Big Plans
So there’s, apparently, a reason why everyone was afraid of having Fyre and I locked in a room together for a weekend.
We can has story. Big story. Jointly-written angsty gorgeous monster story. With a poster and an outline and everything.
iambicdearie asked: LOVE MEEEEEEE.
Love Me
His birthday gift is shaking.
Actually shaking, rocking from side to side, and it has some tell-tale holes in the lid. She only brought the box out a few minutes before the unwrapping would begin, and told him to open it first.
Belle’s eyes shine as he takes off the ribbon, and opens the lid.
He knows the box was warm, heavy and shaking. He is still surprised when he is greeted with two handfuls of wriggling, panting, licking sheepdog puppy.
“Charming said he’s still got an in at the animal shelter,” Belle explains, laughing as the fluffy thing tries to eat his face, it seems, “And one of the dogs had a litter. And you like dogs, right?” at his silence she grows uncertain, although in reality he’s too busy trying not to hug the wriggling thing so hard it will hurt, to be gentle this time, gentle. “Rumple?”
“He has a name?” He asks, eyes still locked on the gradually calming puppy.
“It’s a girl,” she says, gently, “her name’s Puddleduck, apparently, although we can rename her if we like. If… we can keep her?”
“As long as she doesn’t chew the furniture,” he tries to be stern, even as the pup’s dark eyes threaten to turn an old softie into even the great Rumpelstiltskin, “Then I haven’t had a sheepdog in a long time.”
iambicdearie asked: Invite me. You naughty tease you.
The girl is reading again.
Rumpelstiltskin creeps closer to his little maid, peers over her shoulder as she reads some silly tale about the genies of Agrabah, and the heroes who cross their paths. He means to announce himself suddenly - she is so engrossed that she hasn’t noticed his presence, else she should have flinched or ran, should she not? - and startle her. Instead he finds himself inhaling deeply, catching the soft scent of her lemon hair rinse and her rosewater perfume.
It’s intoxicating, crisp and sweet and sharp, like Belle herself, really, although admitting that is a crime unto itself.
“Adventures are wonderful, don’t you think?” she says, conversationally, as if discussing the weather with a friend, and not catching a monster breathing down her neck. “The castle is full of them.”
He straightens convulsively, and comes around to face her, the familiar overconfidence and mockery replacing his shock. “Been battling mothballs and crossing dustmotes, have we dearie?”
She giggles, not at all phased by his sharp teeth, and shakes her head. She gestures to her book, “I meant novels, adventure stories. Heroes and far off lands. Wonderful, don’t you think?”
“Rather less charming to the villain of the tale,” he sneers, nastily, but she just shakes her head again, as if indulging a beloved child and not facing down a monster. “And travel is far less pleasant than such nonsense tales would suggest.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she says, some of the sparkle leaving her as she sets the book aside carefully, using a little strip of leather to mark her place, “I hadn’t left the duchy until you arrived, and magic brought us here.”
He hardly knows what possesses him, but he holds out his hand to her and bows, a gentleman in rotting armor and dragon’s scales. “Then I am sure the experience would dispel these silly ideas, would it not?”
“You mean-“
“I have business in the Southlands,” he says, briskly, as her warm, dainty little palm slides against his, fingers knotting with his, “I can hardly leave you to battle the mothballs alone, can I?”
She laughed, rose to her feet and her smile would earn him the world, could he deal it away. If he could bear to be parted with it, of course.
iambicdearie asked: Amuse me. Go on. Do it. You know you want to.
Amuse Me
She’s been down since the mines, he can tell. And of course, not being able to go near her is killing him, but Rumpelstiltskin would far rather a living, breathing Belle who would rather he were absent, than one who was long dead. He can keep his distance for her, he can and he will.
But Belle is also sad, and sad Belle is not something he can live in the same town with.
The first day she finds flowers on her doorstep, she calls out his name. But although he can hear her, see her, he says nothing and allows her to retreat, her lilies in her hand, into the library.
On the second day, carnations, and the third azaleas. Anything pretty, and anything but roses.
She doesn’t ask on their date and he doesn’t admit to it. But every morning he sees her smile with a flower or ten in her hand, and every day she’s a little brighter.
Fic: Reasons
Title: Reasons
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bae’s teacher offers to come over and fix his computer over the winter break; they get snowed in.
A/N: pure happy fluff to celebrate one whole year of Rumbelle. Remix of ‘Chalkdust’, but no need to read that first. No FTland backstory, Bae is twelve and Belle is his teacher.
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This was a bad idea, Gold thought, a bad, bad idea.
But Bae had computer trouble, and it was beyond even his extensive skill to fix. His father was no use: Gold hadn’t even a computerised till at the shop, and did all of his accounts by hand: he wouldn’t know a keyboard from a modem if they walked up and introduced themselves.
Fic: Harmless - Chapter 13
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: It’s been months and months, I know, but here it is! Because this fic is nominated as Best Woobie!Rum in the TEAs, and I thought that deserved another chapter. So enjoy dearies!
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
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Harmless
Chapter 13
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Rumpelstiltskin wishes, oh how he wishes, that he had been the one to volunteer to go alone, and that Bae could have stayed with Belle.
Someone has to go to collect their cart and horses, and splitting up is safer than travelling together. But logic does little to soothe Rumpelstiltskin’s mind.
