager gold in the treasury, or traded for as much food, cloth, and firewood as she could get.

Read More on AO3

Belle’s first mask inspo here

Rumpel’s first mask inspo here

[notalwayslate]

The Gold Rises Again.

Hello @Moonlight91 I was your Secret Santa. When I saw you prompted a Western, I was nervous, but when you explained that you watched the Mandalorian, which inspired the Western prompt, it lead me down this path. I hope you enjoy it!

Prompt: Western, Treasure Hunting, Storybrooke/Hyperion Heights Mashup

When a newspaper publishes a first hand account from a young woman of her past adventures with the lone masked vigilante, The Gold, it draws the unwanted attention of the Lost Boys gang. Believing the anonymous author is the key to finding their greatest nemesis, the gang launches a merciless search for her, forcing the Gold out of retirement to save the woman he loves.

AO3 Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893782

The piano was hopping while the painted ladies of Roni’s saloon danced to the hoots and hollers of every cowboy, lumberjack, and gambler in the place. Every eye but one was filled with eager anticipation to see how high their nimble legs could go. Weaver sat alone tucked into a corner stool his back towards the show, nursing his third whiskey.

He wasn’t one for crowds, but the anniversary of today, had his body screaming for a shot of whiskey to numb the pain, and keep the memories of his son’s murder at bay. He felt a small brush against his right shoulder, as she hopped eagerly onto the stool next to him. His eyes never left his glass as he spoke.

“Does your father know you are here?”

“No, and I know you are not going to tell him either.” Tilly spun around in her stool to watch the saloon girls, or more specifically one saloon girl in particular. “Margot was so nervous since they added that new kick at the end, and I just wanted to be here for encouragement.”

Weaver couldn’t help but smile. He was one of only a handful of people who knew of the real relationship between Tilly and Margot. An unfortunate consequence of living in a small town such as Hyperion Heights was that small mindedness kept same sex love a forbidden taboo that had to be kept hidden from prying eyes.

“Oh no, you have got to go.” Roni suddenly appeared before them, a bottle of whiskey in hand. She poured Weaver another, as she spoke to Tilly. “I do not need your father breathing down my or my patron’s necks.”

“Oh relax, Roni. He went away on business. He probably won’t be back in town until later tonight.” Tilly countered, looking towards Weaver for any kind of assistance.

Weaver looked towards Roni. “Let the kid stay. I need her to help me get home.” Roni gave him a flat look, clearly not amused by his unwanted interference.  She glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

“Well hello Sherriff Rogers, I trust your trip went well.”

“Oh, right, I’m not falling for that …” Tilly scoffed her words dying on her tongue as she spun in chair to indeed find her father standing before her, his arms crossed, with an unamused look on his face.

“I’ll just leave you three alone then shall I? Let me know if you need anything Sherriff Rogers,” Roni called out sweetly as she high tailed it to the other end of the bar.

Sipping on his newly poured glass of whiskey, Weaver sat silently listening to the Sherriff and his daughter go back and forth, engaging in the same argument that he had heard them have a hundred times before, his desire to keep his daughter safe matched with her desire to keep Margot safe.

“I have told you time and again Tilly that I have people here in the saloon to watch over her. Margot is as safe here as she would be at home.”

“Well if it’s so safe here then, why can’t I be here as well?”

Weaver couldn’t help but chuckle at her solid counterpoint.  One of the things he loved most about Tilly was her willingness to fight, and protect the ones she loved. It reminded him of himself once, long ago. Clearly not amused by his laughter, Rogers narrowed his sights on Weaver.

“And you’re not helping matters either, when you let her get away with this when I’m out of town. You are supposed to be looking after her when I’m gone.”

“And here she is,” Weaver held up his hand towards Tilly. “Safe and sound and with me.”

Rogers sneered but Weaver could see the tiredness in his eyes. He must have ridden nonstop to get back home to his daughter as quickly as possible. He was a good father, a quality that Weaver admired most about the Sheriff. Using his foot, he kicked out the stool next to him, offering to buy his best friend a drink. Rogers sat down, and Roni quickly came over pouring him a shot. She glanced over at Tilly with a raised eyebrow, and Rogers held up his hand in defeat.

“As long as I am here, she can stay.”

Weaver could hear Tilly squeal behind them, as she turned to watch her girls’ big finale.

“You look like hell.” Weaver grumbled to Rogers.

“I feel like it.” Rogers rubbed his blood shot eyes.  He had gone to the town of Sherwood to pick up the rest of Margot’s belongings from her father. “It was a long trip, but on the bright side of things at least I got to Sherwood after the Lost Boy gang had already left town.”

Weaver almost choked on the swig of whiskey he had just taken. With a trembling hand he placed the glass back down on the bar, turning to Rogers.

“What? That’s…that not possible. What was left of that gang dismantled years ago.”

“ I thought so as well, but it appears something has caused a reemergence from them. They barged into the publisher’s office of the Sherwood newspaper with guns drawn. Asked him a few questions then gunned him down in cold blood. The secretary hid under her desk. The poor gal is so badly shook, she can barely string two words together.”

Weaver was so caught up in a swarm of questions and fear, that he nearly jumped out of his skin as a burst of laughter and squeals exploded behind him.

“You were terrific Margot. The best one up there by far.” Tilly beamed as Margot joined her at the bar. Rogers turned to speak to them, but Weaver grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to stay put.

“What did they want from him? The publisher?”

Surprised by Weaver’s interest, Rogers continued. “She wasn’t sure, but thought it must have something to do with treasure hunting.”

“Why does she think that?” Weaver inquired as sweat pooled on his upper lip.

“She said after the gunshots, when they were walking out of the office, one of them mentioned the key to finding the gold was in Storybrooke.”

All of the breath left Weaver’s body.  Storybrooke? No! It couldn’t be. It had to be a coincidence. There is no way they could have found her there.  She was supposed to be safe there? He had stayed away from her all of this time to ensure it. It didn’t make sense.

“I don’t understand Rogers, what does the publisher have to do treasure hunting?”

Rogers shrugged. “I’m not really certain. I doubt Sherwood newspaper published any treasure maps leading to gold. Maybe he stumbled upon a treasure map or something, and they found out.”

“Wait did you just mention the Sherwood newspaper and gold?” Margot asked, causing Weaver and Rogers to turn around to look at her.

“What do you know about it?” Weaver asked.

“I can’t believe you people in Hyperion Heights haven’t read the story of The Gold,” she shook her head looking at Tilly with a smile. “You weren’t kidding, when you told me I was going to be moving to a small town.”

Weaver didn’t have the time or patience to be cordial. “Story? What story?”

“Oh the story of the armored masked gunslinger, the Gold. Oh you would love the story, Tilly,” Margot turned smiling. “It has everything, gun fights, revenge, and of course romance. The newspaper back home published it by an anonymous author almost two months ago. It got a lot of buzz. I heard other newspapers were picking it up as well. I can’t believe you guys have never heard of it.”

Weaver bristled in his seat. His feud with the Lost Boys gang was supposed to have been over. They thought he was dead, and he laid low in this small town for years, under the assumed name Weaver. He had stayed away from her all of this time to ensure her safety. And now…with one published story, they were after her once again.

The publisher of the newspaper must have told them where the author of the story lived, which set them on their revenge filled path to Storybrooke, to her. He needed to get back to his ranch. He had buried his armor and helmet under the old Oak tree near his barn. The Gold could not stay buried anymore. He had to protect her. He had to go to Storybrooke.

X

Jefferson hazily watched the blood drip from his nose onto his newly pressed pants. It was not the first time a man had him tied up, but unfortunately for him, this was not one of his more pleasurable experiences.

“We know you delivered The Gold story to the Sherwood Newspaper?” The taller dirty blonde hair man shouted. “Now I know you weren’t the damsel in distress in the story, no matter how much you wish you were.” The man harassed him with a snide tone. “So here is what is going to happen.” He sat down before Jefferson, pulling out a switch blade from his pocket. “I’m going to ask you where the real author of that story is, and you are going to tell me. If not, I’m going to cut off a finger for every time I need to ask you.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Jefferson pleaded, but soon let out a small yelp, as the man loosened the rope enough to grab Jefferson’s pinky finger. He could feel the blade against the skin of his finger, but knew he would rather die than give them her name.  He closed his eyes bracing for the pain, when two gunshots rang out, followed by two large thuds to the ground.

Slowly he opened one eye, and the other, surprised to see both men lying dead on the ground. Looking around confused, a true smile of relief appeared on his face, as a familiar metal figure emerged from the shadows.

Although it had been five years since he last saw him, he looked the exact same. Well of course he would look the same, Jefferson thought to himself, the suit hid any changes time may have caused.  

“My friend, you are a sight for sore eyes, I assure…” Jefferson’s pleasantry was cut short, by the quick fist to his face.

“Why would you ever let her publish anything about me? What were you possibly thinking Jefferson? I charged you to look after her, to protect her in Storybrooke, and instead you allowed her location and identity to be compromised.”

“Listen, I understand you are upset, but…” Jefferson’s eyes widened as The Gold bent down, picking up the switchblade from the dead man’s hand. “Wait, no wait a second,” he yelled as the Gold approached him, but his pleas were soon silenced, as Gold cut the ropes, freeing Jefferson from the chair. He quickly stood, bringing a hankerchief from his pocket to hold up against his nose.

“Like I could have stopped her from doing it. When I learned that she was writing the story, I told her it wasn’t a good idea.  But…it’s been five years. I figured you would have probably killed the rest of the Lost Boys gang by now and well…” Jefferson paused for a moment. “The girl has been pining for you for years now. You broke her heart, Gold. I thought maybe writing this might help her to once and for all get over you.  Besides, I told her it had to anonymous. I personally delivered the story an old friend of mine in Sherwood. It’s over two hundred miles away from here. I never thought any harm would come from it.”

“Well the two dead men on the floor prove you wrong Jefferson.”

“It would appear so.” Jefferson brought his blood covered napkin down from his face, once again smiling at the part man, part machine before him. “Well no matter the circumstance, it’s good to see you again.”

“Where is she?”

“You aren’t really a conversationalist are you?” He would have teased him further, but he could detect the concern in his old friend’s voice. Jefferson grinned at him.

“I’ll take you to her.” X

5 years ago...

Belle wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there as the rays from the newly rising sun, shown down on his sleeping form. She smiled as her eyes drank in every line and slope on his slumbering face. He was a tad older than she had expected, but she could not deny how handsome he was. The armor had made him seem bigger, but as he lay there she could see although he was lean, his muscles were toned. Her fingers longed to reach out and touch his shoulder length brown hair. It was such a pity that he hid it from her under a helmet for all of this time.

It was strange to see him, really see him for the first time.  It was mere weeks ago that he had saved her from her darkened fate. Her father, a gambler and alcoholic , had taken it upon himself to forfeit her to pay off a gambling debt to a member of the Lost Boy gang. With a quick kiss to her forehead and a quicker apology he had handed her over to the foul scoundrel without a second thought. They had been riding for a day, when he had to stop to use the bathroom behind a bush, and Belle took her shot for any type of escape. Although it was mostly desert, she ran, ran as far away from him as possible, but unfortunately her small legs were no match for the taller man's pursuit.

He had tackled her to the ground, claiming he wanted to sample the goods, when out of the clear blue sky a masked man covered in some sort of metal appeared, and killed her attacker. Belle watched silently, as he collected a small journal from her attacker’s satchel, before turning his attention back to her. She felt a moment of fear as the armored man approached her, but soon let out a sigh of relief, as he reached his hand out to help her stand.

Without a word, he motioned for her to follow him, which she did without question. Once at his horse, he hopped on, extending his hand to help her up as well. They rode for hours before she opened her mouth to speak to him.  Every question she asked was met with total silence from him. Belle was starting to think that he was mute, when he finally stopped and dismounted his horse, once again offering his hand to her to dismount.

"It's late. Sleep. Tomorrow I'll take you to the nearest town." He finally spoke as he positioned himself against a rock, still in his full armor. With his face hid she could not tell if he was truly sleeping, or just watching her.  

For some unknown reason she trusted him completely and found herself sleeping sound that night, knowing he was close by to protect her. The next morning when she awoke, she wasn’t surprised to see him awake, still in his full armor, sitting nearby looking at the journal that he had taken from her attacker. When she sat up he quickly closed the book, putting it off to his side.

“Eat,” he told her motioning to the cornbread that he left out before her in a folded up napkin. Silently she ate her breakfast, watching wide eyed, as he got up, and moved to load up his horse. He brought over a tin cup, pouring water into it from his canteen. Thanking him with a smile, he continued to busy himself, as she eyed the journal lying on the rock. She loved a good book.

“It isn’t right for young girls to read, and start getting ideas,” her father use to scold her, whenever he caught her with a book in hand.  Taking a peak over her right shoulder, she confirmed he was focused on hitching up his saddle, before stretching out her arms, to snatch the journal. Opening it, she saw no words, but numbers, listed in columns, followed by random symbols. It was a code she surmised. She had read that it was not uncommon for outlaws to develop their own ways of communication, to outwit the law.

Biting her lip, she focused on the first column, trying to decipher some sort of pattern, when suddenly, the journal was ripped from her hands.

“Hey!” she shouted quickly standing, and following him.

“Get on the horse,” he called out over his shoulder.  “It’s time you go to town.”

