#marie's 1K follower prompt-a-thon

[mariequitecontrarie]

The Picnic

Summary: Belle bakes to ease her loneliness. One day, several months into her time at the Dark Castle, she plans a picnic to celebrate Rumple’s return from a trip. Rating: G  Word Count: 2,400 A/N: Dark Castle fluff for my 1,000 follower promptathon, @magnoliatattoo prompted: A few months after arriving at the Dark Castle, Belle plans a picnic. Kudos to Mag–she even betas her own prompts because I am trash.

Read on AO3

Belle pushed a sweaty tendril of hair out of her eyes and opened the oven to remove a tray of apple cinnamon sweet rolls.

Flour had settled into the pleats of her skirt and she swatted it away with a sigh. She wished she could beat loneliness out of her soul as easily as she could flour dust from her dress. Oh, she missed her father, her friends, and her home, but those feelings were more the desire for familiarity than true fondness. Right now there was only one person she was truly missing: Rumplestiltskin. She missed him so much that her chest ached and her shoulders sagged; even her hair seemed limp when he was away. He’d been gone for several days on a deal-making expedition and to celebrate his return, she had prepared a picnic and baked some of his favorite sweets.

By all accounts, she was a pitiful cook, but when she’d come to the Dark Castle as Rumplestiltskin’s price for saving her village, Belle discovered a hidden talent for creating delicious, oven-baked delights. One day soon after her arrival, she remembered a recipe for peach cobbler that her mother used to adore. Guessing at ingredients and quantities, she baked and served it to Rumplestiltskin with his tea. He’d pronounced it “halfway decent” and devoured the entire pan in one sitting.

Baking soon became a habit. Cream-stuffed profiteroles, banana bread topped with streusel, and Mama’s favorite petite-fours were a few of her specialties. Belle’s piecrust was flaky and flavorful, her cakes moist and fluffy. Thanks to Rumplestiltskin’s enchantments, her workload as the castle’s sole maid was light and easy, and the larder at the Dark Castle was always filled with the finest quality ingredients. Whenever she was sad, in a few short minutes she could have the oven fires blazing and the kitchens perfumed with aromas that both tempted and comforted.

She would stir together a batch of chocolate-studded cookies or slice fruit to assemble a tart, falling into a kind of happy trance as she traded her troubles for the joys of mixing and measuring and creating something as beautiful as it was delicious.

But by far the best part of baking was sharing her creations with Rumplestiltskin.

Belle blushed as she dumped sugar-encrusted popovers onto a wire rack. Rumple had a powerful sweet tooth. He never admitted it outright—in fact his compliments were grudging at best—but she knew he liked her baking by how quickly it disappeared. Whenever he was home she worked overtime trying to invent a recipe that would earn his praise.

“How is this batch?” she would ask, placing a dish of thumbprint cookies at his elbow, their jam-filled centers as bright and rich as jewels.

“Tolerable,” he would reply around a mouthful. But before she turned around, he had consumed another half dozen.

“Do you like these better with buttermilk or buckwheat?” she would ask at dinner, as he slathered his fourth light-as-air biscuit in butter while his bowl of beef stew grew cold and lumpy.

“Both better than sawdust, dearie,” he would say with a smirk, then reach for another.

The rebuffs weren’t so bad—at least bringing a basket of warm muffins to the laboratory or serving a golden wedge of cake while he worked at the spinning wheel presented an excuse to talk to him. The Dark Castle was a vast, desolate place and he often left her alone when he went out on a deal, sometimes for days at a time. When he was gone, she grew depressed and ate all her home-baked goodies by herself.  

But when Rumplestiltskin was about, the shadows retreated and the cold and dreary citadel seemed almost cozy—bathed with warmth and light. Plus his voracious appetite kept her from eating too many sweets.

