#i have to scroll past the one again abandoned original novel to get to it too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wilwywaylan · 6 years

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Pumpkin

Fandom : Les Misérables

Modern AU, 1237 words, Combeferre & Eponine friendship

I’m trying to slowly get back into writing and put my muse out of her slumber. I’m gonna try to do some “fictober”, where I’ll unleash a new stupid text each day :D I’ll try to center it around Autumn, but maybe not, we’ll see. It’ll be very short, very silly, and I hope, very cute. So right now, have some cute friendship thingie !

Also on AO3 !

There was an unspoken rule among les Amis that Combeferre's reading time was not to be disturbed, even under dire circumstances. Unless of course someone was in direct danger which was curiously often for a group of usually healthy young adults. But baring those circumstances, no one was to knock on his door, call him, instant message him, yell about revolution or how a certain person was always wrong, or blast awful sugary pop in one's room. Noise was to be kept to a normal level, and culinary experiences wait until he was done. Courfeyrac and Enjolras were quite happy to follow the rules, knowing that they would get attention again soon. Even Bahorel took care to not get badly hurt during those times (he had tried going to Joly, but after his friend fainted seeing the state of his nose, he promised to abstain).

So far Combeferre's evening had been promising. He had found a sci-fi novel he had been looking for so long, his favourite tea was stimming at his side, and a fluffy plaid was drapped over his legs, filling him with a comfortable warmth. There was no noise barring from the soft hum of his heater. Everything was perfect. He was reaching the exact point where the plot was taking momentum, taking a sip of his tea, when there was a knock at the door. He put down his cup. A second knock. Then, after a few seconds, furious banging. Combeferre put down his cup, put away his plaid, shivering at the sudden cold feeling on his legs, then got up. He glanced in Courfeyrac's room, then Enjolras', but his roommates were nowhere to be seen. And the banging hadn't stop.

He flung open the door, glaring at the person who dared stop him from reading... and was met with something very orange and a glare to rival his own. Eponine was standing in front of him, carrying in her arms a very large pumpkin, and looking ready to murder someone. Either him, or the vegetable. He opened his mouth, but she beat him to the punch :

- I know you're busy reading, but I need your help.

Before he could confirm, she charged past him, crossed the hallway, and plopped her charge on the kitchen table. When Combeferre joined her, pushing his glasses up his nose, she had already discarded her coat and scarf, and put her high-heeled boots on the table.

- So ? Combeferre asked while pushing her feet back down. What do you need me for ?

She threw the pumpkin a glare made even scarier by her dark eyeshadow.

- Someone at work decided to give us a tip. This.

- Someone tipped you with.... a pumpkin ?

Combeferre knew from practice that laughing right now would be disastrous. He silently thanked whatever deity that Courfeyrac wasn't here, or he would have made a pun about tipping her over the edge and probably would have ended with an interesting pumpkin-hat. So he just nodded as if it all made perfect sense.

- So I don't know what to do with that fucking thing.

- And you think I know ?

She glanced at him, then went back to try to murder the innocent vegetable with her glare.

- I tried to ask Jehan, but he's in one of his moods again. Feuilly is busy - like there's a time he's not -, and Montparnasse just laughed in my face.

- And then you decided to ask me.

- Well, who do you want me to ask ? Courf ? Enjolras ? (she sneered) That fucking pumpkin is a fucking pain, but I don't want to ruin it. You're the one who has his shit together. You can help me make soup or something.

With a sigh, Combeferre pulled his phone out of his pocket, and looked up the first recipe he could find. Okay, that didn't sound too complicated, and even he, with his basic skills in cooking, could probably make it. He almost asked Eponine if she couldn't find a recipe on her own and follow it, especially something as basic as a soup. But he didn't. Maybe she could. And maybe she just didn't want to do it alone. Something he could very well understand.

He rolled up his sleeves and started to gather everything. He ordered Eponine to take some vegetables out. She obeyed with something of an amused smile. She went through the fridge for a moment, causing several worrying sounds, and came out with potatoes, carrots, and two bottles of beer. She opened both, and handed one to Combeferre, who took a sip. He wasn't used to drinking beer at this hour, but after all, he wasn't used to make soup either, so just one more unusual thing wasn't really much.

They started cutting up the vegetables. Eponine was very efficient at it, but Combeferre would have preferred her to be a little less... enthusiastic. Her forceful chopping did give him the impression that potatoes and carrots had personnally offended her. Well, that was the pumpkin's case. But still. He was going to have fun giving their countertop its original coloration.

Finally, everything was cut up and put to simmer. Combeferre put a timer on his phone, then went to his room to retrieve his book and his now-cold cup of tea. When he came back, Eponine had settled comfortably and was scrolling on her phone. He made them two new cups of tea, set them on the counter far from the stains, and sat opposing her with his book.

