#rumbelle ficlets

[darklybound]

What the Fuck? - A Rumbelle Ficlet 

****

This is a Rumbelle fictlet I wrote and decided to post as I'm still working on my longer nsfw fanfic.

It is also the first piece of writing I have posted on my ao3! You can read it there as well.

[ao3 link]

****

What the Fuck?

“What are you doing, dearie?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, staring down at his maid.

That morning, he had expected his recently acquired servant to be cowering in the shadows of his castle or frantically doing the duties he had assigned her to spare herself the Dark One's wrath. A normal reaction to giving oneself over to the most powerful magic user in the realm. This is why when Rumpelstiltskin used his authority over his domain to locate her and found her outside his castle, his stomach dropped.

Of course, she would be a runner. She was a noblewoman entrapped by the monster whom as a child she had been told would eat her if she misbehaved. No doubt she feared as much for her life as she did her maidenhood. He was the Dark One after all. Everyone left the Dark One as everyone had left the spineless spinner.

Rumpelstiltskin had magicked himself in front of where he sensed her life essence, expecting to find a terrified woman sneaking out of his castle. He had not been looking forward to wrangling her back inside nor calming down the wild woman.

Instead, he had found his maid digging in the dirt. The soil was almost camouflaged with how it blended into the brown dye of her trousers and the dark grey tunic she wore, but it stood out against her pale arms, leaving no doubt that she had been tilling the ground.

This is how Rumpelstiltskin found himself hovering over his maid, asking her what she was doing. The noblewoman jumped at his sudden appearance and looked up at her jailer with surprised yet calm eyes that were like pools of liquid sky. Eyes Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t stare at too long, or he feared he may float away to another time to a different-hued set of kind chestnut eyes.

“Why, I’m gardening, of course,” Belle answered before ignoring him to go back to tending the earth as if it was perfectly normal.

“What the fuck?!” Befuddled, Rumpelstiltskin slipped from the mannerisms he employed as the Dark One. His carefully crafted dangerous aura was replaced by his mouth opening and closing like a fish and his hands waving around frantically. For a second, the Dark One acted like a man.

Belle returned her gaze to him. The flash of annoyance at being interrupted twice at her task immediately shifted to an emotion Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t seen anyone look at him with since Bae. Amusement.  “While I was working, I noticed the abandoned garden from a window. That’s when I realized I was the only servant you had to tend to the castle, and you Rumpelstiltskin, have let your beautiful estate wither. So, I decided to do something about it.”

“Y-You…” He couldn’t believe it. He was stammering. Him! The Dark One was stuttering! All because his latest possession was not acting like she should! She was a noble! She should be weeping, wailing, clawing her way out of his hold instead of clawing in the dirt. To try and what? Make the Dark Castle lighter? Like it was an actual residence of life instead of death and rot? Flowers against the Dark Castle’s walls were like flowers upon a tombstone. The beauty distracted the living from what lay beneath. Death.

She wasn’t playing her part. She wasn’t supposed to care about the duties of her new position. She wasn’t supposed to adjust as if her family had just fallen into disgrace, and she was working diligently to save whatever honor and wealth they had left.

Rumpelstiltskin looked upon his maid with wide eyes, and for the first time in a century, he pondered if he was the one who underestimated who he had made a deal with. She gazed back with an unwavering expression that contained poorly hidden judgment on how rundown he had let his castle become and with concern that she had overstepped.

She tried to hide her reprimand, but he could see it in her exasperated huff and the slight uptick of her brow. Her unease was subtle in the way her hands twisted around the scattered blades of grass peeking out from the displaced soil and in how she bit her lip in the manner that he had seen young ladies do when anxious about a man’s reaction.

She was criticizing him instead of begging for forgiveness! Him, the Dark One! She was concerned about his reaction, not petrified at the horrors he may inflict upon her for her transgression. She was treating him as if he was a normal master and not…not a monster. The Dark One fell away completely as the old spinster’s heart started beating once again.

Too astounded to properly reply, Rumpelstiltskin whispered the only panicked thought in his head.

