All right, I want to preface this with I had fully planned on celebrating this author this week and to my surprise when i logged on, I found out that there had been some troll activity dedicated to said writer and it just hardened my resolve that this weekly little day of appreciation is necessary.
@rufeepeach is an incredible talent that we are all lucky enough to know. With a smut talent that will curl your socks and iron your eyelashes, she has some truly wonderful smut fics for your reading pleasure. There is Chaperone, From Fairest Creatures (we might desire increase), and Over the Counter. She is also a contributor to other ships and is currently rewriting Season 5 with Neal instead of Hook, Burning Bright.
Currently, I am obsessed with her Labyrinth!Ordinary series.
And since I am trash, I want to call out her JeffxAnnie Community stories which I am obsessed with. My favorite is 5 Sexy Outfits Annie Wore (and one Jeff helped her out of).
Look, I can talk for hours about her ways with words, her deep and moving characterization in a simple line of dialogue or the way she can shift her attention to five different projects at once and never drop the tone of the narrative. She is also a pure ray of sunshine and I adore seeing her on my dash despite the time zone differences. She is incredibly, amazingly, sincerely talented and I am grateful that she writes for three of my different ships because that means I get to enjoy so many adventures with her.
Stop by and say hi to Ru, let her know some of your favorite stories or just tell her hello. You can read her stories: Here, Here and Here.Oh and here.
Hours of entertainment if you have not read all of her works or go back and revisit the wonders of her prose. She is incredibly deserving of attention and I’m grateful for her contribution and talent. Thanks for making the fandom a brighter place, Ru.
Last thing you googled: I think it was a thing about paying a bill?
Happy Place: Literally? Scotland or any place heavy with earth magic. Otherwise books. Typically Transal Saga or The Sword of Truth.
Favorite Fictional Character: Oh boy. Kahlan Amnell, Richard Rahl, Cara Mason, Garrus Vakarian, Kvothe, Bast Prince of Twilight, Fenris, Heathcliff, Lizzy Bennet, Ariel (Tempest), Dracula, Barnabas Collins, Merlin, Sherlock Holmes, my gods I could go on.
Favorite Famous Person: Right now Colin Morgan. Also Nikola Tesla. And Horatio Nelson. Also kind of Eric the Red...because he was a dick.
Celebrity Crush: Also Colin Morgan. And Taeyang. (My gods why won’t you marry me.)
Dream Job: Sitting in the Highlands and painting. Basically getting paid to have fun all day.
Tag you’re it: calonari, the-forgemistress, thestraggletag, ruffeepeach,
I swear, all of you Rumbelle fanfiction writers (I'm specifically looking at Ruffeepeach, thestraggletag, badfaery, thatravenclawbitch, spottytonguedog, Tinuviel-Undomiel, Phoenix and Ripperblackstaff) are keeping me from sleeping. I can't stop reading your fics.
Okay, never written fanfiction before. Literately never. But my rumplebelle feels won't go away and I haven't written anything original in forever so...here we go?
Title: Price of Forgiveness
Rating: T
Genre: Romance, angst, hurt/comfort
Summery: AU. No fairy tale land. Mr. Gold is a disgraced soldier who seeks therapy from a pretty Dr. Belle French in hopes of reconciliation with his son.
Notes: Inspried by rufeepeach's ficlet in "In Any Other World", because of this I use her first name for Mr. Gold. This is probably going to be continuing? Like I said, first time doing fanfic.
Once upon a time, Mr. Gold broke a promise. Today, he would start the final payment in fixing it. He sat in a too-small chair, with his bad leg awkwardly placed, and stared straight ahead. Of course, all the art were flowers. What else would the art be? It was a small room, square, with wall paper Milah would have picked out—before the war, before the break—and only one chair. There was a doily on the table next to him. He didn’t know people actually used doilies anymore.
He kept his cane between his legs, his grip slightly too tight on the handle. Tension snaked through his muscles. He sat with shoulders back, chin straight—the army hadn’t left him, despite him leaving them—but his muscles were so tight. Age weighed on him in ways it usually didn’t. The grey hairs hiding among the brown never bothered him. But today, when he looked into the mirror to straighten his tie before coming, the wrinkles around his eyes jumped out. Today, he felt old.
The door beside him opened and a brown haired woman called.
“Cameron?” She leaned around the door and her blue eyes caught his. “Mr. Gold.” She amended. He didn’t know if it was his look—the eternally dry, mile long stare he perfected over the years—or his age that got the switch, but he preferred it.
She was young. Too young, and female, to be Archie Hopper. He looked up the good doctor before he arrived. There was a reason he chose this office after all. Dr. Hopper was praised for his gentle touch, his soft voice, his mild manner. Gold knew what those traits added up to: a weak will and a soft head. He just needed a pass. A legal signature. Something to show Bae he was trying and open. Bae hadn’t really expected him to do this, which is exactly why he was.
“Yes.” He said, at last and rose. His knee twitched but the pain was familiar, almost comforting, when faced with a bump in his plan. He offered his hand. “And you are?” He kept his voice low, a dangerous purr. She smiled.
