#FRIENDLY REMINDER TO ALL RUMBELLERS

[woodelf68]

@rumplefloofywoobiestiltskin reblogged your post and added:

omg nO ��

Since you DARED me, I’m going to save the idea in my drafts and see if I can do anything with it for Fluffapalooza this year. No promises, but we’ll see. 

[ouatfandomawards]

Friendly Reminders!

We need the Tumblr url of your nominees in order to include them!  We also need the url of any fics/fanart you want to nominate!

Sadly we have received a few nominations in the last few days that we cannot find any fics or fanart for, and we really want to include them!  Please, if you sent in a nomination recently without including the information requested, please do so again!!

(The info we had to go on for the one nominations was Swan Queen/loosely-bound - if anyone can help us out?)

[rumpledgoldenweaver]

A Weekend Away

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling February prompt “I think we’re lost”. Also @fluffapalooza if it’s still open :) Read it on my blog: https://earlyrisingwriting.home.blog/2021/02/14/a-weekend-away/

An opportunity arises for the Gold Boys to spend time together away from Storybrooke’s prying eyes.

Malcolm Gold – he’d adopted his son’s cursed surname, Stiltskin didn’t seem right, it only served to remind him of the anger he’d felt when naming his baby boy. He didn’t want anything to do with the name Peter Pan any more, Gold was a fresh start – was beginning to rue the day he’d agreed to joining his rapidly expanding family for a weekend at Rumple’s forest cabin. It’s like the tree houses in Neverland Neal had explained but on the ground. It’ll be fun Papa, his son had told him through obviously gritted teeth, Malcolm hadn’t missed the discreet elbow to the ribs Rumple had taken from Belle as she’d added that it would be an opportunity to talk away from the scrutiny of the towns folk. Henry had kept a commendable straight face at that remark considering she was referring to at least half of his family. Malcolm liked Belle. She was honest, trusting but not to be crossed. Just what his son needed to keep him in line. It was mainly because of her he’d agreed to come along.  

Malcolm had also been grateful to Belle for her advice regarding clothing in this new land. Although Rumple’s suits looked sharp, he didn’t want that many layers. Neal’s clothes were a bit too casual so he settled on trousers Henry had called Chinos, shirts with buttons, thin jumpers and boots called Timberland. Today he was particularly glad of the boots. Rumple had used magic to transport all the necessary clothes, food etc to the cabin, leaving Malcolm, Neal and Henry free to arrive on foot. Henry had been so excited at the thought of a hike through the forest with his Dad, no one had the heart to object.

“I think we’re lost” Malcolm tried to get his bearings however the trees all looked the same, he had no idea how far into the the forest they were.

“Lost Boys” sniggered Neal. Henry snorted which made his father laugh even more.

“Following the leader, the leader, the leader” sang Henry “We’re following the leader…”

“Wherever he may go” Neal joined in, the two of them dancing round in a circle.

“Very funny”

“You have no idea” laughed Neal “Have you seen the Disney film about Peter Pan yet?”

“The what?” Malcolm was still bemused by the popular cultures of the world he now lived in even though he’d got a better grasp of how it actually worked.

Henry grinned the kind of wicked grin Rumple would have been proud of “You’ll love it Gramps, especially Hook”

Neal’s eyebrows rose at the use of Gramps in relation to Malcolm

“What? I call Rumple Grandpa and Malcolm didn’t like Great Grandpa so Mum suggested Gramps”

“Which Mum?” though Neal had his suspicions

Henry didn’t answer but the glint in his eye was enough. Emma had an evil sense of humour.

“One of you must have been to this cabin before?”

“Neal shook his head “I arrived in town not long before the trip to Neverland but Papa and I weren’t exactly on friendly terms back then”

“I haven’t been either, I didn’t know Grandpa was my Grandpa and my mums weren’t about to let me hang out with The Dark One”

“Wonderful”

Neal looked around for minute or two, then as if some secret signal had been given he made an abrupt turn and set off down a path “Come on. It’s this way”

~

“Rumple will you please stop fussing. We have enough food to survive a small siege. There is no need to summon more”

“Have you ever fed a twelve year old boy? If his appetite is anything like Bae’s at that age then…” he felt a lump rise in his throat.

“Rumple?”

“Then I want to make sure there’s plenty”

“Oh Rumple” she hugged him hoping to both reassure and pull him out of this melancholy. He pulled her closer, nuzzling her hair, whispering a thank you sweetheart. Belle moved to kiss him and for the next couple of minutes there was a feeling of peace between them.

“Hi Grandpa Hi Belle sorry we’re.. oh…” Henry looked embarrassed at interrupting.  Belle giggled, Rumple never even turned round as he replied “Hi Henry”

“Are they here?” Neal’s voice carried through the door.

“Er...yes…they are.. here…”

“Is something up?” Neal strode into the living room and stopped dead “Oh for pities sake you two get a room!”

Rumple did turn this time “This is my cabin Bae and my room”

“Not in front of the wee ones eh Laddie?” Malcolm chuckled.

“Indeed”

“Rumple..” there was a warning tone to Belle’s voice “remember what we talked about”

“Hmm”

Ever the diplomat Henry piped up “Is there anything to eat? I’m starving”

“Yes of course Henry” smiled Belle “in the kitchen”

The young boy disappeared, returning within five minutes carrying a plate loaded with burger, fries, onion rings, various dips and salad. Rumple gave Belle a told you so look.

“He obviously appreciates his food” Malcolm watched in amusement at Henry giving the burger his full attention.

“Takes after his father” Rumple nodded towards Neal as he too went to the kitchen and brought back a plate piled high.

Conversation remained light hearted as they ate, comments about both Neal and Henry having hollow legs because of their hearty appetites. Rumple found he was nearly enjoying himself. Nearly being better than not at all as Belle reminded him earlier.

“Where on earth did all the food come from anyway?” Malcolm asked as he debated which of the many desserts to try.

“I summoned it” Rumple replied reaching for a cupcake.

“Magic” Neal raised a suspicions eyebrow.

“Only to bring it here. It’s not magic food. I’ve paid Granny’s chef triple his wages to cook a steady supply especially for us”

“Fair enough” Neal took a satisfied mouthful of cake.

“More tea anyone?” Belle stood up and began collecting the various cups and mugs strewn around the room

“Coffee if you have it please”

“Of course Bae, I’ll put the pot on. Coffee has it’s own magic Dearie” he twirled his arms, turned on his heel and practically skipped out after Belle.

The expression on Henry’s face was priceless.

~

When everyone had eaten their fill, plates, cups and cutlery washed, dried and put away by hand not magic Rumple keenly pointed out, Henry suggested they watch a film. Malcolm being particularly interested in the idea of a a “moving book” being shown on something called a TV screen. Then began the debate over which one to put on. Whilst there wasn’t a great deal of choice amongst the DVD’s at the cabin, Rumple would be happy to summon whichever was decided on. Mostly it was left to Neal and Henry as they had the widest knowledge of such things. It seemed to Malcolm to be a very complicated process.

“Nothing over a PG”

“Awww Dad! I’m twelve! I can watch..”

“No. Your Mothers would find a hundred ways to kill me, bring me back to life and kill me all over again if they found out you’d watched anything remotely inappropriate”

“Grandpa would protect you”

“Oh no no no” laughed Rumple “Do not bring me into this. I argued with both of them over many things but even I have limits”

“What about that.. Disney thing you mentioned on the way here? Would that be allowable?”

All eyes turned to Malcolm.

“You mean Peter Pan?” Henry looked sceptical.

“Yeah.. that. I’d like to see it”

Rumple and Belle exchanged a look before he got up and went into the main bedroom. There followed the sound of keys turning in locks and a safe being opened.

“You keep Disney DVD’s in a vault Papa?”

“Along with a few other items I was unsure about at first yes”

“Such as?”

“Such as none of your business son” he walked back into the living room brandishing the disc “You can do the honours Bae”

It could, Belle mused to herself long after everyone else had retired for the night, have gone a lot worse.  For instance everyone agreed that the physical resemblance between the cartoon and the person was actually rather accurate. They had all laughed like drains at Captain Hook. Belle honestly thought she’d have to give medical attention to Rumple and Malcolm as their hysterics gave way to mighty coughing fits. Neal and Henry sang along with the songs, Never Smile At A Crocodile didn’t go down very well with Rumple at first but he saw the funny side in the end. When it came to Following The Leader, the youngest father and son immediately leapt to their feet and began dancing round the room in a repeat of their antics in the forest earlier.

“So that’s where that song came from” groused Malcolm.

There seemed to be an unspoken agreement to not discuss certain details regarding film versus real life, for that Belle was grateful. She knew the relationships in that room were complicated, messy, quite possibly very unhealthy and could keep Archie Hopper on Rumple’s pay roll for decades. Whilst she believed talking about these issues was healthy, this weekend was not the time or the place. For once no one was arguing, for once certain townsfolk weren’t around to stick their well intentioned (or otherwise) noses in. She wondered if inviting her own father for a weekend here might help ease tensions between him and her boyfriend. Maybe leave it a month or so before she suggested that.

“What are you smirking at?” Rumple came from the en suite,  pulled the bed covers back and climbed in bed beside her. Her eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Don’t you dare Belle” he warned, which was the wrong thing to say because of course she dared.

“Never smile at a crocodile..”

“I’m warning you young lady”

“No you can’t get friendly with a crocodile…” she sang between giggles.

“Right then”

And he proceeded to show her how friendly crocodiles could be when they wanted to.

[timelordthirteen]

In All Things 22/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: A celebration is about to happen, and Belle’s day has many surprises.

Notes: For my August Writer’s Month prompt #5: Come with me. This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but plumbing issues had other ideas. Sorry for posting late, this has been done since last night, but life is being a jerk right now. This is Belle's dress, for those are interested.

[AO3]

Belle slept later than usual the next morning, and awoke to such sounds as she had never heard in her time at Thornhill.

There was a buzz and bustle to the entire house as if the walls themselves were vibrating with energy. She could hear staff passing up and down the main hallway and stairs, a step thumping of shoes and boots, and when she peeked outside, there were men with shovels clearing off the patio space and setting up braziers. Confused, she rang for Astrid and hurried to her washroom, finishing her morning wash in record time.

Astrid came in, hair already falling loose from her cap, with a breakfast tray. “Morning, m’lady.”

“What’s all this?” Belle asked, undoing the braid she usually slept in. “I was going to eat downstairs with everyone else.”

“Oh, they finished over an hour ago,” Astrid said, placing the tray on the table at the other end of the room. “Everyone was up early this morning.”

“I see.” Belle sat down, still combing her fingers through her hair, while her maid poured the tea.

“Will you be wanting lunch here as well, m’lady, or maybe in your book room?” Astrid asked, setting the tea aside and taking a plate of winter berries and apples off the tray. “I think Lord Gold will be eating in the library downstairs, if you’d prefer that.”

Belle huffed. “I would prefer to know what is going on, I feel like I’ve missed out something.”

“Oh!” Astrid’s eyes went wide and she clapped her hands together. “It’s the Solstice, did you forget? There’s a party tonight, and everyone's invited!”

She blinked. “Everyone?”

“Yes! As I understand from Ms. Potts, a few people from Lamton -

“Lamton?” Belle interrupted.

“A small village just over the hill to the east,” she explained. “It’s where most of the supplies come from. And then there will be a friend of Lord Gold’s who comes every year, and all the staff.”

“The staff?”

“Yes, ma’am, Ms. Potts said the Master always insists on the servants celebrating too. That’s why everyone started early, so they can be done in time for the feast. She says they set everything out on two big tables, and everyone eats and drinks whatever they like, all night long.”

Astrid’s enthusiasm seemed to increase with each word, until it bubbled over and she broke into a large grin and spun around, flaring out the wool skirt of her work dress. “Doesn’t that sound just delightful?”

Belle smiled and laughed, feeling her own excitement growing. “Yes, it sounds wonderful!”

After breakfast, she put on her blue dress, an old favorite, and headed downstairs. She wanted to be involved with the preparations in whatever way was required or needed, but after speaking with Ms. Potts and Jefferson, she found there was nothing for her to do. Everything had already been seen to, all the plans made while they were in Avonlea, and she needed only to wait for the festivities to commence. Even Cameron was busy at present, finishing up some papers so he could be free the rest of the day.

She’d never not been involved in planning an event such as this, handling everything from the writing up the order for the food, to sending the invitations. Everything being done without her, and no one needing her made her feel out of sorts, and she retreated to her book room. Tucked into the window seat overlooking the garden, she moped by herself, and wondered if she’d brought anything suitable to wear. It didn’t sound as if it would be quite the grand gala they would have in Avonlea, or at the palace, but she felt she should look her best as the Lady of the estate.

That Gold was inviting some unknown friend was intriguing as well. He hadn’t spoken of anyone in particular, but it seemed silly that he would only have Jefferson and herself to count as friends. Maybe this was someone who was less a friend and more an acquaintance, or perhaps a party he was seeking to do business with and so extended an invitation. Her father had done so numerous times, usually with positive results, though not so often in recent years.

She liked being useful, having something to do each day, and it was hard to get used to things being done for her in her new home. Avonlea would be turned over to her soon, she reminded herself, and she supposed then she would have many more things to do. Maybe even too many. But for now, all she had was her book to read, while the rest of the house ran to and fro.

She wished that Cameron had informed her of the plans for the Solstice, or that she had thought to ask. Last night, when she had already been considering it, would have been the perfect time to bring it up, but there had been more pressing things to discuss. She felt an odd warmth wash over her at the memory of her conversation with her husband. The whole setting had felt intimate and cozy, and it reaffirmed her conviction to trust in him.

Telling Jefferson first hadn’t been a bad idea exactly, but it hadn’t been how she wanted things to go. Once things settled down, and the business with Avonlea was taken care of, she vowed she would sit down with Cameron and tell him the whole story, the embarrassing and personal bits included. He deserved the whole truth, as best as she could tell it, so that he understood what a favor he had done for her in arranging their marriage.

