#rumbelle

[notonlymice]

Could you keep me young?

[prissyhalliwell]

Back to the Enchanted Forest: Chapter Three

Summary: What if Zelena’s time travel spell had worked? Belle wakes up in a version of the Enchanted Forest that she doesn’t recognize. Can she use her memories of the past to win back Rumple and defeat Zelena? Season 3 AU

Story is fully written. New chapters will be posted Wednesdays on AO3.

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The Blue Fairy left Maurice’s castle rather bewildered. If she had been surprised by Belle announcing that she’d had a vision, it was nothing to how shocked she’d been when the girl had related the same feeling of displacement that morning. 

Not only had it confirmed Blue’s own suspicions that some great magic had taken place, but it made her much more interested in this vision. If the girl was sensitive enough to pick up on magical shifts to her environment - something Blue had barely noticed herself - then it gave her vision a lot more credibility. 

Not that Blue had shared the importance of either of these with Belle. Just because the girl was sensitive to magic didn’t mean she was competent enough to understand the greater forces at play, especially if they - and by they, Blue meant none other than a certain dark wizard - had their own ulterior motives for the girl. No, Blue was quite certain that it was best to leave Maurice’s daughter in the dark for the time being. 

Certain aspects of the vision were clear to Blue while the rest was as confusing as everything else that had happened that day. The description of a spell that would change everyone’s fate and the color green were obvious. She’d known that Rumplestiltskin had been working on his Dark Curse for years now, and the color clearly referred to Rumplestiltskin’s hideous green skin. If there was any other green villain causing mayhem around the Enchanted Forest, Blue would obviously know about it. 

Read more on AO3.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Heart of the Beast

Chapter 30: Daily Preparations

His research was fruitless. He explored the Chronicles before him, scanning and skimming, reading until his eyes felt like they might bleed before he returned to the one he was certain would have the answers if they existed. Nimue. Oh, the Original had lived for fifty-seven years before she'd been killed. And she was a genius. Truly, the Merlin of the Dark Ones. Filled with rage and anger, she experimented and invented and theorized like very few of those who had come before him. She'd toyed with driving out Light Magic, invented clever potions that he used even in his time, and theorized about potential ways to come back from the dead.

But something that would require Zelena, something that required a sacrifice of wickedness that wasn't the destruction of Dark Magic…that he never found. And at some point, after he'd read her journals a third time, he'd put his head in his hand, blinked…and woke up three hours later.

His back ached. His knees were sore from dangling off the stool. His wrist was stiff from keeping his head up. He was suddenly aware in a way he hadn't been in centuries just how old his body was. Just how much time his mortal form would have left on this earth. If that time was years he could manage to spend with Belle, he thought he might be okay with that. But if his time in the hospital was any indication, he already could tell he was going to despise the trips to the doctor's office, which he knew would grow to be numerous in old age.

For now, however, without magic at hand, he'd have to cope with some pain relievers. He also figured that a shower and fresh clothes would likely do him a world of good as well.

He wanted to let Belle sleep for as long as possible; he figured one of them should at least be somewhat fresh. And, if he knew her, she wasn't likely to take his opinion that he'd found nothing helpful to heart; she'd want to look through as much of it herself as she could before she determined that. He wouldn't be insulted by that. Rather, he knew it wasn't so much a matter of trust with her as it was a matter of nerves. Even if she trusted him, she'd still want to double-check his work, just in case she saw something he didn't.

All that knowledge of Belle amounted to was the understanding that wherever they'd be going today, whatever they'd do, meant the Chronicles would need to go with them. That was fine, or at least that was what he told himself. Years of protecting the Chronicles, hiding them away from the world, had him instinctively feeling resistant to the idea. But if Emma wanted to come for them, then it was a good idea to move them. It wouldn't hold her off for very long; they were touched by Dark Magic, and Nimue would be able to help her pinpoint them within a few minutes if it became necessary, but sometimes, even a few minutes could be the difference between victory and defeat.

So, he rifled through the boxes in the basement, pulling out his soaps and toothbrush, the bathroom items that she'd put away, as well as finding some new clothes for the day. Then he went upstairs and used one of the guest bathrooms to clean. And he would have loved to savor it, to just stand under the shower head for thirty minutes and let the warm water run over him and melt away those aches and pains, the soreness left in his body from Merida, experience the joy of getting the sweat and dirt and grime off of him. He wanted to sigh at the feel of clean clothes on his skin and socks that didn't crunch and the way he suddenly felt like himself again even if it still felt as though the arm he'd been walking around with for the last two hundred years was cut off.

