FIC: Our Own Fairy Tale [Disney]
Title: Our Own Fairy Tale
Author: atraphoenix
Fandom: Disney [Beast and the Beast / Sleeping Beauty]
Characters: Belle/Briar Rose
Rating: PG
Summary: A real story doesn't have an ending.
Author's Note: Written for the 2011 queer_fest.
In a castle surrounded by a wall of vicious thorns lay a princess, cursed by a magic spell to sleep for a hundred years. It was said that only a kiss from her true love could break the spell and free her at last.
Many princes tried to slay the enchantress who had cast the spell and fight their way through the thorns to the sleeping maiden. They failed. The princess slept on, unaware of the bloody events unfolding outside and the steady passage of time, until, one day, a woman - claiming to have known the princess in their youth - travelled to the kingdom.
***
Briar Rose had the most beautiful hands that Belle had ever see. While the long hours that she spent helping her father in his workshop meant that her own fingers were habitually stained with ink or machine oil, Rose’s fingers were slender and pale and, despite the fact that she helped her aunts with every one of their many household chores, free from calluses and other commonplace signs of toil. She was perfect in every way - from her warm red smile to her cascade of golden curls - but it was her hands that Belle had noticed first and her hands that had continued to captivate Belle ever since.
Belle had been walking in the woods in search of a peaceful place - far from the whispers of her new neighbours, who were not sure how to react to the eccentric inventor and his peculiar daughter - to read her favourite book. Briar Rose had been walking in the woods to gather berries for her supper. Their paths crossed when Belle, nestled in the branches of a twisted old oak, dropped her book down to the ground. Before she had been able to climb down to retrieve, Rose had held it up to her.
For a moment, it had seemed as if the princess from her story had somehow stepped out of the pages to offer her assistance.
Fortunately, it did not take Belle long to discover that this princess was sweet and softly spoken, as different from the haughty creature of the fairy tale as it was possible to be. Despite the cloud of secrecy that surrounded Rose’s life - indeed, only her well meaning but stifling aunts and Belle’s beloved father knew of their friendship at all - they managed to build a relationship that went from strength to strength as the years passed. She provided Rose with a window into the world outside her forested home. Rose gave Belle that acceptance and understanding that the villagers would never manage.
Whenever Belle spent the night at her friend’s secluded cottage, they would share Rose’s narrow wooden bed while Flora, Fauna and Merryweather slumbered next door. Occasionally, those perfect fingers would move - idly, absently, affectionately - to her face, brushing a stray strand of hair off her cheek as they lay on the edge of slumber. In those blissful moments, Belle felt as if everything was truly right with the world.
Together, and without realising what they were doing it, the friends began to construct their own fairy tale.
***
She found the book by accident, more or loss. The shopkeeper - one of the few friends that Belle had in the city, a kindly old man who accepted her headstrong nature and encouraged her voracious appetite for fiction - seemed to have gone out of his way to keep it hidden from her. For no reason other than that, Belle’s curiosity had got the better of her. As soon as he disappeared into the back room to fetch something, she ducked beneath his desk to retrieve the mysterious volume. She’d return it as soon as she was finished with it, of course. She simply wanted to see why he’d swept it out of her way when she’d reached for it earlier.
With the book hidden in the folds of her cloak, Belle bid her friend farewell and returned home. Her father was working on a new project and, consequently, it wasn’t until an hour after sunset that she managed to retreat to her room and read.
***
She read until the candle burned out on her bedside table and, when the light finally flickered and died, stared up at dark ceiling, unable to sleep.
In her eighteen years of life, Belle had read more books than she could count. She had never read a book like this before. It described things that she had never thought - never dared to think - about. Things that should have occurred between a man and his wife but, in this volume, occurred between two women - one dark haired and one fair haired - in ways that left Belle blushing in the darkness.
The girl with the golden hair and the crimson lips reminded her inexorably of Briar Rose. They had the same hands. Imagining Rose touching herself in the same way as the woman in the book - touching her in the same way as the woman in the book touched her companion - made Belle’s heart race in her chest.