They sat in comfortable silence for forty-five minutes, sipping their tea and reading, surrounded by the sweet smell of pumpkin soup. When the timer bipped, Combeferre got up with a pinch of regret at having to abandon his reading in the middle of a good part, dug around in the cupboard until he managed to put his hand on the blender hidden behind a pile of saucepans he didn't even remember they had.

Eponine hovered over his shoulder while he blended it, until it was a nice, creamy texture. Once satisfied, he carefully tasted it. Good. Very good, even. Eponine did the same, dipping her finger directly in the pan.

- It's good, she said. You're an okay cook.

Combeferre thanked her with a smile. He tried to find a fitting container, but it seemed that even as three people, they didn't own even one that would contain a soup made with a whole pumpkin. He divided it between the three biggest ones he could find, and handed them to Eponine.

- Here you go.

She considered them for a second, then took the one on top and shoved it back into his hands.

- Here, take that. For the help.

She walked to the door, her boxes in hand. Combeferre considered the soup in his hands, then the now pumpkin-covered countertop. He barely had time to think that maybe, he should wait until morning before taking care of it, before she marched right back in, grabbed a sponge and started scrubbing.

- What ? she said when he didn't move. You thought I would let you clean that mess alone ?

- No, of course not.

- Then get to work.

With a smile that verged on dorky, Combeferre grabbed the second sponge and started cleaning with her.

#les miserables #combeferre #eponine #and pumpkins #do not forget the pumpkin

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theliterateape · 3 years

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Birthday Reflections of a Year in Lockdown

By David Himmel

I read a meme or a post or some kind of thing on the Faceborg the other day that said, “Tradition is just peer pressure from dead people.” It struck me because, like many of us, tradition was a big thing in my house growing up. Often used as a guilt magnifier to help hone good behavior. And I like it because if this past year has showed us anything it’s that the only tradition really worth maintaining for whatever possible reason is change.

Things change. Things need to change. Evolution > Tradition.

That said, I also like the tradition I lifted from Don Hall, which is to write an essay on one’s birthday about the things one has learned on their most recent trip around the orange fireball at the center of our lonely little solar system. And Don Hall is not dead. Yet. So, I guess this is less tradition and more, um, inspired peer pressure.

I’ve been at this shit for forty-two full years now. It’s been mostly fun. There were those three years at the tail end of my twenties that nearly killed me but I came out of them with a novel and the ability to shoot tequila. So, you know, win. And, I managed to forge a few really solid friendships despite the alcoholic and depressed cloud that surrounded me much like Pig-Pen’s cloud of dirt. I’m long past those Dark Days, and yet, I still manage to bring them up in casual conversation or pre-dawn essay writing. And that is a perfect way to dive into the things I’ve learned this past year.

I am extremely and arguably absurdly emotionally attached to things This is more of a reminder, or a reinforcement of what’s blindingly obvious to me. This personality quirk—or defect, depending on who you are and how you choose to look at me—is flexing pretty hard right now as we plan to move from this apartment of eight years to a new house in a new Chicago neighborhood. Moving is the perfect time to purge and I’m just not sure I can bid farewell to things I know I’ll have to leave behind. Yeah, yeah, I know all about the Marie Kondo thing of items sparking joy. But I go one deeper: Keep items that spark reference. Maybe I should have been a museum curator instead of a writer and creative director. Because to me, just about everything is worthy of historical preservation. That includes a pair of boxer briefs I bought over twenty-one years ago. (More on that in another forthcoming essay.) It’s not that I’m incapable of throwing things out, it’s just that it’s harder for me than most. But when I reach the stage of acceptance that some history is best preserved in one’s mind and the time comes to put something behind me or on the curb, I do so with abandon and a swiftness unmatched. Done is done. Maybe I’ll write about it. Maybe it’s the next novel.

Writing takes a different kind of energy now When the idea of being a writer was a goal, I could churn out typed pages for days all while wearing a big smile on my face. Then I started to get paid for it. Then work got busy. Then the kid woke up. Then the dog had to go out. Then… then… then… I’ve spent the last year or so retraining myself to be a writer. Yes, I can still do it and I do, but it has since come to feel like another responsibility, another piece of accountability I lug around like Marley’s chains. Inspiration fits differently on this overtly domesticated body.

I really like He-Man But not in the gay way. Although there’s nothing wrong with that. The Masters of the Universe was my favorite cartoon and my favorite toys when I was only slightly older than my son is now. This year, Mattel released all new Masters of the Universe origin figures. I saw He-Man and Skeletor hanging on a shelf in Target one day and just about lost my mind. These figures are now fully poseable and, well, I needed them. I took a photo and sent it to my good friends Dr. Jarret Keene and Don Hall teasing them with, “My birthday is coming up!”—it was, like, February. The next day, an Amazon box arrived at my place. In it was He-Man, Skeletor, and fucking Battle Cat! Jarret sent me an early birthday present. Do I play with these things? Yep! It’s a great way to procrastinate. It completely removes my mind from the work at hand, the horrors of the news, and the blood-boiling stupidity of social media’s doom scrolling.

