I apologize from the very bottom of my heart for this egregious act I am about to perform. It is an utterly unnecessary cruelty of war. Yet, it must be done.
I am sorry. Please forgive me.
Your Bloodied Kraken,
Cyprith
I’ve gotten a bunch of questions asking if I’m still open for prompts.
Yes! Always!
And anyone can prompt me! Give me your weirdest, your strange—those malignant masses that creep out your friends… Give me your heartbreaking, your incoherent, the things that take out your heart and stomp on it.
Just so long as the prompt is five words or under.
Because all good deals come with a catch.
Pre-Skin Deep Prompt Fills, for examples:
He Remembers Rumpelstiltskin is not the father
Not a Father Anymore Rumpelstiltskin is the father
Dancing You “I bet you’re a dancer”
And That Means Comfort Psychiatric Ward, Storybrooke Hospital
Old Midnights Pancakes at Midnight
A Picture’s Worth The story behind the picture
Diamonds and Gold Music of the night
One More Just one more day
What Curses Do Pregnancy angst
Dungeons Deep and Black “They’ve come to take you.”
Nightbears Bears everywhere
Stand Her Last One last meal together
Curse-break As the world falls down
Stained Sheets Messy silk sheets
A Hundred with or without your permission
3PM Yellow wallpaper
Post-Skin Deep Prompt Fills:
Five Things We Could Have Done Five things that never happened
Dragons, Only Sleeping Spice in the sun
Towers in the Sun She runs her father’s laundromat
The Thorns Behind Our Eyes Do you believe in fairy tales?
Later “Just a quick dip, love.”
Something About Forever A promise. Something about forever…?
Love, About Forever the sequel to the above, unprompted.
Godiva “You’ll do whatever I say.”
Her Strange and Midnight Teas He didn’t ask for tomatoes
An Ending Belle has a gun
When Spring Comes You kissed me quite (in)sane
Thrice She wore white that day
Blue Sunday Pillow talk
An Elegy of Sunlight Her laugh isn’t the same; you win or you die
Sing, Phoenix Fingers on piano keys
Creeping Myrtle Baby Dolls Charcoal; Periwinkle; Egregious; Tailcoats; Snails; dinner party; secret poison box
Triple Letter Score Scrabble is not his forte; Snow angels on dark roads; Paper heart lover; She was wearing his shirt; Her bruises were purple
Delirium Dreams of Spring Petrichor; Delirium dreams of Spring
When the Bough Breaks Belle ends up with Baelfire; last of the lost
What Others Lose Belle discovers Harry Potter
Glass Houses: [completed]
Dirty, Young and Brilliant Clowns Special Attack Prompt: Start Wearing Purple by Gogol Bordello
Hats and Hearts and Pockets Full of Stone Pocket full of stones
Sticks and Stone Mahogany cane
Pebbles Underfoot Image Prompts: garden party; yellow skirt with white blouse
A Frumious Mess “You’re blood of my blood.”
A Knack For Monsters A crunch of glass underfoot; ouroboros
Firebird Forget-me-nots (and or lavender)
Sideways, Through a Mirror Dragons’ blood and tea
The Long Argument playing cards; about unicorns and lullabies
Pots and Kettles: Sequel to Glass Houses [hiatus]
Barren solitude; the only bone splinters; crystal-crackingly
Crucible Sitting under a potlid; crucible
More Than Anything: Belle has the baby alone [in progress]
Deep As Skin: AU of Skin Deep in which Belle is the Dark One [completed]
Little Ducks and Chipped Teacups: The baby!Belle universe
Her Rock in the Sea — blanket
Belle Hated Dresses — dress hanging from a tree
Concerning Small Bodies (of water) — ducklings
Bellow — the hum of nirnroot
Watercolor Dragons, Blue — some water dragons dancing
Of Ducks and Dragons — for a deal with Foxmurphy
How to Keep Friends (and still influence people) — a present for Foxmurphy
A Standing Engagement — she gets betrothed at 10
Unprompted:
Love, Forever After — Thanks for 100 followers!
Hope — Thanks for 200 followers!
Doorways — Thanks for 300 followers!
” eBurst
Cool stuff about eBurst including some figures would be sweet.
DotBlot
Some totally sweet info on DotBlots and some nice pictures to take up a lot of space.
“
My research paper is coming out brilliantly. This is how I structure my paper. This is how I fail.