But he didn't.

There wasn't time. Instead, he showered and dressed quickly, doing everything he possibly could to avoid the time-consuming action of satisfaction, then hobbled down to the kitchen to make Belle tea and start his coffee, which he was certain he'd need in gallons today. Only when the tea was done, and the coffee was brewing, did he climb the stairs once more to their bedroom and…

That was where he took his first pause of the day. Instinct would have had him opening the door, sitting at the side of the bed, and waking her gently. Slowly. Intimately.

He wasn't sure they had time for that, but worse, he wasn't sure they had the familiarity for that. At least not at the moment. Nimue had always told him that patience was his virtue. But this thing he was doing, waiting for his Belle to come to him when she was so close and he felt like he was burning to touch her again, to have things slip back into the norm…it was almost painful.

But there was no time to dwell on that now. So he forced himself to knock on his own bedroom door and wait. "Belle…Belle, it's me," he knocked, letting his voice get a little louder with every word. "Belle, I'm sorry, but you need to get up. I can't let you sleep anymore. Belle?"

He was just debating going in to try and wake her, or at the very least check to be positive she hadn't run out in the middle of the night without his knowledge, when the door opened, and she appeared.

"Did they call?" she questioned, her face framed in the door. He could see she was still wearing yesterday's clothes, but he could also see her hair was tangled and there was an imprint of a crease on her cheek from where she'd been resting on her pillow. She'd been sleeping then. Good. That was good. "Did they say where they were? What happened?"

"No, I just…" It took him a moment for his tired brain to realize what she was talking about. The calls she'd made yesterday after the hospital to try and get an inkling of what might have been happening. She'd taken her phone with her to bed last night. He still had no clue where his was, which meant that if she hadn't received any calls since she'd gone to bed, then there was no news. "I haven't found anything yet, and I figured that at this point we could get more work done if we collected a few books from my shop and worked in the library. Maybe we can find a reference in the books you keep in the back."

Disappointment bloomed on her face for a moment, chasing away the weariness he was certain she wanted to hide. But a moment later she nodded her head. "Right, just uh…just let me get dressed and tell Rapunzel to take today off, and I'll be ready to go."

Rapunzel? Was that the woman she'd hired to help her in the library? He hadn't heard of her in-

The teacup in his hand suddenly burned as she moved to close the door, and he quickly reached out, shoving it at her before she could shut him out. She took it with a timid "thank you" before retreating into the room, and he refused to let himself dwell on the interaction as he heard the shower turn on. He wanted to be as smart with his time as possible. He wanted to get the chest of Dark One Chronicles into the trunk of the car. And he wanted to make a list of books he had at the shop that might be helpful for what he needed. If he had time, he could check the ones in the basement, but at this point he was certain they wouldn't be of service, not until they had a general idea of what it was Emma was trying to do.

Unfortunately, it took him nearly thirty minutes to get the trunk up the stairs with his bad leg. Halfway up, he'd realized it was an endeavor he likely should have waited for Belle for, but now that he'd begun, there was no stopping or waiting for her. And besides, there was some kind of male part of him that refused to call for her help. Fortunately, after the stairs, it was easy enough to drag them down the hall and out to the car, though he did wince at the scratches he left behind. If it weren't for the cool air, he'd have needed another shower afterward, but by the time he called for Belle again, realizing how much time they'd both wasted, he was proud of himself for what he'd done. It was easy to forget how able-bodied he'd forced himself to be with his limp so long ago. But like the sword play, his body hadn't forgotten entirely. He could live like this. Not happily. Not willingly. But he could. Maybe if the doctors had helped his heart, there was something more they could do for his ankle these days, a surgery, perhaps, that would help with the pain.

But those were all questions he put aside as he heard Belle cry out "coming!" and heard her practically fly down the stairs to meet him at the front door.

"There's a bit of a chill in the air this morning," he muttered, holding her jacket for her to slip into it. It was the thing a gentleman might do, but if he was honest with himself, doing that was more because he wanted an excuse to be as close to her as possible than it was for her sake.

"How ominous. I hope that's not an omen for today," she commented, ignoring the contact if she noticed.

"Stranger things have happened."

"The trunk!" she realized as she picked up her scarf. "You wanted to take the Chronicles with us."

