#c: rumplestiltskin

[dinneratgrannys]

no offense to belle but this scene sends me literally every time

[potestmagice]

@siiinfully asked: "Why are you still up?" Bleary-eyed, she made her way over to him, a soft hand placed over his shoulder. ( from belle )

Rumplestiltskin sighed. Weariness seemed to be etched into the lines of his face as he looked over at Belle. The flickering light in his dimly lit study cast shadows that seemed to dance on the walls.

"Just a restless night, dearie," he mumbled, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of an old, dusty tome on the table. "Couldn't seem to find the right potion to brew away my troubles."

[hcpefuldreaming]

❛ you seem somewhat familiar. have i threatened you before?  ❜ -mr. gold to hope

She knows she's being rude about it, but she rolls her eyes at the question and scoffs. "No, but from what I've heard, that wouldn't exactly surprise me if you would have tried. Anyways, my name is Hope Swan-Jones, I'm assuming you don't remember, but hey, if you do, then you're doing better than most of my family here. I'm the daughter of Emma Swan and Hook, Henry is my older brother."

[the99thfanboy]

He’s being mean to me.

[galaxydrcaming]

@hxlcycnx

the dark one had never changed his expression from casual pleasantry to utter disdain so quickly. he knew exactly who this snarky child was, he was angry he hadn't seen it before. only one person had called him the crocodile, and only one person had ever, even slightly impressed him. "hello ms. swan." he resolved snarkily. it was an odd old sentiment he normally reserved for her mother. it would be passed down to her now. "i'm glad to hear that my legend has reached even your ears. though i do hope your father was not the storyteller in this particular case." he did, afterall, cut off the man's hand. he could imagine there being a few biases and missed details of that particular story. "to what do i owe the pleasure?"

Despite the snarky tone, Hope's smile only widens as she crosses her arms over her chest. "No, it was more than just papa, but I do know of a number of things that you have done, plus, the book had some good information, not to mention the fact that there's something in the library here that somehow made your guys' life a show, it's strange but that's not abnormal." She shakes her head and shrugs slightly. "I saw your shop and got curious, plus I did genuinely want to purchase these two beautiful things."

[sxbstantialfxndom]

❛  i'm still in love with you ... and i honestly never stopped.  ❜ - from Belle to Rumple

He didn't trust that. He couldn't. How could he? How much time had passed since their first disastrous kiss in the Enchanted Forest? Too long. How much time had it been since he last betrayed her? Not enough.

No, Rumplestiltskin wasn't worthy of Belle's love.

How could he be? Poor man, living on simple wages trying to feed his son. Coward of a man, crippling himself so he wouldn't fight in the war? He wasn't worthy to spit on the ground that Belle walked on. And yet.

She wouldn't lie to him. She wasn't cruel.

The look of sheer hope in his eyes. It would be enough to humble a better man. It was enough to stagger him towards her. "Belle." He gasped, the word - her name - ripping from his throat like it pained him. "Belle."

He wanted to promise that he would change. That he would finally be worthy of her. But he was changed already. Tired of lying to her. He'd never be able to bring his status up enough to worthy himself of her. But if what she said was true - she loved him - then he would surely die at the altar of her dress skirts.

Everything he felt was in that one, precious name. He said it again.

"Belle."

[potestmagice]

He nodded slowly, eyes glinting with unshed emotion, and for a second, the man beneath the Dark One shimmered through - a vulnerable, deeply human. "Aye," Rumple murmured. "You saw the man even I stopped believing in." His thumb lingered against her cheekbone as if committing the moment to memory.

His touch, his words…even the way he looked at her made her happy. He made her happy. Belle knew that she was crying, but she couldn’t help it. After everything they had been through, they still ended up together, and she nodded through her tears, her smile shaky but genuine. “I know you will, Rumple. You’re a good man, under all that self-made armor. But you let me in, didn’t you?”

And if he was able to let her in, then he could let his other loved ones in, too. There was still a chance, and she was going to take it, no matter what form it showed itself as.

[theredofoctober]

RUMPLESTILTSKIN— An Oliver Quick/Reader Saltburn DarkFic

Pairing: Oliver Quick/You, Oliver Quick/Reader (no gender specified, terms like pretty are used though just to mention)

Synopsis: Oliver finds You, the awkward guest at his birthday party, and takes what his dark heart desires.

Trigger Warnings (PLEASE READ): noncon, blood play, Oliver just being evil

Fic under the cut, keep reading

"Who are you, then?"

It was the small man that said it, the one with the slurring Nothern accent and eyes like ice picks, palely sharp.

You'd seen him swaying on the outer edge of the party, seeming both drunk and far too sober, all at once.

His face was odd, flat, and sleek, like a trickster in a German folk story: thief of children, bringer of gold.

