#rumbelle secret santa 2020 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thestraggletag · 3 years

Text

Three Appointments and a Wedding

AN: Hi, @magicalgiven it is I, your Secret Santa! If I’m not mistaken we are both Argentinians in which case commiserate with me over the fucking hot weather we’ve been having. Because it fucking sucks. It was a pleasure to be your Santa, and I’m sorry this fic didn’t get smutty. I tried to add as much spice at the end as I could. It was challenging but fun because the accidental engagement prompt has been done a lot in the fandom so it was nice to try and put my spin on things. I hope you like it!

Prompt: Accidental engagement and consequences.

Summary: Mr Gold would do anything to help his only son plan his wedding, even if it is getting mistaked for the groom over and over as his crush gets mistaken for the bride. Over and over.

Rating: PG-13

He reminded himself that Bae had been clear about his distaste for a big wedding, and Emma as well. As far as they both were concerned they were better off with a simple civil ceremony and a honeymoon in Florida. But Emma’s parents insisted that their only child, their little princess, marry in style, so something grander was decided upon. He had to admit he hadn’t put up much of a fight. He did not have a lot in common with the Nolans- no matter how much David insisted on treating him like best mates whenever they met- but he did agree with them on the wedding. Bae was his only son and he wished to make a fuss about his wedding as well.

So he couldn’t really say no when Bae called to ask him to please take his place at a catering appointment in Portland. He had been summoned to a surprised meeting with a client that was a rather big to-do at his job. He did something related to web design that he couldn’t for the life of him understand, but it allowed him to work from home most of the time and stay in Storybrooke, so he was glad to be of assistance if he needed it.

He arrived at the catering business with a bit of time to spare, introducing himself and letting the person checking the appointment know he was waiting for someone. Not Miss Swan, because apparently she also had urgent business that could not be delayed- she did work in law enforcement, so there was a small chance she wasn’t lying to get out of “boring wedding stuff” as she kept calling it right in front of her mother and likely to annoy her. He had been told she would send Miss Lucas as a replacement, since she knew her way around a menu. He did not look forward to it, though perhaps he could amuse himself with trying to figure out how to raise the subject of the diner’s rent being due next week over talk of canapes.

“Mr Gold, you got here before me!”

He turned around, a part of him recognising instantly that charming Australian lilt. He looked slightly down to find Miss Belle French, the town’s librarian as of three years. She was dressed, as always, rather charmingly, and looked less out of place in the city than in their small town.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long. The original plan was for Ruby to fill in for Emma, but Granny’s arthritis started acting up so she had to stay and help at the diner. Oh, please don’t tell Granny I told you that or she’ll never forgive me.”

He recalled she was an old friend of Miss Swan’s, from before she came back to Storybrooke, back when she was living in New York as a bit of a rebellion against her parents, doing bounty hunting work of all things. They had been roommates while Miss French went to NYU for her master’s in Library Science and worked at an antique bookstore. He knew only because he knew the bookstore and thought it smart to hold onto that piece of information. Book restoration and re-binding wasn’t his specialty, so it was nice to know of someone he could consult with if the need ever arose.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Miss French. I will even abstain of using the information against Granny the next time she tries to overcharge me for coffee. I hope you understand what a sacrifice that is.”

She laughed and he tried to pretend he didn’t feel overly smug about it, turning instead to open the door for her.

“Oh, Mr Gold, I see your fianceé is here! Lovely to meet the future Mrs Gold.”

He fumbled, his brain too caught up in what had just been said to register the small step on his way. He righted himself just as Miss French stammered a surprised denial.

“Oh, right, I apologise for assuming you would change your name after marriage, Miss Swan. Please, follow me.”

The man, a strongly-accented Frenchman, if his ears did not deceive him, swept past them and deeper into the shop, forcing them both to follow. The back was a rather nice dining area, small but with lots of windows to let in natural light. It was right next to the kitchen, but it still felt private and quiet. They were ushered into a table already prepared for them and served a sample of entrées along with a card detailing the ingredients of each one.

“Well, I suppose it’s an obvious mistake to make, and it would be unkind to correct him, he’d be mortified. I hope you don’t mind playing the would-be groom for a day, Mr Gold. At least we get some nice food out of it.”

“It’ll make a nice change from Granny’s overpriced lasagna.”

She slapped him gently on the arm, trying to conceal her smile, and he was surprised at how nice the gesture felt. Not many people touched him, and less with that sort of uncomplicated ease. He was glad that Miss French felt comfortable around him.

“So, what type of food does Miss Swan enjoy?”

“You should really begin calling her Emma, you know. And me Belle, none of that Miss French nonsense. This is not some nineteenth century pretend engagement, you know. I hope we can consider ourselves a modern pretend couple.” Miss French- Belle- smiled at him over the rim of her water glass before taking a sip. “As for Emma, she likes bar food. If it was up to her we’d serve peanuts and fries for entrées and burgers as the main course. I understand her parents talked her out of it, so perhaps nothing very fancy, but tasteful at the same time.”

He had given up on the day that morning, thinking it would be spent trying to make awkward conversation with a confrontational Miss Lucas, glaring daggers at him from across a rather small table because he dared charge rent for the property her grandmother rented from him. Instead he found himself discussing food and wine with someone he was infinitely more fond of and could not even muster enough grumpiness later in the evening to snark at Bae when he called later at night to thank him for subbing for him.

“It’ll be the last time, pops, I swear.”

The week after the catering appointment Bae called him in a panic to beg him to go for him to the florist appointment, also in Portland. He swallowed a few choice words learned in his youth in Glasgow, closed his shop and drove to the address Bae texted him. He was somewhat less surprised than before to find Miss French there, sitting on a bench outside the shop and reading a book. Something niggled at the back of his head but when he greeted her and they got to explain their presence he realised it made a bit more sense. Miss Swan’s job was a bit emergency-heavy and Miss French was the daughter of a florist, so it made sense to send her as a replacement.

She knew her stuff, as he could tell almost as soon as they set foot into the shop, to the delight of the old, red-haired florist that handled their appointment. The librarian engaged her in a rather interesting discussion on the meaning of flowers and the importance of harmonious scents, something he had never considered before. They spent a rather lovely hour touring the greenhouse and browsing through the catalogues, with Miss French- “Honestly, Arran, it’s Belle, you agreed!”- making a game out of it, picking something and having him guess whether it was a choice for Miss Swan’s wedding or a reflection of personal taste. He learned from it that Belle liked blue as much as her outfits had already implied and that she loved hydrangeas, thought them elegant but soft.

“Too soft for Emma. She likes bold colours and is not fond of traditional flowers, so I was thinking perhaps something with bougainvilleas? They have such lovely deep pink colour, almost red. What do you think?”

It was a bit intoxicating, the smell of the flowers, the heat of the shop and Belle French talking about flowers with a passion that stirred something in him that had nothing to do with centerpieces or boutonnieres. It wasn’t until they were out of it, inhaling the crisp evening Portland air, that he realised the florist had mistaken them for the engaged couple as well, and neither of them had made any effort to correct her. Well, that would’ve been rude, he reasoned. No need to put the old woman in the spot.

The morning of the cake-tasting appointment he had woken up with the knowledge that he was likely to get a “surprise” call from Bae begging him to “fill in” for him at the cake shop, and he could not even bring himself to feel angry about it. The wedding was, after all, a rather rushed affair, seeing as to how it was not what either the bride or groom had planned for, so allowances had to be made for the couple. That or they both were trying to punish their parents for pushing on them a grander event than the one they had wanted in the first place.

On his way out of town he passed by the library, insisting he would drive Miss French who was, surprisingly, filling in for Miss Swan again. She didn’t seem to mind yet another disruption into her schedule.

“I love Storybrooke, but I don’t mind admitting that it’s nice to go out to a big city every now and then.”

The bakery that would make the cake- one of the few that would accommodate the short notice of the order placement- was located in Bangor, which seemed to merge big-city vibes with small-town charm. The bakery itself was lovely, with a white and beige storefront and a myriad of colourful treats on display. It smelled strongly of vanilla and chocolate inside, and there was a dreamy, romantic sort of quality to the decoration. They were ushered into a warm, cosy room where they spent the next hour and a half tasting different cakes, one better than the next.

“Emma is a bit chocolate obsessed, so I’m leaning towards the chocolate champagne one. It was delicious.”