Belle felt a pang of sadness at his words. Town. Great, she thought to herself. Chances would be the Sheriff of whatever town he was taking her to, would probably send her back to her no good father. How long would it be before he sold her again to his next creditor? No, she couldn’t go back to him. She had to make her own fate. Be brave.

“Wait. Please, I don’t want to go to town.” She was surprised when he abruptly stopped turning around to look at her. She waited a moment for him to speak, but as he continued to look at her with total silence she knew this might be the only chance she had. As she started talking she was astonished how much of her life story came tumbling from her mouth. She spoke how her mother died during child birth, and of her father’s gambling and drinking problems. She recounted how he had sold her to the gang to pay off his debt, and how she had no doubt he would do it again.

She spoke till she had no more words left. She looked at him to gage his reaction, but his helmet hid his every emotion. Desperatly she waited with baited breath, until he finally spoke.

“I understand better than anyone what it is like to have snake as a father. A father that puts his own needs above his child’s.” His voice was quiet, strained. “But this is no place for a woman. I have a job to do. I will take you town. What you do from there…that is your own choice to make.” He turned back to the horse, preparing to mount it, when Belle shouted out.

“The first column is times.” He froze mid motion, slowly bringing his leg back down on the ground, pushing himself away from the horse. Seeing she had his full attention, she continued. “I…I need more time to decipher the rest, but every number in the first column ended in a 5 or 0. The trains leave and arrive every quarter hour.”

“You understand this?” he approached her digging the journal out from his own pocket. “I’ve been trying for months to decipher what it all meant, and you are telling me that you just broke it in minutes?” He sounded annoyed but a tad amazed.

“Let me stay with you. At least for a while. I’m good at codes and puzzles. I can help you. I promise you, I can be more of an asset to you than a problem.”

When he tossed her the journal, she tried to contain her squeal of excitement. It appeared their plans for going to town had changed.

Over the next few days together, they were able to decipher the locations and times of where the Lost Boys would strike next, based off the codes in the stolen journal.  He would let her watch from a distance, as he single handedly, stopped robbery after robbery.

Although they had worked together well, she still knew so very little about him. He rarely spoke, and although she did enough talking for the both of them, she longed to see who he was beneath the mask. She was surprised to learn that he had built a few suits of armor, that he had stashed in caves, and along the desert. She was tempted to ask him if he could make her a suit of armor, but she knew he would never allow her close enough to the action, where she could possibly get hurt. Although she felt they were growing closer, there was still so much she didn’t know.

Every night, he would leave her, finding high ground to sleep, but still being close enough to keep a watchful eye over her. She often dreamt of him, of taking off his mask, and kissing him. Her desire to see him without his helmet grew more with every passing day. Her curiosity finally won out one night, as she snuck up to where he lay.  She covered her mouth with her hand to contain her excitement, as she saw him fast asleep without his armor on.

His nose twitched, and she could sense that he was starting to wake up. She went to leave before he did, but a twig snapped under her foot.  His reaction time to the noise was the quickest she had ever witnessed. Before she could blink, he was sitting up, his revolver pointed directly at her.  It took him a moment to shake the sleep from his eyes, and realize that he was in fact pointing his gun at her. With a look of shame,  he lowered it, grumbling an immediate apology. She continued to stare directly into his eyes, and could see the exact moment it dawned on him that he was not wearing his mask.  He turned his back, fumbling for the helmet that lay close by, when she placed a hand on his back. He stilled at her touch.

“You don’t need to wear it. I mean what’s the point now. It’s just the two of us, and I’ve already seen what you look like.”

She could feel how hard he was breathing, and removed her hand from his back. This was too much for him. She didn’t want him to be uncomfortable.  She stood up, leaving to go back to her campsite, fully expecting for him to follow once he had put on his armor. Her breath caught, as she saw him out of the corner of her eye, walking beside her without his armor.

It was from then on, that every night, she looked into his soft brown eyes before she bid him goodnight before succumbing to sleep .

She had been with him for almost a month and a half when she finally approached him with a question that she had been longing to ask.

“Why do you go after the Lost Boys?”

“Their criminals.”

“Yes,” she acknowledged. “But they aren’t the only gangs in existence. You specifically only go after them…like it’s personal for you. Why?”

She expected nothing but silence, but was ecstatic when he trusted her enough to answer.

“My father was the founder of the gang.”

Stunned by the confession, Belle listened intently, as Gold talked of his father being a liar and conman, who stole from anyone, including his own son, without a second thought. After time, Malcolm had recruited mostly young boys to help him with his scams and crimes, and soon the Lost Boys gang was formed.  

“He wanted me to be a part of it. Lie. Cheat. Steal. It wasn’t for me. I resisted. I got married young, had a son. His mother wanted nothing to do with the babe. Left him, left me. I raised him, but when he was 10 years old, my father Malcolm had come to town. Wanted to take him. He told me, he wanted his own flesh and blood to one day lead the gang, and since I was too thin skinned and a coward, he was going to make sure his grandson wasn’t.”

Belle could hear the emotion in his voice, as her heart broke for him.

“ Bae didn’t want to go with him. He struggled to get out of his grasp, and my father….” His voice cracked with sorrow, and Belle quickly got up to sit down next to him. She didn’t know what to say, so she wrapped her arm around him, and placed her head against his shoulder.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me.”

After a few moments of silence, Gold continued.

“I tried to help him. I tried to help my boy, but by the time I could reach him, my father shot me in my leg. I collapsed, and then Bae screamed and bit him. As my boy was running to me, he shot him. He killed my boy right before my eyes.”

Belle felt his body shake beneath her, as she held on to him as tight as she could. She couldn’t imagine the heartbreak, that comes from losing a child.  She wished she could take away his pain, but knew that this was a heartbreak that there was no cure for.

“So I killed the bastard. He was walking out of the house, like nothing had happened. Like he just didn’t kill his grandson, and so I shot him Belle. I shot and killed the son of bitch.”

She brought one hand up to stroke his hair, as he sniffled, drawing back his tears. “I had nothing left. I was weak. I failed my boy. I thought of offing myself right then and there, but their were no bullets left in the gun.”

Belle understood now, why he had devoted his life to taking down this gang. He built an armor to protect himself not just from bullets but from the rest of the world.  She made a silent plea right then and there, that she would do anything and everything in her power to help the man before her. She knew that she had been falling in love with him over the last month, but now she knew for certain that her heart belonged to him. She watched as he wiped the tears from his eyes, swallowing his pain in order to compose himself. She didn’t want him to hide from her, like he did from the rest of society under his helmet and armor.

With a shaking breath, she placed her hands on his cheeks, and brought her lips to his. She tasted the salt of his tears, but as he wrapped his arms around her, he pulled her tight against him, as he deepened the kiss.

“You are not alone anymore,” she whispered to him and saw a look of amazement build in his puppy brown eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Belle.”

X

“I am so full Ruby. Tell Granny that her biscuits and gravy keep getting better and better,” Belle smiled as the waitress cleared her plate from the table.

“So did you give anymore thought to going out with Will?”

Belle sighed at her friend’s insistence on bringing up her love life, or lack thereof, every time she saw her.

“I don’t Ruby, he’s a nice guy, but I’m just trying to focus on other things in life right now. I don’t need to settle down and get married right this second, you know?”

“I know but in the five years I have known you Belle, you have not had one single date. The only man you ever hang around is Jefferson, and well…we all know Jefferson’s interests lay elsewhere,” Ruby whispered giving her a wink. Before Belle could reply, Leroy barked across Granny’s Café about needing  another cup of coffee, leaving Ruby to scurry across the room towards him.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to settle down and raise a family. She wanted that more than anything, but the only man she ever had the desire to do so with, left her with nothing but a broken heart. Besides, she had aspirations now. Her writing had really taken off. Jefferson had told her the newspaper wanted the next part of her saga, The Gold, within the next month, and although her success came with anonymity, she still felt a sense of pride for her writing.

After leaving Granny’s she made her way across town, stopping a few times to exchange pleasantries with the town folk. As she stopped and spoke with all the finely dressed gentleman, and ladies, she couldn’t help but wonder how they would look at her if they knew of the adventures that she had been on five years earlier. Would they ever have guessed that the well-mannered proper woman before them, spent four months with a masked vigilante, and assisted in bringing down one of the most notorious gangs in history by decoding their criminal plans?

But that life seemed like a lifetime ago, she thought to herself, as she entered her apartment. As she went to hang up her coat, a creak in the floorboard alerted her that she was not alone. As quick as a flash, she turned around, pointing her revolver that she had drawn from her skirt, at the assailant.

“Jefferson,” she breathed out, quickly putting the gun down. “You scared the life out of me. Where were you? I had to eat breakfast alone, and you know when I eat alone Ruby always…” her words died on her tongue as she saw her past walk into the room behind Jefferson.

She instinctively knew it was him, really him underneath the helmet. She was all too familiar his walk and stance. Her stomach fluttered with excitement, or anger.  She wasn’t quite sure which would be better. She stared at him for way too long, before realizing her mouth was hanging open. She wasn’t sure what to say, and so she just stood there, waiting for him to make the first move. Awkward silence hung in the air between them. God, he was as infuriating as ever.

After minutes of silence, Jefferson finally broke tension. “Well listen, I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do,” he clapped his hands before him. “So I’m going to go to your room, and pack you a bag, and then we can all leave then.”

His words finally shook her out of her fixed stare on Gold.  “Pack? Leave? You think I’m going to leave with him?” She gestured her hands towards Gold. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She stated firmly, looking straight at his helmet. He stood there silently, tilting his head to the side, and she could feel his muted annoyance with her. God, why didn’t he just speak?

“Yes, well we don’t have much of a choice here Belle, so I’m just going to go pick you out a few things, and I will be sure to pack your favorite blue dress, and we shall be on our way.” Jefferson’s disregard to her insistence that she was not leaving infuriated her even more. She had one man in the room refusing to speak, and the other who would not stop spoke speaking, and she needed to figure out what the hell was going on. She turned to Jefferson who was already walking towards her bedroom when she screamed at him to stop. When he turned back around, she could see clearly now his bruised face.

“Oh my God, Jefferson what happened to you?” her anger quickly subsided as she ran over to him cupping his face in her hands.

“I’m alright, Belle. Gold saved me.”

“From who?” she asked confused.

“From you.” The sharpness of Gold’s voice cut her like a hot knife through butter, as he uttered his first words to her in five years. She turned in a fury, her blue eyes blazing, as she stared him down. How dare he even suggest that she would have anything to do with harming Jefferson, the only man in her life that never left her. He was more than a best friend, he was like a brother to her. She rapidly approached Gold, stopping just mere inches from his armored self.

“How dare you!” she screamed at him.

“How dare you!” he countered back his tone clipped. “How could you possibly think it was a good idea to publish a story…my story, for all to read?”

Heart racing, every built up ounce of anger that she had walled up over the last five years, came bubbling to the surface. “It’s my story, I was there with you unless you have forgotten.”

“Well, thanks to your sound judgement, on OUR story, you sent a come and find me challenge to Felix and the rest of the Lost Boys. They already murdered the publisher of the Sherwood newspaper to find out where you were.  I just killed two of them  here in Storybrooke. And don’t think that is the end of it. When Felix’s scouts don’t return in the next day or so, they will all be coming here to find you.”

Belle opened her mouth to respond, but quickly snapped it back closed. She had taken certain steps to ensure that no one would know she wrote the piece, but it appears she wasn’t safe enough, and now she had put Jefferson and the whole town of Storybrooke in danger for it. She turned to look at Jefferson, but he had already disappeared into her bedroom, no doubt packing up her items. She couldn’t just leave. If the Lost boys were coming to town, they would hurt every resident in the town to find out who the author was.

She couldn’t let that happen.

“I can’t leave. If they are coming here, I can’t let the entire town of Storybrooke pay for my mistake.” She could hear Jefferson bustling about in her bedroom, as she moved to the settee to sit down.

“We need to get you somewhere safe. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

Scoffing she tried to fight the tears that stung her eyes. “You won’t let anyone harm me huh? I guess that rule doesn’t apply to you, now does it?” He turned his back, but she wouldn’t let him close her off so easy this time. “Why did you leave me?” Her question was met with an all too familiar silence. “I loved you. You told me you loved me…and then I wake up one morning, and you were just gone.”

The pain of that day burned itself into her heart. She found little consolation that he had sent one of his lackey’s Jefferson with a bag full of gold, and instructions to set her up with the life she deserved in Storybrooke.

“We don’t have time for this,” he scolded his voice void of emotion. “You need to get out of town.”

“I already told you, I’m not leaving Storybrooke to fend for its self.” She held her breath, as he walked straight towards her, stopping just mere inches from her. Heat coiled in her belly at having him so near.

“It won’t have to. I’m going to settle this once and for all.”

X

Gold knew that there was only one way to end this vendetta with the Lost Boys, and that was to face Felix one on one. He would head out to the outskirts of town. If they were coming from Sherwood he was certain that they would be coming from the West. He needed to find the high ground, and with some luck, who would be able to pick most of them off, before he was taken.

Jefferson had already spoken to the town sheriff, Graham, and informed him of the situation. All of the town’s residents evacuated during the night, leaving the town of Storybrooke, pretty much a ghost town. Everyone had left at the Sherriff’s orders, everyone but Belle and Jefferson.