You hated the boy in a moment, drawing back from him against a trellis, your hands wrapped fast through the slats. His eyes made you wish you'd drunk rather less than you had done, silver as scissor blades in the swelling night.

"I'm one of Venetia's friends," you said, though you knew Felix more, and Farleigh rather better than you liked to. "You don't know me. Who are you?"

The boy stepped around a plant pot, his balance the measure of sobriety. He wore deer antlers with an open-chested white suit, embroidered with leaves, the dress of a more handsome man. Only the slopes of his cheekbones, the soft mouth were beautiful.

His eyes made an autopsy of you. There was nothing in them but wanting, a starving colour. An absence of it.

You would have turned to run, only there was nothing then to fly from that made sense.

"I'm Oliver," said the young man. "It's my birthday party. Felix's family arranged it all for me."

"Happy birthday," you said, at once, a reflex.

You wished that he'd go away, that he would edge into the maze like a shadow thrown by the sun, and meld with the dark of the leaves beyond. Anything but approach as he did then, his compact form eating of the air between you with carnivorous haste.

He was slight enough that you thought you might push him down or aside with little effort, but the poise of him, as delicate as a barber's blade, gave you pause. He'd cut you if you touched him, you thought. Something would happen, and you would run crying as you had from a dozen birthday celebrations as a child, unwanted.

He brought that old vulnerability up out of you, somehow, though he hadn't yet done much but broach the most innocent of smalltalk.

"How come you're over here, on your own?" asked Oliver, his head at a sympathetic incline. "You're too pretty for that. You know that, don't you?"

His voice was a sing-song croon, then, all silken menace. He was trying to charm you, you knew that, yet you saw as though through the beads of a brothel doorway the hunger in him, the appetite of worlds.

You glanced right and left, realising, with an awful start, how very drunk you were, swaying and stupid with it.

"I needed some fresh air," you said, with a high, braying laugh— Oliver half-smirked at the sound of it, knowing its falseness, knowing your fear. "All that bloody champagne went right to my head."

"You'll need someone to look after you, then," said Oliver, and then he uttered your name, making a baleful ditty of its syllables.

How had he known it? Had he known it all along?

You'd glimpsed him watching you, before, an empty glass in hand, attaching himself to your heels like a stoat after a rabbit, all lithe cunning on the hunt. Likely he'd heard your name then, as Felix had bent down to kiss your cheek, all affable golden looks. Heard it, and slipped it into the pocketbook of his mind to tear free, when it was needed.

Your name was pretty on Oliver's tongue, sugar, and ribbon, and stained glass, as apt to break. Happily you'd have taken the pieces and cast them all out into the riverbed, have gone nameless rather than hear him speak it again.

"You don't know anyone else here, do you?" asked Oliver, and there was the word again, no longer ribbon, but rough as a noose, strangling as he came closer still. "Just the Catton family. Something in common, me and you."

You lurched vaguely to the right, and Oliver's arm came up against the trellis, gently, a tender trap.

"You're lonely," he said. "Haven't you always been, though?"

His face was close enough for you to note the punctuation of a mole on his right cheek, the lines at his brow, the riddled literature of him. What he saw in yours was a portal to the past, all features from the nervous mouth to the twitching eyelids telling of a once bullied child, an outcast brought in through charity from the cold.

"Go away, Oliver," you said, bravely. "I want to be alone. I can't breathe."

That was true enough. You were stifled in your plastic wings and ill-fitting garments, sweating and airless, almost wanting to be sick.

Oliver drew his face nearer, and your throat closed to the breadth of a lock in your dread of him, of those ink spill eyes.

"I don't want you to breathe," he said. "Not right now."

Then he darned his lips to yours, their heat, their softness like the death of summer blooms, and you pressed back into the trellis so hard that you thought the wood might break, so brittle did it seem.

You brought up your hands to battle his shoulders, only for them to be joined with his, your fingers tangling, a torsion of slick skin and bone.

There were no thoughts that survived the cruelty of Oliver's embrace, the insistence of his compact strength, the length of tongue, of arousal under clothing, at your thigh. You wanted to snap free of him like a spell, but he kissed you until your fight withdrew in sight of its fair winner.

No one came close enough to see you, or if they did they thought you drunken lovers, poised to consummate your pash against the fence.

At last Oliver moved back his head, the reflection of the night's obsidian in his mortuary eyes.

"Let me go," you whispered. "I don't want to do this. I don't want you."

"Well, I want you, though," said Oliver, with an authority that frightened you in its unshifting weight. "And since nobody else here does, what's the point in saying no?"

His hands, little and wicked, wore their way under clammy layers of clothes. In all the heat they were almost cold, dragging from you a series of ragged gasps that were lost in the revelling darkness.