He tried not to replay in his mind the way she had moaned at the first taste of that one, eyes closing in absolute bliss.

“I still can’t believe that little urchin had me fill in for him again, so I’m not even considering his tastes. My vote is for the strawberry shortcake.”

Belle frowned, idly liking some frosting from her fork. His left hand tightened around the napkin on his lap.

“Isn’t Bae allergic to strawberries?”

“Exactly.”

The librarian laughed, which he was rather surprised by. Very few shared his rather dark sense of humour, most found the content and his delivery of it rather off-putting. He tried not to preen at the idea.

“Might want to hold on in killing him until after the wedding. After all, we have invested quite a few hours into the preparation already. Feels more like our wedding, in a way.”

He choked on a rather lovely piece of red velvet cheesecake, fumbling for his glass of water to try and wash it down. He realised the danger he was in, all of a sudden, perhaps too late. His crush had been safe when he had not had much of a chance to interact with the librarian and get to know her. But spending entire days with her had changed things, giving his feelings depth that he did not entirely appreciate. His instinct of self-preservation was urging him to do something. Say something mean or cutting, or close himself off. Perhaps invent some business emergency and leave, letting Belle figure out on her own how to get back to town. If she was cross with him, if she hated him, if she decided to keep his distance, he would be safe.

But, surprisingly, he found that he was rather tired of feeling safe, and of pushing people away.

“You know, we didn’t do half-bad in the end, all things considered.”

He turned around, tearing his eyes away from his son and his new wife trying to waltz. He was sure someone was filming it, anyway, and he’d get to tease Bae about it later. Belle looked absolutely stunning in a Halston dress, an architectural number in navy blue with a champagne-coloured lining that peeped from the folds of the skirts and a bit of a train in the back, the hem landing above the knee at the front and below it at the back. It was a far cry from what most women were wearing, in particular the friends of the mother of the bride, but it was exactly what he had expected from her: bold, flirty, and the slightest bit of out place in a small town, without really seeming to realise. Her lips were a lovely deep, dark red and smiling wide. At him, of all people.

“Yes. The flowers do look splendid, Miss French. You have quite an eye for it.”

She hooked her arm through his, looking admonishingly up at him.

“It’s Belle. Unless you’ve decided I cannot call you Arran anymore.”

If he were stronger, he would politely insist on calling her Miss French, thus gently reestablishing their more formal dynamic. It would be safer, certainly. But he found himself unable to muster the energy for it. It was a happy day, and he was ecstatic as the father of the groom should be. Seemed like the occasion to do what he wanted and not necessarily what he thought was best. Indulge a bit.

“Belle, then. I rather like how you pronounce my name, seems a shame to make you stop.”

Her eyes widened, and so did her smile. He tried to remember how many glasses of champagne he had drunk, but could not recall. He had indulged there too, but that was only because he had been sitting next to David Nolan for dinner and he had kept trying to talk to him about sports. He had made the mistake of trying to discuss the UEFA Super Cup, but that had only led to ten minutes of David Nolan referring to football as soccer and displaying no understanding of the rules of the game.

“So, how’s the proud father? Was it all you hoped it would be?”

He looked around. The venue was lovely, a manor outside Storybrooke that was used exclusively for events like weddings and such, with extensive gardens and lovely, broad balconies. The Nolans had secured the place, seemed they knew the owner and had been able to pull some strings. It was decorated a bit like an enchanted forest, in shades of silver, gold and bold touches of bright pink and dark blue.

“Well, Bae remembered his lines and didn’t step on Miss Swan’s train at any point so the wedding has exceeded my wildest expectations.”

He glanced again towards his son, dancing something a bit more lively with Emma and looking infinitely more at ease doing so. They truly suited each other, and he was glad of that. Glad that Bae would know, hopefully, nothing but love in his family he meant to build for himself.

“It’s a lovely song. Would you care to dance?”

A tricky question, since the answer was both a resounding no and a desperate yes, but he merely pointed towards his cane as a way out. It seemed he was not the only one emboldened by drink, however, if Belle’s flashing eyes and red cheeks were anything to go by.

“Oh, come on, just some gentle swaying. We could go outside, if you don’t wish others to see. It’s a bit stuffy in here anyway.”

There was no way for him to deny her, nor did he wish to anymore. He let her lead him out, into one of the terrace-like balconies attached to the ballroom, and wrapped her arms around his neck, prompting his own to wrap around her waist. They soon fell into a slow, easy rhythm, lazy and yet strangely exhilarating. He felt loose and tightly-wound at the same time, and could not decide whether he liked the feeling or not.

“It really is a lovely wedding, by the way.”

“Yes, I think we did rather well, all things considered. Certainly more than what Bae deserved, taking into account how little he worked for it.”

She tugged on his hair, he assumed as a way to chastise him. It had rather the opposite result, sending a jolt of fizzy pleasure up and down his spine.

“You rather enjoyed it, admit it. And I did too. In a way it’s sad that the wedding has happened and our outings are at an end.”

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, teeth worrying her lower lip the slightest bit. He got the feeling that there was something he was not seeing or sensing, some signal he was not quite deciphering. But it was getting rather difficult to think, with the champagne in his veins, and the feel of Belle in his arms and the way she smelt like orange blossom.

“You look lovely, by the way.” He realised he hadn’t told her, and it seemed like a major oversight. “Stunning, really. Gorgeous. Too good to be wasting your time out on the balcony with me.”

What the fuck was wrong with him? When had he lost complete control of his bleeding mouth?

“Don’t say that. I like spending time with you. A lot.” She bit her lip again and he wondered if his blood pressure could take it. “Actually, I was hoping we could spend more time together, if you wished it.”

There was no mistaking the flirty turn of her lips, or the coyness dancing in her eyes, even to an expert in self-denial such as him. He tried to form words to reply to her, something along the lines of “Yes, please” or “Is it tomorrow night too soon?” but his vocal cords were suddenly useless, and in a sudden panic that she would interpret his stupid silence for a rejection of her advances he leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. He felt her stiffen in his arms for a second, saw her eyes widen in surprise, but the next moment she was pressing back against him, tipping her head back to better capture his mouth with her own. She took absolute control with a quiet, fierce determination that he found incredibly erotic. He was happy to reciprocate, to tighten his arm around her waist and open his mouth to her, his left hand tightening around the handle of his cane with something that felt like petulant frustration at not being able to simply drop the damned thing hold her properly, perhaps delve a hand into her hair, feel if it was as soft as it always looked.

She seemed to read his mind, for she maneuvered them clumsily towards the rather tall balustrade. He eagerly leaned against it before dropping his cane in the nick of time to catch the librarian’s leg, which sought to wrap itself around his waist. Her obvious, undisguised want was disarming, making him forget himself in a way he had never allowed himself to-

“Papa, what the fuck?”

“Belle!”

Both him and Belle startled, with her regretfully taking a few steps away from him, leaving him to notice the chill in the air. When he glanced at the entrance of the balcony he saw his son and Miss Swan, looking radiant in her Vera Wang dress and also, bizarrely, quite smug.

“Hey, Bae, didn’t see you there.”

His accent barely made the words intelligible, but there was no helping that. He always lost control of his brogue when he was nervous.

“Clearly!” Bae sounded shrill, more child than man. Reminded him of the infamous temper-tantrums the lad had thrown once upon a time. “How could you? At my own wedding?!”

Fuck, he was right. He had been caught fucking making-out and almost doing God-knew-what just a few bloody steps away from his son’s wedding reception. What was the matter with him?

“I mean, why couldn’t you wait? I had almost won the bet!”

What?

“You only had to last until after the wedding! I was so close, pops! And you were doing so well!”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very sad. Now remember, Bae, you promised at least two dances with Regina’s sister. At least she’s unlikely to hit on you at your own wedding, so there’s that.”

Emma smiled up at her new husband, kissed his cheek, turned him around and directed him back towards the ballroom with a not-so-gentle smack in the ass. She smiled, gave Belle a thumbs up and an “atta girl” and walked out of the balcony, closing the French doors behind her.

“What the fuck was that?”