She was beautiful when she smiled. Her hair, slightly curly, was falling out of its bun and her eyes gleamed with the smile. Her hand was small, soft and smooth in his hand. Which was too many “S”s for him to notice.
“Dr. French.” She said, carrying an accent from somewhere far away. New Zealand? Australia? Mr. Gold should be better at accents. People were always guessing at his. No one in America could tell the difference from Gaslow from Dublin. It was annoying. So he didn’t question hers.
“Is Dr. Hopper ready to see me?” He asked.
Dr. French’s eyes widened and a little color came to her cheeks.
“He didn’t call? Oh, dear.” She bit her bottom lip—it was rather nice, full and painted a lovely pink—and looked down to a clip board she carried. “He was supposed too. I’m interning here. Just passed.” She gave him another half smile, embarrassed and excited. “He said you just wanted a routine appointment?”
She phrased it like a question and Mr. Gold fought a smile. A soft spoken psychiatrist who’s barely left this tiny town was one thing, but a pretty, unsure girl fresh from school was another. This would be much better.
“Yes, dearie.” He said and shifted his grip on his cane. “I’d like some…assurance of my mental stability.”
She raised an eyebrow, either at his reason or the term of endearment. He smiled as blandly as he could. Both could put her off. Long ago, Gold learned the value of putting people off. They made mistakes he could profit from. And at the end of the day, profit was what mattered most.
“Well, come in.” She stepped to the side. He walked past. The office space wasn’t much better than outside. Different, but still dated, wallpaper covered half the wall, with a cherry wood inlay underneath. Several bookshelves, cheap, lined the wall. They were filled with fat books and small trinkets. No family pictures. Interesting. There was a couch, a faded brown and slightly broken down. Without thought, Gold appraised it. Fifty dollars, maybe sixty. But truly, he wouldn’t let something like this into his shop. Standards kept everything tidy, when you could afford them. Gold had been able to afford them for a few years now. That’s why he knew it was time. Money was the first obstacle.
“Please, sit down.” She gestured to the couch, and took the chair. It was slightly better—easily eighty dollars—but too large for her. The right size for Dr. Hopper. “So, tell me why you’re here.”
“I did.” Gold said dryly but sat. He didn’t wince as he folded the bad knee, but he carefully positioned it.
“No.” Dr. French’s eyes flicked down to his leg but back to him. Her eyes were cool, surprisingly so considering their sparkle a minute before. “Why do you think you need assurance?”
“No one would give you him. I’m his mother. You’re just a disgraced coward.”
“I want to disprove some facts to someone very dear to me.” Gold smiled his best smile, warm but bland.
“Most people don’t seek out psychiatric care on a whim, even to disprove facts.” She said it like his smile, warm and bland. It was one of those non-statements people say to get you to start talking. She didn’t write anything on her clipboard. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
“I’m very thorough.” He knew he couldn’t keep up like this. No one goes to a therapist to not talk. Still, decades of silence were hard to break. “I lost my son.” He said at last. Her eyebrows jumped. She’d be a bad therapist if she kept all her emotions on her face like that. “Not to death.” He added. His hands tightened on his cane. “Thankfully.” His smile was back.
“That’s good. How did you lose him?”
“My wife and I, ex-wife,” He added. It had been decades since he took off his ring but he still forgot that extra word. He wasn’t interested in what pretty Dr. French thought about that. “We had a rather bitter divorce.” She’d been bitter. He had been begging.
“Please, Milah, we can work this out. Our son—“
Milah glared as she dragged Bae away. Her grip was too tight on his arm. Gold had seen that even then. But he hadn’t stopped it.
“My son.” She pushed Bae, barley three and with his curly brown hair too long, into the car.
“She took our boy.” Her boy. “And I would like to see him again.”
“I don’t see why you need a piece of paper to do that.” She smiled as she said it. Her blue eyes warm and forgiving. Gold tightened his grip on the cane. He didn’t like that look. He wasn’t here to apologize. He was here to fix. There was a difference.
“Milah, my wife, ex-wife, she was…a difficult woman.” He rolled his shoulders back and made himself look straight at Dr. French. He wanted to dart his eyes around the room, but he knew that trick. “And I made some mistakes after she left. I lost visitation rights. Then I lost my home, my phone. My boy,” Milah’s boy, “couldn’t reach me when he needed me. He learned to do without.” Despite himself, despite everything, pride crept into his voice. Bae learned to do without. He didn’t let this world break him. Not like Gold. “But now he doesn’t need me. He wants proof things are different. He said this would suffice.”
“What would?” She wrote something down now. A small scratch on paper. But when she spoke, her eyes were on his, and her head slightly tilted. Her voice was warmer now, reaching out like a hug. He dismissed it.
“A piece of paper to show my boy I’m sane at least. We can go one from our own from there.” He hopped. He prayed. If Bae said no….Gold never let that thought finish. He never accepted that possibility.
