Rumbelle: Carriage
Aug. 15th, 2013 12:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
liliannabelleA missing scene of sorts…from a season two flashback to FTL…I’m ashamed to admit how bad I am with episode names, but I’m sure any Rumbeller will recognize it right away.
As with all my stories, it’s a WIP I guess, or a snapshot. I am always very much starved for feedback, good or bad, I can take it and would love to hear from someone!
Looks like I’ll use LJ for the fic I am uncertain of (which would be all my Rumbelle and Anyelle WIPs, LOL!) I am so new to this fandom and don’t have much patience for the show beyond Robert Carlyle scenes, so my knowledge of canon is abysmal, forgive me?
Awesome GIF by TickTockDearie on Tumblr
~~~
Rumpelstiltskin kept his own counsel in perfect stillness; not one muscle moved. The tension that had settled into his bones at the Sheriff of Nottingham’s lascivious proposal only began to ease when the loathsome villain was long gone—no doubt skittering back to the nearest tavern with his jittery fingertips still checking his tongue was back where it should be.
When the disgusting wretch had dared ask for his Lady Belle, Rumpelstiltskin had felt bile rise in his throat and a murderous impulse twitch in his fingertips. He had almost given himself away with a reflexive sneering curl in his upper lip, before he could regain control. Since then he had faced the Sheriff with his features schooled into his careful mask of gleeful theatrics and a calculated draught of venom. He had the presence of mind to know it would never do to let anyone know of just how deep his feelings ran for his Belle; least of all the girl herself.
He waited until the hoof beats of the Sheriff and his deputies had long since faded before turning back to his traveling companion.
Belle met his eyes with a hunted look—just for a split second before she looked away and composed herself. It saddened him that this young slip of a girl—who so easily wore her heart on her sleeve as she danced around him all day in their castle—could, as it turned out, comport herself with almost as much as a careful mask as he could himself, when they were outside their home. It intrigued him too. She smoothed her traveling cloak down and straightened her shoulders, no trace left of the fright in her eyes that he was certain he had seen a moment ago.
Rumpelstiltskin had risked just one glance at her while the Sheriff began his vile attempts to barter for time with her. There had been shock in her eyes then without a doubt; it had become clear to him over their time together just how sheltered her papa had kept her, nothing had prepared her for such a coarse scoundrel’s attentions. Nonetheless, Rumpelstiltskin had been proud to see her stand as tall as her diminutive frame afforded. Her face had betrayed but little of the discomfort she was even now taking pains to conceal.
Rumpelstiltskin regarded his Lady Belle. He took two steps toward her, watching her eyes and stilling again when she gathered her cloak around her. He ached to ask if she was faring well, and he yearned to go to her, to enfold her in his arms so carefully, to tuck that errant chestnut lock of hair away from her beautiful wide eyes…her eyes…even in his tender imaginings he was brought up short by what must surely be terror in this innocent lady. Naught but a girl really, cosseted by a doting father, and yet with nothing of the spoiled or arrogant nature such a pampered childhood could inculcate.
Despite his best intentions not do so, Rumpelstiltskin found himself more and more picking up that mantle from Belle’s devoted papa—wanting to protect her himself, to keep her away from the world.
It was that very impulse he had spurned when he insisted she accompany him on his mission to track down the dastardly thief. He ran his tongue around the name the Sheriff (once he had his own tongue back) had given up so readily: Robin Hood.
Robin Hood. It was Belle’s very innocence that had shaken Rumpelstiltskin most that morning when he realized she had gone alone to the blackguard’s cell—had freed him, had put herself at the knave’s mercy. It was but luck that Hood was more interested in stealing the wand than Rumpelstiltskin’s ward. Rumpelstiltskin was doing Belle no favors sheltering her from the world if she had not a thought in her head for her own safety.
So she was not to be coddled. He had conjured her a simple cushion not one night before only to find the bolster he was presenting her with was so much more than he had intended. The most ornately embroidered feather pillow was soft as satin, with the most intricate ivory silk brocade. He sighed inwardly at the memory. His instinct was to pamper her too; he could no longer deny it. His regard for this lady had beset all his good sense. The pillow had sported tassles of all things. Tassles. He was lost.