With a rueful chuckle, she shook off her melancholy. Today was a special day, and Belle was determined to make it enjoyable. Birds were chirping and the rich loamy smell of dirt hugged the air. Their long winter of discontent was over; spring had officially arrived. She set her jaw in a stubborn line as she stuffed the picnic basket with treats, already prepared for Rumple to refuse. Well, she wouldn’t allow him to say no, and that was that.  

“What’s this?” he barked, barging into the kitchen on cue. His boots thumped loudly across the worn wooden floors.

“A picnic.” Belle turned around with a smile.

“Excuse me?” He tapped his ear with a long, black nail.

It always amazed her that such a compact, wiry man could overwhelm the room in such a way. Today he was dressed in soft brown leather trousers, a crimson waistcoat, and a golden silk shirt with billowing sleeves. And standing close. Entirely too close.

“It’s a common enough, um, practice.” Belle stammered, her heart fluttered as the intoxicating, spicy sweet combination of magic and Rumplestiltskin wafted toward her and tickled her nostrils. Ducking her head, she turned away and busied herself with tucking cloth napkins into the top of the wicker hamper. After she’d caught her breath, she lifted her face to his inquiring gaze. “We go outside, spread a blanket, and eat lunch—together.”

“In the grass?” He drew back, brow furrowed and fingers fluttering.

“Yes, there might even be sunshine,” Belle said dryly.

“Can’t.” He snapped his head back in forth. “Business to attend.”

“You cannot spare an hour for your only employee?” Belle pursed her lips, thinking of a way to entice him. “I made apple cinnamon rolls, chess pie, tarts. Besides, even a mage as powerful as you has to eat.” She blinked up at him through her eyelashes.

“Actually,” he corrected, wagging a finger in her face, “I have no need of food. Eating is a pleasantry, not a requirement. I am the Dark One,” he added imperiously, flourishing his hands for effect. His maid needed a reminder that he was a fearsome beast, not some mindless fop with nothing to do but dally in the garden on a stunningly beautiful spring afternoon and stuff his face with sugary treats. Ahem.

“I see,” she said glumly, dropping the basket she’d been clutching with a heavy thud.

“My deepest apologies, Belle.” Satisfied that she understood, he offered a curt nod and tried not to notice the wistful glance she cast toward the open window. Before she could convince the birds to start singing, Rumplestiltskin spun on his heel and bounded up the steps to his tower laboratory.

He was halfway up the stairwell when she called out, “Very well. I can’t allow all this food to go to waste. Luckily Jefferson is stopping in for a visit today. I shall share my picnic with him.”

“Nonsense!” Rumplestiltskin materialized at her side once more, his amber eyes wide and alarmed. “The Hatter loathes roast chicken and he’s allergic to berries. You cannot simply feed him those raspberry tarts.” He sniffed the contents of the hamper. “Or anything else in this basket. Contaminated—all of it!”

“Are you sure? He’s eaten my apple pie on several occasions…”

“I said no!” Rumplestiltskin thundered, cutting her off.

“Oh,” said Belle, the weight of disappointment crushing her spirits. She had so been hoping to pass a pleasant afternoon.

He eyed her askance and released a long sigh. He had a potion to prepare for King Midas, true, but that would have to wait. There was no way in hell he was letting the Mad Hatter near Belle’s tarts—or any other part of her for that matter. If anyone was going to suffer through Belle’s baking experiments, it was going to be him. “I suppose I must forgo my responsibilities and eat with you.”

She brightened instantly, her face glowing with happiness. His brittle, black heart squeezed in his chest like it was made of flesh instead of charcoal. “You would do that for me?”

“It appears I have no choice,” he grumbled. “I can’t have you poisoning my only ally in the Enchanted Forest.”

“You’re a good man, Rumplestiltskin.” With a giggle, Belle curtseyed and accepted his proffered arm, clasping her hands around his lean bicep.

“Hmmmph,” he said, and Belle thought she detected a hint of color on his craggy cheeks. He lifted the hamper as though it weighed no more than a handful of feathers and guided her toward the dining room.

“Outside,” she stressed, digging her heels into the carpet as they crossed the threshold.

