#spinner rum!

[woobienation]

I'm always so happy to see this family on my dash.

Belle reading: “As all things come to an end, even this story…”

[velvetkisscs]

Is It Casual Now ? - PSH SMAU

chapter 4: no further dicussions (1.3k)

──౨ৎ｡⋆ 𝓬ontains: cussing, alcohol consumption (drink responsibly) , teasing, more bickering (are we even surprised atp?) likes, reblogs, comments, and feedbacks are appreciated. rude comments will be ignored, reported, and deleted.

with lights blazing, music thumping, and laughter resonating off the walls, the party is in full swing. you find yourself settling in a corner with your group of friends, attempting to unwind following a stressful week.

sipping a cup of beer across the room was sunghoon. his friends had eventually forced him to go, even though he had refused knowing you would be there.

“still can’t keep your eyes off her, huh?” jay teased.

sunghoon rolled his eyes. “i have no idea what you’re talking about”

“he’s not wrong. you’re staring hard” jake added.

sunghoon stands up, “i think you two are out of your heads. i’m gonna get myself something to drink”

coincidentally, you and sunghoon found yourselves heading in the same direction; towards the makeshift bar found on the kitchen island.

“great, it’s you again.” you muttered under your breath. “definitely what i needed.”

“here to ruin my night?” sunghoon shot back, his lips curling into a small smirk, unknowingly.

“only if you insist on standing in my way”, you retorted, giving him a slight shove.

“ladies first,” he said, stepping aside. he watches as you pour yourself a drink. “what is that godawful concoction you’re making?”

leaning towards the counter, you rolled your eyes. “something that will hopefully help me forget this conversation.”

sunghoon scoff, leaning on the counter next to you. “care to make me one too?”

“do i look like your bartender?” you retort.

you watch as sunghoon reach through the assortment of bottles spread across the table. if he wasn’t so distracted by how good you look right now, maybe he would’ve paid attention and remembered the bottles you used. before he could even continue, you swat his hand away, doing it yourself. swiftly mixing different kinds of liquor, you create a replica of what you have in your cup, a red drink.

“not bad,” he admitted

“didn’t know you had a taste for poison” you said sarcastically.

“guess i built up a tolerance after being around you” he said, matching your sarcasm.

“that’s potent stuff,” you warn, leaning closer. you didn’t know if it was gin, tequila or rum but whatever it is, it’s giving you courage to lean this close to him. “wouldn’t want you passing out before the fun starts.”

“oh don’t worry about me,” he replies, matching your closeness. “i’ve handled worse.”

“still nursing your hurt ego i see.” you say, moving away from his face.

with a raised eyebrow, he let out a scoff. “my ego is doing just fine, thanks. how’s your perpetual state of denial?”

“thriving, actually” you shot back, with a grin across your face. “thanks for asking.”

“anything new? besides that ‘hot date’ you had?” sunghoon quipped, making you roll your eyes.

“oh you know, the usual. classes, life, and avoiding exes at parties,” you snapped back, taking your drink up to your lips. “what about you? still trying to figure out how to be less annoying?”

“funny, i was just about to ask you the same thing,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.

clem and sunoo appear out of nowhere.

“YN, SUNGHOON, TWISTER!” sunoo exclaims, gently grabbing your wrist and sunghoon.

“oh i’m not gonna do this,” you protest, but clem is already pushing you towards the mat.

“one game! it’ll be fun! you’re my partner!” clem insists, shooting a look at sunghoon who seems equally hesitant. "please? sunoo and i have been lining up for this game." you find yourself unable to back out due to the peer pressure.

“alright… one round,” stepping onto the mat. sunghoon follows, his eyes scanning the twister mat. the spinner is set and the game begins.

“left hand, blue!” someone shouts. you and clem quickly place your hands on the blue spots, sunghoon and sunoo too. your competitive side flares up immediately.

“right foot, red!” “right hand, yellow!” “left foot, green!” …

the game progresses, and soon you find yourself in awkward and compromising positions. you twist your body to follow the calls. the mat becomes a tangled mess, and you find yourself uncomfortably close to sunghoon.

“left foot, blue!” someone calls out. soon enough, clem and sunoo struggle to keep up, losing balance, leaving you and sunghoon on the mat.

“right hand, green!” as you move, your arm grazes sunghoon’s chest, and you both freeze for a moment, faces dangerously close. you both made eye contact, and you notice a hint of blush creeping up his cheeks.

“you’re blushing” sunghoon points out, a smirk forming on his lips.

“it’s the alcohol,” you snap, breaking eye contact. you know it’s a lie which makes your face feel even hotter than it already was. at this point, you’re sure he can see through your facade.

“mhm, sure it is,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

the mat feels even smaller now, every move bringing you closer to him. “left hand, green!” you twist awkwardly, your body crossing over his. your face, mere inches apart from his, you can feel his breath on your skin.

“enjoying yourself?” he teases.

“not with you around.” trying to ignore him.

“right foot, yellow” you both move again. you two are so close to each other, you could see every single fleck of mole on his face.

“you look like you’re about to pass out,” he taunts, eyes flickering with amusement.

“screw you,” you whisper yelled, making your face flush even more.

“you wish,” he quipped.

the proximity is too much, you can practically feel his skin brush against yours. the air is thick with so much tension.

“right hand, blue!”

“if you weren’t such a jerk, this game would’ve been more fun” you mutter

“if you weren’t such a pain in the ass, i’d agree,” he snaps back.

the game continues, each move bringing you closer. you didn’t want to lose against him, and he didn’t want to lose against you. until the inevitable happens. in a tangle of limbs, sunghoon loses his balance. time seems to slow down as he topples forward, making you question yourself if you’re inside a fanfic. (you kinda are...) sunghoon lands on top of you, the weight of his body presses you down, and his face a few centimeters away from yours.

for a moment, everything stops. the whole party around you feels like a blur, the noise fading into the background, and all you can see is him. his eyes search yours, feeling his breath on your lips, so close that one move can leave the two of you exchanging kisses. your breath hitches, and you can see a similar reaction in his eyes. his gaze drops to your cherry wine lips, and you feel a surge of panic and something else– a feel of thrill?

sunghoon’s face flushes deepr, and you’re sure yours mirrors it. “are you seriously blushing right now?” you point out.

“the alcohol must’ve hit me a little late.” sunghoon pats himself on the back even after coming up with a lame excuse.

before you can respond, your brain FINALLY catches up with the whole situation. you’re lying on the floor, at a campus party, with sunghoon– your ex, on top of you. your friends are likely watching the entire scene. you snap back to reality, shoving him away.

“get off,” you manage to say, your voice shaking.

as if coming out of a trance, sunghoon blinks, quickly rolling off you. he stands up and offers a hand to help you up, but you ignore it, standing up just fine on your own. you see the crowd around you exchanging glances, some had their hands covering their mouths, some giggling, but that didn’t bother you. you don’t even know who won the game, not like you could give two shits. all you can focus on is the lingering sensation of his body against yours and the loud thumping of your heart.

clem rushes over, eyes wide with shock. “oh my gosh?”

“let's not...” avoiding eye contact with your best friend.

<<< prev masterlist next >>>

a/n: hey guys i'm back! i'm so sorry for the sudden "hiatus"... enha's comeback and my birthday fell on the same week so i've been busy going out and haven't had the time to update this ff... i will be uploading another chapter before the end of this week so i can be back on track! i hope you guys like this chapter! we are so close to the drama part!

. 𖦹˙— ₊˙♡﹗˚ ༘ ✩࿐࿔

taglist: open

📌: @sunoostripletriple @yoizhrs @leov3rse @heelee-01 @naviiy @ramenoil @mitmit01 @luvrseung @river-demon-slayer @wonwoos-wineparty @sumzysworld @sngleehee @jayhoonvroom @lovebuglissas @tanisha2060

[send a comment/ask! no empty blogs, must be 18+]

[runixa]

Another pair finished. These are my migraine projects. Plain toe up with a heel flap.

The yarn is west Yorkshire spinners 4 ply. In rum paradise.

I really enjoyed the self striping thing.

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

TH Characters and Crochet

TH Masterlist

This concept was prompted by my new hobby and led to some very interesting (and, in my opinion, good) plot points. Henceforth, I might turn some of these wee ideas into full-fledged one-shots. For now, though, enjoy!

Tag List: @potter-solomons @buttercupsandboys @zablife @mollybegger-blog @liliac-dreamer @vir-tual @rose-like-the-phoenix @babaohhhriley @solomons-finest-rum @hoodeddreams13 @moral-terpitude @onlydeadcells @hecatemoon87 @wandawiccan60 @dreamlandcreations

Tommy Conlon

The art of crochet is an absolute mystery to him. Nevertheless, though he won’t admit it plainly since he’s been raised and trained to keep his emotions in check, he absolutely loves and adores the husky you made him.

It had been another fretful night, one that leaves you alone in the bed and him either wandering about the beach nearby or leads to a night of training at the boxing school. Either way, Tommy shut you out yet again, refusing to show you even a glimpse of the chaos he carries with him.

Later that day, the short night was followed by an equally as plagued nap. It's that he woke up before it was too late, but otherwise he'd have fallen off of the sofa and face planted into the soft carpet (which you had bought after the one time that actually did happen). Now, it’s his snuggle buddy and you’ve noticed it’s helped with the nightmares caused by his PTSD. So nowadays the silence when you come home after work is laced by soft snoring, an oddly comforting sound that stems from the most heartwarming sight.

Tommy, tightly holding on to his husky as he snuggles it. His ear phones are connected to his laptop, an ASMR video with rain sounds displayed on the screen.

Perfectly content.

At rest.

Alfie Solomons

You were already magical in his eyes, but the fact you can create stuff out of yarn makes you even more so. He still thinks your hooks look uncannily like embalming tools, but he adores the scarf you made him. He wears it whenever he can, loving the texture as well as your scent.