“What the fuck?”

[shadowedoracle]

A Fear of Needles

Happy Fluffapalooza/ Skin Deep Day Everyone!

This is a short little ficlet that came to me at about 6:30AM when I was trying to grab a few hours sleep after getting my CCA ballot done. Since, apparently, when I desperately need sleep I actually wonder about whether/ how much the population of Storybrooke is vaccinated... Then this came to me.

Not sure It's exactly what I was creating as I was falling asleep but it's close enough. I've only done a very basic proofread so if there are any typos/ obvious errors let me know.

***

“I still don’t see why I need to do this.” Rumple muttered to his wife as they sat in the doctor’s waiting room. “I’m the Dark One, I don’t get sick.”

Belle shook her head, wishing she could roll her eyes as perfectly as her husband could as he returned to what he clearly thought was his winning argument.

“We’ve been over this already Rumple. You might not get sick like the rest of us. But we don’t know for sure that you can’t transmit a disease to someone else.”

“I’ve never done so in over two hundred years as the Dark One.” Her husband said huffily.

She looked at him levelly. “And for most of those years you lived alone. So that’s not as strong a point as it sounds on face value -- and you know it.”

“Humph, perhaps. But we lived in a world rife with disease and no prophylactic treatments such as vaccinations. You’d have thought if I was a carrier there’d have been some evidence of it.”

“Perhaps. But the data we have is just insufficient to be sure Rumple. And we need to be sure.” She laid her hand on his leg which was twitching slightly, a sure sign of his nerves. “I know you wouldn’t want to be the source of any harm to Gideon, if you could prevent it. Neither of us do. So by getting vaccinated we’re taking an important step towards ensuring we don’t harm our son, even indirectly.”

Rumple deflated.“I know.” He sighed. “I know.”

She knew he did know. They’d had this conversation before, multiple times now, and despite all of Rumple’s arguments she knew that ultimately she had the winning one: Rumple could never countenance being the source of any harm coming to their son, no matter how small the probability.

“Mr Gold?” Doc’s voice called through the waiting room.

They stood up and followed him into his office. After Doc had checked Rumple’s appointment details and medical record details-- well Mr. Gold’s medical records, so the age was made up since the computer system wouldn’t permit ages above 150, apparently -- he busied himself preparing the syringe.

Rumple looked at the needle with wide eyes, then his eyes darted to the door then to Belle. “Even if I agree this is necessary. Why are we doing this here? Why not go to Portland or Boston or New York? Somewhere with real doctors. Not a bunch of people who got there medical knowledge from a curse.”

“Hey!” Doc said. “We've spent over 28 years practising medicine in this land. We’re hardly new to things like injections.”

“I seriously doubt repeating the same day over and over gave you as much medical knowledge as you claim.” Rumple sneered.

“Enough Rumple,” said Belle. “We’ve discussed this before. It’s safer doing this here where you have magic, just in case either your body or your magic, reacts badly to the vaccinations.”

“Still doesn’t mean, I think allowing an inexperienced, non-formally trained doctor to stab me with a needle is a good idea.”

“I’m right here you know!” cried Doc.

“I’m sorry Doc.” Belle said knowing Rumple wouldn’t apologize for his remarks and wanting to reassure the dwarf. “I know you know what you’re doing. You’ve vaccinated most of the town by now, including Henry and Gideon.”

Rumple quietened at the reminder that both his son and grandson had been vaccinated by Doc. But as Doc swabbed his arm and picked up the syringe, he started fidgeting again.

Belle shook her head mentally. Who would ever believe the Dark One was afraid of needles? Time to break out the big guns. She put her hand on his thigh and leaned in so close that her lips brushed his ear. She made sure her voice was so low that Doc wouldn’t be able hear. “Rumplestiltskin, if you sit still and behave yourself from now on, I promise that tonight, once Gideon’s asleep, I’ll reward you in any way you desire.”

Rumple turned his head and softly brushed his lips against hers then whispered back, “deal Mrs Gold."