Kissing Cameron, however, had been a strange impulse. In the moment it was the only thing that felt right, that conveyed what she wanted to say with the simplest act. When she’d touched her lips to Jefferson’s cheek, it had been brief and meant entirely as friendly affection. Though she had done the same to Cameron, and meant it in the same way, it had made her flush and jittery the whole way back to her room. His face was warm from the fire, and dotted with the faintest hint of whiskers that pricked her lips and made them tingle. She wondered at his reaction, how his eyes had softened in a way she’d never seen before. He had been entirely open to her in that instant, trusting and accepting; she could have asked for anything, and he would have agreed. It was such a strange sensation, and she didn’t know how to consider it properly.

A hard thump sounded from the corridor, shaking Belle from her thoughts. She climbed down from the niche, but before she made halfway across the room, the doors opened to either side and Astrid came in. Behind her, two men stood in the hallway to either side of a large trunk.

“My Lady,” Astrid exclaimed, “you must come with me!”

“Why, Astrid, what is the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter, but you need to select a dress for tonight.”

Belle blinked in confusion at her maid for at least the third time that day. “I - I was think I’d wear the green with the lace, but -”

“Oh, no m’lady, not one of your old ones,” she admonished, smiling. “One of the new ones!”

“New?”

Astrid came forward and took Belle’s hand, the excitement of the day overwhelming her usual sensitivities regarding her station, and pulled Belle towards the hall.

“A whole trunk full of new things!” she said. “They arrived this morning, just in time.”

“But -” Belle started to say, allowing herself to be led out into the hall and across to her bedroom. “But I haven’t seen a tailor for anything new. We haven’t - I had not -”

The men picked up the trunk by its handles on either end and hefted it behind them, setting it down where Astrid indicated and then dismissing themselves from the room.

“Astrid, what is going on? This whole place is crazy today!”

Astrid beamed at her, unaware she was still holding on to Belle’s hand. “I know! Isn’t it marvelous!”

Belle let out a short laugh and shook her head. “It might be a little better if I stopped feeling like I was having a strange dream.”

Astrid giggled and moved to the trunk, kneeling down to heave it open with what looked like all her strength. It was indeed large, and strapped with thick metal across the top and sides, as though it needed to withstand traveling a great distance. Belle walked up behind her, peering inside, and gasped when the first item was pulled out. Cameron had promised her that she would have some new clothes after she came to Thornhill, that she should have new things in her new home. This must be him following through.

Astrid stood with the dress in hand and turned around. “What do you think?”

The gown was a light blue, a near perfect match for the flowering bushes that lined the carriageway up to Avonlea. The front was covered with intricate ivory lace and bead work that wound its way up the shoulders and over the little cap sleeves. The neckline was very high, going all the way up where it would wrap around the base of her throat with a small collar, but the back was open, exposing several inches of her shoulder blades. Below that the bodice was laced up with a stiff ribbon in a matching color, and was both a way to secure the dress as it was visually appealing.

Belle was speechless.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Astrid asked as she turned the dress and held it up to Belle. “You should try all of them on to decide, don’t you agree?”

She nodded and grinned, taking hold of the dress and pressing it to her front as she met Astrid’s eyes. Astrid wasted no time in shuffling everything into the attached dressing room, and taking all of the dresses out of the trunk to lay over any available chair or surface. There were six in all, including the light blue, in a variety of colors and fabrics. All of them were pleasing to her, though she reserved some of her judgement until she saw them on her body.

Astrid insisted on trying the light blue dress first, commenting that it would match Belle’s eyes as she worked the lacing at the back. The outer layer of the dress was light and sheer, while the one beneath was a shimmery satin, and the skirt looked like it could easily accommodate a petticoat if she chose to wear one. If she didn’t it would still be wide enough for her to walk comfortably.

The silky material slid over her underclothes and down her legs, making her shiver with its feather light touch. The gown fit perfectly, and she marveled aloud at how Cameron would have known what dimensions to give its maker.

Astrid smiled up at her knowingly. “Lord Gold asked me to give him one of your dresses that I thought fit you well, and he took all the measurements himself to send to the tailor. I think they must have used them as a template to make all of these.”

She stared wide eyed at her image in the mirror. The gown was some of the finest tailoring, the likes of which she would expect to see at the royal palace, and nothing like she’d ever worn, even before Avonlea’s financial woes. She looked and felt almost regal wearing it, and worried that it might be too formal and too ornate for this evening’s celebration.

“It’s - it’s beautiful,” Astrid muttered. Then she straightened and stood next to Belle, looking at the reflection in the mirror. “You’re so beautiful, m’lady.”

Belle blushed furiously. “Thank you, Astrid.”

“Ready to try the others?” Astrid asked, smiling and biting her lip.

She nodded readily, and pointed to an empire waist dress in a deep, forest green. “That one next.”

It took them two hours to try all of the gowns, and pair them with various hair clips and jewelry. Ultimately, Belle settled on the first one, the light blue that made her feel so special from the moment she put it on, with a gold and pearl set of combs to pull her hair back from her face, showing off the pair of small teardrop pearl earrings that had belonged to her mother. The simplicity of her accessories wouldn’t detract from the dress, but complement the delicate beading.

She stood in front of the mirror while Astrid put up the new dresses to hang in the wardrobe, turning from one side to the other and admiring the way the skirt moved. The bodice was laced tight, but it didn’t squeeze or restrict her breathing. She thought she would be very comfortable all evening, and hoped even more than there might be some dancing so she would have a reason to twirl about in her new gown. Idly, she wondered if Cameron would like how she looked in her new clothes, and if this is the dress he would have chosen for her to wear tonight.

“M’lady?” came Astrid’s voice from behind.

The maid looked worried and almost sheepish, like Bae when she caught him doing sneaking extra sweet breads or tea cakes.

“Yes?” Belle shuffled around on the dressing pedestal in her stocking feet. “What is it, Astrid?”

“I wanted - I mean - I - I’m sorry.”

Belle frowned and held out her hands, beckoning Astrid closer. “Whatever for?”

“For interrupting you and Mr. Jefferson the other day. I didn’t mean to barge in like that, I - I thought you’d be alone.”

“Astrid,” Belle said softly, taking Astrids hands in hers. “There is no reason to be sorry. You didn’t interrupt anything.”

“But - but you, um, you kissed him.”

She laughed lightly. “On the cheek, as friends, that’s all.”

“Oh…”

“He’s been nice to me, and he’s a good listener.”

“Yes,” Astrid agreed. “He’s a very nice man. So is Lord Gold, I think.”

Belle nodded. “Yes, Cameron is - is very sweet as well.”

“Forgive me, but -” Astrid’s mouth twisted and she squeezed Belle’s hands. “I - I don’t mean to pry, but you don’t - I mean you and Lord Gold don’t - don’t um -”

“Don’t share a bed?” Belle finished for her, immediately flushing with embarrassment.

“Yes, ma’am,” Astrid replied, looking down at the floor. “I know I shouldn’t ask. I”m sorry.”

Of course Astrid would notice. Not once had Belle asked for any of her things to be taken to her husband’s bedroom, or vise versa, and they had never been together when Astrid came in the mornings. She should have known Astrid would expect such a thing, and she hadn’t thought to explain to her that things might be different.

“Don’t be sorry.” She lifted their hands, urging Astrid to look at her. “I should have told you sooner. It’s - it’s not that kind of marriage.” At the maid’s frown, Belle bit her lip. “We’re, um, we’re friends, and - and partners, but we don’t - we won’t - share a bed. Do you understand?”

“I think so, but - I don’t suppose it matters as long as you’re happy.” Astrid smiled at her. “Are you happy, Belle?”

Belle smiled in return, her eyes tearing at the corners. What she had said to Cameron last night was only a half truth. She wasn’t unhappy, far from it. In fact, she felt she was quite the opposite.

“Yes,” she said softly, her throat tightening. “I am very happy.”

[xiolaperry]

The Piano - Chapter 7

Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume.  Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated… (Rumbelling of the 1993 film “The Piano”)

Rating: E (for smut, dark subject matter and violence)

Also available on AO3

--

Tilly had a hard time getting her mother's attention on the way home.

“Mama, I had fun with Emma today!” ... “I showed everyone my cat!” … “When are we going to finish my wings?” … “Mama?” … “MAMA!”

Her mother finally responded, but Tilly was angry. Her mother always listened to what she said, and she didn't like this development at all. She stomped the rest of the way home.

The change that evening confused Gaston. With a furrowed brow, he listened to Tilly's stories of the day spent at his aunt's house. Belle stared at nothing, and made no attempt to enter the conversation. It was strange at first, talking to a child. He told her some anecdotes about the people she'd met that day, and she was interested. Gaston loved attention, and her childish questions and enthusiasm flattered him.

Belle was industrious the next day, keeping her mind occupied and away from thoughts of Mr. Gold. The garden was weeded, clothes were scrubbed, and the floors were washed. Tilly grumbled at all the work. Belle suggested they make a cake, which brightened her mood in an instant.

Gaston didn't notice her clean floors, but he liked the cake, which Tilly took credit for.

As she lay in bed that night, she could not decide if she hoped for rain or sun.

---

After a breakfast of leftover cake, Gaston split kindling for the stove. Tilly skipped and sang as she stacked it for him. Belle occupied herself in the garden until it was time to leave. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, so Tilly joined her. As they walked, Belle reminded her daughter to thank Mr. Gold for his gift.

Gold was pleased to see them both. He liked Tilly; she spoke to him with a friendliness he had not encountered with other children. And with her here, he had an incentive to keep his hands to himself.

“Thank you for the cat, Mr. Gold.”

“You are very welcome.”

“Nicholas and Ava didn't believe me when I told them you made it for me.”

He groaned. After this, his reputation would be in tatters.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine.” There was nothing to be done for it now.

While Tilly frolicked outside, Gold remained seated, not trusting himself to go near Belle while she played. He kept his hands occupied with his knife and a fresh piece of wood.

At the end of the session, Tilly informed him, “There’s a play next week, and I'm in it. I'm going to be an angel with a pretty blue dress and wings. Mama can only come one time next week, she has to help set everything up.”

“Yes, the annual mission holiday play. I almost forgot. Just one day is fine. And you will make a lovely angel.”

---

It was raining. No Tilly today, so there was the possibility of two keys. The anticipation coursing through her was for getting her piano back sooner. That was all. The delicious shivery feeling inside called her a liar.

After tea, she struck two black keys in quick succession, her eyebrow raised in a question.

“Yes, two keys again.”

This time she was prepared for his touch. His hands, gentle on her arms and shoulders, mesmerized her. She reveled in the sensation; it was even more thrilling than she remembered. Events proceeded much the same as the previous time. Until his hands deviated from their earlier route and caressed her breasts.

He tantalized her with the slightest amount of pressure. A butterfly landing on her would have been more forceful, but it reverberated straight down to her core. Her nipples tingled and hardened. How could a light touch be so intense? Did she want him to stop or keep going? She felt his warm exhale on the side of her neck, his nose tracing the shell of her ear. Her breath caught as her body clenched with yearning.

When Gold heard her gasp, he was disgusted with himself. A lecherous beast drooling over a vibrant young woman. She must find him repulsive. He hurried to throw a book on the bench, then busied himself with some tools on the table, keeping his back to her to hide his obvious arousal.

“That's enough for today.” He needed her to leave so he could calm down. He didn't move until the door closed, and her boots thumped down the steps.

Belle's knees trembled with the intensity of the feelings Mr. Gold had called out of her. When she was out of sight of the cottage, she leaned against a tree and closed her eyes.

She had not been with a man since Tilly's father, long ago. He had been her piano teacher, the first man other than her father she had spent any amount of time with, and she was naïve. Her mother had died when she was very young, and a series of governesses had raised her. The last had taught her piano, and her proficiency amazed the household. Maurice hired a piano teacher, and her talent grew by leaps and bounds.

The instructor's attention flattered Belle. He had not forced her; she wanted to please him, thinking he loved her. But the experience was messy, painful, and embarrassing. He had found pleasure in her body, but the act itself disappointed her. When she asked him if this meant they would marry, he quit his post without so much as a goodbye, leaving before Maurice suspected any impropriety.

At first she was heartbroken, then angry. He’d hadn’t loved her, and she’d only been lonely and didn’t love him either. She refused a new teacher; she didn't need one anymore. Her music came from within. And then, to her father's shame, it became apparent that she was pregnant. Maurice threatened to hunt the piano teacher down, but nothing ever came of it.

Was the arousal she experienced when Mr. Gold touched her what sex was meant to feel like? If so, she now understood what all the fuss was about.

---

The rest of her free time that week, Belle helped with preparations for the play.

She spent an informative day with Mary Margaret attaching feathers to sets of angel wings. It was tedious work, and it made their fingers sore. She was certain Cora had assigned them this job on purpose. When Mary Margaret brought out some refreshments, Belle took the opportunity to ask her a question. She wrote her a note: “Why do most people dislike Mr. Gold?”

“Well, David and I haven't had many interactions with him, but I can tell you what I've heard...”

Belle nodded, eager to learn more.

“He owns a lot of property and has tenants. He insists on rent being paid promptly.”

That didn't sound so bad.

“He evicts people with no leniency, charges high-interest rates, and never hesitates to seize the collateral if you can't come up with the money. He'll exploit every loop-hole.”

That sounded worse, but people shouldn't enter a contract without knowing the terms and being prepared to honor them. Exploiting loop-holes was more troubling.

Mary Margaret warmed to the topic. She shifted her seat closer to Belle.

“No-one knows his given name. It's only ever been 'Gold'. Isn't that odd? And he lives out in the forest, alone in that little cottage, and spends more time with the Maori than his fellow settlers.”

Belle understood being odd and an outsider. She didn't consider that a character flaw. She made a motion with her hand to indicate Mary Margaret should continue.

“I was told Mr. Gold used to be like the other translators, making deals with the Maori that worked to our advantage. Now, he always tries to arrange things so the Maori get the better part of the arrangement. Now they won't trust anyone else to negotiate for them. Many settlers feel he should be loyal to his own people, not the natives. David and I think everything should be fair for everyone, of course, but some are very resentful, and think he has too much influence.”