Alfie proudly promotes your stuff wherever he goes and helps you set up at markets. He’d like for you to do only markets in Margate and Camden so he can keep a close eye on you. However, should it be anywhere else, rest assured he’ll hang around the area and make sure you eat and drink properly. He’ll literally pop by a Prêt-A-Manger to buy lunch and deliver it to you or, as is more often the case, pull you away from your stall so you two can sit down in a coffee shop or restaurant together.

He loves it whenever you text him to provide him with photos of a new project you completed. Lastly, Alfie also always asks what you’re working on.

Forrest Bondurant

He’s actually the one who taught you how to crochet (and secretly adored how shyly you asked him to teach you). He’s a stern teacher, but a good one. Forrest is a man of many hidden talents (like baking, he makes a mean apple pie). Then again, so is his brother Howard, who is great at knitting. Jack, on the other hand, has skipped out on the creative gene though he’s been trying to teach himself how to sew.

Forrest and you do markets together. However, he mostly does the general set-up while you busy yourself with the customers. Because even though he’s very business savvy, the quiet force behind Little Moonshiners (specialized in the cutest handmade stuffies) is in fact a social disaster.

He does like talking to you, though.

(And has made you a custom wolf stuffie, which has become your all-time favourite)

Eddie Brock

Eddie and Venom alike love the stuffies you make, but V thinks his host sometimes takes his support of your hobby a bit too far. Recently, he’s asked you to teach him and ever since you’ve been trying to figure it out together. Eddie seems to finally have the basic stitches down while Venom is bordering on giving up. Not even reading the body language of his host makes him understand crochet. So he’s now your ultimate yarn spinner.

Eddie, on the other hand, has become a little competitive. Though he tries to be inconspicuous, you occasionally catch him glancing your way in an attempt to estimate whether your way of crocheting a certain project is more efficient and neater than his. To this extent, he proposes to try a new pattern together (and compare the results).

He does admit, without a second’s doubt, you’re the queen of plushies.

Eddie loves the journaling aspect of it too. He keeps a neat and very minimalist journal. Well, he tries to be minimalist and objective (as his work has taught him to be), but often finds himself writing about you, pondering your opinion on his works.

And Venom loves to tease him about said entries by mentioning them to you.

Farrier

He’s loath to admit it, but he can’t help but think of his Nan whenever he sees you crochet. The confession almost slipped out when you gave him a cream coloured crocheted turtleneck sweater for Christmas, the reason you puzzled him with taking measurements three months earlier. And it’s this turtleneck he wears quite often and takes with him whenever he’s sent abroad.

Because your scent lingers in it, mixed with his.

Because it’s a piece of home.

It’s you when you aren’t there.

And it’s the only thing that’ll prevent him from crying when he's so far from home it feels like his heart is torn apart at the seams.

Reggie Kray

Reggie loves to watch you work. He doesn’t need to understand it, finding perfect contentment in seeing you absolutely absorbed in your projects. He’s simply happy to plop you in his lap and rest his head on your shoulder, though that does little to help you focus on the pattern or the tutorial you’re watching.

He gives the best hand massages too! Whether you asked for one or not, Reggie will give you one regardless after you’ve put the hook down for the time being. Sometimes he even stops you after a certain period of time, knowing how your tight grip can cause your hand to cramp after carefully observing you for a while.

Although he does not say it whenever the topic comes up, he will blatantly admit when riled up enough that part of the reason he wants out of the gangster life is to permanently give you the peace and quiet that surrounds you whenever you crochet.

And stills his inner storm.

Also, have a wee treasure I accidentally found😉

[woobienation]

Uh-oh. Oh dear. Oh man. I just read the first chapter of this story, and it is absolutely gorgeous AND it's Spinner!Rum & Lady!Belle AND it's weaving in references to my favorite Disney movie AND it has a courageous young Baelfire AND an uber-kind, brave Belle AND...I am immediately 100% invested, so much so that I may not be able to be normal about this.

One Thing Forever True - Chapter 12

Rumpelstiltskin appeared in the entry hall of the Dark Castle in a plume of red smoke, Belle cradled in his arms.  Despite the burning heat of her skin against his, her frame was racked with tremors.  She shivered like her life depended on it, as if she’d taken a swim in the lake in the depths of winter.  She’d discarded her cloak outside, been exposed to the night’s biting winds, and still she burned with fever.

Bae waited anxiously in the entry hall, pacing restlessly.  His features brightened visibly when he saw Rumpelstiltskin.  “You found her!  Is she - “  He cut off, his face going sickly pale at the sight of the blood soaking her dress and Rumpel’s front, making his silk shirt stick to his chest.  “What happened?”

“Werewolves,” Rumpel muttered grimly, already crossing the room with his short, but quick, stride.  “They frightened her horse, lured her into an ambush.  I was barely able to get to her before they…”  He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.  Losing Belle to Gaston had nearly ripped his heart in two.  Watching her die, frightened and screaming as a wolf ripped her throat out… that, he would never recover from.

Read on AO3

[wastingstarsss]

I finally get polls and this is the first thing I do. Obviously.

[beastlycheese]

Hi! Hello! How are you! Make a decision: drunk!Belle and Spinner Rum, or established relationship Belle and Mr. Gold doing holiday trip to the cabin. I want to write both but don't know which one would be better so I'm letting you choose. So, you know. You can do that. Help a santa out. Hope your monopoly game didn't end in tears! Have a good week!

Oooooh, drunk Belle and spinner Rum sounds a hoot. That one pleased.

Monopoly didn't happen, got into a car crash instead, an uber driver decided to drive straight into the side of my car. All okay but very shook up. Me and my daughters are feeling smashed up but nothing broken, apart from the car. Im not sure if the pain im feeling is my usual chronic fibromyalgia pain or new crash pain. A crappy end to a crappy year. Surely things can only get better!

[midnasocarina]

Autism Cocktail (well-meaning ally version):

Ice cubes

15ml grenadine

15ml pineapple juice

15ml midori

15ml blue curacao

15ml malibu or bombora

Fidget spinner ice

Fill glass with ice cubes first and pour grenadine over the ice. Slowly pour pineapple juice over the back of a spoon. Repeat with pineapple juice, then midori, then blue curacao, then malibu. Top with fidget spinner ice as a garnish.

Basically a rainbow cocktail with midori and coconut rum. Invokes the impression of the infinity symbol. Build in glass slowly to maintain layers. Ridiculously harsh and tastes like a lolly. Not super autism-friendly.

Autism Cocktail (autism-friendly version):

Ice cubes

15ml strawberry syrup

15ml parfait amor (violet) liqueur

15ml blueberry syrup

15ml banana liqueur

15ml vodka or coconut tequila

15ml cream (can substitute with coconut cream)

Fidget spinner ice

Similar to above. Ice first, then pour strawberry syrup. Build in order as above, pouring each ingredient slowly over the back of the spoon to maintain layers. Garnish with fidget spinner ice.

Probably won't look as pretty or neat as the first recipe, but definitely gentler on the palette and a lot tastier. Same alcohol content, but the tequila and cream make it much smoother and far more autism-friendly!

ice fidget spinner

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Hysminai (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- The Bruised Bombshell by Menoetius

Mama by her daughters

Nana by her grandchildren

Age- 56 (immortal)

Location- Little Sparta, New Olympus

Personality- She's brash, straightforward, and unafraid of confrontation. Her strong personality can be seen as egomaniacal & domineering to others, but she simply doesn't care how she's viewed. She's confidentally single in leading a non-monogamous lifestyle, proclaiming herself to be a "trysexual."

She has the standard abilities of a goddess except shapeshifting. As the goddess of fighting & combat her other powers/abilities include limited telumkinesis, having an innate expertise in battle strategies, being expertly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and photographic reflexes (can perfectly copy other people's movements, fighting styles, etc...).

Hysminai is the mother to Proioxis (goddess of battle, onrush, & battlefield pursuit) and Palioxis (goddess of backrush & retreat). Other members of her immediate family includes her son-in-law Homadus (god of the battle-din), her granddaughter Anaideia (goddess of ruthlessness, shamelessness, & unforgiveness), and her grandson Olethrus (Olly) (god of havoc).

She lives in a recently purchased four bedroom mansion in the Little Sparta neighborhood of New Olympus. Hysminai purchased it for a steal- three million drachmas! It was previously owned by a cyclops action movie star. She redid the interior design- a mixture of art deco & zen. There's also leather and suede furniture, lacquered & handpainted ornamental pieces, and black marble flooring. Red, gold, purple, & black are major colors as well. Hysminai gets around in a sexy sleek black sports car that has gold chrome spinners.

She's been loving all the attention with the advancements in her career.

A go-to drink for her is a steaming cup of black tea. She also likes rum & cokes, cherry cola cocktails, bloddy marys, sassy sangrias, crantinis, p*rn star cocktails, and red wine. A go-to from The Roasted Bean is a large espresso.

Hysminai takes pride in her toned fit body. More often than not at her house when alone, she loves being nude. She has a dedicated workout regime, but she doesn't deprive herself either. She's at the Power Zone gym on most mornings.

A typical breakfast for her is a bowl of spicy shrimp congee. She'll also go to The Hearthside Diner for a breakfast burrito with extra peppers & chilies.

Hysminai's not ashamed of showing her age with growing out her gray hair.

She has a good relationship with her daughters despite their fiery disagreements. Hysminai doesn't care much about her eldest daughter's situation with her husband, but still supports her.

She doesn't respect her son-in-law at all anymore & on more than one occassion she came to him to ask him to file for divorce. Hysminai is even angrier at the fact that he won't allow Proioxis to take money from her or Palioxis. That hasn't stopped her from secretly giving her daughter a few hundred drachmas each month to help out. They meet on a bench at Eaglepoint Park.