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #magicalgiven #Rumbelle secret santa #RSS 2020 #rumbelle secret santa 2020

29 notes · View notes

silwenworld · 3 years

Text

Fic: A Leap of Faith

Title: A Leap of Faith Rating: M Word Count: 4898 Summary: A new member on the equestrian jumping team, Belle French has only a month to prepare for the upcoming Olympics. It would be a lot easier if she didn't fall in love with her coach. And his longing gazes didn't help matters at all. A/N: Merry Christmas @thestraggletag! It was a wonderful time to be your Secret Santa! Even though I lost a track of time a couple of times and tumblr seemed to eat some of my massages, I hope you’ll forgive it 😅 Oreginaly it supposed to be longer, but I hope you’ll enjoy it nevertheless :) [AO3]

"You need to jump higher! Come on, miss French, you can do it!"

It was astonishing, how quickly she was learning, Gold thought. In all his career, he had never met anybody even close to what Belle French was presenting. They were in dire need of a substitute, only a month from the competition itself when she had arrived. Many thought her too young and inexperienced to be a part of this team, but all it took for Gold had been one look to know she would do. He had a sixth sense of those things, and fully counted on her securing a medal; what he didn't expect was to fall in love with her. And fall he did - very, very hard, indeed.

"Keep your back straight!"

He had been a trainer for over ten years, but he had never seen someone as graceful as her. Watching her made him whished for the days when he had been able to ride himself.

A memory of only a few days prior when they had both been kissing between the training sessions after too many shots of alcohol caused him to make a miscalculated step forward. It sent a spike of pain through his ruined ankle, which reminded precisely why his riding days were behind him, and why he wasn't the best candidate for a lover. Gold squeezed his cane tighter, banishing the memories as he watched Belle round on the last obstacle - a square oxer. His old nemesis and - as it also seemed - Belle's.

She picked the pace, and he fidgeted with the handle suddenly anxious. Every other obstacle she was able to overcome but this one. It was only a week to the Olympics, and yet she couldn't do it. He could see the frown on her face from where he stood. She was too concentrated, not relaxed enough to do that jump, and the horse seemed to sense her unease.

Gold gritted his teeth.

"Miss French, rein in!" he shouted before she could get close enough to the obstacle. If she did, it would have been a tragedy in the making. She wasn't ready.

Belle pulled at the rains, clearly displeased, but obeying the instructions nevertheless. The horse didn't stop, but she urged him into a walk, before halting and dismounting.

"I would have done it, coach!" she said as she approached him and he had to look up to see her in the eye. One stray lock of hair escaped from under the helmet, falling across her forehead. Gold had to resist the urge to reach towards her and tuck it back. Instead, he gripped the handle of his cane tighter.

"No, you couldn't," He snapped. "You would have broken your neck, falling off a horse."

"That's not true - "

"You were tense like a bowstring, the horse could feel it," he cut in, waving his hand around in a nervous gesture.

"But coach - "

"End of discussion, Miss French. Go back to the basic training, leave that oxer alone."

"The competition is a week away, you know I can't win without jumping over it," she insisted, and the scowl on her face only made it harder for him to stay focused. No. He needed to put his foot in on this one.

"That was my last word. Leave it alone for now and work on your confidence."

He turned around and limped away, not daring to look at her frustrated face. If he did, he would have probably given in, but he couldn't afford it. They had plenty of time to overcome the troubles. The time they wouldn't have if something had happened to her.

And in all reality, Gold preferred to lose a medal than her. He knew well enough what an accident like that could do to a person, and he wouldn't risk it.

What he didn't want to admit that the way he began to feel was going way beyond the coath-trainee relationship. And this kind of feelings he couldn't let himself feel, at least not if he wanted to see Belle with a medal at all, and that one kiss had been a mistake altogether. He wouldn't let the history repeat itself.

She couldn't understand him. There were days when he would let her do as he pleased, train the way she felt best, only sparing her small pieces of advice and leaving her to figure out on her own what exactly had he meant and not to be seen again until the evening. At first, she had hated it, almost understanding why the spot on the team had opened - she had been warned about Gold's methods and that he was a difficult man to work with, after all - but then she had begun to see more. The small twitch of his mouth when she had spoken something funny, the way his hand gripped his cane tighter when her horse stumbled, and those tiny sparkles in his eyes when he had been looking at her when he thought she couldn't see it.

It made her confused, those spare moments when he had acted so unlike himself—confused and also curious because it only proved that beneath all those layers of cold exterior he presented on regular days, there was someone else. Someone that wasn't available to see for most of the people. And when noticing this, Belle wanted to be the one who would tear the walls down.= and see the man hiding behind them.

As time had passed by, he spent a lot more time with her than at the beginning. He began to be more attentive, sharing his experience with her that she had absorbed like a sponge.

Belle didn't know when the need to impress him and prove herself had turned into a want for him to notice more of her than her riding skills. There was no doubt he appreciated what she could do, but Belle wanted more. Somewhere along the way, she had stopped seeing him as just her coach, and someone a lot more instead. She still didn't quite understand what had led to that drunken kiss, nor who had made the first move, but it had happened, and it left her even more confused than before. When the day after he had started to act even more distant, she couldn't understand any of it. Maybe her own desperation for him to see her as herself was the reason why the moments he stopped acting cold towards were the reason she felt something stirring inside of her. That was why his sudden change in demeanour had hurt.

The problem that it seemed that he didn't believe in her wasn't a problem at all, no. What was, was the fact that he didn't trust her enough to share his worries with her.

Belle could do that jump. It had been the only one she couldn't yet master, and yes she had been nervous, but not enough for Gold to stop her. She would have let it go if it had been the first time, but it hadn't. The Olympics were just around the corner, and the only obstacle in her way was the square oxer.

Why wouldn't he let her face it? Why act as he cared only to cast her attentions away and then pretend that it hadn't been what he had done?

She hated it, but it seemed that there was more to it than just her inability to relax enough. She had seen it in his eyes as he rebooked her. There was more to it. There had to be. And she would learn what it was.

Belle took the reins in her hand and led Chip on the training arena, softly smiling when he nudged her shoulder. When she had joined the team, they let her chose the horse she would be riding. She and Chip bonded instantly, and that's how she knew he would never willingly threw her.

"A fine horse you chose, Miss French. May I ask why this one?"

"I guess we just clicked, coach."

She watched mesmerised how the horse reacted to his touch, snorting lightly as if greeting an old friend. The smile that bloomed on Gold's face was so genuine as if for a moment, he had forgotten that it wasn't just him and the animal. When the realisation came, his expression closed off within the second, leaving her wishing he would smile like that once more.

“His name's Chip. Take good care of him."

Belle smiled at the memory, briefly wondering if that had been the moment when she had fallen in love with her coach. A terrible choice, considering the Olympic regulations, but well... it was not like she could help it, could she?

She just loved the way his facade cracked when he smiled, and the thought of how his calloused hands would feel on her had been invading her mind more and more lately. Belle shocked her head and gripped the saddle, swinging into it with ease.

It wasn't as if she could make a move on him or anything, considering that after that one heated moment, he didn't want to have anything to do with her. She could dream, though.

Chip blew the air through his nose, shaking his mane as if to remind her what they were supposed to be doing, and she nudged him with her lower leg, urging him forward. The chilly, night air seeped into her bones, mindless of the layers of clothing, but she had always prefered to ride at night. It cleared her head more, making the worries from the day disappear. Besides, it was only her and Chip then, no more people watching.

Or so she had thought.

Gold rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. He was, let's face it, a total idiot. And unprofessional one on top of that. He let his feelings get better of him, distracting him, from what was important. Belle's success should have been his top priority, not this own desires. But when at first she had been annoying in her optimism, that same attitude was now the thing that he looked forward to each morning.

He hated to admit it, but for what probably was the first time in his miserable life, he was totally and helplessly in love. And his damned, stupid heart couldn't have picked the worst subject for its attention. He had tried to resist it, distant himself from it and her as soon as he realised what had been happening to him, but it was useless.

Gold couldn't do it. Seeing her laugh as she rode was making him want to be as close to her as possible, but he also knew that if it had gotten out somehow, well... not only he would be finished.

A loud neigh pulled him out of his thoughts, and he frowned, looking to the side where the moonlight entered through the window. It was the middle of the night, and there was only one person who could be up at this hour beside himself.

Slowly, and as silently as possible, he limped through the entrance to the arena, close enough to the stables as not to be seen. He made it just in time to see Belle urging Chip to the jump over the square. Gold could do nothing but watch, his heart immediately going to his throat as the horse sprung from the ground.