You wished the wings at your back were feathered, those of swans; they'd have broken the bones in his arm and you out of this, far lovelier a transportation than the sticky taxi that would bear you home in the hours to come.

Yet had such pretty things hung from your back this beast named Oliver would have bitten them off and flossed their quills through his teeth, you knew it.

He touched you until his findings were of stolen treasure, watching your every tendon solidify to strands of stone through the art of such fell grief.

"You weren't what I came looking for tonight, you know," he said. "But you're mine, anyway."

You didn't answer, imagined any word drowned like a cat in the depths of him.

Oliver stepped into you with a dancing softness and kissed you again, sucking a plum welt into your lower lip, breaking it between his teeth to blood. Again you struck your hands against him, but Oliver, with liquid instinct, pushed your arms back through the apertures in the trellis, caring little for the splinters in your wrists, if at all.

Crucifixion could not be so painful, so martyring as your capture beneath him.

"Oliver," you said, and he smiled.

"That's me. The birthday boy. And what does the birthday boy get?"

He opened your costume with the hook of four fingers, touched the bruised rose of princely lips to your ear.

His breath was smoke, and champagne, and stolen blood.

"I get what I want," he said, and then his cock was an arrow at the heart of your waiting horror, his slight hips a harp played against you, moving in the strum of entry, into the gold he made of your pain.

You screamed, and the sound was devoured by the bacchanal night. Oliver took you slowly, with patient intelligence, feeling each trembling agony of your body and twisting it, by sorcery, into something else. His eyes were a witch's orbs through which he knew you, psychic, solipsistic—

You were ivy about the wand of him, a thing that would poison the man, were he not immune to its effects. He fucked you as though he thought it romantic, somehow, this violence in a friend's pungent garden, the scent of flowers and trodden grass and arousal a perfume to woo.

There was blood on both of your faces, on his bare chest, under the blazer. It frightened you, suddenly, a tarot spread of death in the summer night—

Your panic, the heaviness of lingering champagne, the attack like Zeus upon a swan; all of it made you limp, in Oliver's grip.

He paused in his taking of you to hold you upright, studying your face under the Midas yellow of a nearby lamp.

"Stand up straight for me, now," he said. "And look at me. Look at me."

He tapped your cheek— not a slap, far too soft for that, as though the concern in the vicious gossamer in his voice was real.

"You want me to make you feel good about yourself. Need me. Don't you?"

"No," you said, but as Oliver kissed you again, and a firework shrieked somewhere against your eardrum, you lost what temporary power you'd had to resist him.

Like a spindled sleeper you endured his lovemaking, swallowed his tongue like a precious key. Your body was a pulse in deep water, stirred by hands and cock into a dripping arc.

Oliver moaned against your tattered lips, his arms about you in embrace. The heat of him would follow you, afterwards, the haunting of his lust's smoke from dream to dream.

He moved away from you, aided you in pulling your arms back through the trellis. For a moment he tried to hold you, his murmuring at your hair, its comfort indistinct.

Then, as you ripped him from you like the segment of a rotten apple he wiped himself clean of your blood; the rag he used was something torn from your garments in the fury of his love, a token of it. A thread from the maze.

You sat down in the grass and stared up at Oliver, seeking some answer. Assistance from the breaker of will.

"Go home," he said, at last. "Felix doesn't want you. And now—"

Oliver shook his head, and the peat fire of his eyes was of the underworld, then, of sapphire death gone to ash.

"I don't want you either. Not anymore."

Then he turned from you, and walked away, towards the house, his fey shape a shadow puppet on the wall.

[ace-cf-cups]

For Your Consideration 2024 (@the-chipped-cup-awards)

As with 2023, I started 2024 off with great ambitions regarding writing and gifing and editing:

I ended up posting [in 2023] only a handful of gifsets, three ficlets, two of which I wrote for Rumbelle Showdown (shoutout to @jackabelle73 for hosting this wonderful event last year, by the way), and 0 fanvids/edits. I'm not particularly proud of it, and I really, really wanna make much more content this year.

(c) my FYC post from last year

And, as with 2023, I ended up posting only a handful of little things, a couple of moodboards and gifsets and a couple of tiny ficlets. Honestly? I'm a little baffled as to how it happened (it feels like only yesterday I was writing that post and looked forward to creating much more Rumbelle and Anyelle content in 2024... where did the time go? 😅) and more than a little ashamed, especially considering 2024 was the year I really got into Anyelle.

We've already seen how this promises go, but I really really really do hope I'll have enough time and spoons and inspiration to write and edit and gif and put together much much more things on this blog and in this fandom. Guess we'll see next year how well it went?)

As for now, I offer to your consideration what little I wrote and made in the years 2023 and 2024.

Fanfics

Premonition - a ficlet written for the 1st Round of Rumbelle Showdown 2023, for the prompts ""; EF!Rumbelle hurt/comfort

Belle and Rumple are slowly growing closer as they spend evenings in each other's company in the Dark Castle.