He had tried to prepare himself for the whirl of emotions he would feel in seeing her again, but nothing could ever prepare him for her. She was still as beautiful and feisty as ever. God, he had missed her, and through the hurt and anger he saw in her eyes, he could see that she had missed him just as much. Even after five years, the attraction between them was as strong as ever, and just being in her presence was enough to bring him to his knees.

Leaving her was the hardest thing he had ever done, and his heart broke all over again, as he relived the memory of watching her sleep, and kissing her forehead one last time, before walking out of her life forever…well forever until now. He had wanted to stay, wanted to make a family with her, settle down, and live out of the rest of his life with her by his side. But when he had learned that Felix, the newly crowned leader of the Lost Boys, had put a bounty out on her head, he had to act quickly. He could not let her association with him cost her, her life.  So he asked his most trusted ally, Jefferson to watch over her, and take her somewhere safe, somewhere far away from him. Gold had provided him with a large amount of gold, to help provide for her, and told Jefferson he could keep a part for himself on one condition…he never told Belle about the bounty on her head. He wanted her to live a carefree life, and deep down he knew she would risk her own life if it meant that she got to stay with him, something he could not allow.

So he left her that night, without a word, leaving her to the cold reality of morning that he was gone. He had planned to hunt down Felix and every lost boy left, to ensure her safety, however fate had other plans. A lone outlaw, had stumbled upon one of his unused armors that he had stashed in the desert. The outlaw, seeing an opportunity, used it to rob a bank, but unfortunately for him had taken off his helmet once outside the bank, where the town sheriff  shot him in the head. Word traveled quickly, and before long, the last few remaining Lost Boys  came to town to indeed make sure that the armored man was the nemesis they had been fighting for so long. Seeing the armor was the same, the hunt for him was called off.

The Gold was dead and buried, and the few remaining Lost Boys joined other gangs and soon disbanded. With the threat over, he could have gone to her. He could have rode to Storybrooke, and begged her to take him back, but the coward that he was, he rode his horse away from her eventually landing in Hyperion Heights, were he laid low for the last five years.

He loaded his horse, readying himself for a final showdown with Felix and his boys, when Belle approached him, wearing her revolver on her hip.

“I’m going with you,” she stated more of a demand than a suggestion.

“You are going with Jefferson, right now, out of town.” He answered, continuing to load his horse without even a glance back at her.

“Jefferson told me this morning, why you left. He told me about the bounty.”

Closing his eyes he silently cursed Jefferson. Why did he have to tell her the truth now? Knowing the truth he was certain that she would stand by his side through all of this, and die defending him. The thoughts of her lying dead in his arms brought a wave of nausea to his stomach as flashes of his son peppered his mind.  Reaching up, he unfastened the clips under his helmet, and with shaking hands he lifted his helmet off of his head, his brown eyes meeting her blue.

“I need to do this alone Belle. I have lost so much that I love, I can’t lose you too. I need to do this for my boy.” He expected a quick retort, or refusal from her, but instead she lunged for him, her lips colliding with his. God, did he miss this. He wrapped his armored arms around her, pulling her closer to him, moaning as her tongue brushed against his.

All too soon, she pulled away, his lips desperately trying to follow hers.

“I’ll go if you promise me one thing,” she looked at him with tears in her eyes. “Come back to me.”

He nodded yes with tears in his eyes, as he pulled her back to him kissing her hard and passionately. All too soon he heard Jefferson let out a cough, and quickly pulled back from her, turning around to put on his helmet.

“Take her,” he commanded, and watched as Jefferson took Belle by the arm, leading her to their horses close by. He went to his own horse, and didn’t look back. He left her once, and it almost broke him. He knew if he looked back at her now, he would not have the resolve to leave her again. Without a word, he mounted his horse, and headed to the outskirts of town to face his destiny.

Gold hid behind a large boulder as he heard the faint galloping of horses in the distance. Closing his eyes he envisioned the scene before him, seven…no wait eight horses were rapidly approaching. He knew Felix would never lead, he was too smart to stay out in front, and more likely was tucked away in the middle, to be guarded on all sides.

He held a revolver in either hand, as he waited for the right moment to attack.  He had to make every shot count. The galloping got louder and louder. Belle’s face flashed through his mind for a split second before he stood up, and started firing at the posse down below.

He picked the first three off easily, before the others started exchanging gun fire with him. Although the armor protected him, it felt like getting hit by a train, every time a bullet ricocheted off of him, but he stood tall, taking hit after hit, until he gunned down the last man.

His body ached with a pain that was indescribable, but he limped down to the group of scoundrels before him. He didn’t see Felix anywhere. He heard a groan, and turned to find one of the men, still alive. He firmly grasped his shirt pulling him up towards his helmet, demanding to know where Felix was. The man laughed as blood gurgled from his mouth.

“He was right. You were still alive.”

“Where is he?” Gold once again demanded to know. Taking a few gasps of air, the man gave him a bloody smile. “Storybrooke.” And with that the man took his last breath.

No! No! No! Gold cursed to himself. Felix was too smart to fall into this trap. He knew that Gold would be waiting out here to stop him, he must have come from the other way…the way he had just sent Belle and Jefferson.

“Belle,” Gold screamed as panic rose into his heart. Jumping on his horse he quickly rode back to the town. His blood ran cold, as he saw an unfamiliar horse tied up in front of Granny’s Café. Felix was here.

Without a moment of hesitation, Gold took two steps into Granny’s Café. His heart stopped as he saw Felix before him. He was not alone though as the barrel of his gun was pointed at Belle’s temple.

“I’ve been expecting you Gold,” Felix grinned. “You are just in time to watch my blow this pretty little things head off.” Belle stood completely still as Felix’s other hand covered her mouth keeping her noises to mere grunts. Flashes of his past, of his father holding Bae nearly the same way flashed in his memory. He lost his son, he would not lose her as well. He would either walk out of this alive with Belle, or dead on the floor. Gold placed both hands in the air in surrender.

“Now we are old friends here, so why don’t you take that helmet off…Rumpelstiltskin.” Felix ordered.

Gold slowly lifted his helmet off of his head, placing the helmet down on the counter next to him. He had never felt more exposed, as Felix looked him up and down with a look of total disgust. Taking one hand he pushed the helmet down the counter, as it stopped just a foot or two away from Felix and Belle.

“You don’t have to do this Felix, I’m right here, I’m not going to fight you. You can just shoot me. I’m who you want. I killed Malcolm. I’m the one who took him away from you. Just let her go.”

“What type of coward shoots his own father in the back? I can see why he disowned you. You’re pitiful. Look at you. Do you think wearing all that makes you a man? You are nothing.   I was more of a son to him than you ever were. And you took him away from me. Now I’m going to take something you love away from you.”

It was as if time slowed down, as Belle bit Felix’s hand causing him to let go of his grip on her.  Belle lunged for the helmet on the counter, then turned hitting Felix in the head with it in one mighty swing, bringing him to his knees. Gold wasn’t sure at what point he had drawn his own gun, but quickly aimed, hitting Felix right between the eyes.

Belle ran to him, as he encompassed her in his arms. He should have known that she would save him. His strong, beautiful, Belle.

“Where’s Jefferson?”

Belle smiled. “He’s tied up in the back. We should go get him.”

“In a minute,” Gold smiled pulling Belle back towards him for a kiss. After a few moments, they moved to stand over Felix’s body. “It’s over Belle. It’s really over.”

“Yes,” she placed her head on his chest as she hugged him. “There are so many new paths you can go down.”

“Well there is only one path I’m interested in,” she lifted her head off of his chest, as her crystal blue eyes looked at him with hope.

“Which one is that?” she questioned.

“The one where you and I are together.”

X

“Now you must promise to write me often. I will not accept a month going by without a letter, do you understand me?”

Belle gave Jefferson a watery smile, as she tried to keep her tears at bay. “I promise.” Belle watched Jefferson turn, shaking Rumpelstiltskin’s unarmored hand. “You take good care of her, do you hear me?”

“I’m quite certain she will be the one taking good care of me,” Rumple smiled, giving his friend a hug.  

“So where are you two off to first?” Jefferson inquired, as Belle mounted her own horse Phillipe.

“Hyperion Heights, I have a few friends I need to say goodbye to, and then….” He looked at Belle with his eyebrow raised.

Belle shrugged. “Wherever adventure takes us I suppose.” Gold smiled and nodded, as the two rode off in the sunset together.

[shadowedoracle]

An Unconventional Gift

Happy Rumbelle Christmas in July! This is my RCIJ gift for the lovely @moonlight91​. I’m sorry you had to put up with me and my poor communication when my life and health overtook me in the last month. Also I’m sorry I drifted over into the next day -- I’ve no idea what timezone you’re in but I’m sure it’s well in Sunday wherever you are.

I hope you enjoy your gift. This what happens when I come up with a new idea so you have a complete gift and write it all at the last minute. I enjoyed working on it even if it wasn’t my initial idea and is perhaps quite different to what you were expecting from your prompt. I’m planning on posting my initial idea too at some point so if you have any interest in seeing that I’ll hopefully post the prologue and first chapter soon.

Summary: Rumple brings a baby back to the Dark Castle.

Enchanted Forest AU and canon-divergent.

Prompt: Fairytale Murder

Rating: G

Notes: Fluffy and but also angsty because that’s what apparently happens when I decide to try to write fluff. 

Also because I decided to write this new idea at totally the last minute please let me know if you see any typos because I haven’t obsessively been through this as many times as I normally would before posting.

Warnings: Depression (not in any real depth or detail but it is there).

[AO3]

“And then I reached into her chest and do you want to know what happened next?”

There was a high pitched giggle that was answered by a happy little burble.

“Do you? Yes of course you do.” The high voice trilled. “You’re going to be the baddest and most evil of sorcerers when you grow up.” A scaled green-grey scaled hand reached into a carry basket and tickled light haired baby’s stomach. “Yes, you are. You are, you are.” An excited shriek echoed through the large hall.

Rumplestiltskin grinned at the baby. “Yes. You are and I’ll teach you all there is to know. It’s actually quite simple. You see, little one, the thing you have to remember is people turn to me in times of need, out of desperation, for things they can or won’t do for themselves. It’s amazing what people will ask an evil sorcerer to do for them. You just have to know how to extract the right price for your services. You will want to remember that for yourself later.”

The baby stared back at the sorcerer solemnly, then gave a little twitch of her head which, if you squinted at it carefully enough, you could just about interpret as a nod. The sorcerer’s grin widened and was answered by a small, almost wry, quirk of the lips from the baby. Could babies have a wry sense of humour?

Then again this one seemed to be one of those children who was born an adult in all but body. Her intense blue eyes gleamed with intelligence as if she was in fact taking copious mental notes. If she could have held a pen she surely would have been taking actual notes. She would surely grow up to be a scholar of great renown. Or would have if she had been born into a world that readily allowed women to become scholars.  

The sorcerer, snorted to himself, that was of course, a stupid a narrow minded view. Not that he expected anything less from the fools of this land any more. He’d been alive for centuries and how much had changed? Precious little. Women, rich and poor still, died in childbirth and far too many infants never lived to adulthood. The lands were still mostly ruled by the same noble families, mostly by men (although there were notable exceptions), the poor were still expected to give their lives in the battles the noble families fought between each other and occasionally existential threats such as ogres.

Which really reinforced to him how little had changed -- they were still fighting ogres wars of all things. He had always believed when he had been called up to fight them that they would finally have stopped the ogres in their tracks once and for all. Of course he’d been a naive fool back then and now understood something of the harsh barrenness of many of the ogres’ lands and the complicated nature of ogre politics. They weren’t nice and fluffy creatures (then again neither was he) but they weren’t all the rampaging senseless villains most humans believed them to be.

Well all humans he’d ever met in fact except perhaps the one living in his castle. He didn’t think he’d met another person in his life who so much as considered that perhaps not all ogres were monsters. Some would have mistaken such compassion for softness but then only one who had never clashed minds with Belle would have ever have thought her soft. She was gentle in many ways but soft implied that she was weak and malleable and his Belle was neither of those things.

She also wasn’t his Belle. She might have come with him as part of a deal and have been his maid (although with the all the Castle’s self-cleaning spells and other spells to provide food and drink she was barely even that at times) but she most certainly wasn’t his in the way he sometimes wished she could be. She would never look at him that way. If he was a better man he could have released her from her deal with him and let her go out into the world and find the happiness she deserved. But he was still a monster, a selfish one at that, and he couldn’t bear to lose the light she had brought back into his life.

He knew one day he would find his son but that seemed a long way off most days. Before her there had been so many times when he wouldn’t rise from his bed for weeks when the despair over the loss of Baelfire consumed him. But with Belle here even the darkest days were easier. Having someone who would smile at him and even if she was not able to fix his problems somehow made those days less unrelentingly terrible.

She also would not allow him to mope and feel sorry for himself for too long. The first time he had fallen into one of his dark spells after she’d arrived and holed himself up in his chambers, she had waited three days before hammering on his door and then barging her way into his inner sanctum when he didn’t respond. He supposed he could have used magic to lock his door but he’d been so startled it hadn’t ever occurred to him. He’d never bothered with any locks, magical or otherwise until he given her her own suite of rooms and wanted to make sure she’d feel safe from anyone, including him.