“It’s raining,” he lied, then produced a clap of thunder overhead to prove his point. Belle’s lovely blue eyes immediately clouded with dejection, so he gave up the pretense and changed direction. He threw open the back doors of the great hall and led her out into the sunshine.

Bees buzzed around in the grass, sucking nectar from the dandelions while wild heather swayed in the gentle breeze. Feeling happier than she had in ages, Belle hummed as she smoothed the blanket over a sunny patch of grass and opened the picnic basket.

Rumplestiltskin sneezed when they reached the maple copse and shot Belle an accusing look. But when she cocked her head to the side, a smile blossoming on her full, red lips, his words of protest died. His maid looked so content that he couldn’t bring himself to spoil the occasion.  

Pleased to be in your presence? Are you insane?

“Gesundheit, Rumplestiltskin,” she said, grabbing his hand as she sank to her knees. With a gentle tug, she urged him to sit on the ground. “Do the outdoors not agree with you?”

“Perhaps it’s the perfume you wear, maid,” he grumbled, settling next to her on the blanket. Her blue work dress billowed around her tiny body, soft and light, and she looked like a morning glory opening to the dawn, beautiful and pristine.

“Oh, come here,” Belle chided softly, her hands fluttering around his shoulders. Her fingers found their perch, digging into his vest, and she eased him closer. “Lay against me, and prop your head up. There.” She fussed over him, situating his head on her lap.

Too stunned to resist, Rumplestiltskin obeyed, swinging his legs to the side and resting his cheek against her thigh. “Close your eyes,” she said. He did as she bid him. A moment later he felt something pressed against his lips. He opened his mouth, and the sweet-tart bite of apples and the spicy tingle of cinnamon tickled his tongue. It was one of the apple cinnamon rolls that had been cooling when he’d entered the kitchen, before she’d bewitched him into joining her for a picnic and reclining with his head in her lap. Crafty wench.

“Do you like it?” she asked, an unmistakable eagerness in her tone.

Like it? It was the most sensational thing he’d ever put in his mouth. Second only to her chocolate cake, her cream cheese pastries, her peach cobbler…hellfire and damnation, he loved it all. “I’ve had worse,” he replied airily.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, sounding like she was on the edge of laughter.

Before he realized what was happening, all the rolls were gone and Belle’s hands were buried in his hair, stroking the strands from root to tip. Uncertain about the sudden turn of events, he stiffened, but she made a noise in her throat that resembled a purr and he relaxed once more. If she wanted to feed him sweets and touch his hair, who was he to deny her pleasure?

Belle was elated. Her stomach growled with hunger, but food could wait. Rumplestiltskin’s head was in her lap, her nails were scratching his scalp, and she wouldn’t have moved for anything in the world. Well, perhaps for a kiss from her favorite sorcerer, but she would take their friendship one step at a time.

At some point she’d grown accustomed to his sarcastic snaps and snarls, and to his wild halo of frizzy brown hair that was so soft between her fingertips. All she wanted was to be near him. It wasn’t baking that eased her loneliness, Belle realized as she brushed a bit of hair off his forehead. Cakes and pies and cookies were merely a means to an end, a way of sharing herself with this man she’d grown to care for, perhaps even love.

“Belle, these past several months…” Rumplestiltskin stopped speaking and cleared his throat, grateful for the opportunity to hide his face in her skirt. She’d seemed forlorn lately and it was easier to have this conversation without looking into her eyes. “Have you been all right? Here. With me?”

“Yes. I’ve been more than all right, actually. It’s only that…” she trailed off.

“What?” He’d heard the hesitation in her voice and began to panic. Gods, no! Would she beg him to send her home to Avonlea?

“The castle is lonely when you’re not here,” she admitted, glad he couldn’t see her flushed cheeks. “I miss…you.”

“Oh?” She couldn���t mean it. He swallowed thickly. “But I’m here now, yes?”

“Yes, and I’m quite happy to have you home. And you?”

Home. Belle thought of this gloomy old place as home.

