#hatred is not the absence of love but its pretty damn close | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kuroos-moon · 4 years

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『Hate’s Twin Called Love』

— request by anon whose initial ask i could no longer find 😫

❥ pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

❥ genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, denial

❥ warning/s: language

❥ wc: 2.4k

“I got here first,” you frown, narrowing your eyes as you placed a hand on the chair nearest to the window.

“I placed my bag here, which means I got here earlier,” he casually replies, wondering why you won’t back down despite your height difference and his intimidating facade.

Your frown deepens, and he does the same when neither of you give in. “I don’t care, I wanna sit here,” you say, your inner brat surfacing just because the way he glared at you ticked you off, so you stubbornly sit on the desk.

“What a nuisance,” he grunts, sitting down on his chair as he rightfully should.

Ever since then, you never passed up the opportunity to piss him off or give him even the slightest inconvenience of the day, devilish, you’re well aware. He’s the devil himself though, and only you could point that out. With him showing a sly grin your way when you lose a pen, only for him to proudly use it for you to see.

“Hajime you asshole, give me back my pen,” you give him a death glare, and he innocently looks at you, acting confused. “I don’t have it, y/n.”

“Cut the bullshit, that’s my only one,” you grimace, irritated at the fact that of all the numerous pranks he could do on your never-ending war ever since highschool, he just had to steal your pen right before a test.

“Don’t blame me when you’re the one who lost it,” he blinks, perfecting the art of acting clueless. “Give it back I don’t have another one!” You raise your voice, and he stops scribbling, looking at you in amusement.

“What?” You huff, and he only chuckles under his breath, momentarily biting your pen to further irritate you. “I’ll fucking kick your ass after this,” you bite your tongue, wanting to scream at him if it weren’t for the many other students and a strict teacher here with you.

And that’s just one of many encounters with the sly seemingly-mature ace who knew just how to annoy you like it were his second nature, but deep down, your day’s never complete without the usual sarcastic banters or the subtle mouthing of ‘fuck you’ or ‘whatcha looking at’ between classes, that’s why you sit bored in class for a few days when they’re excused for practice.

Your happiness literally comes from seeing him so mad that he’s speechless as he sees you’ve uploaded an embarrassing baby picture source: oikawa or as he realizes you’re the one who’s been giving away his number.

For him, you’re the exact same, you’re the devil’s spawn. Trotting along so casually as if you were an angel, only for the disguise to fall off the moment you open your mouth, profanity after profanity especially when you were talking to him. It wasn’t long before your string of curses was music to his ears and the highlight of his day, taking pleasure in having you yell at him, or in especially irritating occurrences, you’re throwing things at him.

It just so happens when you’re casually sitting in the corner of the room, minding your own business as you listen to music. “Y/N-CHAAN!” You look up to see Toru, out of breath as he leant on the doorway of your classroom . “Iwa-chan’s talking with some girl, come look,” he grins, and just like that, your eyes twinkle with excitement.

Time to to get back at him for that ruined test, you smirk to yourself, the clueless Iwaizumi standing at the end of the stairwell as he flirts with the poor girl who didn’t know at all how much of an asshole he was.

“Babe!” You exclaim, the fakest and widest smile on your lips as you throw yourself at him, loving how he cringed away from you the moment you wrap your arms around his torso. “What the fu-

“I missed you, shall I come over tonight?” You gush at him, locking your hold on him with intertwined fingers as he tried to push you off without actually using too much force to hurt you. “Cut it out, you little shit,” he mumbles to your ear as he stills, waiting for you to unwrap yourself from him.

“Who’s this Iwa-chan? Is she a friend?” You say enthusiastically, the deadly aura he gave off only making you want to piss him off more. “Iwaizumi is she your girlfriend? I thought you hated each other,” she raises a brow and you smile, looking up at Iwa.

“That’s just our love language though, isn’t it babe?”

He has had enough. It’s been days since you’ve bantered, the only interaction the past few days were the failed attempts to trip each other in the halls, but he wasn’t in class the whole week. Some part of him thought that he was relieved in your absence, but lately he’s been feeling empty.

“Iwaizumi?” The blonde girls huffs, crossing her arms against her chest.

“Iwa-chan, doesn’t she know how much you love me?” You pout, squeezing his bicep which you really hadn’t realize was this rock hard until now. It was the look of annoyance and pure hatred that made you smirk for only him to see, but you thought wrong.

He wasn’t mad because you interrupted his romantic stairwell rendezvous, nor was he mad that you literally show up out of nowhere, being this close to him. He was irritated because you thought you were winning, you thought you were pissing him off; but joke’s on you, he actually found himself amused by this whole ordeal.

“Babe let’s just go, you’re not cheating on me are you?” You add fuel to what you thought was a burning flame, thinking you had succeeded on ruining his day.

“How ridiculous, you know I only have eyes for you,” he leans down, a teasing and excruciating mere inch between your faces, the side of his lips curving upwards so subtly you’re not sure it’s really there. Your eyes widen, and his grin grows as he could practically feel you stop breathing.

He watches you storm off, knowing fully well he was victorious for this round.

Iwaizumi - 1

Y/n - 0 (Loser)

The game against Seijoh and some other school was over, and like every other game, you got first-row seats, it was the one and only time wherein you actually admire Hajime (admittedly). You stood outside, waiting for your friends to finish gushing over Oikawa and you look up questioningly when you see pairs of shoes on the ground.

“Uhm, do you guys want something?” You ask, confused, somehow feeling ganged up on with three girls surrounding you.

“We’ll cut to the chase, stay away from Hajime,” she spitefully says, and you snort the moment you hear his name.