When sleep finally claimed her, it pulled her down into dreams of pale bodies entwined on silk sheets, of dark and light hair spilling together on a pillow, of lips and teeth and tongues and perfect fingers. It felt as if she was drowning, but when she woke, flushed and warm and trembling from the intensity of the dream, she realised that she’d rather drown than carry on treading water without feeling a thing.
***
“Belle? Belle, are you listening to me?”
Belle opened her eyes to find her friend frowning at her and, with an effort, offered her a smile in return. Her nights had been far from peaceful over the last few days and she’d dozed off while her friend braided her hair, soothed by Briar Rose’s familiar warmth and soft voice even as she was distracted by her hands.
“You were miles away.”
“Oh, I always am.”
It was well known that the inventor’s daughter spent most of her time with her head in the clouds, after all. It was always a book that put her there. That much hadn’t changed, at least.
“It’s more than that, Belle. Is something wrong?”
“I’m fine,” Belle protested, agitatedly combing the half finished plaits out of her hair with her fingers, “I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”
“Bad dreams?”
“No!”
Unacceptable, perhaps, but certainly not bad. Never bad.
“Oh,” said Rose, with a knowing smile, “I understand. You were dreaming of your prince, weren’t you?”
“I don’t want a prince, Rose!” Belle protested, “You know that! I want adventure!”
Her books provided her with a window into worlds of adventure and excitement - worlds that were so much more than the world that she lived in - but the romance had always been secondary to her. She’d never wasted her hours day dreaming about Prince Charming. She never would.
(Besides, it wasn’t a prince that she wanted. It was a princess.)
“I want … “ she sighed, glancing around at the woods to the west and the village to the east. Her entire world and she could walk from one end of it to the other in less than a day. “I want more than this.”
“More than the life that our families have planned for us,” finished Rose. Belle met her friend’s eyes at last and saw her own feelings - her sense of isolation and her dreams and her hunger for adventure - reflected back at her. They were both trapped in lives that were far too small for them.
“We’ll find it,” she vowed, squeezing Rose’s hand. “I know we will.”
“Together?”
“Of course.”
***
She didn’t leave Briar Rose alone in her room for long - it didn’t take a great deal of time to make a pot of tea and carry it down to her father’s workshop, after all - but she left her alone for long enough. When Belle returned, her friend was sitting on her bed with the book - the book, which she had hidden so carefully beneath her mattress! - in her lap.
Her cheeks flushed crimson. She opened her mouth to offer up some desperate excuse, but the fear of losing her dearest friend made the words stick in her throat.
In the end, it was Briar Rose who broke the silence first.
“The woman with the dark hair reminds me of you,” she said guilelessly, gazing up Belle with wide eyes and a strange expression on her face.
As Rose crossed the room and placed a palm over her racing heart, Belle realised that they were going to drown together. They kissed and kissed, clinging together in a stormy sea and knowing, even if they didn’t dare to speak it, that they’d never be able to let go.
***
Armed with sword and shield, and with courage and love burning in her heart, the woman faced the enchantress and succeeded where so many others had failed.
With the witch dead, the woman was able to cut her way through the thorns until she reached the princess’s bedside. With one kiss - not from a prince, as had been foretold, but from a woman - the princess awoke and the spell was broken.
***
“It doesn’t have an ending, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
Belle propped herself up on her elbow to study Rose’s face. Her friend - lover, she corrected herself with silent delight - was lying on her stomach, reading the book by the early morning sunlight that managed to slip through the curtains. She reached out her free hand to trace the curve of her bare back, savouring her softness and warmth of her skin.
“The book,” Rose replied, rolling over until they were face to face and Belle’s hand rested on her hip. “It doesn’t seem to have an ending.”
“Good!” Belle exclaimed, illustrating her fervour with a kiss before replying more seriously. “Only stories have endings. Real life … carries on.”
“Of course. Who’d want an ending when they could carry on having adventures? That’s what you want, isn’t? Adventure?”
“And you.”
“You have me,” Rose smiled, nuzzling her cheek affectionately, “What about a happy ending? Surely you like the sound of that?”
“In a fairy tale, the happy ending always starts with a kiss from a prince.”
“We’ll write our own fairy tale.”
“Oh?” Belle raised an eyebrow, giving Briar Rose a challenging look, “How will it end?”
“Like all fairy tales, of course. ‘And they lived happily ever after’.”