Shortly after I received these toys, I realized that He-Man has been a constant all my life. I own the entire series on DVD and have for decades. My favorite dish in the house is a plastic Masters of the Universe plate that’s older than my baby brother and is completely dishwasher safe. I have a Lordi band t-shirt stylized like the Masters of the Universe logo. I still think Evil-lyn is hotter than Teela, and I’ll argue to my death that the 1987 live-action Masters of the Universe film starring Dolph Lundgren and Frank Langella as He-Man and Skeletor respectively is the greatest project Courtney Cox has ever participated in. Speaking of…

Friends still sucks The jokes, most storylines, and character developments beyond season four do not hold up. It’s almost like those episodes were written by out of touch white baby boomers. Oh, yeah, they were.

I need to pause and be proud of myself every now and again I’ve never been one to rest on their laurels. And I’ve never been one for daily affirmations or being really proud of making little steps toward a big goal. I’m not that shallow or weak. But being asked to write for The Atlantic and the President of the United States is pretty cool—and kind of a big deal.

Our marriage should be good There’s never really a good time for anyone to put their marriage on coast, but I think we’ll be okay. At least for a little while, the need to panic over the state of our affairs is behind us. Katie and I managed to get through (most) of a global pandemic going into it a little burned out from parenthood and personal failings, but here we are, getting along better and generally pretty excited for the future of things. Maybe Katie has a different perspective on things. I don’t know. We don’t talk much.

I do have Hollywood looks Despite how much I dislike my big nose and my twisted, bony frame, I always felt I was at least mostly good looking. Maybe even good looking by Hollywood standards. Tell me I don’t look like Adrian Brody or Steve Carrell or Mr. Bean or the new Elliot Page. I swear, I saw this photo of Page and my first thought was, “Holy shit, Elliot page has a picture of me in a Las Vegas pool in 2003. That’s weird.”

I’ve become almost perfectly comfortable with my discomfort with my American Judaism Too much to unpack right here right now. But I’m confident by age forty-three, I’ll have no problem telling American Zionists to fuck themselves in the face with an Uzi with the same passion I’d tell a Trump-supporting, Capitol-storming racist to fuck themselves with their stupid Confederate flags.

Paying attention pays off It’s easy to pay close attention to my son growing up. That’s the warning everyone gives new parents: pay attention because the time goes by so fast. I keep a good eye on the kid and his development and I try to appreciate all of the little moments. Thankfully, I have the Literate ApeCast as a solid documentation of this very thing. But paying close attention to your children makes it real easy to forget about yourself. And your partner. I’ve had to learn to pay better attention to everyone’s development in my household. Myself included. Keeping one eye on yourself helps keep you grounded, focused, and on task to be the Master of the Universe just like you always wanted to be.

Keep going, kid, you’re not an old man yet.

#Birthday #birthday wisdom #Birthday Lessons

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gigiree · 7 years

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Finders Keepers, Losers...would really like their umbrella back

Day 2 Day 3 and 4 please note that these are all a continuous story!:) for Day 5/6 kleptomaniac and library! Another one that combines two prompts :0

The only one he has to blame is himself. He had a choice. Community service, after that grand rallying of forces from so many different countries and villages, meant he could have performed his civic duty anywhere the alliance had slipped its grabby little hands into.

But Naruto was here and so was Sakura, and his countersuit was still underway. He could have asked Hiromi Hyuuga to handle proceedings without him, but Sasuke has always been a stubborn brute. He likes keeping his business close, likes being able to oversee things with those sharp eyes of his.

He had been the one to choose working at Konoha library as his community service. He had been the one who’d written his prideful, pretty name on that sign up sheet.

And now he could kill his past self from sheer boredom.

He’s spent that last three weeks buried under tomes. Mountains and mountains of books ranging from interesting topics like experimental genjutsu to dumb things like the history of the daikon radish.

It’s all blurred in his mind. Open book, stamp date, check in. Oh, a visitor. welcome them, tell them to shut up but in a polite way, and check out their books while giving them false well wishes.

(He won’t admit it, but the decrepit old woman who oversees him from behind shining spectacles gives him the shivers.)

He tries to renew his mind by learning a bit more, reading a historical novel that paints the relationship between Hashirama and Madara as a bit more than friends turned enemies…cough…lovers…cough.

He hadn’t known it would be like this, but he’s already ten chapters in, and he can’t stop reading. He’s already on the breakaway chapter, the one where Madara abandons the village and betrays the first Hokage.

He’s in the grips of the emotions, the last bits of a bond fraying into an eons long fight. Despite the romantic undertones, the writing is so evocative, that it leaves him intrigued.

He’s interrupted from his reverie by a soft cough.

“Umm…that’s a great book…although I think it’s lacking in accuracy.”

Her voice startles him more than her comment. He’d been picturing her, in the two or three moments he did think about her, sweating away under some house built into a tree, teaching kids with clammy hands and running noses about the chakra system.

