February12th marks Skin Deep's original air date, the Birth of Rumbelle. To celebrate our favorite wizard and his maid and the awesome fandom, we party hard! With a Fluffapalooza! Happy endings guaranteed. May we all die of cute.
The High Holy Day for Rumbellers is…. Today! February 12th, Skin Deep Day, also known as Fluffapalooza! Celebrating all things wonderful, light and happy, Rumbellers across… realms put forth their creative efforts to honor the spirit of the day with Fic unparalleled.
In the category of Best Fluffapalooza Fic, the winner of the 2026 Chipped Cup Award is…
Each year, since the inception of first The Espenson Awards, and now The Chipped Cup Awards, the fandom has been called upon to select an author who has made a meaningful contribution to the collected body of fic that have engaged and delighted readers throughout the year. Each of our veteran author nominees deserve to be recognized and celebrated for their dedication, and for continuing to entertain with their outstanding body of works. Congratulations!
The Rumbelle fandom’s choice in the category of Best Author, and the winner of the 2026 Chipped Cup Award is…
It is difficult to estimate how many Rumbelle fics there are posted across the many platforms where readers can enjoy the drama, the romance, the angst and the joy that goes to make up the body of works that is Rumbelle. Harder still to select just one to represent the book with the dustiest jacket, and the cup that it chipped. Each of the fics nominated deserves the highest of kudos, and their authors the recognition and celebration for giving the fandom such outstanding fics showing the romance between Belle and Rumplestiltskin, or any of their alternate identities.. Congratulations go to all the nominees!
The Rumbelle fandom’s choice in the category of Best Rumbelle Fic, and the winner of the 2026 Chipped Cup Award is…
Nine rings were made for men. Seven for the dwarves, three for the elves, and one for the big guy himself. One, three, seven, nine. There is but a set of five missing to complete the sequence of odd numbers. I propose that this missing set of rings of power was gifted to a mysterious someone by their true love, along with a partridge in a pear tree (among other things). In this essay I will-
Summary: Mr. Gold rents his shop out for a magazine photoshoot.
HAPPY FLUFFAPALOOZA 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉
Read on AO3
——————————
The request itself shocked Gold so much, he had been inclined to listen. A photoshoot in his pawn shop? Among the cluttered trinkets pawned by people desperate for cash or a favor? And no one batted an eye at his outrageous price?
Gold was, first and foremost, a businessman. How could he refuse such an influx of cash? If some artist wanted to blow his trust fund on one photoshoot, that was his own problem.
So Gold had done some tidying, some dusting, removed things that he’d rather not advertise and arranged his more beautiful merchandise to be in view, and hadn’t thought for any extra time about why they might have said they didn’t need his back room as a staging area.
The reason, he discovered on the day, was because they had brought their own trailer.
It parked out front, and then a truck full of lights and screens and people, and Gold thought, for the first time, that this is what it felt like to not fully understand the gaps in a contract.
Happy Skin Deep Day! Crazy to believe it's been fourteen years! Here's to another fourteen. Here's my contribution to Fluffapalooza '26!
Summary: Mr. Gold receives a second chance on Valentine's Day in a cursed Storybrooke. Will he be able to use it to his advantage to secure his happy ending?
Word count: 5163
Also on AO3, as jeanielovesfangirling
A trilling alarm pierced the silence of the early morning. Mr. Gold groaned as he rolled over to shut it off – he really should get an alarm that was less grating on his nerves. He slowly sits up, his left leg aching worse than normal. His bed, while comfy – wait. His bed?
Yesterday, Mr. Gold had gone to sleep in a jail cell, courtesy of Miss Swan’s impediment of his vigilante justice. It was illogical – impossible – for him to be in his Victorian manor, free as the north wind. He was sure it wasn’t a dream; everything had been too vivid, even for his seeing.
Surveying the room, Mr. Gold found nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was as it should be. Grabbing his cane, he began his morning routine. In the half hour it took him to get ready, nothing had happened. It was strange – he was half expecting the sheriff to come busting down his door (not unlike her charming father).
He debated staying at the house to avoid the public eye, but his curiosity got better of him. He put on the sly pawnbroker’s guise and confidently made his way to the Cadillac and drove into town. No one stopped him, no one stared, no one did anything. Peculiar.
He opened the shop and waited for something to happen. Storybrooke was slow, yes, but the curse was starting to crack, and Miss Swan was making waves. Regina was surely panicking about that. It’d been unfortunate that he had to tell her, but everything comes with a price.
Speak of the devil. Regina Mills walked into the pawnshop, haughty, and self-righteous. “What can I do for you, Madam Mayor?” Mr. Gold’s eyes gleaned, waiting to see what the queen wanted. Their game of cat and mouse had escalated – what was going to be her first move now that she knew that he knew his true name?
"I came by to ask about the burglar that broke into your home. How unfortunate that a thief has found themselves at work in Storybrooke, no? I think the sheriff department should have been more proactive and prepared for such incidents.”
That gave Mr. Gold a pause. Regina came into the shop yesterday to say the same thing. She’d tried to get a rise out of him, to reveal information. It didn’t work. But why is she asking again? It seems rather dull for Regina. And why was she wearing the same grey pantsuit as yesterday? In the 28 years of the curse, she’d never repeated an outfit. Something strange was going on. So, he responded the same way as yesterday. “It was rather unfortunate, yes.”
Regina gave no indication that they had this very conversation already. “I heard that all your items were recovered at least, right?” Her eyes gleam with predatory satisfaction.
Mr. Gold was very suspicious of the whole scenario. Nothing was making any sense whatsoever. He wasn’t going to let Regina have the upper hand, though. Not this time. “Yes, everything was recovered in a timely manner,” he said, smirking. “Miss Swan was quite efficient in her recovery of my things. Did you know it was Moe French?” Bile rose in his throat as he said the name, but he acted like nothing had happened.
Regina’s seemed to shrink back, and her eyes wavered in confusion. She quickly recovered, her smarmy politician smile gracing her features. “How fortunate! Though, I never would have suspected Mr. French capable of such a crime.”
"Desperation causes many unsuspecting criminals, dearie.”
Regina nodded awkwardly before retreating to the door. The conversation had not gone as she had planned. “Goodbye, Mr. Gold.”
The bell rang out in the store as Mr. Gold thought about everything that had occurred. Regina did not remember anything from yesterday – he was certain of it. But that left more questions than answers. He wasn’t sure what was going on. But he was starting to wonder if the right question was when was he?
.....
Granny’s Diner had never been Mr. Gold’s favorite establishment in Storybrooke. The food was mediocre and the gossip mill was infamous. But it would help him establish what day of the week it was. Something strange was going on, but Granny’s specials ran on a tighter schedule than the clock tower. Each day of the week had its own specialty. No matter what week, Wednesdays are always spaghetti and meatballs.