“You don’t even have to beg me for it,” you say and they furrow their brows. “You’re acting so coy! Pretending to be some goofy girl who tries to piss him off only to get to spend more time with him!”

You sigh, “I’d kill to have him away from me for as long as possible, what are you guys even on about?”

“Just stay away from him y/n l/n, he’s mine.” Cue another chuckle from you, “yours? I question your taste but Hajime doesn’t belong to you,” you sweetly smile, not knowing where the sudden irritation came from.

Seriously, how could she say he was hers when he probably doesn’t even know her name like the stupid non-caring jerk he is, but you somehow thank him for it, somehow relieved that he could barely name a girl in your class that wasn’t you.

“What do you know?!” She seethes, about to land a palm right across your cheek but it doesn’t come, instead, she stood petrified as she meets Iwaizumi’s gaze, securely standing behind you as he firmly grasped her wrist.

“That’s quite enough,” he glares, the girl immediately withdrawing her hand. “What are you here for?” You bitterly ask, the previous encounter in the stairwell still having your hate meter for him past its max.

“Y/n-baaaaka, where’re those killer moves of yours that almost have me injured all the damn time,” he says, his lips tugging downwards as he looked at you, and you stiffen under his touch when he rests his elbow on your shoulder. Now looking at the girls, “You’re quite the troublesome bird-brained bunch, pathetic too. You better not come anywhere near us again,” he grunts, a dull ring to it in fact; but his usual voice was also usually intimidating, hence the effortless success of scaring away the girls for good.

You scoff, “what’s with the sudden chivalry?”

He raises a brow at you before a scowl forms at his lips, “shouldn’t you thank me?”

“What? For coming to my rescue? How charming, nothing less to expect from our ace,” you huff, turning around to walk away. You know how much he disliked you, so why was he being kind? Why do you a favor and rest his elbow on your shoulder and act like friends, maybe lovers— you recall the position you were in last time, you clinging to his arm while he leaned in, face painfully close to yours.

“Did you really mean that? You’d kill to have me away from you,” he chuckles, “what strong emotion,” and you halt, turning around to look at his expression which resembled the masking of hurt. “You were listening?” You ask, but he merely walks towards you.

“Thought I’d hear some sort of love confession,” he stops a foot away from you, “but that was fucking disappointing.” You’re beyond confused at this point, why in the world would he expect a confession out of you? YOU of all people, you’re enemies, same sides of a pole that simply will and never attract.

“What would you have wanted me confess?” You narrow your eyes at him; your pathetic attempt to be defensive when in reality your walls were all crashing down, and he’d be free to walk in and capture you his; vulnerable and genuine, free from your lies and forced obliviousness.

“I’m exhausted,” he says, leaving you stupefied when he holds your chin between his thumb and index, warm from having spiked the ball multiple times as the ace from the game earlier on. “I don’t give a fuck, just keep your fucking hands off of me Iwaizumi,” you glare, making him grin.

“You swear a lot with that pretty mouth of yours,” he presses on you more, knowing this would either be a hit or miss. A hit for when you crumble and give in to him, spilling the truth about how you truly felt which he has long figured, because he can’t be the only one who felt this way, no?

The miss wouldn’t be much of a miss though, he’d still love it if you exploded, punching him or something but at the same time postponing your long overdue truthful conversations because you convinced yourself too much that love and hate were separated by a thick line, which was far from how it actually was.

“I hate you,” you spat, but he can’t see any hatred in your eyes at all. “Does that mean you don’t want me?” He taunts, his lips inching closer and closer to yours. You only find yourself looking down, unable to breathe at the suffocating feeling of having your emotions come out all at once.

love or hate, which was it? The latter. No, it couldn’t be, you wouldn’t be finding yourself getting lost in his eyes if you did truthfully despise him. Then, was it the former? Perhaps... Maybe... Probably explaining why you were going to say it, “if you don’t kiss me right now, Hajime, I will.”

Bingo, he wins, it was a hit.

In one swift motion, he locks lips with you, your hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders as he tilts his head sidewards to deepen the kiss, not wanting to spare an inch of your mouth. It was the perfect kiss, one to show your yearning for the other through questionable means such as inconveniencing the other’s life, and one to express the raw passion of love that without a doubt made every bit of you ecstatic.

“Oya, Oya, what’s this?” Oikawa’s annoying voice reaches his ears, Iwaizumi pulls away with one last peck on your lips. “I’ll fucking kill you,” he mutters under his breath, Toru flinching before letting out a nervous chuckle. “Uh, well then, I’ll leave you two to it,” he grins, waving at you before running off.

“So you’ve had a crush on me all along, huh,” you smirk at him, his ears turning red as he looks at you. You snicker, poking at him teasingly as he covers his face with his hand.

“Don’t push me,” he finally says, and you let out another laugh, of course you’re going to push his buttons, “eh, so what are we now, babe? I don’t think I like you at all, honey, that was charity.”

“Charity?” He muses, grabbing your wrist to whisper closely in your ear, you gasp, his breath against your skin leaving you flustered. “If anything, all I did was fan service.” HE HAD YOU ALL FLUSTERED AND SPEECHLESS AND FOR WHAT?

You push him away, irritation making you want to breathe fire, “FAN SERVICE?” You exclaim, wearing the deepest frown he had seen on you making him laugh.

“Kidding, kidding,” he nonchalantly says, and you scowl, “I hate you.”

“If you hate me so much then why not go out with me?” He says, all seriousness in his tone.

“What?” You blink, that was sudden.

