my babies getting ready to slow dance aka
that forehead touch is so precious and important i need one million gifs of it
repeatinglitanies prompted: With the Mayor out of town to search for her runaway son, the Severe Nurse uses the nameless mental patient to make extra money…by offering the mental patient’s “services” to Mr Gold, who’s currently in the hospital for his injured leg.
RumBelle, cursed AU. Rated Mature for mentions of physical and mental abuse, non-consensual sex, and prostitution.
'Where are we going?' the girl asks, fiddling with the hem of the short black dress as she sits in the car beside Nurse Fletcher.
Nurse Fletcher shoots her a look and the girl looks down, but the woman knows she needs to inform the girl of the rules for the evening, so she speaks.
'Listen carefully,' she orders, and the girl looks up, fear in her eyes. It makes Nurse Fletcher smile. 'I'm taking you to a man named Mr Gold: you're going to spend the night with him. You're to tell him that your name is Margie and you're to do anything he wants you to do. You are not to say a word about the asylum. Do you understand me?'
The young woman stares at the older woman. Oh, she understands alright: she’s to be used for sex and this Mr Gold will pay the nurse for her services. She wants to cry.
She doesn’t understand how her life has turned out like this. She knows that she doesn’t remember who she is, but she’s not crazy: she’s not! She doesn’t belong in the asylum, and she doesn’t belong here, in this car, in this awful, too-tight, too-short dress, with this crap on her face to hide how pale she is, but here she is, and she’ll do what she’s told because to think about disobeying makes her so afraid, but this is not who she is, she thinks: she’s not this timid, frightened little mouse…
'Do you understand me?' the nurse asks again, sharply, and the young woman jumps.
'Yes, ma'am,' she rasps out, her voice thin and high.
The young woman closes her eyes, trying to block out the other woman’s presence. She doesn’t remember her name or where she comes from, but she doesn’t believe she’s always been this timid. It’s just that her cell is cold and dark enough, and she gets little food as it is: she doesn’t want to make her predicament worse. It’s easier just to do what she’s told. Besides, she knows that there are worse things than compliance: she’s experienced them. She remembers the beginning of her time at the asylum vividly: she remembers how she fought and argued and protested that she wasn’t crazy. She remembers how she fought physically to get away, to get back to…someone, and she remembers what the result of her fighting was.
(Ficlet that I guess has become an accidental series about Gold working through the trauma of being Zelena’s prisoner/slave. This follows Tenebrae. PG/PG-13? On AO3.)
She’s dressed and coiffed, all while he sat in his pajamas and watched her move through her morning ritual. It’s a one-sided dance that he hasn’t yet gotten back into the habit of doing alongside her every day. He helped with the bits that he usually does - zipping her dress, clasping her necklace. He’s happy to do it, glad to be of use for something. When she steps into the bathroom, he stays in front of her vanity mirror to get out of his pajamas. And he stares.
Barefoot, black boxers too loose on his hips, he stands far enough back that he can see himself from head to foot. He hasn’t really looked at himself in a mirror in weeks, averting his eyes when there’s a reflection in the morning room windows, or when he passes the entryway mirror, or when he goes to shower alone. He takes in his crooked nose, crooked teeth, the creases in his face. He can’t look into his own eyes, though. Coward that he is, he’s terrified of what he might see there. His gaze drops, and his eyes catch at the twisted scars at his ankle, his right foot not sitting perfectly straight as the uninjured one. It seems everything about him is crooked. He’s ugly at the best of times, but shame chokes him at what he sees.
Henry needs a place to stay.
He was waiting on the front steps when they came home from dinner, a duffle bag on one side of him and his backpack on the other. His gameboy was on his lap but the screen didn’t seem to be on.
"Henry? Does Emma know you’re here?" Belle glanced at her husband, who was keeping his expression neutral but she could see the flicker of emotion in his eyes.
"She’s out to dinner with Killian." Henry stood to make room for them to climb the steps. "He spent the night again last night."
"Oh." Gold unlocked the front door before picking up the duffle bag. There was no reason they couldn’t at least continue the conversation in comfort.