***
And they lived happily ever after.
Author: atraphoenix
Fandom: Disney [Beast and the Beast / Sleeping Beauty]
Characters: Belle/Briar Rose
Rating: PG
Summary: A real story doesn't have an ending.
Author's Note: Written for the 2011 queer_fest.
In a castle surrounded by a wall of vicious thorns lay a princess, cursed by a magic spell to sleep for a hundred years. It was said that only a kiss from her true love could break the spell and free her at last.
Many princes tried to slay the enchantress who had cast the spell and fight their way through the thorns to the sleeping maiden. They failed. The princess slept on, unaware of the bloody events unfolding outside and the steady passage of time, until, one day, a woman - claiming to have known the princess in their youth - travelled to the kingdom.
***
Briar Rose had the most beautiful hands that Belle had ever see. While the long hours that she spent helping her father in his workshop meant that her own fingers were habitually stained with ink or machine oil, Rose’s fingers were slender and pale and, despite the fact that she helped her aunts with every one of their many household chores, free from calluses and other commonplace signs of toil. She was perfect in every way - from her warm red smile to her cascade of golden curls - but it was her hands that Belle had noticed first and her hands that had continued to captivate Belle ever since.
Belle had been walking in the woods in search of a peaceful place - far from the whispers of her new neighbours, who were not sure how to react to the eccentric inventor and his peculiar daughter - to read her favourite book. Briar Rose had been walking in the woods to gather berries for her supper. Their paths crossed when Belle, nestled in the branches of a twisted old oak, dropped her book down to the ground. Before she had been able to climb down to retrieve, Rose had held it up to her.
For a moment, it had seemed as if the princess from her story had somehow stepped out of the pages to offer her assistance.
Fortunately, it did not take Belle long to discover that this princess was sweet and softly spoken, as different from the haughty creature of the fairy tale as it was possible to be. Despite the cloud of secrecy that surrounded Rose’s life - indeed, only her well meaning but stifling aunts and Belle’s beloved father knew of their friendship at all - they managed to build a relationship that went from strength to strength as the years passed. She provided Rose with a window into the world outside her forested home. Rose gave Belle that acceptance and understanding that the villagers would never manage.
Whenever Belle spent the night at her friend’s secluded cottage, they would share Rose’s narrow wooden bed while Flora, Fauna and Merryweather slumbered next door. Occasionally, those perfect fingers would move - idly, absently, affectionately - to her face, brushing a stray strand of hair off her cheek as they lay on the edge of slumber. In those blissful moments, Belle felt as if everything was truly right with the world.
Together, and without realising what they were doing it, the friends began to construct their own fairy tale.
***
She found the book by accident, more or loss. The shopkeeper - one of the few friends that Belle had in the city, a kindly old man who accepted her headstrong nature and encouraged her voracious appetite for fiction - seemed to have gone out of his way to keep it hidden from her. For no reason other than that, Belle’s curiosity had got the better of her. As soon as he disappeared into the back room to fetch something, she ducked beneath his desk to retrieve the mysterious volume. She’d return it as soon as she was finished with it, of course. She simply wanted to see why he’d swept it out of her way when she’d reached for it earlier.
With the book hidden in the folds of her cloak, Belle bid her friend farewell and returned home. Her father was working on a new project and, consequently, it wasn’t until an hour after sunset that she managed to retreat to her room and read.
***
She read until the candle burned out on her bedside table and, when the light finally flickered and died, stared up at dark ceiling, unable to sleep.
In her eighteen years of life, Belle had read more books than she could count. She had never read a book like this before. It described things that she had never thought - never dared to think - about. Things that should have occurred between a man and his wife but, in this volume, occurred between two women - one dark haired and one fair haired - in ways that left Belle blushing in the darkness.
The girl with the golden hair and the crimson lips reminded her inexorably of Briar Rose. They had the same hands. Imagining Rose touching herself in the same way as the woman in the book - touching her in the same way as the woman in the book touched her companion - made Belle’s heart race in her chest.
When sleep finally claimed her, it pulled her down into dreams of pale bodies entwined on silk sheets, of dark and light hair spilling together on a pillow, of lips and teeth and tongues and perfect fingers. It felt as if she was drowning, but when she woke, flushed and warm and trembling from the intensity of the dream, she realised that she’d rather drown than carry on treading water without feeling a thing.