“I’m not unhappy,” he whispered, allowing his eyes to drift closed once more. His fingers found the hem of her skirt and he worried the fabric between his nails. “Perhaps I will take fewer trips. Surely the people can get along without my skills. I cannot solve all their troubles now, can I?”

“I suppose not,” she replied. Belle’s heart quickened, close to bursting with happiness. Surely his decision to stay at home more often meant…well, Belle would unpack his intentions later. At the moment she was too overjoyed to care. “Thank you for agreeing to an afternoon of leisure, Rumple. I know how busy you are with your work.”

“Well I have earned my rest,” he declared. “You, on the other hand, have a task to complete.”

“And what does my master require of me?” she asked in a low, teasing voice.

With a snap of his wrist he produced a book and handed it to her. “Read,” he commanded. “Lest I fall asleep. These outdoors of yours are making me drowsy. In a while, I suppose I could be persuaded to eat one of those raspberries tarts you made. I’ll pick the seeds from my teeth later.”

Belle choked back delighted laughter. Rumplestiltskin attempted to act put upon, but she suspected he was enjoying their picnic more than he cared to admit. Maybe even as much as she was.

“All right,” she agreed, eager to indulge in a pastime she loved even more than baking, her impossible sorcerer cradled in her arms. She flipped to the opening page and began the tale.

“There was once a very rich merchant, who had six children, three sons, and three daughters…”

###

[mariequitecontrarie]

Flashback to the first time AOM Gold and Belle met. Did the sparks fly? Was it love or lust at first sight? Did Henry awkwardly ruin the moment??

Yay! This is done. Prompt filled and it was a joy to write. Thank you! I love that both you and @bookwormchocaholic asked for this. Meant to be! XD

[mariequitecontrarie]

Prompt-a-thon: Neal isn't that impressed with his father's girlfriend (until sth changes his mind?)

Ficlet #3

A/N: Thank you for your prompt! This takes placeimmediately after they return from Neverland. Besides the brief moment on thedocks, Neal has only ever interacted with Belle as Lacey. From Neal’s POV with a touch of angst and LOTS of Papafire feels.

Neal crossed his arms over his chest, frowning as hisfather arranged a bouquet of red chrysanthemums and ferns in a crystal vase. Herehe was, the great and powerful Rumplestiltskin—humming to himself as he fiddledwith a bunch of flowers.

“Who are those for?” Neal asked, knowing the answer. Jealousrage burned in his gut.

“For Belle, of course.”

“Of course,” Neal muttered.

He supposed he should be grateful to her for staying behindand protecting Storybrooke while everyone else had gone to Neverland to rescuehis sorry ass.

As they’d disembarked from the Jolly Roger earlier, Neal hadsuppressed a shudder and fought to be as welcoming as possible. At least today she’dbeen wearing a coat to cover up whatever disastrous ensemble she’d put on thatmorning. Resigned, Neal had offered Belle French his kindest smile. With his sonon one arm and his girlfriend on the other, Pop looked happier than he’d everseen him.

Still, what was sogreat about Belle French anyway?

“What?” Pop spun around, his face white, a muscle twitchingin his jaw. “What’s so great abouther?”

Neal blanched; he hadn’t realized he’d voiced the complaint outloud.

“I thought you liked Belle. I hoped we were going to be afamily,” his father whispered, looking dejected.

“She looks like a prostitute,” he bit out, recalling how hisfather had planted his shoe in Whale’s chest and snarled at the doctor forlooking at his girl. But that behavior was to be expected of the Dark One. Theworst part was watching this Belle woman stand by, enjoying the show in a dressthat barely covered her behind. Family? Didn’tPop understand that this floozy was no good for him? Hell, she was making hisown mother look like a saint.

“She doesn’t and she isn’t,” Pop retorted, his broguethickened with emotion. “Something happened to her. After losing her memoriesin an accident, she was cursed by Regina and hasn’t been herself. Give her achance, please.”