Even that first time Belle hadn’t asked him any questions and just taken one look at his pathetic form and walked out. He’d assumed that she wouldn’t be back --  who would after looking at his matted and wild hair, his crumpled night shirt and his twisted bedsheets from   his nightmares? He sincerely wished the legend that the Dark One didn’t need sleep was in fact correct when the nightmares over took him. But his little maid had surprised him. She’d returned less than five minutes later with a glass of water and a book. She’d placed the water on his bedside and after looking around his room and discovering that he had no chairs in the room sat down beside him on his bed and began to read to him.

He supposed if he were a better man he would have summoned a chair for her but he wasn’t one. If this was to be the only way he would ever have Belle in his bed he would not pass up the opportunity. So he had lain there entranced by the sound of Belle’s voice and the tale of the hero Gideon. She had read to him for hours and while the heavy feeling in his heart and his limbs was still there somehow it wasn’t quite as bad as it had been before.

Hours later she laid down the book looked him in the eyes. She had smiled somewhat sadly at him and he felt a stab of guilt at idea he someone made his little Belle feel sad. But before he could apologize and grovel for her forgiveness, she had stood up an informed him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t think he’d eaten in at least three days (he hadn’t but hadn’t really noticed) and that she expected him downstairs for dinner. Since he could think of no way to reply to that or how to argue with the fierce and stubborn creature that was his maid he’d acquiesced.

Ever since then whenever he’d have one of his episodes she’d come to his room and read, sometimes out loud to him and other times silently to herself. Either way she would always sit next to him keeping him company. Sometimes she’d absent-mindedly reach out and stroke his hair and it was all he could do not to purr. He would have liked it if she touched him like that out of true affection and not pity but he couldn’t stop in taking comfort from them. They were a soothing balm for his ancient dark and misshapen soul.

She never asked him any questions during those times --  which was a good thing as he didn’t trust himself to answer them without soaking her shoulder in tears. She simply was there and all she seemed to expect was that he managed to magic himself from bed at least once a day to appear for a meal that she’d make with her own rudimentary cooking skills. Some of the concoctions she’d laid in front of him tasted truly terrible he had to admit. But the idea that she cared about him enough to try to make him a chocolate cake was to him a far sweeter gift than her simply instructing the castle to make one for her (and not just because she’d gotten the salt and sugar confused).

No his little maid was kind and compassionate towards him and he had found himself slowly opening himself up to her in a way he hadn’t to anyone ever before. Not even with Milah. Belle might have just been his maid and gradually becoming, dare he hope a friendly companion? He couldn’t hope to yet have met the bar for a friend yet but she was a constant in his life that even a year ago he never would have believed possible. Now he was about to change both their lives. He just hoped that she would be pleased and not mad at him about it. Maybe he ought to have consulted her first?

A loud wailing broke though his reverie. He looked back to the baby and took in the red screwed up little face.

“Hush now. Little one. Hush. What’s wrong now? I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t fix.”

He reached into the basket and stroked her cheek. She took a big breath and for a moment it seemed like that was all that would be needed to calm her. But then she let out an even louder cry and it seemed that that hope would be in vain. He sighed and took the tiny little one into his arms, sniffing her slightly as he did so. That wasn’t the issue it seemed.

She was lighter than Bae had ever been to hold even though he thought from some of the other signs that she must be at least a month or two old by now. Of course he hadn’t arrived home until weeks after Bae’s birth but he was certain Bae had never been this tiny even as a newborn. His anger stirred as he felt how thin the babe was in his arms.

A quick thought later and a leather bottle appeared in his hand and he shifted the baby in his arms slightly and tilted the bottle so that the teat was in front of its mouth. He hoped that the nipple shaped object in front of it would be enough for the babe to work the rest out but apparently he had slightly over-estimated its intelligence at this stage at least. He shook head, amused at his own stupidity and gently opened the baby’s mouth and placed the bottle’s nipple inside. For a moment she seemed confused but then she gave an experimental little twitch of her mouth and her whole being seemed to relax as she began to drink more enthusiastically.

“That’s it. Drink up little one. There’s more where that came from. Infinitely more, in fact. Now I should go back to telling you your story where was I? I was telling you about how I murdered that women who wanted to harm you. Yes? Now I had dispatched the first two and the final was one was choking on my magic when I reached into her chest and I out her heart.”

There was a crash from behind him and the large doors to the Great Hall flew open and Belle came rushing into the room.

“Rumplestiltskin, I didn’t realize you were back already. Do you want your tea now or later? And what was that noise just now? I could have sworn I heard a baby crying but...”

She trailed off as the sorcerer turned towards her and she caught sight of the small bundle in his arms. His generally soft and good natured maid’s countenance took on a much sterner and frosty appearance as she glared at him.

“And where, pray tell, did that come from?” She tapped the heel of her foot against the floor while he tried to remember how to make his mouth work.

“It’s not what you think, Belle.”

“And what precisely is it that you think I think?” Her stony expression almost made him cringe before he reminded himself sternly that he was the Dark One and he did not cringe to before his maid no matter how much her liked her or how sharply he could feel the points of the her stare piercing into his skin.

“Well… You probably think I broke my promise I made to you after that whole, er, um, incident with Jack and Jill’s baby. But I didn’t. I swear.”

“Then where exactly did it come from? It didn’t just appear out of thin air.”

He gave a nervous little giggle, “No, no, of course not my dear… I mean, dearie. I was getting to that. You see there was this village that called on me to help it deal with a problem it was having. The town’s babies had all gone missing from their cribs overnight. Their parents woke up pleased at first with a good night’s rest because of not having been awakened in the night to discover they had all gone. So I was called by some of the parents to help them find their children.”

“For a price.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well of course for a price. The Dark One doesn’t do anything for free and he most certainly does not do good deeds. But you needn’t worry about the price, it was just some gold the families offered up. Nothing more, er, exotic, this time.”

“Then how did you get her”, a quick nod of that beautiful head towards the bundle in its arms, “if not as the price?”

“I’m getting to that bit. Now I can see you’re not in the mood for the clever little bit of magic I did to find the children right now. But it was a particularly good piece of magic to find them so quickly, if I do say so myself.”

His maid didn’t look the least bit impressed with that.

He swallowed hard. “Right. Anyway, so I tracked the children to a cave in the middle of the Infinite Forest. A trio of those gnats who call themselves ‘Fairy Godmothers’ had taken them in the hopes of using their blood to enhance their powers. They weren’t the first ones, just the first time they’d branched out to taking a whole village. Which was foolish if they’d hoped to go unnoticed but it seems from what I found there they’d done enough experiments to ascertain that this would likely have worked. Well… I’m dark but I’m not like that.

“I dealt with the fairies then returned the rest to their homes but this one was well left over, nobody claimed her or even knew whose she was. I tried to track her parents with magic but there was no trace of them. There’s only one reason for those that particular spell to fail -- if they’re dead. So she’s an orphan, see.”

Belle’s face had softened during his explanation and while she still looked serious she looked more like her usual self. He became aware that the sucking on the bottle had stopped too. He removed the bottle from the girl’s lips and vanished the bottle.

“And so what are you planning on doing with her now?”

He gulped and stared down at baby to give himself courage.

“Well it seems that she needs a home.” He glanced back up at Belle but she seemed to be more focused on the baby in his arms. That was good. Maybe she wouldn’t be too mad about this after all.

“And well, I was, er, wondering if you wanted her.”

Belle’s eyes snapped back up to his face. She looked at him, startled.

“Me?”

He suddenly wondered if perhaps this was a bad idea and that maybe he should have asked her whether she wanted a child before bringing one back for her. She’d never wanted her marriage to Gaston perhaps she hadn’t wanted children either. It would hurt to give this child up if she didn’t want her. In less than a day he’d become rather fond of the little one. But he could hardly keep her if Belle didn’t want her, he wasn’t a fit and proper person for such a task on his own.

“Well… That is if you, um… If you want to of course. It’s just you seemed quite fond of that one baby but gave up on marriage and all that life to come here with me. We agreed that I wasn’t to take any as part of deals any more but I thought this might be, um, a mutually agreeable way for you to get that chance.”

“Rumple...”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to.” He hurried to add. “I’m very good at finding homes for babies.”

“Rumple...”

“I have experience doing it.”

“Rumple!”

“And I wouldn’t hold it against you in the least...”

“Rumplestiltskin! Will you let me get a word in?”

“Oh, right of course.” He swallowed hard of over the dryness of his throat and unconsciously ran a finger over the forehead of the baby.

Belle smiled at him slightly and took a few steps closer to him and the baby.

“Are you sure about this?” She reached out a hand towards him but stopped just short of touching the baby.

“Yes, yes of course.”

“You won’t mind a child running around the place all the time?”

“Why I mind that? Would I have suggested this idea, if I didn’t mean it?”

She shrugged. “You might not have fully thought this through.”

Well he hadn’t but that didn’t mean he was going to regret it if she wanted this.

“Does she have a name?” Her hand grazed the baby’s head as she said it.

“Does that mean you want to keep her?”

She smiled softly her gaze now fully on the baby. “Yes. Yes I want to raise this child with you Rumple.”

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. When she phrased it like that it made it sound like she would be letting him do more help her out every so often. Almost like she would let him help parent the child, almost like they were a couple. He was sure she didn’t meant the latter but perhaps this meant she viewed him as a friend of sorts now? He felt a dampness that felt suspiciously like tears begin to well up in the corner of his eyes. She held out her arms to him and he wordlessly transferred the baby into her waiting arms.

“Why, hello little one.” She smiled one of the most radiant smiles he’d ever seen down at the babe in her arms and she was answered with small little smile. “You’re beautiful aren’t you? What’s your name? Rumple, you didn’t tell me if she had a name yet.”

He didn’t think he could reply, he wasn’t sure he’d seen a more beautiful sight since he’d lost Bae. He swallowed a few times to force the emotions he was feeling down enough so he could answer Belle’s question.

“Yes… Well at least I assume it’s hers it might not be I guess. It was sewn into the blanket I found her in but I suppose that blanket could have belonged to another child first…”

She nodded, “Well let’s assume that it was probably her name then unless it’s truly dreadful.”

He shook his head, “it’s Alice.”

“Alice? That’s a good name. I think it suits her don’t you think?”

He nodded the sight of Belle cooing down at the baby was too much for him to trust himself with words right now.

“Well. Then I guess we’ll have to make a place for you to live, little Alice. We didn’t have much time to prepare but let’s see what the castle can rummage up for us shall we?”

He cleared his throat, “I um, might have taken the liberty of preparing the room next to yours as a nursery. At least until you decide how you want to decorate it of course.”

She smiled at him. “Well let’s start there shall we Alice?”

As she reached the doorway she turned and looked back at him and said, “Oh and Rumple, just so you know, this wasn’t the only way I could have had a child and remained faithful to our deal.”

He nodded wondering what her point was. He supposed she could have found herself some young man in town to get her with child. It didn’t quite seem Belle’s style somehow but perhaps he’d been wrong. She rolled her eyes slightly and he watched the slight crinkles form at the sides of them as smiled at him.

“Just the next time you decide you want to raise a child with me Rumple, perhaps consult me first? We could try the traditional route of acquiring one. I hear it’s a lot of fun.”

And with that she breezed out of the room while he stood gaping after her.

[ifishouldvanish]

How Do You Sleep?

for @rumbellebigbang​. Artwork by the lovely @moonlight91​ :)

When retired Brit rocker Lachlan MacAldonich is threatened with deportation after a DUI, he turns to his estranged wife for help– a groupie named Lacey he married one drunken night several years ago. 

Rated M for the language and alcoholism. 50k bc I don’t know why.

[READ ON AO3]

PROLOGUE

The first few times you were taken to a rockstar's hotel room, the sight was a little jarring.

Instead of a pristine room with a freshly made bed, you were greeted by a mess. Bottles and cans on the floor, sheets bunched around the foot of the bed, a foul smell of unknown origin.

But then again, Lachlan MacAldonich wasn't a rockstar. Not really, not anymore.

His hand dropped from where it had been resting on the small of Lacey's back as they reached the door of room 318. He swiped the card though the reader and thrust the door open, revealing a room with nothing more than a slept-in bed and a single worn outfit strewn across it.

“You ever like, totally trash one of these places?” Lacey asked as she stepped inside.

He headed straight for a brown bag on the otherwise pristine desk, next to one list of TV channels, and another of restaurants in the area that deliver. “Who do I look like?” he scoffed, “Bloody Axl Rose?”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “Axl’s got a cuter nose than you.”

Lachlan swatted a hand through the air. “Fuck 'im.” he said, and there was the crinkling of paper before he spun around with a bottle of whisky in hand. “Pricks, all of them.”

He unscrewed the cap and took a quick swig straight from the bottle before setting it back down on the desk.

“We ah… we met… him, once, in ah… fuck,” he laughed. “I don’t remember where, but– anyway, you uh… you… wanna drink?” he asked, eyelids drooped and his mouth slack. “There's ah… whisky, and… whisky?” he boasted with a lopsided grin, swaying a little before finding his balance against the desk.

Lacey nibbled her lip, taking in the state of him. He was more than halfway drunk, but so was she. Besides, he was cute, and she'd already set out this evening fully prepared to make a lot of bad decisions.

“Perfect.” She licked her lips. “Because I uh… happen to be a whisky girl.”

It was the fantasy, after all. Had been since the tenth grade, when she'd spend her nights locked up in her room listening to Bank Street Waltz while poring over lyrics and smiling at one of the moody faces on the album's back cover.

