WHY ARE WE NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS????
WHY ARE WE NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS????
Here’s what I had for ‘Day One’ the first part of the would-have-been ToD sequel:
“Please,” she said, “please tell me this is the first time you’ve seen me since the castle. Please.”
He could lie to her, he realised: he could claim he’d been as cursed as the rest all along, that he’d not known what he was doing any more than she had. She was here, she didn’t hate him, not enough to never come back, at least. They could begin again.
They could begin again based on a lie, and one that would be easily uncovered at that. And how much more would she loathe him, if he lied to her now, and once again tricked her into his arms?
God I can barely remember that remix! Best shot here we come!
Winter in Maine allows for baggy, oversized sweaters: for that Belle is grateful.
Unfortunately, she can’t wear them all the time, and sooner or later someone was bound to notice. Emma Swan, thankfully, was discreet, but then why wouldn’t she be? Everyone knows shat she was in this same position, when she was younger than Belle is now.
Gold offers to let her stay with him for the duration, but Belle declines. It hurts his pride, she can see, but she’s not stupid: he doesn’t love her, or their child, and while it’s nice to see he does have a sense of duty once in a while that’s all it is. Duty. She didn’t get rid of it when she could, before she felt so goddamn attatched to the baby in her belly, and now she’s stuck with motherhood. Bitterness and cynicism about it are easier than the alternative, she supposes.
But when Regina Mills sees her in her car, heating on full blast and sweater discarded… well, then Belle knows she’s done for. But there’s radio silence for days, and she wonders, she wonders if Gold is wrong, and the Mayor isn’t as cruel as they say.
The Mirror runs a story on it. It makes Belle sick to her stomach, the patronising, cloying, ‘oh poor unfortunate soul’ tone it takes, with the underlying intrigue of ‘who could be the father?’ No one knows, of course, and she won’t tell. But soon, everyone is asking.
Soon, her father is asking. Loudly, with a fist pounding on the table and murder in his eyes, as he swings wildly between accusing her of whoring around town, and swearing to kill whichever bastard knocked her up and left her high and dry.
The money from Gold’s account went into Belle’s every month to pay for her expenses. That makes her feel even sicker: like she is a whore, and now he’s just paying to keep her from saying his name aloud. What would everyone think, if they knew it was his? What would they do?
"You can still move in," he tells her, when she calls and sobs late that night. Moe is kicking her out the next day, baby or no baby. He won’t have the shame on his house, he won’t have his daughter acting so unreasonably, he just won’t have it. "I have a spare bedroom."
"What would everyone say?"
"I don’t know," she can hear the smile in his voice, inexplicable as it is. "Want to find out?"
Not in any established ‘verse, just somewhere where Belle’s a student, Gold’s her professor, and they’re in a relationship.
Finals week was difficult for both of them.
Gold had papers to mark, practice essays and a hundred mock exam sheets, as well as his actual tests to finalise for his classes. Belle, of course, was in the same boat as her peers: these exams mean everything, and she has to study. It was a busy time, and there could be no distractions.
It would, therefore, make sense for her to be in the Library, nice and public and silent, and Gold to lock his office door or even go back to his apartment. But, of course, she’d found herself behind that locked door, and the Library was a long way from anyone’s thoughts.
He heled her to study, she said, claimed that seeing him reminds her of class, which therefore puts her mind on work. Gold wished that were true for him, too.
Seeing her did put him in mind of classes, of course, but not in the sense she was thinking of. More in the way of flipping that little skirt of hers up over her back and taking her mind off her studies entirely.
He gave up focussing on his work about ten minutes ago. Right about when she gave up on sharing his desk, and decided to sprawl with her books on the carpet, instead.
From this angle, Gold could see everything. Her skirt was riding up the back of her thighs, and if he leaned down just a little he could see all the way up…
"Are you staring at me?" she asked, without turning. He straightened, guiltily: how could she make him feel so much like a boy of fifteen caught red-handed, when he was over twice her age?
"Of course not," he scoffed, unconvincingly. "Serious work to do, m’dear."
"Uh huh." That was another talent she had: he could hear a raised eyebrow just from her tone. "Cam, I can feel your eyes on my ass. Stop it."
"You said I had to keep my hands to myself," he said, smoothly, "said nothing at all about my eyes. They do what they want."
"They’ll be doing what they want alone all summer if I flunk this test,” she said, patiently. “Dad’d make me go to summer classes to make up the credits, and there goes the beach plan…”
"There was a plan?" he asked, confusedly, "With who?"
"With no one, if I screw this up," he could hear her smile widening, as she paused for effect, "with you, if I pass. I have a lovely little blue bikini I’ve been wanting to road test… imagine how much fun your eyes’d have with that!"
"Not just the eyes," he muttered, and he heard her giggle.
"Promises, promises. But now, we focus. Study break’s not for another hour."
He sighed, and returned to his work.
Send me prompts/character questions/meta and I’ll try to answer. HELP ME OUT GUISE?
Summary: Rumpelstiltskin puts Belle’s determination to be tactile to the test. She responds with gusto.