“Why should I?” he asked. He knew he was being stubborn, buthe was so damn tired of his father always asking for chances. “And in case youmissed it, I’m an adult now. And smart enough to know when my father is making yetanother colossal mistake.”

“Is this really who my son has become?” Rumplestiltskinsnorted. “A man who judges others on the length of their skirts?”

“No thanks to your fantastic parenting skills!” hethundered. “This from a man who would transform a guy into a snail if he lookedat him wrong?”

“Stop! Please!”

Neal startled, snapping his eyes in the direction of thecry.

At once Belle was in their midst, standing between them, hersmall hands outstretched toward his father’s chest. Large, earnest blue eyes swungbetween them beseechingly.

“Rumple, Neal. Please.” She worried her lower lip betweenher teeth, her eyes brimming with tears. “I…the last thing I want is to comebetween you.”

“Belle, sweetheart.” His father was trembling, his heart inhis eyes. “It was talk you shouldn’t have heard.”

She shook her head, turning to Pop. “Rumple, this is yourson, your Baelfire. You’ve been looking for him for centuries. I love you morethan anything in this world, but nothing is more important than your child.” Withshaking fingers, Belle shouldered her handbag, turning to go.

“Belle, wait.”

“Tomorrow is another day, Rumple,” she said, her tonebrooking no refusal. “Tonight you stay here. Be with your son.”

Neal could tell that the cheerful smile she plastered on herface was no more than bravado. He faltered, wanting to reach out, but he was ata loss for words. This clearly wasn’t the same woman who had laughed andencouraged his father to belittle another man.

Belle left the shop, the only sound her heels clicking onthe hardwood, until the door closed with a wistful thud.

His father looked out the shop window as dusk fell over thestreet, watching Belle cross the road and enter the library.

“So what is it, Pop?” he probed gently, the pieces of thepuzzle beginning to fall into place. “What makes Belle special?”

“Besides her unfathomable and unending capacity to love? Orher willingness to do anything to help another, even at great personal cost toherself?” He waved in the direction their argument had chased her off to,  then crossed the room to sit at the spinningwheel.

“Yeah, besides that,” Neal said, smiling softly as hisfather began to feed drafted wool through the wheel. From his childhood, hisfather had enjoyed the soothing whir of the spinning wheel. It had been a greatsource of comfort to them both in many trying times.

Now his outburst had been the result of Pop’s pain, and heregretted it more than he could say.  

“Belle always stays,” Pop said, his eyes misty with memories.“Even when everyone else has gone away—my father, my mother, your mother. Nomatter how many times I’ve pushed her away or let her go. The closer I am to Belle,the better a man I am.”

“I didn’t know,” Neal said, his mouth dry with remorse.

Pop shrugged. “How could you? You’ve only just come home, myboy. She loves me, even when I’m at my worst. Belle makes me stronger.”

“I’m sorry I misjudged Belle, Pop,” he said, sheepish. “Ifyou love her, I know I’m gonna too.”

There was an ocean of forgiveness in the small nod of his father’shead.

And then Neal knew what he had to do.

“Pop, do you mind if I step out for a minute?” he asked,looking across the street. “I just remembered I have a book to return to thelibrary.”

“Now?”

“Yeah. Now.” He rubbed the back of his head, anxious tospeak to Belle. “I’ll be back in just a minute and then maybe we could—all ofus—grab dinner at Granny’s? I hear the hamburgers and tea are the best in town.”

“I would like that, son,” Pop said, his voice choked with emotion. “I know Belle would, too.”

PROMPT ME

[mariequitecontrarie]

All of Me! Belle - honey, what will your parents say? Do they even know where you are?

First ficlet of the 1K prompt-a-thon. I’ll be writing this in the next chapter from Gold’s POV, so here you go, Anon.

Belle stroked Gold’s brow lovingly; at last, he was sound asleep, the creases in his forehead relaxed and the muscles in his body lax in healing slumber.