*****************
The apartment had the faint but familiar smell of Mary Margaret’s brunch when Emma walked through the front door. She tossed her leather jacket on the back of a random chair as she walked over to raid that morning’s left-overs.
She decided on a muffin and sausage links to be partnered up with a large glass of aged whiskey. “I’m home!” She yelled as she slumped into the chair and dug in. It was nearly sunset and she’d spent one of her precious days off investigating, apparently, a ghost.
The apartment was strangely dark, she realized. And quiet. “Hello? I said I’m home!” She stood up out of the chair when she heard some muffled talking from the bathroom. “Mary Margaret?”
With her finger tentatively touching the handgun in her holster, she crept over to the bathroom. She pressed her ear against the closed door. She heard a soothing voice—then retching.
She pressed the door open and was shocked.
Bonnie was kneeling in front of the toilet, Mary Margaret rubbing her back and she heaved and vomited into the porcelain basin. Emma stood there with surprise as Bonnie leaned back, wiped her mouth, and leaned against the wall— her face glistening with sweat.
Mary Margaret looked up at Emma, her face full of pity and anxiety. “We have a problem.”
Emma looked at Bonnie, tears mixing with the sweat as she noticing something for the first time: needle marks in the girl’s arm.
Once Bonnie finally managed to stop heaving, Emma gave her some nausea medicine and put her back to bed, a large and obvious trash can stationed for an emergency next to her bed. She closed the door and walked back out to the kitchen.
“I-I don’t know what happened. One minute she was fine and then—”
“She’s a junkie.” Emma murmured, her hands on her hips. She ran her fingers through her hair and collapsed into a chair feeling exhausted all of a sudden.
Mary Margaret’s eyes grew as a round as tea cup saucers. “She’s detoxing? How? Wasn’t she in—,”
“Yeah. She was in the hospital. Which means,” she leaned back on the chair. “That she was being forced to take something on a regular enough basis so that her body couldn’t even handle one day without it. A forced dependence.”
Mary Margaret’s face mirrored Emma’s as she sat down across from her. She ran her fingers through her bluntly short hair: “That’s not the only problem.”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“Mr. Gold stopped by today, looking for you. He saw Bonnie and knows she’s here.”
Emma leaned forward. “Did he say he knew who she was? Maybe he just thought she was your friend or something?” Emma’s hopeful voice didn’t reflect the unease she felt.
Mary Margaret shrugged. “Doubtful, he looked like he knew her. I don’t think he would tell Regina, but I wouldn’t put it past him to hold her over our heads.
Suddenly, they both heard the horrible sounds of wrenching and Mary Margaret ran towards Bonnie’s room to make sure she was alright. Emma frowned. There was a major problem in Storybrooke if Regina was willing to keep someone dependent on a drug to silence her. And now that Gold knew Bonnie was here—it was all making her uneasy.
The smell of vomit hit the air when Mary Margaret left the room with a bag full of the explosions. Emma had seen her fair share of addicts and junkies—but all of them had a choice. The vomiting, she knew, would subside sooner rather than later.
Bonnie was sitting up in the bed, her curls in her face, her skin a placid sort of gray. She tentatively took a sip of water when Emma walked in. “Why am I so sick?” She croaked out, wiping tears and new sweat from her cheeks.
Emma sat at the foot of her bed, careful not to get too close in case there was projectile. “Bonnie,” she began gingerly. “I think it’s because you’ve been given a large dose of medication consistently and now that we don’t have it, you’re body doesn’t know how to react.”
Bonnie’s eyes, such a piercing blue, made Emma feel guilty—as if she forced this on her. “I’m addicted to the medicine they made me take?”
Emma nodded. “Do you know what they give you?”
Bonnie scoffed. “Everything.” She drank a few more gulps of water, took a breath, and drank some more. “Mary Margaret said that you were out today—because of me?”
Emma raised a brow, curious that Bonnie was less interested in that someone was continuously forcing her to take some sort of narcotic and more on this. “She told you?”
Bonnie looked down sheepishly, “Well, no. I assumed. I—I don’t know how much help I will be. I don’t remember anything beyond the ward.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Emma patted her leg through a think, yellow comforter. “We will talk about it tomorrow. I want you to finish that water and go to sleep.”
Emma stood up and began to walk out the room. “Emma?” She turned around.
“Who is Mr. Gold?” The question fell out of her lips before she could stop it, and just like the bile, she needed it expelled from her body.