“You should date me, cling to me, piss the fuck off other girls who try to get in between, and make sure I see your face everyday, that would ultimately make me miserable, and you hate me so much that you want that, don’t you?” He finishes, hands in his pockets as he looked straight at you.

This time, he actually feared how this would turn out. He had revealed his cards already, there’s no going back to normal after this, things could only go from being strangers or to being lovers.

“Sure, let’s date. Give me the luxury to annoy you everyday, and you better not break up with me for it,” you smile, and he chuckles, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Then don’t break up with me if I make you mad like ten times a day,” a soft subtle smile plays at his lips while you both walk hand in hand together outside the building, the sunset striking so beautifully at the two of you but you didn’t have much time to admire it as you were kept preoccupied with each other’s conversations.

_____________________

General Taglist [Open]: @noyasbitchh

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu iwaizumi #haikyuu!! headcanons #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu #hq #hq scenarios #hq headcanons #hq iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi fluff #haikyuu fluff

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permanentcrossfics · 4 years

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Fine Line: One More Time // h.s.

Here’s to @hsogolden for posting this fic challenge when I was raw with emotions from the release of Fine Line. There were probably about 12 songs I could’ve written about from the album, but this one encompasses them all (I had a serious rant and have many thoughts about the analyses I did on the album and the song Fine Line thanks to writing with it in mind).

Smut ahead. Approximately 5,835 words. Sequel to One Last Time -- the very first story I posted here four years ago. They were always going to get their happy ending -- they just needed some time. Happy reading as always, loves. Four years and somehow there are so many of you who have stuck around? It’s crazy. Cheers, and can’t wait to see where we all are in another four. Hope it’ll be even better. Oh, and here’s to a hell of a birthday weekend. x

The first year or so was the hardest. He’d never known fear, anger, or himself like that before. It was nights of being too exhausted to sleep and days of being too sober to function. It was the note he’d woken up to in the bed you’d shared tucked here, there, everywhere — his sock drawer, his journal, his balled up receipts, and lyrics of songs he either couldn’t start or never finished.

This doesn’t change anything.

It was day after day of wishing he could feel something and then wishing he couldn’t when all he ever felt was your absence.

Fear was the worst of it. Fear was not knowing why he’d said it or where he’d go without you, or what he could do to fix it. Fear was looking at his life and seeing everything but someone he loved by his side. Fear was picking up a guitar and putting it down, because when he wrote about it, it’d be done — signed, sealed, delivered.

Fear was the worst until the anger rolled in on dark, billowing clouds. How dare you? Who were you to shut him out without conversation? Why was it always you who called the shots and pulled the strings? Why was him laying his heart out not good enough for you? He’d begged. He’d manned up and groveled good and proper instead of letting it happen. He didn’t do that for anyone but you, and you’d just—

This doesn’t change anything.

Hatred was hot and searing. It was a feeling at least, and for as long as he felt it, it burned out all else — a solar flare in his tempestuous mind, and for as long as it lasted, he could breathe.

Flares faded, though, and when it did the darkness returned, thicker than ever, forcing him to his hands and knees with his head between his arms.

How dare you? Who were you? Why was it always you? Why wasn’t he good enough? You were your own woman, with your own needs, and limits, and he hadn’t….

More importantly, you owed him nothing. Respect, discretion perhaps, because even now you had yet to say a word about anything anywhere to anyone, so far as he knew, but not your life. Not your love. You didn’t owe him that. His own debt was one he’d freely incurred, and it took him a little over one year — one year and thirty-six days, to be more precise — to accept he was poor in what money couldn’t buy.

One year and thirty-seven days later, he finally wrote a song. It was a skeleton of what it would become, and in the end it didn’t make the album with your thumbprint printed on the back, but it was one. It was a start, and it sent him back to his start, gripping him with the fear that had held him for most of the year before.

His friends still talked about you — yours were his, after all — and he was selfish, desperate, pathetic enough to grab the straws he was given until his fingers and palms were cut and bleeding. You were happy. You were okay, and he liked that. You deserved that.

He recognized you a little less with each whisper and crumb he was spared and thrown. That? You’d sworn to him up and down you’d never do that, or go there, or eat this. It was inspiring in a way, hearing all about who you’d become and how you’d changed.

Oh, how you’d changed. Stronger, more settled, more assured by all it sounded like — a version of yourself he hadn’t cut with petty spite and left curled in a flat without a second glance. And how he’d changed, too, in appearance and demeanor. Love like that — like yours — and the loss that went with it when it went, it changed a person. Tequila crashed on the rocks of his most fragile emotions when he sheepishly, drunkenly admitted to a close confidant that he’d always thought you’d find your way back together, but 18 months on, he was pretty sure you wouldn’t even recognize each other enough to find each other.

That ached. The deep ache that drilled into the center of his chest and made his heart heavy. Sometimes it would hit him and his pen would pause in the middle of his frantic scratching and he’d sit and feel it. Pain was inspiration, wasn’t it?

Most embarrassing… humiliating… absurd… was his complete lack of interest in anyone in that way. The first year had been ruled by anger, and fear, and meeting himself as a man. A little over halfway through the next, and halfway through an album, the idea was floated to him.

“Have you ever thought about…?”

“What?”

“I dunno. Going out? Meeting someone? I have a friend who—”

“Now’s not the time,” while clearing his throat. “M’focused on the album. One thing at a time, right?”

He wasn’t blind, he’d never been, but he just… wasn’t ready. And how was he supposed to try to let go and learn someone else when he was so wrapped up in the memory of someone who, by all accounts, didn’t exist anymore?

Writing didn’t last forever, and just a little under two years since, he was determined. He’d found out on accident that you’d been dating on and off for a good long while, and in a reach for competition, he’d decided if you could do it, he could, too.