For the past hour, he had floated in and out of his strange nightmare, babbling incoherently about Neal. Sometimes his eyes were open, but they were glassy, unseeing, the line between sleep and wakefulness blurred.

Easing her hand out of his grasp, Belle left his bedside and tiptoed toward the door in search of the guest bedroom he had offered earlier this evening on the house tour. She was exhausted, and her drooping head needed to find a pillow.

“Belle?” His voice was low and hoarse in the dark. 

She stopped in her tracks, then hurried back to his bed.

“Yes,” she brushed the backs of her fingers across his warm, scratchy cheek, reassuring him of her presence. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Please. I don’t want to be...Stay.”

Dark eyes met hers. They glittered in the blackness, wide, lucid, and heartbreakingly alone.   

Belle clasped her hands together, her heart clobbering her rib cage in an indecisive beat. If she slept in the bed with him, he would feel and see everything. 

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she chided herself for being selfish. Erskine cared about her. He’d shown and told her in so many wonderful ways. Now she had an opportunity to be brave and care for him in return; to be there when he needed her.

Belle gulped, then walked around the other side of the bed. She smoothed her hands over the empty place on the mattress, hesitating. It’s no different than sleeping in his arms on the sofa.

She slid under the sheets and scooted into the middle of the bed, not quite touching him, but drawing as close as possible without making contact. 

“Sleep now, darling,” she crooned. “Sleep.”

He shifted onto his side, facing her. “Thank you,” he breathed, closing his eyes.

Belle stared up at the ceiling, her father and Edith’s faces emerging as fuzzy shapes in her tired brain. She never had called to tell them where she would be spending the night.

Tough, she thought bitterly, turning from her back to her side to face her boyfriend once more. She would deal with them tomorrow.

All that mattered right now was Erskine.

[mariequitecontrarie]

Meet in a chatroom AU!Rumbelle

Ficlet #4 in my 1K follower prompt-a-thon.

A/N: Hey @beliza-fryler. I hope you like what I did with this prompt. If it’s something people enjoy, I have ideas for turning it into a ‘verse.Rating: GWord Count: 757

{AO3}

Room to Talk

It was official. He was going insane.

His lunacy had been confirmed the moment he had agreed to meet awoman from an online chat room in person. At least he thought (hoped?) she was a woman. Gold’s blood ran cold at the prospect thatMsBooks4Life was someone other than who she professed to be. That was whateveryone warned against with these things—you had no idea who you were reallymeeting. The internet was full of pretenders and psychopaths, and he’d been outof the dating game for eons.

Gold shoved his hands in his pockets and quickened his stepsdown the snow-slick street, the frigid temperature prompting him to hurry.

What thehell was he even doing?

He slowed as he rounded the corner, approaching his favoritecoffee shop with wary steps. It was uncanny, really. The woman he was meetingwith was familiar with the quaint village of East Aurora, New York, where helived. He was rather surprised by her willingness to meet up in his smallhometown, rather than venturing into the more metropolitan downtown Buffaloarea for drinks. But he was glad. The trendy Chippewa Street bar scene made himfeel out-of-touch and uncomfortable, and he had more than his fill of it whenhe schlepped there for client meetings. Like him, his online friend preferred aquiet life and enjoyed the simple things. To his great pleasure, they shared afondness for books, proper tea both iced and hot, cheeseburgers doused inketchup and extra pickles, and hot wings dipped in blue cheese dressing.

MsBooks4Life  had even been amenable to not exchangingphotos or true names, agreeing to meet him sight unseen. (He was completelyinept at taking selfies and he wouldn’t dare ask one of his bank colleagues tophotograph him.) Gold blushed, remembering how she’d told him that his typingspeed made her heart flutter and that she knew he was a handsome man. Then shehad offered to give him a smartphone tutorial so he could take selfies wheneverhe liked.

Alarm bells went off in his head. Looks weren’t everything, butattraction was important. What if she had three eyes or two noses or some othersuch terrible deformity? With nausea bubbling up in his throat, he draggedhimself the final ten feet to the door.