Upon opening the diner door, Mr. Gold’s eyes narrowed on the chalk sign. It read, “Taco Tuesday Special” and “Valentine’s Veal.”
Damn.
Somehow, he’d traveled back in time to yesterday. Or rather, today.
He’d somehow retained him memory, but no one else did. Otherwise, Emma would have tracked him down and arrested him again. And Regina wouldn’t have been flaunting that he didn’t receive all his items back from the sheriff... Mr. Gold nearly swore in the diner. Regina still had his chipped cup in that infernal purse of hers.
“Mr. Gold?” Ruby Lucas asked, hands on her hips. “Are you ordering anything or just going to glower the whole day?”
Mr. Gold snapped out of his thoughts to answer her. “I’ll have coffee. Black. To go.” Ruby rolled her eyes but went to fill the order, leaving Gold to think alone.
......
Gold sat in his car outside the sheriff’s station, nursing his coffee. His plan was simple – question Moe French about the incident in exchange for dropping charges. He wanted to know why Regina put him up to it. It seemed to be too much of a coincidence for his liking.
Why would Regina wager so much on his sentimentality? Sure, he loved – loves –Belle, but his heart was notoriously black. A young woman dead for thirty years was a strange thing to dreg up to the surface.
As he walked into the station, he was greeted by Miss Swan’s verbal lashing. “Gold! What are you doing here? I got all your stuff back. Just leave me alone for five minutes?”
He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. “I’m just here to talk to the thief, dearie,” he nods towards Moe French’s cell, “Preferably alone?”
"You want me to leave you alone with the prisoner? I don’t trust that, Gold.” Emma glared at him, not wavering.
"Perhaps you would be convinced if I were to conveniently schedule a town board meeting tomorrow? Right after school? It would give a young boy some time to wander where he pleases without his mother.” He felt slightly guilty using Henry as bait, but he needed to know what Moe French knew.
Emma hesitates and Gold knows he’s won. “Fine. But 15 minutes. No more, okay?”
"Understood, Miss Swan."
He approached the cell as Emma left the room. Moe French sat uncharacteristically still as he did so. “Mr. French.”
"Mr. Gold?” Moe asked quietly. He knew whatever this conversation wrought was not going to be pretty.
“I have a business preposition, Mr. French. One I think you’d be interested in.” Gold smiled like a shark. “I want information about you in exchange for your freedom... if you answer all my questions, I’ll drop the charges. And grant you a three-week extension on your defaulted loan.”
Whatever the florist had been expecting, this was not it. He was not a high-profile member of Storybrooke. His life had been a sad, but simple affair. Why the pawnbroker wanted to know about it was a mystery. But the information in exchange for his entire livelihood was too good to be true. So, like the fool he was, Moe French accepted. “I agree to your terms.”
“Excellent.” He sits down on the couch beside the cell. “When did you move to Storybrooke?”
Moe smiled, before he thought about it. It was hard to think about his childhood. It was all rather foggy. “I believe I was born here.”
Mr. Gold nodded. So, Regina’s curse wasn’t that thorough with everyone’s backstory. His modern story was rather lacking as well – not so much as a first name. “Why did you choose to become a florist? A man like yourself doesn’t seem to be one into gardening much.”
"That I’m not,” Moe agreed. “My wife loved flowers and it was her dream. When she died, it’s all I had left of her. Well, besides our daughter. Now, it pays the bills. Somewhat.”
“My condolences, Mr. French. Though, I didn’t know you were married or had a daughter. Would you mind telling me about them?”
The florist froze. He looked at the wall before back to Mr. Gold. He did this three or four times before answering. “They were the center of my world,” he let out a little sniffle. “My wife, Rose, loved to travel. She’d been flying back from Sydney when the plane crashed. No one knows what happened to the plane. It just disappeared off the map.”
Mr. Gold watched pain flit across his face. He knew the feeling well, so his voice was perhaps a little softer than normal. “And your daughter?”
Moe started sobbing. “I failed her. I failed her. After her mother died, I didn’t know what to do. I lost myself a little. I had one too many light nights at the Rabbit Hole. She... she slipped into a dark place. If I’d been there...”
“If you’d been there what?”
“My precious Belle, so bright, withered and crumbled without me doing a thing. I was too busy drowning my sorrows. She started failing her classes at university. She stopped taking an interest in anything. I took her to the doctors, and they admitted her to the psych ward. They said they could help her, Gold.”
Mr. Gold’s heart stuttered at the mention of Belle. Regina hadn’t changed her name. The thought of Belle losing herself, even if it was a falsehood, hurt. “And from your tone, I presume they didn’t?”
“No,” Moe spat. “They didn’t. She’d been receiving treatments for a pitiful three weeks when I got the letter. They found her in the shower – she'd done herself in. I never got to say goodbye or a funeral. They cremated the remains before I even got to see her.”
Moe’s face warred between anger, sadness, and regret. Gold found himself regretting taking out vengeance on the man in the other version of the day. The pain of a parent losing a child was too close for comfort. “I’m very sorry to have brought up the memories, Mr. French. I’ll stop bothering you now. I’ll talk with Miss Swan to have you released.”
Moe wiped his eyes on his sleeves. “Thank you, Mr. Gold. I don’t know why you asked but thank you. It was nice to talk about them, even if it hurts.”
Mr. Gold nodded and left. The conversation with Moe French had been painful but gave him some new leads. This version seemed to conflict with the Enchanted Forest side. Rumplestiltskin had known Belle’s death had come by the actions of King Maurice. Moe French, however, seemed just as distraught by his daughter’s death as he had. Something wasn’t adding up – again.
......
Mr. Gold found himself outside the library. He needed to look at the town records – old newspapers, maps, and health records. He needed to see if Belle French had ever graced the streets of Storybrooke – even if it was just in people’s memories.
He opened the library doors and was overtaken by the musty scent of the abandoned room. His nose wrinkled in distaste before he entered. He went to the filing cabinets along the back wall and started searching.
Nothing was coming up of any interest. Everything was about the banality of a small town – a high school science fair, tax votes, and community day posters. Gold slammed the fifth cabinet shut. He’d been looking for over an hour to no avail.
Taking a deep breath in, he continued scouring over the files. He looked through half a dozen more before finding it – an admittance to the Storybrooke psychological ward for one Belle French.
Storybrooke? Gold had assumed Moe’s memories had included a ward outside of town, much like how his wife’s death was in the Pacific. Storybrooke had no psych ward – none on any map he’d seen. Why was a dead woman admitted to a false psych ward? Where would it have been, if it existed? Moe mentioned doctors...