Hysminai loves her grandkids, wishing she was able to see them more often. She likes when they come over her house for a sleepover. Her and Anaideia will go get their nails done & do indoor archery while she'll take little Olly to the petting zoo.

Her favorite dessert is the decadent dark chocolate cake from Hollyhock's Bakery.

She's been thinking about possibly getting a pet chimera!

A go-to thing to get from The Bread Box is an argula and steak salad topped with red pepper flakes and extra balsamic vinegar dressing.

A majority of her income comes from being a professional wrestler. Hysminai performs under the stage name "Karma." She's been gaining popularity with her sexy black leather outfits and her stage presence! Some of moves in the ring include the hurricanrana, the guillotine leg drop, the dragon sleeper, & moonsault splash. An upcoming televised match is between her and Duchess a.k.a Dimósia (goddess of debate). Hysminai also owns a martial arts studio called Warrior's Edge that's located downtown. For other means of income she also models for/endorses Delicious Xtasy and atelier fantaisie. She's also been in Zeus' men's magazine a few times.

A favorite frozen treat of hers is the Cocktails on Ice chocolate cabernet ice cream.

In the pantheon Hysminai's best friend in the pantheon is Amphillogia (goddess of arguments, disputes, & altercations). They spend a lot of time hanging out with each other.

She's also friends with Arktos (goddess of the night sky & constellations), Gymnasia (goddess of exercise & gymnastics), Enyo (goddess of war, destruction, bloodlust, & devastation), Atë (goddess of mischief, ruin, blind folly, delusion, & downfall of heroes), Hybris (goddess of insolence, hubris, & reckless pride), Amechania (goddess of helplessness & want), Menoetius (Titan god of rage, violence, & rash actions), Bronte (goddess of thunder), Pseudologos (god of lies), Astrape (goddess of lightning), Kydoimos (god of uproar & battlefield confusion), Palaestra (goddess of wrestling), Philotes (goddess of sex, friendship, & affection), Empusa (goddess of shapeshifting), and Priapus (god of fertility, vegetable gardens, livestock, sexuality, & masculinity).

Hysminai and a few of her friends had a "mini-celebration" at a bus stop, celebrating a billboard of her (for atelier fantaisie) in the Chant du Cygne neighborhood- a tastefully nude shoot with Hysminai wearing nothing but a pair of red thigh high stiletto heeled boots.

Hybris gifted her a pair of solid gold brass knuckles while Philotes gave her a black Megaleio handbag.

A guilty pleasure for her is the double bacon olympian burger.

Some of her favorite make-up products include the Olmorfia matte lipstick in "Frosted Berry Bronze," a deep violet pink color, the Luxuria shimmering body oil in "Cinnamon Glaze", and the parfum Korýfosi- which has fragrance notes of black vanilla, pink pepper, black amber plum, sandalwood, & musk.

Hysminai has no hang-ups about being single. She enjoys the fact that she can openly and freely procure in all her sexual wants & desires. She once had a four-way with Philotes, Empusa, and Priapus as well as sleeping with him a few times for his online content. Hysminai has a steady lover- a cyclops named Geoffrey & she's also a dominatrix to a satyr named Sebastian (who's the same age as her youngest daughter).

Her all time favorite meal is lo mein with sesame chicken along with her hot pot broth.

In her free time Hysminai enjoys working out, archery, martial arts, boxing, sword dueling, basketball, clubbing, sunbathing, having sex, lava surfing, and spending time with her family.

"If you want to be strong, learn how to fight alone."

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Showdown 2020 Unused Prompts

Smoke and mirrors

Watching birds courting

At the movies

Double bass & busking

Black tie, purple paint

Sunrise

Ribbon

Ashes

Rain, sweater, mug

Twirling

Auteur

like tears in rain

Thunderstorm

flat tire

Early Spring

Not Now

Lilacs

Someone else knows

Spinner!Rum

Season 1 AU

I'm not even sorry

Need I remind you

In your wildest dreams

 It was a wednesday

 It was the internet 

Google said so 

 All the kisses 

What is this? 

 Looking for something, dearie? 

suitcase, ridiculous, wet, pool

chicken 

Forgetfulness 

Late night phone calls 

Butterfly kisses 

Whiskey Sour Vodka Neat 

 Leather and lace

 Tempest in a teacup. 

Sweet as honey

Race 

Nightfall 

Cloudy

night-time musings

"Come closer."

skin 

Cinnamon Rolls

you missed your curfew

lemon and sugar, please

Regency Romance

 Don't wait for me 

 Losing something precious, despair 

Finding joy a task

creature, plant, boat, glow

Back-to-back

“Come back to me.” 

Breath

Key

Room with a fireplace

A splash of water

Smoke

Nostalgic

-

[robbialy]

„Tid och rum existerar icke; på en obetydlig verklighetsbakgrund spinner inbillningen ut och väver nya mönster; en blandning av minnen, upplevelser, fria påhitt, orimligheter och improvisationer. - Personerna klyvas, fördubblas, dunsta av, förtätas, flyta ut, samlas. Men ett medvetande står över alla, det är drömmarens; för det finns inga hemligheter, ingen konsekvens, inga skrupler, ingen lag.” Ur „Ett Drōmspel”, 1901, #johanauguststrindberg https://www.instagram.com/p/CqEMgFbDqHoYwi-n3bpalxteWIV7etR5kp7t1A0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[dancingsunflowers-ocs]

Alexandra, my love, may I ask for a WBW with Sydney Berlin?? (And if you wanna send one for one of my characters too, you know... I'm not complaining 😉). 🖤🖤🖤

Thank you Raven!! (@starlit-epiphany/@daughter-of-melpomene) 💕 I’m going to definitely send some to you, right now!! 😉

B A S I C S

full name: Sydney Anne Berlin

gender: Cisgender female

sexuality: Biromantic, asexual (sex-positive)

pronouns: She/her/hers

O T H E R S

family:

Mary Grace Berlin (Mother - Deceased)

Alvin Berlin (Father - Deceased)

Jacob Berlin (Younger Brother - Deceased)

Montgomery "Scotty" Scott (Father Figure)

birthplace: Scotland, Earth

job: Starfleet officer

phobias: Losing loved ones, death, spiders, tight spaces, blood

guilty pleasures: Disney films, cheesy romantic novels, movie musicals, alcohol (especially rum and lemonade cocktails), American sitcoms, 1990’s boybands, pancakes with maple syrup, fidget spinners, cute animal videos, chocolate

M O R A L S

morality alignment?: Lawful Good

sins - lust/greed/gluttony/sloth/pride/envy/wrath

virtues - chastity/charity/diligence/humility/kindness/patience/justice

T H I S - O R - T H A T

introvert/extrovert: both

organized/disorganized: organised

close minded/open-minded: open-minded

calm/anxious: both

disagreeable/agreeable: disagreeable

cautious/reckless: cautious

patient/impatient: impatient

outspoken/reserved: both

leader/follower: follower

empathetic/unemphatic: empathetic

optimistic/pessimistic: pessimistic

traditional/modern: modern

hard-working/lazy: hard-working

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

otp: Sydney Berlin x Pavel Chekov

ot3: Sydney Berlin x Pavel Chekov x Hikaru Sulu

brotp: Sydney Berlin x Nyota Uhura x Christine Chapel

notp: Sydney Berlin x Montgomery "Scotty" Scott

[kelyon]

Golden Cuffs Chapter 23: The Sun

Rumbelle Dark Castle BDSM AU

They feel safe in the sun (for 8000 words)

Read more on AO3

Trigger warning for Anger, Shouting, Anger-induced beating and mentions of sexy pirates.

A/N: As of now, Golden Cuffs will be posting bi-weekly instead of every week. Still on Fridays and in the evenings, but every other Friday and possibly much later in the evenings. Inbox is always open. TMI TUESDAY IS STILL EVERY WEEK I GET QUESTIONS! Thanks for sticking with me, fam!

Belle was dreaming, she had to be. Nothing she perceived made any sense unless it was a dream.

To start with, she was warm. Technically, she supposed, that wasn’t too outside the realm of possibility. Rumple had been letting her sleep in various beds, in warm rooms with piles of blankets covering her. But she had spent so many nights shivering in the dungeon that it was still strange to emerge out of sleep feeling comfortable.

The sunlight had to be her imagination. All the bedrooms in Rumpelstiltskin’s castle were heavily curtained. All the windows were covered, except for in the tower where he spun and in the dungeons. And the light that washed over Belle now was not the weak, silvery day that filtered in to her cell under the ground. This was a golden glow of warmth that had washed over her slumbering eyelids and permeated into her dreams.

She had to be dreaming. Even if the warmth and the light were real, she had to be dreaming the body lying halfway underneath her. Such a thing was impossible. There was no way that she was sleeping on a chest as it rose and fell with breath. It was impossible to feel the added heat of a person beside her, impossible to hear a calm and steady heartbeat.

With her eyes still closed, Belle draped one arm over the  warm chest, nestled her head into the crook of the neck that she was dreaming. Her legs tangled into legs that couldn’t be there, but she could pretend they were just the same. She could imagine this comfort, this happiness, of being in a bed with a man she wanted. She could enjoy this dream she was having, this dream of love.

She didn’t open her eyes until Rumpelstiltskin began to snore again. Last night she had been exhausted enough to ignore the noise, but now it pulled her out of her blissful slumber. Still staying where she was, Belle blinked awake and looked around.

The sunlight had been real. A glass dome in the ceiling over their heads let in a glorious dawn. Beams of sunshine poured over them, catching motes of dust in the air. It was a warm, strong light, unusual this far into winter. Lying in the sun, Belle felt strangely anointed, like she was being blessed.

Aside from the dome, there were no windows in the room. White plaster walls arched down from the ceiling until they met a section of paneled wood. Last night, Belle had been bound to one of those panels. She grinned at the memory. Last night, she had learned more of Rumple’s body than she had ever known before.