He’d pictured her, her hair up in a loose bun, in her jounin vest, hands dancing with her excited explanations.

Look, it’s not like he had spent a lot of time at all thinking about her. It’s just that the sharingan makes sure that all his thoughts are realistic and accurate…it’s not like he’s consciously memorized the slope of her neck and the curve of her smile, or that odd little freckle on her temple.

Regardless, her smile is here and her neck is rising out of a cream colored sweater that looks too big for her. Her hair is in a loose braid, not a bun, and her smile is strained, not soft at all.

He’s not sure if it’s his surprise or his latent embarrassment at being caught reading a historical romance that makes him speak.

“It’s terrible.”

Her smile softens then.

“But the emotions are written well, it’s almost believable, right? I mean, if we hadn’t seen them both ourselves…I could have almost believed it.”

He pauses, and feels a pang of fear when he notices the old librarian staring at him skeptically from her desk across the hall. He closes the book with a businesslike mien, and plasters the most awkward smile Hinata has ever seen.

“Good evening Hyuuga-san, how may I help you?”

She coughs once. Coughs again before bringing up her hands to hide her face. He can hear her quiet snickers, and he feels his wounded pride prick in his chest for revenge.

“If you’re looking for the erotic novels, they’re towards the back, call numbers starting with XXX.” He says plainly and a little too loudly.

The old librarian shoots him a dirty look, but Hinata’s coughing fit makes it all worthwhile. —

Turns out, she hadn’t been looking for the erotic novels. She’d wanted heavily guarded scrolls that detailed the anatomy of the Hyuuga seal.

He pulls out a heavy ring of ancient keys, some of them very ornate and inlaid with gemstones. The rest are rusty and jangle with a hollow ring.

He lays them down on his desk, still replaying the horrified look on her face when he’d accused her of looking up erotica. His satisfaction carries him through the boring transaction. It keeps his questions from resurfacing. He doesn’t care.

He shouldn’t care.

It’s just…

“Do you have your permission form? From the Hokage or the Hyuuga clan head, whoever that is-” He seems to realize that their positions have been flipped. He remembers a few details about her family…she’s the eldest of the former clan head. “Never mind. You can just give yourself permission, right?”

He wants to say more, but the question seems to bring a look of bitter sadness, and her eyes turn flinty. She hastily pulls out a slip emblazoned with the Hyuuga flame and the characters that spell out the name of the clan head.

‘Hanabi Hyuuga’

She looks askance, her fingers fiddling with the hem of sweater.

He doesn’t remark on it, even if his expectations have been dashed. He’s not disappointed in her. He barely knows her enough to make any sorts of judgement, but she’s taking it all so quietly, he feels a sense of irritation for her that takes him by surprise again.

Perhaps it’s because she had been given a chance of birth and she hadn’t taken it? Perhaps it’s because she seems like she’s just bounding through life, uncontrolled and without direction?

Regardless, he feels a sense of vindication in giving her detailed instructions. As if he’s scolding an errant child.

“You can’t take these documents outside of the holding room. Any notes you make are yours to keep, but the originals have to return to storage as soon as you’re done.”

She seems startled by his specific and slightly condescending instructions. She’d expected from him the same sorts of pity and questions she had received from everyone else. It’s a relief and also a puzzling response.

“You’re talking a lot more.” She observes quietly.

He merely shrugs, tilting his head towards the book stacks to show her where to follow and probably to disprove her statement. Somehow, this makes her feel like smiling again. She follows him down five rows of book stacks to the an old wooden door set in the back.

It’s non-descript, save for the keyhole circled by an array of precious stones and a set of kanji. Sasuke efficiently finds the key he’s looking for, rubs his thumb over its handle to input some chakra, and then shoves itinto its slot with practiced ease.

She sees the characters flare blue and then hears the long winded metallic clicking as the door unlocks itself and swings inwards.

The room inside is also very unimpressive, given the elegant security system. At its center is a long, low table ringed by plush red chairs. The walls are hung with glass cases housing precious scrolls of all kinds.

Sasuke doesn’t wait, merely walks over to the nearest case and uses another key to open it up. His hands are are skilled, careful as he picks up a frayed scroll and unfurls it on the table in front of her.

“Hyuuga Seal Scroll. Read it. Return it. That’s it.” He says quietly and then leaves her by herself to go back to his post at the welcome desk.

She stops him with a request.

“Speaking of returning things, my umbrella?”

He pauses for a bit, looks over his shoulder at her and smirks.

“It’s mine now.” —

She doesn’t stay for very long. Half an hour at most, and then she’s pressed the call button under the table to get his attention.

He sees the notification seal flare blue on his desk, and without a word, heads over to help her lock up the scroll again.

She looks a little dissatisfied when she leaves, and he’s not surprised to see her come back a few days later.

“I didn’t get all the information I needed.” She says dispassionately, and hands him her freshly signed permission form.

He nods and repeats the whole process again.

This time she stays for an hour or so, and when she leaves, she looks a little more energized. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are shining under the dark lighting of the room.