The face she was looking at now.

It was older and more tired, of course. Hair a little longer and greyer. The man a little thinner and weaker. But she didn't mind that.

If being a groupie was just about fucking only the hottest guys, surely there were other, younger, more virile options.

If being a groupie was just about fucking only the most famous ones, she wouldn't still have her heart set on the guitarist-turned-solo act of a now-defunct nineties alt-rock outfit.

If being a groupie was about fucking only the most talented ones, there's no way the man in front of her would qualify.

No. Being a groupie was about love.

Not the sappy bullshit kind, of course. Lacey knew better than to fantasize about that trite shit.

But loyalty. Dedication. Reciprocity.

People liked to call groupies sluts; starfuckers looking for a taste of the glitz and glamour to appropriate for themselves. But that wasn't it at all. The one true thing in this life was rock and roll. Not a sound or a song, mind. But a gut feeling.

A gut feeling that a scrawny little shit from Scotland had given her back in 1996, and that she'd been dedicated to giving back to him ever since.

It would be a shame to back down now.

“So,” Lachlan slid a glass of whisky toward her, “you from around here?”

Lacey picked up the glass, hiding her snort behind it. She knew her accent was impossible to miss, nevermind what a cliche line it was. “No, uh… family's from Melbourne,” she said. “…Australia?”

His eyes widened at that. “Right, right.” he acknowledged, hiding his ignorance behind his own glass with a swig.

“Family moved to the states in ninety-five. They're in Maine. I moved to LA on my own in ‘01.”

“What ah…” he gestured in the air, “what brought you–”

“Same shit as everybody else, I guess.” she shrugged. “Have you ever been to fuckin’ Maine?”

“Aye.” Lachlan smiled, nodded. “Don't remember it,” he laughed, “but I'm sure I was there at some point.”

“Try Portland.” she said. “Ninety-seven.”

“Ah.” he nodded. Furrowed his brows. “Do– Have we… already–”

“I didn't get to go.” she answered. “Overbearing father and lack of funds.”

He smiled and leaned a little closer, giving her a once-over and licking his lips. “No such thing as lack of funds when you got legs like that, darlin’.”

Lacey huffed a little laugh though her nose. He was a leg guy? She could work with that.

“Yeah, well... I was seventeen, so.”

He backed away and took another swig. “Well, ah wis just saying, like… now you know. For uh, next time, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll remember that,” she wet her lips, leaning on the dresser and lifting her leg up off the carpet so she could rub her ankle along his.

“You're… very beautiful.” he said, smiling dopily at her.

“Yeah? Is this the part where you tell me I’m not like all those other women who were also waiting in line to suck your dick?”

“Aye,” he smiled. “You see, you simply had–” he took a swig of his whisky and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “the best blowjob lips.”

“That's... almost sweet.” Lacey smiled. “And here I thought it was because I was the only one still shorter than you in heels.”

“That… may have been a contributing factor,” Lachlan scoffed and leaned against the counter, finishing his drink and setting the glass down with a heavy thud. He reached an arm out to her, tucking his fingers inside the short sleeve of her dress before letting it drop to her waist.

“You get… more selective, ye know?” he mumbled, almost to himself. “Used to be you take all the girls back with you.”

“What happened? You not exactly have the stamina for that anymore?” she teased.

He smiled, closed his eyes for a moment, then shrugged. “No…” he said slowly. “I’s just… too much, ye know? They're always… so… excited? And really ye just… well, ye don't want to party after a while. Just… have a drink and… have someone around to make sure you dinny have too much and choke on your vomit like that… that–”

“Bon Scott?” she finished for him.

“Yeah.” he nodded. “Yeah, that cunt. Anyway, it's like... I get that it's exciting to them, ye know? But… it's hard to keep up with that after a while. Pretend you're as into it as they are, like?”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“So I just… liked your energy, ah suppose.”

Lacey rolled her eyes and laughed. “My energy?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “S’like… calm an’all.”

“Not sure I've uh… ever been told that one before,” she laughed.

“Well. Now ye have, yeah?”

“You always sweet talk the women you sleep with first?”

“No.” he frowned. “Usually they've got some speech about how important the music is to them and shite, so it's like you fuck 'em soon as you can get them through the door so they can shut the fuck up.”

Lacey snorted into her glass.

“I know it sounds like a cock thing tae do, and it's not that I'm no’ flattered– but after the twentieth speech, you’ve really heard them all, ye know?”

Lacey grinned and nibbled her lip. “...I’ve got a speech for you,” she said.

He tilted his head.

Lacey took a swig of her drink and leaned into his ear. “Rock ‘n’ roll makes me really horny,” she whispered.

“Oh.” he said, blinking as though she'd caught caught him off guard. A smile crept across his face.

Lacey slid her hand over his, holding it in place where it sat on her hip. “You wanna fuck me now?”

He looked away and scoffed again, cheeks rounding as he smiled. “Aye,” he said, looking back at her legs. “I… would love to fuck you right now.”

[READ ON AO3]

[ripperblackstaff]

My part of the @rumbellebigbang with @moonlight91. 

[timelordthirteen]

moonlight91 reblogged your post:no matter what happens tonight sansa stark...

All that needed to happen was have her become a bitchy shrew that separates her from Cersei is the lack of penis envy

Literally fuck off.

[mariequitecontrarie]

6, 13, 21, 22, 43, 65, 70 and 80

6. What’s your lucky number? I don’t have one. Boring, I know. XD

13. What talents do you have? Writing, cooking, hospitality, home decor.

21. Have you ever been to the hospital? I’ve been admitted twice for the birth of my kids, and I’ve visited others several times.

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? No.

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? Yes, English and Sicilian.

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? If I had to choose, Anne of Green Gables. I like the Sullivan Entertainment version.

70. Have you ever been scuba diving? No. Snorkeling, yes. But the idea of going down deep with an oxygen tank freaks me out and I’m hypersensitive to pressure changes. My ears plug going up a small hill.

80. How many piercings do you have? Just two–one for each ear.

Thanks for asking!

Get to Know Me Uncomfortably Well

[roro-the-aggro]

Family, Love, and Beginnings

Merry Christmas, @moonlight91! It is I, your Santa. I had so much fun writing this prompt. There were alot of firsts for me, which I love. I hope you enjoy your present.

Prompt:  bottle, green, crown, candle & kisses

Rating: E

A03

“You’re late” Belle exclaimed, dramatically.

“Apologies, milady. Weaver decided that our lunch date was better delayed with mountains of tedious paperwork. That, and the wind is really picking up out there,” the detective sighed, joining her at the booth. “Honestly, Belle, he’s barely tolerable as a partner. How do you find him tolerable as a husband?”

Belle rolled her eyes, before narrowing them at him.

“Killian, you’re his partner. He has certain expectations of you. Did you expect this job to be easy?” she questioned, sipping at her iced tea. “Besides, I’m his wife. Do you really expect him to treat the two of us equally?”

Killian shook his head. He knew when he was asked to be a detective, that it also meant stepping up his game. He had to put in more energy, hours, and perseverance than ever before.

“Right again, as always. Or your husband was intentionally sabotaging me in order to spend less time with you. That’s not entirely out of the realm of possibilities,” he laughed.

“My husband can be a jealous man, this is true. I’ve told him many times that you’re a good and honorable man. Have faith, Killian. Weaver didn’t ask you to be his partner just to keep an eye on you. He sees the good in you, just as I do,” Belle assured. “How’s Alice doing, by the way?”

Belle could see his face fall immediately, her smile now fading. She grabbed his hand and gave a soft squeeze.

“I’ll talk to her today.”

“Thank you, Belle. I’m running out of options. I can only do so much to keep her out of trouble.”

*********************************************************************************************************

It didn’t take long for Belle to find Alice. There she sat, atop her favorite troll. It had always been her place of thoughts, especially when she was troubled. Belle had always been involved in the young girl’s life, from the very beginning. She cried with joy, the day Killian named her Alice’s godmother. It had been a blessing on her life, even through Alice’s bad days.

And here she was now, still young but nearly an adult, her face full of worry and confusion. The wind whipped her hair around her face wildly, but she was too deep in thought to care. Belle approached the statue slowly, leaning gently against the statue.

“What ails my beautiful girl today?”

Alice didn’t respond immediately. She turned her face towards Belle, tear stains evident on her face.

“I can’t talk in the open. Too many could hear me,” she answered quietly.

“That’s fair. How about you climb down and escort me home? I have orange marmalade with your name on it,” Belle said warmly, smiling widely. “Looks like a storm is brewing anyway. I can put the kettle on as well.”

Alice smiled faintly and nodded, hopping down off the statue. She kept her arms tightly wound around herself, her thoughts obviously worrying over something important. Belle looped an arm through one of Alice’s, holding her close as they walked.

Once inside the house, Belle hurried to the kitchen, waving Alice in.

“Go ahead and tuck in. I’ll get you a sandwich,” she said, retrieving the marmalade from the fridge. “So, tell me what’s on your mind, sweetheart.”

Alice hesitantly sat at the table, her arms still crossed tightly. Her gaze was squarely fixed on the edge of the table. Even as Belle sat the plate in front of her, she still stared blankly. Belle pulled a chair beside her to sit, gently taking one of Alice’s hands in hers.

“Does this have anything to do with you becoming a big sister soon?”

In an instant, Alice was in her arms.

**************************************************************************************************************

Weaver rushed through the door, the rain now coming down in droves. He first noticed to see Belle on the phone, a contented smile on her face. Her face brightened all the more when she saw him. He set the small paper bags in his arms on the table by the door.

“She’s on her way home now. She’s ready to talk about it. Just be gentle and understanding. I promise you it’s not as bad as you imagined it to be. Alright. Let me know how it goes tomorrow. Bye, Killian,” she ended, slipping her phone into her pocket.

Belle wrapped her arms around her husband, breathing in the scent of him. She sighed happily, as she felt his arms envelop her.

“Our girl alright?” he asked.

“She’ll be alright. She was under the impression that the new baby would somehow disconnect her from Killian. I don’t know if she realizes how much Emma loves her, even if she isn’t her birth mother. Being a stepmother can be a difficult role to fill, but I think this baby will be the key that brings them closer together as a family,” Belle explained, helping him out of his jacket.

“It seems he has more on his plate than I was aware of. I suppose you received quite a bit of lip from him today,” he smirked, hooking an arm around her.

“You really shouldn’t be so hard on him. He’s in a similar position we were once in. I’d have thought you might show him sympathy. You know Bae didn’t take to me immediately, especially so when we found out I was pregnant with Gideon,” she reminded, laying her head against him. “Get to know him. You won’t be disappointed.”

Weaver exhaled heavily, holding her close and gently kissing her head.

“I know, I know. I’ll attempt to speak with him at work next week. For now though, I may have picked up a few items for us this evening that I have a feeling you’ll approve of,” he replied, quirking a brow.

“Oh? Did you pick up some drinks? I imagine Roni was able to sneak you something discounted,” she giggled mischievously. “Let’s see what you have.”

Belle grabbed the papers bags off the table, hurrying into the kitchen. Weaver laughed, following close behind her. She reached into the first bag and pulled a green bottle from the bag.

“Ah, of course, your favorite. I’m surprised that Roni was generous enough to sneak you a bottle of Jäger. Must’ve owed you a favor, eh?” she snickered, handing him the bottle.

“She most certainly did. You’ll be pleased to know that she had no qualms about giving me the next bottle, especially when I mentioned that it was your favorite,” he mentioned, giving a wide smirk.

Belle excitedly pulled open the second bag, her eyes widening with glee. She ran a finger down the clear bottle of amber liquid, staring contentedly at the iconic red and gold crown on the front label.

“I’ll have to thank her, the time I stop by. I’m glad you got home when you did. It’s pouring out there. Although, that makes for perfect weather for drinks and a night in,” she said, moving towards the cabinets. “So, are we thinking shots or mixers?”

CRACK

A crash of lightning hit far too close, shaking the ground beneath them and removing any source of light in the house.

“Damn it,” Belle whispered under her breath, trying to steady herself.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asked, rushing over to her.

“I dropped a glass on the counter. The lightning sort of spooked me.”

“It’s alright. We have plenty more,” he reassured her, reaching up towards the top of the fridge. “How about you take the flashlight, a couple of glasses, and the drinks upstairs? I’ll clean up the glass and meet you up there in just a moment.”

“Sounds good. Take your time. I’ll make sure everything is perfect,” she replied, quirking a brow at him.

Weaver narrowed his eyes at her, giving a sideways smirk. As soon as she rushed up the stairs, he carefully collected the broken glass and discarded it into the bin. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, using its light to guide him to the stairs. He could see a faint light coming from the top of the stairs and slowly moved upwards towards it. Once up the stairs, he entered the bedroom and instantly lost his breath.

Every available surface was covered with lit candles. There, on the bedside table, were the bottles and glasses. Of course, though, the most breathtaking view before him was Belle. She was laying on the bed, her body completely bare for him. Her long, brown curls cascaded over her body. It was like viewing a priceless work of art.

“You’re a tad overdressed for the occasion, Detective. How about you give me a show?” she said, her voice low and sultry.