Despite his misgivings, knowing they had so much in common madehis palms sweat and his heart race with longing. Even though they’d neverspoken face-to-face, he felt comfortable with MsBooks4Life. When they chatted,it was as though he’d known her for ages. The more he learned, the more heliked her. As a bank CEO, he was in the business of bottom lines—whenadded together, all the special details he knew about her made this woman so much morethan a stranger. He took another deep breath to calm his nerves. It’s just coffee.

Gold stomped the snow from his boots at the door of the coffeeshop. Western New York winters were bitter, and he rubbed his reddened, chafedhands together before opening the door, wondering why he had forgone gloves. Hetook out his pocket watch. It was 7 p.m. on the dot, and Brennan Gold was nothingif not punctual. He scanned the patrons dotting the dimly lit coffeehouse,searching for a pink scarf. Yes, a pink scarf—that was what she’d agreed towear so he could recognize her. 

Gold glimpsed a flash of pink fabric and an attractivesilhouette at the counter and smiled, moving forward to introduce himself. Thenhe froze. That laugh. He had heard it somewhere before.In disbelief, he blinked hard, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Hisheart sank into his knees. Long brown hair spilled out from beneath a blackberet, and a pink woolen scarf was knotted around a long, delicate neck.Beneath an elegant camel coat he glimpsed the fringe of a sensible black skirt.Mile-long, slender legs capped by four-inch-heels stretched all the way to thetile floor. As he looked her up and down, the woman turned her head and coldblue eyes met his. For a moment her gaze widened in surprise, then her chinlifted in challenge.

Gold gripped the Formica counter for support, his fingersslipping as he sought to find purchase on the edge and cover his shock. 

No. This simply wasn’tpossible. 

His Internet dream girl, the one he’d been mooning over for twomonths, was none other than his bitter and longtime rival, Avonlea BankPresident Belle French.

[mariequitecontrarie]

Marie’s 1k Follower Prompt-a-Thon: Prompts Filled

Hey all! I received 24 fic prompts in 24 hours from my prompt-a-thon, which is awesome--THANK YOU so much. I’m truly grateful to everyone for reading and sharing! Here’s what I’ve filled and posted to-date.

1. Stay with Me: a ficlet in the All of Me ‘verse  {AO3} {FF} Rating: T  Word Count: 453 Anon prompted: All of Me Belle--Honey, what will your parents say? Do they even know where you are?

2. Candy Girl, chapter 6   {AO3} {FF} Rating: E  Word Count: 1,155 @magnoliatattoo prompted: Food fight. It gets kinda messy ;)

3. Passing Inspection   {AO3} {FF} Rating: G  Word Count: 1,164 @leni-ba prompted: Neal isn't that impressed with his father's girlfriend (until something changes his mind?)

4. Room to Talk  {AO3} {FF} Rating: T  Word Count: 760 @beliza-fryler prompted: Meet in a chatroom AU!Rumbelle.

[mariequitecontrarie]

Marie’s Noon-Noon 1K Rumbelle Prompt-A-Thon

Hey guys! I’m super excited and grateful to share that THIS happened over the holidays:

To express my gratitude to all my friends and followers, I’m hosting a little prompt-a-thon! It’s my first, so be gentle with me. 

Here’s the plan:

For 24 hours, between 12 Noon Eastern Time Tues 1/10 and 12 Noon Eastern Time Wed 1/11, I will accept prompts. I will fill the prompts in one of two ways:

1. Write you a ficlet 2. Work your prompt into an existing verse or story: Fourteen Days Verse, Candy Girl, LBTS, or All of Me

So, 24 hours or 30 prompts, whatever comes first. 

MASTER LIST | PROMPT ME

[mariequitecontrarie]

Thanks for all the great fic prompts so far! This has been super fun today! I'm going to bed early because I have a terrible headache, but I do have another ficlet written that I'll post tomorrow morning. I may be asleep, but my inbox is open, so prompt away!