Then, when one day Rumplestiltskin is called away for a deal in the middle of their conversation and doesn't return for an hour, Belle begins to worry.

Possible nominations: Best Comfort, Best One-Shot, Best Short Fic, Best Dark Castle, Best Drama, Best Trope (sickfic), Best English Language, Best Belle, Best Dark One Rumple

His ray of light - a ficlet written for the 2nd Round of Rumbelle Showdown 2023, for the prompts ""; human AU, major character injury, possible MCD

Alan Gold is in a happy, healthy relationship for the first time in what might be his whole life.

But when one day a figure from his past unexpectedly shows up at his beloved's doorstep, it might mean the end not only of his happiness, but life itself.

Possible nominations: Best Death, Best Hurts So Good, Best One Shot, Best Short Fic, Best Storybrooke, Best Drama, Best AU - Original, Best English Language, Best Mr Gold

Sacred promise - originally written as a starter for my rp partner, I also decided to post it as a ficlet; season 6 fix-it without all the breakup bullsh*t

Belle's and Rumple's baby boy has kicked for the first time.

Rumple has major feelings about it.

Possible nominations: Best Family, Best Fix-it, Best One Shot, Best Short Fic, Best Storybrooke, Best AU – Based on Once Upon A Time, Best Trope (kiss to the baby bump), Best English Language, Best Mr Gold

Say the word - a David Russell/Lacey French ficlet

David confronts Lacey about the prick that's been pestering her.

Possible nominations: Best Romance, Best One-Shot, Best Crossover Fic, Best English as Second Language Fic, Best Trope (I will kill for you), Best Lacey, BEST ANYEM FIC

A lie (might be better than the real thing) - a David Russell/Hiero ficlet I wrote while trying out this fun writing site

David ponders his developing relationship with Hiero, its dangers and attraction.

Possible nominations: Best One-Shot, Best Crossover Fic, Best English ad Second Language Fic, BEST ANYEM FIC

Welcome home - a Renard/Belle French tiny ficlet

Belle welcomes Victor home.

Possible nominations: Best Romance, Best One-Shot, Best Crossover Fic, Best English as Second Language Fic, BEST ANYELLE FIC

Gifsets

this "happy ending at the end of realms" set

Possible nominations: Best Fan Art, Best Graphic Art, Best Fluff Art, Best Use of Color

this silly little Woven Beauty set

Possible nominations: Best Fan Art, Best Graphic Set, Best AU in Art

this David Russell/Belle French gif set

Possible Nominations: Best Fan Art, Best Graphic Art, Best AU in Art

this Golden Lace (in)correct quote

Possible Nominations: Best Fan Art, Best Graphic Art, Best AU in Art, Best Smutty Art

this "Belle tells Rumple she is pregnant" set (what do you mean it's not how it went?)

Possible Nominations: Best Fan Art, Best Graphic Art, Best AU in Art, Best Fluff Art

Moodboards

this hiero moodboard

Possible Nominations: Best Fan Art, Best Graphic Art, Best Use Of Color

this hiero x weaver moodboard

Possible Nominations: Best Fan Art, Best Graphic Art, Best AU in Art

this bellish AU moodboard

Possible Nominations: Best Fan Art, Best Graphic Art, Best AU in Art, Best Angsty Art

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Author: Avalanumbres

Group: C

Prompts: A new hobby. Lady Belle, Peasant!Rumple. Another kid.

-

Stone Seekers: Waters of Avonlea

Something wet dripped down Gideon’s face as he ran through the streets of his seaport home. When the moisture hit his lips he licked them and tasted salt. Not blood then, that relieved him. His father would kill him if he injured himself. Assuming the angry pirates chasing after him didn't do it first.

“Street rat!” One shouted. “Stop, thief!”

Gideon had one advantage over the larger men. He knew these roads. Fast as lightning, he darted through a crowd, turned left into a narrow alley, and came out in the market. There he resumed a normal gait, pretended to study a few random items on vendors’ carts, and listened as the angry sailors passed him by.

“Hot day today,” he told the costermonger while wiping his brow. 

The woman humphed.

“Papa would like two of these, please.”

The seller glanced at the small golden pears in Gideon's hand. “One copper.”

Gideon handed over the coin and strode off toward his home.

Rumplestiltskin and his son lived in a single-room shack with a sagging roof and a packed dirt floor. The space was filled by three objects: a bed, a small washtub for dying wool, and a spinning wheel. Everything else existed in their lives by either coincidence or through the process of creating items to sell. They had little, yet their lives were filled with love and joy. 