She looked over at him in the bed next to her. His eyes were closed, his face slack. He had fallen asleep after they had coupled, after he had used magic to prolong their activities. He had made himself hard twice in a row, then used his magic to pleasure her over and over.

And then he had collapsed, falling into sleep like a dead man. Belle knew he didn’t normally need to sleep, so this must be the price he paid. She wondered if there would be anything else. How long would he have to sleep before he recovered?  

He was naked under the sheepskin that covered them. He had been naked all last night, and she had been permitted to kiss his body, to know him even if she could not see him or touch him. They had made their bodies one last night, both of them naked and trembling with fear and desire.

It had been wonderful.

Belle nuzzled into him while he slept, enjoying the feeling of his skin against her skin. Her lips brushed against him in soft kisses. If she kept at it, would he wake? Would he want to wake up to her kissing him? Or would he feel it as an attack?

Frowning, she turned her head. He was so cagey about being touched, about being known. She thought she understood why, why he would constantly defend himself. If the Dark One had spent years being feared and hated, he wouldn’t know how to cope with being treated gently.

It hurt Belle to pull away from him, but she knew it was what he would want her to do. It had probably only been an oversight that he hadn’t had the cuffs lock her to the headboard of the bed so she couldn’t move at all. That was the sort of thing he normally did.

She sighed and sat up in the bed. It was a well-made piece of furniture. Solid wood-- probably chestnut. The headboard was clearly old and worn, but it was still sturdy. The mattress crinkled when she moved. Belle put her hand down on the rough canvas that covered the mattress and felt for what was inside.

It was straw.

Every bed she’d slept in since Rumple taken her out of the dungeons had been stuffed with feathers. Her mattress at home had been made of wool. But this bed, the bed in the room Rumpelstiltskin had called the safest room in the castle, was filled with noisy, uncomfortable straw.

Belle’s mind went back to the little room she had found, his son’s room. Everything in that room was like this bed--it had been good once, but it had been worn and used until it was threadbare. Only meticulous repair had prevented the little boy’s clothes from being rags. And the bed Rumpelstiltskin considered safest was the bed of a poor peasant.   

This bed was wide enough to accommodate both of them with room to spare. Belle understood why. This was the only bed that would be in a poor man’s house. Typically, a man and his wife and the children would all sleep together in a bed like this. Anyone else would have a pallet on the floor. That was how the villagers lived in Belle’s town.

Had this been Rumpelstiltskin’s bed? Had it been in the home where he’d lived before had taken up residence in a castle? Had the bed been a gift from his parents? A wedding gift? Had Rumple spent his wedding night in this bed? Had he slept here, in his life before, with the woman he had loved? Had his son been conceived where Belle lay right now? Had the boy been born in this bed?

The image came into her mind, of Rumpelstiltskin in this bed, holding his wife as she held their son. A young woman, exhausted from motherhood but glowing with happiness, content in knowing she was exactly where she wanted to be. A tiny baby in an embroidered nightgown, nursing at his mother’s breast, listening to his father’s voice. A family. All of them feeling safe and comfortable and loved.

Belle pushed herself out of the bed, her heart burning with a pain she didn’t want to name. She stood by the bed and covered her face with her hands. The cuffs brushed against her cheeks when she wiped the tears from her eyes.

No matter how much Rumpelstiltskin gave her, he would never give her that. She would never bear him children, she would never have his love. He valued her, she knew that now. He cared for her. He would treat her well for the rest of her life. But she would always be his whore, his thing. She knew that he could love, that he had loved. But he would never love her. No matter how tenderly he spoke to her, no matter how much of himself he offered her, it would never be the same as the bond he had shared with his wife.

To distract herself from these melancholy thoughts, Belle looked around the room. It was a circle, of no great size, the same shape as the tower. This room seemed to be just large enough to comfortably hold exactly what it held, with no room for any additions and no need for any subtractions. The bed was in the center of the circle, directly under the dome. Different pieces of furniture covered the wooden walls and Belle realized there was no door to this room.

At least, there was no space for a door. Any of the panels could open, she supposed, or there could be some kind of trap door in the floorboards. But she didn’t see any evidence of such a thing. And in this castle of wonders, it was just as easy to believe that this room didn’t have a door, that it could only be entered by magic.

There was a worn farm table along one of the walls, almost as long as the table in the castle’s dining room. But there was only one chair at the table where Belle served Rumpelstiltskin tea, where he beat her or fucked her however the mood struck him. The table in this room had a stool at either end and a long bench on the side.

Belle swallowed and thought again of his family, the meals he would have shared with them at this shabby table. She could imagine Rumple listening patiently as his little boy breathlessly recounted the adventures of his day. She could imagine him catching his wife’s eye over their supper. He would compliment her cooking, and smile at her for no reason other than because he was happy.

Turning away, Belle saw a spinning wheel. It was a smaller wheel than what he spun with in the tower, with an old wooden stool in front of it. Like everything else, the wheel looked battered and worse for wear. It wasn’t a surprise to find a spinning wheel in Rumpelstiltskin’s room. But it did surprise her to see that the wheel was surrounded not by straw, but by piles of fluffy white wool.

As she got closer to the spinning wheel, Belle saw that there was nothing on it but wool. The bobbin was half-full of neatly spun white yarn. There was a bit of fluff coming out of the wheel’s orifice, ready for more wool to be joined to it. Behind the wheel, Belle noticed a spinner’s weasel, a wheel-like device used to stretch out yarn after it was spun.  The yarn wound around the pegs measured almost a whole skein.

This had been a part of Rumpelstiltskin’s life too, hadn’t it? Spinning wool into yarn. How long had he done that before he had learned to make straw into gold? How had a life that was now so magical once been so mundane? What had changed? When had he lost his wife, his son, the home he’d once had that now he had made into a tiny part of his grand castle?

Dizzy with questions, Belle moved on around the room. There was a cupboard standing on its own like a wardrobe. She didn’t open it. Already she was learning more than Rumple would want her to know. There was no need to open doors that were shut, not now.

But the small table that seemed to function as a desk had no closed doors. All of the contents were out in the open for Belle to see. There were stacks of parchment, drawings in brown ink and black charcoal. Carefully, Belle leafed through the images. Most of them were of a baby, and then a child. They were in chronological order, she realized. Belle would be able to watch Rumpelstiltskin’s son grow up on these pages.

He had been a chubby baby, with a shock of curly hair, rendered in black. The artist had drawn him laughing, with bright eyes and dimples. There were many pictures of the baby sleeping--probably the only time he would stay still. The first drawing was of a tiny bundle, no bigger than a loaf of bread.

Belle smiled at a picture of the little boy, perhaps two years old, sleeping while lying on top of his father. Rumplestiltskin’s hair was longer then, and he looked different when depicted in charcoal, but she recognized him by his prominent nose. Father and son were both asleep, both their heads thrown back in the same posture . Did both of them snore? Even in sleep, Rumple’s arms were wrapped around his son. The artist had neglected to draw his hands.

More drawings, the boy growing bigger, laughing less often. The last ink drawing was when he was about six. He had become a thin child, wearing the sorts of ragged clothes Belle had found in the little room. He still had dark and curly hair, but his eyes had become so sad. Too large for his tiny face, the boy’s eyes looked hungry. Perhaps they yearned for food, or perhaps he needed something more. At six years old, Rumpelstiltskin’s son had turned mournful.

Belle was halfway through the stack when the drawings on the parchment changed dramatically. Now they were all a child’s drawings, crude charcoals made on the backs of public notices. This must be the work of the boy himself, drawing as he had watched his parent draw.

Most of the child’s drawings were of animals--sheep and dogs and birds. He had an eye for detail and unusual patience for a little boy. When Belle and Andre had been small, her cousin had no time to sit down to draw the lines in the feathers of a bird’s wing--not while there were games to play with the other boys. Perhaps Rumple’s son hadn’t played with other children. Perhaps he’d had no company but animals.

She found a drawing of the little boy and--Belle smiled--Rumple. The boy had drawn himself with curly dark hair, and his father with a narrow triangle for a nose. It was just the two of them in this picture. Father and son held hands and walked along a road in the forest. They must have been going on a journey, for Rumple held a walking stick in the hand that wasn’t holding the boy.  

The drawings grew more advanced as the boy grew older. People did appear, though none were Rumple or his wife. Belle came upon a picture of a girl, about twelve or thirteen. She was pretty, with lightly-shaded hair and a clever-looking grin. The girl had her hand on her hip and looked steadily out from the drawing. She looked fearless and strong. The boy must have liked her.   

The last drawing must have been the boy himself. He was wearing a cloak over his dark mess of hair. He wasn’t smiling, but Belle couldn’t say that he looked sad either. Determined, perhaps, or resigned. The boy couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old, but his eyes looked out at her, steady and unafraid. His life had been hard, Belle knew, but even at that tender age he had grown strong enough to bear it. He looked at peace with what his life had become. Belle wanted to weep for him.

There were no more drawings after that.

Her heart and mind heavy with thoughts of Rumpelstiltskin and his wife and his son, Belle was ready to go back to the bed and sleep for the rest of the day. But then a golden glint caught her eye. It was on the table, scattered about with all the papers and other objects. At first, she thought the gleam was just a bit of golden thread, nothing unusual, even in this room of Rumpelstiltskin’s castle.

But when she reached for the gold, it felt familiar under her fingertips. It wasn’t a thread, she saw, but a fine chain. The gold was wrapped around the black hilt of a knife that lay casually on the little table, along with a doorknob and a dozen other disorganized objects. Carefully, Belle unwound the chain and picked it up. It was a necklace. Her breath caught in her throat and she didn’t release it until she saw the fragment of unicorn horn and she knew.

It was her necklace.

After all this time, she had it again. This was where he had put it. He had said he would keep it safe, and now she knew it was in the safest room in the castle. Her necklace had been the most precious thing in the world to her, and now she found that Rumple had kept it near the things that were most precious to him.