Mary Margaret stirred her tea, considering if there was anything else to add to her story. “And Cora really doesn't like him. She's always polite, but you can tell by the look on her face she wants to strangle him.”

Belle thanked Mary Margaret for the information. She went to bed that night with aching fingers and more curiosity than before.

---

Props were constructed, costumes finished, lines memorized, and finally the day of the performance arrived. Belle wore her best dress, and Gaston wore his finest suit. He looked very handsome, but he should. He'd taken twice as long to get ready, combing and re-combing his hair, polishing his boots, and straightening his cravat.

They carried Tilly's costume. She wanted to wear it right away, but to keep it from getting dirty on the walk, all the children were to get dressed at Cora's home. They left Tilly there to prepare with the other girls. Belle kissed her and wished her the best of luck.

It was strange that the holiday season was warm, she thought as they strolled to the neighboring building, another thing in her new life different from her old one. Tilly didn't care what temperature it was. She loved her angel wings, her friend, and the excitement of stage debut.

Inside, the mission was chaotic. Everyone was here, chatting and laughing while they found seats. Gold put in an appearance each year, seeing it as an opportunity to conduct business or intimidate troublesome tenants. He saw Granny talking to some old acquaintances. He greeted Cora with a smirk. Her eyes narrowed when she saw him, and she said, “Good evening,” through clenched teeth. How he'd enjoyed turning her down when she'd propositioned him after her husband died!

“With your influence of the Maori, and mine over the settlers, the two of us could rule this corner of New Zealand. Think of the power we could have.”

“I'm flattered, but uninterested,” he said, laughing. “Why would I tie myself to a woman who'd rip my heart out the second I turned my back? No, dearie. I'm far better off on my own.”

His remembrances abruptly cut off when he saw Belle. She was radiant, and he could not take his eyes off of her. She was brighter than anything else.

Belle spotted him at the same time. He made his way through the crowd, approaching her and Gaston, and she felt panic. All the air vacated the room. An overlap of the two lives, the one in Mr. Gold's home with her piano and the one with Gaston, was not acceptable nor appropriate. They were separate; they had to be. She was still overwhelmed and confused by the whole situation.

She moved in the opposite direction, sitting down in the first empty seats she found. Gaston followed. Mr. Gold did not take the hint and sat down one seat away from her.

Now she was irritated. How dare he sit there, calm and unconcerned, as she sat here, flustered, between him and her husband? He looked like he didn't have a care in the world. She'd mistaken a man's sexual interest for genuine feelings before. Was that what was going on? At least she knew where she stood with Gaston.

In a fit of pique, she took Gaston's hand in hers, placing them on her lap where Mr. Gold could not miss her display of affection. Gaston looked at her, confused. She patted his hand and gave him her biggest smile, batting her eyes. In her peripheral vision, she saw Mr. Gold noticed her actions, and his face filled with pain. He stayed a few more minutes, then stood and left. She received great satisfaction from her triumph. Until she didn't.

Belle forced herself to focus on the play. Tilly was a natural little actress. Her voice was clear and confident and she didn’t look a bit nervous. Everything else passed in a blur. One person after another introduced themselves. Mary Margaret brought her husband David over, and Granny paid her regards. Cora stopped to make a sniping remark. She was spinning. Why had she reacted with spite? To show herself she had power over Mr. Gold? She knew that already. It was not in her nature to be unkind, and it bothered her. What would happen at their next lesson?

Gaston enjoyed the evening. Everyone complimented him on Tilly's performance. He was told what a pretty step-daughter he had, and how demure and sweet his wife was. He hadn't realized what an asset Tilly could be. She made him look good, and he congratulated himself on procuring such an attractive family. Maybe he'd even let her be in the wedding photo Reverend Hopper would take after the holidays.

---

Gold rode home with a heavy heart. Seeing Belle with her husband made everything real. Why was he tormenting himself this way? She was not his, and she never would be.

He was a fool, but he didn't have to be a villain. He could continue this path with Belle, he could offer enough 'keys' and she might even have sex with him to get her beloved piano and books back. The thought made him ill. How could he do that to her? Why was he putting her in this position? Belle and Gaston looked like they belonged together, even if the man was a self-centered idiot. He was young and strong. He wasn't a crippled, bitter old misanthrope.

And Tilly. She deserved better, too. He'd entertained a fantasy of asking her to help him with his reading, picturing happy afternoons pouring over books. She’d teach him sign language, and he’d surprise Belle with a proper conversation. Embarrassment filled him for his fanciful thoughts. The realization that he was the actual idiot here, not Gaston, depressed him.

He sat and thought long into the night, drinking tea and then whiskey from the chipped cup. When dawn arrived, he knew what needed to happen.

---

Belle was on the path, trudging through the rain to Mr. Gold's house when she came upon the piano carried by Kamira and other Maori men. He gave her a cheeky one-handed salute as they passed. Startled by the turn of events, Belle ran the rest of the way.

Belle burst into the house, door slamming against the wall. Mr. Gold was sitting at the table. Her hands flew, demanding an explanation. He didn't need to understand sign language to grasp the question.

“I have given the piano back to you,” said Mr. Gold, his voice calm. “I've had enough.”

Belle felt dizzy. He had enough? Of what? Her? The music? She made a strangled sound in dismay.

Mr. Gold stood. Disheveled and pale, he appeared to have not slept.

“This arrangement will end with you a whore, and me a monster.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to care for me, but you can't.” He sat back down and poured more whiskey into his teacup. The one she had chipped. “Don't worry. They're returning for your books after they deliver the piano.”

Belle trembled. Her piano was hers again, however her overwhelming feeling was not joy, but rejection.

“Leave.”

She did not move.

“Go on, get out,” he hissed. “And don't come back.”

Belle lifted her skirt and fled.

[violetfaust]

Friendly reminder that on this Xmas Eve 2019

Rumple, Belle, and Gideon are all ALIVE and together, traveling the world.

And while I haven’t seen so much of the world, I do know that my city, New York, is pretty magical this time of year, so that’s where they are, I think. They celebrated Rumple’s birthday a few days ago.

They took Gideon to the holiday train show at the NY Botanical Garden, and to the lantern show at the Bronx Zoo, and to see Santa at ABC Carpet and Home (Rumple, having met the real St. Nick, was underimpressed). They went shopping and ice skating at the Bryant Park Christmas market.

And for New Year’s, they’re going back to Storybrooke and the Pink Palace so they can be there for Alice and Robin’s wedding.

Rumbelle became good friends with them when Curious Archer, Henry and his family, and Rook came to find present Rumbelle so they could tell him how Weaver saved them. Rook gave Rumple weaver’s heart (now that they are uncursed, Rook and Alice can share their hearts). With the addition of Weaver’s, the Guardian’s, heart Rumbelle were able to have a TLK that undid the Dark One forever in the present day.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

[celticheartedfangirl]

My OUAT Rewatch -- S5E11 -- Swan Song

Link to Rewatch Review and Ranking archive

Me getting through this episode . . . . . . . 

So . . . . this is gonna be LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG.  I have time, I have opinions, and I’m not holding back.  Under the cut for length and just a heads up there WILL BE BELLE CRITICISM UNDER HERE.  When I get to that point I will strike out all of the Belle critical stuff like this.  It doesn’t mean I don’t MEAN IT -- I just want to give those who can’t handle Belle being dragged the opportunity to easily bypass that section.  

Are we ready?

Me AFTER I watched this episode, BTW . . . . . . 

So, honestly, as has been the case since this arc crap started, this is a rushed, sloppy, choppy, hacked up episode with a bunch of shit going on, it’s clearly a hot mess of shit, there are OBVIOUS deleted scenes we never saw and never WILL see, and I can totally understand why so many just flat out noped the fuck out of this show at this point.  Because it really is NOT enjoyable and frankly, even knowing what comes, it still makes me stabby.  

But I have to find a way of plodding through this here, so let’s do a point by point order of things, in no particular order:

1.  So Hook murdered his dad and left his little brother an orphan.  Whatta guy!  Honestly, here’s the thing -- all the anti-Rumple folk bitch about how many people he killed, and really I don’t think his body count is higher than Hook’s.  Rumple kills when he’s pissed off, and almost always in a heat of the moment thing (see: Milah, the dudes that used to bully him as a spinner, Tamara).  He doesn’t just go off killing to kill for thrills and funsies and murder trinkets.  Hook has admitted ON SCREEN to killing dozens -- and this was as a mortal with no dark curse whispering in his ear 24/7.  What’s HIS excuse?  

2.  OMG, Emma really just got completely destroyed at this point, didn’t she.  I found a VERY GOOD meta on the destruction of Emma Swan and why CS is such utter bullshit so I thought I’d share it here:

https://celticheartedfangirl.tumblr.com/post/134225913047/lana-ny-swanmills-cs-is-literally-so-terrible

3.  Slight fun side note -- DON’S Mess with OQ, yo!  

From the OFFICIAL Once Upon a Time Twitter!  Happy Endgins!  

Okay where was I . . . . this is what happens when I scroll through late 2015 me . . . ahem . . . 

4.  This would have been the perfect way to keep Zee the fuck off the show forever.  Just saying . . . . . . 

5.  Side note 2: some fun times with December 2015 me live blogging this shitfest . . . . . 

http://celticheartedfangirl.tumblr.com/post/134695062042/any-wagers-on-them-cutting-that-scene-of-belle

Yup . . . they cut it . . . shocking, right?

https://celticheartedfangirl.tumblr.com/post/134695563322/so-hold-up

https://celticheartedfangirl.tumblr.com/post/134694787487/that-was-literally-the-worst-writing-ive-seen

https://celticheartedfangirl.tumblr.com/post/134704968232/rumple-moving-the-darkness-didnt-even-make-sense

https://celticheartedfangirl.tumblr.com/post/135222506932/friendly-reminder-that-killian-was-a-dead-man

6.  Post-episode Adam Horowitz being an absolute DICK to fans on Twitter -- just follow our vision, FUCK your vision, you hack! (Bonus points for a hijacking of this post by some asshole CS fan):

https://celticheartedfangirl.tumblr.com/post/134802058737/rumplegasm-mybittersweetblasphemy

7.  The AMY MANSON saga:

https://celticheartedfangirl.tumblr.com/post/134756133022/amy-manson-deleted-her-retweets-of-ouat-negativity

There are also BTS somewhere of Merida marching Arthur out of Storybrooke that were filmed for this episode.  Remember . . . at the end of The Bear King, Merida promised she was coming for Arthur.  Did that ever happen?  Of course not.  HACKS.  Also Amy did PRESS for this episode and so it’s clear they never even TOLD HER that her scenes for this episode were CUT.  So there’s also that.  HACKS. 

8.  Check out the Lily Sparks review of this episode because it is EVERYTHING:

http://www.tv.com/news/once-upon-a-time-swan-song-review-headed-to-hell-in-a-handbasket-144942941967/

I want to point out specifically, on page 3, what she says about Rumple taking back the Dark One powers:

And then Emma heard all the Parseltongue and followed the sounds to the pawnshop and Rumple was like, "LOL okay you got me, I totally performed a quick spell that somehow cleaved apart the Excalibur and became the Dark One because eff everybody invested in my character. I essentially have a multiple-personality disorder and no one on the writing staff gave me the memo about not trying to convey a genuine struggle while I was playing Rumple these last three years." I'm sorry but this twist was so lazy it infuriated me. I can't believe that shit made it out of a first draft, let alone through studio and network notes.

Which, sadly . . . . . . brings me to Belle and Rumbelle.

9. Belle’s theme song:

Yeah, it’s not gonna get better from here . . . . 

So damn . . . . Belle really was kind of a bitch in this episode, huh?  I mean . . . . at the TIME I was happy for the hugs and kisses and sex but watching it again just . . . DAMN . . . . . 

Also, “For the first time ever you were selfless” GTFO of here!!!!!

For the first time EVER????  GTFO, what kind of shit writing is this???  How did Emilie even deliver that garbage fire of a line with a straight face, and how did Bobby even react to it without a lot of cursing?  Or maybe he did.  We do know that they wanted Rumbelle to bang on the bed in the shop and Bobby put his foot down on that one and they literally created a bedroom set for that 30 second scene because Bobby wasn’t gonna have them film the post-coital scene in the shop.  

So yay for Bobby?  

10.  I wrote this post regarding this episode IN DEFENSE OF RUMPLE -- still stand by every word (there is Belle dragging and I mean DRAGGING in this post -- you’ve been warned):

https://celticheartedfangirl.tumblr.com/post/177022910487/in-defense-of-rumpelstiltskin-in-s5e11

11.  In closing -- A SUMMARY:

https://celticheartedfangirl.tumblr.com/post/135191267572/summary-of-ouat-finale

Here have some fan art:

https://celticheartedfangirl.tumblr.com/post/135246399887/retrogrlfan-there-is-no-reason-for-this

https://celticheartedfangirl.tumblr.com/post/135223382862/retrogrlfan-more-pink-rumple

Points tally:

40 points to start

20 points for 2 Rumbelle hugs

20 points for 2 Rumbelle kisses

5 points for Swan Queen

20 points deducted for BOTH OOC Belle and Rumple nonsense

10 points deducted for Hook & Zelena

Full 25 deducted and I want to give bonus for the Rumbelle sex but . . . . this episode just doesn’t deserve it.  

Total points: 30

Moving on .  . . are we ready?

Follow #celtichearted OUAT ranking tag for more to come!

[peacehopeandrats]

The Weekly Roller

Here is your weekly update from the friendly House Elf.

Completed Chapters

Chapter 9 of Awake was written and will be posted tomorrow. Detective Weaver works for the Seattle P.D and lives with his son, Gideon. Together the two are slowly coming to terms with the loss of Belle, Weaver's wife and Gideon's mother. In therapy Weaver confesses to experiencing some strange sleeping patterns. He goes to bed at night and closes his eyes, but opens them to find himself in a different home... one he shares with Belle.