Well, he had insisted she accompany him, and insisted to himself not to spare her his true darkness when someone crossed him. It would do her good to learn of the world—and of her master. Maybe then she would not be so trusting.
And it rather did seem he couldn’t quite bear to be apart from her.
Ridiculous! Rumpelstiltskin shook himself brusquely then halted immediately when the sudden movement startled his young Belle. Her hand fluttered almost to her cloak’s very modest neckline before she caught herself and held her hands together in front of her again: the model of composure.
Except that she clasped her hands together just a touch too tightly. Rumpelstiltskin’s lips pressed together into a fine line. Belle had ceased such frights in his company ever since their first few days together. Once she accepted that he wasn’t about to hurt her—and that his threats were but empty bluster—she had begun to relax, even to tease him. It should have been intolerable, but instead Rumpelstiltskin found he quite…liked it, seeking out her company more and more.
That the Sheriff had wrought fear back into her heart made Rumpelstiltskin wish he had ripped out the man’s throat instead of his tongue. He would have done much worse to any man who spoke so insolently about his Belle (after, of course, he learned what he needed regarding the thief) had the lady in question not been there to witness it. That thought along darkened his heart; a weakness indeed. How could he protect her if he let such a scoundrel live?
Having her fright at his own actions once more made Rumpelstiltskin’s blood boil at the man who had distressed her. Veering dangerously close to lapsing into offering the gentlest touch of comfort, guaranteed to reveal his affections, Rumpelstiltskin’s unstable emotions instead erupted in a high-pitched giggle.
“My dear? Not to your liking?”
She didn’t flinch this time, but merely pursed her perfect lips at him and cast him one of her trademark disapproving glares. His answering gleeful coo was now one of genuine delight: If she could bestow such a reproachful look upon him, she couldn’t be completely distraught.
Indeed, until Robin Hood had intruded upon their tranquil, if tentative, domesticity together, Belle had long since learned to brush off his perturbations and unexpected flurries of temper. It had pleased him at the time, but in the blackness of his heart he knew fear to be a more useful tool. If she feared her master, Belle would have thought twice about freeing his prisoner. (Thought twice, but then done it anyway, he grudgingly acknowledged; that was his Belle.)
She had faced his furious onslaught when he discovered their missing thief with only a few winces, nonetheless. Incensed though he was, he couldn’t bear to lay a hand on her in anger—and she knew that, she had to. Yet Rumpelstiltskin knew no better way to command obedience than to incite terror in his subjects. Belle’s failure to be more than mildly agitated at his wrath could have had disastrous consequences for her well-being. And, despite himself, there were few things that mattered more to Rumpelstiltskin than his lady’s safe-keeping.
He was decided: he would slaughter the miscreant Hood, with the reprobate’s own unerring arrow. Belle would come to better understand the monster she served, killing some vagabond larcenist ought to do it.
She was still watching him. He nodded gruffly in the direction of the carriage.
Sure enough, her small hand trembled in his when he offered to help her inside, but his heart swelled with gratitude that she accepted his touch at all. He tried valiantly to avert his eyes from the slightest glimpse of petticoats as he helped her climb up.
“Thank you,” she murmured. He settled her back in her seat, unable to resist arranging an extra blanket around her shoulders. His eyes flicked to her face and again he had to bite down the urge to inquire if she was bearing up, or offer to take her home rather than subject her to more indelicacy.
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth most beguilingly. Rumpelstiltskin vowed to himself that he would avenge the insolence of the Sheriff of Nottingham to this innocent maiden if he had to beat the scurrilous man with his own two hands.
“No need to thank me, Dearie,” he muttered, affecting a crossness he did not feel. What he did feel, such a tenderness in places he believed long since hardened to stone, scared him to death.
“Yes,” she said simply, lifting her chin, her eyes challenging him to disagree. “There is. So thank you.”
“Whatever for, child?” He snapped, growing increasingly uncomfortable with this dull ache for her that was tightening his chest.
