I applaud this man.
#rum told belle he’d do something for charity but he didn’t say what
"This doesn’t count," Belle commented, her arms folded, as they stood before the one bench Rumple had willingly donated to the Storybrooke Parks and Recreation Trust.
"You told me I had to donate," Rumple smirked, "You didn’t stipulate what, or where, or what it should say."
Belle groaned, “An anonymous gift was too much for you?”
"My reputation has softened somewhat, darling, since our relationship became public, especially since Bae’s return. And while I am happy, you know I am, that doesn’t make me a nice man."
"You are a nice man,” Belle insisted. Then she reread the inscription on the bench, and grimaced, “You just have an odd way of showing it.”
"I’m simply honest, my Belle," he snickered, "you did tell me that honesty was important, after all."
"This was not what I meant.”
By kind donation of Rumpelstiltskin, the bench read, He hates Storybrooke and everyone in it
And then, beneath it, in smaller print.
Except for Belle and Bae and Henry, it said, because they’re the whole world.
Reblog if you actually LOVE Henry and think he is adorable!
I’ve always loved him! He is a smart and kind kid!
I feel for him right now though. He wants so badly to be a hero, and he has his father’s and grandparents’ self-sacrifice streak a mile wide. Everyone’s surprised by him being dumb enough to believe Pan and rip his own heart out, but he find this before, in season 1 when he ate the apple turnover. Then, it turned out his faith was well founded and he was right. Sadly this time not so much.
Basically Henry’s recent ancestors need to stop almost killing him. First his adoptive mom/step-great grandma, and now his great-grandpa. And when Emma says stop, he needs to listen.
Fic: An Honest Day’s Work
Title: An Honest Day’s Work
Summary: Rumpelstiltskin’s cursed persona in Storybrooke is not the powerful Mr Gold but Gaz, an out-of-work factory worker and the ex husband of Mayor Mills, who has custody of his son. Out of desperation to earn enough for a real custody bid, Gaz finds himself an honest job - a cleaner and handyman for the town’s landowner, Ms French.
Or, that one where Gold’s Storybrooke personality is Gaz from The Full Monty.
A/N: I worked on this over a year ago, and then set it to one side because of reasons. However, I like it as a snippet/oneshot, and Straggle had some bad news today, so here’s some cheer-up fic - the closest thing to Anyelle my crossover-phobic muse can create! Enjoy bb!
“Gareth Gold?” Annabelle looked up from the CV to the man in front of her, frowning, “Really?”
He nodded, looking earnest and serious. It didn’t suit him. Anna could tell time wasters a mile off - it wasn’t easy, after all, to be a woman running a business, even these days - and this guy had it written all over him.
Waster, joker, layabout, wheeler-dealer.
“Gaz, actually,” he said, with a little smile. She supposed it was supposed to be charming: wonderful, he was also probably also a self-proclaimed ladies’ man.
“Right,” she smiled back, “Gaz.”
Iambicdearie prompted: Sewing a shadow back on is harder than it looks, and it looks pretty hard,
Something father/son-ish with Nealfire that isn’t going to make me want to curl up on the floor and die
Belle should be doing this.
Neal thought that, over and over, as he lifted his papa’s foot and surveyed the material he worked with. The shadow only needed to be attached, Rumpelstiltskin had said, quite clearly: it didn’t need to go through flesh. And good thing, too: after the nightmare with Pan and the dagger, Neal didn’t like the idea of anything cutting through his papa’s flesh, no matter how small or how needful a needle would have been.
Attached to the shoe would do: it was the magic infused in the words said and the intention of the act that would do the actual sewing.
Lucky for Rumpelstiltskin, Neal thought, looking up again at his papa’s profile. He was distracted from Neal’s efforts, talking to Emma about arrangements for Henry’s renewed safety - the third such conversation this hour, in fact, a fact Neal was more glad of than he’d say out-loud - and so did not see the uncertainty on his son’s face. Neal was the only one Rumpelstiltskin would trust with this task, but for all Neal was flattered, it also put a massive burden of responsibility on his decidedly non-magical shoulders.