[thisbluespirit]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Additional Tags: Ficlet, Prompt Fill, Flash Fic, Dancing, Missing Scene, Kissing, Episode: s04e01 A Tale of Two Sisters (Once Upon a Time), Temptation Summary:

Rumple/Belle, kiss desperately.

[ace-of-spaders]

They sleep out on the observation deck, huddled in the corner where they can watch the magnificent colors of FTL Destiny is rushing through but can't be seen - at least, right away - if someone walks in, perhaps, having come to the same conclusion they did, that the deck is the most suitable place for spending one's night.

They sleep sitting up, leaning against each other - both seeking and providing support at the same time - arms linked, wrapped in the blanket Chloe had the foresight to bring with her.

Chloe's head is pillowed on Rush's shoulder, her free hand holding onto his forearm as if he's the only thing that keeps her from drifting away - she nodded off first and the same nightmares that have been plaguing them both since their... stay at the blue aliens' ship must have tried to surface again because before long her breathing sped up and she clutched onto his arm with strength that might have actually left bruises, effectively drawing Nick's attention away from the calculations he'd been trying to work on. He watched her face contort with a grimace that was part confusion, part fear and - last but not least - pain and, though the very thought of those aliens terrified him out of his mind under any other circumstances, this time he just squeezed her hand lightly to let her know she was not alone and murmured into her hair, his voice tranquil on the surface but fierce with determination within: "It's alright. They're not gonna hurt you. I won't let them." Her features smoothed out then, no longer afraid, and with a sigh and a slight shift - an attempt to snuggle into his side even more than she already was - she finally fell into a deep and blissfully dreamless sleep.

Rush's temple is resting against the top of Chloe's head, his free hand still holding onto his notebook as he fell asleep, for the first time in forever ( if you count out the times he simply passed out because he'd been running on too little hours of sleep and too much stress - those could not be considered as healthy sleep he was in desperate need of by any stretch of imagination, no matter how stubborn the lead scientist was ), without noticing it - Chloe's warmth and weight against his side providing just enough comfort to soothe his overthinking mind and quench the nearly constant terror of falling again into the aliens' clutches so that he can rest.

They sleep, huddled under one blanket, leaning against supporting each other, their arms linked and hands intertwined, and for the first time in days, weeks, months - what feels like eternity, really - both Chloe and Rush sleep through the whole night, with no nightmares to terrorize them.

[woodelf68]

I found it! I didn't dream it! And it was a fic! 'To Get Me Through' by shakespeareanhoneybadgers. A.K.A Belle's version of the 2x16 phone call in a letter to Rumple at the end of 2x22: shakespeareanhoneybadgers(.)tumblr(.)com/post/51543248852/ficlet-to-get-me-through

Good sleuthing!

[ace-cf-cups]

Happy Skin Deep day!

As many other events/things in this fandom, last year I was watching from afar while this year I strive to actively participate in the life of Rumbelle fandom ( also this sounds very fun ), so I wanna try playing "Fluffify This!")

In short, send me angst prompts to turn them into fluffy ficlets about Rumbelle!

Golden Lace, Woven Lace, Woven Beauty and Anyelle/em prompts are also accepted.

[abovethemists]

What’s a fic trope, plot bunny, or character variation that you want someone to write for Rumbelle, but no one ever has?

I am a simple woman with simple needs. Enemies to lovers, marriage of convenience, mutual pining, these are my bread and butter and there is thankfully plenty to go around in the Rumbelle fandom. Rumbelle has also tackled pretty much everything so anything I say probably has been done, I just haven't had a chance to read it yet.

I do wish someone would finish my Lady Belle hires Spinner Rumple to impregnate her after her husband unexpectedly dies and she's left in a precarious position with no heir fic because I'd rather read it than write it. So, if anyone wants to take a stab at that one! I also don't think there were a lot of Belle is pregnant and has a baby in the missing year fics. (I remember some ficlets but not a long fic). And there was a sad lack of season 5 woobie Rumple with no powers smut. Okay, I could probably think of a lot more if I had the time...