Mister Gold owns a pawn shop and lives with his wife, Belle. Together the two are slowly coming to terms with the loss of their son, Gideon. In therapy Gold confesses to experiencing some strange sleeping patterns. He goes to bed at night and closes his eyes, but opens them to find himself in a different home... one he shares with Gideon.

This story borrows the plot concept from the TV show Awake (staring Jason Isaacs) and adapts it to Once Upon a Time, but is NOT a crossover. 

Title: Awake  Location: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221105

Chapter 8 of Meeting By Moonlight, part of the Another Atlantis series was written and posted.  In a universe alternate to the one we know, Teyla has convinced the crew of Atlantis to allow Michael to remain in the city after the Wraith invasion. There are a lot of things to work out, including how much trust can be passed around.

Title: Meeting By Moonlight Series: Another Atlantis Location: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17878688

Works In Progress

This week some serious work was put in to the next chapters of the following works. If you want to catch up before the next update, now’s the time.

Work has been ongoing in the Growing Up series, in a story called Date Night, written for the May A-Monthly-Rumbelling prompts.

All of Peacehopeandrats fics can all be read on AO3

As a reminder, they have a schedule that they’re working to, and  the intended order to work on the fics is as follows:  Granted, Once Upon A Crime (series), Growing Up (series), Another Atlantis (series), Awake, Second Chance (series), Once There Was A Wish (series)

They will work on each fic until a chapter is ready to be posted, and then begin working on the next.

If you want to see where they’re at, what they’re working on etc, follow the link to below to their projects page. There you will find word counts, goals met, and their current WIP, which will be the one with the pin on the top left right hand corner.  A brief note about the Showdown: in order to keep everyone guessing, they have included a project called ‘Rumbelle Showdown?’ - this will be updated each round regardless - because no one knows if they’re taking part or not (except them).

YOU CAN FIND THEIR PROJECTS PAGE HERE.

* Weekly Roller posts are made by the House Elf, who is much better at advertising than I am and insists that it must be done.

[barpurplewrites]

On track to something new

@a-monthly-rumbelling Inspired by March’s moodboard.

This is chapter one, there’s a lot more to come :)

-x-x-x-

At a turning point in their lives two strangers will met and become apart of each other’s journey to something new.

-x-x-x-x-

The apartment was finally hers and hers alone. Belle had thought that she would feel satisfied when the locksmith left that afternoon after placing the keys for the new locks in her hand. Instead she still felt unwelcome in the space that had been her home for the past five years, as if she were an interloper, or a squatter. She'd taken out the legal documents that confirmed she was the sole owner, but reading over the words hadn't helped.

“A cuppa will make it feel better.”

Going through the motions of filling the kettle and choosing a blend of tea didn't soothe the jittery feeling dancing up and down her spine and tying her shoulders and neck into knots. Wisps of steam rose from the surface of the dark liquid, trailing bergamot and orange blossom as they rose towards her nose. The scent calmed her a little, as did the warmth seeping into her skin as she cradled the cup in her hands.

Still too restless to sit she stood by the floor to ceiling window in the lounge and gazed at the city. She'd fallen in love with this view the moment they had viewed the apartment. Gaston had been pleased that she was 'finally taking house hunting seriously'. She'd been looking for somewhere that felt like it could become a home; he'd only been interested in the prestige of the address. Her joke that he'd lived in a barn if it had a good zip-code had earned her a hard look and a sulky lecture about the importance of appearances in his career. His attitude was one of many red flags she had ignored, telling herself that Gaston was the practical one and she tended to have her head in the clouds. At least that was what Gaston had convinced her of.

Leaning her back against the glass she looked listlessly around the sparsely furnished space. Empty hooks and slightly darker patches marked where art had hung. Gaston had bought art as an investment, with no care or thought to what was depicted. He'd won it all in the divorce. On the advice of her lawyer Belle had put up a token fight for the pieces, a negotiation tactic that had exhausted her mentally and emotionally. She'd hated all of Gaston's art and had she won it she'd had plans to burn every single canvas.

Without the loathed art and all of Gaston's hi-tech toys the apartment looked bare. She'd tried to feel happy about having a blank page to style to her liking, but all the bare walls and empty floors did was underline how much she had buried her personality to become Gaston's perfect little wife. There weren't even any books on display for fuck's sake! How had she let herself live in a house where books were considered contraband and had to be hidden away?

Disgusted with herself and weary of the apartment she turned back to the view beyond the window. The glittering lights of the big city had lured her from the tiny backwater town of her childhood. For a curious young girl who dreamed of adventure that tiny town where they rolled the pavement up at nine pm had felt suffocating. A city that never slept, that was brimming with culture, celebrity and possibility had seemed like a dream come true.

Belle tapped her left ring finger against her tea cup. The nervous tic was silent these days, now that there was no ostentatious engagement ring and matching wedding band circling the digit. During the divorce the lack of Gaston's rings had felt empowering, but now that pale band of skin accused and jeered her, a constant reminder of the wasted five years of her life, and the hollow shell of a Stepford wife she had allowed herself to be moulded into.

The city lights no longer inspired her hopes and dreams. Once upon a time she had fancied each light to be a shimmering fairy godmother, or a friendly guide who would help her on her quest to a happy and fulfilling life filled with adventure and learning. Now she saw the buzzing fluorescents and flickering neons as a source of sickness corrupting and tainting everyone who strayed into their queasy light. The city was nothing but a giant bug zapper, luring in hopeful souls and destroying them on the same lights that promised them the world.

The tension thrumming within her surged. With a howling scream she hurled the now lukewarm cup of tea across the room. She wanted to see it shatter on the far wall, but she'd never had a strong throwing arm. The cup fell far short and dropped with a dull thunk onto a thick rug before bouncing onto the hardwood floor. A faint cracking sound reached Belle's ears, but was ignored as she howled and slapped her palms against the glass of the window.

No one heard her screaming her pain and frustration at the gaudy lights of the city. No one would have cared if they did. Any friends she'd had drifted away after the wedding. She'd given up her career at Gaston's insistence that they should focus on his advancement. She had nothing here, not a damn thing except this bloody apartment that felt like a prison.

Breathing hard Belle leaned her forehead against the glass. The stinging in her palms made her wince, but she was focused on the realisation she had just come to. There was nothing keeping her here, nothing at all. After a few deep, shaky breaths a feeling of calm settled over her. There was nothing keeping her here, so why did she stay? Moving slowly, as if haste would destroy the fragile serenity she'd finally found, she headed to her laptop. Belle had an adventure to plan.

[thelibrarywitch]

The Crocodile: More thoughts

First: I can’t believe this and Lady of the Lake were back to back. They’re both such tight, standout, huge character development episodes. I love.

Second: On this re-watch I was really blown away by how clear and specific Belle’s issue with Rumple is. I think, as much as I madly love this couple, sometimes I just broad strokes’d it as “Rumple is being bad and Belle is rightly annoyed.” But they really clearly lay out here that her only concern is honesty. That’s her dealbreaker. It’s not good or bad. It’s honest. She doesn’t say stop doing magic, she doesn’t even say stop being a kind-of-a-grey-area-bad-guy. Her whole issue is “You have to be honest with me.” Which, straight up, is a very healthy request. And then he does! All cards on the table, full scale honesty, beautiful growth in the course of an episode. AND offering her freedom and moving her toward an individual identity and direction in the new land. And also makes Season 4 all the more devastating. These two kids really probably could have made it work if Rumple hadn’t, you know, died and come back traumatized and full of bad choices. Oh, then again there’s also the end of this episode - a nice reminder that Rumbelle don’t get...to end episodes on a healthy note.

Now I’m on a full scale non-episode tangent but who cares. The Trouble with Rumple is that he had two story templates mapped onto each other. And for a show about re-interpreting stories - already a pretty complicated task - it’s really hard to reinterpret two at the same time over many years. Unlike the Evil Queen’s redemption, which is just the Snow White story told from a different perspective, Rumple is at the center of two VERY different stories.

There’s the Rumplestilskin story which is about a know-it-all chaotic imp getting his comeuppance, And then there’s the Beauty and the Beast story which is about learning to love and change. One arcs toward failure, the other toward hope. Sometimes that created really beautiful tension and other times it meant Rumple had to be yanked from one story to go play his part in another. I think a big piece of this is that just never expected the Beauty and the Beast story to be such a thing. (Which is nuts. You ever watch a Disney Fairytale Wedding. Their target demographic - fairytale friendly women in their 20s and up - are Beauty and the Beast CRAZY.)

Anyway. This is just pie in the sky. I know any redemption arc has stops and starts but I’ll always wonder/mourn for how this one could have played out if he was allowed as much forward momentum as Regina or Hook.

Side note: I really wish this honesty thing came back in Season 6B when Rumple and Belle were working together again. He was still doing that “I can’t tell you what’s up but you have to trust me” thing and it was mostly to hide information from the audience but it really would have been great to see him keep less secrets. ALSO now that I think about it, even in Beauty (the most perfect episode and proof that they could live a long happy and emotionally healthy life together), he was unnecessarily not forthcoming about wanting to throw the dagger away. God-d. Rumple letting Belle know a plan in advance might have been even more heart racing than another TLK.

[thestraggletag]

La Chacarita, a Rumbelle Revelry Fic

Rating: PG

Word Count: 4,557

Summary: The closer we are to the dead, the closer we are to Death.

Prompt Used: Being Hunted.

A/N: The story is based on an actual urban legend here in Buenos Aires. It is so particular to here and to what really makes Chacarita so... unique that I couldn’t really set it elsewhere. It’s been great getting to write something set in my home city and I tried to give it a Buenos Aires feel without hitting you over the head with references 24/7. Enjoy!

For visuals to help with the story go here.

The weather was the worst of it. Hot and humid to the point that he'd been forced to retire his waistcoats and pull out his less-used suits with more breathable, less weighty fabric but an easy-to-crease finish. He outright refused to wear linen, clinging to cotton instead, but it was unpleasant nevertheless. The heat wasn't a problem as much as the humidity was, an ever-permanent fixture of the city. The people were overly-friendly, knowing little about personal space. Every new person he met, however fleetingly, he was expected to kiss on the cheek, never mind he'd barely touched another human being for years. They drove like mad people, though pedestrians seemed to manage around that fact just fine, and every fucking day there was some sort of street protest that made navigating the city at all an impossible matter. Buenos Aires was, in Gold's opinion, a fucking nightmare. And yet Neal had loved it enough to relocate his entire life there. And to specify he wanted to be buried there, instead of being shipped back to Storybrooke... to him.

They had parted in such bad terms. He'd never forget the look on Neal's face, not of anger but of disappointment. Their relationship had always been strained ever since he'd gone away to college, and gotten the first glimpse of the big, big world. Suddenly Storybrooke wasn't enough, and going back home for the holidays became stifling. The moment he'd graduated he'd gotten work as a photographer in New York and hadn't looked back. He'd been angry at first, resentful of the easiness with which Neal had turned his back on him. Later he'd grown remorseful of having pushed Neal away in his resentment, but by that time their relationship was forever strained. After some years of nothing but tense holiday phone-calls and the occasional text Neal had reached out and Gold thought it was the beginning of something better.

But then Neal had told him of his plan to travel and work his way through the world and he'd grown mad. Livid, even. Neal hadn't gotten angry, as it was usually the case with one of his spats, but he had quietly told him that he couldn't stay put forever. Didn't want to live scared of the world like him.

It was like hearing Milah all those years ago, spitefully calling him a coward. Only it was his son, who used to look up to him so, saying it with quiet disappointment.

After that there had been radio silence for a couple of years. He followed his blog avidly, reading about his travels in Asia and Central America before he seemed to settle down in Montevideo and, later, Buenos Aires. And he made the city look good, with its mixture of French and Italian architecture and its sunny weather. A few months later, when he'd called, he'd been ecstatic. Neal had urged him to fly to Argentina, to take a long-overdue vacation. And though he hadn't said no he'd kept postponing it, never quite booking a flight.

And then Neal had died.

He hadn't known he was sick, hadn't known anything until a friend of his had e-mailed him with the news of his death and burial. After a night of drinking and crying he'd turned his grief into action and tried to get the body back to the US, to bury him at the local cemetery where he'd always be able to take care of the gravestone and the memories. But Neal had left an airtight will and specific, recorded instructions regarding his burial. And for some reason he'd wanted to be laid to rest at the other end of the world... that, Gold thought, was a reflection of how much his son hated him.

He was quick to set everything up with his lawyers and accountant for an extended leave from the US, getting into contact with a reliable Argentine firm to handle his taking possession of Neal's things. He'd been renting an apartment in a trendy neighbourhood called Palermo, near the Botanical Gardens, which appeared often on his blog. He toyed with the idea of staying in the apartment, which was apparently paid till the end of November, but thought it'd be too much, choosing instead to book a nice suite at the Marriott-Plaza, in the posh Retiro, overlooking the sprawling mass that was Plaza San Martín. He had to admit the city was bursting at the seams with green, the kind he'd seldom seen before. Plant life sprouted from every nook and cranny, the street lined with trees. He'd arrived in time to see an event his son had documented in detail: the flowering of jacaranda trees, which lost all their leaves to make room for what seemed like thousands upon thousands of small, bell-shaped lavender flowers, that ended up forming a purple carpet on the sidewalks and streets. It was beautiful, heat and humidity and all, but it rankled at him. Beauty and cheer seemed out of place for what he'd come to Buenos Aires to do, put his son's affairs in order and ship what remained of him to the States. He'd decided he'd pick some personal belongings, put them in a coffin and bury them and Storybrooke Cemetery so he'd have a place to go to, something to visit.