At his sharp tone, Belle shifted uncomfortably on the seat, gripping the leather when the carriage started their journey again. Rumpelstiltskin regretted the words immediately. He could see she was still alarmed by the exchange with the Sheriff, and would spare her further dwelling on the unpleasantness if he could.
She swallowed, frowning slightly. “You know why. For not…me…with—”
Rumpelstiltskin harrumphed and turned to stare out the window, his foot tapping on the carriage floor.
“But…why?” Her voice was small, but she would not be deterred. This girl—so many questions.
He signed dramatically, still hoping to derail her from pursuing the matter. He fixed her with a gaze and saw her usual bluster falter somewhat, her nerves clearly rattled. Rumpelstiltskin bristled once more at the Sheriff, the thief, her father, Gaston, the world…all of it, the ugliness, the discourtesies, the malice and casual cruelty that would wear down this beautiful pristine soul before him. What was he doing?
“Would you like to return to the castle?” He should take her back, right now, and lock her in their castle for eternity.
She shook her head. “I’m not afraid.” Her hands twisting in her long skirts said otherwise. Guilt tore at him.
“In your father’s house you were well-protected.”
“All my life.”
She didn’t sound as if she particularly cared for this state of affairs. He paused, still gazing at her, trying to unravel the constant enigma she presented to him.
“In my household you need only fear me. No other man may try to claim what is mine, or threaten what is mine in any way.”
His foot tapping stopped with a decisive click. He had answered her persistent query; the conversation was over.
Evidently Belle didn’t get the message. “Not even for a night?” She tried and failed to repress a shudder.
“Not for one second.”
She stared at him, startled by the vehemence in his tone. Her eyes looked suspiciously bright and her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly.
It drove Rumpelstiltskin over the edge and he finally succumbed to reach for her hand. She slid her fingers into his.
“Now then—”
He had been about to try again to distract her when, abruptly, she clung to his hand for support in the moving carriage as she swung herself from her seat to join him on his, huddling close.
“Here now,” he began, flustered. He had meant the words as a reproach, but they came out sounding more like he was offering her solace from the world.
She made the tiniest whimper in the back of her throat. Of its own accord his arm moved around her, holding her gently as she snuggled into his chest, and they both sighed in the same moment.
Wordlessly, she reached for him. Flummoxed, Rumpelstiltskin at first couldn’t form a coherent thought. She was so close, so soft…so feminine…so petite, fitting perfectly against him…and her scent…she smelled inutterably divine.
Her tremors subsided when he tightened his arm around her and placed his hand over hers, enfolding her small hand within his. It was only then that Rumpelstiltskin acknowledged how upset she was, and how well she had been hiding the extent of her distress. She had done well, he thought grudgingly, not to let any of her upset show when the Sheriff and his men had been with them. For some beggarly men, smelling fear on a woman was a potent aphrodisiac.
Belle breathed easier after a few minutes like that, but when he looked down at her, Rumpelstiltskin could see she was still worrying her lower lip. He could tell she had more questions for him.
“Belle, I meant what I said, you are not for sale. Now put this unpleasantness from your mind, the Sheriff of Nottingham will not bother you a second time. We will find this Robin Hood. In fact, now I think we are closing in, yes.”
“But…how? You said we were losing him before.”
“I have his name. A name is a powerful thing, Dearie. We are all but upon him.” He had retreated into his usual flippant tone, although his hands still gentled about her person, always delicate, keeping to safe places.
“You are looking for something else though.”
He looked down at her and she turned in his embrace until she could see his eyes.
“I mean, you are looking for a thief, that is our business today. But you have a bigger goal, ultimately. You are driven to find something much more important.”
Rumpelstiltskin shifted in his seat. It was on the tip of his tongue to chastise her that it was none of her concern, but to do so would only let her know just how close to the truth she was veering. A strange feeling rippled through him, one so foreign it took him a few moments to place it. She stared up at him, patiently waiting, her fingers gliding back and forth across his where she still held his hand.
Trust. He wanted to trust her. He felt that he could perhaps trust her, one day, with his quest.
He straightened, tensing. This was no good at all. He had brought her along, out of the castle into the harsh world in order to disarm her of her foolish trust in him. Not to fall prey to the same folly himself.