Harder than he anticipated, and they never stuck around long enough, especially not when it came time to tour. And he was fine with that. One thing at a time, right?

He didn’t want to love like that again. He didn’t ever want to have a reason to go through this cycle all over again.

He hadn’t seen you since, but when your friend got engaged, the countdown to the wedding became the countdown to when you’d be in the same room again. For three-hundred-and-sixty-five days, Harry waited, and on the three-hundred-and-sixty-sixth, he stared at the ceiling of his hotel room with burning eyes. He didn’t have to go, did he? He’d come all this way, sure, but no one would miss him in the crowd.

Fear he hadn’t felt in a long time wrapped around his body and squeezed, constricting him like a python would its prey. He was owned by fear.

You hadn’t brought a plus one, that much at least he wouldn’t have to face — he was ashamed enough to admit he’d gone through your feed to comb it for any indication of anything serious, but the photo you’d posted of a boarding pass was of one alone, and he’d breathed a sigh of relief. Now all there was left to do was face you.

He’d looked for you in the crowd at the ceremony, but it wasn’t until the reception when he saw you. There, behind two people, saying hello to someone he didn’t even know you knew. Light and vibrant, you were as you’d been the first time he’d ever seen you. Happy. Not at all how he’d left you, and too infrequently how he’d made you.

Harry hadn’t meant to stare, but he must have for just a second too long, because your eyes swept to him before he could look away. Your lips parted, eyes widening slightly in recognition, and he lifted his hand halfway in a shy wave. Would you run? Pretend you hadn’t seen him? March up to him and ask him to leave? Those and more went through his head in the three seconds it took for your lips to tick up at the corners and for your head to tip to the side in a gentle hello. He nodded and turned towards the bar, letting out a deep breath when he was out of sight. Not so bad, but not so good, either. When he got to the bar, he stared into the distance before asking for what he needed most.

“Water,” in a choked rasp. “Could I just have some… thanks.”

He gulped a highball full of it and dropped it with a thunk on the wood when it was drained, panting, pulling at his shirt collar. Not so bad, but not so good. You looked different but the same. He’d sworn the wound had scabbed and scarred, but every now and then, when it rained, it ached, and he right now was caught in the middle of a torrential downpour.

Not so good… but not so bad, either. He stood there, taking deep breaths, and he closed his eyes, where you were still burned into his lids. You looked good. Light, free, and like whatever wounds you’d taken on had all closed up. You were okay.

“Hey.”

A hand on his elbow had him opening his eyes and his skin prickled from the voice that was close. Your timid smile pulled into a warm grin and he felt one of his own, too.

“Was hoping you’d be here.”

A confession he should’ve thought about before he’d said it, but when you embraced, you murmured a quiet, “Me too.”

“S’good t’see you, it’s good….”

You squeezed his shoulders so tightly they trembled against him, and you kissed just under his jaw when you pulled back. “You look good!” you exclaimed softly and he chuckled.

“Clean up ok sometimes,” he said. “You look….” Your eyes softened and he swallowed hard. “Y’look good, love.”

Eyes shining, you nodded slightly. Harry was very aware of the fact that you were holding onto each other far too tightly, for far too long, far too intimately, and he was very aware of the fact that he, frankly, couldn’t give a damn.

“Where are you sitting?” you asked.

“That way.”

“I’m at the one to the left.”

Harry couldn’t count how many times he dropped the food from his fork. Seated back-to-back with you, he understood just how pathetic the split had made him when he was struggling to impress you even when you couldn’t see him. Even now his ears were still keenly tuned to your voice, and he caught his mouth twitching at the witty remarks and wry statements you made — every word, every laugh, he caught them all. And he waited. Waited… waited… waited….

It was sometime well after the first dance when seats had been abandoned and the floor had been filled by people too drunk to know they couldn’t do better than you slipped in beside him with a flash of a smile before turning to the couple swaying on the floor. Harry smiled but clenched his fist, fingers itching to pull the strap up that was falling down your shoulder.

“They look happy,” you sighed.

“They do. Only took them long enough.”

Humming, you leaned back in your chair. “How’ve you been?” you asked. “We haven’t had a chance to talk.”

Harry watched you for a moment, observing your fingers squeeze your elbows as if you were cold, but not a single goosebump was in sight. “Been good,” he said. “Busy. Writing and all that. Put a new album out a little bit ago.”

“I heard.”

His heart skipped, and when you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, any question he had about what exactly you meant by that vanished. “How about you?” he asked. “I heard you’re good, but….”

Shoulders rising and falling, you held your breath. “I’m ok,” you said at last. “I’m good.”

“Happy?” he asked before he could think about it, but he closed his eyes waiting for the answer.

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I… you know?”

Harry swallowed and nodded. “Yeah.”

“What about you?”

What about him? Hadn’t you just said you heard the album? That album, though, was released a bit ago by this point, and it’d been written more than a bit before that. Was he happy? Sometimes, wasn’t he? When he went home? When he was with his mates? When he was somewhere new, reading, or at a concert? Soaking up energy and spinning it back out again?

“I am,” he said. Opening his eyes, his stomach jolted when he found you looking at him, but he held your gaze. “I’ve been good.” For the first time, he realized he wasn’t lying. Somehow, through all the terror, and anger, and meeting himself, he’d gotten through it. He’d been ok.