It was lonely at times, moreso for Gideon’s father, who pined endlessly for the woman he’d fallen in love with more than ten years ago. Belle was Gideon's mother, but wasn't a part of their lives. She lived in the castle beyond the walled part of the city. On occasion, she left her father’s protection to wander the markets. On those rare days she always sought out the spinner’s stall. The family’s reunions were brief and both parents clung to the hope that they would see each other again soon. Gideon, on the other hand, felt little for his mother beyond the knowledge that she made his father’s heart sing. Rumplestiltskin’s happiness meant everything to his son and so he’d adopted his father’s dream of a permanent reunion. In fact, that was the very reason he was in this mess right now.

“Hello, Papa,” Gideon shoved the door back into its frame and held out the pears. “I got us something sweet to end our dinner.”

At the wheel, Rumplestiltskin took his foot from the treadle and looked up, eyes skimming past the fruit to a small bag Gideon clutched to his chest. “My favorite. Thank you. They look delicious.”

The boy sighed as he squeezed his slender frame between the wheel and the wash basin, then dropped to the bed. “You only like them because they are yellow and mother always wears a golden dress to come see you.”

The assumption brought an image of Belle to Rumplestiltskin’s mind, one of warm light caressing a satin gown. From where they had hidden for their lovemaking, a ray from the sun reached out to touch Belle’s tousled hair and made the blue in her eyes sparkle. She told him about the baby that day and their lives had changed forever. 

“The fact that they remind me of your mum has little to do with why I like them.” Rumplestiltskin returned to spinning for a moment, then stopped the wheel to turn a knowing frown toward his son. “And what else did you acquire while you were meant to be at your lessons?”

“I went to my lessons, “ Gideon protested.

“For how much of the day?”

Now that his father's full attention was on him, Gideon felt compelled to tell the truth. “Half,’ he grumbled.

“Son, the money I make from dying and spinning pays for that education.” Rumplestiltskin reached for his walking stick and used it to pull himself to his feet. “I wish you wouldn't throw it away so easily.”

“I’m not throwing it away, Papa. Not this time.” Gideon’s eyes lit up as they tracked his father’s movements. “I met another kid on the way to classes today and I learned of a way we can leave this life behind us!”

“By starting a new hobby of thievery?” Rumplestiltskin leaned heavily on his walking stick. He could only blame himself for his son’s behavior, though it’s origin baffled him. He eyed the bag again. “Magical endings always come at a great price.” 

“This isn't like your story,” his son insisted, oblivious to the price his parents paid for the magic that kept him a secret. “This is different. If we can help gather these stones we can save the land from a horrible evil. You can be a hero and earn the right to ask for Mother’s hand! No more pining for her at your wheel or daydreaming while you dye the wool. No more secret meetings in the market! You could be married! We could all be together. Forever.”

“And just what do we have to do to earn this great gift?”

Gideon rose from the bed and stepped into the light by the window. With hesitation he began to untie the strings of his leather satchel. “We need to find the rest of these before-”

A terrible crashing erupted from the world beyond, followed by blood-curdling shrieks that grew closer with great rapidity. The noise triggered Gideon’s reflexes, making him draw the string taut and clutch the treasure back against his chest.

“Something’s happening.” Rumplestiltskin rushed to the door and flung it open, took two stumbling steps and then froze. There, directly in front of him, was Belle, golden skirts hiked up as high as she could manage and eyes wide with terror.

“Belle!” The fear that struck him wasn’t for himself, but for the woman he could never live without. “Belle!”

She ran to his side and reached out to help him find balance. “Giant Calixclaws have entered the city from the sea,” she told him. “They’re headed this way.”

“You have to get behind the walls,” Rumple insisted.

Belle shook her head, then turned her gaze to some point down the road. “There’s no time.”

Gideon drew a dagger from his belt and strode forward. “You run, I’ll stay and protect our home.”

“You can’t do that, son. Better to find safety.”

Gideon shook his head. “I can do this. It’s me they want anyway.”

“You?” Belle whimpered. “Gideon… Why?”

He turned, gave her his most triumphant smile, and adjusted his grip on the bag he’d carried from the sea. “I have the Water Stone.”

“Magic,” Rumplestiltskin spat. “Leave that behind and run. Now. Please, son.”

Their boy was about to protest again, but instead he fell silent and tipped his head to one side. The ruckus from down the lane was changing. The sounds of splitting wood and shattering glass had been replaced with something more akin to the crunch of a breaking seashell. “Do you hear that?”

Both parents nodded, but neither could speak. Their attention was on the giant claw reaching up from behind the milner’s home. It rose into the air, then slammed down, splintering the tiny structure into bits that covered the street. The empty space was then replaced by their enemy.

“Giant crabs,” Gideon whispered, swallowing hard. After taking a deep breath he squared his shoulders and stretched himself to his full height. “I’ll have them for dinner.”