AN: Entirely inspired by fairytaleasoldastime’s wonderful gifset. What happened after that moment.
AU: Belle French’s settled world is turned upside down when her twin sister Lacey rolls into town. Wild, amoral and with a knack for trouble, Lacey is everything sweet librarian Belle is not. Belle has always hoped she could somehow get through to her self-destructive sister, and sees this as perhaps a second chance. Lacey, however, has other ideas, mostly involving the local bar scene, and Belle’s boyfriend Mr Gold, who always did have a dark side of his own…
Rumbelle AU meme
(LOL DID IT SAY BRIEF? HAAHAHAHAHAHHA also please tell me if you’d like any of these as actual fics/would like to adopt one as a plot bunny! Under a cut because dayum this got long)
“Red for the dining hall, blue for the kitchens, gold for the study. Clever. I didn’t trace the others but I get the gist, dearie.”
“That’s what colour they are?” Belle asks, with mild interest. “Blue wool for the kitchen, red cotton for the dining hall, gold twine for the study. Interesting. Well, the ribbon is for the baths in the cells-“
“And the silk cord is the garden doors. It’ll be more useful come spring time, I think?”
“Green,” Rumpelstilstkin allows himself a wry smile. “Appropriate, really.”
Belle laughs again, soft and surprised but real. “Yes, I suppose so. The last leads to the top tower, which is simply as far as I’ve explored. Rough brocade cord, since I have more of that than the others.”
“It’s lilac,” he says, gently, although he knows not why. Something about her slow, steady breathing, the easy rhythm of her alto voice lures him in like a lullaby or a siren’s song.
“Mama liked lilacs,” Belle replies, softly. “She teased my face with them when I was small. They were pretty.”
He draws closer - he hardly notices he moves at all - practically dancing on the balls of his feet. He comes to crouch before her, hands on his knees, balancing easily with all the grace of a demon.
“You were not always,” he waves a hand before her face, the black silk fold that modestly protects her sightless eyes and wrinkling his nose to an effect she, of course, cannot appreciate, “like this, then?”
She shakes her head.
-the eye of the beholder, chapter 1
Title: Smoke and Mirrors
Summary: Mr Gold first found Belle French performing her magic act on the streets of London. Now, three years later, Dark Castle Tales is a hit magic show, telling the stories of the sorcerer Rumpelstiltskin and his assistant, Miss Belle. Magician!AU.
AN: This is for Wonder, who fired across my bow and made me fire back :)
She isn’t speaking to him.
He asks her what she reads about, when she’s curled in a chair of an evening, when her hands - sore and chapped from housework - hold not a duster and brush but the pages of a thick tome. He’s never read for pleasure (spellbooks are unpleasant and cloying in taste, and research texts on war and conquest dry and dull at the best of times) but she clearly does.
"It’s called a novel," she explains, after six such evenings and six such questions. She cocks her head to one side, birdlike and honest, "you have heard of them?"
He nods, indeed, for he has. He’s just kept his distance: when one’s face and form and life are fiction, he sees little reason to add more to the heap. “You live in an enchanted castle, dearie,” he twitters, evasion instead of real honesty, always. “What need do you have of stories?”
She only smiles, and shakes her head, “There’re places beyond these walls, Rumpelstiltskin. I’ll never watch the tide roll over a floodplain, or ride a phoenix, but Seraphina the Brave does. I can live through her.”
He watches as, seemingly feeling that a satisfactory answer, Belle returns to her book, and becomes once more engrossed in her heroine’s adventures. He can see her, suddenly, in his mind’s eye: leathers - form fitting and rich, attractive in a very different way from her soft, feminine skirts - encasing her limbs and torso, her hair pulled back, her firm, determined, expressive eyes set on the horizon. He has plucked the heroine from her story, deprived the adventure of its protagonist, and trapped her here instead, doomed to live her days with a monster too in awe of her to play his part correctly.
He sinks, at last, down into an arm chair, and conjures a book - any book, it is not as if he intends to read after all - to rest upon his lap. He will watch her a while longer: he doubts that she will notice at al.
Here a snippet of the smut I’m writing to combat Wonder's shot across my bow:
Prompt: Magician!Rumple and assistant!Belle
AU: Belle arrives, bruised and bleeding, on the doorstep of a lame spinner and his son. On the run from the war and its causes, her short stop-over becomes something else entirely.
A/N: Sorry this took so long (again) but this is the big chapter I’ve been waiting to write for a year :D Enjoy!
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14
Rumpelstiltskin awakens to flickering firelight, the only bright spot in a pitch dark room. He feels dirt beneath his hands, a scattering covering a hard flagstone floor, and he jerks awake, the feel of stone slabs under his palms startling him out of his dozing. He isn’t at home, asleep on one of Belle’s rag-sewn rugs. He is in a strange, cold place, and the past few hours flood back as he sits upright.
He and Baelfire had found the inn, and their rooms, and waited patiently, if anxiously, for Belle’s return. But they had not been there an hour before the Ducal Guard had broken down the door, cold and stern, all business, and arrested them. He knew not on what charge: he had been too busy begging them to spare Bae. But Bae had been clapped in irons also.