"It's already in the car," he smiled proudly as she raised her eyebrows in shock.

"You put it in the car all by yourself?"

"Not easily. The house took a bit of a beating…"

At his words, she turned around and examined the scratches he'd left in the floor from the basement to the front door.

"I can probably work those out, but…you could have asked for help."

Apparently, they were both going to have to get used to the things he could and could not do.

Later.

"We needed to go," he reminded her. She took the hint and allowed him to usher her out the door and into the car.

[eirian-houpe]

Dies Irae - Chapter 29 - Iniuriam Hominis

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Grace | Paige (Once Upon a Time), Jiminy Cricket | Archie Hopper, Knave of Hearts | Will Scarlet, Widow Lucas | Granny, Anastasia, Queen of Hearts | Cora, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy Additional Tags: AU, Angst, Violence, archeology, psychic questing, Religion, spirituality, Magic, Romance, Smut, Supernatural Elements Series: Part 1 of Dies Irae Summary:

A strange man confronts Doctor Belle French after one of her lectures and claims to need her help. He also claims to know that she is troubled, and can offer her protection. When events transpire that lead Belle to take up that offer, a desperate search begins to translate a series of ancient inscriptions, and Belle and her friends - both old and new - face increasing danger as they try to find answers and secure the truth before it can fall into very wrong hands, and possibly threaten every living thing in Storybrooke and beyond!

Read on AO3

Chapter 29 - Iniuriam Hominis

He almost didn’t see it.

That was the part that would stay with him afterwards.  Not the discovery itself, but how close he’d come to just driving past it entirely.

He’d been thinking about Grace, and the pleasure that had become ordinary now, of just driving to collect her on a Thursday evening that no longer felt like it was something stolen that he had to justify to himself. The ordinariness of that thought was exaclty the reason that he’d nearly let the car slip past his attention unexamined.

A sedan was parked two houses down from the Hanleys’. It was facing the wrong direction for someone simply visiting a neighbor. It was positioned with deliberate uselessness and he understood at once that it had been placed there for observation, and not for convenience.

He didn’t slow down. 

He drove past at the same speed he’d been driving and turned at the next corner as though that had always been his intention.  He parked three streets away.

He sat in the car with both hands on the wheel as the engine wound down, doing as he always did before anything else: breathing, slowing his own pulse by an act of will that had taken too many long years to make reliable; separating the part of him that wanted to already be running back toward that street from the part of him that knew running was the worst possible thing he could do.

Then he got out, and walked back the long way, through the gap between two yards that he’d mapped without ever quite admitting to himself why, the first week Grace had moved to stay with the Hanleys.

He approached from behind and stood at the car door for a moment before he did anything else, aware, in the almost clinical way he’d trained himself to be aware of his own body under stress, that something inside him had gone very quite and very cold in the instant he understood what he was looking at. It was not the loud quiet of restraint. It was the other kind. The kind that came before, not during, the worst of things he had ever done.

He thought of Priscilla for exactly one second. He didn’t see her face, or hear her name in his mind.  The thought was of the exact shape of a moment eight years ago when he had understood, too late, what had already been taken. Then he put that thought away, because he could not afford it in that moment, because Grace was a hundred feet away behind a window with the lights coming on, and putting it away was the only thing standing between that exact moment, and something he wouldn’t be able to undo afterward.

In the next breath, he opened the car door.

The man’s hand moved, too slow, toward something. Jefferson had it pinned before conscious thought even arrived. He closed his own hand around the man’s wrist with a pressure that wasn’t yet pain, but the unspoken promise of it, delivered in a heartbeat.

“Don’t,” Jefferson said, and that was all for a moment.  He simply looked at the man whose training had just told him, Jefferson could see, that nothing in it had prepared him for what was happening.

“You’re watching her house,” Jefferson said.

“I don’t—”

Denial.

“You’re watching her house,” Jefferson said again. The same words. No louder. The repetition worse than volume would have been. “Say it back to me so I know you understand what’s happening here, and what I’m asking.”

“I’m,” the man swallowed, “watching her house.”

“Whose house?”

The man didn’t answer.

Jefferson tightened his grip fractionally on the wrist he was still holding. Not yet enough to break anything, but enough to make it clear that yet was the operative word.

“Whose. House?” he said a third time.

“Yours,” the man said. “Your kid’s.”