It lasted maybe only a second, but in his mind eye, he saw a different arena, in a different time, when a horse had caught the highest beam, throwing the rider off in the process. It didn't help that Chip's hind leg did exactly the same, but to his relief, Belle stayed in the saddle. Gold let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, a twinge of pain in his foot telling him he had put too much pressure on it. He didn't stay to see Belle spotting him, but instead, he turned away and limped towards the stables.

He needed to calm himself down.

Belle breathed through her nose, trying to calm her racing heart, her hands twisted in the rains.

That had been close. If it weren't for her reflexes, she would have probably fallen off the horse... Glancing at the big clock that hung over the entrance, she grimaced at the hour. She still needed to get some sleep, and it wasn't as if she would be able to do much more tonight, not after that small scare.

Belle patted Chip's neck affectionately then freed her right leg from the stirrup and dismounted. It was just in time to see a familiar figure limping into the stables.

She should have waited. It wasn't wise to go after him, so late into the night where there were no other people around. Not because she didn't trust him, no, more like she didn't trust herself. But she was drawn towards him, and so, she tugged at the rains and walked after him as if pulled by an invisible line.

He didn't turn when she came near him. Maybe he didn't hear, or maybe he chose not to acknowledge her, as all his focus was on a horse standing before him. Belle had seen the black stallion before, had been warned many times not to get to close to him as he didn't tolerate people that much and could lash out at any moment. Yet, right now he was standing still, not even huffing as Gold groomed him with well-practised movements.

"He's beautiful," she said, making Gold halt for just a split second.

"He's old," he said after he resumed his treatment, still not glancing her way. "He could still give some younger ones a run for their money, though."

She watched him continuously from the corner of her eye. Chip's box was just next to where Gold had been standing, so she could watch him while taking care of her horse. Something was nagging at her mind, but she didn't know what it was.

"I haven't seen him on the paddock, is he sick?"

She glanced over her shoulder and could swear that for a moment Gold's lips quirked upwards.

"If by sick, you mean he's too stubborn to let anyone but two people ride him, then yes."

There was a touch of amusement in his voice, but there had also been something else. Something that made her frown a little and get closer to Gold after securing Chip in his stall.

"What happened?"

She had an inking, which became a fair assumption when she spotted his shoulders stiffening. There were rumours, circulating around about Gold and the sudden finish of his career. Nobody knew how much truth there had been in them, though.

"There is a reason why I'm reluctant to let you perform that jump," he answered when she had started to think that he wouldn't. Gold turned to her with a sad smile on his face. "Not every jump is a lucky one."

Unwillingly, her gaze fell to his right leg.

"He's your horse," she said, glancing back up, realisation blooming on her face as the pieces came together.

"He was."

"What's his name?"

"Baelfire. My son named him," he added with a wistful smile as he patted the horse's neck. "He had a knack for naming horses. He also named small Chip." Belle's lower abdomen suddenly clenched, and a warm feeling spread through her entire body. She loved it when he smiled that way - it transformed his whole face to a more open one, full of something that was hidden away when there had been other people around. She loved that expression, and it made her want him even more ... It also made her wonder - could it be, he felt similar to her? Maybe that kiss hadn't been an accident after all. Belle watched him closely, taking in the details of his posture. He seemed to avoid her eyes, but it appeared he couldn't help the small glances that escaped her way.

She had enough of this dance they seemed to be doing from so time.

She took a half-step forward.

"Raymond - "

"Miss French," he interrupted, holding his hand up, halting her in her movements. "I may have an inking to what you would like to say and let me tell you it would be a really bad idea."

Belle couldn't help it and bit on her lower lip. Gold's eyes momentarily followed the gesture, and she watched him gulp before he turned his gaze upwards to meet her gaze finally.

"Would it really?" she asked after a moment of silence, that felt like hours, but damn it - she was too tired of the both of them running in circles around each other. She wasn't blind. And so wasn't he.

"Miss French - "

"Belle," she said while taking a step forward - more bold one, suddenly sure of what she wanted to do. " My name's Belle. You can use it, I don't mind."

"Belle," he agreed. "We can't."

"Don't you want to?"

"Don't get me wrong," he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated and stepped away for his old horse, meeting her in front of the boxes. "I would like nothing more, but there are rules, regulations to upheld - "

Gold hadn't noticed when she had gotten so close to him, but one moment he was pacing at a safe distance from her, and then she was in front of him, holding her finger against his lips, silencing him. He wanted her to work on her confidence, so he would have it.

"To hell with regulations," she whispered, and before he could protest any more, she climbed on her toes and kissed him firmly on the lips.

She briefly wondered if she hadn't stepped over some invisible line, she had no other indication that he was into her as much as she was into him beside his vague answer and a drunken kiss, but this time there was no tase of alcohol on their lips. Belle was about to step away, and apologise before disappearing in shame, but then his lips parted as he returned the kiss eagerly, and all her worries had disappeared even if for a moment. Something fell to the ground making a soft noise, but when she tried to glance its way, Gold's hand twisted in her hair, scraping her scalp. Belle moaned into his mouth, and the noise made him growl as he pushed firmer against her, his tongue brushing her palate at the same time, making her shudder with want.

It was only when they both broke for air, did she notice that her back now pressed against the wood of the empty horse stall, and Gold's cane was nowhere to be found. When she glanced up, her breath caught in her throat. Raymond's pupils were blown wide, his breathing uneven, and hair all messed up from where her fingers had unconsciously wondered.

Gold sighed and rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.

"Tell me to stop, Belle," he whispered, his breath brushing against her skin, making her shiver. "Tell me to stop, or I won't be able to restrain myself."

She smiled softly, bringing her hand to his cheek. She traced her finger over the soft stubble, waiting for him to open his eyes. When he finally did, her smile widened.

"I don't want you to. I think that me kissing you was enough of an indication."

"Belle - "

"Will it help if I wanted to do this probably from the day I met you?"

He groaned, and she grinned when the growing bulge in his trousers touched her thigh.

"I don't want you to regret it."

"Will you?" she asked, raising her eyebrow, challengingly.

Instead of answering, he claimed her lips in a hungry kiss, pressing harder against her, supporting his hand on the wood near her head. He kissed down her throat, nibbling at her skin with his teeth, sending shivers down her spine, living small red marks in his wake, and desire so intense she wished for more.

Gold couldn't think clearly - not when she had kissed him for the first time, and especially not now, when she threw her leg over his hip, bringing their bodies closer together, and rubbing against him. Some last sane cell of his brain screamed at him that he should stop, that he couldn't do it to her as it would not only ruin his career but even more hers, but he was too far gone to listen to it.

He didn't want to follow its calls because at this moment, with Belle's in his arms and as close as possible, he felt the happiest that he had been. He was just about to kiss her behind her right earlobe when suddenly, there had been a crack, and his hand no longer rested on a firm surface. The only thing he could think of was to cushion Belle's head with the palm of his hand, before they both tumbled backwards, falling on the stack of hay.

They lay in silence, breathing hard, none of them precisely sure, what just had happened. Gold's weight felt oddly comfortable on top of Belle's, but it took her one look at his confused face to start to giggle. When the two horses neighed, her giggle transformed into full laughter that she couldn't stop. Gold bent his head, hiding his face in the crock of Belle's neck, chuckling.

"Yeah, laugh all of you, why don't you."

Belle plucked the straw that somehow found its way into his hair, making him look up at her when she brushed his hair behind his ear.

"You look adorable," she admitted, making him smirk.

"You're the one talking." He started to heave off her, but with one swift motion, she pushed at him, making him roll over with her on top. Gold's hands went to her hips, securing her in place, his eyebrow raised.

"Planning to ride bareback, are we?"

She giggled, her hands going to the buttons of his dress shirt. It was her favourite one - dark blue with bearly visible black stripes.

"Not bare enough," she managed to open three of them before his hands sopped her.

"I'm - Well," he started again, after clearing his throat. "I didn't come here prepared to - you know..."

"It's OK. I'm on the pill," she answered then kissed him softly on the tip of his nose. "And it's been ages since I have been with anyone."

"Not as long as I, believe me," he countered, grimacing.

"I would quote your words about Baelfire earlier if they weren't too cliche for the situation," her answer made him grin and climb up on his elbows to claim her lips. Gods, he loved kissing her. He didn't want to stop doing it. "Besides," she added, pulling slightly away. "I have never had sex on hay before."