He wants to ask why exactly she’s so happy, but she merely thanks him and hugs her notes closer to her chest.

She doesn’t come back that week, but when Sasuke takes his cursory inventory of the room, his Sharingan catches an inaccuracy in the Hyuuga scrolls’ case.

The Caged Bird Sealed Scroll is there, furled up and protected. But the edges of it seem too perfect. They are frayed, and had he been anyone else, he may not have noticed.

He pulls out it carefully to examine it, and inside lies a blank scroll save for a silly smiley face with its tongue sticking out and a cheerful message-

“This is mine…just for now. I promise I’ll return it, but I need to study it at home for reasons. Please don’t tell anyone…or else I’ll tell Naruto that you read romance novels about Madara and Hashirama…also, if you want more historically accurate romances, I would look at the story of the second Daimyo and his secret lover. It’s a sweet story and has lots of political intrigue.”

-H.

#sasuhina #sasuhina month

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supercoolgamesstuff-blog · 4 years

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Yooka-Laylee And The Impossible Lair Review – A Fresh Perspective

Playtonic Games' debut title, Yooka-Laylee, paid loving homage to formula of 3D platformers of the ‘90s. That makes sense, considering several team members originally worked on Banjo-Kazooie – but sequel takes a much more surprising approach. Yooka-Laylee and the Impossible Lair flips the script, abandoning 3D to deliver a focused, well-paced side-scrolling platformer that feels like a successor to Donkey Kong Country (another game members of Playtonic worked on). However, rather than relying too heavily on trappings of the past, Yooka-Laylee and the Impossible Lair modernizes the 2D platforming formula in all the right ways to deliver a fun and novel experience. Yooka-Laylee and the Impossible Lair starts with a bang. After completing a brisk tutorial, the game dumps you into the eponymous Impossible Lair, a sprawling, extremely difficult level riddled with dastardly obstacles and challenging boss fights with no checkpoints. You may start the game on the final level, but unless you’re unimaginably talented at 2D platformers, you’re going to fail out before you even know what’s happening. While this experience does little to instill confidence in what’s to come, it effectively throws down the gauntlet to give you something to aspire to. That experience sticks with you; the final stage looms over you the whole time you play, just waiting for you to challenge it again – which you can try at any point. But how can you conquer the hellscape of obstacles the Impossible Lair presents? By completing stages in the main game, you give yourself a fighting chance. Yooka-Laylee and the Impossible Lair delivers well-paced 2D platforming action across more than 20 unique stages, and every one you complete gives you an extra hit point when you attempt the Impossible Lair. I love how this unique approach lets you decide when you’re ready for the final onslaught; you don’t need to complete every stage to finish the Impossible Lair, but some of them are so clever and fun that you may want to keep playing anyway. From a level that has you dodging deadly buzzsaws to one that tasks you with swinging from different ropes while rolling and jumping off enemies, the diversity in the stages is impressive. While every obstacle course is exciting, my favorite was a nonlinear level that had me going to five distinct areas to complete quick challenges to retrieve five gems. Yooka and Laylee may control as one character, but their partnership isn’t just for looks. Similar to Mario and Yoshi, the two work together in important ways. When you start a stage, you have both characters, and access to your full arsenal of abilities. But if you get hit, Laylee panics and flies away, leaving you without movies like your twirl jump and butt stomp. You can get them back by chasing Laylee down (or calling her back at a bell), and this adds a thrilling risk to many stages. Every time Laylee flew away, I had to calculate whether the benefit of her abilities was worth the danger of pursuing her. Laylee’s abilities aren’t required to complete the stages, but they can be necessary for reaching collectibles like quills and coins. Quills are used as a currency in multiple situations, including purchasing game-modifying tonics, opening chests in the overworld, and buying hints from signposts. Meanwhile, coins are used to further open the map to allow you to access the next set of stages. I don’t mind collectibles in a game, but it’s annoying to have to replay levels if you didn’t get enough coins to access the next area in the world. However, the required coin thresholds are low, and I only had to go back to mine for coins once in my playthrough. Tonics are fun in-game cheat codes that modify the game in ways that can make the levels easier, harder, or different. For instance, one tonic makes enemies take an extra hit to destroy, while another makes it so Yooka doesn’t slip on ice. Based on how these tonics affect the difficulty, you earn a multiplier on the quills you collect in that stage. My preferred loadout was to gain 50 percent more quills by using the tonic that gives enemies an extra hit-point, while using another that makes every defeated enemy explode like a piñata with extra quills to collect. Between stages, you explore a 3D overworld with an isometric camera. This is a gratifying experience, as simple exploration and minor environmental puzzles yield worthwhile rewards like extra quills, tonics, and even alternate versions of the stages. The overworld also lets you tackle single-screen challenges where you must get creative to defeat a set number of enemies. I always looked forward to these creative puzzles to solve, like one with a movement-mimicking enemy that you need to manipulate to make it dive into a buzzsaw. The stage variants you unlock offer additional coins (and hit points for the Impossible Lair), but things are drastically different from the first time you tackled the level. One alternate version floods everything, turning it into a water stage. Another spills a sticky substance everywhere, making it more difficult to traverse – but also granting the ability to climb up the sticky walls and reach areas you couldn’t before. While you’re still technically playing the same levels, these versions feel as fresh as all-new stages, and I loved the surprises they threw at me. With rock-solid controls and imaginative level design, I couldn’t wait to see what awaited the chameleon/bat duo each time I entered a new area. Yooka-Laylee and the Impossible Lair is a superb 2D platformer with plenty to love for fans of the genre both new and old. Source link Read the full article