Tears sprung into her eyes and there was no sorrow in them. Had she been wrong about Rumpelstiltskin? Did he have room for her after all? If he could keep something of hers in the literal space where he kept the memories of his family, would he have a place in his heart for her as well?

Belle clutched the necklace to her chest. This had always been something he didn’t need. It had nothing to do with their deal, with her vow to be his whore. Once, she had thought him cruel for taking it, but now it meant so much to her that he would want it. He had taken her heirloom, her memories of her mother--but he had kept them next to his memories of his son.

She ran the pendant through the chain, just like her mother used to, and then put the necklace back where she had found it. Rumple had stolen it from her, but now she was giving it to him. She trusted him to have it, to keep it safe and never use it to harm her.

Picking up the knife from the table, Belle wrapped her necklace as it had been, around the hilt.

This knife, she realized, didn’t belong with the rest of the room. Calling a blade sharp was, of course, redundant. But there was no other word to describe the knife, to contrast it with the worn and homey objects she had found everywhere else in this safe room. The weapon seemed magical. It shone with newness, but there was something ancient about it, even older than anything else here. When she held it in her hand, the blade felt older than time itself.

There was a ruby on the pommel, red as an ocean of blood. The handle and cross guard were black. The edge of the blade waved as it went down, like no weapon Belle had ever seen before. On both sides, the steel was darkly engraved in an intricate design. Turning it over, Belle saw the name carved on this dagger, Rumpelstiltskin.

“What are you doing?’

His voice was sharp and as loud as the crack of a whip. Belle turned to look at him. She was still holding the knife in both hands when the cuffs pulled her to kneel on the ground. The jerking movement made her drop the knife and it clattered on the wooden floor.

Rumpelstiltskin’s boots marched steadily over to her. He bent at the waist and picked up the knife carefully, looking it over as though Belle might have damaged it.

He had put on clothes, she saw. Scaly black leather and his coat. The Dark One was in fine form.

When he spoke, his voice was dangerously soft, his consonants clipped. He said every word slowly. “What were you doing?”

Belle thought she wasn’t afraid, but her heart still raced in her chest. “I was just looking.”

“If you were just looking I wouldn’t have felt anything. No, dearie, you were touching!”

“Yes,” Belle confessed, her head bowed. “I’m sorry, Rumpelstiltskin. I--I shouldn’t have touched the drawings.”

She couldn’t see his face, but she could tell when his posture changed. No longer a creeping menace, he stood upright, as though startled by something.

“The drawings?” he repeated, in a voice more like what Belle was used to.

“The ones on the table,” she explained. “The ones of your son. That is him, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he whispered. Behind her, Belle heard his footsteps go to the table. She heard the rustle of parchment. For a moment, there was no sound. And then Rumple said, “Is that all you were looking at? Is that all you touched?”

Belle tried to remember all she had done that morning. “I touched my necklace as well,” she said. “And that knife.”

“It’s a dagger,” Rumple said under his breath. “And I suppose you will say it is the least interesting object in this room.”

Belle nodded. “Though now I think it might be important.”

“It is.”  She heard him place the blade down on the table. “Never touch it again.”

The cuffs went warm at his order and Belle stayed locked to the ground. She wanted to ask about her necklace, if she might ever touch that again, but she knew now wasn’t the time. Rumpelstiltskin remained just out of her sight. He wasn’t going to let her get away with this.

“So it seems you’ve learned a lot today, my whore. Are you ready to pay the price for that information?”

Belle nodded. She was suddenly aware of her nakedness, of her back and bottom jutting into the air while she groveled on the floor. Rumple was going to hurt her, but that was alright. She breathed. It really was alright.

The first blow was a solid thwack on her backside. Belle grunted from the shock that was no surprise. This was familiar territory, nothing she couldn’t handle. While she waited for her mind to fog, she tried to guess what he was hitting her with. It was sturdy, but not as heavy as some of the bruising implements he liked to use.

Another blow and she could feel that it was long and thin. A solid thing, not a whip or a crop. A stick perhaps. He hit her again and again and Belle swayed on her knees as she fell into a cloud of trust, that lovely paradoxical bliss that came from pain.   

After a few more strikes, Rumpelstiltskin stopped. Belle heard him breathing heavily.

“Have you learned your lesson?” he panted. “Or do you still want to tempt me?”

Blinking slowly, Belle raised her head and waited for words to come. “What do you mean, Rumple?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

She lay her head back on the floor. “Am I paid up, then?”

“You are,” he breathed. “Unless you want to ask me questions about what you’ve seen today.”

Even in this state, Belle noticed the plural. “How many questions may I ask?”

“As many as you can bear, my dear. I will hurt you, and you will hurt me, until one of us breaks entirely. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

They had never played like that before, never such a clean exchange. Belle would be a fool to pass by such an opportunity.

“A strike for a question? Rumpelstiltskin, we have a deal.”

The noise he made was not the delighted giggle that she might have expected, but a more resigned and bitter sound. “Ask away, then.”

“Were you married to your son’s mother?”

“Yes,” he said, and hit her.

Belle rocked on her knees at the impact, but asked her next question without hesitation. “And it is just the boy, isn’t it? There are no other children?”

“No.” Another hit, this one pulling out a keening whine from Belle’s throat.

“Who made the drawings on the table, the ones of the baby?”

“Millah--” he said quickly and then made a face. Clearly he hadn’t intended to give Belle the woman’s name.

“That’s your wife?”

“Yes.” He hit her twice for the two questions.

“What was she like?”

This time he struck her before he answered. “She was a wild thing, who hated her cage.”

“She was unhappy?”

“Miserable.” The pain landed across Belle’s shoulders and she cried out.

“Why was she so miserable?”

“Because she never loved me!” A rain of blows fell over Belle’s back as he hit her again and again with the stick. Belle screamed and sobbed and pressed her body to the ground, begging for mercy that she knew would never come.

She didn’t know when it stopped, when there was no more new pain, when she realized that the cries she heard were not just her own. Lifting her head off the floor, Belle saw Rumple in front of the bed. His back was to her, but she could see his head bowed in his hands.

Belle heard him weeping.

“Rumple!” she shouted. Belle pulled at the cuffs, her own pain forgotten. “Rumpelstiltskin let me go! Please! Let me go to you!”

The cuffs released her and Belle scrambled to her feet. She ran the short distance to him and threw her arms around his body. Embracing him through his stiff leather coat, she held him as tightly as she could. Belle held her wrists in her hands, keeping her grip by winding her fingers around the cuffs.

Pressed against him she could feel his chest heaving. Something hot fell onto her hands--tears, his tears. After a moment of her embrace, Rumpelstiltskin grabbed at Belle’s hands, clenching them so hard she thought her bones would break.

“I was not a monster then,” his words came between gasps and sobs. “I wanted nothing but her happiness, hers and my son’s. But I had nothing to give her, nothing that she wanted. She came to hate me. And then she left us.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “She left the boy behind?”

In her village, it was a brave woman who had the fortitude to run away from an unhappy life--usually from a husband who was unfaithful or a drunkard or who let his children go hungry. But even those desperate wives would take their children with them. Often, it was only for the sake of the children’s safety that women broke away from their husbands in the first place.

“I had to tell my son that his mother was dead,” Rumple said. “Because that was kinder than the truth.”

“What was the truth?”

His hand gripped tightly into hers. “It is an ugly story, Belle.”

She rested her cheek on the back of his coat. “Tell me.”

She felt him nod. “At the time, I thought she had been kidnapped by pirates. I thought that they had taken her away with plans to make her a bed-slave for the whole crew. I thought that if I tried to fight them they would kill me and leave my son with no one.”

“Oh, Rumple.” Belle rubbed her thumb back and forth against his fingers.

His voice turned bitter. “As it turns out, Millah had not been stolen at all. She had gone away willingly. Eagerly, even. She had seduced the pirate captain and become his second in command. I imagine she spent many happy years on the high seas, enjoying her freedom and her plunder while the husband she left behind raised her son alone.”

She shook her head against the leather on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

He straightened up, his voice brightened. “Well, I got my own back. A few years after I lost my son, I found my wife. I learned the truth of her deception, saw firsthand how deeply she loved her dashing pirate captain.” He gave a dark chuckle. “I ripped out her heart and crushed it while he watched.”

Belle dropped her hands, broke the embrace. “What?”

Rumpelstiltskin spun around, grinning at her with his rotted teeth. “I told you it was an ugly story.”

She stepped away from him, suddenly aware of how dangerous the Dark One was. Her back was on fire, Belle felt the pain now. She would have bruises for weeks. He had hurt her badly, and for no other reason than to satisfy his own black and twisted desires. Had he treated his wife the same way? Was that the cage she had hated? Was that why she had left?

No, Belle told herself. He was not a monster then. And even now, Rumple was not as evil as he seemed. The smiling demon’s face was nothing but a mask he wore to scare people. Even now in the sunlight, he was hiding behind his darkness. He was trying to repulse her, trying to keep her away from him. Trying to protect himself.

Belle had seen him cry. He would not frighten her so easily.

She looked steadily into his glinting eyes. She kept her voice even. “Thank you for being honest with me, Rumple.”

His smile froze for a moment, then withered into an expression of sour defeat. He looked at her, and Belle could sense his mood becoming darker. Good. If he was angry at her and had the courage to show it, then she would face him head-on. At least the emotions that welled up from him now were honest. No matter what bile he unleashed on her, Belle at least knew it was coming from his heart.  

He jerked away from her and paced a sharp circle around the room. His hands clenched into fists and then unclenched over and over. “Why don’t you hate me?” he snarled.

He didn’t touch her. They weren’t playing now, he wouldn’t hurt her. Magic and rage swirled around him, an invisible but indomitable storm.

“How is it possible that you have endured one moment of life with me and not been consumed with contempt and rage?” His head swivelled sharply on his neck in different directions, as though he were having silent conversations with a dozen different people at once. “How can you know me at all and not want to rid the world of me?”