Gold put everything back to where it had been. He didn’t need Regina to know he’d been sneaking around. Leaving the library, he returned to his store. Before he went gallivanting off to the hospital, he was going to take precautions. Someone – most likely Regina – had taken great lengths to cover the existence of the ward. He opened the vault behind the counter and pulled out a revolver. He wasn’t taking any chances.
......
The hospital was eerily quiet. For a place that was supposed to be returning patients to life, Gold felt the years being sucked out of him. He shivered as he walked over to the front desk.
"May I help you, Mr. Gold?” The secretary asked. If she thought it was strange that he was there, she gave no indication.
The lie flows smoothly off his tongue. “I had a question about admitting hurt individuals to the psych ward? I’ve been receiving some complaints from tenants about Old Peter – they say he’s been crying wolf about some aliens?”
"Psych ward? Mr. Gold, I think you’re mistaken,” her eyes are wide and panicked, “There isn’t a psych ward in this hospital.”
“Understood, dearie. But is there any accommodation we could make for dear Peter?” Mr. Gold continued the falsehood, pretending to be a concerned landlord.
“I can call Dr. Whale? He might be able to help us find a solution.”
“Thank you, dearie.” He tapped his good foot against the tiled floor as he listened to the telephone conversation. It seemed to drone on forever and ever – back and forth – as the secretary asked for Whale. The quack had always put Gold on edge.
Finally! “No, that’ll be all.”
He moved over to the side of the waiting room for Whale to make an appearance. He’d been standing there for a minute or two when his phone rang – Regina. Gold narrowed his eyes – the mayor never used the phone with him. She always preferred bringing her issues face to face. Given the circumstances he’d found himself in, Gold ignored it. The phone rang again. He ignored it.
Gold’s phone rang a third time before Whale showed up. His face was drained of color, and he kept fidgeting with a pen. He reeked with desperation. “Mr. Gold? You wanted to speak with me?”
“Yes, I did. About a tenant’s complaint. Old Peter Grimsey has been talking about aliens and the soon to be hostile takeover. I was wondering if we could discuss a plan for him to stay here? For his safety and the community,” he flashes a coy smile, “Preferably in private – we want to protect Mr. Grimsey’s information, don’t we?”
Whale nodded but kept fidgeting. “I appreciate your concern about the local concerns, Mr. Gold,” he directed them into a patient’s room that was blindingly white and smelled of ammonia. “What would you like to discuss about Mr. Grimsey’s case?”
“The psychological ward here at the hospital could probably do him some good, no?”
If the doctor had been pale earlier, he was deathly white now. “The psych ward? We don’t have a ward here...”
“Don’t lie to me, Whale. We both know it’s not Regina calling the shots in this town. I’d suggest you choose your next words very carefully.”
Whale took a fortified breath before repeating himself. “That wasn’t a good answer, dearie.” Gold pulled the revolver out from under his suit jacket.
“Now, now, Mr. Gold. Let’s not be too rash.”
“I’m not being rash. You’ve lied to me several times now. So, it seems you need some persuasion,” he nodded to the revolver barrel. “Tell me everything you know about the psychology ward of this hospital.”
The doctor choked over his words, trying to keep his voice steady. “There never was a psych ward, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t taken patients before.”
"Some honesty, doctor, splendid.” Gold’s voice darkens. “What happened to Belle French?”
The doctor was silent. His eyes moved around the room like rabid dogs, trying to find anything to focus on and failing. Gold pulled the safety on the gun. “You’re not going to shoot me.”
"Really dearie?” Gold held the gun up to Whale’s chest height. “Try me again. Don’t tell me what happened to Belle French, and I will shoot.”
Whale shrunk against the opposite wall, trying to come up with a plan. He couldn’t, so he told the truth. “She was admitted to the hospital a long time ago...”
"And after she was admitted, good doctor? Did she receive medical attention? Or was she carefully let go under your watch?”
Whale knew he was trapped. Gold knew more than he was supposed to. Regina had assured him that Gold would never come looking for the patient. When he’d called Regina after the secretary paged him, she’d laughed at his concerns. She told him he didn’t care about the girl anymore and that she’d call Gold to make sure everything was fine. Clearly, she’d been wrong.
“You have the count to three to answer me, Whale.”
“She’s in the basement.”
Gold’s voice is full of vehement rage. His voice is filled with darkness no one’s heard since the Enchanted Forest. “She’s in the basement? You truly expect me to believe that, Whale? She’s been dead for thirty years! Don’t you think about lying to me right now.”
“I’ll take you to her. Just promise me that you won’t kill me. I was just following orders.” Whale tried to placate, slowly shifting toward the door.
Gold scowled but nodded. “You are going to take me straight there, no calling for help. And if you’re lying, you’re going to wish I shot you here.”
Whale let out a shaky breath and opened the door. He silently led Gold down a few corridors until they reached a supply closet with a keycode. Gold glared at Whale as he entered the pin. “Would you like to go down first or second?”
"You go first, I will be right behind you, dearie.”
The stairs were rickety and dark. The pair descended into the dark area where only a flickering lightbulb provided any sight. A nurse was staring at them once they reached the bottom. She hissed under her breath, “Whale! What are you doing here with him?”
“He’s bringing some things to light. If I were you, I’d comply with the doctor’s wishes, hmm?” He flashed the revolver in her direction.
The nurse promptly sat down and acted like she hadn’t seen them at all. Whale moved away from the desk into a narrow hall. After three rooms had passed, he stopped in front of a dented, padlocked door. His voice was quiet and timid as he unlocked it. “She’s in there.”
The world melted away as the door swung open. Sitting on a low metal frame was the most angelic creature in all the realms. Her hair was matted, and her clothes hung too loose on her frame, but she was undeniably alive. A sob almost tore through Mr. Gold, but he contained it. Instead, he let out a quiet murmur of her name.
The effect was immediate; the tiny brunette whipped around at the sound of her name. She did remember this handsome man, so clearly awed, ever visiting her. There was something familiar to him, but she could not place it. She quirked her head in a way so reminiscent of her days in the Dark Castle, back when she was first starting to learn that her master was more bark than bite. “Do I know you?”
Mr. Gold could hardly contain himself. Despite her condition, his Belle was still brave. She was quieter than he remembered, but oh so strong. “You probably don’t, sweetheart. But you will.”
Sweetheart. The name was so impossibly tender, so pure. Belle could not remember the last time someone called her so sweetly. She could, actually, but that’s when everyone assumed she died. No one had called her like that since her days in the Dark Castle. So intrigued was Belle with this stranger that she stood up and inched closer. It was like a magnetic pull.