[rumbelleshowdown]

Oh my God I submitted my finished ficlet yesterday for the Showdown and now I feel that may have been a mistake.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my submission and I feel like it’s the best work I could have done for this.

It’s just the tension! The anticipation is killing me!!! 😫

I’m so excited for the fics to be posted! 😁 I wanna read some Rumbelle!

Good luck and happy writing, fellow Rumbellers! 🌹✍️

Rumplestiltskin is excited too! Belle looks a little stressed though. Delighted and stressed... that sums up the Showdown experience pretty well.

[a-rose-for-gold]

I expanded my ficlet for the 2023 Rumbelle Showdown!

[beeeinyourbonnet]

What can you share about what you are currently working on?

Ahhhhhhhhhhh thank you for your question! I am working on three things actively and editing a fourth:

By Hook or By Crook - Rumbelle fic, actively posting new chapters probably on Thursdays because Mondays have not been kind to me xD

A one-shot PWP for Covetous that has gotten Out of Hand and may never be finished due to the out-of-hand nature of it and it may end up being a chapter sequel ficlet instead of just the one chill PWP it was supposed to be xD it may, in fact, contain Themes.

The Beginning of a New Book is bellish and it's completely written so I am just editing as I post new chapters on Fridays!

And then FINALLY, i am working on a BRAND NEW CHAPTERED DEVELLE FIC that also includes Ives from Ravenous. The basic plot is that Belle has been in a bad marriage for years and in order to cut all ties from it, she is working off her estranged husband's debt to Danny. Here is a snippet:

“Oi.” Danny burst in from the club side, and Belle’s spirits perked up for a second or so before plummeting back down. “Did anyone come in here? Mr. fucking Beatty said he fucking dropped off a hundred quid and I told him he was a fucking liar.”

“He was a fucking liar,” Belle agreed. “No one dropped anything off.”

Danny muttered to himself as he stomped to his desk, a little tempest in a teacup. His ostentatiously tight suits had irked Belle when she’d first met him six months ago, but now they were as familiar as Danny himself. 

“Some good news, though.” He shuffled through some papers on his desk. “Your fucking good-for-fucking-nothing husband paid me for the first time since fucking July.”

[alphashley14]

Oh what a damn fool I am.

I started another WIP.

I’m definitely going to prioritize ‘One of Us’ (it’s only fair and I’ve come this far dammit!) But I’m definitely excited to see where this other story goes.

Also terrified.

Because I have a horrible track record of having more than one ongoing WIP at once. But still.

This is “Rags to Riches,” expanded from the ficlet of the same name that I wrote for the 2023 Rumbelle Showdown under the pseudonym Sonnenblume.

[peacehopeandrats]

Final day of fic questions challenge!

Day 30: Do you have a favorite fic you've written? What makes it your favorite? And don't forget to give us a link!

One of my favorites is called Marble (https://archiveofourown.org/works/35438176). It was part of the Monthly Rumbelling challenge that I participated in for a full year to create little ficlets, which I then turned into a giant choose your own adventure series. Or... I'm in the process of turning into that... I still have a LONG way to go. I loved that series and that idea, but I think Marble was my favorite because of the prompt and how I came up with the magical stuff around the prompt. I liked Mountains, Streams, and Magical Things for the same reason. (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25508239/chapters/61884613) And because of the way I got one of my favorite "Rumbelle songs" and Jefferson all heavily in one fic. :)

[fuckyeahbelleandrumpelstiltskin]

I found it! Belle's version of the 2x16 Rumbelle phone call. 2x22 Ficlet: To Get Me Through by shakespeareanhoneybadgers. link: shakespeareanhoneybadgers(.)tumblr(.)com/post/51543248852/ficlet-to-get-me-through

.

[emospritelet]

TGL: 49, “Can I smell cinnamon?”

Okay, so writing the first ficlet made both me and a bunch of you guys sad, and it’s Christmas, so I decided to fix it.  The first part definitely happened in a TLG past life, so consider this an AU that would have happened had the universe been kinder.