Something happened inside Jefferson’s chest - gone cold - at the word kid coming out of this man’s mouth. Fast. Total. Entirely silent.  His face didn’t change. That was, he understood, even as it was happening, the most dangerous version of himself there was: the one where nothing on the outside revealed anything true about what was happening underneath. He let go. Stepped back.

“Get out of the car,” he said.

The man got out.

In an instant, faster than vision, Jefferson stepped toward him. He rested one hand on the roof of the car, obscuring the flash of metal that he brought to rest low, against the man’s thigh. Resting there, not pressed, not even threatening. Just there.

In the moments that followed, Jefferson didn’t raise his voice even once, and he found, afterward, that he didn’t even remember every word of it. That had never happened to him before, not ever, in as long as he could recall. He remembered pieces.

He remembered saying, “You do not get to use her. Not once. Not ever.  Not as a threat. Not as leverage, not as a word whispered in a planning meeting three steps removed from anything like where we are right now.”

He remembered the man’s face, drained white, and yellowed in the tint of the streetlights flickering to life overhead,  when he continued, “I have been very careful, for an extremely long time, about how much of myself I let into the work. You have just told me there’s no point in being careful any more.”

He remembered, with total clarity, the last thing, the thing that came out lower than anything before it - almost gentle - almost whispered, as to a lover, “Go back. Tell them exactly what you saw tonight. Tell them I didn’t raise my voice. Tell them I didn’t even seem angry. Tell them that’s the part they should be afraid of.”

He stepped back, and with a flick of his wrist, closed and pocketed the knife, then pointed to the still open door of the sedan.

“Get in,” he said. “Drive.”

He didn’t blink as he watched the man obey.

Jefferson stood on the sidewalk for a long moment after the car had gone in the quite of an ordinary residential street at dusk with lights coming on in windows up and down the block; a neighborhood settling into its evening with no idea what had almost happened on its doorstep.

He became aware, distantly, detached, that his hands were not entirely steady. It was not the tremor of adrenaline working its way out of his body that had been ready for violence. It was something underneath that, something closer to the precise opposite of fear that was still finishing its work in him even with the car already gone.

He stood there until it passed.  It took longer than he expected.

Afterwards, he walked to the Hanleys’ door and rang the bell. By an act of will that he had been practicing for eight years, he composed his face into the one Grace knew as her father’s, and nothing in it could betray what had just happened two doors down.

Missus Hanley opened the door. Grace was already behind her, bag over her shoulder with her face holding the familiar expression of her looking for him. He had never once been able to watch it without something happening inside of him that he had no name for, and he didn’t need it to.

“Ready?” he said.

“Ready,” she said. 

He took her bag, and tucked her into his side as they walked to the car together. He didn’t look back at the place where the sedan had been parked, because looking back would have shown her something in his face he was not willing to let her see.

He just listened, keeping her close as she chattered about her day, her week at school, the thoughts she’d had about the latest book that she was reading and that she asked if they could read together for a while after dinner and before bed.

He called Gold from the car once Grace was settled in the back seat with her headphones in, their volume loud enough that he was confidence, but not certain, that she couldn’t hear him.

“They sent someone to the Hanleys’,” he said when Gold answered, and shared the logical supposition that had settled over him in the few moments it had taken to dial, and for Gold to answer. “One man. Watching the house. They think I’m responsible for what happened in the university car park. They were looking for leverage.”

The silence on the line lasted longer than Gold’s silences usually ran.

“Is she safe?” 

“She’s safe,” Jefferson said. “I caught it before it became anything.”

“What did you do?”

Jefferson glanced in the rear view mirror. Grace was looking out at the street lights sliding past, entirely unaware of how close the evening had come to being something else.

“I’m not sure I can tell you exactly,” he said honestly. “I don’t remember all of it.”

Gold’s pause was entirely different this time.

“Jefferson?”

“I know,” Jefferson said. “I know how that sounds.”

“Did you hurt him?”

“A part of me thought about it,” Jefferson admitted, “but no. I didn’t touch him beyond getting him out of the car. I didn’t need to.” He paused. “I think that frightened him more than if I had.”

Another long silence followed, and Jefferson could almost hear the thoughts passing through Gold’s mind and being dismissed one by one.

“What did you tell him to take back?”

Jefferson thought back on his words, the ones he remembered and the shape of the ones he didn’t.