Stepping into his son's apartment was hard. It was full of him, of his personality and quirks. Deciding what to keep and what to donate occupied most of his time, and it was when he was trying to decide what to do with the potted plants on the balcony that he met Neal's neighbour, Belle French. At first it was the delicious luxury of speaking to someone in fluent English that drawn him in- most Argentinians spoke it, thankfully, but their choppy, Italian-sounding accent grated on his nerves, reminded him of where he was and why he was there. Belle French had a charming Australian lilt, a mixture between posh British and something wild, and had been in Buenos Aires for a few years. She was a bit younger than him, in her early forties probably, with brown hair and startling blue eyes. She had a soft yet pushy way about her, and had introduced herself immediately upon spotting him in the balcony, acting like she'd somehow been expecting him. She'd completely disregarded his social awkwardness, immediately inviting him to her apartment for a cup of tea- tea, good tea, was hard to come by in a city of coffee lovers, but Miss French told him of a gem in Avenida Corrientes called El Gato Negro, whose loose tea, he had to admit, was exquisite- and some medialunas- and God, were medialunas good.

From then on, she'd been a staple of his days, sometimes the only person he held a conversation with all day. He knew of her before, of course. Neal had mentioned her often, in her blog and in conversations, to the point that he'd at first thought that he'd harboured a bit of a crush for her. Later he'd started dating a rather stunning blond and so he'd dismissed his original impression.

But it was clear Belle and Neal had been close, from how she talked about him. And as a different picture began to form itself in his head Gold grew resentful and angry. She'd acted as a sort of a guide for Neal, and later on the implication was that she became a sort of mother-figure, a parent to the still-young Neal. Other than Neal's girlfriend, a close-lipped American who seemed reluctant to tell him anything about his boy's last few months, Belle was the only source of information he had about Neal in Buenos Aires excluding his blog, and she seemed both willing and able to help with the details regarding dealing with Neal's will and his personal belongings. There was an air of loss about her that he found both comforting and insulting, a part of him feeling he ought to be to only one mourning Neal in any meaningful way. He had raised him, had thrown his childhood birthday parties, had walked him to school on his first day, had sat by his bedside whenever he'd been sick...

Only that last part wasn't entirely true. Only Belle French had been the one to sit by his bedside the last time, the most meaningful one. She'd shared with him of his son's last days, of the peace that had seemed to envelop him and he'd hated and loved her for telling him, for knowing he needed to hear it.

She became so indispensable to his efforts, and so vital in the way she could account for Neal's last days and could help him navigate everyday life in Buenos Aires that as much as he wanted to push her away he didn't. Or so he told himself every time he sat down in her living-room- or was it a library? Every room in her home seemed like a library- listening to her tell him about her happenings at her job in the AACI library, funny anecdotes about Neal or sometimes more hard-to-swallow details about his illness. She'd always break out some of the nicer patisserie treats when he enquired about his son's last days, as if she sought to soften the blow with cañoncitos and masas finas. And then, whenever he found himself lowering his defences, whenever he seemed too tired to hold on to the inexplicable, unreasonable animosity he felt towards her, she'd say something about Neal, pointing out a preferred masita, a particular taste or habit he'd acquired in Buenos Aires, and he'd retreat instantly, anger coiling again in his gut.

His attraction to her, rather than lessen the dark turn of his thoughts, seemed to enhance it. The way he sometimes caught himself staring at her hair, the way it softened her rather sharp features and contrasted with her eyes, the way he got a little thrill every time she smiled or chuckled at one of his rather dark jokes, it all seemed to only make him angrier at her, more resentful. Neal was his ghost to mourn, his child to grieve, and yet Belle spoke of him as if he was her own too, as if she'd gotten to know what being a parent was like in the measly time she'd shared with Neal as an adult. It didn't work that way, it didn't. For better or worse Gold was Neal's parent, irreplaceable and definite.

He hadn't planned on telling her so, had remained resolute to keep it to himself. And it was strange how he found himself breaking that resolution not in a moment of anger but in a moment of strange tenderness. Belle had offered to show him some pictures Neal had sent to her via WhatsApp, pictures he'd never seen before, and had left for a moment to use the bathroom. Gold, guiltily, had scrolled down the conversation, eager for one more glimpse of Neal's personality, his easy-going nature. And there he'd noticed that Neal called Belle "Mama". And though he knew, he knew, it was likely some sort of inside joke, some horrible, petty part of him roared awake.

What had followed after that felt like a bad dream. He'd cut right into Belle, into what his manipulating, scheming nature had noticed. He'd torn into every weakness, had used every bit of his abilities to forcefully push her away, rip her from whatever place she'd attached herself to, somehow.

"He was my family, mine. Yours is long dead but this is my pain to suffer, my loss. I'm sorry you're alone in the world, dearie, but you had no right to take advantage of my son's nature and weasel your way into a family."

The moment he said it he knew that he'd gone too far, that he'd crossed a horrible line out of fear. Belle's face had gone completely blank in a way that was unnatural in someone so expressive. She had then calmly taken her phone from him, told him she'd see him to the cemetery when he was ready and walked out. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of her since then and tried to tell himself it was for the best, in the end. He'd stayed too long in Buenos Aires, had lingered too long where the memory of his boy's last days was. He needed to say goodbye, a proper goodbye, and be gone.

La Chacarita could not be avoided any longer.

The neo-classical entrance was a pale pink, washed out by the sun and turned into an almost peachy colour. He was almost sure that, like all other old buildings, it had originally been painted with a mixture of blood and lime, but it seemed more than a bit tacky to have done so to a cemetery entrance. The cemetery itself had apparently been created in a rush to house the remains of victims of the 1871 yellow fever epidemic. Unlike its posh counterpart, La Recoleta Cemetery, La Chacarita was... rawer, far less polished. There was an air of pathetic decay about it even if it was well-kept by the city. Some pantheons were veritable works of art and others were old, dilapidated mausoleums crammed together into diminutive, spectral cities of tombs. But by far the most garish sight was that of the "nichos", veritable walls of tombs, small squares with nothing but a plaque to identify the remains. Some looked clean, with small flower arrangements attached, while others looked abandoned and some of them were smashed open, the corpses, hopefully, long removed.

When Belle turned towards one of the sunnier, neater parts of the cemetery he sighed in relief, knowing that seeing his son's name in one of those ghastly niches would have broken him. He'd bought a rather large flower arrangement, a bright collection of chrysanthemums, and he made a big deal of arranging them in the vase he'd brought with them, after Belle managed to find a tap to fill it up. The quiet of the moment unnerved him. Belle was naturally prone to chatter, or to in some way communicate, whether with her body language or otherwise, but she remained closed off from him, either smarting from their fight or giving him what she thought he wanted. What he'd thought he wanted.

It made it real, seeing Neal's grave. It was nice and modest and his name was spelt correctly. It was also heavily decorated with polaroid stills, drawings and posts its with final messages, all the marks of someone who'd been well-loved. And that reminder of how social and outgoing Neal had been, how different from him, warmed him a bit.

After a while Belle left his side, though he knew she was hanging around. It gave him the opportunity to whisper all his regrets into the still-fresh soil of his son's grave, tell him of all his mistakes and how sorry he was. He talked until he was hoarse, until he could not think of anything left to say. After years of pauses and silences he'd finally been allowed to say his peace.

But Neal would never get to say his.

It felt like a job half-done, like he'd almost had that one last conversation with his son, but not at the same time.

At some point Belle came back to his side, and he could tell without much looking at her that she'd soften towards him. He must have looked downright pitiful, the way he'd been bawling his eyes out and kneeling all day, making his limps heavier than ever before. He didn't begrudge her support when she leant it, though he resented her better nature. It was darker than he'd imagined it'd be, and the outside of the cemetery was deserted but for a newspaper stand in which an old couple drank mate. It took the longest time to see any signs of a taxi, even though the crossroads of Avenida Corrientes and Federico Lacroze was one of the popular exists to the cemetery, and they'd almost given up when one appeared as if of nowhere. Usually taxis in the city were new-but-not-much Renault models, with some Peugeots scattered about, but this one was an old Ford Falcon, kept in rather pristine condition. Though it sported a taxi medallion it did not have one of the tell-tale signs that indicated it belonged to a radio-taxi company and he'd been advised to avoid such for fear of robbery. But it was late and the taxi driver looked old, thin and tame and stared fixatedly at him when he pulled up instead of shying away from possible future recognition.

"No, señor, no, no ese taxi. José, José, paralos, por Dios!"

The lady in the newspaper stand seemed to be pitching a fit as they pulled out of the street, calling for her now-absent male companion as if there was some sort of emergency. Everyone shouted in Buenos Aires, for the stupidest sort of reasons. It was a loud city full of crass, loud people. And now that he'd visited his boy he could finally make plans to leave. He hadn't gotten around doing a lot of the things he'd read about on Bae's blog, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He felt... empty. Casting a furtive look to Belle on the other side of the backseat he saw she'd closed her eyes and was apparently trying to sleep. He'd run himself ragged the past few weeks seeing to Neal's things but so had she, every day for weeks after work. And he'd thanked her by reminding her that she had no family to call her own. By taking Neal away from her.

An uncomfortable wave of guilt washed over him, making him squirm. To busy himself he buttoned his suit jacket up, feeling cold creeping into his very bones. For an old Ford Falcon the AC system was state of the line, silent enough that he couldn't pick up on it and dreadfully good at lowering the inner temperature of the cab. He stared out the window at what looked like an almost deserted street, few cars passing them by, getting the strangest urge to fall asleep.

A glance at the sideview mirror on his side, though, caught his attention and woke him up: amid the sleek, usually grey- Argentinian's cars were all diverse shades... of grey- cars there was a smaller, older model, speeding down the street at an amazing, chaotic sort of speed, its lights flashing. A feeling of dread came over him, especially as the cab began to take turns only for the car to follow along, reckless as ever. At some point it began to honk, and fully-fledged fear took over Mr Gold. His harsh childhood and difficult adolescence had geared in him a survival instinct, the ability to sense danger on a deep, primal level. And it had never flared before quite like it was then.

"Belle, I'm sorry, but could you tell the driver... Belle?"

He first noticed one streak of grey hair, then another, until he counted at least five. The change to her fully-brown hair was so stark he didn't notice at first how pale she looked, and how gaunt. When he raised a trembling hand to touch her the skin beneath the pads of his fingers felt icy-cold. He tried shaking her but she didn't wake up or even stir. In a panicky half-English-half-Spanish he told the driver to get to the nearest hospital and though he got no reply the taxi began to go faster and seemed to change course. A quick glance back at the window, though, let him know the other car was still following them, having almost caught up to the backseat window. It was a beaten-up yellow Bug, the kind that he hadn't seen in years. Its colour was faded and looking directly at it made it seem blurry. The driver was a young man with shaggy hair and...

"Papa! Papa! Get out!"

It was Neal.

He wanted to talk, to shout and bang the window and tell the taxi driver to stop but it felt as if someone had drained the vitality out of him. Glancing at his reflecting in the window made him aware he, like Belle, was deathly pale, and gaunt.

"Papa, get Belle and get out of the cab! Jump out!"

Hearing his son panicking jolted Gold into action. A quick look at the rear-view mirror showed him what, for some reason, he'd not noticed till then: the cab driver was almost skeletal in appearance, eyes wide and black and skin tight against his bones. Whatever it was it didn't seem like it planned on slowing down, so he gathered his courage, unlocked the door on his side and held on to Belle, throwing himself and her out of the moving vehicle with as much care as possible. Even so the impact stole the air from his lungs, and all the strength he had left, leaving him with only enough to roll them both towards the safety of the sidewalk. A sharp glance around showed no sign of the taxi or the Yellow Bug, and it was only then that Gold allowed exhaustion to overtake him.

When he next opened his eyes, Belle was staring down at him, one of her hands gently combing his hair back. She looked pale still, but awake and smiling at him, relieved. With a bit of effort, having left his cane on the taxi, they got themselves on their feet, realising that, for some reason, the taxi had lead them back to the cemetery. It only took them a few steps to encounter the old couple in the newsstand again and the woman rushed to their side as soon as she saw them, shouting in Spanish and herding them towards where the older man was. He looked relieved and friendly enough, vacating his chair for Gold just as the old woman gently sat Belle down in hers. They said much, though most was lost on him. Belle listened, though, and slowly began to give him an idea of what the couple was saying.

"They tried to warn us about the taxi, apparently. It's... it's notorious here in Chacarita. Takes people from the cemetery, drives them around, and the next morning they're dead on the grave of whoever they were visiting. The cab... it senses... grief? It's attracted to it, somehow. They're surprised we're alive."

The couple shoved small glasses of a brown liquid smelling strongly of herbs in their hands. A sip told him it was Fernet, and though he hated it with as much passion as the Argies seemed to love it he had to admit it did a wonderful job of warming him up and soothing him. Belle sipped gently at hers, still intent on whatever the couple was saying.

"They want to know how we escaped... How did we? How did you know, how did you not fall asleep?"

Slowly, brokenly, he told her about what he'd seen. Told her of the yellow Bug, and Neal shouting for them to get out of the cab. When Belle went to hold his hand, he grabbed tight to hers, surprised when he noticed telling her about seeing Neal hadn't left him as raw and exposed as he'd feared. It was different with her, different for reasons he'd been trying hard to rage against. With his permission, she told the old couple, who seemed to nod wisely, as if unsurprised by the notion.

"Los de La Chacarita cuidan de los suyos. Su hijo debió haberlo querido mucho para poder manifestarse como lo hizo."

Belle's eyes went soft as she translated.

"She said the people from the Chacarita Cemetery... they look after their own. She said that your son must have loved you very much, to be able to manifest like he did. And he did. He told me so over and over, I want you to know that."

He managed a tremulous whisper of a smile at that.

"He was such a loving boy, always. I'm sorry for wanting to jealously keep it all to myself. I'm glad he knew you, I'm glad he loved you. And how could he not?"