[Part 1]

December 22nd, 1905

The next day dawned with a low fog hanging over the city, the air cold enough to bite at the back of the throat and make one’s breath catch.  Ogilvy had risen early and taken his usual walk around the park, lost in his own thoughts.  A trip to Canada was a good notion.  They had not been there for some years, and it was entirely possible that she was there.  She had to be somewhere, after all. Perhaps Alice could journey with them; the trip would be good for her, and her natural energy and enthusiasm would stop him falling into the deepest depths of despair.  Ava and Nicholas would have to stay behind, of course, but it would be good for them too.  They needed to start their schooling, and now was as good a time as ever.

He did two circuits of the park instead of his usual one, and by the time he returned to the house his feet were numb with cold.  There was an air of excitement in the breakfast room that made him smile.  Alice and the others had eaten, and she was chatting about the fair that was in town, and her plans to take the two youngsters with her.

“Why don’t we all go?” suggested Doc brightly.  “I for one could use the exercise.”

“Can the servants come too?” asked Alice eagerly.  “Ivy was telling me how she’d so like to go, and they all work so hard!”

“If Mrs Wolfe has no objection, then nor do I,” said Ogilvy.  “I believe I’ll stay here, though.  I have a few matters of business to attend to.  Make sure you wrap up warmly, the weather’s taken a bitter turn.”

She squeaked in excitement and ran over, pressing a kiss to his cheek and making him smile.

“Don’t spend all your money on sweets, mind,” he said, and she grinned.

“We won’t!”

He watched them hurry out, Alice holding the hands of the younger children and chattering about the importance of gloves.  The house seemed eerily quiet when they had gone, and he poured himself a cup of coffee and made his way to the library.  The fire was burning, the room pleasantly warm, and the feeling was starting to come back into his feet as he set down his cup.  He had no appetite for breakfast, but the coffee would be welcome while he went through his letters.

x

It was some time later that he heard the doorbell, but it barely registered.  He was reading through a letter from one of his contacts in Boston, and the report made him slump in his chair a little.  A young woman matching Belle’s description had been seen at a dinner held by one of Boston’s premier families.  He had allowed himself to feel the faintest hope, but his contact had now conversed with the woman, and reported that she had brown eyes, not blue.  It was not her.  He tossed the letter aside, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh, and Mrs Wolfe herself entered the library, stout and stern-looking in her black dress, iron-grey hair neatly pinned up on her head.

“There’s a Miss Marchland here to see you, sir,” she said, eyes bright behind her pince-nez glasses.  “Says she has a letter of introduction from Lady Ella Deville.”

“Oh?” he said, puzzled.  “Well, please send her in.”

Mrs Wolfe bowed her head and left the room, and he turned to a brief instruction he was writing to his lawyer, signing it with a flourish and setting it aside.  He had seen Lady Ella two weeks ago, at a tedious dinner party where both of them had had a little too much brandy, but he couldn’t recall her saying anything about sending him a servant.  They had talked about her daughter going off to Vienna for a year, and his own plans for Ava and Nicholas. Still, he supposed Mrs Wolfe could always use more help.

“Miss Marchland,” announced Mrs Wolfe, and Ogilvy put down his pen and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“Miss Marchland,” he said, pushing back his chair and standing up as he heard footsteps enter the room.  “I understand you come with—”

He cut off, mouth falling open as he came face to face with a ghost.  She was gazing back at him calmly, dressed in a demure grey coat and skirt, the toes of black buttoned boots peeking out beneath the hem.  Gloved hands were clasped around the handle of a leather satchel, and her hair was pinned up beneath a neat black hat, its shining chestnut only just visible.  Her cheeks were pink with the cold, her eyes as blue as the winter sky, and it felt as though he had been punched in the chest, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces and clumsily remade with desperate hands.  It was pounding in his chest, in his throat, his lips tingling with the force of it, and he felt the room close in around him, as though he might faint. 