“Gideon!” Both parents reached for him, but he slipped away. After just two strides he stood under the creature’s belly and stabbed upward, using all of his strength. He heard a crack and stared up at the orange-pink carapace. The tip of his blade was wedged in the belly of the beast but would go no further. It would also not come out.

Belle tried rushing to Gideon’s side, but Rumplestiltskin held her back, begging her not to leave him. While he pleaded, a cloaked form appeared behind the legs of the Calixclaw. Small and powerful, this newcomer yielded a sword with such precision that each swing sliced a leg of the crab. The beast shrieked again and again, then finally stumbled.

The warrior waved Gideon back, screaming. “Get out of the way!”

He did as he was told, scrambling through his retreat with just enough time to spare. Following one more swing from the sword, their maritime foe thrashed mightily, then collapsed to the ground, dead.

“Gotta aim for the weak points,” the newcomer told him, lowering her cloak’s hood to reveal her wavy, golden hair. She turned to Rumplestiltskin and gave him a wide grin. “A staff fighter, huh? Good. We’ll need all the help we can get. Come on.” With that she took off, expecting the others to follow.

“Who was that?” Belle squinted after the girl, even as her son urged her along.

“Alice,” Gideon said. “And she’ll help me explain everything once you are safe.”

-

[hcpefuldreaming]

Looking a bit surprised as she hadn't noticed she had hit the teacup, she's quick to reach out, ready to use her magic to make it reappear in her hands, but he's quicker, an innocent expression flickering over her face. "Oh, I'm sorry." Hope says. "Though magic always has a price, the connection with that teacup to Belle certainly is priceless, from what I've heard." She shrugs and offers him a smile.

open starter || mr. gold

mr. gold had uncommonly quick reflexes for someone of his age who used a cane. maybe it was because he could see the teacup falling before it happened. he was particularly fond of the tiny chipped cup that he kept in the store. he didn’t put a price on it, and hoped that most people would just look past it since it was chipped. but as he caught the chipped teacup in his hands, he was overwhelmed with a sense of anger and frustration.

“careful, dearie.” he chided, anger seething under his words. “you break it, you buy it. and the price on this one is quite high.”

@ivycovestarters

[eirian-houpe]

Dies Irae - Chapter 1

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Grumpy | Leroy, Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Grace | Paige (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: AU, Angst, Violence, archeology, psychic questing, Religion, spirituality, Magic, Supernatural - Freeform, Romance, Smut Summary:

A strange man confronts Doctor Belle French after one of her lectures, and claims to need her help. He also claims to know that she is troubled, and can offer her protection. When events transpire that lead Belle to take up that offer, a desperate search begins to find a series of ancient artifacts, and Belle and her friends - both old and new - face increasing danger as they try to secure the artifacts for the powers of good before they can fall into very wrong hands, and possibly threaten every living thing in Storybrooke and beyond!

Chapter One: Ēvincere

Etymology of the English word evince (v.) c. 1600, "disprove, confute," from French évincer "disprove, confute," from Latin evincere "conquer, overcome subdue, vanquish, prevail over; elicit by argument, prove," from assimilated form of ex "out" (see ex-) + vincere "to overcome" (from nasalized form of PIE root *weik- (3) "to fight, conquer"). Meaning "show clearly" is late 18c. Not clearly distinguished from its doublet, evict, until 18c. Related: Evinced; evinces; evincing; evincible.

"And I cannot stress hard enough…”

He didn’t move.  While all around him in the lecture hall, those gathered in unspoken conspiracy seemed to squirm and shift uncomfortably in their places on the long, hard wooden benches, he remained immobile.

“…that if you are coming into archeology with dreams of… fame and fortune; of glory even, then you have been sadly misinformed.”

He sighed - perhaps the first sign of life since he entered the hall - and moved his hands with slow, measured precision, to turn to collar of his black, woolen trench coat up as if to defend against a unwelcome draft. He’d heard this before, several times, and as she continued, almost syllable for syllable, matched her litany.

“Treasure comes in many forms,” he muttered as she spoke, “and it isn’t always - is rarely as a matter of fact - gold or precious artifacts.” He recitation was lifeless and without the passionate inflection with which she spoke.

“But is something more precious still…” She gave a pause then, and in his line of sight, the watcher could separate those that had been caught in her spell, and those that were merely along for the ride. The former leaned, slightly, toward the front of the lecture hall, where the diminutive Doctor Belle French held court, and finished with all the mysteriousness it seemed that she could muster, “Knowledge.”

If she might have continued, he would never know, as the bell signaling the end of the alloted time sounded, and the ever impatient students began stuffing backpacks and tote bags with notebooks and textbooks; wooden boxes full of sharpened pencils and depleted ink pens, and hurried to rise and leave.