The words spoken in a husky voice sent a wave of desire to Gold's loins nad he suddenly felt like he couldn't wait any longer.

"Well, then," he said, sitting up, making Belle squeak in surprise and catch herself on his shoulders. He put one hand on the small of her back, and the other on her neck, kissing her hungrily, first on the corner of her lips and then sucking at her jaw. Her surprise lasted only a second and then her shaking fingers were undoing the last of his buttons, throwing his shirt off his shoulders. The moment he had to let her go to let her remove his shirt left her yearning for his touch, and she took in a sharp breath when he cupped her breast. "We need to change that."

Belle didn't know when he had undone her riding britches button, slipping his hand to touch her, rubbing at her core, making her jerk against his palm.

"Fuck," she moaned.

"I plan to do just that," he growled, flipping her on her back, lying her down on his discarded shirt. The straws were scraping her back through the material, but it wasn't unpleasant in the slightest, making her more turned on, instead. She ran her hand down his bare belly, fascinated by how the muscles beneath her palm clenched. He was more on the thin side, but not unhealthy looking, leaner that she would have imagined, proving he still made an effort to keep in shape despite his ruined leg.

"Found something you like?" he asked, lifting her palm to his mouth and licking her fingers before holding her arm over her head as he bent down to kiss the spot between her breast as soon as he undid her blouse with the other hand.

"Yes," she breathed out, completely lost in the sensation. "You."

She freed her hand and twisted her fingers in his hair, moaning when he claimed her nipple into his mouth, running his tongue in a circular motion, then biting lightly before sucking. Funny how this had been the day when she had forgotten to put on her bra. A lucky day indeed.

"Beautiful," he murmured, moving to her other breast. "So beautiful."

"Rey, please..."

He stopped, glancing up, his eyes burning with desire so profound it made ger gulp.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked, his eyes searching her face. It made her heart swell, and she raised her eyebrow amused.

"You're seriously asking me this after touching and kissing me like that?"

"I think I may be in love with you," he admitted suddenly, and by the look on his face, the words left his mouth without his conscious thought. Belle linked her arms behind his neck, pulling him upwards, so their faces were at the same level.

"Then it's a good thing I may be too."

She undid the buckle of his belt with some fumbling, not breaking the eye contact with him, mindless of her awkward movements, watching him gulp.

"If you're worried about the regulations," she whispered. "We'll work something out." She wriggled out from under him, letting him remove his shoes and doing the same herself.

"I'll resign," he fully intended to do just that. "Jefferson will be all too happy to take over," he added as he discarded his clothes to the side.

"We will think about it later," she said and pulled him back over him, moving her down his belly to grasp him in her hand, making him groan in pleasure as she moved her hand. "Now, didn't you plan to do something to me?"

"I believe," he grunted and bit slightly on her earlobe while his hips buckled with the next movement of her hand, "that someone threatened me with bareback riding?"

"Oh, it was a promise."

And with that, she pushed on his shoulders and climbed on top of him. The way he looked up at her, his hands roaming her bare body, she knew she could never let him go. And so did he. They would worry about the future later, but Belle didn't feel disturbed by it at all. She would make that final jump, and even if she wouldn't win, it didn't matter to her anymore.

She took him in slowly, enjoying the way he filled her in, watching him throw his head back and groaning.

"Gods, Belle..."

Their moans of pleasure were lost in the chill night air, but none of them could feel the cold. They were too lost in each other for the first and certainly not the last time. Afterwards, when Belle's head rested against his bare chest, he knew one thing - he couldn't let her go because the world without her didn't hold as much appeal as before.

"You don't have to resign now, you know? Nobody needs to know to after the competition is over," she murmured against his chest, and he grimaced even if slightly amused.

He reached blindly for her blouse that had been discarded somewhere to his left. It wouldn't do for her to catch a cold.

"With the way that I can't help myself looking at you?" he answered and smirked as he finally grabbed onto the blouse, after flexing a little. "Someone would have to be blind," he added, throwing it over her.

"That would be the fun part. Not getting caught."

He could feel her smiling against his skin and feeling suddenly mischievous, he grabbed a handful of hay and threw it over her head, making her giggle.

"You're a minx - you know that?"

"Well," she climbed on her elbow, brushing her nose against his, making the lone straws fall onto him too. "You're bringing the worst in me."

"You can win this, you know?" he said suddenly, turning his head to look her in the eyes. "I know you will."

The look in her eyes almost took his breath away. Lost in her gaze, he almost didn't hear her next words.

"I already did."

They needed to get dressed and leave the stables before anyone else would stumble on them, but for now, it didn't matter. What mattered was that a completely new chapter had opened for the both of them, one a lot more thrilling than Olympics itself.

Putting her hand on Gold's cheek, Belle kissed him softly, pouring her raw emotions into it, loving the way he responded, bending towards her at the same time.

Oh, yes. They would be fine.

#rumbelle secret santa #thestraggletag #rumbelle secret santa 2020 #rumbelle #rumbelle fanfiction #rumplestiltskin #belle #once upon a time #myfic #fic: A Leap of Faith

12 notes · View notes

b-does-the-write-thing · 3 years

Text

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

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

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

Read it on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, great. This again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(That always threw these types off.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just had to find the lady first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(He really loathed hysterics.)

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

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

“He’d make an impressive bull-frog.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, for Nimue’s sake-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A bride!”

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

“But-but-but-”

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

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

One screamed and started to push the other at him.

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

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

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

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

That was why you always read the fine print.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You b-”

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

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

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

“Belle, my dear, surely we can-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#rumbelle secret santa #rss 2020 #rumbelle #rumbelle fan fic #b does the write thing #for the first time since 2019

37 notes · View notes

boushh2187 · 3 years

Text

The Festival - Rumbelle Secret Santa Gift

Title: The Festival

By: boushh2187

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairing: Rumbelle :)

Rumbelle Secret Santa 2020 Gift for @peacehopeandrats

Prompt: winter, fire, stroll in the snow

Word Count: 2220

Rated: PG

Author’s Note: @peacehopeandrats it was a pleasure being your santa! I hope you enjoy this little story. I really liked the prompt and tried going for something wintery and heartwarming. :)

Summary: A visit to a nearby winter festival continues the unusual relationship between the master of the castle and the caretaker.

“There you are!” Belle stood indoors at the top of one of the castle towers. The wind whipped through the open window where Rumplestiltskin stood. She had been looking for him for quite some time. It wasn’t terribly unusual for him to up and disappear occasionally, but overall he would let her know if he would be leaving the castle. Belle suspected that he knew she would get frustrated if she was alone in the castle and didn’t know it, especially if she expected to have a dinner companion.

He stood by the window, and the wind blew at his frayed cloak and his hair. He looked quite human when he was silhouetted, and Belle knew that he must have been a man once. Even through his unusual sparkling, scaly skin, and odd eyes, one could see the man that was once behind the beast. He turned slightly so that she could see his profile more clearly and he nodded to acknowledge her presence.

She moved forward and stood next to him, trying to get a peek out the window. Something had caught his attention, and as usual, Belle was curious. “What has your attention at such an hour? Your dinner is going to get cold.” He stood aside slightly, so that she could stand next to him and have a look out of the narrow window. She shivered and rubbed at her arms. Her peasant dress was not for this weather, at least not without a warm cloak.

Belle looked into the distance and she assumed she saw what had interested Rumplestiltskin. The nearby town was brightly lit, much more so than usual. There seemed to be much more activity. She could even make out more pillars of smoke when the moonlight shone through the clouds. She squinted her eyes and asked, “Is it… is it a winter festival?”

“Indeed.”

“Have you ever been? What am I saying, of course you must have gone. It’s so close…”

“It’s been many, many years since I’ve been to such a thing. I don’t have time, nor interest in festivals unless they serve to close a deal.”

“You’ve been to a winter festival in the past though?”

“Of course. I am hundreds of years old, and my… and I knew someone who enjoyed these festivals very much.”

Once again, an allusion to his life before. Belle would get glimpses into his past, and even though she found his magic and his adventures interesting, she was even more curious about his life before… when he was an ordinary person.

“Come along now. You said our dinner was getting cold!” His cloak billowed behind him as he walked by. He took the stairs swiftly, and Belle followed with a final shiver from the cold. She found it worth noting that even with all of his magic, Rumplestiltskin rarely used it in the castle for mundane things such as traveling within the large estate. She supposed that’s why he needed or wanted a caretaker… well except for the obvious fact that he was lonely.