Belle stayed where she was and watched Rumpelstiltskin. In her mind’s eye she saw him as a little boat in a stormy sea, helpless against the winds and rains of his own emotions. But she was a rock, a mountain. She had nothing to fear from his thunder and lightning.

“How?” he snarled. Grabbing her shoulders, he lifted her off the ground and shook her roughly. “What is wrong with you? What kind of woman are you?”

“A better one than her,” Belle said firmly. Her anger was enough to match his. She pulled  out of his grasp and landed on her feet.  She stood on the floor in front of him, resolute, immovable.

Rumpelstiltskin backed away from her slowly, clearly shaken by what was happening.

“I am not that woman and I do not hate you!” She filled the words with passion, with all the conviction she could muster. “I’ve never hated you and I’ve never said I did. Please believe me!”

He looked at her and did not speak. He was trembling, Belle saw, but he kept his eyes on her.

“I do not wish you harm, Rumple.” Her voice broke, just a little. “I don’t know what happened to convince you you were unworthy of--” Her voice choked over the word she wanted to use but couldn’t. “Of human affection, of physical intimacy, of basic friendliness. But all I can tell you is that it isn’t true! You have every right to happiness and safety and--”

For the second time, a word caught in Belle’s throat. A word she couldn’t say to him, even if she tried to show it to him with every action she took of her own will. “You deserve to be a person, Rumpelstiltskin. You don’t need to think of yourself as a monster.”  

She was crying now, overcome by emotion. Belle closed her eyes as she stood and let her tears fall to the ground.

His arms wrapped around her body, and he held her. She let herself melt into the embrace, sobbing into his chest. Rumpelstiltskin comforted her, while she cried for his sake.

“Thank you,” he whispered as he rubbed her back. “Thank you, Belle.”

She cried for a long time, like a soft and steady rain. She felt the weight of all she had learned about Rumple today, a lifetime of pain and loss experienced in the space of a few hours. It was so much to take in. No wonder Rumple--who had lived this tragedy--found it easier to shut it all away. It was safer not to feel anything.

Eventually, Belle sniffed and wiped her eyes. When she looked at Rumple, he was giving her a cautious smile.

“Are you hungry?” he said softly. “I’m famished.”

He wanted to eat? She had never seen him hungry before. Stunned and curious, Belle went with him to the table.

When she looked at the farm table, she almost started crying again. Apparently the meals eaten here had not been as loving as she had imagined. Her mind’s eye was filled with images of Rumple and his wife silent over their dinners--each with nothing to say to the person they no longer loved. Or Rumple and his son, alone but for each other. And then Rumple by himself, thinking he had earned that fate.

Without thinking about it, Belle knelt on the ground by the stool at the head of the table. That was the place she was used to, when he took tea in the dining room. As she knelt, she heard Rumple’s footsteps stop abruptly. She turned to look at him, saw him staring at her.  

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she realized. “I should serve you, shouldn’t I?” Belle stood up and began to look around. Perhaps there was a cupboard here like the one in the dining room.

“Stop,” Rumple said gently. “I don’t want you to serve me, not here. Not like that.”

“Oh,” Belle said, sinking to her knees again.

“It was a good idea, though. A good instinct.” He touched her hair as he sat down on the stool. “Would you like a tray, or shall I feed you from my hands?”

“Feed me, please, Rumple. Whatever you want to give me.”

It didn’t surprise her to find that in this room Rumpelstiltskin had very simple tastes. He fed her bites of hearty brown bread, each piece heavy with fresh butter. He passed down bits of yellow cheese--sheep cheese, if Belle guessed correctly--and slices of a soft green pear. Peasant food, all of it. Poor man’s food, but he seemed to enjoy it. Above her head, Belle heard him chewing, heard the smack of his lips as he sucked up the juicy pear. He fed her from his hand, and she kissed his fingers with every bite.

“I want to stay here,” he said when they both had eaten their fill. “For a little longer.”

Under the table, Belle leaned against his legs. “You said this room was safe.”

“It is,” he murmured. “This is the place where I allow myself to remember.”

She rested her head on his knee. “I hope there are good memories.”

Rumpelstiltskin touched her face, lifted her chin up to look at him. “There are many good memories in this room, though all are tinged with loss. Memories of my son, of my wife before it all went wrong. Someday I will come to this room and remember you, Belle.”

He seemed so sad to say it, and so sure that it would happen, that he would lose her. She supposed he would, eventually. Over time, she would grow old, then she would die while he lived on. How old was Rumpelstiltskin? How long had it been since he had been a husband and father? How many years--or decades or centuries--had he been alone?

“Will you remember last night?” Belle tried to fix her thoughts on more recent events.

“Oh yes,” he said. Then Rumple stood up and did something Belle had never seen him do before.

He took off his coat.

As he did most other things, Rumpelstiltskin undressed with fluid grace. He shrugged the scaled leather off his shoulders, caught the garment in one hand, and folded it neatly on the table.

He looked at Belle and offered his hand to help her stand up. “Last night was very good,” he said. “But I think we can make this evening even better.”

Belle licked her lips, her eyes darting to the thin silk of his shirt, the informal cravat at his neck. His tight leather trousers. “Do you think so, Rumple?”

“If you want to,” he said quickly. “If you can--”

“Yes.” She cut him off, silencing any words that would cast a pall over her desire for him. “I want to.”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed. “Your hands are free,” he said with a showy wave. “I am at your disposal, madam.”

She looked him over again. His whole body was tense as a bowstring. She kept her voice soft, gentle.  “May I undress you, Rumple?”

He gave her a tight nod.

“And you’ll tell me if I ought to stop?”

“You wear my cuffs, woman. I will make you stop when I want you to.”

Belle giggled at his ire. “Yes, Rumpelstiltskin.” She stepped closer to him. “You can make me do anything.”

As she undid the loose knot of his cravat, Belle felt his pulse pounding under her fingers. She removed the fabric and set it beside his coat on the table. She walked briefly away from him, and it gave them both a moment to breathe.

“May I kiss your neck, Rumpelstiltskin?” she asked when she faced him again.

He swallowed. The lump in his throat bobbed visibly. “You may.”

She did. Like last night, he was warm under her lips. His heartbeat thudded but his breath was steady. In the late afternoon light, she could admire the mottled green of his skin, the delicate golden flecks on the surface of him. She kissed the hollow of his collarbone and he sighed.

His waistcoat laced on either side, and Belle lifted up his arms to loosen the bindings. He breathed deeply when she removed the stiff leather. Belle remembered the formal corset she’d had to wear underneath her golden gown, back home on those times when she’d had to act the role of a lady. The garment had improved her figure and made her feel taller, made her feel like she was wearing a suit of armor--but it was always a relief to take it off and be her natural self.

She touched Rumpelstiltskin over his shirt. His flesh was hot, perspiring under her hands. Slowly, she pulled the hem of his shirt out of the waistband of his breeches. He kept his eyes closed, his face unmoving and unreadable.

“We’re running out of layers,” she said. “Should I take off your shirt or unlace your trousers? Or I could take off your boots?”

His eyes opened suddenly, as though a horrifying thought had just sprung into his mind. “Shirt,” he rasped. “Y-you should take off my shirt.”

“Thank you, Rumple.” Belle was almost cooing, her voice was so soft. He stretched his arms forward and Belle pulled the silk over his head. When they were done Rumple stood in front of her, bare-chested and glorious.

He was so small. Bigger than she was, but skinny for a man. He looked weak, even though she knew he wasn’t. Perhaps he felt weak too. Belle’s mind went to Millah, the woman who had left him to seduce a pirate. Did Rumple think women found a burlier body more desirable?

Belle put her hands on his chest, felt the lean muscles in his shoulders, the hungry bones at his collar. Her pink fingers splayed out along his green-gray skin. His nipples were darker than the rest of him, forest green, budding like new leaves about to come to life. Belle touched him, and he didn’t stop her. She cupped his cheek in her palm and trailed her hand down his neck and over his abdomen. She wrapped both hands around his waist and encircled him in her arms.

“It’s not much,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “But it’s the only body I’ve got.”

“I like it,” Belle said. “I’d like to see more of it.”

He nodded. With an air of gracious defeat, he gestured to his trousers.

There was a familiar bulge underneath the leather. Belle couldn’t help but grin to see it, to touch that hardness as she slipped the laces out of their eyelets. For all Rumple hated being naked and vulnerable in front of her, at least one part of him enjoyed it too.

Belle pressed her legs together, aware of how much she also enjoyed what they were doing. She thrilled  to see him, to know his body, to feel his reactions to her actions. So often when he took her, it was for his benefit. Even her pleasure was something he wanted and he coaxed out of her body. But this way, maybe, pleasure could be something they could share. Something they could do together.

As soon as she pulled the leather trousers down from his groin, Rumple’s cock sprang up like a startled pheasant. Belle smiled when she saw it, feeling like she was greeting an old friend. It bounced up to touch his stomach, and Belle noticed that the skin of his lower abdomen grew more golden in color the closer it got to his groin. The coloration drew attention to that area, made everything stand out. The sack she had discovered last night hung loosely below his rigid manhood, a bronze-brown shadow underneath the gold.

Like his nipples, his cock was darker than the rest of his body--a lush brown-green. The tip of it, where his seed came out, was a different color, more green-gold. Her mouth watered to finally see this mysterious thing that had so dominated her days and nights.

His cock always felt so massive when it was inside her, but when she looked at it, it was only a little larger than her hand. How had she had so much trouble fitting this lovely thing inside her mouth? Had she just been intimidated? Perhaps it would be easier, now that she could see what she was working with.  

“May I touch here, Rumple?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, Belle. You may touch me.”