Gold did not know what to expect as Belle limped her way towards him. It was every dream of his come true – the good and the bad. The only difference would be what happened next. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Whale bolt toward the exit. He couldn’t care at all, not when Belle had that curious look in her eyes.
Belle only stood a foot or two away from him. Her azure eyes pierced into his very soul. He didn’t know what to expect, but nothing could prepare him for the words that came out of her mouth. “And how could I ever forget you, Rumple?”
It was his turn to quirk his head. “Belle?” This time, her name was a desperate plea and prayer, a man seeking refuge in being known.
“Yes, you stupid man, that is my name.” She crossed her arms and let out a small laugh.
To Mr. Gold, Rumplestiltskin, the sound was salvation. It was life being remade again. “You’re alive. And you remember. How?” He was shaking like a leaf, as if he’d been the one locked in a dungeon for years. “Wait. Let’s get you out of here first, then I want to hear everything.”
Belle nodded. She took his arm, unable to believe the moment was real. How many times had she dreamed of her Rumple finding her and rescuing her? She’d never imagined it like this, but it was better than she could have imagined. She clung to him like a lifeline, secretly thrilled when he leaned in rather than away.
They ascended from the basement of the hospital. They walked out with confidence, even though they were both holding the other up from collapse. No matter how cliche it was, the sun broke through the cloudy Maine sky as they left the hospital.
Regina was pulling into the parking lot of the hospital as they left. Her face contorted first into rage then abject horror. She knew she’d lost; she’d played the long game, and it failed. The beast had been reunited with his beauty, and there was nowhere she would be able to hide from his wrath. She met his eyes through the windshield and knew her days were numbered.
......
Rumplestiltskin could not help but smile wistfully has he watched Belle observing Storybrooke for the first time. Her eyes tried to take in every color every knew shape of the modern world. He knew that once she felt better, she’d ask every question she could think of. And he knew he’d answer every single one of them.
They pulled into his driveway, and he opened the door for his lady. Rumple and Belle made their way into the grand manor, relaxing as the familiar scent of tea and straw permeates the air. “It smells like home.”
“Aye, that it does, Belle.” Rumple smiled that she still associated him, the Dark Castle, as home.
He led her into the parlor, encouraging her to sit. “I’m going to get us a cup of tea, alright sweetheart?”
She sat down with the practiced grace of a princess and giggled. “I’d love some tea.”
He nodded shyly before going to the kitchen. When he returned, he carried the tea service tray. He settled next to her and handed her the steaming cup. “I cannot believe you’re alive. After all this time.”
Her brow furrowed in the way he always found adorable. “You thought I was dead?”
“For a long time, nearly thirty years. If I had known you were alive, you never would have been wasting away below the town,” he vowed, “Regina told me you died. I thought...”
“Thirty years?” Her face paled. “Has it truly been that long? I thought it’d been two years at most – primarily back home.”
Rumple let out a breath he’d been holding. “For that, I won’t kill Regina right now for her hand in this.”
Belle sat her cup of tea down on a coaster before taking his hand between hers. “You’re not going to kill anyone, Rumple. Not on my behalf. We’ll get revenge by being happy. Together.”
Together. The word is loaded with implications for them. For the future. His voice is filled with self-loathing. “You’d truly still want to be together after everything? I treated you so horribly. You should hate me and finally see the monster that I am.”
Belle tsked, “You’re not a monster. And, if you’d be willing to try, yes. Yes, I’d like to be together. I love you.”
Rumple could not believe his good fortune. “And I love you too.”
Belle drew closer and shut her eyes. Rumplestiltskin was not going to mess this up, not this time. His hands cradled her face as if it were the most precious porcelain. He kissed her gently; afraid the moment would end. Where their first kiss was quick and disastrous, their second was languid and glorious. When they pulled away, Belle smiled and it was the most radiant thing Rumple had ever seen.
“Now that’s settled, I think we should talk about everything that’s happened, no?” Belle said as she tucked herself under Rumple’s arm.
Rumple’s voice was low. “I suppose we should, hmm? Would you care to tell me how you came to be locked up with your memories?”
Belle hummed in agreement as she started her story. “After I left the castle, I went in search of adventure. I’d always wanted to explore the world, and I was taking the opportunity to do so. I had my adventure, and I realized I wanted to come back home to my greatest adventure, you.
I was on my way back to the castle when Regina found me. Her soldiers surrounded me and I was taken to a tower in her palace. I’m not magical, but I could tell there were heavy wards around it. I called your name, but I don’t think you could hear me. Even then, I knew you still cared.”
Rumple’s face is dark as he listens to Belle’s tale. “You’ve always thought too highly of me.”
"Nonsense!” She snorts, “But anyways, I think I was there for a year and a half? Time kind of blended together. Then the curse was cast and I found myself in a psych ward. I couldn’t remember anything but sadness. My mom had died, and I felt so alone.
After a few weeks of nothing, I felt a spark. Regina had come to check on me, probably to gloat or something. But she made a rather stupid mistake. She gave me this jacket.” She gestured to the grey woolen cardigan she wore. “She pretended to care, to be hospitable.”
Rumple’s eyebrow raised as he took this all in. “The jacket was in my shop. She purchased it off of me. I didn’t know what she wanted with it at the time. Could that have anything to do with it?”
Belle nodded vigorously. “Yes! One of your hairs was on the jacket. After Regina left, I placed the jacket on. When that hair touched mine, they entwined into a thread of gold.” Belle reached into the pocket and showed him. “Like a flood, my memories came back. Was that around six months ago? At least, that’s what it felt like... And ever since, I waited for you to come rescue me. The only bad part about remembering was that Regina declared me dead to the world. She fabricated this whole thing...”
Rumple interrupted her by stealing a kiss. “You are magnificent.”
“Thank you?”
"Your love for me was so strong, that even in a world without magic, you produced it. True love.”
Belle’s face lit up, laughing. “And to think you didn’t believe me! I love you very much, you silly man. So now I want to hear your story. How did you come to find me?”
Rumple swallowed. Belle’s love was truly a force to be reckoned with. “When the curse was cast, I was condemned to life as a mundane mortal...”
“Wait - so this is what you looked like before you were the Dark One?”
He nodded slightly. He felt Belle looking at him like he was a text that had intrigued her. He felt oddly nervous and excited.
“You’re very handsome,” she giggled, “I’m sorry for interrupting your story. You’re just very distracting.”
Rumple flushed as he continued his story. “Thank you, sweetheart, err, the curse. I lived with no concept of time for 28 years. Then the Savior came – Charming and Snow’s girl. Time started moving again.
Regina’s control over the town started to slip. She tried to unsettle me. She broke into my house – well, she hired your father to do so – and stole from me. The cash and the jewelry were worthless to me. But she stole my most prized possession – your chipped cup.”