He was aware that he was holding his breath, and snapped his mouth shut.  Perhaps it was a dream.  He had had too many of those to count, and he bit the inside of his cheeks hard.  Not a dream.  She was here.  After centuries of searching, waiting, despairing, the fickle gods had finally listened, and had sent her home to him.  There was a tiny line of confusion between her brows, and he realised that he hadn’t finished his sentence and was staring at her like a damn fool.

“I - ah - I understand you come with a letter of introduction,” he said, amazed that his voice was so steady.  “From Lady Ella Deville.”

“Yes, sir, I have it here.”

Her voice was low and melodious, and he felt tears welling up inside him, a lake of them, an ocean.  How long since he had heard her speak?  She was handing him something, a neatly-folded letter in a thick cream envelope.  Taking it from her and opening it gave him something to do other than think about how much he wanted to break down and weep.  He couldn’t concentrate on the words, his vision swimming and blurring, but from the little he managed to read he deduced the purpose of her visit.

“You’re a governess?” he said, raising his eyes to hers.

It almost hurt to look at her directly, and he had to drop his gaze again, focusing on his hands clutching the letter.  There was a tiny smudge of ink on the tip of his forefinger, showing up the loops and whorls in his skin.

“Her Ladyship informed me that you have two children,” she said, making him look up again.

Her voice lacked the warmth he was used to, her tone cool and efficient, with the proper deference that would be required of someone in her station.  She was entirely indifferent to his presence, and he reminded himself that she had no memory of him.  It hurt: a sharp stabbing in his chest, but she was real, and she was alive, and he wanted to take her in his arms and cry.

“I - yes.”  He gave up on the letter, tossing it onto his desk, and gestured to the chairs near the fire.  “Well, they’re not mine, really.  Alice keeps bringing strays home from the back streets and I take them in and wash the lice out of their hair.  She’s little more than a child herself, so perhaps I have three.  Please, take a seat.  Would you like some tea?  Or perhaps some coffee?  Something else?  The cook makes excellent hot chocolate and the weather’s cold enough to warrant some…”

She blinked, briefly hiding her eyes and her obvious puzzlement both at his babbling and his lack of propriety.  She would soon learn that his household was as unorthodox as Lady Ella’s.  He rang the bell, and gestured to the chairs again.  She eyed him curiously, but crossed to the chairs and sat perched on the edge of one of them, hands resting demurely on her lap as he paced up and down, a mixture of nerves and pure, intense joy making him restless.  He was aware that he was toying with the ring on his right hand, a thick gold band set with a moonstone.  Miss Marchland was looking around the library with interest.

“I’m sure you enjoy reading,” he said.  “You would be welcome to spend as much time in the library as you please.”

She smiled at him then, her face lighting up, and he had to turn away.  The tears were welling in his eyes, and he dashed them away with shaking fingers, his back to her.  The arrival of Mrs Wolfe was a welcome distraction, and he clapped his hands together, making her eyes narrow a little behind her glasses.

“Ah!” he said.  “Hot chocolate, if you please, Mrs Wolfe.  And perhaps something sweet to go with it?  I didn’t eat breakfast.  Careless of me.”

“Of course, sir,” she said, eyeing him curiously.  “I thought you might be hungry.  I’ll bring it myself; the maids have all gone to the fair.”

“Yes, of course, of course.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to Miss Marchland before she left, and Ogilvy returned to his desk, snatching up the letter from Lady Ella.  This time he managed to read it through, and raised his eyes.

“You are competent at Latin and Greek?” he asked, and she smiled.

“Yes, sir.  I studied at Girton College.”

“You studied at university,” he whispered, his cheeks aching from holding in a smile.  “Of course you did.  Of course.”

She put her head to the side, as though he were a curiosity she didn’t quite understand.

“I - have my diploma,” she said, reaching into the small leather satchel she carried.  “And references from Professors Magus and Drake.  I should be delighted to make use of my studies.  Previous employers appeared not to value them quite so highly.”