*****

Belle sat near the fireplace of the great room in the castle. It had gone out while she and Rumplestiltskin were finishing their meal. She set about arranging the logs and lighting the fire. It wasn’t a moment too soon as there was a chill in the air already. She watched as the kindling started to catch and the flame lifted upwards into a nice warm fire. She held her hands out to warm them. Perfect.

Rumplestiltskin was nearby spinning, deep in thought as usual. This was around the time where she would bring out some tea and read for a while before it was time to turn in for the night. She walked up to Rumplestiltskin and watched him spin for a few moments. She enjoyed watching him spin. It was soothing somehow. “What is it, dearie?” His voice startled her out of her quiet reverie. He seemed to reproach himself immediately when he saw her reaction.

Belle shook herself and replied, “Oh, I wanted to ask you what type of tea you would like this evening? The Greenleaf, perhaps?”

“Fine.” He glanced at her briefly before continuing with his spinning.

Belle watched the gold string fall softly into the basket below. Something was clearly on his mind. She smiled softly and set off to prepare their tea.

A short while later, she sat reading her latest discovery from the castle library, which was also her bedroom. She tried not to chuckle at that. If she was going to be stuck in this castle for the rest of her life, she couldn’t think of a better spot to call her own.

She closed the book with a satisfied sigh. The ending of this one was perfect, unlike the last one she read, which left her wanting to toss the book into the fire… not that she would ever really toss any book into a fire. Sometimes though, she wondered what the author was thinking with an ending like that! So many loose ends… but this one was wrapped up neatly and it was just perfect.

“Enjoy the book?” Rumplestiltskin asked. He was standing quite close to her and she had been so wrapped up in the story that she hadn’t noticed.

“Oh yes.” She held the book out to him. “Would you like to read it?”

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “I’ve read every book in that library.”

Belle raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t considered that possibility.

“We need to get you some new books!”

Rumplestiltskin laughed softly. She enjoyed when he was so amiable.

“Perhaps you can do so tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

“How would you like to accompany me to the winter festival in town?”

Belle stood up. “Oh, I would love to! I haven’t been to one since I was a child! My mother used to take me and then the ogres began to act up and my father forbade us to go out of the castle walls without an armed guard. It just wouldn’t have been the same to visit with a group of soldiers following us around.”

“Then we shall go tomorrow. No need for an armed guard. I shall protect you from any foe,” he said it with a silly tone in his voice, but his expression betrayed him and she sensed that he was truly quite serious.

*****

They took the carriage late that afternoon. Belle convinced Rumplestiltskin to take the horses out for the evening and not rely on his magic to propel the carriage. In truth she did find the horseless carriage fascinating, but she also knew the horses needed a good work out and she loved helping get them ready. It was also something that the two of them could do together in companionable silence. She enjoyed moments like those. It was as if they were almost friends.

At the moment, they sat together in the carriage. He had draped a blanket over the two of them, as he had done on a few occasions where they had gone out. He still directed the horses using his magic, but at least the poor beasts weren’t idling in the castle all day. It was cold out, but the horses could handle it, especially since they were moving at a nice pace.

There was a light snow falling, just enough to look pretty. It would be nice to take a stroll in the snow at the winter festival. As they neared the village, Belle could make out the abundant candles lit throughout the village. She could smell the fresh bread and pastries that were being made in the kitchens too.

Rumplestiltskin stopped the carriage just outside the village and helped her down. She shivered a bit as she stepped into the slightly snow covered ground. Perhaps this peasant dress and this floral patterned cloak that she wore weren’t enough to keep her warm outside of the carriage. She picked up the pace towards the village, and Rumplestiltskin followed. He was dressed more warmly than she was, in a heavy cloak and boots. “Hurry!” she called out to him. I think it would be nice to get some warm bread!”

They walked through the village pathways that were lined with cottages, smoke billowing through the chimneys. Both she and Rumplestiltskin had their hoods up, though Belle suspected that Rumplestiltskin did this so that he would not get any attention. She wondered if the villagers knew him at all? They stopped at the baker’s shop and Rumplestiltskin purchased a nice warm loaf of cinnamon bread. The village was now dark except for the moonlight that filtered in through the trees and rooftops, and of course the candles and crackling fire pits. They shared the warm bread as they browsed the shops selling trinkets, clothes, books, and supplies of all kinds. They purchased candles to celebrate the occasion and walked along the light crowds just like the regular townspeople were doing.

They went in and out of the shops. The snow had coated the ground and frosted up the windows. It was perfect timing for such a festival. Belle browsed the dresses in one of the shops and stopped to look at a red velvet dress that looked to be much warmer than what she was wearing now. Of course, it was something that was meant for a party, and not maid attire at all.

“Go try it on,” Rumplestiltskin said from behind her. She jumped slightly. She had been so engrossed in running her fingers through the fabric that she had forgotten that he’d come in the shop along with her.

The shopkeeper was all too happy to usher her into a dressing room, and was chatting about coming in for fittings as Belle stepped into the room. The shopkeeper drew the curtains behind her, and she was alone there for a moment and about to hold up the dress to see how to loosen the fastenings, when it glowed and disappeared from her hands. She was suddenly wearing the very dress that she had held in her hands, and it fit perfectly. The garb that she wore from the castle was in a satchel at her feet. Rumplestiltskin, she muttered under her breath. How am I going to explain this? She couldn’t help but smile subtly as she stepped back into the shop.

Rumplestiltskin stood there. His hood was down, and the shopkeeper looked taken aback. He held up a heavy, red velvet cloak with white fur trim. “To complete the look,” he said, and twirled his fingers for her to turn around. She turned her back towards him, trying to keep her small smile from turning into a full fledged silly grin. He placed the cloak on her shoulders and drew the clasps closed in front of her. “There,” he said. “Now your attire suits the occasion, and the weather.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Belle said as she turned to face him.

“Think nothing of it. I grew tired of seeing you dressed in the same old thing!” he threw a hand up in the air and stepped away from her. She watched as he emptied a bag of gold onto the shopkeeper’s counter. “Please, let my maid choose whatever else she likes. I will be waiting outside.” He glanced at Belle and smiled softly. Sometimes, he was something else, and certainly not the monster he appeared to be. She wished those moments were more frequent.

When she met him outside the shop a short while later she had something for him. She held out a package wrapped in brown paper and a red ribbon.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Just a little gift. You said that I could get anything else I liked in the shop. Well, I thought you could use this.”

The snow had stopped falling and they both had their hoods down. The cold air had turned Belle’s cheeks rosy. She could feel it. Rumplestiltskin placed their large candles down onto a nearby table, and opened the gift. As he unwrapped it, he looked surprised and touched that she had thought to give him something, even though he had brought up that very thing last night. His hands ran along the leather-bound book that Belle had chosen for him. It was a dark brown color and the title was stamped in gold foil. “The Unusual Affair”

“The shopkeeper said it’s brand new! The ink is barely dry, she said. I’m sure you haven’t read this one.”

Rumplestiltskin looked at her with a gentle expression. “I have not. Thank you, Belle.” He chuckled as he added, “I must say that it sounds rather scandalous.”

Belle laughed. “It does… And thank you for the new dress and cloak.” She looked down, suddenly feeling her cheeks grow warm. Hopefully, he would think it was just from the cold.

He reached down and took the satchel that held her everyday clothes. “Come along now. It’s getting late and I want to start reading my new book!” he exclaimed, as if she was holding him back. He held his arm out with a flourish for her to step ahead of him. She chuckled at his antics and took the candles from the table, lighting their way back to their carriage and their way home.

#rumbelle secret santa #peacehopeandrats #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fanfic #my stuff #my fics #rss 2020

23 notes · View notes

teaespensonawards · 2 years

Text

2022 TEA Nominations Open!

It’s 2022 T.E.A. Nomination time!

Not sure where the last year has gone, but the time has come once again! It’s time let us know which fics and artwork you enjoyed (and that helped you survive) over the past 12 months. Go back, re-live the joy, and tell us which of those fan creations you want to see on the 2022 T.E.A. ballot!