“Hush now, girl. We are almost upon him.”
He would end Robin Hood. Then Belle could no longer deny his true nature to herself. She would turn away from him, scorn his newfound gentleness with her, and repel his touch. The world would go back to what he knew: isolation, peaceful and desolate. Yes. Then he could focus on Bae.
The carriage drew to a halt and Belle (reluctantly, he fancied) disentangled herself from his person. He released her slowly then moved to help her down from the carriage. She stayed in his arms a fraction of a second too long. Their eyes locked, and his resolve weakened—would she never be so close again, once he had taken the life of a thief?
~~~
As with all my stories, it’s a WIP I guess, or a snapshot. I am always very much starved for feedback, good or bad, I can take it and would love to hear from someone!
Looks like I’ll use LJ for the fic I am uncertain of (which would be all my Rumbelle and Anyelle WIPs, LOL!) I am so new to this fandom and don’t have much patience for the show beyond Robert Carlyle scenes, so my knowledge of canon is abysmal, forgive me?
Awesome GIF by TickTockDearie on Tumblr
~~~
Rumpelstiltskin kept his own counsel in perfect stillness; not one muscle moved. The tension that had settled into his bones at the Sheriff of Nottingham’s lascivious proposal only began to ease when the loathsome villain was long gone—no doubt skittering back to the nearest tavern with his jittery fingertips still checking his tongue was back where it should be.
When the disgusting wretch had dared ask for his Lady Belle, Rumpelstiltskin had felt bile rise in his throat and a murderous impulse twitch in his fingertips. He had almost given himself away with a reflexive sneering curl in his upper lip, before he could regain control. Since then he had faced the Sheriff with his features schooled into his careful mask of gleeful theatrics and a calculated draught of venom. He had the presence of mind to know it would never do to let anyone know of just how deep his feelings ran for his Belle; least of all the girl herself.
He waited until the hoof beats of the Sheriff and his deputies had long since faded before turning back to his traveling companion.
Belle met his eyes with a hunted look—just for a split second before she looked away and composed herself. It saddened him that this young slip of a girl—who so easily wore her heart on her sleeve as she danced around him all day in their castle—could, as it turned out, comport herself with almost as much as a careful mask as he could himself, when they were outside their home. It intrigued him too. She smoothed her traveling cloak down and straightened her shoulders, no trace left of the fright in her eyes that he was certain he had seen a moment ago.
Rumpelstiltskin had risked just one glance at her while the Sheriff began his vile attempts to barter for time with her. There had been shock in her eyes then without a doubt; it had become clear to him over their time together just how sheltered her papa had kept her, nothing had prepared her for such a coarse scoundrel’s attentions. Nonetheless, Rumpelstiltskin had been proud to see her stand as tall as her diminutive frame afforded. Her face had betrayed but little of the discomfort she was even now taking pains to conceal.
Rumpelstiltskin regarded his Lady Belle. He took two steps toward her, watching her eyes and stilling again when she gathered her cloak around her. He ached to ask if she was faring well, and he yearned to go to her, to enfold her in his arms so carefully, to tuck that errant chestnut lock of hair away from her beautiful wide eyes…her eyes…even in his tender imaginings he was brought up short by what must surely be terror in this innocent lady. Naught but a girl really, cosseted by a doting father, and yet with nothing of the spoiled or arrogant nature such a pampered childhood could inculcate.
Despite his best intentions not do so, Rumpelstiltskin found himself more and more picking up that mantle from Belle’s devoted papa—wanting to protect her himself, to keep her away from the world.
It was that very impulse he had spurned when he insisted she accompany him on his mission to track down the dastardly thief. He ran his tongue around the name the Sheriff (once he had his own tongue back) had given up so readily: Robin Hood.
Robin Hood. It was Belle’s very innocence that had shaken Rumpelstiltskin most that morning when he realized she had gone alone to the blackguard’s cell—had freed him, had put herself at the knave’s mercy. It was but luck that Hood was more interested in stealing the wand than Rumpelstiltskin’s ward. Rumpelstiltskin was doing Belle no favors sheltering her from the world if she had not a thought in her head for her own safety.