“You kept it? My chipped cup?”
“Of course. There was not a day I did not mourn the loss of your light in my life.” He brought her hand up to his lips to kiss. “Let’s say I took some actions that you would not approve of and ended up in jail.”
Rumple saw the admonishing look Belle gave him but was grateful when she did not interrupt. “The strangest thing happened, Belle. I went to sleep in the jail cell but then woke up in my own house the next day. Except it wasn’t the next day, but it was the same day. I was living the same day over again, but with the knowledge of what happened the first time.
I used that knowledge to track down information as to what happened to you. Every truth felt like a punch to the gut. But I’d gladly do it all over again to see you again. I still cannot believe you’re alive.”
Belle smiled at him brightly. “Don’t you see, Rumple? Our love is so strong that it rewrites the narrative. Our love restored my memory and gave you the opportunity to find me.”
"I should learn to never doubt you – you always seem to be correct.” Rumple placed a kiss on the top of Belle’s head.
“Between true love and chipped cups, our love truly is the strongest force in any realm.”
“Well said, Rumple.” She leaned up to place another kiss on his lips. “I love you so much.”
“I love you more than life, Belle. More than life.
......
Thanks for reading you're all the best. Happy Skin Deep Day!
This is NOT the fic I had originally planned to write for Fluffapalooza this year. That fic (titled Twelve Cups) is still in the works after my being entirely unsatisfied with where it was going. I still plan to share it with you all when it is finished. Instead, I have this little number that I ended up accidentally sitting down to write while inspired by a text chain... so Handling Bustiness is my contribution to Fluffapalooza 2026.
Enjoy!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
As he pulled the ragged though achingly familiar woman into his arms, Rumplestiltskin thought of that line of Shakespeare’s about a rose by any other name. While the woman in his arms hadn’t given her curse name and smelled like she hadn’t washed properly in quite a while, she was Belle and it didn’t matter what her name in this land was or she if smelled of the rose-scented soap she’d used in the Dark Castle (that he’d never admitted he had made it himself, from roses that grew along the castle’s outer walls). All that mattered was that she was alive.
It didn’t matter that when she awoke, she’d hate him all over again. He cared not one whit for any of that. She could hate him forever and stand on main street and denounce him every day once the curse was broken. All he cared about was that she was alive and well enough to do so. Even if she (understandably) hated him forever more, he’d still enact his vegenance on Regina -- who was surely at least partly responsible for Belle’s appalling condition -- and whoever else had hurt her. Whatever she felt for him, whether good or ill, he would always love her and fight on her behalf. For she was Belle and, in whatever guise she wore, she would always be the light in the ocean of darkness that was the rest of his life.
Happy Skin Deep day, everyone! ❤️ This is my first Fluffapalooza fic! It didn't exactly go according to plan, but I'm really happy with it! You can find it on AO3, as well as below the Keep Reading.
AO3 Link
Rating: T
Pairing: Rumbelle
Summary:
When Belle realized she'd forgotten Valentine's Day on her way home, she knew she didn't have time to get Rumple anything. They'd been busy with Gideon learning to crawl, her opening the library, and Rumplestiltskin working late on a project. The romantic holiday had slipped her mind amid the chaos. Rumple never said anything about it, so maybe he'd forgotten, too? Belle didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't this.
Belle locked the Storybrooke Library with one hand while juggling a stack of old books in the other. She hoped Rumple could help her restore them despite their poor condition. After a few fumbled attempts, the lock clicked, and she started walking home. She carpooled with Rumple to work, but sometimes she spent too long reading, or someone inevitably asked Rumplestiltskin to help with that week’s magical mishap. To say their schedules were inconsistent was an understatement. Thankfully, Rumple had offered to look after Gideon today, so once she found the old books—definitely from the Enchanted Forest—stashed in a rotting chest behind a bookshelf, she didn’t hesitate to stay late after a quick check-in with her husband.
She enjoyed walking home. It felt nostalgic. It reminded her of the days in the Dark Castle, when she’d take a day trip to Darkhaven to shop and socialize, or when the Dark One giggled and ordered her to gather wormwood, mushrooms, or whatever else she could safely gather for his potions. She loved Storybrooke. This realm had so many things Misthaven didn’t—like indoor plumbing!—and they had renovated Mr. Gold’s house to make it feel more like theirs. But some days she longed to bring him his tea up the winding staircase of his tower to his lab, or to have the castle light the fire before she even entered a room. Sometimes, when she cleaned some of the antiques displayed in their house, she forgot she was dusting a vintage record player rather than polishing a cursed suit of armor. She sometimes forgot that their house couldn’t summon a blanket or light the stove. She learned to do everything herself, but it felt lonely. The Dark Castle always welcomed her. It watched over her, so even when Rumple was out making deals, she never felt alone. She hadn’t realized how used to that feeling she had been until the chaos of their lives finally settled into their version of normalcy.
“Belle!”
She jerked her head up, pulled from her thoughts by someone calling her name. “Mary Margaret! Hello,” she said, walking over to where Snow stood in front of Dark Star Pharmacy, a grocery bag in hand.
Snow pulled her into a one-armed hug, careful not to knock over any of her books. “You didn’t work late today, did you?”
She shrugged and lifted the books. “I found these behind a bookshelf. They’re a bit worn, but I think they’re salvageable. And look! They’re from the Enchanted Forest! How could I not read at least a little to see what they were about? I’ve worked late before, so—” she trailed off, confused by why Snow sounded surprised.
Snow’s eyebrows raised in realization. “Oh, you don’t know what day it is, do you?”
Now she was even more confused, “Saturday?”
Snow shook her head, “Belle, today’s Valentine’s Day.”
As Henry would say, her mind blue-screened for a few seconds, staring at Snow blinking. “Valentine’s Day?”
“Yes,” Snow confirmed.
“It’s today?” She repeated.
Snow huffed in amusement. “Yes, Belle, it’s today. How could you forget?”
Belle started to raise her hands in exasperation, but stopped when the books began to fall. “I’ve been busy! The library just opened last month, and there’s still so much to do. Plus, Gideon started crawling recently and is grabbing at everything he can get his hands on. I just—forgot.”
Snow smiled, “Sounds like he’s already taking after Gold.”
A year ago, that statement would have been said with sarcasm, intended as an insult to her husband, but now Snow said it in a teasing, friendly tone. It had taken a lot of time and effort, but the Golds and the Charmings were friends, if not on their way to being family. Even if Rumple always pointed at her, telling her not to push it when she said that. They had fought side-by-side too many times to remain antagonistic towards each other, so Belle decided to do something about it. Henry dubbed it Operation Capybara, and together they managed to get the two families on speaking terms. Henry did most of the work; calling Gold Grandpa would always melt his heart and make him do nearly anything for his grandson.