Still, he sat immobile, one booted foot up on the desk-like shelf in front of him, the other splayed slight to the side, toward the aisle.  Others along his row shifted impatiently; pointedly waiting for him to take his foot down at least, so they could sidle, inconvenienced, past this apparent miscreant. He didn’t move. He didn’t even respond to the irritated murmuring; never once took his eyes off French as she too began packing away the lecture notes into folders, then the folders into piles on a table already replete with books and other papers.

“Are you gonna move y’foot, mate?”

Apparently, the patience of the nearby attendees had worn thin, or at least their courage had thickened, one or the other.

“Go around,” he said, his voice low and full of gravel, as well as gravitas. It was all he said, and neither did he make any attempt to remove his foot from blocking the way. 

After another moment of immobility, and with the press of other students behind him, the one that had spoken tried again, more threatening this time as he grumbled, “I said move yer foot.”

With the grace of a highly trained dancer, and turning as he did indeed move his foot to stand, he turned to face the student, towering over the younger man as he said quietly, and with patience that somehow held a deadly quality, “And I said, go. Around.”

The student opened his mouth to make a third protest, but as he shifted slightly, something seemed to change the younger man’s mind and, muttering something not quite audible, but he was certain was unlikely to be very complementary, did indeed turn, and pushing the other students ahead of him, moved and exited the row from the other side.

The students were already forgotten though, and he turned his attention back to Doctor French. She was slowly clearing the table in front of the podium of all the books and papers littered there, packing them away in her already overstuffed messenger bag, paying absolutely no heed to the room around her, nor - he guessed - the energies in it. 

When he felt the moment was right, just as the light descended enough to case a beam across the lecture hall and illuminate the dust that had yet to settle, he spoke.

“It isn’t true, you know?” he said. Though his voice was still soft he pitched it so that the acoustics of the hall carried it clearly to the professor. She started slightly, then looked up at him, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the light that concealed him.

“I beg your pardon?” she shot back, her voice terse, a challenge.

“Granted,” he said, and began to slowly descend the steps that flanked the tiers of seats.

“No, that’s not—” she began, slightly flustered, before annoyance got the better of her and she demanded, “I’m sorry - who are you?”

Once he reached the floor, he strode across to her, his trench coat almost billowing, cloak-like behind him, and once close enough held out a hand in her direction.

“My name is Jefferson,” he told her, “And I need your help to do something that I can’t.”

-------------

Belle blinked, then with a slight scoff, and ignoring his still outstretched hand said, “Well you have a very strange way of showing it!” Then she returned to packing her bag.

“In return,” he continued, apparently unmoved by her response, “I may be able to assist you.”

“I don’t need your help,” she snapped. The tone in his voice made the small hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. Had he been watching her?

“There are powers in this world, Doctor French, who have no regard for the living, nor respect for the dead. I suspect you know the type, if not the very ones of whom I speak.”

She looked up at that, fixing her eyes first on his face, undeniably handsome, but clearly more than a little haunted behind the seriousness of his expression, and then traveling the length of the sombre-clad figure that stood before her, seeming to know more about her than a stranger should.

She couldn’t help but notice the small pin that graced his otherwise unadorned lapel: an equal armed, red cross, their width narrower at the center than they were at the ends, set against a white background that was stark against the black of his coat.

“Now you listen, Mister Je—.”

“Just Jefferson,” he corrected.

“I don’t know who you are, or where you came from,” she tried for indignation, but even to her own ears, the tone spoke more of fear, “or even why you’re here, but—”

“I told you,” he said, his voice soft, “I need your help.”

She frowned, and couldn’t muster an answer, just stood and shook her head.

He raised his long forgotten, outstretched hand to her again, and as if by magic, though she was certain it was slight of hand, he produced a velum business card and held it out to her, clasped between his index and middle finger.

“There’s a man, his name is Mister Gold,” he said. “If you have cause to change your mind, all you have to do is go to him. It’s very important you tell him what’s been going on. He can protect you, but you must tell him exactly what’s been happening. He’ll know what to do.”

He nodded then, just once, to the business card he still held, and hesitantly, she reached for it, and glancing down at it, saw the words that graced the center of the otherwise unadorned card.

“Gold - Antiquarian,” it said, and then in relief around the edges, words that she had to turn the card one way and then the other in order to read. Latin words.

Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam.

When she looked up, Jefferson was already gone.

[andromedavwrites]

Sorry if I’m yapping I’m just obsessed - sorry what ok continuing

Idk if you’re waiting reveal it or something but can you please say you’re fancasts (is it considered a fancast if you’re literally the creator? Or the half creator since it’s a reboot?) for your reboot?