Nominations begin January 2, 2022 Nominations are due by January 23, 2022, 11:59 pm (CST)

Just in case you need a refresher on T.E.A. Rules, there’s a link to them

Here is the Submit Page, freshly cracked open, where you can send in your nominations. Don’t forget to include the work’s title and its creator when nominating fic and art! And please be sure you have the creator correct. It would also be super helpful if you would make sure that the works you nominate are eligible, as the mod cannot verify each and every one of hundreds of nomination.

Keep in mind that during the nominations phase, you can submit as many nominations as you like. You’re not limited to one nomination per category. Nominate out the wazoo, if you feel like it! And if you forget something, you can come back and nominate more creations all the way up to the due date.

Hit up our Ask Box if you have any questions!

((Apparently tumblr is having issues with anything showing up in tags. What a shock. At this point, please just reblog to help your fellow Rumbellers see this post, I don’t know. *sigh*))

And now, the categories for the 2022 T.E.A.s! Below is the list you’ll copy and paste into the blank on the Submit Page to send in. Please click through the read-more here to see the full list of categories for which you can nominate fandom creations for this year. Look out below!

(Note: we are aware that some categories might not apply this year, such as events that didn’t take place in 2021. That’s okay. Just skip them where needed.)

2022 NOMINATION CATEGORIES

FLUFF

Family

Comfort

Fix-It

Reunion

Best Child Fic (fluffy fic centered on children in the Rumbelle family)

SMUT

Kink

Romance

Comedy

Threesome

Best First Time

Best Afterlife Smut

PWP

BDSM

ANGST

Why?

Death

Oops

Hurts so good

ROMANCE

Best Date (Overall)

Best Hamburger Date

Best Courtship

Best First Meeting

Best RomCom

Best Bathing Scene

GENERAL AWARDS

Best One-Shot

Best Drabble

Best Post-Ep Fic

Best Comedy Fic

Best Movie AU

Best Book AU

Best TV Show AU

Best AU Inspired By Other Media (including but not restricted to video games, musicals/plays, and graphic novels)

Best Historical AU

Best AU

Best AU!OUAT

Best Series

Best Novel Length Fic (does not have to be finished, but must be a minimum of 40k words to qualify)

Best Holiday Fic

Best Remix

Best Crossover Fic

Best Dark Castle

Best Storybrooke

Best Travel (taking place outside of Storybrooke or Dark Castle)

Best “Missing Years” Fic (taking place between Gideon’s birthday party and That Thing that happened in ‘Beauty’)

Best Argument (Angst)

Best Argument (Fluff)

SPECIAL CATEGORIES

Best Golden Lace

Best Woven Lace

Best Woven Beauty

Best Rumbelle Poly Ship (ex: Golden Swan Beauty, Mad Golden Beauty)

Best Background Swanfire

Best Side Pairing

Best Afterlife Fic

Best Crack!Fic

Best Drama

Best Supernatural

Best Sci-Fi

Best Horror

Best Creature AU

Best Unexpected Twist

Best Dark One Lore Fic

Best Bobby Squared (a fic featuring more than one Bobby character, including multiple instances of Gold and/or Rumple)

Forgotten Gem (a fic completed more than three (3) years ago, that you feel has been overlooked)

Best Pandemic/Quarantine Fic

Best Trope

Best Trend

Best Meta

Best Prompter

EVENTS

(All fics in these categories are limited to 2020 events only.)

Rumbelle Secret Santa

Rumbelle Christmas in July

Rumbelle Summer Gift Exchange

Fluffapalooza

Monthly Rumbelle (Non-smut)

Monthly Rumbelle (Smut)

Rumbelle is Hope

Rumbelle Monsterfuckers Ball

Rumbelle Big Bang

CHARACTER AWARDS

Best Belle

Best Dark One!Belle

Best AU Belle

Best Lacey

Best Detective Weaver

Best Dark One

Best Mr. Gold

Best AU!Gold/Rumple

Best Spinner!Rumple

Best Woobie!Rum

Best Wish!Rumple

Best Baelfire/Neal

Best Gideon

Best OC Rumbelle Child

Best (Worst) Villain

Best BFF/wingman

ART

Best Fan Art

Best Cover Art

Best Graphic Art (GIFs)

Best Graphic Art (Still Images)

Best AU in Art (encompassing traditional art, gif sets, still photo sets, etc.)

Best Fluff Art

Best Angsty Art

Best Smutty Art

Best Comic/Graphic Novel

Best Dark One Form

Best Use of Color

Best Video

Best Artist

Best New Artist

- BEST AUTHOR

- BEST NEW AUTHOR

- BEST RUMBELLE FIC

- BEST ANYELLE FIC

- BEST ANYEM FIC

- Rumbelle Fandom Lifetime Achievement Award Awarded to a person who has done something spectacular in the fandom. Either by making people feel welcome, organizing events, or simply embodying the Rumbelle fandom as a whole.

- Newbie Spotlight This award goes to people who began contributing to the Rumbelle fandom since the last T.E.A.s. Those eligible include new writers, artists, gif-makers, etc. Anyone who creates content for the fandom. This category is not voted upon - every newbie whose name is put forth is added to the Spotlight list so that older members of the fandom can get to know them and their work!

#The Espenson Awards #Rumbelle #Rumbelle fic #Rumbelle art #Rumplestiltskin #Belle French #Anyelle #Anyem

35 notes · View notes

rumbellesecretsanta · 3 years

Text

Passing the Torch

Hey folx, it’s CrankyNerdGirl here. I am sad to report that there is not going to be a Rumbelle Secret Santa this year.*

*At least not one administered by me.

As for the reason, let me just say that 2020 has been a really wild ride, and I just don’t have it in me to handle the admin / overhead that goes along with the event. I am also in a kind of peculiar position, where I haven’t been able to get in touch with Ship or anybody who runs the Rumbelle Christmas in July for a couple of days now.

My preference would be to pass this blog to the RCIJ crew, if they were interested in picking it up. My next preference after that would be to allow this blog to remain archival, but encourage the community to organize their own RSS through whatever methods best suits those who remain.

If you are able to put me in touch with any of the RCIJ team, I will be making an effort to check both Tumblr and the RumbelleSecretSanta gmail account for the next couple of days. If you are interested in hosting the next iteration of RSS, I would encourage you to start posting in the Rumbelle tags, getting organized, and coming to that consensus as a community. I think, for me, it’s important that I not pass this blog to someone unproven, who I do not know. I would rather keep it as it is, with all the great gifts we’ve accumulated through the years, than pass it on wholesale to someone who does not have experience organizing this type of exchange.

Anyway, I am sorry to anybody who feels let down by this. We have been doing RSS every year since 2012, and I know a small but vocal number of people still participate.

I hope this statement has been both clear and fair, given the circumstances. But if you have any questions, HMU and I will do my best to answer.

Thank you,

CNG

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle secret santa #rss #rumbelle christmas in july #ouat

57 notes · View notes

lotus0kid · 3 years

Text

OUaT: Finding Fate

((For the 2020 Rumbelle Secret Santa, using @dorkone's prompt "castle flirting vs. storybrooke flirting”. Hope you like it!))

Regina racks up enemies like it’s the latest fashion. At least she doesn’t task Rumpelstiltskin with conjuring her wardrobe as well as resolving her current vendetta. Someday he’ll enjoy making her understand that she was never more than a means to an end for him. Until then, he sits at his wheel and ponders how to make things difficult for a certain mermaid.

He nearly jumps off his stool when the doors to the hall fly open and a voice that has no business sounding so cheerful within the gloom of the Dark Castle rings out, “I did it!” Belle strides straight for him, a broad smile on her face and a silver platter balanced on her palm. “I knew I’d get it eventually. I wasn’t sifting the flour enough. Thank the gods I figured it out- this batch is the last of the almond stuff!”

As she circles around to stand at his side Rumpelstiltskin catches the scent of something baked and… minty? He stops the wheel and inquires, “What strange act have you committed in the kitchens now?”

Belle rolls her eyes at him, “If you wanted a cook you should’ve dealt for one. But you got me, and I’ve just made a breakthrough in my culinary practice. Here, try one.”

The platter swings toward him, revealing a number of bite-sized macarons tinted an alarming green shade. The smell isn’t actually bad, now that he’s a had a minute to get used to it, but he curls a lip anyway. “No thank you, dearie. I have no need for… whatever this is.”