She placed her hand on his stomach and slowly moved down to stroke the tight curls that surrounded his cock. Their eyes met, and he looked at her in wonder as she traced over his hips, touching the places where his groin met his legs. She reached out to touch his back and felt the pronounced curve a very round bottom. Could men have backsides like that, so shapely and well-formed? She resolved to learn more about that later. For now, Belle’s hands rubbed gentle circles all around his lower half, gradually making the circles smaller as she came closer to her target.

“You’re teasing me,” he whispered.

“I’m getting to know you,” she countered. “All of you, not just the pleasurable bits.”

Rumple groaned. “I want to order you,” he said through gritted teeth.

Lightly, she ran her fingers over his cock. “Order me to stop?”

“Order you to fondle my balls and ready your throat for my cock. Fuck!” He said it all in one breath, his teeth clenched, his hands balled into fists pressed at his sides.

Belle’s hand gently cupped the fleshy sack between his legs. Her fingers grazed over the strange, soft parts of him, so vulnerable, but so easily pleasured. She kept her gaze on his body. “We can do that.”

He grunted a refusal. “When you’re done with all of this, I want to go to the bed again. I want you to get on top of me. I want you to ride me, Belle. Ride my cock and take everything you want from me.”

Belle swallowed. She felt herself grow wetter at his words. “Promise me one thing, Rumple. Promise me that I will see you naked again.”

He gave out a breathy laugh. “If that’s what you want, sweet girl.”

Belle turned her attention from the sight of her pale fingers wrapped around his dark cock and looked up at his face. “It is,” she said. “May we go to the bed now?”

Without a word, Rumple picked her up and carried her to his bed, magicking away his boots and trousers as he walked. They fell on the bed together, and Rumple kissed her, slowly and deeply.

“You are wonderful, my Belle. You deserve to get everything good in the world.”

She threw her arms around his back, holding him to her. “I don’t care about getting what I deserve as long as I get what I want.”

His eyes searched her face. “And what is that?”

“You.” She kissed him. Rumple let her control the kiss, but moved them both so that he was lying underneath her. His cock pressed up in the space between them, hard and inviting, reaching out to her. Belle rubbed her slick folds along the shaft and let him feel her need.

“Fuck,” Rumple whispered. “Will you open your cunt, Belle?”

“Will you do it for me? Will you put your cock inside me, Rumple?” She wanted to touch her, wanted him to carry the smell of her pleasure on his fingers.

“If you sit up, my sweet. If you get on your knees and straddle me.”

Belle did as he said, kneeling astride his body while he lay flat on the bed. She closed her eyes as he filled her. When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her in lust-struck awe.

“You are even more beautiful in daylight.”

“So are you.” Her hips rocked over his cock as she controlled how deeply he went in to her. “In the sun, your skin looks gold.”  

They took their time. Rumple coaxed and praised Belle as she learned how to pleasure them both in this new position. He fingered her, and she came around his cock, the joys of her body fitting neatly with the desires of his. She touched his face, while he was inside her, grabbed at his arms when a wave of pleasure overtook her. She rubbed his nipples and he swore and laughed. He took her breasts in his hands and made her clench until she nearly came again and only stopped when she begged for mercy. Then he made her come again anyway.

It was a slow, gentle pleasure they pursued. Even Rumplestiltskin’s orgasm was easy, almost lazy. He pulsed into her with a shudder and then pulled Belle down to lay beside him. He held her to his skin. Their sweat mingled on their pressed foreheads, even as their fluids mixed between their legs. They breathed together, both of them exhausted and both of them sated.

“By the way,” Rumple when they had recovered. “I owe you an apology, for that tantrum after we were done with the game. It wasn’t… That’s not the way I want to act around you. I’m sorry.”

Belle nuzzled into his shoulder. “You were upset.”

“That doesn’t give me licence to shout at you.”

“I shouted right back.”

He squeezed her and kissed her forehead. “I’m glad you did. But I must pay you for the harm I did to you. Is it possible you want anything other than a question?”

Belle giggled. “I still have too many questions about you to accept any other reward.”

“Alright,” he conceded. “But make it a good one. Don’t ask me what the weather’s going to be tomorrow. Ask me something that hurts.”

She didn’t want to hurt him, she never did. But she understood how his internal ledgers had to balance. He was inviting her to ask him an important question. And he would answer it, no matter what.

Belle took a deep breath. “What was your son’s name?”

For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin was silent. But as the winter sun sank from the glass dome overhead and left them in a murky twilight, he answered:

“Baelfire.”

[woobienation]

Hi it's Santa again! *wields fire extinguisher* We're having a little trouble making a story happen here, once the smoke clears out I may have to try something different, but something is happening at least! On that note, I hope you're having a pleasant December so far!

Santa! You should keep any false starts you have and then include a story "blooper reel" at the end. ;) Spinner!Rum needs rescuing from the library's Basement Dragon (again)! Spinner!Rum walks into a bar and finds himself babysitting an overserved Belle who has some wisdom *hic* to share about love and life. Spinner!Rum gets work as Gaston's tailor and is stuck stitching up seam after seam because Gaston keeps busting them while showing off his SUPER-FLEX to an utterly unimpressed Belle! (But she keeps hanging around because of the shy, yummy tailor.)

Wherever your inspiration ultimately takes you, I'll be so delighted and grateful. December has been wonderful so far. \(◦'⌣'◦)/

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Building and Rebuilding

Summary: Rumpelstiltskin finds a young woman by the side of the road on his way home from the market. She has no memory of who she is or where she’s come from, but it’s obvious that she’s a noblewoman, and even as he takes her home to care for her, he knows she will not be able to stay. Or will she?

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling September moodboard prompt, available here.

Rated: T

Building and Rebuilding

Ever since he had first found her in the forest, Rumpelstiltskin knew that this day would come. He had known that Belle would not be able to stay with them forever, even if she did not know it herself at the time. 

It had been a perfectly normal day. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The reports from the front lines of the ogre wars were becoming ever bleaker. More and more towns and villages were falling in the path of the brutes, and everyone in the Frontlands was becoming increasingly nervous that the war would come to them much sooner than anticipated.

For his own part, Rumpelstiltskin was mainly concerned about the constantly lowering age of conscription. Bae was only eleven, still too young to be drafted and dragged away, but within the past six months the age had already lowered from twenty-one, down to nineteen, down to eighteen, and now down to seventeen. How long would it be before the soldiers were taking babes in arms to use as fodder for the ogres?

The straggling lines of refugees moving through the Frontlands on the main roads had been an ever-present sight ever since the wars had begun, but now not a day went by when caravans were not seen. 

Rumpelstiltskin’s heart always went out to those he saw. These were people who had lost everything to the war, their only possessions the things that they could carry on their backs or in the few carts that they had managed to salvage from the ogres’ destruction. Although he had lost so much as a result of the war, at least he still had his home, and his income from spinning, and above all, he still had Bae. He dreaded to think how many of the refugees on the road had lost loved ones. 

For the most part they kept their heads down, trudging towards a destination that they did not yet know what it was. They still had enough pride not to beg for provisions or shelter, perhaps knowing that the villages they were passing through had been hit hard by the crops being razed, but whenever Rumpelstiltskin had offered them what little he could when he passed them on the roads on his way to the market, he had been accepted gratefully. 

It was on one of these market excursions that he had found her. The night had long since fallen and the roads were quiet, but far from empty. He wouldn’t even have noticed her if he hadn’t had to jump into the hedgerow to avoid being run down by a war waggon thundering along, taking supplies and fresh soldiers to the front lines as fast as it could go. He had tripped over her, literally, lying in the ditch at the side of the road. 

Although she was battered and bruised and covered in mud and twigs, Rumpelstiltskin could see from the quality of her clothing that she was a high-born lady, and he wondered how she had come to be by the side of the road. There was a bloody gash on the side of her head where she had fallen, and she groaned as she came round. 

“Can you move?” There wasn’t a lot of point in asking her if she was hurt; that was obvious. Rumpelstiltskin wondered what had happened to her; if she was one of the people who had been displaced due to the war, or if she was here by happenstance.

Either way, some great misfortune had befallen her. Perhaps she’d been set upon by the desperate bandits who sometimes frequented the woods, looking to make loot from her jewels and silks. She had no possessions with her, as far as Rumpelstiltskin could see, and she certainly wore no adornments. 

The woman moved her arms and legs gingerly, then nodded.

“Yes. Thank you.” 

He helped her to her feet, not an easy task considering his own imperfect balance, but once they were both upright, he led her back onto the road towards his village. It wouldn’t do for anyone who was unfamiliar to the area to be out alone at night, let alone a lady, but Rumpelstiltskin didn’t know the proper protocols for inviting her back to his home. 

“What happened? Is there somewhere I can escort you?”

“I… I don’t know. I can’t remember…”

It was at that point that Rumpelstiltskin decided that it was probably best to leave the proper protocols for dealing with accosted ladies and get her back to his home as quickly as possible. 

Her name was Belle, and she could vaguely recall her home being attacked by the ogres, but where that home was and who her people were, that had all fled from her memory when she had been injured. She remembered vague impressions of running, of someone calling her name - and then the next moment she was lying in a ditch with Rumpelstiltskin worrying over her. 

Bae was instantly smitten with her, and immediately started thinking up all sorts of wonderful and overly romantic stories in which Rumpelstiltskin had saved her from a band of at least twenty-seven ruffians, and now, naturally, they were going to fall in love and live happily ever after. 

Belle just laughed at the suggestion, even as a mortified Rumpelstiltskin shepherded his son off to bed. 

“Is there nothing you remember of your identity?” he asked once Bae was safely asleep and in no more danger of interfering. 

Belle shook her head, but then stopped, her brow furrowing as she brought a hand to her throat. Beneath the collar of her dress, there was a worn leather string, and she pulled it out to show an old gold signet ring. 