Weaver wasn’t about to deny her. He couldn’t, not when she had prepared such a feast for the eyes. His belt went first, dropping unceremoniously to the floor. He untucked his denim button up, slowly undoing each button. He loved watching how his movements, however small, made her squirm. His shirt glided down his arms and onto the floor. He wasted no time throwing off his undershirt, his torso now on display for her. He chuckled quietly to himself, as he spied her biting that beautiful bottom lip.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispered, breathlessly.

Weaver rolled his eyes, knowing full well that it was she who was the beautiful one. He slowly undid his jeans, kicking off each leg rather recklessly. He hooked his thumbs under the elastic band of his boxers, pulling them down at a painstakingly slow pace.

Belle sucked in a noisy breath, as his cock was finally revealed to her. She slipped a hand between her thighs, more than pleased with the sight before her.

He was on the bed in an instant, pulling her back against his chest. His hand covered hers, moving both of their hands roughly against her core. He groaned against her neck, as she gasped loudly. He nearly lost control, when he felt her other hand wrap tightly around his cock.

“B-Belle… fuck,” he groaned, his hips bucking against her.

“Such language, Detective. Do you always come undone so easily? However will you last the night at this rate?” she teased, knowing full well the repercussions of saying such things.

Weaver had her flipped onto her back faster than she could’ve anticipated, his wild eyes now glaring at her. Her breath hitched, as he held her wrists again the bed.

“Do you know what happens to girls who dare to tease me?” he growled low, jutting his cock against her thigh. “I fuck them so hard that they won’t be able to walk straight. Is that something you’re prepared for?”

“Please,” she almost cried, spreading her legs wide for him.

Weaver released her wrists, pulling one of her legs up roughly and hooking it over his shoulder. He turned her onto her side, her other leg resting between his own. He grabbed his cock, rubbing the head up and down her wet folds.

“Weaver, don’t tease me!” she gasped, wriggling against his grasp.

“This coming from the girl who was actively teasing not but a minute ago. That’s rich. You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Weaver, please. I need you inside me now. I need your cock. Please!” she begged.

His thrust in hard, fucking her as fast as his hips would allow. His arms hugged her thigh tightly, her screams only spurring him on more. They’d only barely begun, and he’d lost count of how many times Belle had screamed his name. She was continually becoming tighter around him, and was bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

Belle was in a fog of absolute ecstasy. She couldn’t even remember how many times he’d made her come. She was certain that his statement would ring true. She wouldn’t be able to walk straight after this.

“Weaver, please. C-come for me,” she gasped, her voice quivering. “Come inside me!”

And that was it. He was done for. He couldn’t deny her. His arms squeezed her thigh impossibly tight, as his release shook him to his very core. He couldn’t stop himself from gasping loudly, his body now trembling from waves of pleasure that his release brought him. As he slowly came down from the high, his grip on her softened. He fell back onto the bed, a gasping and panting mess.

Belle moved over to him quickly, wrapping her arms around him. He’d outdone himself tonight. She’d never seen him so exhausted before. She gently ran her hands through his hair and kissed his forehead.

“Sleep, my love. We’ll save the drinks for another rainy day,” she whispered.

[therumbellehappyendingaward-blog]

Chapter 3 writer: @moonlight91

PROMPT: HOPE

AO3: HERE

“Come now Margerie I haven’t gotten all day. Go produce your master and try doing something useful.” Regina waved her hands back at Belle gazing at the display of pink roses on the Ming vase now surrounding Rumpelstiltskin’s ivory coffee table turning away her attentions away from Belle.

The maid rolled her eyes heading to the pantry to collect the tea, Belle became long use to the different names the queen would give her where at times Belle knew it was to get a reaction at her whenever Regina would say a different one in a span of a minute after the previous name.

Belle gave Regina her usual tea surprised to find her continuing to fidget her legs noticing some of the petals from the roses were now on the coffee table as though they had been recently plucked.

“Where is he?” Regina demanded, “Rumple knows better than to keep me waiting.”

Belle looked up at the direction of the tower turning back towards Regina, keeping her demeanor collected. “Not here apparently, a lot of people have been requesting him lately where I haven’t see him for days at a time. Maybe come back tomorrow or next week.”

Regina took a sip of her tea smiling back at Belle whose back was turned to the wall covering her hands to avoid fidgeting them. Out of all the times for Regina to arrive for what Belle assumed to be her latest complaint regarding the queen’s stepdaughter, it had to be when Rumple could not use his magic.

“Haven’t you gotten anything better to do than to scare off my help?” Rumpel yelled coming into the great hall standing over the table in an effort to hide the cane he has been using. Belle noticed how out of breath he appeared turning to Regina who hid her efforts at not appearing annoyed.

“Compared to how you probably treat her, I was being sweet.” She turned to Belle, “leave us now.”

“No Belle stay, please.” Rumpelstiltskin requested before Belle had a chance to budge. She hesitated taking a seat on the dining table when Rumpel stood up turning his attentions to his uninvited guest.

“I need the potions you are working on to get rid of a certain Queen from the North, I don’t particularly care why you are using them but you can find the ingredients later on while my problem has a deadline.”

Regina sat down folding her arms waiting for Rumpelstiltskin who got up taking Belle out of her chair pointing her straight to the front door.

“Can’t help you with that Dearie, you have no use for potions and half of the time you have no idea what are you doing. You might request to turn someone into a toad and the next thing you know you will probably lose a limb, possibly a bigger nose.”

Regina’s eyes widened when she touched her nose as Rumpelstiltskin giggled back at her when he took a cup of the tea happy to see Belle had placed his preferred cup on the set regardless of how out of it place it look.

“I need them Rumple.” She declared “this woman is planning on forming an alliance with Snow White which could jeopardize my crown!”

Rumpelstiltskin could see his former apprentice tapping her foot with annoyance pacing back and forth while staring at him with a murderous glance. “Your stepdaughter is hanging out in the forest telling everyone you are a tyrant, everything jeopardizes your crown. These are not potions you will find any use for regarding your little problem.”

“Then help me figure them out. We can have little Belinda here pick up any ingredients you may need while I look over the notes.”

Rumpelstiltskin started laughing at Regina’s desperation. “We both know you have little patience for reading spells and it will go over you even if I tried to explain it.” He continued steadying himself hoping Regina wouldn’t notice his appearance. “You’re wasting my time and not giving me a good reason to help you. Just go, we’re done for the day.”

Before Belle could leave the room, she found herself surrounded by a cloud of purple smoke where saw the room in front of her now appearing to be larger than usual and trapped in a glass tube where she turned around to see Regina smiling back at her with a malicious grin with Rumpelstiltskin staring back her then at the queen.

“You are starting to test my patience Regina. Get her out now!”

“No I won’t, it appears the only way I could have gotten your attention was to take the maid and now I am wondering why wasn’t it done sooner.”

Rumpelstiltskin look at Belle. If only he had his magic back, he would get her out of there, punish Regina and send her back to her father perhaps with a spell where she would forget her time living with him. Anything he could do to make her safe once again. He could barely teleport and should he stand straight to Regina, his former apprentice will discover his current predicament which would make her actions even more unpredictable.

“Give me the bottle and I won’t turn you into toad for a month” he demanding while trying to focus away from Belle.

“Then hand me the potions and I will let her out. I don’t see why we are coming to this Rumpel, she is only a maid after all.”

“Let me out!”

Belle continued banging on the tube but no one listened to her when Regina decided to move the bottle back and forth leaving Belle nauseous from the constant movement. She could see Rumpelstiltskin focusing on Regina giving her the impression he was enjoying seeing her being used as leverage.

“Your little pet probably needs to feel more at home.” Shouted Regina when Belle felt something prickling her head looking up to find the bottle was now raining sand.

She continued pounding on the glass screaming to be let out hoping someone would finally listen to her. Please Rumple, I know you can use your magic. Just believe please.

The sand continued pouring in at a quicker rate leaving it up to her neck when Belle started to close her eyes as she felt a sudden drop on her which she landed on the floor with the glass shattering all around leaving the maid coughing and breathing out any sand she might have inhaled.

She started breathing when she felt a hand go over her back patting her in reassurance. Belle turned finding Rumpelstiltskin looking at her as scared as he did the day he had cried to her about losing someone. Gone was all the stoic indifference he placed in front of Regina and showed now was worry for her.

“Where is The Queen?”

Rumpel pointed to Belle seeing a toad standing over Regina’s clothing instantly teleported away from them.

“I don’t know what I did; all I thought about was getting you out of harm’s way and wanting Regina punished.”

Perhaps he does care after all.

“Thank you.” She smiled.

“It’s of no consequence” Rumpelstiltskin waved it off, “good help is sorely hard to find nowadays and how else can I find time to break someone else in while trying to get my magic back.”

She refused to believe him when Belle held back her tears and tightly embracing her master smiling at the realization he placed his arms around her back as well.

I won’t rest until we find a way to get your magic back.  

[jackabelle73]

Pass the happy! 💛 When you get this, reply with 5 things that make you happy and send this to the last 10 people in your notifications 😊

madasateacup said: March 19th 2018, 11:00:00 am · 8 hours ago Pass the happy! 💛 When you get this, reply with 5 things that make you happy and send this to the last 10 people in your notifications 😊

Not only did I get a really sweet message last night, but I got it twice! Thank you so much, ladies! 

OK, five things: 

1. music

2. live theatre

3. books

4. chocolate

5. travel

[theorganasolo]

❤❤

Thank you for the love!

💗💗

[thiswomanshouldbewriting]

The Laws of Love - RCIJ fic for moonlight91

Hi @moonlight91! It’s me, your Santa! I had so much fun with your prompt, and I really hope you’ll like your gift. Since it’s very long (over 19k words) I’m only putting the first paragraphs here on tumblr, and instead of the “read more” there’s the Ao3 link. Is that okay? 

Prompt: A unexpected royal courtship

Infinite thanks to @still-searching47, my beta. 

“This is outrageous!”

After two days of failed negotiations, all the royals gathered around the table knew that screams were bound to start sooner rather than later every morning. What nobody had expected was that, today, it would be Princess Belle of Avonlea to give start to them.

“I don’t see the reason behind your rage, Princess; my offer was legitimate and, I believe, favorable to us both,” King Gaston replied, leaning over the table with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Belle scoffed, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Mulan, her personal guard, putting her hand on her sword’s handle. Not that Mulan had needed to pull her sword out so far, but people tended to respect Belle more when her friend was around looking threatening.

“Do you want a reason, Your Majesty?” she asked him. “Here’s three. First: ever since I wrote you my first letter, you’ve shown me nothing but disrespect. You ignored all my missives pleading for peace, and you’ve been diminishing me and my opinions from the moment we set foot in this castle. Even your poor attempts at complimenting my beauty are disrespectful. If your courtship were honest and proper, you would have bothered to listen to me at least once over the past few days, and you would have realized that I do not enjoy your presence. Yet, instead of taking my no as an answer and accepting my rejection, you’ve kept bothering me, to the point of embarrassing us both on more than one occasion. Second: your men were pillaging my villages and killing my people until a few days ago. Third: I highly doubt that putting myself in the hands of a man who shows so little care for his and my subjects alike is going to help either of our people. So, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t accept your marriage proposal.”

Fourth, Belle thought, you’re the one who sent an assassin after my father, causing him injuries he may not recover from. But she couldn’t prove that, so she kept that reason to herself.

Read more on Ao3. 

[reijiakabutt]

moonlight91 replied to your post: well, I lost three followers but it was totally...

What happened?

i ranted which caused other people to rant and uh, basically five pages of my blog are ranting :'D

[b-does-the-write-thing]

The Unforeseen, Unanticipated and Unexpected: A Tale in Three Parts

Dear @moonlight91  Your prompt was so amazing (I do like a challenge) that I wrote a million different stories before I finally settled on a bit of fairytale hilarity with a little bit of the fake dating trope thrown in just for fun. So, thank you for your patience these last two weeks, and a big thank you to @rumbellesecretsanta for allowing me to help out. 

Merry (belated) Christmas- I do hope you enjoy it!

Read it on AO3

At the seventh stroke of midnight on the seventh day of the seventh month, the Dark One found himself summoned with blood, ash, and bone to a deep, dark grove.

All this pomp and ceremony was unnecessary, but if he didn’t go about setting weirdly-specific conditions, he would be summoned left and right and would never get anything done. As the summoner rose from the make-shift altar, the moonlight bounced silver off the figure revealing the Dark One had been called forth by, by his least favorite thing in this world and the next, a knight.

Said knight was already peering down his nose, clearly unimpressed. Rumpelstiltskin knew the type. He could have shown up as a fire-breathing dragon, and this fool still would have been disappointed. “Do I have the honor- “ the knight’s tone made it clear it was anything but- “of addressing the Dark One?”

Rumpelstiltskin cracked a particular toothy grin. “Present!” he trilled, adding a flick of his wrist for a pop of flair. Knights loved pageantry; it always helped to give them a bit of a show. “And who might you be exactly?”

“I am Sir Gaston LeRoux, the First Sword of Avonlea, and I have need of your aid.”

“And what help could a great warrior such as yourself possibly need with little old me? Can’t be ogre problems. I got rid of those things centuries ago.” Rumpelstiltskin tipped his head back and forth in consideration, mulling it over. “Perhaps you are in need of a magic sword, that sort of thing?”

“I have no need for magic weapons,” the knight managed through a clenched jaw.

Rumpelstiltskin picked a moonflower from a low hanging branch. It must have just bloomed, for the scent was ripe and sweet as he plucked first one petal off and then another, and another- “Then, tis a woman.”