“I’m glad,” you murmured. “And I’m—” Your breath hitched and you caught the strap he’d been staring at. “I’m sorry for how things—”

“Don’t.” That he couldn’t handle. Of all the things on the table for talk, that wasn’t one he was prepared for. “It wasn’t your— I—”

“But I—”

“Baby, please.” He could have bitten his entire tongue off for that one and he counted to three before exhaling, neck and ears hot. “I was an idiot. I was… jealous, and away, and I knew… I knew you could’ve.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Said it yourself, didn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t have,” you said. “You know that, right?”

“Now I do.” Harry cleared his throat. “I do now, yeah. I knew it then, too, I was just….” No word available, he shrugged.

Sometimes, people were just wrong.

“Think I knew then at the time as soon as I said it, but then it was done,” he said. “Like, as soon as it was out of my mouth I knew how ridiculous it sounded but—“

“I’m still sorry,” you said. Eyes wide, he didn’t have the heart to push back.

“M’sorry, too, love.”

The song changed, and in the middle of the whoops and hollers, you asked, “Do you want to dance?”

Hand-in-hand, you led each other out to the dance floor and he grinned when you spun before settling his hand in the small of your back. The first few bars of whatever new song was playing were made up of awkward half laughs and trying not to catch each other’s eye for too long, and after you ducked your head yet again, he said, “Tell me about yourself.”

“What?” you laughed.

“Come on!” he goaded through a grin. “Don’t even know y’anymore, do I?”

So, you danced. You danced, and talked, and laughed, and confided in each other under cover of the music and hidden in each other’s ears. He confessed what he knew and congratulated you on your accomplishments, and you said you were proud of him for all he’d done. That the album was beautiful, and no, you weren’t offended or wounded by anything he’d said. It ached, but not negatively.

“Felt like listening to myself,” you said, cheek resting on his shoulder as you swayed slowly and off rhythm.

“Yeah?” he asked.

You nodded. “It helped,” you added barely above a whisper, voice cracking. Chest tight, he came to a stop and you followed suit. Both of you stood there at the back of the dancefloor, perfectly still, chests rising and falling. Eventually, you straightened up, eyes hooded and lips parted, and he trembled from head-to-toe, hoping to God you couldn’t tell, and he was frozen in place when your lips brushed his shyly. The last time you’d kissed him like this had been one of the last times. He stayed still, letting you kiss him, but when your pressure started to ease, he knew it was now or never — sink or swim, jump or run, because if he didn’t, you would, and then….

You gasped when Harry clasped your chin and held you firm, tipping your head back slightly so he could deepen the kiss in an old rhythm that’d been long lost but unforgotten. Clumsily, he drew his hand up your back and draped it around your shoulders to draw you closer. Not gentlemanly, not skilled, but each increasingly greedy lick was making up for years. You, too, clutched him when you swayed backwards, and he checked himself when every urge told him to let his mouth wander. Nose to nose, when the kiss broke, you both stood there breathing heavily, gripping each other like your lives depended on it. You bumped his and he nuzzled yours and you gulped when you pulled his wrists and, subsequently, him, off the dance floor.

***

He was grateful the hallway outside your hotel room was abandoned, because it meant he could press you into the door without fear. Kisses smacked between you and the only thing that kept him from being embarrassed with how loud he was panting were the little gasps you let out while pulling at the buttons on his shirt. His chains had gotten caught in the top one at some point, and if he hadn’t muttered a, “Careful,” you might’ve snapped them in your haste.

“Hang….” You turned your head to break the kiss and he pressed his nose to your temple as you dug into the small purse you’d picked up at your table on the way out. In the next second the door handle clicked, both of you stumbling back into your room, and you dropped your bag uncaringly on the ground as he cupped your jaw and kissed you deeper, backing you into the room and relishing the breathy sighs you let out into his mouth.

Finally.

Years out of practice, but you were a Rubik's cube he could solve in his sleep, twisting and turning until every piece fell into place. “Can’t believe,” he whispered. “Can’t—”

“Please— ow,” you whispered when you tripped, clutching his arms. “Please… please….”

“Please, what?” he asked. “What can I do, darling? What can I— what can I do f’you? Tell me….”

You whimpered, making his hair stand on end, and button after button popped free under your fingers. When you got down to his belt, you tugged his shirt tails impatiently, and Harry inhaled sharply when you touched his skin. Your warm fingers were cool to his blazing belly, and, in a delayed reaction, he fumbled with the zipper on the back of your dress. The first touch of you — soft as you’d ever been — was a shock, and you shivered, arching into him. Shaking, he pushed his hand deeper under your dress and spread it as wide as he could to cover as much as he could but with some caution.

“Yes… please….”

All the permission he needed, he pushed and pulled until your dress slipped off your shoulders, and you shimmied it the rest of the way. Bit by bit, clothes where shed and you lowered onto the bed, consumed and consuming. It could end badly — just as badly as the last time — but right then, all he could feel was joyful completion.

It wasn’t perfect, but that was what made it so. Teeth clinked and you laughed as he mumbled apologies, and when your calf cramped it was his turn to grin and take the excuse to press kisses down your body — over your stomach, cunt, hips, thigh, and knee — until he reached it and kneaded while nuzzling in. “Come here,” you breathed, breasts rising and falling with your command. “Please, Harry.”

He bit his tongue and swallowed the confession of, “Keep saying please and I’ll do anything for you,” while lowering down. Christ, your skin! He had to touch it, he couldn’t stop, he— no, kissing. He had to kiss you, that was most important, but your skin or your mouth? Hands and lips raced to keep up with his flip-flopping thoughts and demands, and he only returned to your mouth when you whined. “I know, m’sorry,” he mumbled, mouth smashed to the side of yours, clutching your face. “M’so sorry….”