Henry created scenarios that forced the two families to interact. He was worried about his grandma because of her back pain and, with big eyes, asked Rumple if he could make a potion to help. Of course, Rumple folded. Then, when he stepped on the same squeaky floorboard for the hundredth time, he excitedly told Rumple that his other grandpa could help him fix it. He couldn’t let the lad down, so he called David. It all culminated in a confrontation that had been brewing for years. They screamed at each other, arguing about the naiveté of nobility and the need to take responsibility for one’s actions. It wasn’t easy, but nothing worth fighting for ever is. In the end, they saw things from each other’s perspective, and apologies were exchanged all around—some begrudgingly. Things were easier after that. With the tension gone and the joy that radiated from Henry whenever all his family was together, it wasn’t long before the two families became friends.
“Yes, I fear what a little hellion he may become if he inherits Rumple’s magic,” she said with a dopey grin.
Snow shook her head, “Just another day in Storybrooke. But what are you going to do about Valentine’s Day? Did Gold not say anything?”
She shook her head. “No, not once, though—” she trailed off, thinking. “He has been working later than normal for the last few weeks. When I asked, he said he was researching a personal project and promised me he wasn’t doing anything that could harm anyone.”
They had come a long way in communicating their needs and boundaries to each other. Magic could be addictive, but it was also part of who Rumplestiltskin was. Not using it at all would be like asking her to stop reading forever. They found a balance. He refrained from using magic in day-to-day life unless necessary, but kept his lab in their basement. She even helped periodically, like the old days. Rumple had become so much more open and honest with her, and she had gotten better at articulating her concerns before acting on them. Archie had taught them that while True Love could overcome any obstacle, living together in harmony took effort and communication.
She trusted him more than ever, but now she was starting to think she should have asked for more details about his latest project. “Maybe he got wrapped up in his research and forgot? He used to do that a lot, especially on a subject that fascinated or challenged him.”
Snow shook her head, “This is Rumplestiltskin, the most paranoid and tactical mind I’ve ever seen. Maybe, if this were back then, but I don’t think so.”
Belle groaned and would have buried her head in her hands if not for her hands being full. “He was working on something for today, wasn’t he?”
Snow bit her lip and nodded. “Most likely.”
“Crap.”
Snow pat her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Belle. He won’t care that you didn’t get him anything. He’d burn the world down for you, as he did for Baelfire. I didn’t understand that until I found Emma, only to lose her again to the time portal. Everything will be fine. I’m sure you can make it up to him.”
A few inappropriate images flashed through her mind, and she blushed. “You’re right. I’m worrying too much. I should get going.”
“Me too, but we’ll see both of you next week for game night, right?”
Belle nodded. “Yes! And Henry suggested we play a game called ‘D-N-D.’ He thought our experience with real magic might make the game more interesting. Though I’m still not sure how you can tell a story with dice.”
They said goodbye and walked in opposite directions toward their houses.
While she walked up the driveway to their salmon-colored house, she tried to think about what Rumple could have been working on that involved magic for Valentine’s Day. Enchanted jewelry was a favorite of his, but both she and Gideon were wrapped in protective, tracking, and even communication charms. He swore he would never lose his family again, and given how dangerous their lives were and how many times one of them had been kidnapped, she had agreed.
“Rumple, I’m home,” Belle announced, closing the door. She set the books on the table and went to take off her shoes when she caught a flash of red on the floor. She paused and looked down the hall to see a path of roses.
She sucked in a deep breath. “Okay, Belle, you can do this,” she said aloud to reassure herself before following the petals into the hallway. She expected to find Rumple in the living room, with candles and wine, maybe even the trail leading up the stairs to their bedroom. Instead, the flower trail ran through the living room toward the back door that led to the woods.
She followed the trail outside, shutting the door behind her. Rumple enchanted all the doors to open only for them or for anyone he explicitly added to the protection ward. The flowers led into the trees, where she saw a man standing.
As she drew closer, the warmth and butterflies gave way to surprise and, if she was honest with herself, to lust. Standing on the edge of the forest was none other than her husband, but not Mr. Gold. It was Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, fidgeting nervously with his hands. His green scales glittered gold in the setting sun. His slitted eyes were fixed on her as if only the two of them existed in the entire realm. He wore the same dragon-hide cloak with the puffed-out raven-feathered collar and golden scarf bearing the spinning-wheel pendant, which most people mistook for a compass or a sun, as he had when they first met and made the deal that changed their fate.
“Rumple?” she whispered, confused and elated to see this visage of her husband, the man she had fallen in love with.
“I have a proposition for you, Ms. Gold.” Rumplestiltskin gave her a half-bow and extended his hand, a smile breaking across his face and revealing the same yellowed teeth she remembered. “I’m looking for a caretaker for my rather large estate,” he repeated the exact words he had spoken the night he took her, with the same inflection—the same joke that had been terrifying back then but now only made her smile in fondness.
Belle raised her head as she had at the war table full of men who thought she had no business being there, and said with the same conviction, “No one decides my fate but me. I shall go.”
She placed her hand in his and felt his claws wrap around her. She knew how sharp he kept them, knew they could rip through cloth and flesh. Yet she could barely feel them. He held her hand so gently it was as if he thought she were an illusion that would shatter, because he couldn’t believe she was real. That was how he had looked at her in Avonlea. It was how he was gazing into her eyes now, and she suspected he always would. “It’s forever, dearie,” he said, as if the words were sacred, and perhaps they were to them.
Heart pounding against her chest, Belle replied, as she had once in another realm, and, like then, she meant every word, “I will go with you forever.”
Rumple wrapped his arms around her back, not low, as he had grown more comfortable doing over the years of their marriage, but high, as he had that night, so as not to dishonor her any more than their deal already implied. Unlike back then, she easily fell into his arms, a place that felt like safety and love.
He was taller than he usually was as Mr. Gold, wearing the heeled black boots he had made to make his small stature seem more imposing. Whether they fit like a glove or he towered over her, she always fit just right in his arms. He looked down at her, his eyes wide and full of that same overwhelming love that could and had destroyed worlds. His voice came out as a high-pitched whisper, as if he were trying to replicate the twittering tone in which the words had once been spoken but failing. “The deal is struck.”
Belle took the lead, as she often did, tilting her head up to kiss him as she had that first time. The kiss lacked the passion it often carried these days, yet it still held the same love and hope she had poured into it on that fateful day. But unlike before, she had no doubts about his feelings.
When they broke apart, she stood for a moment, wanting to memorize every scale, every shade of green and gold that shifted in the light, and the way his reptilian pupils dilated and seemed to glow in the fading sun.