He took the papers she handed him, two envelopes which he set aside, and the diploma.  Annabelle Colette Marchland.  Dear gods, thank you.  Thank you.

“Belle,” he whispered, and she raised a slim, dark brow.

“That’s what my mother used to call me,” she said.  “I was always Miss Marchland to Lady Ella, however.”

He looked up.  That crease was back between her eyes, and he realised that he must seem very strange to her.  Strange and over-familiar.

“Forgive me,” he said, handing back the diploma.  “I - you remind me of someone, that’s all.  Forgive me.”

She tucked the diploma back into her satchel, and he began to pace again, striding up and down before the shelves of books that contained works on history and politics.

“How old are your children, Mr Ogilvy?” she asked, and he started, spinning on his toes to face her again, still turning the moonstone ring on his finger.

“Ava and Nicholas are eight,” he said.  “Alice is sixteen.  I daresay she could use some further instruction - I taught her to read, and some mathematics and principles of management, but she never took to any of the governesses I employed.  Too much focus on needlework and nothing useful, she said.”

Belle bit her lip, as though she was trying to hold in a smile.

“I - I suppose you would want the girls to follow a different curriculum to Nicholas?” she said, and looked surprised when he shook his head.

“Not at all,” he said.  “I’d like you to teach them all you know.  Classics, languages, mathematics.  I don’t want the girls to miss out on anything because society believes embroidery more appropriate for them than science.”

Belle’s eyes sparkled, a tiny smile lifting the corners of her mouth.  She was so beautiful he wanted to cry.

“I have an interest in the sciences, too,” she said.  “Although I must confess it’s fairly amateur and needs developing.  Astronomy is fascinating.”

He looked up at that.

“I - ah - have a telescope in one of the attic rooms,” he said.  “You’re more than welcome to use it.”

Her smile widened in delight, and he had to look away again, blinking rapidly.  Thankfully the door opened, and Mrs Wolfe entered with a tray containing a tall, thin pot of steaming chocolate and two small cups, alongside a plate containing some small cakes.  She set it down, walking sedately from the room, and he poured two cups, ribbons of fragrant steam rising up from the rich brown liquid, the scent of melted chocolate and spices drifting into his nose.  Belle took a cup from him with a nod of thanks.

“Can I smell cinnamon?” she asked, and he smiled.

“It’s a quirk of this household,” he said.  “A spiced syrup made by our cook.  Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”  She looked up at him through her thick lashes as she took a sip.  “It’s delicious.”

He picked up his own cup, and sat in the chair opposite her, taking a sip of the sweet chocolate before glancing at her over the top of his glasses.

“I should be delighted to offer you a position in this house, Miss Marchland,” he said gently.  “Are you able to start immediately?”

She looked surprised at that, but only momentarily.

“I am,” she said.

“Excellent,” he said.  “Excellent.”

[ace-of-spaders]

This was initially a starter set in an alternate timeline ( because f*ck the 6th season — these two deserve to experience this pregnancy, and another one or two to come 😌, together and be blissfully, blissfully happy while at it ) I wrote for my Belle over on my rp blog (I've got both Rumple and Belle blogs, actually, so if anyone wants to roleplay Rumbelle with me, just hit me up and I'll point you in their direction) in a spur of a moment after watching the last episode of Hamish Macbeth ( I dunno how or why but something about emotional young Bobby triggered this flood of emotion in me ) but then I decided to also post it as a ficlet on my personal blog, too, so that all my fellow Rumbellers could read it because the mental image is just too precious to not share it 🥺💗🥰

Alright, enough with the rambling 😅 On to the ficlet itself:

(Oh, and @thinkofscotland I blame your pfp for my urge to dive back into the marvel that is Hamish Macbeth, so I guess this fic also came into existence partly because of you ❤️ )

"He kicked," Rumple stated the obvious in a voice that's gone hoarse with emotion, his gaze slipping from his wife's beautiful face to her round stomach, where their hands were resting, intertwined, united forever in spite of everything that life had and will throw at them, his thumb stroking her belly through the thin material of her blouse.