You turned your head and he stared in awe when you pulled the tips of his first two fingers into your warm, soft, wet mouth. Lips tightening, you lifted your head and pulled them in up to his knuckles. “Shit!” he whispered, pumping slightly.

When you hooked your leg around the back of his thigh, though, the rational part of him stirred, and each shift and sigh pulled it out of its slumber. Wait… wait, hang on— “I don’t have—“ Harry gulped and you released his fingers. “I don’t have anything with me, I—“ Maybe in the drawer, he thought deliriously. There had to be something somewhere, there had to—

“I’m still on the pill,” you whispered. “It’s fine, I have my….”

“I can check,” he said. “I can just take a—”

“Please.” Eyes closed, your brow was furrowed in thought. “Please, babe….”

Babe?

Harry swallowed convulsively. “Y’sure?”

“It’s fine.” You opened your eyes and he could see the steely resolve in them. “It’s fine, I’m… it’s fine.”

Exhaling slowly, he nodded. “Me too,” he mumbled. “I’m fine.”

You made a muffled noise when he kissed you again and shifted fully on top, slinking your arms around his back as you hitched your legs high up his hips. “Hang on,” he panted. “Hang—“ Harry’s eyes rolled up and his groan was instant and guttural. Christ, you were wet! And so smooth he couldn’t help but sink in balls deep, and you writhed underneath him, nails in his shoulder.

“Oh my God!”

“Y’ok?”

You moaned, a quiet keening noise, and he kissed your throat. “Do that again, love,” he said against your skin. “Make that pretty sound for me again.”

“Harry…!”

He laughed breathlessly and shifted, lowering onto his elbows so he could comfortably keep his face tucked into your neck.

It was loud and messy and the most absolute feeling he’d felt in years. His first full thrust had both of you exclaiming, and though your hips dropped when his fell for the first little bit, eventually you found a rhythm and it grew increasingly frantic as you learned how it felt to move with each other again.

He knew you. He hadn’t forgotten you.

“Y’wet!” he groaned.

“Yeah!” you whimpered before moaning and tightening your legs around him. “I am, I am, I’m so—“

“Wet and tight… fuck!”

“You’re big.” Swallowing hard you let go of one of his shoulders and flung your hand back to grip the top of the headboard, lifting your hips with more force. “You’re still so big I—“

“Still the biggest?” he slurred.

“Yes— ah!”

Harry fucked deeper and clasped his hand against your cheek, guiding your mouth to his. “Still the biggest?” he asked against your lips. “Still the best?”

“Yes! Oh!” You exhaled shakily and your thighs trembled around his hips. “M’gonna cum!” you moaned. “I’m gonna… oh my God, I’m gonna cum, Harry….” Your cries became garbled and he inhaled sharply when your cunt bore down on his cock, hard, with several pulses, nearly stalling him. When your muscles went slack and you gasped head sinking into the pillow, he picked up his rhythm again. You were wetter now, and more than once he nearly fell right out of you in his vigor. By the third time, he came to a full stop, gritting his teeth and trying to reel himself in from snapping.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed through his tightly clenched jaw. “Fucking—!” You peppered kisses along his chin and he took deep breaths, grounding himself before he began again, keeping his thrusts shallow and close. Better — much better, and when he moaned again it was with a different kind of agony. “I’m so… oh, fuck, m’close. Shit!” He laughed almost nervously. “I’m really… y’so… I can pull out, if— I can, I—“

Too little, too late, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t have no matter how much he offered. His orgasm was hard and heavy, and he didn’t know how long he shook, but it felt endless, and the relief…! His hand hadn’t been able to do anything nearly as good as this for as long as he’d suffered without you. “Sorry!” he groaned. “Fuck, I’m….” Gulping, he collapsed on top of you, but despite how much he reminded himself he shouldn’t crush you, his limbs refused to cooperate. Instead he nestled against your heaving chest, panting. “Sorry,” he repeated, lips brushing your skin. “S-sorry….”

“It’s ok!” You draped your arms around his back and he closed his eyes when you dug your fingers into his hair, letting out a wheezy noise of your own.

He wasn’t going to sleep. That was his plan — he’d let you sleep, and if you were going to wake up and slip away (where to since it was your room he didn’t know), he would be awake to see it. To stop it.

When he woke up, though, the first thing he saw were his eyelids, and he could have kicked himself. Fuck. Bracing himself, he counted to three before opening them. A crack of sun peeked in through the blackout curtains on the windows, lending a little light to the otherwise hazy room, and next to him, there you were. Curled up, cheek creased by the pillow, shoulders rising and falling with the sheet pulled tightly around you. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, heart pounding. Not until right then had he realized how absolutely fucking terrified he was of what he wouldn’t find when he woke up.

Did this change anything?

Your nose scrunched and you curled up further before opening your eyes. Swollen with sleep, you blinked, and he held his breath, waiting for the moment you’d realize what had happened and bolt while stammering excuses.

Instead, you smiled slightly and closed them, turning onto your back and stretching, the sheet slipping from your chest. “Morning,” you said, garbled.

Half a beat passed and he nodded. “Morning.” He paused before leaning in and pressed his forehead against your chest. When you wrapped your arms around his head and dug your fingers into his curls as you had last night, he exhaled heavily and nuzzled in, kissing you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Sleep good?” he asked against your breast.

“Mmhm.” You yawned and he snickered. “I’m exhausted,” you said and he suppressed the urge to comment.

“Me too,” was all he said despite the thousand and one words on the tip of his tongue. What did this mean? Nothing? Was it just a case of old lovers caught in a nostalgia trap? For sixteen hours now he’d felt like he used to. Did that just vanish when you left the room? Sooner than that?