“I suppose there’s this,” she said. “The picture looks familiar, but I don’t know what it means.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked at the image, a stag beneath a fruit tree. He was sure that he had seen it somewhere before, but coats of arms and official seals weren’t something that peasants like him had much call to recognise.

“Well, maybe more will come back to you once you heal.”

Belle nodded, touching the bandage around her head. “Thank you for everything that you’ve done for me. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for your kindness.”

Rumpelstiltskin just shrugged. “I’m just doing what every decent person would do.”

“Yes, well…” Belle’s face darkened. “Maybe there aren’t too many decent people around these days.”

Despite her bruises, her smile, when she turned it on him, was still the most beautiful thing that Rumpelstiltskin had ever seen, and although he would not change his actions for the world had he had the chance to go back and do it all over again, he began to think that maybe he had made a terrible mistake in bringing Belle home.

X

So yes, Rumpelstiltskin had known from the first moment that he had met Belle and she had come to stay with them that she would not be around forever. People would miss someone like Belle, and not in the sense that Rumpelstiltskin would miss her when she inevitably left to go back to her own people. Her absence would be noticed, and people would come looking for her. 

That had indeed now happened. After almost four months of the modest domestic life that the three of them had settled into, flashes of Belle’s memory returning in dribs and drabs but never enough to full identify her, the news started to trickle in along the trading roads. The duke and duchess of the Marchlands were searching high and low for their lost daughter Isabelle, who had been separated from them as they fled their castle under ogre attack. Lady Colette had refused to give her up for dead, and now they were travelling throughout the kingdom, looking for her. 

Several imposters had been offered up, all to no avail since the family had not been apart long enough for the duke and duchess to have completely forgotten what she looked like. 

If Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t already suspected Belle’s identity when this news started to arrive, then the official proclamation that appeared in the market square sealed the deal.

Quite literally, in fact. The Marchlands duchy seal was unmistakable. A stag beneath a fruit tree.

It was the same symbol on the worn signet ring that hung around Belle’s neck. 

He looked back to where Belle and Bae were sitting with the barrow of spun yarn they were hoping to sell, and he watched them for a moment. Belle had slipped into their lives so easily; although she did not have any knowledge of peasant life, she had been happy to learn and had taken to it like a duck to water, never once pining for a finer life that she could occasionally half-remember like a dream. 

It would be sad to lose her, for both him and Bae; Rumpelstiltskin had grown so fond of her over the past couple of months that he couldn’t imagine going back to the lonely life that they’d had before. Belle had brought additional happiness into their home with her very presence, and he didn’t want to lose that. 

Perhaps there was the possibility of gaining a few more days or weeks, if he could keep her from seeing this notice and the link to her ring, but Rumpelstiltskin shook his head at the idea.

Belle needed to get back to her own family; although she seemed happy in this life that they had shared for the past weeks, this wasn’t her life. She was a lady, not a peasant, and she belonged with her own people. Her parents were anxious to have her back safely, and had Belle remembered who her parents were, then she would no doubt be anxious to get back to them.

It would be selfish to try and keep him with her for longer than he was entitled to her presence. After all, maybe a reunion would be what it would take to bring Belle’s memories back. He knew how frustrated she was at not knowing anything about herself and her life prior to the accident. 

No, he was going to have to let her go. It was the best way, for everyone.

“Belle.”

She looked up on hearing him call, giving him her brilliant smile once more, and he beckoned her over to where he was looking at the proclamation.

“What is it, Rumpel?”

“I think I may have found your family.”

Belle stared at the paper pinned up on the tree, and she touched the front of her dress where the ring sat beneath.

“Do you really think that could be me?” she asked. 

“I would say that the evidence is fairly solid.”

“Oh.” 

For a long time, Belle just stared at the notice, but it was clear that her eyes were looking straight through it as she toyed with the ring, a little furrow forming between her brows. 

“I guess I should probably go and see them,” she said eventually, but she sounded about as enthusiastic about the entire thing as Rumpelstiltskin felt. It struck a note with him, and he ventured to probe a little further.

“You don’t sound very happy.”

“Well, I’m not unhappy.” Belle sighed. “I just don’t remember. I should be excited about finding my family and getting back to them, but I can’t remember anything about them. Did I have a loving relationship with my parents, or was it distant and cold? It’s not like I would be going back to live in the lap of luxury that I’d probably been accustomed to - the Marchlands have been razed and the people displaced. I’d be no better off than I am now. And…”

A little blush began to rise in her cheeks, and she trailed off, looking away.

“Belle?”

“This feels like home,” Belle admitted, finally looking Rumpelstiltskin in the eye. “Here, with you and Bae. You’ve been so good to me, taking me in when you knew nothing about me and sharing your home and your food and your lives with someone you didn’t owe anything to. And I know it would be selfish for me to stay when there’s someone else out there looking for me and I have a proper place in the world; I shouldn’t prevail upon your hospitality any further, but… I like the life that I’ve been building here, and the things I’ve been learning. It feels like something that’s completely mine. And then there’s you and Bae… I’ve grown so fond of you both, and I don’t want to just up and leave you for some people I don’t even remember.”

Rumpelstiltskin was silent for a long time, digesting what Belle had just said. Whilst he had been wanting to keep her near him, he had never entertained the notion that she might actually want to stay. 

“You know, you don’t have to go,” he said softly. “You’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you like.”

Belle smiled. “Thank you, Rumpel. That means so much to me, and I would love to stay with you for as long as I can. But if these people really are my parents and they’re really looking for me, then I think I owe it to them to at least let them know that I’m still alive and I haven’t been trampled by ogres. But…” The furrow came back into her brows, but this time it was one of deep thought rather than sorrow. “Maybe there’s a way after all.”

Everything happened rather quickly after that. Rumpelstiltskin and Bae escorted Belle to the tavern where the duke and duchess of the Marchlands were lodging, waiting outside whilst Belle went in to see them. The minutes stretched on into what felt like hours, although Rumpelstiltskin knew that it couldn’t be that long. Presently, Bae tugged on his hand.

“Papa?”

“Yes, Bae?”

“Does this mean that Belle’s going to leave us?”

Rumpelstiltskin looked back at the tavern door. Belle had thought that another way was possible, but he couldn’t see it himself.

“It’s likely, Bae. I mean, we’ve always known that she has her own family somewhere out there. She couldn’t stay with us forever, you know that.”

“Yes.” Bae heaved a long sigh that made him sound far older than his years. “It’s not fair. She was part of our family. This new family can’t just come and take her away like that.”

“Sadly, the world works like that, sometimes., Bae.”

His son folded his arms with a huff. “Well, it shouldn’t.”

Despite feeling the same way himself, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t help but laugh at Bae’s indignation, and he was still chuckling when Belle emerged from the tavern. She came over to them slowly, walking almost as if she was in a dream, and the little frown line was back between her brows. 

“Is everything all right?”

Belle nodded slowly. “I’m definitely their daughter,” she said, “but I still don’t remember them. I guess I was hoping for a magical moment like in books, where I’d see my mother and everything would suddenly fall into place, and I’d have all my memories again and the world would be instantly set to rights with fairy magic or some other such nonsense.” She shook her head. “I suppose it will come with time, but right now, they still feel like strangers to me.” She smiled at Rumpelstiltskin. “You’re not a stranger, though. You’re familiar. I feel safe with you. And… if you’ll have me… I’d like to continue feeling safe with you.”

Rumpelstiltskin took a few moments to make sure he had really heard her correctly, and even then, he did not entirely believe his ears. 

“Are you sure? Surely your parents would want you to go home with them.”

Belle glanced back at the tavern. “This is their home, for now. Like I said before, the Marchlands where I grew up and lived with them have been flattened. There’s no home left there. So doesn’t it make more sense for me to stay in the home I’ve been building with you?”

Words failed him. He’d hardly dared to hope before, and he didn’t want to dare now. He thought that he knew Belle well enough to be able to trust that she was not playing some sort of trick on him. 

“Rumpel?” Her soft hand - not as soft as it had once been after weeks of hard housework, but still like velvet to Rumpelstiltskin’s skin - touched his cheek. “All of the Marchlanders need to make a new home for now, and I might as well make mine here. Maybe my memories will come back in time, but that won’t negate anything that’s happened since I lost them. It won’t change any of the wonderful new memories I’ve made.”

Rumpelstiltskin chanced to take her hand. “Are you sure about this, Belle?”

Her laugh was bright and musical. “How many times are you going to have to ask me that before you’re convinced? Yes. My home is here now. Whatever home I might remember from before is gone. My parents are here, and they know I’m safe, and we’re close enough that I can get to know them again. I know that things would be different and far more difficult if my previous home was still standing. And I’m not going to pretend that things might get complicated if they decide to go back and rebuild in the Marchlands. But if there’s one thing that these past months have taught me, that you have taught me, Rumpel, it’s that I’m my own person, and no one decides my fate but me.”

If Rumpelstiltskin was stunned by her speech, then he was even more stunned when she pressed her lips against his cheek. He must have looked a complete sight, as Belle burst into giggles when she pulled away.

“I think I broke your father, Bae.”

Bae waved away her concerns. “He’ll be fine. I don’t think a pretty lady’s ever kissed him before. So, does this mean that you’re coming home with us after all, Belle?”

Belle nodded. “Yes. If you’d like that, of course.”

“Yes!” Bae gave a hoot of victory. “Come on, Papa. Let’s go home.”

He took Belle by the hand, dragging her along towards the road that led back to their village. Belle looked back at him, holding out her other hand, and Rumpelstiltskin took it. 

He did not know what might happen in the future, but for the present, Belle was content to stay with him, and he would count that as an infinite blessing. And who knew? Maybe the life that she was building with him could turn into a life that they would build together. 

[emospritelet]

Desperation!Gold, might you like to spend a few evenings - when you're feeling better, of course, teaching Belle to crochet, or to weave?

Of course. I’d be happy to teach her, if she wanted to learn. It was nice to have someone other than Bae show an interest