Fic: Stranger (6/6)
AU: Belle remembers everything about their old life, and finally gains freedom from her asylum prison. But Rumpelstiltskin is nowhere to be found: in his place is an oblivious pawnbroker who is as cursed as everyone else in Storybrooke.
A/N: And here we have it, the grand finale. This story really is my baby, and I’m so glad so many of you followed it with me. I hope you enjoy the ending!
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6
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Stranger
Chapter 6
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Gold had assumed that, when the time came for Belle to come out of his home and into the world, he would be the one holding her hand, leading her, showing her.
calamithyjane asked: angstify Belle meet Rumpelstiltskin when he's just turned Dark One (+ Bae?)
The first time Rumpelstiltskin plays the Dark One fully, it’s both difficult and a little mortifying.
Fic: A New Contract
Title: A New Contract
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Belle creates a new deal with Rumpelstiltskin, so he will seek no more vengeance on Regina.
A/N: A very very very very belated Rumbelle Secret Santa gift for bemusedlybespectacled. The prompt was: a poorly worded contract.
Set just before 2x02 “We Are Both”.
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“Rumpelstiltskin?” Belle’s voice comes from the living room as he tries to head out of the front door, “Wait a moment.”
He turns, a smile already on his face. It’s not difficult to smile, he thinks, when he has his true love living in his home. When he can see her every day, kiss and touch and hold. When he has back something so precious, something he’d believed so far gone and lost.
Fic: Stranger (5/6)
AU: Belle remembers everything about their old life, and finally gains freedom from her asylum prison. But Rumpelstiltskin is nowhere to be found: in his place is an oblivious pawnbroker who is as cursed as everyone else in Storybrooke.
A/N: Second to last chapter, dearies! :D
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5
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Stranger
Chapter 5
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The tenth day dawns fresh and bright, and Gold is loathe to leave Belle alone.
Their past few days have been idyllic: they spent time together in her new garden, weeding and watering, allowing the new seeds to flourish under her patient hands. They cooked meals together, are together, made love on the couch and their bed with equal vigor. It had been perfect, and she had not allowed anything to come in and spoil it. She is trying, really trying, and he loves her more with every passing day.
ToD ficbit: Wednesday Evening
I always love roleplay, but with Gold as the begging tenant and Belle as the one with the power. Especially when it involves faux!shame.
This was done at 500 words, but Belle kept talking. I think she’s been wanting to be dom!Belle for a while, and Gold’s happy to be the sub.
NSFW and NC17
Anonymous asked: Time of Day: Pegging
This was certainly a first for me, so I hope it works for you anon!
NC-17 AND NSFW YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED
Anonymous asked: Time of Day verse: Gold has the flu
He didn’t come to meet her, and usually when that happened he would have called or texted or something, let her know why. But he just didn’t show up, and he wasn’t in his shop either, which made Belle irrationally worried: she didn’t know what she would do if something happened to him.
Being in love sucked, she thought, as she made her way to Mr Gold’s house. For all she knew he was in there with someone else - the pretty Sheriff maybe, even the Mayor - and she’d just be intruding. She had no right to be jealous over someone who had never claimed to love her back.
She rang the doorbell, but there was no response. She eventually managed to jimmy the lock open with a hairpin - a skill that he himself had taught her - and called out, “Mr Gold?”
There was silence, and then a low, slow groan from upstairs. And Belle knew, better than anyone, Gold’s sounds of pleasure: that wasn’t one of them. That sounded more like pain, which made her pulse quicken and her stomach knot. She ran up the stairs, toward the noise, without a second thought that she’d never actually been invited up there before.
He always kept them on the ground floor: kitchen, dining room, living room, guest bed. Nothing to suggest inclusion into the rest of his life: nothing to suggest that she was welcome to tread further.
But she followed the weak little noises into what must have been his master bedroom, wondering if she would find him broken and bleeding, dying of his injuries, or perhaps the victim of a stroke or heart attack. Her heart was pounding, hands shaking, and if she’d rather not care at all about him she was neck-deep in it now and drowning fast.
She almost collapsed from relief when she found him merely lying there surrounded by a sea of used tissues and boxes of cold medicine, his nose red and hair unkempt. He had the flu, apparently, the same one that got Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan alike - and who could possibly know how they caught it from each other? - last week.
“You didn’t call,” she snapped, but she came to sit on his bed, by his side, and tenderly stroked his hair back from his face. He was burning up, and she couldn’t help but make a small noise of sympathy for the suffering in his eyes as he looked at her.
“Sorry,” he croaked, “been out of it all day.”
“Hmm,” she pretended to consider it, “well, okay then.”
She started to clear away the tissues that surrounded him, putting them all in the waste bin, and took his mug and bowl down to the kitchen without a word. He might not be up to their usual sessions, she thought, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t take care of him. He didn’t comment on it when she came back up with a fresh bowl of soup and glass of orange juice, or when she settled by his side to keep him company, or when she returned the next day to make sure he was okay. And if he didn’t say anything about it, she reasoned, then there was no reason to believe it changed anything.
ToD ficbit: Sunday, mid-Afternoon
He makes her come by just talking to her.
Also a little gift for my gorgeous twin because if her day has been anything like mine she probably needs it. And she has been asking for it for a while :P
NC-17 and NSFW, obviously.
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Anonymous asked: They do more Roleplay: Miss French would agree to any deal if he would forgive her father's debt another month.