A wet, gurgling growl interrupted his spiraling thoughts and you stiffened as it finished practically right in his ear. Harry grinned. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.” You squirmed and he kissed your breast multiple times.

“We could go down for breakfast,” he murmured.

“Go down or—?”

He laughed and lifted his head, vision blurry. “There’s that, too.”

You chortled but winced.

“Ok?”

“Yeah.” You exhaled slowly. “Just a little sore.” He flushed but smirked despite himself and you cleared your throat. “Let’s get dressed.”

A quick bout with a washcloth later, you quietly crept from your room together. You had the good fortune of fresh clothes, but he took his walk of shame by your side with his head held high, belt and blazer abandoned and the sleeves of his wrinkled dress shirt rolled up. The dining room was next to empty, only a few families and elderly couples strolling through the buffet and making their choices. “D’you wanna just…?” Harry gestured towards a free booth, tucked away in a corner and well out of sight of the milling guests. “I’ll bring something over.”

You hesitated before nodding and slipping away, and after he’d made his rounds, he returned with two plates full of fruit and pastries.

“Got us some tea,” you said of the steaming cups in front of you.

“Thanks.” He sat beside you, but despite picking at a cream horn, not a crumb made it to his mouth. The awkward truth had set in, exposed under the soft fluorescent lighting.

“So—”

“I—”

He flashed a smile and your eyes dropped with a quiet laugh. “Last night...” you began.

“Yeah.”

“It was….”

“Yeah.”

Your shoulders fell and you sighed. “Is that all you can say?”

“Kind of,” he admitted. “M’still… processing.” He stared very hard at the raspberry eye of a danish. “Just… kind of not sure f’this changes anything.”

His heart beat like he’d dodged a bullet and you ducked your head. “Think a lot of things have changed,” you said. “Haven’t they? It’s been—”

“Years, I know,” he said. “Believe me, I….” Harry trailed off.

“We said things,” you said under your breath. “We both did.”

Harry’s stomach sank. Nothing was going to change, was it? It was a slow motion version of what had happened the last time — older and more mature, you’d let him down gently and he’d say goodbye peacefully and slink away with his tail between his legs and his heart in his hands. “Shouldn’t have,” he said, throat tight. “And I don’t blame you for how you reacted.” He forced a smile. “I mean, I did for a long time, but I don’t—“

Harry stopped short when your hand tentatively covered his — an action so small yet somehow more intimate than anything you’d done last night.

“We weren’t ready.” You traced his rings and knuckles. “You know? We were young.”

Yeah, you were. For the longest time, that had hung over his head and put a weight on his shoulders. He could’ve had a lifetime with you from such a long age, but he’d lost it instead, and he’d never get those years back. “There was a lot of pressure,” he agreed. “I’d never….” He sighed heavily. “I never had doubt like that. And it wasn’t that I doubted you, it was… I was… scared… because I’d never been scared before.”

“We needed to grow up,” you said.

“New experiences,” he said before adding, “new people,” with a bitter taste on his tongue.

Your lips thinned and you took a deep breath before shaking your head minutely.

“What?”

“Not that many new people,” you said. “For me, at least.”

“Seen your page,” he muttered. “I’ve heard—“

You smiled wryly with a huff and he blinked, lips parting. “Don’t,” you said flatly. “I tried, it’s just— it’s not….” You shook your head harder. “It just never happened.”

“Sex?” he croaked and you winced. “You haven’t—?“

“Stop,” you begged. “Please.”

He tugged your hand, mind scrambling with the new information he felt like he should do something with but he had no idea what, and you slumped onto his shoulder. He pressed his mouth to the top of your head, ears ringing.

“I miss you,” you whispered. “I miss… all the time, I….” He reached up with his other hand to cup your cheek but you turned your face into his neck with a hot, wet sigh and he rested it on the back of your head instead. “It’s been years, I thought it would stop, I thought….” You gulped and he closed his eyes, smoothing his thumb back and forth. “It was supposed to stop.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Harry said thickly, quivering with the thoughts he’d suppressed. “We weren’t supposed t’stop, s’why… s’why it’s all fucked, isn’t it?”

“We needed to.” You sniffled, a large, ugly noise. “We did, we needed to, because we needed to know, we needed—”

“And now what?” he asked against your head. “We’re older, we’ve lived. Is that enough now? Are we done with this?” More aggressive than he’d intended to sound, and he regretted it when you hiccoughed a muted cry. “Cause if you’re just— if we’re walking away from this, I need to know now, and y’have to tell me to my face this time.”

“No… please… don’t....”

No?

Crestfallen, he closed his eyes. No? No, don’t make you tell him to his face? Nose in your hair still, his stomach churned. This doesn’t change anything. Older and more mature you both may have been, but some things never changed. He could write anything, but he couldn’t rewrite history, as much as he thought maybe…. An ache exploded in his chest and he cleared his throat, eyes welling behind his lids. Slowly, he dropped his hand and sat up straight, turning away from you.

“Left m’coat in your room,” he said. “Belt, too, I’ll just pop up t’get those.” He pulled the plate of pastries closer. “Let’s have our breakfast.”

“Harry….”

“S’fine,” he said. “Been over a long time, we— we’re leaving it behind. It’s the right decision.”

“I—”

He picked up his cup of tea, the large gulp nearly scalding his throat on the way down and making his eyes prickle for a different reason.

“You—” You covered your eyes with your hands. “No.”

Harry grimaced — he’d gotten that the first time.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Said ‘no’,” he said. “I can take direction, love.”

“Not no like I don’t want to— no as in I won’t do that, because I don’t want to, you twat!”

“Why are y’calling me a twat?”