He knew he was right. True, this Sir Gaston was more handsome than the usual lovelorn sort and well aware of his good fortune judging by his perfectly styled locks, but men of the sword were often hopeless when it came to affairs of the heart.

The knight bowed his head in acquiescence. “Thou speakest true. I am betrothed to the Lady of Avonlea, but my heart belongs to another.”

Rumpelstiltskin tsked. How boring. He ever only got involved in this sort of nonsense on the off chance he stumbled upon a case of True Love. And there was no chance this vain peacock knew the first thing about love. “Then, why not just break it off?”

The knight cleared his throat. “It is no easy feat. I have tried, but….the reason I have come to you is...in truth, I suspect my betrothed is, herself, a sorceress. She has bewitched all those around her to do her bidding. Her father has stepped aside to let her rule in his stead. Why even I was briefly under her sway. I fear, not for myself, but what she would do to my love if she ever uncovered my heart is no longer a slave to her spell.”

For the first time in the conversation, Rumpelstiltskin’s interest was piqued. A sorceress was rare. Sure, the occasional noble lady did pick up a spell or two here and there, but more typically, they just had a magical heirloom of sorts at their disposal. Perhaps this wouldn’t be a colossal waste of his time after all. “I do like a challenge,” Rumpelstiltskin acknowledged, already mentally listing possible lost artifacts he might acquire. “What’s in it for me?”

The knight grew even more somber, impressing, considering he had yet to show any actual emotion. “I have heard of the monstrous price you require. So be it.” He inhaled deeply, then as if it pained him to even speak the words, he said,” For the Dark One’s assistance, you shall have my firstborn.”

Oh, great. This again.

Rumpelstiltskin had rather thought he had put an end to this rumor sometime last century. Honestly, he had no idea where people kept getting the fantastical notion that he wanted their children. It had just been the one time, and he hadn’t even been serious then. Besides, any halfway decent looking man was sure to have a litter of bastards in every kingdom. “I hardly want your byblows,” he scoffed. “You shall have my help. But first, I require three truths from your lips, and afterward, a favor.”

The knight hesitated. “You...you’re sure you don’t just want my firstborn child?”

Oh, for the love of - It had been a slow decade and growing more monotonous by the minute. There was no excitement anymore. Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t even recall the last time he had been called upon to partake in some great struggle between the forces of good and evil. It was just the same thing day in and day out. What he wouldn’t give for a good war right about now...

Rumpelstiltskin snapped his fingers, and a rather long, intricate scroll appeared, the terms of the deal neatly inscribed upon it. “Three truths and a favor. Do we have a deal?”

These were words that could change a life forever, especially when said by the Dark One himself. Only the truly desperate or truly deluded ever agreed to them, and the man before him did not appear desperate.

As anyone could have predicted, the fool agreed to the terms of his demise without so much as reading the fine print. There, in the heart of some nameless swamp, the knight committed to his ruin. He finished signing his name with a flourish, only for it to shift and change in a shimmer of light and magic.

“Gaston LeGume,” Rumpelstiltskin read aloud. He bared his fangs in a mockery of a smile. “My, my. A baseborn son of a landless farmer has styled himself the First Sword of Avonlea.”

As expected, his companion’s mood darkened in an instant, a hand descending to the hilt of his blade. “I warn you, sir- do not mock me!”

Rumpelstiltskin almost wished the knight would draw his sword. It had been ages since he had turned anyone into a frog. But business was business, and he was confident he could not only profit here but have a little fun with this destined-to-be bullfrog. So, he simply wiggled his fingers, adding in a giggle for good measure.

(That always threw these types off.)

“Touchy, touchy,” he admonished. “What do I care about your birth? You owe me three truths, and the first one has now been collected. Count yourself fortunate. Now, for the second truth, who is this paragon of beauty that has awoken you from the sorceress's spell?”

Gaston hemmed, and he hawed, but the magic got the truth from his lips in the end: Princess Allissa Óir, the only heir to the throne, riches, and lands of the great kingdom of Ormiston. Gaston waxed on a bit about her beauty, grace and the usual nonsense men said about women they barely knew before Rumpelstiltskin cut him off to ask the question that truly mattered. The third and final truth: “And this paradigm of a woman- does she love you as well?”

The knight clutched passionately at his breast again to drive the point home. “Most ardently. Her father has even blessed the union.”

No wonder this fellow had gone to such desperate lengths as to summon the Dark One. With just his good looks and silver tongue, the son of some carrot farmer had transformed himself to the next king of the most powerful kingdom of the age. There was just one thing in his way, his betrothed, the Lady Belle Levasseur of Avonlea.

The Dark One knew Avonlea; it was a minor holding on the edges of Ormiston. Which explained why the false knight could not just disappear into the night and emerge as a king. The two lands were neighbors, and if the Lady Levasseur was indeed capable of magic, the new King and Queen of Orimson would pay dearly for their marriage.

Yes, yes, an almost interesting case. A king in his pocket would do nicely. After all, Rumpelstiltskin had been purposefully vague on what “a favor” entailed. First, he had to deal with the one responsibility that fell to him: removing Lady Levasseur from the equation.

It was best to get it over. So, Rumpelstiltskin made his way straight to the small fort that the inhabitants of Avonlea called a castle. It was an odd, misshapen thing with a sloped roof tower by the gatehouse that looked like someone had been drunk when designing it and even drunker when building it. The rest of the hold appeared stable enough, though there was not one taller than an adolescent ogre amongst the five turreted towers.

There was a light in the gatehouse, but the lone watcher was none the wiser of the wolf lurking in the shadows. To ensure it stayed this way, Rumpelstiltskin swept his hand up and over his head, and oblivion helpfully draped itself about his shoulders, rendering him as visible as a spiderweb in the dark.

Inside was no better in terms of architecture. Every wall, both exterior and interior, was composed of an assortment of gray cobblestones, held overhead by low hanging wooden beams that even someone of his low stature would risk walking straight into. Though he was loath to call this hovel anything more, the inhabitants of the castle had done their best to make the place look respectable. Rich tapestries hung in strategic spots, and the candelabras upon the wall were pure gold, equipped with beeswax candles that had been neatly wicked.

In a residence of this size, it was easy enough to spot the Lord’s Tower. It stood in the center of the courtyard; a royal insignia stamped helpfully upon the wooden doors. A simple snap of his fingers and the doors were gone.

It was easy enough to make doors disappear, but he had not quite determined how to handle the disappearance of the lady herself. For to ensure his end of the bargain was met, she would have to be removed. Perhaps he could turn her into a swan; that had been rather popular last century. Or a sleeping curse was always an option. The lady could stay young forever, and perhaps after a hundred years or so, some prince would wake her with true love’s kiss. Oh, there were endless options. All of them were as easy as the right words and a snap of his fingers-

He just had to find the lady first.

Because despite the hour, she was not in her chambers.

Her bed had been slept in or at least laid upon. The windows had been drawn and shuttered, and the fire had dimmed to embers. He stood in the doorway for a moment, considering the scene, when he noticed a small drop of wax right inside the door. He shifted and then spotted another drop, a larger one out in the hallway. Both were hardened but not scuffed. Not fresh, but made this night.

To his left, there was a staircase descending back down from which he had come. To his right, a long hallway. Had the lady gone to visit a lover? How droll. Perhaps he could simply expose them, allowing Gaston to annul the betrothal and marry his princess without penalty. It was hardly titillating, but Rumpelstiltskin had long ago learned to keep his options open…

The hallway dead-ended into another door, no doubt the Lord’s Chambers, judging by the heavy snoring emanating from it. To his left, there was another staircase, but this one ascended. And there was a faint drop of wax on the third stair.

He followed it to the top of the turret, only to find one last door. This one was ajar, and from within, a light was burning. The tip of a turret was always a popular spellcasting spot, but there was nothing he could sense in the way of magic. Nor was there any sound of passion, no whispered words or bubbling potions- just silence—a conundrum.

He paused, considering for a moment. This task was proving to be a bit of something different. If pressed, he would almost admit he was enjoying himself. He made a careful note to keep the door from so much as making a squeak lest it announce his entrance.

But of all the things he might have imagined, he could not have predicted he’d find himself in a makeshift library of sorts. The rounded room had books piled along the walls, large and small, with spines of every color, carefully stacked in orderly rows. There was no fire to keep the night’s chill at bay or brighten the darkness, nor was there any tapestries or rugs to make the room inviting.

Besides the hundreds of books, there was just a single desk with a candle nearly burnt to the last. There was a lone cloaked figure at the desk, but they had fallen asleep, their head upon the desk’s surface, dead to the world. There were no cauldrons, no familiars, not even a vial of something foul. The only clue to the figure’s identity was a mass of auburn curls spilling out across the desk from beneath the hood.

He made his way closer. The floorboards silent; knowing better than to so much as creak underneath his weight. Outside, an owl hooted as if sensing a fellow predator. The call was followed by the sound of wings as it swept down from the roof upon its helpless prey down below-

And just as the Dark One reached out his own talons to squeeze around the neck of the sleeper, she stirred. He prepared for a gasp or even a scream- but he was not, however, prepared to find a dagger pressed into the underside of his jerkin.

“Another move, and your entrails will be on the floor.” The dagger pressed deeper as his “prey” slowly stood. She was a head shorter than him, but the light of the almost extinguished candle was too meager for him to make out her features. He could only see the fine-boned hand currently wielding what looked like to be a letter opener.

As annoying as it was to find himself in such a predicament, he had to admit it was rather masterfully done. If he were any mere ruffian, he would be entirely at her mercy. But the Dark One was not in danger of something so trivial as a dagger in the dark. He snapped his fingers, and in a heartbeat, her weapon turned into a single red rose.

It’s thorns bit into her white-knuckled fingers, drawing first blood. She hissed in surprise, dropping the flower to bring wounded fingers up to her mouth. “Magic,” she mumbled around her hand, sounding rather impressed. She lowered her hand with a sigh. “He must have paid a pretty penny. It’s almost flattering, truth be told.”

Rumpelstiltskin chose to ignore the insinuation he could be bought with something as trivial as money. As if he needed gold.

He whispered a simple charm and a twist of his finger; the candle burned back to full life. “You know for what purpose I have come?” he demanded. The lady nodded, and in doing so, her hood shifted and finally slid down to her shoulders.

Rumpelstiltskin was rather lucky he had not dropped the cloaking spell yet, as he found himself at an utter loss for words. This was the woman Gaston was spurning? He understood the man had been ambitious, but good lord, was he blind? In his long lifetime, Rumpelstiltskin had seen the great beauties of lore, the ones who the bards still sung of- none of them had ever struck him as half as lovely as the woman before him. Her features were delicate, classical, and yet there was a strength in the set of her jaw and intelligence in her manner that set her apart from the usual vapid emptiness that so often accompanied the truly beautiful.

She laid the rose upon the desk, subtly casting her eyes in his general direction. “Of course. You’re not the first to come. I wasn’t naive enough to think he’d stop trying.” If she was afraid, her eyes didn’t betray her. She looked more put-out than anything. “You’re the first with magic, though,” she added, in what sounded oddly like a compliment.

He held the cloaking spell in place. He wanted answers, and if the Dark One were to materialize before her, he was not sure Lady Belle would continue cooly discussing her brushes with death. Well, she might. This did not seem like a woman prone to hysterics, but he wasn’t taking that chance quite yet.

(He really loathed hysterics.)

“Why wait for death? Why not use the magic you possess-”

She began to laugh. “Wait- magic? Magic I possess- Is that what he’s telling people now?” To his complete befuddlement, she collapsed back into the chair, wiping away tears of laughter. “Me! Magic!” She fought to regain some iota of self-control but was failing miserably. “Oh, that’s a good one. As if I wouldn’t turn him into a toad first thing-”

“He’d make an impressive bull-frog.”

She made a genuinely horrendous noise like two gears grinding, and he realized she was laughing. “He would, wouldn't he?” she managed through laughter. “I can just see him sitting on the side of the lake, all puffed up.” She helpfully mimicked this by puffing out her chest and filling her cheeks full of air.

He had somehow completely lost control of this encounter. There was nothing to do for it. He discarded the cloaking spell, and her laughter died in her throat. “Oh,” she breathed, eyes widening. He was gratified. Most ladies tended to faint, scream or try and attack him, so this was at least a nice change of pace, if nothing else. “Oh. You’re-”

He sneered. “That’s right. So, if you are quite done laughing- you should know I have struck an agreement with your betrothed. But-” and here he raised a finger, “figuring as I’m in a good mood at the moment, I shall gift you a boon. You may choose your fate.”

His anger rarely ran hot. This self-control had served him well, allowing him to contrive and dole out some truly horrendous forms of revenge in his long life. Gaston would become king. He would rule, safe in the knowledge that he had gotten away with it, that he, a lowborn knight, had hoodwinked the most powerful creature that had ever existed. Only then, would the Dark One drop the Lady Belle back into play, reveal Gaston’s true nature, take all that he had gained, and leave him in the dirt. Possibly as a bull-frog. He’d have to see how he felt in a decade or so. There was nothing quite like a fate delayed. Ask Oedipus.