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ladyannarielle · 5 years

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Tales of Gold - Chapter: 06

Tales of Gold

JurisLadyAnna

Chapter 6: Skin Deep

Summary: In the Enchanted Forest, Rumplestiltskin and Belle alter the Dark Curse. Back in the asylum, Belle is reunited with a treasured keepsake from the past.

READ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE!

(Enchanted Forest… several months before the Dark Curse is cast.)

It was nearly evening and Rumplestiltskin had yet to return. A wintry wind howled bitterly outside the full length windows, rattling the panes of glass with a force threatening to shatter them. The cups on the tray Belle carried shook as she shuddered from the chill. She placed the white china tea set on the mahogany table and shuffled over to the fire. In the hearth, the fire roared but it struggled to heat the large room with the arctic temperatures just outside the stone walls. Belle held her cold hands over the flames, absorbing the heat.

Once warm, Belle dragged a red velvet chair closer to the heat source. There, she curled up with a down filled quilt and opened her new favorite book, entitled Skin Deep. Rumplestiltskin had recently brought the thoughtful gift back from Wonderland. She placed her hand on the inside cover and smiled warmly at the sweet message Rumple had written that lay underneath her palm. Belle fell in love with the book immediately after reading the first chapter.

Skin Deep was a sweet and tear jerking tale of a poor spinner named Beau, who gets lost on his way to sell his wares. He stumbles upon a dark fortress deep in the woods. Not finding anyone inside, he helps himself to food and warmth. The dark mistress of the castle discovers him and punishes him by locking him in the dungeon for trespassing and stealing. He offers to work for her to pay his debt. During his time there he learns the mistress is not the monster she pretends to be, but a broken woman who was cursed by a jealous and malevolent queen. Decades of loneliness had taken its toll on her. She had grown cold and hard. Beau shows her a selfless act of kindness which melts her frozen heart. They fall in love and eventually her curse is broken.

To Belle, the book was more than a uniquely written novel. It was a gender-swapped version of their own story; the two shared many similar details. She secretly wondered if that was the reason why he bought it for her. Belle flipped to the page she left off and quickly became engrossed in the book, losing track of all time.

The sound of the doors opening, signified the master of the castle had returned.

Rumplestiltskin strutted into the great hall with an added spring to his step. Belle watched him over her book. He plucked his favorite chipped cup from the tray and poured himself a brew. His eyes turned to her. She smiled warmly.

“Yes, please,” she answered, anticipating his question.

He grinned, lovestruck for a moment. Rumplestiltskin visibly shook off the haze her presence caused and busied himself with preparing her tea the way she liked it. Belle chuckled. The thought of the fearsome dark one preparing his lover's tea was so domestic. She wondered what his enemies would think if they saw him. He would most likely skewer them if they knew.

Rumplestiltskin came to her side and held a cup out to her.

“Thank you.” Smiling, she closed her book and took the hot drink from him.

Awkwardly, he smiled back and rested his bottom on her armrest. He looked down at his cup and methodically turned it until the chip faced away from him. Once satisfied, he brought the drink to his lips and drank.

Spying her book, he grinned mischievously. “Skin Deep again? I give you a library full of books… and you keep reading the same ones,” he teased in his high childish voice, a twinkle in his wild gaze.

Belle shot a playful look at him. “It is your own fault for bringing it home,” she replied with an equal sparkle in her stare. “How did your business go?”

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “It went as I expected it would.” An exaggerated sipping sound resounded from his cup, purposely enticing her to ask more.

Imitating the look of a mother scolding a child, she wagged her finger. “I hope you behaved.”

“About as well as you clean,” he snarked.

“Besides…” Rumplestiltskin theatrically jumped to his feet. “- I have a ‘beastly’ reputation to uphold.”

Still smiling, she rolled her eyes at his antics. “Oh well... We can't have people think you are human.” Belle drank deeper and finished her tea.

Before she could make her body move, Rumplestiltskin was in front of her. Anticipating her actions, he took her empty cup and placed it on the tea tray. He finished his brew and placed his cup beside hers. “I had thought you made up a reason to be gone. You do have an annoying tendency to shut me out after revealing personal details.”