Belle should be doing this: she at least, apparently, knew how to sew. But no, she was all the way back in Storybrooke, and what papa’s apparently imaginary sinister ghost-Belle couldn’t show up now, when she was actually needed?
Finally, he sighed, and grabbed the ankle of the shadow perched on the log beside his papa. Rumpelstiltskin’s shadow was as impatient as its owner, tapping its foot against the ground soundlessly (and how did a two-dimensional being tap, exactly, much less manage to look condescending and imperious?), as it waited to be sewn back on to its master.
"You alright there, son?" Rumpelstiltskin looked down, at last, at his son. Neal managed a quick smile - they’d settled on ‘son’ as the name Rumpelstiltskin would use for him, because Neal couldn’t stomach ‘Bae’ any longer, and his papa wasn’t ready for ‘Neal’ quite yet - before frowning back at his appointed task, and finally spearing the heel of Rumpelstiltskin’s soft leather boot with his needle. He wove it through the insubstantial silk of the shadow’s foot also, and while Rumpelstiltskin held still and merely watched, the shadow started to reel its head around apprehensively.
"Hold it!" Neal barked, and Snow and Emma immediately grabbed the shadow’s arms, holding it still as hard as they could as Neal worked quickly, hoping the slipshod job would be enough to turn the trick.
Emma was watching, her eyes narrowed. “You stick your tongue out, like Henry does,” she commented, and Neal paused a second to glance up at her, an oddly proud smile on his face, before he continued.
"Yeah, when he’s really focussing his tongue sticks out, I always wondered where that came from."
"Yeah well, genetics are a bitch," Neal returned, "at least he got the looks from your side of the family." Neal looked up at his papa, who was trying to ignore the thrashing of his shadow. "I mean my lot aren’t bad but we’re no Fairest Of Them All."
Snow winked at him, “Winning over the mother-in-law,” she praised, “nice going there, good luck with the other one.”
Charming had taken up sulking, since he’d seen in practice the fact that his daughter knew, in fact, about the birds and the bees. The man had a grandson, Neal thought, as he struggled to get the needle through the thickest part of his papa’s boot, but it didn’t seem to have clicked that biological motherhood plus his daughter plus no test-tubes equalled her having had sex before. Multiple times. Since he’d seen Emma kiss not one but two different men since they’d come to Neverland - up close and personal a few times, Neal and Emma’s reunion had been anything but the awkward, stilted coldness of their meeting in New York this time, after all - he’d taken up sulking.
Snow found it funny, Emma found it exasperating, and Rumpelstiltskin and Neal were for once united in their combination of the two. With a healthy amount of fear on Neal’s part, thrown in for good measure: the man was a dragon-slayer, after all.
he finally finished the first foot, and lifted it into the light of the torch his papa held in one hand to survey his work.
"You missed a spot," Emma commented, dryly. Neal looked up at her, and raised an eyebrow.
"You still not over that?" he complained.
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Bite me.”
"Gladly," Neal grinned, and Snow rolled her eyes.
"Not in front of the parents, please," she begged, "Or I’ll go join Charming under his thundercloud."
Rumpelstiltskin finally looked at her, his urge to needle the princess apparently stronger than his aversion to the weakening struggles of his shadow, “Is my boy not good enough for your daughter, princess?” he asked, mildly, but Neal knew that deceptive tone of voice, and pinched his father’s foot as he lifted it to start sewing, as a reminder to keep it civil.
Belle should really, really be doing this.
Snow scoffed, “It’s the details I don’t need, okay?”
"Yeah I’d have said the same a year ago," Emma muttered. "He was helping you sleep, huh?"
"I was very tired," Snow responded, primly. "Could we be done soon?"