“You have three options. The first is that of the air. You shall live as a swan for a decade and a day, free to roam the world as you see fit. The second is of the earth. I shall turn you into a statue, and leave you here to watch over your people for a decade and a day, and on the second day, the sun shall rise upon you as a human once more-”

Just as he was about to explain the fire option, which was an excellent spell that involved the sun’s rising and setting- she, to his utter and complete astonishment, raised her hand. “If I might-”

Oh, for Nimue’s sake-

“Is all of this necessary? I have no interest in marrying Gaston. His precious princess is welcome to him.”

He sucked his teeth. This woman was making it impossible to get anything done around here. “Then, why, pray tell, is he trying to kill you?”

She made a sweeping gesture as if encompassing everything around them. “For Avonlea! Why do you think- Ugh!” She pinched her brow, and he could hear her counting to ten under her breath.

He hadn’t needed to ask. He was well aware of how these things worked. With Belle out of the way, Gaston would claim there had been a marriage. The elderly Lord of Avonlea would soon pass either from a broken heart or a knife in the back, and then Gaston would be Lord and Ruler of Avonlea, a fitting husband for a neighboring princess. Their union would unite the two lands...and Ormiston would continue to grow and prosper.

There was no earthly way that the knight had thought of this himself, which meant the King of Ormiston had gotten someone else to do his dirty work. Rumpelstiltskin ground his teeth. He had been played for a fool.

But a deal was a deal. He’d make sure they’d all pay in kind, but the fact of the matter was...this Belle would have to first pay the price.

“You can no longer remain here as the lady of this land.”

“Fine,” she huffed, standing abruptly. “I have to go away for- what was it? A decade and a day? Fine, so be it. I’ll go with you then. Surely, you need….I don’t know some sort of assistance. You have a castle, don’t you?” He opened his mouth, but she did not need an answer to continue the conversation. “Wait- no. Hold on, answer me one question. The deal- was Avonlea a part of it?” He mutely shook his head. “Oh, good. Here’s what we’ll do-”

And then, she laid out in very clear detail her master plan.

It was beautiful in its simplicity, calculating and cunning in its execution, and nearly diabolical in terms of vengeance. By the time the sun rose upon the Lady of Avonlea and the Dark One, a new alliance, had been forged. One that would change the landscape of the world forever.

It went as thus. On the evening of the eighth day, at the eighth hour at the eighth minute, the Dark Lord came (back) to Avonlea. His arrival was not expected at the pre-nuptial feast of Sir Gaston LeRoux and Lady Belle Levasseur, so his appearance was met with (alas) hysterics.

“I hear there is to be a wedding,” Rumpelstiltskin crackled. He rubbed his hands together briskly, clapping them at the end in glee for good measure. “I love weddings.”

Gaston was quite taken aback, but he rallied to put on a good show. He drew his blade, proclaiming loudly and for all to hear that he would protect his lady love. As for the bride, she simply sat in her seat, finishing a custard while an older man with a halo of white hair tugged at her sleeve, urging her to flee.

“Begone, foul beast!” Gaston roared, but he was slowly backing away from the dais, leaving the lord and lady of the castle unprotected. Not that anyone noticed. The entire hall had fled or was cowering under trench tables lining the room. “I shall strike you down before I let you so much as gaze upon my fair lady.”

“Pretty words for a pretty boy,” Rumpelstiltskin cooed up at him. He took another step, baring his teeth in a smile. “I came to allow you to mend your mistake, Lord Maurice.”

“My-my-” The old man was stuttering, white with fear, but he had not let go of his daughter’s arm.

“I had rather thought my wedding invitation must have gotten lost,” Rumpelstiltskin supplied helpfully, starting to pick at imaginary lint on his sleeve. “But then I started to think perhaps I wasn’t invited-”

“You were not!” The knight demonstrated a few fancy parries, and then with a little fancy footwork, he danced his way to the opposite side of the Dark One, blocking the remainder of viewers from the rulers of Avonlea. “Begone from this place at once!” Gaston crowed and had the audacity to wink. The fool, he was still playing checkers; they had moved onto chess.

Rumpelstiltskin waved his arm in a lazy arc, and the knight-who-would-be-king was stopped dead in his tracks, frozen with his sword raised overhead in a rather wickedly uncomfortable position. “Now, then, where were we? Ah, yes. I’m sure it was not your intention to purposefully slight me, was it, Lord Maurice?”

The older man’s jowls were quivering, mouth opening and closing with no sounds coming out. Belle took the opportunity to rise, placing herself pointedly between her father and her conspirator. “There was no slight meant, sir,” she assured him. In the light of the candelabras overhead, her golden dress glowed warm and bright. “What can we do to atone for this grievous oversight?”

A few of the party-goers were starting to creep out from beneath the tables and from behind pillars, their self-preservation losing out to their curiosity as he knew it would. Happened every time.

“You know, I’d rather like a wedding of my own, come to think of it.” He turned to the gathered, huddled masses. “Good people of Avonlea, I shall spare your lands from pestilence and pandemonium on one condition.”

“Good heavens, but name it, sir!” Lord Maurice exclaimed. “Anything and everything I have in my power to give is yours!”

Rumpelstiltskin whipped around, a huge grin spreading across his face. She had worried things might not go according to plan, but he had told her it would be easy. People were so predictable. Well, most of them. The ones not named Belle, at least.

“A bride!”

The entire congregation moaned in horror, and Lord Maurice collapsed in his chair.

“But-but-but-”

They had worked it out carefully; each knew their lines as well as each other’s - but Rumpelstiltskin always did love a bit of improvisation. “Let’s see,” Rumpelstiltskin sang, already descending the dais towards a group of young women huddled in a corner. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

The girls, predictably, descended into sobs. They clutched at each other, but he turned away sharply, peering under a table at two serving wenches. “And who do we have here?”

One screamed and started to push the other at him.

“Enough, sir.” Belle had descended after him. “ As I am the only bride here, and it was my wedding which so slighted your honor, ” with a court curtsy, she prostrated herself before him, “I am the only one suitable.”

When Belle had suggested this ploy, Rumpelstiltskin had nearly swallowed his tongue. She made it clear she had no interest in marriage, and while she would like nothing more than to roam the world to explore new and far-flung places, her place was here in Avonlea, and if she could, she was honor-bound to remain. As a married woman, wife to the most powerful creature in the world, she could do just that.

After nearly an hour of debating, threatening and whining had not changed her mind; he had finally relented. Rumpelstiltskin would be free to come and go in the decades the lady lived, and Belle would be free to do as she liked as Lady of Avonlea.

The terms of his deal with Gaston would be met, with his betrothal to Belle broken beyond repair. Of course, without Avonlea to bring to the table, Rumpelstiltskin rather doubted a crown was in Gaston’s future, but as Belle had so cleverly seen- Avonlea had not been part of the bargain.

That was why you always read the fine print.

“Done!” Rumpelstiltskin proclaimed, and taking her hand, he helped raise her to her feet. Around them, the crowd began to whisper and moan, a few of the ladies having fainted. Belle met his gaze, bright blue eyes twinkling in mischief. Rumpelstiltskin realized he hadn’t known what color her eyes were, but he was reasonably positive he would never forget again. “We shall be married here, and now, that is unless anyone objects?”

“Belle!” her father moaned. “My dear girl-”

“It’s fine, Papa,” she assured him, but she never took her eyes off Rumpelstiltskin. “I know what I’m doing.”

There was utter conviction in her voice. Rumpelstiltskin had to suppress a shiver as he was still holding her hands. Some little voice in the back of his head was starting to wonder if he was way over his head in this after all, but he ignored it.

There was a clatter of steel on stone as the spell containing Gaston dissolved. The knight pitched backwards, down the stairs, and onto his back. There were gasps, and the crowd began to murmur, even louder this time as their favorite son, and would have been lord raised himself to his feet.

His beautiful face was twisted in rage. “WE HAD A DEAL!” he bellowed, already charging at them. He swung his broadsword, fully intent on cutting them both down where they stood. Rumpelstiltskin instinctively drew Belle to his side, sheltering her from the swing even though a crook of his finger was all it took for the Dark One needed to send the sword spinning into the air.

Even weaponless, Gaston was not cowed. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go!” he railed, far too lost in his rage. His perfectly styled hair fell into his face as he thrust a finger at them. “We had a deal, Dark One. She was to die, and Avonlea was to be mine! I was going to be the king, you-”

Now, the words died in his throat as the murmurs of the crowd swelled into a furious chorus. It appeared the First Sword of Avonlea might have been well-loved but not more than their lady.

“Scoundrel!” an older woman called out, ignoring her husband’s attempt to pull her back behind the safety of a suit of armor. “Blackguard!”

Belle took charge. Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t realized he had still been holding her tightly to his side until, with a squeeze of his hands, she stepped out of his arms and towards the man who wanted her dead. “Sir LeRoux, you are to leave this hall and this land at once. Return to your master of Ormiston and tell him Avonlea has a new lord. But first, I believe it is only fitting that you bear witness to our union, seeing as you had a rather large hand to play in its arrangement.”

“You b-”

Gaston did not get to finish those words. His hands, already reaching out for Belle’s neck, went to his own throat as invisible hands cut off the oxygen. There was no humor in Rumpelstiltskin’s voice now, all acting had gone out the window. “That is my bride you are speaking to, sir. Have a care what you say, or I will feed your tongue to the dogs.”

As Gaston struggled to breathe, Belle turned to a portly gentleman who was tightly wedged between his seat and the table. “Good Uncle Bartholomew, will you read the bans?”

The man looked from Belle’s calm and collected face to Gaston’s purple one, to the Dark One. Then, he turned to where Lord Maurice sat, still collapsed in his chair upon the dais. “My lord?”

“Belle, my dear, surely we can-”

“Papa,” her voice was steel. “I’ve made my decision.” She half-turned to Rumpelstiltskin. “All of you have borne witness to Sir LeRoux’s words. On the eve of our wedding, he has plotted my death to take over Avonlea as his own. If the price for my life and the prosperity of our lands is to wed the Dark One, who has saved me though he may not have known it at the time- then so be it. It is a price I will happily pay for you and all of Avonlea.”

“Here, here,” came a voice, and another echoed this and then another. The people closest to them were still eying Rumpelstiltskin warily, but with Gaston now on his knees, no one was daring to make too big a fuss.

In the end, the bans were read. It was an odd wedding. The bride’s father cried the entire time, the guests were somber and morose, and the man who should have been the groom was prone on the floor, barely able to breathe, much less object when that part of the bans was read aloud.

As for the bride and groom...Well, Rumpelstiltskin had been married once upon a time, and while this was in name only, the usual flutter of anticipation was in his belly, and he couldn’t quite help the lopsided grin on his face. He would tell anyone who dared ask it was all an act, but in truth, he couldn’t help smiling at his bride, who was positively beaming at him like a cat who caught the canary.

The guests would tell anyone who would listen (and everyone wanted to hear the tale) they had never seen a happier bride. Others would swear the groom looked almost nervous, but no one believed the Dark One could be nervous.

Gaston fled to Ormiston, only to be flogged, denounced to a hedge knight, and banished from the kingdom forever. That was the last of Gaston they ever heard of, and the princess of Ormiston married some other lordling’s second son who had more interest in farming than war. Rumpelstiltskin always denied he had a hand in it, but after that, Avonlea and Ormiston’s kingdoms were at peace.

As the bans concluded, and after Gaston had long made a run for it, Rumpelstiltskin was walking his new bride out towards the Lord Tower to her chambers. He would lock them both inside and then depart back to the Dark Castle, returning in the morning, and rinse and repeat for the remainder of the fortnight to ensure no one challenged the union. “So,” Belle said, her arm neatly in the crook of his own. “Told you it would work.”

“Yes, yes,” he grumbled. “Your clever plan has left you wed to the most fearsome creature in the world. Just wait. Scores of knights will show up to defeat the evil dragon and rescue the fair lady. You simply tell me which one you like, and I’ll play dead so you two may run off into the sunset. Do we have a deal?”

Belle considered this for a moment, tipping her head back and forth. Then, her blues eyes twinkling as bright as the stars overhead, she said, “No. I’m afraid I never much cared for courtiers. Besides, being a married woman comes with some advantages. No one can tell me what to do anymore, and if anyone gets too out of hand, I have a husband to sic on them. No, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. I’ll remain wed as long as you don’t behave too beastly.”

He shook his head at her, but internally, found he was rather pleased. “I’ve been told I’m incorrigible,” he warned. “Impossible and ill-mannered.”

As the lock on her door swung shut, she simply grinned at him and quipped, “I do like a challenge.”

--

If you were wondering, it took Belle five months and five days, but she finally got it through to her husband that she was perfectly happy being his lawfully wedded wife. He relocated permanently to Avonlea having fallen very much in love with his wife, though it took her seven months and seven days to make him understand she felt the same way and was very much ready to be his lawfully bedded wife, but that dear reader is another story.

(and as always a big thank you to @prissyhalliwell for being a wonderful friend/sounding board0

[mariequitecontrarie]

Sending many hearts to you!!!

I love you because you’re my dear friend. I love your Rumbelle cover art and manips--you’ve made some beautiful ones that have inspired me when I was trying to push through a story and having a hard time. I love your cerebral approach to fandom. I love your love of classic Hollywood. Also your precious face. *mwah*

Send me a ❤️ and I will tell you why I love you/your blog!

[emospritelet]

How do you sleep at night after presenting angst? 😊

Same as I sleep every night.  Very badly.  In that I have terrible insomnia, none of which is affected by angst :)