“That she’s not on the table,” he said, “Ever. That if anyone tries this again, I won’t be having a conversation.” He paused. “And that they should be more frightened of how calm I was, thank if I’d gone feral.”

“Were you calm?”

Jefferson considered the question with the honesty it deserved. It was the same honesty he’d been giving Ruby across kitchen tables and counters, and a back room that wasn’t his.

“No,” he said finally. “I wasn’t anything close to calm. I think I was the opposite of calm, wearing calm, because the opposite of calm would have terrified Grace if she’d seen it on me, and I am never letting her see that. Not once. Not for any reason.”

He took a breath, summoning calm again as he felt his emotions winding up again inside.

“Find out from Cora,” he demanded, “whether Blue actually believes it was me, because if she does, this isn’t finished. It’s just found a worse direction to go in.”

“I will,” Gold promised, then, “Jefferson?”

“Yes?”

“Stay home. Both of you. I’ll handle what comes next.”

Jefferson hung up.  He drove home with his daughter in the back seat, headphones in, looking out at the street lights, and did not let any part of what had just happened leave the front seat with him.

[magnifigal]

not sure if @dekujin still is on their Animatronic!Rumple train, but I sure am, so here is this 4-panel sketchbook comic i doodled based on a random cheesy soap opera fuelled shower thought

your AU has infected me in the best ways possdible

extra:

[bg-sparrow]

Busy day, but happy to have another Flufftober chapter finished after it gave me some flak yesterday! That's 7 down, 24 to go! This isn't from the chapter that I just finished, but it's from the Flufftober story:

Belle smiled up at him from the foyer as Henry hung her dark green coat. Her blouse, wool skirt, and black hose suggested she had come nearly straight from work, running up to her apartment only long enough to collect the large crockpot now sitting on his accent table.  “I brought dinner,” she said, picking it up. “Hope you don’t mind.”  Mind? Her, here, lovely, saving his home from smelling like corn dogs all night?  “Henry, set the table.”

Have a great day! Inbox me if you like!

[thatfanfictiongirl76]

OUAT -- RumBelle Series

This is a Once Upon a Time series that I found a few months back. It is by far one of my favorite series in the fandom. This is a two series universe, the first 3 part series is focused on Rumple and Belle, the the second 2 part series in progress is focused on Jefferson and an OC. I’m making each series its own rec, instead of combining the two. I just love this universe and I know you will too.

The Best Tea Cup is Chipped Series

By: The MastersDaughter666

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3214443

Summary: Beauty and the Beast. Belle and Rumplestilskin. A tale as old as time. This is the story of how a brave woman came to love an ugly man beginning with their days in the Dark Castle and how against all odds they never stopped fighting for each other. 

My Comments: I absolutely love this series. The summary (from the first fic) does not do it justice. I love the relationship between Rumplestilskin and Belle, not to mention Jefferson, Alice and Paige too!! I love the respect and understanding between Belle and Rumple, not to mention how the author puts their own spin on the OUAT plot of seasons 1-3. I can’t recommend this series enough!

Status: Complete

Length: 337,169 words

Musical Madness Series

By: TheMastersDaughter666

https://archiveofourown.org/series/4512760

Summary: The Pied Piper was one of the most feared people in the Enchanted Forest. Except those few who knew her. This is the story of how a woman forced to survive on her own fell in love and found a family with the help of her true love the mad hatter and her best friend the Dark One. 

My Comments: This is a companion series focused on the author’s OC, Alice/The Pied Piper. I found that I really love the author's OC. From her relationship with Jefferson, being a mother to Paige, her friendship with Rumplestilskin and Belle. This is an ongoing series, with the author currently working on the second fic in the series. I know you will love this series as much as I do.

Status: Incomplete

Last Update: 8/9/26

Length: 145,668 words

[eirian-houpe]

WIP Wednesday

Good morning, world!

Here are the things I'm working on this week:

Final Edit of Dies Irae, Chapter 29 - should be posted later today.

Final draft of Dies Irae: Vespers

Detailed outline of Dies Irae: Lauds

Outline of Dies Irae: The Dark One's Telling

Detailed outline of Dies Irae: The Vessel's Telling

Final Draft of Dies Irae: The Templar's Telling, Chapter 5

Also, trying to mentally prepare myself for being back in school next week. (I'm STILL not ready.) Currently I'm eating breakfast, and getting ready to head in for some important meetings today. The joys of being a department leader.

So, that's me, feel free to ask questions, as always. My inbox is here.