Rumplestiltskin strolled back to her. He held a hand out, offering to help her up. Belle’s hand was in his. With a gentle tug he pulled her to her feet. His arms snaked around her waist. He spoke huskily as he gazed deep into her eyes. “No. I wasn't avoiding you.”

A quiet minute passed with them exchanging smoldering gazes. Rumplestiltskin bent down and feasted upon her lips. Belle could feel the tingling of magic in the kiss, just like their first time. Back then his curse had begun to broke. Now, the power of her kiss had been nullified by a potion of his own creation.

Breaking away, he smiled. His dark features softened considerably in her presence. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Our little conversation last night gave me an idea,” he added and strutted over to the table. He greedily snatched a fruit tart and popped the entire thing into his mouth.

Belle followed him and hopped up onto the table. She arranged her skirts about her while he chewed. “What idea?”

Rumplestiltskin continued noshing, dragging out the motion to raise her intrigue. “Well. As you are aware… I was crafting something quite special months ago.”

“The Dark Curse,” she answered.

“Indeed. Originally, my desires were simple. I just wanted to get to that world. So I didn't consider much about my life other than the basics. Immensely Rich. Powerful. A man to be feared.”

Belle watched him, curious as to what the dark curse could have to do with their talk. “Go on.”

“When you said you wish you knew me then, it made me think. We can't go back in time, but we can create a happy life in the new land. I can reset my persona to the man I was before meeting my first wife. We can see how much of an effect you have on me with my past out of the way.” He held up the small scroll and waved it around.

“Is that the dark curse? But you traded that away to Regina months ago.”

“I did.” Rumplestiltskin shrugged. “For whatever reason she traded it to Maleficent. It worked out in my favor. Maleficent was easier to reclaim it from.”

Belle eyes were wide, her mouth parted with intrigue. Her tongue peeked out, wetting her lips. “How do we... uh... create this life?”

“The only way it can be done,” he smirked and pulled her into his arms. “Together,” he whispered huskily and captured her lips in a searing kiss.

Soon after, they occupied his study. Belle sat at his desk, scrawling ideas for their next life across a parchment.

Finished, she turned her gaze to Rumplestiltskin. He stood beside her. Having abandoned his travel clothes, he had stripped down to a simple blue silk shirt and leather pants. Rumplestiltskin unfurled the curse. Unfastening the paper from the dollies, he laid the six-inch strip of paper flat upon the desk. He held a small bottle and poured out the single drop of magic from inside.

The curse flashed with light and floated upwards until it hovered a foot above the desk. With a flick of his wrist, the curse unraveled like a rope, splitting into hundreds of sections resembling paper. He touched the papyrus material and swiped through layers of the magic, each one a different color on the spectrum. Further and further he thumbed through, looking for a specific section in the curse. When he reached the correct spot, it sparkled like gold. He waved his hands about, manipulating the magic embedded in the curse.

“What is that?”

“My cursed persona in the new world.” He peered over at her list twisting the magic to her specifications. “I'm adjusting my characteristics a bit. And adding what you want.” He paused and frowned.

Belle’s head tilted to the side, her brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Rumplestiltskin sneered, more annoyed at himself. “I forgot something. Can you hold your finger here?” he asked.

Without replying, Belle gave him her hand. He positioned her finger on the ripple of magic as if holding his place in a book. She squirmed. The curse felt like she was touching frigid water.

“Stay like that,” he commanded and popped from the room.

Taking her mind off the frosty feeling in her fingertips, she read over the details she grafted for her cursed self. They were simplistic. Truthfully, it was hard to plan a life in ‘The Land Without Magic’ without knowing much about the realm. The world had been cut off from all others prior to Rumplestiltskin’s existence, without any explanation as to why. The distant world, as far as anyone knew, was only reachable by beans. With it being so hard to get to, and to return from, literature about the isolated land was scarce.

The small knowledge Rumplestiltskin passed onto her had been what he learned either from word of mouth or had gleaned from his visions. All they knew was that the world was far more modernized and advanced in ways that could not be comprehended in comparison to the primitive technology in the Enchanted Forest.

As customary, when he returned, opting to not reappear in the room to spare scaring her, she heard his steps on the stairs. When his form came into view, she spied a freshly spun strand of gold clutched in his grasp. As he meandered over to her he flicked his free hand, summoning a pair of magical scissors. Reaching the desk, he evenly divided the string and snipped it half. The severed end floated down to the desk.

“Hold it steady…” he muttered. As if tying a shoe, he wrapped the string around the magic and formed a bow. Once tied, the gold string melted, absorbed by the magic around it. Shimmering one final time, it vanished.

Belle was glad to remove her hand. The coldness in her finger disappeared instantly.

Rumplestiltskin returned to swiping through the various layers. Tireless minutes passed as he sifted through layer after layer of colored magic.

“Are all those colors all the people of this land?” A confirmation to her theory rumbled in his throat. He paused in his movements and stopped on a baby blue hued layer. “Here you are. Do have your list ready?”

“I think so.”