I love eah fancasts / just fancasts in general and the way you’ve mentioned some of them in other posts makes me so curious

!!!!!

i never talk about my cast but here’s the list!!(i probably fucked up names on this, i have like five times)

these aren’t set in stone obv, and one of them is a joke bc i thought it would be funny if a certain someone played Rumplestiltskin-

Raven Queen played by Callie Haverda

Apple White played by Mckenna Grace

Madeline Hatter played by Momona Tamada

Briar Beauty played by Kyleigh Curran

Cedar Wood played by Maliah Baker

Ashlynn Ella played by Trinity Likins

C. A. Cupid played by Sarah Dorothy Little

Blondie Lockes played by Ava Kolker

Ginger Breadhouse played by Iman Vellani

Duchess Swan played by Rina Johnson

Darling Charming played by Clementine Lea Spieser

Farah Goodfairy played by Cheyenne Hinojosa

Cerise Hood played by Ashley Sarmentio

Daring Charming played by Tait Blum

Dexter Charming played by Jacob Tremblay

Sparrow Hood played by Dallas Young

Hunter Huntsman played by Mateo Gallegos

Humphrey Dumpty played by Issiah Russel-Bailey

Kitty Cheshire played by Miya Cech

Lizzie Hearts played by Sofia Chicorelli Serna

Alastair Wonderland played by Walker Bryant

Bunny Blanc played by Xochtil Gomez

Chase Redford played by Parker Bates

Courtly Jester played by Trixie Hyde

Meeshell Mermaid played by Sophie Grace

Jillian Beanstalk played by Brianni Walker

Hopper Croakington II played by Jentzen Ramirez

Melody Piper played by Oona O’Brian

Ramona Badwolf played by Symonne Harrison

She played by Izabella Rose

Poppy O’Hair played by Anais Lee

Holly O’Hair played by Mirabelle Lee

Brooke Page played by Pixie Davies

Gus Crumb played by Jace Chapman

Helga Crumb played by Camron Seely

Travis Thumb played by Amari O’Neil

Prudence Step played by Lilo Baier

Charlotte Step played by Ava Ro

Lily Bo-Peep played by Lotus Blossom

Zypherus Wynd played by Camren Conerly

Aquilona Wynd played by Trinitee Stokes

Charity Charming played by Kaylin Hayman

Clara Lear played by Scarlet Spencer

Mahlee Black played by Daria Johns

Coral Witch played by Michela Luci

Nathan Nutcracker played by Finn Little

Justine Dancer played by Priah Ferguson

Witchy Brew played by Pilot Saraceno

Nina Thumbell played by Ella Noel

Felix Princely played by Jackson Dollinger

Tucker Merry played by Miguel Cazarez Mora

Marsha King played by Alexa Nisenson

Jackie Frost played by Anya Taylor-Joy

Northwind Frost played by Logan Lerman

Milton Grimm played by Frank Whaley

Giles Grimm played by Kieran Mulroney

Baba Yaga played by Olga Kurylenko

Rumplestiltskin played by Danny DeVito

Pied Piper played by Collin Donell

Mad Hatter played by Paul Wesley or Alex Hefner

The White Queen played by Kate Winslet

Mr. Badwolf played by Con O’Neil

Momma Bear played by Nathalie Boltt

Papa Bear played by William Baldwin

Coach Gingerbread played by Hill Harper

Snowelle White played by Alison Brie

Elvira Queen played by Clemence Poesy

Good King played by Matt Lanter

Snow Queen played by Lisa Kudro

Snow King played by Jeffrey Dean Morgan

Lance Charming played by Dan Stevens

Bryce Frost played by Shailene Woodley

Pie played by ?

Butternut played by ?

Cheshire Cat played by Stephanie Hsu

Queen of Hearts played by Meghan Ory

White Rabbit played by Joe Arquette

Cook played by Olivia Hack

i have spent… so long thinking about my cast for this i would DIE if i got even half of these actors to play the characters in the reboot!!

[connectionxterminated]

WOAGH!! That sounds so cool!!-Banny

it is!!!! It's a fairytale world!!!! Killian is Captain Hook, Gold is Rumplestiltskin and Archie is Jiminy Cricket!!! There's a lot of magic in that place and really cool fairytales!!!! -C

[potestmagice]

Looking over at Wanda, Rumple moved slowly, pulling out of her once the two of them had had their climax. He smiled over at her. "That was perfect, wasn't it?" he asked, hoping she felt the same way.

@potestmagice

Keep reading

[potestmagice]

@renfield-blues liked this for a starter Set in this chapter

Rumplestiltskin had been watching the two talk for a while now from his spot in the shadows. But mainly the man who had been calling himself Prince Theon. That's how he had found himself in Bran Stark's chambers. He watched the two of them talk, about how Theon had taken the castle of Winterfell, much to Bran's confusion.

Slowly, he emerged from the shadows, looking over at Theon. "When you walk into a man’s home, you should ask if you’ve been invited," he said, glaring at him.