“He’s just the owner of the shop you tried to get into last night,” she turned back, facing her. “Just out of curiosity, why exactly did you try to break it?”
Bonnie looked surprised to be asked that question. “I really don’t know. I might have still been out of it—who knows, right?” Her voice was quiet and her face was full of concentration, as if trying to remember.
“Night, Bonnie.”
Emma left the room with more questions than answers and she headed for the couch to try and sleep. With Bonnie occupying her room for the time being, she had to succumb to the small (albeit comfortable) loveseat.
The apartment door opened and Mary Margaret walked in free of the garbage bag. “You’re too good with that.” Emma commented from the couch. “A natural.”
Mary Margaret smirked. “It’s the teacher in me I suppose. How is she?”
“Fine, but slightly dehydrated. And I found zilch on her today. She just appeared in the ward with no records. Something is being hidden.”
“Better find out what it is soon before Regina finds her here. It’s only a matter of—”
A loud knock from the front door jarred them. Emma glanced at the vintage cuckoo clock hanging on the kitchen wall. It was nearly one in the morning. Glancing at each other nervously, both desperately wishing that Bonnie’s time with them was being cut short, Emma strode across the lightly colored floor and looked through the peep hole as silently as she could.
“Mr. Gold,” she mouthed to an anxious Mary Margaret, whose eyes widened in surprise. “Again?” She mouthed back.
“I know you’re there, dearies,” came an irked voice from the other side of the think door. “Please open up.”
Emma gave Mary Margaret an uneasy look, but obliged his request. He looked strangely pensive, yet was giving off a strongly dangerous vibe. Her ability to read people was coming in handy, especially in Storybrooke, but Mr. Gold had been impossible. Until now.
“Miss. Swann, I am calling in that favor.”
Okay so Robert said his fav episode is Skin Deep, he kept the cup, and he hopes Gold finds Belle. He clearly ships Rumbelle, no?
I hate that he said “hope” though. It translates into IT IS NOT DEFINITE THAT THEY WILL REUNITE BECAUSE EVEN HE DOESN’T KNOW.
Our futures are so shaky, guys. I feel ill at ease.
Speaking of this hopelessness, this has given me my next move for the war.
I have a gift for you, then!
It will be posted shortly.
Thank you so much for following me! You guys are awesome. I’m assuming you’re following me because of Once Upon a Time/Rumbelle spam.
If not, YOU ARE WELCOME ANYWAY.
If you made a wrong turn, please back away slowly, no sudden movements. I am fragile.
And here it is, the Iceberg to sink our Rumbelle ship. This took me way longer than usual to write, because it was literally just hard for me to write the words. I apologize in advance, and I’m off to write heartbreaking fluff in penance. You’ve been warned.
There are no happy endings.
This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction in forever but I needed to do something after the heartache from this war. BRING ON THE FLUFF, PLS&TY.
I’m horribly out of practice. I’m sure it shows.
———————————————————————————
Chippedhearts prompted: Her laugh isn’t the same
Tardis-librarian prompted: You win or you die
Two prompts, because this is war, and wars need heavier artillery.
—
An Elegy of Sunlight
—
Gold finds his front door not only open, but broken, shattered to splinters in the dust of his walkway. Wood slats jut from the ground like jagged teeth, singed and burned. Immediately, he reaches out with hoary tendrils of seldom used magic to quell whatever fire rages inside, but he finds nothing. No smoke. No spark. Only a small flicker of life.
Fingers clenched tightly on his cane, Gold touches with his other hand the gun he carries always in his pocket now. It cuts his palm with cool, comforting corners as he drags himself up the vast front steps, feeling every one like a dagger through his knee.
What more, he thinks, can they possibly hope to take from him?
I will leave this out here, so other people can answer it, too, because I’m sure the other soldiers will be far more eloquent.
But, as I understand it, battle lines were drawn in order to make all the writers of sad Rumbelle fics feel the feels they make others feel. It was, at that point, called OperationMakeAllTheRumbelleWritersCry, I believe.
Which is, of course, an act of aggression against my kingdom and thus, began a war. So now, I’m writing the nuclear bomb of sad!Rumbelle in order to turn this Rumbelle war decisively in my favor. And also destroy the hearts and ovaries of all my readers. Because I’m like that.
Basically, we’re a bunch of dorks being dorky at each other with fanfiction.