“‘Whatever this is’ is a delicacy from my village. We made them every midwinter. I thought I’d never get to have them again, but with a little experimentation and perseverance, you can hardly even taste the difference!”

Rumpelstiltskin blinks up at her, then returns his attention to the wheel. “Right, well, congratulations then.”

Belle lets out a soft snort of indignation before saying, “Won’t you try one? Here, I’ll go first.” She picks up one of her creations and pops the whole thing in her mouth. The instant her pink lips close on it her eyes slip shut and she moans in pleasure.

Rumpelstiltskin locks his gaze on the wood grain of his wheel, the only thing that might save him from the in all ways unwelcome heat rushing through his body. This is made more difficult when something green bobs into the lower right corner of his vision.

“O-pen u-up…” Belle sing-songs as he resists the urge to lean into the fresh, bright scent of the treat. When did I summon mint oil to the cupboard? “You know food tastes better when it’s shared, just try one.”

In this second, he snatches for his seer’s sight in hopes of some guidance, receiving silence in response. His own imagination offers the possibility of slapping her hand away- perhaps throw her totally off balance and send the lovely tray of treats clattering to the floor. The thought of the cold glare she would cast on his back sends a chill through him. Perhaps not. So, he could go the other way. Do as told, and open up, let her set the macaron on his tongue. He could even close his lips quickly enough to catch her fingertips, and taste her skin along with the delicate crunch and zing of mint.

Rumpelstiltskin shakes his head to clear these imaginings- one far too cold, the other far too hot. Belle’s hand retreats. “All right, never mind then,” she begins, but he reaches out and cups his palm under hers, taking the macaron with his other hand and bringing it to his mouth.

He grinds through it with brisk efficiency. “A triumph, dearie,” he announces after swallowing, “Well done.”

She smiles, nods. “Thank you. It’s good to know I can feed you something. I don’t care what you say about being sustained by magic, it’s just not healthy to not eat.”

The briefest accidental glance in Belle’s direction reveals a look of warm concern beaming down on him and in that instant a thick, heavy sob swells up in Rumpelstiltskin’s chest, tightens his throat, and makes his eyes burn. She’s right. He lets the magic feed him, and it feeds on him in turn. Sometimes he must call up a gallery of memories of Bae in order to keep the darkness from consuming him. Once or twice, he’s had trouble recalling the exact shape of his son’s face, which causes frigid fear to blast through him.

Remembering that fear, joined with the horrific likelihood that he might start blubbering in front of Belle, drives him to his feet, and he utters pardons a second before whisking himself off to his tower.

Belle is of course the problem, he decides while pacing stolidly and aimlessly and sighing away the ache in his chest. He swore an oath to love no one as long as Bae is lost to him. But she’s here, and she is… That’s not to say he actually… It’s his old spinner’s heart, the foolish thing. It still hasn’t learned- the people he loves, they leave. He needs to show it what comes of entertaining silly little hopes. He must look ahead, and see how Belle will free herself from him. He’ll be calm then.

This is easier said than done. As proven moments ago in the hall, the seer’s sight is finnicky at best, coming and going as it pleases. And when he can grab hold of it, it sometimes rattles through more possibilities than Rumpelstiltskin’s mostly human mind can comprehend. But perhaps he can channel it, focus it in one direction. Indeed, his focus is clear- it’s Belle’s future he seeks.

He shuts his eyes and extends his awareness to find her walking back to the kitchens, and so takes the opportunity to transport himself into her room and pluck a strand of hair from her pillow. This he carries back to his tower, then flicks through a dense tome of spells on a desk until he comes to a powerful divination spell. With his eyes screwed shut as he mutters the words that will drag his seer’s sight to heel, he does not notice a hair from his own head come loose and drift down to join Belle’s in his palm. But as unremarkable days of caretaker duties unspool within his mind, a mysterious golden haze drifts through, and he feels time speed up to a blur.

He tries to haul back on imaginary reins- he has no interest in zooming all the way to Belle’s eventual death. Slowly his awareness settles on one point in the future.

The first surprise is that he isn’t a ghostly spectator in this random moment to come. He feels himself present in the space. Looking down, he finds himself wearing, not his usual silk and leather, but rather loose-fitting wool trousers matched with a jacket and a shirt fastened by a simple row of buttons. His only silk is a thin strip tied around his neck, discretely folded under the shirt collar.

His second surprise are his hands. They appear as those of an ordinary man, a state which is anything but ordinary. His right wraps comfortably around a gold-handled cane- in this peculiar vision he’s aware of his maimed ankle as a distant stiffness. His left hand holds the bow and neck of a violin. He doesn’t have much time to study the instrument before the sounds of an opening door and a ringing bell come from beyond a curtain hanging in the doorway of the room he occupies, which appears to be the storage space of a small shop of curiosities.

After a moment, the curtain is pulled back to admit his third and biggest surprise- Belle, carrying what appears to be a sack made of paper and wearing a skirt far shorter than anything Rumpelstiltskin’s ever seen on a woman of her station. She doesn’t seem at all bothered by this, smiling wide as her eyes fall to the violin. “Unearth something interesting?” she asks before setting down the sack on a small table nearby. “You might want to wait until after lunch to tell me about it. Ruby said Madame Mayor was snapping at everyone when she got coffee this morning, so we may not have long to eat.”

None of that makes sense to Rumpelstiltskin- or, at least, the Rumpelstiltskin of the present. The Rumpelstiltskin to come replies with ease while his past counterpart observes from within, “If she requires another lesson in patience, I’m happy to provide it. Come have a look at this.”

She comes to stand before him as he holds out the violin. Its body is decorated with wood inlays depicting two people in profile with their arms outstretched. Magic curls away from their hands, meeting at the strings. “Lovely. And powerful, I suppose?” she inquires with a raised brow.

“Versatile, more than anything. Play a certain tune, achieve a certain magical effect, assuming you play well. Shall I?” Rumpelstiltskin lets the cane fall against his hip and transfers the bow to his right hand, setting it on the strings but pausing there with his gaze on Belle.

She nibbles at her lower lip, but soon says with a sparkle of mischief in her eyes, “Why not?”

“Very well,” Rumpelstiltskin says with a grin of his own. He closes his eyes and searches the enchantments laid upon the violin, and finds something that might actually be familiar. An old tune his Aunt Iph used to play for Aunt Im. The melody slowly emerges as he draws the bow along the strings.

It’s not long before he hears a soft gasp and then a bright giggle. Belle’s hands fall on his shoulders and he opens his eyes to take her in as she floats about an arm’s length off the floor. Light shining through a nearby window gleams every part of her it touches. He maintains the tempo and volume of the song, which keeps her from drifting any higher. After a moment’s uncertainty, she lifts her hands, swaying and bobbing slightly to the beat, turning a slow circle in the air. Rumpelstiltskin can’t say when he’s seen anything more beautiful, and his heart melts with love.

When she faces him again her hands return to his shoulders. Beaming down on him, she murmurs, “That’s the tragedy of musicians- they don’t get to dance.”

Her brow furrows slightly and her hold on him tightens, and he actually feels the magic he’s emitting flow through her back into him, settling in his feet as a lightness that almost tickles. Then he’s rising, rising up to meet her. Belle’s arms slide around his neck as the distance continues to close between them. Her lips brush his and in that instant there’s a blinding flash of gold light behind his eyes and the vision snaps out of existence and Rumpelstiltskin drops hard against the desk, knocking the tome of spells into a mess of fluttering pages on the floor.

He grips the edge of the desk, feet and lips still tingling, trying to understand what just happened. Because it can’t be the future, what he saw. It’s not possible. Him and Belle, together, really quite unmistakably in love. True love. No, it cannot be. Anyway, in that world it didn’t seem instantly apparent where Bae was, and therefore it was no world Rumpelstiltskin wants to live in. Not at all.

He crouches down to pick up and turn the tome over and check for damage. The spell on the page it falls open to is something to do with happy dreams. Ah, clearly he misread earlier and cast this instead of a divination spell. Of course. He should try again. Ensure he’s on the right page, and figure out what fate of Belle’s will take her away.

He definitely means to. It’s just that a half-finished project catches his attention, and he forgets all about it. And when it crosses his mind again, the hint of an old tune he only just remembered wanders through his mind, and he decides he doesn’t need to know. Not yet.

#dorkone #rumbelle secret santa #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #once upon a time #fanfiction

24 notes · View notes