So she was not to be coddled. He had conjured her a simple cushion not one night before only to find the bolster he was presenting her with was so much more than he had intended. The most ornately embroidered feather pillow was soft as satin, with the most intricate ivory silk brocade. He sighed inwardly at the memory. His instinct was to pamper her too; he could no longer deny it. His regard for this lady had beset all his good sense. The pillow had sported tassles of all things. Tassles. He was lost.
Well, he had insisted she accompany him, and insisted to himself not to spare her his true darkness when someone crossed him. It would do her good to learn of the world—and of her master. Maybe then she would not be so trusting.
And it rather did seem he couldn’t quite bear to be apart from her.
Ridiculous! Rumpelstiltskin shook himself brusquely then halted immediately when the sudden movement startled his young Belle. Her hand fluttered almost to her cloak’s very modest neckline before she caught herself and held her hands together in front of her again: the model of composure.
Except that she clasped her hands together just a touch too tightly. Rumpelstiltskin’s lips pressed together into a fine line. Belle had ceased such frights in his company ever since their first few days together. Once she accepted that he wasn’t about to hurt her—and that his threats were but empty bluster—she had begun to relax, even to tease him. It should have been intolerable, but instead Rumpelstiltskin found he quite…liked it, seeking out her company more and more.
That the Sheriff had wrought fear back into her heart made Rumpelstiltskin wish he had ripped out the man’s throat instead of his tongue. He would have done much worse to any man who spoke so insolently about his Belle (after, of course, he learned what he needed regarding the thief) had the lady in question not been there to witness it. That thought along darkened his heart; a weakness indeed. How could he protect her if he let such a scoundrel live?
Having her fright at his own actions once more made Rumpelstiltskin’s blood boil at the man who had distressed her. Veering dangerously close to lapsing into offering the gentlest touch of comfort, guaranteed to reveal his affections, Rumpelstiltskin’s unstable emotions instead erupted in a high-pitched giggle.
“My dear? Not to your liking?”
She didn’t flinch this time, but merely pursed her perfect lips at him and cast him one of her trademark disapproving glares. His answering gleeful coo was now one of genuine delight: If she could bestow such a reproachful look upon him, she couldn’t be completely distraught.
Indeed, until Robin Hood had intruded upon their tranquil, if tentative, domesticity together, Belle had long since learned to brush off his perturbations and unexpected flurries of temper. It had pleased him at the time, but in the blackness of his heart he knew fear to be a more useful tool. If she feared her master, Belle would have thought twice about freeing his prisoner. (Thought twice, but then done it anyway, he grudgingly acknowledged; that was his Belle.)
She had faced his furious onslaught when he discovered their missing thief with only a few winces, nonetheless. Incensed though he was, he couldn’t bear to lay a hand on her in anger—and she knew that, she had to. Yet Rumpelstiltskin knew no better way to command obedience than to incite terror in his subjects. Belle’s failure to be more than mildly agitated at his wrath could have had disastrous consequences for her well-being. And, despite himself, there were few things that mattered more to Rumpelstiltskin than his lady’s safe-keeping.
He was decided: he would slaughter the miscreant Hood, with the reprobate’s own unerring arrow. Belle would come to better understand the monster she served, killing some vagabond larcenist ought to do it.
She was still watching him. He nodded gruffly in the direction of the carriage.
Sure enough, her small hand trembled in his when he offered to help her inside, but his heart swelled with gratitude that she accepted his touch at all. He tried valiantly to avert his eyes from the slightest glimpse of petticoats as he helped her climb up.
“Thank you,” she murmured. He settled her back in her seat, unable to resist arranging an extra blanket around her shoulders. His eyes flicked to her face and again he had to bite down the urge to inquire if she was bearing up, or offer to take her home rather than subject her to more indelicacy.
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth most beguilingly. Rumpelstiltskin vowed to himself that he would avenge the insolence of the Sheriff of Nottingham to this innocent maiden if he had to beat the scurrilous man with his own two hands.