“Rumple, what’s—” Her voice cracked. “What’s going on?”
“It’s a glamour. I thought—I mean,” his shoulders slumped. “I wanted to do something special for today.”
She was not going to let the insecurity he felt about his old appearance last another second. She cupped her hand against his scaly cheek. “My handsome hero. It doesn’t have to be only for Valentine’s Day. You can wear the glamour whenever you want. I love you, no matter what you look like.” She knew his feelings about his old self were complicated, and she would support him no matter what skin he wore. But she secretly hoped he’d want to wear the glamour again, preferably in their bed.
He turned his head away, a tell that he was getting choked up and trying to hide it. She waited, and after a few seconds, he turned back and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, there’s more to the surprise than just—this.”
“Where’s Gideon?” she had to ask, even though she thought she already knew.
“Staying with Ms. Lucas. She offered to look after Gideon and Neal tonight,” Rumple said, as she had suspected.
She squeezed his arm in acknowledgment. She was proud of him. Even with all the magical protections, he had been terrified of letting their son out of his sight, and she had been, too, for a while. Archie had diagnosed them both with parental separation anxiety. They’d been getting better, but she trusted people more easily than her husband. After all the betrayals he’d endured over his long life, it would take him longer to trust that they were safe. After nearly a year of nothing but minor mishaps, no more battles, and a budding friendship with the Charmings, it seemed Rumple finally felt it was safe enough to let them have a night alone.
“And what did the oh-so-great and powerful Dark One have planned for Valentine’s Day?” she teased.
Her imp’s mischievous smirk returned as he chuckled. “Tsk, tsk, my Lady. It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?”
“All right then—” she pulled away from the embrace and slipped her arm through his. “Lead the way.”
His smug smile was familiar. He wore it as Mr. Gold, too. Without another word, though she knew he was secretly thrilled, he led her into the woods. The trail of roses stretched deep into the forest. When they were far enough into the trees that the town was no longer visible, she could almost pretend they were back in the Enchanted Forest, walking home after one of their misadventures.
A night at the cabin sounded lovely, and she was sure she could make up for forgetting the date by submitting to the beast tonight, something they both enjoyed but didn’t indulge in often. Not nearly enough, in her opinion. But instead of turning right toward the cabin, they turned left.
“Rumple, the cabin’s that way.” She pointed back toward the fork in the trail they were passing.
“Astute observation, my dear.”
Her eye twitched. “And we’re not going that way because?”
He giggled, sounding more like his old self. “Why, because we’re not going to the cabin, dear-ie.” He sang the old moniker, emphasizing the word so she knew he wasn’t using it as an insult but as a throwback to another time. It made a fire burn low in her belly.
They walked in comfortable silence for a while until he stopped, let go of her arm, and spun—dramatic as always—around her, covering her eyes with his hands.
She laughed. “Rumple!”
“Nah. Nah. Nah! No peeking.”
She forced her smile to turn into a pout. He wasn’t the only one who remembered their banter from their early days together. “You don’t need to cover my eyes. I am capable of keeping my eyes shut.”
He hummed as if thinking. “Nope! I don’t think so, princess. A curious little mouse like you is always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I don’t trust you not to sneak a peek.”
Gods, it was as if they were back in his workshop, where she’d promise to keep her hands to herself but inevitably end up touching something she shouldn’t. A curious mouse, he once called her. He hadn’t called her that since before the first dark curse. She had never told him how much that nickname made her heart flutter. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it.
He gently led her forward, and she followed without hesitation. Their relationship hadn’t been easy. Archie had said they would always face hardships and disagreements, as everyone else did. But they trusted each other. They were happy. They had earned their happy ending.
After only a short distance, he stopped and whispered into her ear, making her shiver. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Belle.”
He removed his hands from her eyes, and Belle gasped, “How—how is this possible?”
Before her stood the Dark Castle, with its white stone walls and dark-gray roof, in all its former, dilapidated glory. Vines crawled across the windows, a few still boarded shut while others were covered in dust. To her left stood the southeastern tower that housed his lab, and she knew that at the bottom of its spiral staircase, down the left hallway, her library would still be there, just as she had left it, waiting for her to read one of its books while the master of the castle spun straw into gold.
They were standing on the castle’s forecourt, on the uneven stone path lined with red-tip photinia bushes trimmed into sharp, intimidating spires. The path led to the castle’s main entrance, dividing the parterre in two. On both sides, boxwood hedges partitioned the lawn into small rectangular garden rooms, with a few trees scattered throughout. A narrow pathway ran between them, leading to an octagonal sitting area with benches surrounding a central focal point. The left side featured a statue of a horse rearing on its hind legs. The right side displayed a red-tip photinia the size of a tree.
Even though she couldn’t see it, she was certain her garden was still tucked against the southeast wall, with roses, lavender, and hollyhocks blooming beside a small patch of herbs and root vegetables. Hidden in the tower’s shadow, she caught a glimpse of a clothesline. The same line she would hang his laundry on while she ranted about how stubborn and moody he was, even though she knew he often used magic to eavesdrop on her mutterings—secretly hoping he was watching her from his tower. It was quiet, with no birds chirping or wildlife scurrying through the underbrush, as if the wards were still in place. Despite the eerie silence, like an echo from the past, the bang of the iron doors as Rumple slammed them open for a dramatic entrance rang in her ears, even though he had never left her side and was watching her intently for her reaction.
Tears slid down her face as she turned to him. “It’s exactly as I remember, as if time stopped when we left. Oh, Rumple!” She flung herself into his arms and sobbed into his chest.
She hadn’t realized how much she missed the Dark Castle until it stood before her. Thinking back on their days in his castle, she always felt a bittersweet ache, knowing she could never get those days back yet cherishing every memory. At the same time that she was falling in love with Rumplestiltskin, the Dark Castle had begun to feel like home. But like their love, they had realized it too late.
She looked up at him, sniffling. There were so many things she wanted to say, but all that came out was, “I-I didn’t get you anything. I forgot what day it was.”
Rumple chuckled softly and stroked her hair. “That’s all right, sweetheart. I would never ask for more than you’re willing to give. Your love is the most precious gift you could ever give me. I am thankful for it every morning I wake up beside you, and I will cherish it until I no longer hold your heart.”
She lightly slapped his chest. “A deal’s a deal, Rumplestiltskin. You told me I was yours forever, and you never break a deal. I’m yours just as you’re mine, forever. You will always hold my heart.”
She knew he hadn’t meant for it to happen, but they renewed their wedding vows standing before the place where they had first fallen in love. It was where they had spent their early days mocking and challenging each other, playing silly pranks just for the joy of being childish, yelling, laughing, and crying—and where she had finally unraveled the mystery of the Dark One to find both a loving father and a kind man. She felt a piece of her heart, one she hadn’t known was missing, slip back into place.