Whether it was the near-death experience or the ghostly apparition of his son come to save him, something felt like it had changed on a fundamental level. He felt... freer than he had in a while, daring and open. The old couple fussed over them good-naturedly, showing the classical Argentine dislike for space that this time he found comforting. When they felt healthy enough they called a radio-taxi, checking twice to see that the cab driver looked normal and the taxi itself did as well. Gold gave the old man directions and for a while there was comfortable silence in the backseat, only interrupted once when Gold inhale deeply at having Belle's hand sneak into his and hold tight. He wondered again about all the times Neal had mentioned Belle, how he'd talked about her quirky humour, her love of books and antiques and her good looks and a new, funny idea occurred to him: Neal was playing matchmaker. And though of course it seemed to him utter foolishness to think someone like Belle would ever look his way he couldn't deny the way she looked at him sometimes, as if she wanted to explore him all over. With a sign such as that it felt almost easy to be brave for a change.

"There's a lovely ice-cream shop near my hotel, Rapanui. It's open until ungodly hours, and I think we could both use some sugar in our systems. Would you... I mean, would you let me treat you?"

Belle's smile was radiant, though it turned a bit shy as she tucked a few locks of hair behind her ear.

"I'd be happy to, if you don't mind being seen with an old lady. I will have to start researching hair dyes, though it certainly beats the alternative."

In for a penny, in for a pound, Gold traced some of the silver streaks, pleased when she seemed to lean into the touch.

"I rather like them, myself. They suit you."

He'd tell her so again over ice-cream, and in the days to follow. And she would finally believe him one night while out on the balcony of his hotel suite, him wearing a bathrobe and her the bedsheets, looking a bit like some untouchable Greek goddess. And below them the city would be noisy and bright and strangely beautiful, and they'd talk about buying seasonal tickets for El Colón and doing Gallery Nights on Friday, and Gold would tuck away the secret of having looked into the paperwork involved in staying in Argentina. Retiro had a sprawling, thriving antiques business, the food was heavenly and he'd begun to take Spanish lessons. The World Cup was fast approaching and as a true Scotsman he'd grown up rooting for whoever England hated the most, which usually meant Argentina. It was a horrible place, but it was also wonderful and he had lots of things from Neal's list still pending.

He still had a lot of life to live. Death would have to drive around the city and wait.

[worryinglyinnocent]

A Window of Opportunity – A Monthly Rumbelling Fic

Summary: One spring morning, Father Macavoy helps Belle French to stop her best friend making the worst mistake of her life, and the two grow a little closer.

A macelle fic written for the Monthly Rumbelling prompt: “Runaway bride”

Rated: G

This is not C$ friendly. At all. You have been warned.

=====

A Window of Opportunity

When Belle entered the large and opulently decorated church, the last thing that she expected was the priest racing up the aisle after her as she was looking for her seat and bundling her off into the vestry. She had been expecting to sit down, watch her friend get married, and then go and drown her sorrows in champagne at the wedding reception. Belle would admit that drowning one's sorrows was not usually what one was expected to do at wedding receptions, but Belle had long since viewed the impending nuptials as less of a wedding and more of a funeral. Emma's choice of life partner had been the cause of more than one heated argument between her and Belle, and was the reason why Belle was not, as had always been expected, Emma's maid of honour. It was only comparatively recently that she had even been re-invited to the wedding. 

Belle, to put it bluntly, could not stand Emma's fiancé Killian, and was of the distinct impression that marrying him was the worst thing that her friend could do. She had already noticed the way that Emma had changed since she had been with the man, and she was certain that marriage would be the final nail in the coffin of her once vibrant personality.

“Father, what’s going on?” Belle asked. “What’s happening?”

“Shh, let’s not cause a panic.”

Belle had to raise her eyebrows at that. Of all the people involved in this wedding who were likely to panic, she would have put Father Macavoy down at the top of the list. He was a good man, who had listened to her laments about the forthcoming marriage with a kind and sympathetic ear, offering guidance as best he could in the middle of a very delicate situation. He pushed Belle into the vestry and closed the door firmly behind them. Belle was surprised to see Emma pacing up and down the small room in her wedding dress. Belle had not seen Emma’s wedding dress; after the final argument that had resulted in her being removed from her maid of honour duties she had been barred from such discussions. She was sure that on anyone else, the dress would have looked lovely, but it really did not sit right on Emma. She looked uncomfortable in it, and it really wasn’t her style. If anyone would be inclined for a vintage-inspired Grace Kelly knock-off, then it was Belle herself, but even she would be dubious about this particular frock.

“Oh Belle, thank God you’re here.” Emma saw her friend and stopped her pacing.

“Emma, what’s going on?”

“I can’t do this,” she said. “I can’t go through with this.”

Belle sighed. Emma had put her on the spot here, because what was she supposed to say? What was it that Emma wanted to hear? Should she express her gratitude that she’d finally come to her senses and listened to what Belle had been saying all along, or should she grit her teeth and swallow her opinions and tell her friend that it was going to be all right and that pre-wedding jitters were perfectly natural? And what about Father Macavoy, what would he say to her advice knowing as he did her deepest, darkest thoughts about Emma and Killian’s relationship and being sworn to the secrecy of the confessional? She decided that honesty was the best policy.

“Emma, I’ve already made my opinion of this wedding clear,” she began. “If you’re looking for someone to reassure you and nudge you up towards the altar, then you’ve come to the wrong person.”

Emma nodded. “I know. I don’t want a nudge towards the altar. I just need a friend to get me out of here.” She plucked at the lacy cuffs of her dress. “Look at this thing. It’s hardly me, is it?”

Belle shook her head. “I had to double take when I first saw you.”

“It’s Killian’s mother’s,” Emma went on, and she resumed her pacing. “She had it altered for me. Didn’t even consult me. She was saying something about not having a daughter to pass it on to, and I would be her daughter soon, and I should wear it as a symbol of becoming part of their family. And before I could even get the chance to say well actually, it’s my wedding and I’d like to have a say in my own wedding dress, Killian was off on one about how generous his mother had been and all the trouble she’d been to, and how I ought to be grateful because it wasn’t like I had a family of my own to do these kinds of things for me.”

“Emma, that’s awful,” Belle said plainly.

“I don’t want to live like this anymore.” Emma sighed. “I chose the worst possible time to realise that.”

“That might have been my fault,” Father Macavoy said. “When she arrived I remarked on how much she looked like Grace Kelly.”

“Whose life pretty much ended when she got married,” Emma added. “And that’s when I realised that I did not want that to happen to me.”

Belle smiled. “Well, at least you came to your senses in the nick of time.”

“If I may add my own opinion,” Father Macavoy began timidly. Belle and Emma looked towards him. “I would just say that God is forgiving, and He wouldn’t think any the less of you for not honouring the commitment that you made to Mr Jones when you agreed to marry him. He would far rather that you went into any marriage knowing your true feelings, rather than making that vow with any degree of unsureness that might cause it to be broken down the line. Best to make that break now, before you make a promise in His eyes.”

“So you think I should run?” Emma said.

Father Macavoy nodded. “I would say that’s in your best interest.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Belle took charge. “Come on, let’s get you out of this circus. Father, is there any other way out of the vestry?”

“Only through the window.” Father Macavoy indicated the large stained-glass pane that stood half-open, letting in the light spring breeze. Emma and Belle looked at each other, and Emma smiled for the first time since Belle had entered the room. She handed Emma her car keys and the other woman hitched up her full skirts and climbed onto the dresser, wriggling through the window and landing in the flowerbeds outside. She gave Belle a little wave.

“Remember that the reception’s been prepaid!” she said, and rushed down the churchyard to where Belle’s car was parked, much to the alarm of the last few guests who were arriving.

Once she was safely away, Belle turned back to the priest.

“Thank you, Father.”

“Thank you, Miss French. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to convince her on my own. Having met the couple as often as I have in the run up to today, I’ve never been happier to have a bride run out on me.”

“So what do we do now?” Belle asked. “There’s a church full of people and a jilted fiancé who doesn’t know that he’s been jilted yet. Someone’s going to have to tell them.”

“Leave that to me.” Father Macavoy left the vestry, and Belle watched through the crack between the door and the frame.

“Thank you all for coming,” the priest began. “However, there will be no marriage taking place here today.”

“What?” Killian exclaimed. “Where’s Emma?”

“Not here,” Father Macavoy said. “Nor is she coming. Now, I appreciate the inconvenience that’s been caused to you all, but as I said, there will be no wedding here today. I have, however, been asked to remind you that the reception has already been paid for and you’re all welcome to go and enjoy yourselves there. Thank you.”

He made to go back into the vestry but Killian grabbed his arm.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he asked.

“Not at all, Mr Jones, and I would remind you before you do anything too rash that you are in a house of God.”

Killian was looking positively murderous, but he let go of Father Macavoy’s arm, allowing the priest to escape into the vestry.

“Well, that could have gone a lot worse,” he remarked to Belle. “I believe we deserve a cup of tea after that, Miss French, don’t you?”

He went over to the electric kettle and Belle nodded.

“Yes, Father. But you can call me Belle.”

“Ok, Belle.” There was a long pause, and he was blushing a little as he continued. “You can call me Joseph.”

“Father, really…”

“Really.” Joseph made two mugs of tea and passed one to Belle. “I’m very glad you came when you did. I don’t think that I could have gone through with the ceremony in all good faith, knowing what I do of those two.”

Belle nodded. There would be a hell of a lot of fallout from this. It was still far from over, but for now, they were safe in the vestry and Emma was safely away from the scene. Listening to the baffled congregation filing out of the church, Belle sipped her tea and looked at her partner in crime with a smile. She’d never seen him in full white and purple vestments before; during his services he tended to dispense with the ceremony and stick to his usual dark suit. She preferred the suit, the vestments seemed to drown him a bit. It was a shame when she finished her tea, as it meant that she’d have to leave his quiet company and go and deal with the consequences of Emma’s unexpected flit.

“Thank you for the tea, Joseph.”

“You’re welcome, Belle.”

It really was a shame that he was a priest. Belle thought, as she got to her feet and went over to him. The hug that she gave him was entirely unexpected.  She hadn’t meant to do it. She just found herself throwing her arms around him.

“Thank you so much. For everything.”

“All I did was make the announcement and offer a window to escape out of,” Joseph said, bashful.

“No, before then. For all these weeks. Thank you for listening.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Belle nodded. “Yes, I guess so. But, you know. Maybe sometimes we could talk without the confessional wall between us?”

Joseph smiled. “I’d like that very much, Belle.”

She paused. “I’ve just had a thought. Now that Emma’s taken my car, I have no way to get to the reception to deal with things there.”

“Would you like a lift?” Joseph asked. There was a tone of hope in his voice. Belle nodded.

“That would be wonderful, thank you. I’ll… let you get changed.”

She pecked his cheek in gratitude and maybe promise, and left the vestry into the empty church. When she looked back over her shoulder, Joseph was still standing exactly where she’d left him, his fingertips touching his cheek where her lips had been. Belle smiled. Yes. For everything that had happened, it was going to be a good day.

[woodelf68]

The Way Forward

Movie night prompt for @a-monthly-rumbelling. Adult!Gideon fluff, and a way to fix the fact that (in this ‘verse) Rumbelle never got a chance to raise their own baby. Rated G, 3085 words.

“Gideon, this is your nephew Henry.”

They’d run into each other after leaving Granny’s for their first meal out with Gideon. It had been an uncomfortable hour, as Gideon was subject to the stares of everyone who had been in the diner -- some merely curious, but others openly suspicious or even hostile. Gideon had alternately tried to hunch himself into invisibility or met the stares with a look of cold aloofness on his face that Gold had found eerily similar to the one that he knew he wore on his own face sometimes. It was meant to convey that you didn’t care in the least what the other person was thinking of you, when in fact you felt completely differently inside. Belle had kept up a steady stream of chatter, trying to distract Gideon, but Gold knew that if Gideon were to be accepted by Storybrooke, and hopefully find some friends, then he needed to be seen in the company of someone other than the Dark One and his wife. Seeing Henry coming towards them on the sidewalk had seemed too fortuitous an opportunity to pass up. 

Henry, bless his soul, smiled and stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

Gideon shook it awkwardly, having learned this custom already. “Hi, Henry. Look, I’m sorry that I tried to kill your mother, I -- “

“I know, you were being controlled by the Black Fairy; she had your heart,” Henry said with far more understanding and acceptance than Gideon felt he had any right to. “It’s okay; it’s over now.”

Gideon smiled uncertainly. “If you’re sure…”

“Trust me, everyone in this family has done some pretty bad things, even when they weren’t being cursed or controlled.” Henry shot a glance at first Belle, then Rumpelstiltskin. He still felt ashamed that he hadn’t thought about Belle being trapped in a sleeping curse when he had attempted to destroy all magic. He had apologised, and both his grandparents had said they’d forgiven him, but it was not something he liked remembering. He wouldn’t hold Gideon’s past against him.

Belle looked sideways at Rumpelstiltskin, and found him looking back at her. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it. “Yeah, we have. And we make amends the best we can, and we try to move on.” 

Rumpelstiltskin squeezed back.

“It’s weird,” Henry told Gideon. “If you hadn’t gotten magically screwed over, you wouldn’t even have been born yet. But I think I’ll like having an uncle who’s older than me, like most uncles are.” He glanced at Gold. “Have you told him about Neal?”

“We haven’t had time yet, what with everything that’s been going on.” Rumpelstiltskin said. It had been less than a week since the Black Fairy had been destroyed and he’d been able to return Gideon’s heart to him, and it had seemed more important to learn about Gideon’s life than to bring up his own painful past. He could tell that it was tough on Gideon, transitioning into this new life, in a town where he had tried to kill the woman everyone knew as the Savior. 

“Neal was my dad,” Henry explained softly, his own eyes echoing the sudden sadness in his grandfather’s. “Your half-brother, from my grandpa’s marriage to his first wife Milah. Who ran off with Captain Hook who just married my mother.” An odd look crossed his face as he recited the facts. “That will never get any less weird when I stop to think about it. We’ve had a lot of timey-wimey stuff happen in this family, your growing up in a different realm is par for the course, really.”

“‘Was’?” Gideon had to ask, knowing what the answer would be. He would have known if he had a brother around.

“Yeah. He died.” Henry swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat.  “I never even knew him until a few years ago, either. He never knew I existed until then.”