“No need to thank me, Dearie,” he muttered, affecting a crossness he did not feel. What he did feel, such a tenderness in places he believed long since hardened to stone, scared him to death.
“Yes,” she said simply, lifting her chin, her eyes challenging him to disagree. “There is. So thank you.”
“Whatever for, child?” He snapped, growing increasingly uncomfortable with this dull ache for her that was tightening his chest.
At his sharp tone, Belle shifted uncomfortably on the seat, gripping the leather when the carriage started their journey again. Rumpelstiltskin regretted the words immediately. He could see she was still alarmed by the exchange with the Sheriff, and would spare her further dwelling on the unpleasantness if he could.
She swallowed, frowning slightly. “You know why. For not…me…with—”
Rumpelstiltskin harrumphed and turned to stare out the window, his foot tapping on the carriage floor.
“But…why?” Her voice was small, but she would not be deterred. This girl—so many questions.
He signed dramatically, still hoping to derail her from pursuing the matter. He fixed her with a gaze and saw her usual bluster falter somewhat, her nerves clearly rattled. Rumpelstiltskin bristled once more at the Sheriff, the thief, her father, Gaston, the world…all of it, the ugliness, the discourtesies, the malice and casual cruelty that would wear down this beautiful pristine soul before him. What was he doing?
“Would you like to return to the castle?” He should take her back, right now, and lock her in their castle for eternity.
She shook her head. “I’m not afraid.” Her hands twisting in her long skirts said otherwise. Guilt tore at him.
“In your father’s house you were well-protected.”
“All my life.”
She didn’t sound as if she particularly cared for this state of affairs. He paused, still gazing at her, trying to unravel the constant enigma she presented to him.
“In my household you need only fear me. No other man may try to claim what is mine, or threaten what is mine in any way.”
His foot tapping stopped with a decisive click. He had answered her persistent query; the conversation was over.
Evidently Belle didn’t get the message. “Not even for a night?” She tried and failed to repress a shudder.
“Not for one second.”
She stared at him, startled by the vehemence in his tone. Her eyes looked suspiciously bright and her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly.
It drove Rumpelstiltskin over the edge and he finally succumbed to reach for her hand. She slid her fingers into his.
“Now then—”
He had been about to try again to distract her when, abruptly, she clung to his hand for support in the moving carriage as she swung herself from her seat to join him on his, huddling close.
“Here now,” he began, flustered. He had meant the words as a reproach, but they came out sounding more like he was offering her solace from the world.
She made the tiniest whimper in the back of her throat. Of its own accord his arm moved around her, holding her gently as she snuggled into his chest, and they both sighed in the same moment.
Wordlessly, she reached for him. Flummoxed, Rumpelstiltskin at first couldn’t form a coherent thought. She was so close, so soft…so feminine…so petite, fitting perfectly against him…and her scent…she smelled inutterably divine.
Her tremors subsided when he tightened his arm around her and placed his hand over hers, enfolding her small hand within his. It was only then that Rumpelstiltskin acknowledged how upset she was, and how well she had been hiding the extent of her distress. She had done well, he thought grudgingly, not to let any of her upset show when the Sheriff and his men had been with them. For some beggarly men, smelling fear on a woman was a potent aphrodisiac.
Belle breathed easier after a few minutes like that, but when he looked down at her, Rumpelstiltskin could see she was still worrying her lower lip. He could tell she had more questions for him.
“Belle, I meant what I said, you are not for sale. Now put this unpleasantness from your mind, the Sheriff of Nottingham will not bother you a second time. We will find this Robin Hood. In fact, now I think we are closing in, yes.”
“But…how? You said we were losing him before.”
“I have his name. A name is a powerful thing, Dearie. We are all but upon him.” He had retreated into his usual flippant tone, although his hands still gentled about her person, always delicate, keeping to safe places.
“You are looking for something else though.”
He looked down at her and she turned in his embrace until she could see his eyes.
“I mean, you are looking for a thief, that is our business today. But you have a bigger goal, ultimately. You are driven to find something much more important.”