He rubbed her back soothingly, and she melted against him. There was nowhere she’d rather be, but she had to know. “Rumple, how is this possible?”
She felt his chest rise as he chuckled. “You’ve asked that twice now, sweetheart. You may be an amazing mother and brilliant scholar, but my clumsy maid is still in there!” She huffed but stayed silent, confident he’d explain. “It’s both quite complicated and very simple. You know how the castle’s enchanted?” She nodded. “Well, it’s a wee bit more than a simple enchantment. The Dark One’s magic has been in the very foundations of the Dark Castle for so long that it’s more magic than mortar at this point. The magic binds it to the Dark One, and after performing a ritual and expending a lot of magic, I was able to summon it across realms—temporarily.” Rumple tilted his head slightly, a gesture she knew meant he was thinking. “You could think of the Dark Castle as the Dark One’s familiar.”
“Is that why I always felt like the castle liked me? Is it actually alive?” Her eyes widened at the thought.
Rumple shook his hand in a so-so motion. “In a way. The closest description is that it’s sentient but not sapient. It can feel basic emotions and react to them, but it’s not capable of reasoning.”
She’d need to think about that revelation for a while, maybe do some research on magical familiars, which she remembered were usually animals either bestowed with magic or magical themselves. Of course, Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t follow convention and have a normal familiar. Honestly, she shouldn’t be surprised.
“Thank you. I’m glad you brought it back, even if it’s only for tonight.”
Rumple shrugged. “I can summon it again. The magic to keep it here is draining, so I wouldn’t want to do it often, preferably only once every month or so, but I could summon it in an emergency. We don’t have to lose it.” Rumple looked out at the old castle, memories older than she was flashing behind his eyes. “I lived there for centuries, Belle. I made history there. I discovered formulas and crafted potions no one had before. I was the first to ever bottle true love in its halls. It’s where I learned I could love again. The Dark Castle will always be home to me.” His voice dropped low as he spoke.
Belle kissed his cheek. “Me too. I love Storybrooke. This realm has so many possibilities that were impossible in the Enchanted Forest. But it doesn’t matter which realm we’re in. My true home is wherever you and Gideon are. But this place—” She smiled softly, looking around. “This is where we fell in love—where I gave you my heart. It will always be home, too.”
They stared at each other, smiling, as they silently reminisced about where they had started and the hard journey it had taken to get to where they were now. Rumple glanced up at the castle, and a familiar glint that meant trouble entered his eyes. He looked down at her and bopped her on the nose. “Now, now, my sweet! Don’t even think about swindling your way out of your chores just because it’ll be gone tomorrow! I want the Dark Castle spotless by sunrise!” he trilled, making her laugh.
“Well, we’d better hurry then!” She tugged on his arm.
“Our fabled Dark Castle Date awaits us!” Rumple shouted.
Belle raised an eyebrow at the name, and he waved her off. “The name needs some work. I’ll workshop it later, but first!”
The Dark One waved his hand, and a plume of maroon smoke enveloped her. When it cleared, she was back in her yellow ball gown from the night they met.
Rumple giggled and twiddled his fingers. “Every princess needs her gown! Now it’s just like when you first arrived.”
Belle ran her hands down the skirt with a soft smile. “Yes, but it’s better now because it’s not only the Dark One bringing me to his castle, but my husband—” a blush crept onto her cheeks as she added, “and my master.”
Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath, and his reptilian eyes dilated with desire, a sight few had ever seen, though Belle could elicit it effortlessly. She winked at him and took off for the castle. She heard his boots hitting the stones as he ran after her, but she didn’t let her ball gown slow her down. She lifted the skirt and ran faster. She hadn’t let the large dress stop her from cleaning a castle before, and she wasn’t going to let it stop her now. She knew he would eventually catch her. He would always catch her, but she was determined to make him chase her through the entire castle.
As she ran up the last steps, the Dark Castle’s iron doors swung wide, welcoming its Master and Mistress home. Tomorrow, they would pick up Gideon from Granny’s and eat burgers at the diner. She’d take Gideon to the library for the day, and Rumple would help Emma with the enchantment she’d been stuck on. Next week, they’d have game night at the Charmings’. With the excuse of ‘sharing information,’ Rumple and David would drink and gossip. Meanwhile, she and Snow would make plans for the children’s storytime she hoped to start at the library. Henry would try to teach them yet another new game, and Emma would pretend she already knew the rules, even though it was her first time playing.
But for tonight, Rumplestiltskin was the Dark One, and Belle was his maid.
CALLING ALL DEARIES, THE FOURTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF SKIN DEEP IS COMING UP ON FEBRUARY 12 AND YOUR MISSION IS TO CELEBRATE IT WITH FLUFF. FIC, POETRY, ART, EDITS, PROMPTS, PHOTOS, FANDOM RAMBLINGS, WHATEVER SPARKS YOUR JOY. IF YOU WERE AROUND IN THE EARLY DAYS OF THE FANDOM, DIG SOME OLD POSTS OUT OF YOUR ARCHIVE AND REBLOG THEM AGAIN! TAG ANYTHING NEW YOU CREATE WITH #FLUFFAPALOOZA AND IT WILL BE REBLOGGED HERE.
Two things -- do not steal and repost another person's art, and do not use AI to create any fic or art. We're better than that. Rumbelle has always been a fandom of amazing creativity that was made with LOVE and hard work, let's see that continue. And don't forget to share that love by reblogging the creative efforts of fellow Rumbellers! A like is a flicker of light in the darkness, a reblog is taking a torch down off the Dark Castle's wall and saying 'YES, HI, I SEE YOU, THANK YOU FOR MAKING THE THING. I'M GLAD YOU'RE HERE.'
And since it's not Fluffapalooza unless several people reblog Love Is Purple and Love Is Still Purple multiple times onto your dash, there you go, handy dandy links.
IT CERTAINLY IS IF PEOPLE WANT IT! WRITE THE FLUFF. DRAW THE FLUFF. MAKE EDITS OF THE FLUFF. TAG IT #FLUFFAPALOOZA AND I WILL REBLOG IT. SKIN DEEP ANNIVERSARY, HERE WE COME!
Hi Rumbelle Fandom! It has been so amazing hearing from you all these past few days. I'm planning on writing a fic for the celebration of Skin Deep, but I could use your ideas. Feel free to send me an Ask or an IM about what I should write!
I'd like to do at least two or three chapters of a fic. I've previously done more EF ideas than SB, so either one works for me. Love kidfics. Love fluff and angst a healthy amount.
Send me those ideas!!!
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