“I’m sorry,” Gideon said gently. “You’ll have to tell me about him.”

“We all will,” said Belle, firmly. “He died a hero.”

“I have pictures,” Henry offered. “You can look through my photo album.” He cocked his head. “You don’t look like him, you look like your dad. I guess my dad took after his mother more.”

“He did,” confirmed Rumpelstiltskin.

“I’d like that,” Gideon told Henry.  “What was that other thing you said, though -- ‘timey-wimey’?”

“Oh, that’s from a TV series.” Henry brightened up. “I’ll have to introduce you to some good TV series. And movies! We’ll have to have a movie night, no, lots of movie nights, there’s a lot you need to catch up on, because certain movies have become part of popular culture, and people will refer to them, and you won’t know what they’re talking about. But I’ll help get you up to speed. That is, if you want,” he added uncertainly, when Gideon didn’t reply right away.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed, and somewhat taken aback by Henry’s friendliness in a town where he had not found any yet so far, Gideon hastened to reassure him. “Yes, I would. Thank you. I don’t know anything about how to be an uncle, but I could use a friend.”

“Uncles take their nephews to the movies and buy them ice cream afterwards,” said Henry mischievously.

“Ah, about that --” Gideon began, then noticed his father pulling his wallet out of his pocket and extracting several bills, which he held out.

“Here. You now have money. Go take your nephew to the movies and buy him ice cream afterwards.” Rumpelstiltskin smiled.

Gideon stuffed the money into his pocket. “All right. Right now?” he asked, uncertainly.

“Well, we’ll have to check what’s playing and at what times first,” said Henry. “I could show you around town, and we could do that, if you like. I mean, you must have seen something of the place, poofing around, but you haven’t had a proper tour. I could introduce you to people, too. He looked Gideon up and down critically. “Do you want to go home and change first?”

“Change what?”

“Into something more comfortable.”

“This is comfortable.” Gideon looked down at his new black suit, liking the way it looked on him, the way it made him feel closer to his father.  He’d spent the last few days spending mornings with his mother in the library, helping out and reading voraciously about the history and customs of this world and afternoons with his father in the shop, slowly getting acquainted and forging a relationship. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“No, of course not,” both Belle and Rumpelstiltskin assured him at nearly the same time.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Henry agreed, “But most people don’t wear three piece suits outside of work hours. They come home and change into something more casual.” He glanced at Gold. “Your dad’s an exception. But maybe you haven’t had time to go shopping yet?”

“Henry has a point,” Rumpelstiltskin admitted. “I spent 28 years wearing a suit thanks to the original curse that created Storybrooke and my Mr. Gold persona. It’s what I’m used to, here in this land. I feel strange wearing anything else. But -- the curse was designed to isolate me, to set me apart from everyone else. The expensive suits reminded everyone else that I was richer than they were, that I was someone to be feared. People might find you less threatening if they saw you in more casual clothes when you’re not working. You don’t have to wear anything you don’t want to, of course -- but why don’t you try out some of the things that Henry suggests? Jeans, t-shirts, sweaters -- whatever you find comfortable, go ahead and buy it.  You can use the credit card I gave you for larger purchases like that.”

“Okay, we’ll head down to the movie theatre first, see what’s playing,” Henry decided. “And then we’ll go shopping, get you some basic stuff. Sound good?”

Gideon looked rather helplessly at his parents.

“That’s a good idea,” Belle said encouragingly. “Everybody likes Henry; you’ll be in safe hands.”

“I...all right.” Left to himself, Gideon knew he’d rather stay holed up in the house, or in the quiet shop, or in a corner of the library reading, but he supposed he would have to face the townspeople sooner or later. Best to get it over with, when he had a friendly guide with him.

“Great! We can stop for ice cream after that. And popcorn! Have you ever had popcorn? If we go to the movies we’ll get some popcorn; you’ll like it.” Henry turned away and started walking even as he was still speaking.

With one last glance over his shoulder at his parents, Gideon hurried after.

In the weeks that followed, it became apparent that Henry had made acclimatising Gideon to Storybrooke his own personal mission.

“He probably has a name for it,” Belle observed, rinsing off the last of the supper dishes and passing it to Rumpel to dry. There had been no question about her not moving back into the salmon house with Gideon’s return. They had missed 28 years of their son’s life, 28 years of being a family. She didn’t want to miss a single second more, nor would she have asked it of Rumpel by making Gideon choose only one parent to live with. This was her home; this was their home. They belonged together.

“Operation: Uncle,” Rumpelstiltskin suggested with a grin. Gideon had come home from his first day out with Henry with a modest collection of casual clothing that Belle had had to be dissuaded from making him try on then and there to model for her.

“Operation: Giraffe,” countered Belle, thinking of their son’s height.

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head with an amused smile. “I will never be able to understand how he ended up that tall with us for parents.”

“They say physical traits can skip a generation,” said Belle. “He must get it from my father.”

Belle felt a pang for all the years they had never had, watching Gideon grow from a baby to a toddler, and then a sturdy child heading off to school. Had he been tall for his age early on, or had he shot up all at once as a teenager? She’d have to ask him; it seemed important to know, along with so many other myriad details. But asking things like what were his favourite foods as a child was fraught with the possibility of the answer being that he hadn’t had a choice in the matter; he’d eaten what he had been provided with. She forced her mind away from that channel of thought back to Henry, and how Gideon already seemed to relax and become more open whenever he was around Henry -- they’d already had one movie night at home, and Belle smiled at the memory of Henry enthusiastically explaining everything in the movies to Gideon. It had been a good night, full of laughter and the warmth of being surrounded by family.

“I think Henry has needed someone like Gideon as much as Gideon needs someone like Henry,” she observed, thinking about it.

“You mean a father figure?” Rumpelstiltskin hazarded doubtfully. Despite being older, Gideon was in many ways more immature than Henry, thanks to his sheltered upbringing in the Dark Realm.

“That’s part of it, maybe, but more...a link to his father?” suggested Belle.

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, feeling slightly guilty. He’d kept his distance from Henry for a variety of reasons -- first there had been the prophecy about a boy who would be his undoing, and then it had been out of a feeling that Henry would be safer if he wasn’t seen as someone who could be used as a way to hurt the Dark One. Although considering the other side of Henry’s family had seen no problem in taking him down to the Underworld with them, perhaps he shouldn’t leave Henry’s welfare entirely in their hands. For all that Henry was mature for his age, he was still a child and needed to be protected, not dragged along on every adventure. And then, for a while, he had simply been gone. Dead, for all intents and purposes, the Dark One’s essence trapped in the vault in the Enchanted Forest. And after that, enslaved by Zelena for a year. But now -- now he vowed that he would be more a part of his grandson’s life.

“I’m glad he’s hit it off with Gideon,” he said. “If there’s one thing Henry likes, it’s helping people.” He thought of Henry showing up earlier with an invitation to another movie night, this one at Emma’s house. Gideon had been obviously reticent, but Henry had refused to take no for an answer.

“I get that it’ll be awkward at first, but you can’t avoid each other forever,” he had insisted. “She knows you were being controlled, and she’s willing to put it in the past. She wouldn’t have allowed me to invite you if she wasn’t.”

“Do the brave thing,” Belle had encouraged.

Gideon had shot her a withering look. “Thanks, Mother. It’s not you who’s been invited to have dinner with someone you tried to kill.”

“It’ll be okay,” Henry persisted, and Gideon had taken a deep breath and given in, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on over the off-white button-down shirt he was wearing along with a pair of jeans and boots.  

“All right, Nephew, but this had better be worth it.”

The last dish done, Belle drained the water from the sink and dried her hands. “Shall we have a movie night of our own tonight?”

“Anything you like, sweetheart.”

They settled on the couch, Belle kicking her shoes off and curling her feet up beneath her as she picked up the remote control and flipped through the channels, looking for something good to watch. She stopped on a show where a baby was pulling itself up by the bars of its crib, making happy babbling noises until its mother came over, smiling, and leaned down to pick the baby up, kissing its forehead. Belle’s heart clenched at the sight, a sharp, fierce ache that made her want to cry. She could have had that, but she had thrown it away. She spoke before she even realised what she was saying.

“I want a baby.”

“What?” Gold half-turned to face her, although he had heard her perfectly well.

“I want a baby, Rumpel. Not right away, Gideon needs us now, and I don’t want him thinking that we don’t love him just as he is. But maybe in a year or so -- do you think we could try again? To have a baby to raise and to love, and to do it right this time? Together?”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed hard, and raised a shaking hand to cup Belle’s face. She was asking about more than a baby, she was confirming that she wanted a life with him, and a proper marriage. He nodded, a tremulous smile appearing on his face. “I can’t think of anything that I’d like more.” He leaned forward, and Belle met him, their lips meeting as they kissed. Her hand came up to cup the back of his head, her fingers sliding into his hair, and she pulled back with a huff of laughter after a moment, trying to tug on the short strands.

“There’s nothing left for me to grab onto,” she complained. “You are letting it grow out again, aren’t you?”  It was already a little longer than it had been, just brushing the top of his collar, but still too short for her preference.

“Do you want me to?” he teased, threading his own fingers into her long hair.

“Yes, please,” she said meekly, her dimples appearing. “You know I always liked burying my hands in your hair.”

“As you wish,” he promised with a grin. “I shall put it on my to-do list.” He claimed another kiss, and Belle smiled at him brightly when he pulled back, before shifting and wriggling back so that she could lean back against him as she faced the TV again. Carefully, he put an arm around her, and relaxed when she covered his hand with her, keeping his pressed firmly in place.

Belle murmured in contentment as she felt Rumpelstiltskin press a kiss to the top of her head, returning her attention to the television program. The mother was settling the baby into a high chair at the kitchen table, where it promptly began banging happily on the tray. Belle smiled wistfully, but it was now a scene she could look forward to one day, instead of only something that she had recklessly thrown away. She would not make the same mistake twice. If they had another child, she would hold onto it as fiercely as she should have held onto Gideon. As if on cue, the door to the kitchen on screen banged open and a little boy came charging into the kitchen, closely followed by what was obviously the children’s father, who greeted his wife and baby with a kiss. The little boy climbed up onto a chair and began making faces at the baby, making it laugh in delight. 

“Do you think Gideon would like being a big brother?” Belle asked.

Rumpel’s arm tightened around her. “I think Gideon has a lot of guilt over not being able to protect the other children in the mines with him. So yes, I think he would be a wonderful big brother. Quite possible overprotective, but I can’t see that as a bad thing.”

“Not around here, no,” Belle agreed, trying to envision a scene in her head, Gideon playing with a baby, a small toddler lovingly following him around. In her mind’s eye, Gideon was smiling and happy, knowing he was loved, that he had a family. “Do you think he’s having a good time at Emma’s?”

“Well, if not, he’s perfectly capable of leaving, so I’m hoping things are going okay at least.”

“It’d be nice to have a little girl,” Belle mused. “To balance things out.”

“It would,” Rumpelstiltskin agreed, his own mind filling with sudden images. “It’s been a while since a girl’s been born into this family. About time for a change.” 

A change sounded good, Belle thought, a change for the better. They would learn from the past and move on, not forgetting it but not dwelling on it. They would find the way forward. 

[gch1995]

Friendly reminder that Rumple and Belle argued in this episode, had an actual conversation, and it was completely healthy, in-character, and resolved by behaving like two mature adults who were still in love with each other without any OOC demands, threats, ultimatums, secrets, deceptions, protection spells, trapping/imprisonment, force, banishments/exiles, lies, one of them walking away from the other mid sentence, fucked up dialogue, petty insults, insinuations, or stupid toxic melodrama.

What happened to these characters from S4-S6? Shame on A&E and these writers for fucking them up!

A part of me wants to say that it was due to all the trauma they went through, and never talked about. But with all this melodrama going on for roughly three damned seasons between the two of them, I really just think it was OOC character destroying plot driven bad writing to make Hook/CS and Zelena look better because when it goes on for roughly three seasons of both Rumple and Belle being that uncharacteristically problematic, stupid, and self-destructive in their relationship on-and-off-again by not talking, shutting each other out, and learning the same lessons over and over again, I can’t help but think that Adam and Eddy were deliberately making them both dumbasses to prop up all of their faves up onto pedestals they didn’t deserve by constantly derailing them.

I also just think that this show devolved into an absurd soap opera after the first two-and-a-half seasons, and character driven development stopped happening after that.

Glad I quit watching after S5, but this Rumbelle in “The Outsider,” this was the ship I signed up for! Two outsiders with different value systems who always understood each other, and who always brought out the best in each other through and thin! Not quite sure who those bizarre and fucked up pod!people in 6A were, but they weren’t my Rumple and Belle. I’m sorry that Bobby and Emilie were forced to play them because they certainly looked as miserable and dead inside as I felt about the state of this show by season sucks.

@dancingscorpiodearie

@takingbackouat

@done-with-ouat

@thenightling

@ishtarelisheba

@salty-rumbelle

@sarashouldbestudying

@besiderunningwaters

‘Belle, please. Hook has maybe cost me the chance of finding my son. I don’t want to lose you, too.’

100 Days of Rumple Angst - Day 98

[rosetylerlesbians]

Rumbelle fic-The Substitute

Summary:

Belle French is new to town in a temporary job as a substitute teacher. Mr Gold is a seasoned (and cynical) teacher at the same high school. They get off to a rocky start, but things don't always turn out the way you expect.

Notes:

This is just sort of a teaser to see if anyone is interested. It's my first time writing outside of Rumbelle Secret Santa, so please leave comments, it would be so very much appreciated!

AO3

The morning was quiet. Though the occasional students passed by, they spoke in low, tired voices that were only heard as murmurs behind the closed door. It was a Wednesday morning, and Belle French sat at an unfamiliar desk in an unfamiliar classroom in an unfamiliar school. She had only just moved to Storybrooke from another just as obscure town. Belle grew up there, and couldn’t even remember leaving for more than a few days at a time. Her entire life had been centered around that quiet little village for twenty eight years. Almost thirty years of her life were gone, wasted in a small minded community with her small minded boyfriend. Recent events had reminded her that she wasn’t stuck there, that her life was open to adventure. Ruby said she needed a change of pace, and that was exactly what Belle found in Storybrooke. It wasn’t much of a change, actually, but it was something. Baby steps, she had told herself.