***
“Belle? Belle, are you listening to me?”
Belle opened her eyes to find her friend frowning at her and, with an effort, offered her a smile in return. Her nights had been far from peaceful over the last few days and she’d dozed off while her friend braided her hair, soothed by Briar Rose’s familiar warmth and soft voice even as she was distracted by her hands.
“You were miles away.”
“Oh, I always am.”
It was well known that the inventor’s daughter spent most of her time with her head in the clouds, after all. It was always a book that put her there. That much hadn’t changed, at least.
“It’s more than that, Belle. Is something wrong?”
“I’m fine,” Belle protested, agitatedly combing the half finished plaits out of her hair with her fingers, “I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”
“Bad dreams?”
“No!”
Unacceptable, perhaps, but certainly not bad. Never bad.
“Oh,” said Rose, with a knowing smile, “I understand. You were dreaming of your prince, weren’t you?”
“I don’t want a prince, Rose!” Belle protested, “You know that! I want adventure!”
Her books provided her with a window into worlds of adventure and excitement - worlds that were so much more than the world that she lived in - but the romance had always been secondary to her. She’d never wasted her hours day dreaming about Prince Charming. She never would.
(Besides, it wasn’t a prince that she wanted. It was a princess.)
“I want … “ she sighed, glancing around at the woods to the west and the village to the east. Her entire world and she could walk from one end of it to the other in less than a day. “I want more than this.”
“More than the life that our families have planned for us,” finished Rose. Belle met her friend’s eyes at last and saw her own feelings - her sense of isolation and her dreams and her hunger for adventure - reflected back at her. They were both trapped in lives that were far too small for them.
“We’ll find it,” she vowed, squeezing Rose’s hand. “I know we will.”
“Together?”
“Of course.”
***
She didn’t leave Briar Rose alone in her room for long - it didn’t take a great deal of time to make a pot of tea and carry it down to her father’s workshop, after all - but she left her alone for long enough. When Belle returned, her friend was sitting on her bed with the book - the book, which she had hidden so carefully beneath her mattress! - in her lap.
Her cheeks flushed crimson. She opened her mouth to offer up some desperate excuse, but the fear of losing her dearest friend made the words stick in her throat.
In the end, it was Briar Rose who broke the silence first.
“The woman with the dark hair reminds me of you,” she said guilelessly, gazing up Belle with wide eyes and a strange expression on her face.
As Rose crossed the room and placed a palm over her racing heart, Belle realised that they were going to drown together. They kissed and kissed, clinging together in a stormy sea and knowing, even if they didn’t dare to speak it, that they’d never be able to let go.
***
Armed with sword and shield, and with courage and love burning in her heart, the woman faced the enchantress and succeeded where so many others had failed.
With the witch dead, the woman was able to cut her way through the thorns until she reached the princess’s bedside. With one kiss - not from a prince, as had been foretold, but from a woman - the princess awoke and the spell was broken.
***
“It doesn’t have an ending, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
Belle propped herself up on her elbow to study Rose’s face. Her friend - lover, she corrected herself with silent delight - was lying on her stomach, reading the book by the early morning sunlight that managed to slip through the curtains. She reached out her free hand to trace the curve of her bare back, savouring her softness and warmth of her skin.
“The book,” Rose replied, rolling over until they were face to face and Belle’s hand rested on her hip. “It doesn’t seem to have an ending.”
“Good!” Belle exclaimed, illustrating her fervour with a kiss before replying more seriously. “Only stories have endings. Real life … carries on.”
“Of course. Who’d want an ending when they could carry on having adventures? That’s what you want, isn’t? Adventure?”
“And you.”
“You have me,” Rose smiled, nuzzling her cheek affectionately, “What about a happy ending? Surely you like the sound of that?”
“In a fairy tale, the happy ending always starts with a kiss from a prince.”
“We’ll write our own fairy tale.”
“Oh?” Belle raised an eyebrow, giving Briar Rose a challenging look, “How will it end?”
“Like all fairy tales, of course. ‘And they lived happily ever after’.”
***
And they lived happily ever after.