"He kicked, Belle," he repeated, astonished, as if his wife was not the one who got to experience that significant moment first-hand, and when amber gaze rose to meet the sky blue one again, there were tears shining in his eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart," the endearment was no louder than a whisper, breaking with emotion, as Rumple raised his free hand to cup his beloved's cheek, but it was enough for her to hear it and, hopefully, the feeling welling up inside of him even before it spilt out of him in the form of tear-soaked words, "I love you so much."

He then leaned in to kiss her – sweet and firm at the same time, the unspoken proof of just how much he loved her and a way to let the overwhelming emotions out before they choked him – but pulled away after a few moments to kneel slowly in front of his wife, truly grateful for what seemed like the first time ever to have his ankle permanently healed, not just numbed. Lifting the fabric of her loose-fitting blouse just enough to place a kiss on her stomach, on the very place he felt their son kick against just a few moments prior, he did just that, whispering in the same tone, wrecked with emotion, as tears finally slipped down his cheeks:

"And I love you, too, son, with all my heart. I will always love you and be there for you, for as long as you and your Mama need me. I promise."

His voice broke completely on that last word, sacred for him, and he could speak no more, so he wrapped his arms around Belle's legs, rested his cheek against her belly and closed his eyes, trying and failing to rein in the storm of love and fear, anxiety and elation going on in his soul.

[deliriumsdelight7]

Spotify wrapped 19 for Rumbelle?

I swear to god this song fits, like, ALL my ships.

"Rumpel, have you seen my blue dress? The one with the lace inlay?" Belle asked from the walk-in closet, her voice muffled from the combined racks of his suits and her dresses.

"Not lately," Rumpelstiltskin replied truthfully yet evasively. He knew exactly where the dress in question was, but that wasn't what Belle had asked.

Belle continued to search, growing more frustrated by the minute. Hating seeing his wife like this, Rumpel approached quietly from behind. Dressed in only a lacy bra and panties, her expanse of creamy white skin was a delectable temptation - one he didn't have time to indulge. Reaching over her shoulder, he pulled out a sheath dress. "What about this one? You look fetching in burgundy."

"I guess. But I really wanted to wear the blue one today," she said with a pout. Still, she took the proffered dress and quickly slipped it on, turning her back to Rumpel and holding her hair to one side so he could do the zip. "I wonder where it went."

"I'm sure it'll turn up eventually," he offered placatingly.

Turning to face him, she offered him a brilliant smile that made his heart skip a beat, just as it always did. "You're right. I'm sure it will," she agreed, rising up on tiptoe to offer him a kiss.

Once she'd gone for the day, skipping her merry way to the Storybrooke Free Public Library, Rumpelstiltskin stood pensively in their shared bedroom. With a wave of one hand, he summoned a pair of suitcases in a cloud of crimson smoke. Both were stuffed to bursting with clothes: one with several of his suits, the other with her dresses, skirts, and blouses.

Belle didn't know about these suitcases. And she wouldn't - not until she came to him and told him that she was ready to leave this horrible town. His beautiful, brave, and most of all kind wife was determined to be the hero this town needed, to use any resources at her disposal to improve the lives of Storybrooke's citizens.

She was a hero, his wife. It was one of the things he'd always admired about her. She saw past the ugly exterior to the goodness just waiting to come out.

But for Rumpelstiltskin, there was no such goodness in this town. This was the place where she'd been taken from him, time and again. Where he'd had to murder his own father, taking his own life in the process. Where his son had died, and he'd been enslaved by a madwoman for a year. This town held nothing but bitterness for him, and he couldn't wait to leave.

But Belle insisted that they stay. And after making so many mistakes, he couldn't bear the thought of saying no to her. So he kept these two suitcases ready, so the moment she wanted to leave, he'd be ready.

He prayed that day would come soon. The timeless curse of Storybrooke may have been broken by the Savior, but Rumpelstiltskin still felt like he was trapped in stasis here. His life wouldn't begin until he and Belle crossed the town line and put it behind them for good.