Rumpelstiltskin shifted in his seat. It was on the tip of his tongue to chastise her that it was none of her concern, but to do so would only let her know just how close to the truth she was veering. A strange feeling rippled through him, one so foreign it took him a few moments to place it. She stared up at him, patiently waiting, her fingers gliding back and forth across his where she still held his hand.
Trust. He wanted to trust her. He felt that he could perhaps trust her, one day, with his quest.
He straightened, tensing. This was no good at all. He had brought her along, out of the castle into the harsh world in order to disarm her of her foolish trust in him. Not to fall prey to the same folly himself.
“Hush now, girl. We are almost upon him.”
He would end Robin Hood. Then Belle could no longer deny his true nature to herself. She would turn away from him, scorn his newfound gentleness with her, and repel his touch. The world would go back to what he knew: isolation, peaceful and desolate. Yes. Then he could focus on Bae.
The carriage drew to a halt and Belle (reluctantly, he fancied) disentangled herself from his person. He released her slowly then moved to help her down from the carriage. She stayed in his arms a fraction of a second too long. Their eyes locked, and his resolve weakened—would she never be so close again, once he had taken the life of a thief?
~~~
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no subject
Date: 2013-08-17 04:49 am (UTC)I particularly love the part where his efforts to conjure a pillow reveal more about his feelings for Belle than he wants to admit to himself, and the ending is so perfect and sad. That's Rum to a T- on the one hand, he wants to please and protect everyone, but on the other he feels like he has to alienate everyone because he thinks he's stronger on his own.
One piece of concrit: in the sentence, "She had done well, he begrudged, not to let any of her upset show when the Sherriff and his men had been with them." I'm not sure "begrudge" is the word that you want. "Thought grudgingly" or "admitted grudgingly" might fit better.
no subject
Date: 2013-08-18 08:30 pm (UTC)And yes, his instinct is to alienate everyone. It was especially sad when this continued between them in S2 when Belle was with him in Storybrooke. It seemed like her FTL forgiving nature and their dynamic that allowed her to hug him after he didn't kill Robin Hood was discarded as the writers tried to modernize her and now she's forbidding him magic and censuring him by leaving him....booooo :_(
Thanks so much for the concrit! I took your advice, you are right. I went with "thought grudgingly" :)
Thanks again!
no subject
Date: 2013-08-19 03:32 am (UTC)EXACTLY, yes. I mean, I know large numbers of people write almost every show, but OUAT more than any other series seems to have a big disconnect from one bit to the next. And it makes me love the actors in it all the more for it, because you can seem them (particular RC) trying so hard to make their character seem consistent when they're just... not.
no subject
Date: 2013-08-20 01:22 am (UTC)But I think he knows the writing is on the wall -- the ratings are down, there was some doubt if they would get a 3rd season, and bear in mind, they film OUAT in the same studio where he filmed SGU. He is therefore reminded everyday just how ephemeral TV can be these days.
I don't WANT OUAT to be cancelled, I LOVE RC in this role (I love him in everything but I have a special place in my heart for Rumple and Gold!) but RC is smart and insightful, he knows about character consistency, he's said more than once that the character is how he chooses parts -- not plot or gimmicks or $ -- he loves characters and he's true to them. He could probably write this show so much better!
no subject
Date: 2013-08-20 03:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-21 01:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-21 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-11-17 04:44 pm (UTC)It’s a lovely story! Fits perfectly into the canon. Thank you for sharing!
I love missed scenes fics and I love how Rumple realizes he cares for his maid and how annoyed and confused this thought makes him. Sorry, it seems I’m not good at leaving coherent feedback… :-( But this story pleased me very much, thank you!
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Date: 2013-11-18 04:04 am (UTC)THANK YOU SO MUCH for your super sweet words! Aieeeeee I was so happy to have another comment on this one! And you are very coherent, no worries there!
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Date: 2013-11-18 06:40 pm (UTC)Well, I found you in one of the OUAT communities here, had a peep at your journal, saw this fic, remembered that I had read it on AO3 and liked it very much, so I decided to say some words about it here. I like what you write, so I added you to my friends list, if it’s ok. :-)
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Date: 2013-11-18 07:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-11-18 08:01 pm (UTC)