Keeping one hand on the curse, Rumple dragged the paper closer. Wild eyes scanned over her persona suggestions. “You don’t have a purpose listed.”

“I wasn’t really sure what I could do in this new land.”

Rumple appeared to be in deep thought for a moment. A sweet smile crept across his face. “How about owning a library?”

Belle's eyes lit up. This would be the second time he gave her a room full of books. “Really?”

“If it is what you want, I can make it happen.”

“Yes please,” she squealed, barely containing her excitement. Belle stepped up on her toes to give him a kiss on his golden cheek.

Gobsmacked by her kiss, he blinked stupidly as if he had forgotten for a moment what he was doing. Regaining his wits, Rumplestiltskin waved his hands about and tweaked her cursed persona. “There is a needle there. I need you to prick your finger and let a drop of blood fall onto the gold thread.”

Belle again followed his instruction, knowing he wouldn't ask her to spill her own blood if it wasn't necessary. She bit her lip and jabbed the tip of her finger. A wince escaped her lips as a small amount of blood pooled from the small pin prick. She turned her hand over and pressed her finger against the string. Making contact with the string caused it erupt with magic. The red mark from her blood changed to blue. It spread until the entire strand of Rumple's spun gold changed color; now matching the hue of herself in the curse.

With one hand on the curse, he grabbed her hand. He brought the bloody digit to his lips. The heat from his breath healed the small wound. The blood vanished. Kissing the tip, he smiled at her. “Now… tie it around.”

Rumple’s healing made her cheeks flush with arousal. Steadying her breath, she focused on the task at hand. Mimicking Rumple from before, she looped the blue-gold strand around and pulled it tight. Just like with his, the thread became one with the magic of the curse.

With their alterations complete, Rumplestiltskin crushed the layers of magic within his tight grasp. The curse bound back together. He opened his fist, letting it fall. The restored paper fluttered to the table. Deftly, he reattached it to the dolles and rolled it up.

“And now, to return it to the dragon. Be back shortly.” He cackled childishly. With the newly amended dark curse tucked safely away, he kissed her cheek and vanished from sight.

Belle smiled and giggled to herself. When the curse did come, they would be happily together.

(Storybrooke, Asylum)

Blue eyes struggled to open. Belle sat up and clutched her head. Every part of her felt weak. The temptation to fall back asleep was great. Whatever drugs Regina had Nurse Ratched give her were strong. The hazy after effects reminded her of the cursed tea the evil queen tricked her into drinking once. That particular brew had inebriated her. Just like then, her brain struggled to make connections.

Belle furrowed her brow. Her eyes tried to focus on the door. She waited quietly, sure she had heard something. The small flap on the door opened slowly and silently. Belle assumed the person on the other side didn't want to be heard. She threw the thin blanket off and slid her legs over the bed. A small bundle was pushed through the slot. It landed with a soft thump onto the floor.

A pair of steely blue eyes watched her, but she couldn't place who they belonged to. A hand reached through the slot. Clutched in its grasp was a strange looking gadget. Confused, Belle looked directly at the circle on the back. After a moment of holding the flat black rectangle steady, the person removed their hand. The slot closed without a word.

Belle willed herself out of bed. She dropped to her knees when she reached the package. Cautiously, she unwrapped it and gasped when she saw it was a book. She clutched the tome in her hands, tears grew in her eyes.

“Skin Deep.” The book's reappearance filled her with renewed energy. Her head felt less cloudy now that she had something new to focus on. Belle opened the book and held back a sob at the sight of Rumple's neat handwriting on the inside cover.

Belle,

Just like the heroine of this novel, you have shown me that even the most heinous of monsters can be loved. Thank you for being the light in a dark world. And for giving me hope for a future.

Yours… R.

Tears flowed down her cheeks. She cradled the book against her breast as if she were hugging him. The words Rumple had written years ago was the closest he had ever come to admitting his love for her.

A pencil slipped out from the book’s spine. Puzzled, Belle picked it up. She sniffled and swayed to her feet. Still clutching the book tightly, she returned to her bed. Fingers flipped through the familiar pages. She frowned when she spied someone had marked her treasured book up! Random words and letters were circled.

Studying the circled letters on one page, she realized combined they formed a word. Belle took ahold of the pencil and began writing the letters down in the back of the book. Several minutes passed as she flipped back and forth between the pages and jotted each clue. Once she was sure she found all the words, she read the message.

“I know who you are and that you are ‘awake.’ I will help you. However, your escape will have to be handled carefully to not alert the queen. Be patient and don’t lose hope.”

Belle smiled through her tears. Flipping the pencil around she carefully erased all traces of the message until it was gone. She tucked the pencil back inside the spine. Belle returned to the first chapter and smiled, grateful for the welcome distraction while she waited.

“Chapter One: The Lame Spinner. Beau was not very handsome… but his kind nature made up for what he lacked in charisma...”

#Rumbelle #Rumbelle Fanfic #Rumplestiltskin #Belle Gold #Mr. Gold

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