He might limp when he walked, but Gold was a good runner.
“He asked for that?” Dr. French was holding back a laugh. It colored her words. Gold raised an eyebrow but nodded.
“My boy is smart.” Again. The pride was there. It made Dr. French smile. She leaned back and wrote something more on her paper. Gold hopped that could be all. It felt like an end to him. But she spoke.
“Tell me about your son. Why would he make such a request?”
Why? Because he grew up with his mother. Milah who, in some ways, never grew up. Milah who thought a man who put value in life over justice or pride or loyalty to a country that wasn’t truly his had to be insane. Milah who always told such thoughts to him, so much have said them to Bae.
Gold didn’t want to think about other reasons. That Bae somehow knew more about the separating years than Gold wanted him too.
“My wife, ex-wife,” He cursed himself for slipping up again. “She might have said some things.”
“What kind of things?”
His gripped tightened on the cane. He didn’t want to put words into Milah’s mouth, not, at least, without hearing them first from Bae. It wasn’t that he was protective, he told himself, it was just you’re supposed to be honest with therapists. It’s how it worked.
“I’m not sure.” He said. He almost licked his lips, almost let his eyes dart around the room. If a “client” of his did that, he would pounce. Despite Dr. French’s pretty laughing eyes, he didn’t trust her to not do the same.
“Why did you feel the need to listen?” Dr. French leans slightly to the side. The smile on her lips was small and soft. It should be mocking, Gold didn’t like it when people smiled for no reason, but it wasn’t. She had a good therapist face, trusting and open. “It’s an odd request.”
“I wanted to prove to my son I was serious. I…” He paused, swallowed and made himself say the truth. For Bae, no lies. “I wasn’t always there for him. I let him down. I let him go. He needs to know those days are done.”
And that was the crystal truth of it. He’s back to this country, this life, he ran from years, decades, ago. The country he abandoned twice and felt no guilt for either time. He had family to protect. Now he had a boy to win back.
Hopefully.
Dr. French gave him a long look. She wrote something down after a minute then looked at her watch.
“You asked for only half an hour.” She said. He glanced to the clock, surprised the time went by so fast. Generally, it didn’t. “Would you like to extend it?”
“No, I just wanted a bit of a doctor’s note.” He said. It sounded more ridiculous spoken out loud to the pretty doctor than it had when the plan bloomed in his mind fully formed.
Dr. French laughed, but she got up.
“I’m going to be honest. My recommendation is you get regular help.” She said, opening the door. “Not necessarily with me or Dr. Hopper. If that makes you uncomfortable, or you think this is about money.”
He often did, so he was impressed when it popped into her mind. He got up and followed her out. She sat behind the receptionist desk and jiggled the mouse to get rid of the swirling colors of a screen saver.
“You have problems talking and a safe, non-judgmental environment might be just what you need. Especially if you want to tackle a big thing like reconciliation with your son.” She spoke briskly and with the confidence of a real doctor. Gold leaned against his cane and looked at her harder.
She was very young, but dressed in professional clothes, long skirts and loose blouses that were still neat and tidy. Her hair, tumbling out of the bun ruined the look a bit but at least she tried. She certainly wasn’t threatening. And even if she did judge, what was he to care about some spring kitten thought about him?
But he didn’t want to talk. Not to her, not to Dr. Hopper. His secrets were his.
“But, if all you want is a note to say you were here…” She typed quickly then hit print. An old printer near the computer chugged but at last she got her paper. She signed with a flourish and his lips twitched. Signatures said a lot about a person. Hers was loud and large and very female. Prim Dr. French wasn’t as quiet or soft as she wanted to appear. “Here you go.” She offered the paper to him and he took it, looking over the words carefully.
I, Dr. Isabelle French, hereby acknowledge that Cameron Gold came in for a psychiatric evaluation in hopes of impressing his son. Gold’s lips twitched but he kept his face clear. I hope it works.
“Isabelle is a nice name.” He said at last, folding the paper. She smiled from the desk.
“Thanks. You can call me Belle though.”
“That’s a little improper for a patient, isn’t it?”
“I like to be open.” She stood up and offered her hand. “Besides,” she said when he took it, “You’re not coming back.”
He blinked then raised an eyebrow. She looked straight into his eyes and suddenly her eyes aren’t laughing at all. They’re just wide and impossibly blue and he wanted nothing more than to look away.
Coward, Milah’s voice sneered in his mind.
“I know a runner when I see one.” Belle said quietly. “I hope you reconnect with your son.” She sounded honest when she said and shook his hand once before grabbing her clipboard and walking out.
Gold stared at the door she left with, slick guilt coating his gut.
It’d been years since he let anyone, especially a tiny chit of a girl, have the last word. He didn’t like it now. He looked down at the paper in his hand then the doctor’s office around him.
Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to show the girl wrong. Bae would like to hear he was in ongoing evaluation. Besides, though it bothered him, he wanted to see the girl again. He had to know what gave him away.
Then he could crush that weakness like all the others.