Now Belle found herself in this unknown environment, thrown into a teaching position in the middle of the school year. The middle of the week, even. The job was temporary, but perhaps that was all the better. More opportunity for Belle to move on with her life as she had failed to in previous years.

The commencement bell rang and wrenched Belle out of her daydream rather abruptly. Using the ancient computer in front of her as a mirror, she checked her appearance one last time before rushing to tidy up her papers. She stood and tried to lean against the desk naturally just as students began to trickle in. They made their way to their seats rather mechanically, glancing at Belle and each other in turn. The second bell rang, the shuffling in seats ceased, and Belle cleared her throat.

“Hello everyone, my name is Miss French and I’ll be your English teacher for the rest of the year while Mrs. Nolan is out on maternity leave,” she said, doing her best to look enthusiastic. All of that nervous energy had to go somewhere.

The students had mixed reactions. Some looked bored, others sympathetic, and a select few muttered hellos in return.

“I hope we’ll get along,” she added after a moment, and was greeted only by the creaking of unsteady chairs and desks.

“They’ll warm up to you,” she told herself, though rather uncertain as she looked at the blank stares in her direction.

“Right. Well, would someone help me pass out these books?”

Belle managed to make it through the morning periods with reasonable confidence, and the kids seemed to perk up as the day went on. Of course, Belle’s energy went in the opposite direction, trickling out of her with each sentence. By lunch she was in desperate need of caffeine, and the iced tea in her lunch bag wasn’t going to cut it. So she took the risk of leaving the safe haven of her classroom in search of the teachers lounge and a coffee maker.

It was practically like walking into the cafeteria on the first day of school. Every teacher seemed to have assigned tables as well as assigned friends, and very few people took notice of Belle as she entered the room. Truthfully, that bit. It was a reminder of her own high school days, when no one except Ruby seemed to care for the class bookworm. Only Ruby so much as acknowledged her presence. At least, before Gaston. Gaston. No, Belle pushed that thought from her mind and zeroed in on the coffeepot that caught her eye, right on the counter. Unsurprisingly, it was empty, but Belle didn’t mind doing a mundane task like that. Soon enough, she was standing near the window, carefully sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup.

She was left to her thoughts, which was a much needed break. Her uneasiness had faded into a new sense of possibility, and she almost made up her mind to go talk to another teacher when a man walked in.

He was older than Belle (just how much she couldn’t tell), and though he walked  with a cane, his stride had a certain swagger to it. Though a sneer was painted across his face, he wasn’t unattractive- quite the opposite, in fact. His entire demeanor was a bit arrogant and intimidating. The other staff members obviously felt the same, as they all seemed to shift uncomfortably as he entered the room. Only Belle’s gaze stayed on him. She felt her heart beat quicken as he started walking toward her, and almost panicked when he looked at her. They narrowly avoided eye contact, and Belle stared at the contents of her cup trying not to blush.

When she gained the courage to look up again, the man was pouring himself a cup of coffee. He lifted the mug to his lips and blew gently before taking a sip. His face changed to a grimace immediately, and he set the coffee down with a decided clink on the counter.

“Did you make this?” he asked with a blasé expression. Belle’s eyes widened, and she blinked at him a few times before she fully processed that he was speaking to her.

“Um, yeah- yes. Yes I did,” she scrambled to get the words out, but still managed to correct her blunder and sound professional. Or at least she hoped. The man looked unimpressed.

“Well, in future, please leave the coffee making to someone more competent. This is hardly more than dirty water,” he told her pointedly. He picked up the coffeepot and dumped its contents into the sink without another look or glance to Belle. His blunt manner perplexed her, but did her best to recover.

“I can make more, if you’d like- I’ll make it stronger,” she offered, doing her best to sound helpful.

“No, I’ll do it myself. You’ve done enough,” he sighed, still without looking at her. Her confusion slowly melted into irritation as he proceeded to make more coffee with that same disdainful expression.

“I was only trying to help, I’m sorry if I somehow off-” Belle began to explain, but the approach of a new figure cut her off.

“Ah, Miss French, I was hoping to find you here. I see you’ve met Mr. Gold,” said Principal Mills. She looked between the two with a honeyed smile that seemed entirely too put on.

The school principal always seemed to have a certain air about her, like she was trying too hard to be friendly, meanwhile barely masking her less forgiving attitude. It was off putting, to say the least, and Belle found herself shifting uncomfortably. She felt completely trapped between the principal and this man, that apparently was called Mr. Gold. With a glance in his direction, Belle could tell that he didn’t seem to care for Mrs. Mills any more than she did. His lip seemed to curl of its own accord as he spoke.

“Yes, we were just… getting acquainted,” he said coolly. “However, I was just leaving.” He hadn’t finished making his coffee, but he still made a move to side step the two women. Mrs Mills, however, had other ideas and blocked his path.

“Not so fast Gold,” she told him with a cautioning look. “I’m afraid I’ve neglected Miss French, as I haven’t had much free time since she joined us. I was going to ask for a volunteer to give her a tour, but since you two have met, I’ll leave that honor to you.”

“Mrs Mills, I am a very busy man.”

“I’m aware of that, Gold, but I think you can manage to find time to help out Miss French here,” she retorted, and Belle thought she saw a hint of a smirk. “Well, I have one of the usual delinquents waiting in my office, so I really must be going,” she added after they were both silent for a moment. With a simple not to each of them, she left.

“Look, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure I’ll manage without the grand tour,” Belle assured him after a moment of tense silence. She really could have used the help, but not if it meant inconveniencing Mr. Gold. Their first encounter had hardly been favorable, and she did not want to see any more of him than she had to.

“Oh no, Miss French. You’ll learn soon enough that it’s best to do what Principal Mills asks of you. Be in my room at 3:15 exactly, and we can get it over with,” he told her, finally taking his leave. Belle let out a long sigh, now left standing awkwardly alone. It seemed she would have to face the beast.

[xiolaperry]

Four Ways Gaston Could Have Died (and the One Way He Actually Did)

After much delay, here is the the story I promised months ago at the end of “The Piano”. It won’t make much sense if you didn’t read that one. A special thank you to everyone in my NaNoWriMo Rumbelle Writers group!!!

Summary:  We all agreed at the end of 'The Piano' that Gaston deserved to die. But how? I opened it up to prompts, and here they are...

Notes: Prompt from Brokensoul, “a haircut from Barney.”

Read “The Piano” on AO3.

Read “Four Ways” on AO3.

--

Gaston looked at himself in the mirror with a critical eye. He smiled a big toothy grin, then assumed a look of nonchalant superiority. His “intimidating” look was next and he finished with the charming, flirtatious smile he used with the ladies.

The reflection in the mirror confirmed he was as handsome as ever, but life hadn't gone back to normal since Belle left with Gold. Whispers followed him wherever he went. Instead of looking at him with admiration, people looked at him like they expected to see shame on his face. Shame? He may have overreacted a bit with Belle, but leaving a challenge to his superiority as a man unanswered was not an option.

He stroked his face in contemplation as he paced, the sound of his heavy boots filling the sparsely furnished bedroom. Perhaps he needed a haircut and a shave. Freshen up his look and maybe turn things around. His aunt Cora told him yesterday that a barber set up shop in the village. Before the incident, he'd have heard about it himself, but his friends no longer dropped by to share the local gossip.

“Not a very confident man,” Cora had said about the barber. “A bit nervous. But I can work with that.” Gaston had no doubt his aunt would find something about the fellow to exploit.

He passed Reverend Hopper and Ruby out on a stroll as he entered the town. Hopper said a polite hello and stopped to exchange pleasantries. The Reverend was one of the few that still spoke to him. His companion glared and said nothing. The charming smile on his face had no effect on her. If anything, it only made her frown harder.

How did such a mild-mannered man catch the eye of a firecracker like Ruby Lucas? Not that he wanted her for himself. Hopper could have her. No, he was done with women. They were more trouble than they were worth.

Ruby had a pretty face and a nice, lean body, he thought as he turned to watch them for a moment as the couple continued on their way. He was sure most men would find her attractive, but she'd set her mind on the mousy Reverend and pursued him with determination, ever since the day she arrived on the same ship that took them away.

His aunt was very unhappy with the match between Hopper and Granny's granddaughter. The sermons now were full of love and acceptance, instead of the grimmer messages Cora favored. Hopper was no longer her dutiful companion, and she was furious. Ruby had better watch out.

Gaston made his way down the main street with his head held high. He kept his smile on his face as he seethed at the snubs he received from most people he encountered.

The barbershop, with its new red and white striped pole, was easy to spot. He stomped up the steps and pushed the door open with a bang, making an entrance to attract attention. A slight man wearing a maroon jacket was sweeping the floor and he jumped at the noise. His hair, combed and slicked back from his face, shone in the light pouring in the large windows.

“Hello?” the man said. His voice, uncertain, made his greeting a question.

“You the barber?” asked Gaston.

“Yes, I am. Barney Thomson.” He stepped forward and extended his hand.

Gaston shook it, gripping with more force than necessary. It was important to establish dominance in all situations. After a final squeeze, the smaller man extracted his hand, wincing.

“Gaston Legume,” He introduced himself, satisfied with his superiority. “I need a shave and a haircut. Can that be done now?”

“Yes, sir. It will be a few minutes. I just need to heat some water.”

Barney scurried to one of the chairs, brushing non-existent dust from it with a handkerchief. “Please, have a seat.”

The man's meek demeanor made Gaston want to punch him in the face. And he looked familiar too. Something about the eyes, the sharpness of his nose... he shook his head. Aunt Cora told him he needed to lay low for a bit to let everything blow over. Now would not be a good time to lose his temper. He took a deep breath and sat in the chair Barney had gestured at.

---

Barney returned a few minutes later carrying a steaming basin. “If you could please lie back, Mr. Legume?” he asked, and with deft, practiced movements draped a damp, hot towel across Gaston's face.

Barney was nervous, which was not good. Bad things happened when Barney was nervous. And those bad things were how he ended up here in New Zealand, far from his home in Scotland. However, something about this man, with his massive arms and handsome sneering face, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Calm down, he told himself. Just be happy to have a customer. But his anxiety ratcheted higher as he tried to place the name. Legume. He knew he'd heard it since he moved to town, but could not remember where. Barney removed the towel and applied a soapy lather to Gaston's face. He attempted to make friendly conversation, reminding himself not to ramble.

“Have any advice for someone new in town? I haven't been here very long, just arrived from Scotland.”

“Make friends with my aunt, Cora Mills. She's the most important person around here, so stay on her good side.”

Barney almost dropped his razor. Wasn't this just his luck. Women flustered him as a general rule. But aggressive women? They reminded him too much of his mother and rendered him a cowering mess. After meeting Cora, he had planned to stay as far away from her as possible. And now here he was with her nephew in his chair.

“Cora Mills is your aunt?” Barney's hands began to sweat as he fumbled with the razor. He sent up a prayer not to cut the man sitting here, who would not be the type to forgive an accidental slice.

“Yes. That's what I said.” Irritation was creeping into Gaston's voice.

Barney spoke to fill the uncomfortable quiet as his blade glided across Gaston's cheek, its sharp edge making quick work of the stubble. “You have beautiful skin, Mr. Legume. I'm sure your wife will appreciate seeing you with this smooth, close shave. Very handsome.” He attempted, in vain, to keep a high pitched nervous tone out of his voice.

It was the wrong thing to say, judging by Gaston's response. His jaw tensed and his hands tightened into fists, the veins in his forearms standing out. “I'm not married,” he said through clenched teeth.

Barney laughed nervously. “I'm sure someday you'll meet a special lady.” Shut up, shut up!

Gaston's face darkened further.

“I have no luck with women, myself.” He knew he was babbling, but could not keep the words from pouring out of his mouth. “Maybe your aunt could set you up with someone. Not that you couldn't find someone yourself if you wanted to. Because you could. I mean, look at you. I bet you have to beat the women off with a stick. Who wouldn't want a strapping young man such as yourself?” He stopped to take a breath, his mind spinning, begging him to stop talking.

“I. Don't. Want. A. Wife. Women are nothing but trouble.” He paused, then muttered under his breath, “Especially if they're interested in books or music.”

Barney's hand froze where it hovered over Gaston's neck. Now he remembered where he'd heard the name Gaston Legume before.

“You're the one who–—!” The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“'The one who' what?” Gaston's handsome face contorted with rage.

“The one... the one..” Barney drew a blank. There was no way to fix this. He was unable to move, prey immobilized by the predator. The razor hung just above Gaston's neck.

Gaston knew exactly what “one” he was. The one who cut off his wife's finger. The one whose wife left him for a crippled old man. The one who looked like a fool. He'd been on his best behavior for weeks and still, no one would let him forget what happened.

He sat up and whipped around, ready to give the barber a beating he wouldn't soon forget. Warmth startled him as it spread down from his neck to his chest. When he tried to speak the only sound he made was a strange, wet gurgle. His hands fumbled, slippery at the slit in his throat. He looked at them and they were crimson.

“I'm sorry!” shrieked Barney, dropping the razor. He grabbed a towel and tried to stem the flood of blood gushing from Gaston's jugular. It was a futile effort, the white towel turned red and sopping in an instant. The anger and confusion in Gaston's eyes soon faded to a dull, lifeless gaze as his life drained away, and he slumped over.

“Oh, not again,” whispered Barney with panicked tears in his eyes. He hung his head and wrung his hands. No one would believe that Gaston had inadvertently slit his own throat. Another accident, and another body to dispose of. At least he had experience.

End Notes: I hope to post a chapter a week until this is finished-- and if you have a prompt, feel free to send it! I can always change the title to “Five” or “Six”...