“Because you are one!” Next to him, you fumed, breathing heavily. “You’re speaking for me when it’s not at all what I’m saying, and you always do that!”

“You do the same!” he ground out. “Tell me what is it you mean, then, if not that.”

“I’m done,” you said. “I’m done with this, and I want—“ Breath hitching, you pulled out a chocolate croissant from the pile. “Last night meant something,” you said, flaking it apart.

“To me too,” he said.

“Well, ok then.” You glanced at him. “So?”

He held your gaze until you broke it, and it was only then he was brave enough to reach for the hand nervously shucking layers of pastry onto the plate. You stilled, taking a deep breath, and when you looked at him, your eyes were welling with more than vulnerability.

For the first time since he’d walked out of that old kitchen, the battle was over. You’d both blinked, said uncle, and packed it in. Enough was enough and you were old enough and wise enough to know when to say when. It was almost enough to make him faint.

“if you’re sure, then I’m sure,” he said, though he could barely hear himself. Nodding, you gulped, and he pushed one of the cups of tea towards you. “Drink.”

Still holding his hand, you picked up the cup and held it under your nose.

“Me neither, y’know.”

“What?”

Flushed, Harry spun his cup on the table. “Me neither.”

Half a beat passed before you uttered a hushed, “Oh….”

“Yeah.” He nodded towards your tea. “Drink.”

You picked up your cup and you spent the next several minutes in silence, sipping your tea and picking at breakfast despite being far from hungry. He was mid-chew on a piece of melon when you nudged his knee with yours and held it there. Glancing at you, he watched you quietly tear into a chocolate croissant, studiously avoiding his gaze.

You’d be alright.

869 notes · View notes

animalinvestigator · 3 years

Note

first, paul and rainer autistic so real. second, im curious about what your interpretation of belle n rainers relationship is!

1. SO glad we’re all in agreement about this, Listen they just are, ist just, its just in the way that they are, it has to be,

2. THIS Might get long and is literally completely made up like i dont have ANY textual evidence for it. So bear with me here and understand that this is just my brain synthesizign things out of nothing.

As i briefly discussed in my last ask, i think rainer was belle’s babysitter or at least had some other reason to be around her Quite A Lot. We know that they know eachother pretty damn well - rainer is like, cued in to the exact shit shes insecure about and appears to be trying to rile her up as much as humanly possible in the notes he leaves on her copy of the game, and its clear they had some...uncharacteristically philosophical discussions. so i think they were pretty close and that belle trusted him quite a lot when she was a kid (even though if he was her babysitter he probably did a shitty job. see the below picture)

Considering i think belle was a survivor even prior to being part of the leskowitz-hammond-mark family , i think its rare and unusual for her to trust older people, so the faith she put in rainer to confide in him things like the fact that she feels insecure about not being a biological member of the family is probably quite a lot. And i think for rainer to remember things like that and truly like, consider her opinions on things like rebirthing, he probably had quite a bit of faith in her as well. to sum it up i think they were close, and that it was a relationship that kind of started to fill the void that mike’s absence had left in rainer -- until the whole rebirthing debacle.

That being said i also think belle would be a menace to babysit and that rainer probably had to physically stop her from setting fires in his mothers house and like, deconstructing peoples alarm clocks for fun and shit. Its a relationship like “you are so annoying and stupid i will protect you and i want you to have a happy life.”

obviously belle was no longer able to trust him after realizing that rebirthing is actually A Bad Idea and you cant overwrite yourself to create a new person and shed all your trauma, so i think its likely there was a lot of bitterness between them towards the end of rainers life. Rainer probably couldnt understand why she didnt want to finish, and she probably ended up feeling scared of him and betrayed by him for trying to perform a ritual that was ultimately harmful, even if he thought it would make life better for her.

i dont think thats a rift that would be able to heal, and i think that in the present day during the course of the actual webseries, she harbors a lot of resentment and hatred towards him for taking advantage of her trust like that (another reason why she probably wants to keep petscop a secret from her brother.) this would, of course, be exacerbated by the notes that he left on her game.

...but i really think he was trying to piss her off on purpose with those notes, they’re so intentionally comically cruel that i’m sure he either wrote them directly after she quit, when he had completely no understanding of why she wouldnt want to finish and was frustrated and hurt by her backing out...or that he wrote them closer to the time he died, with the knowledge that he would kill himself, in an attempt to make sure that she wouldnt think fondly of him after he was gone. Pain so much pain.

THATS really all there is to be said about it, thank you so much for taking the time to send an ask, its super cool because i love your petscop content and im glad you’re interested in mine ^-^ / Here’s a comic i made about it that i think is very funny

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inkedstarlight · 4 years

Text

Bittersweet: Chapter 7

Summary: Finals are rapidly approaching and after the events that occurred at Thanksgiving, Nesta is having a hard time focusing. With her new job at Rita’s and classes, she’s exhausted. Tomas has been helping her study for the exam but with the exam just days away, Nesta is still nowhere near prepared. She reaches her last resort which is to get the answers to the exam from her T.A., Tomas. It doesn’t go as planned. Notes: Read it here on AO3! Warnings: explicit descriptions of sexual violence (please don’t read if that is triggering for you; you’re your number one priority) Bittersweet Masterlist

December

After the disaster that was Thanksgiving, Nesta turned all her attention to classes. Finals were rapidly approaching which was a good enough excuse as any to skip those damn dinners. It certainly didn’t stop Elain from inviting her, but Feyre on the other hand? She expressed no interest in Nesta’s sudden absence. In fact, Nesta imagined her sister breathing a sigh of relief every time she told her she wouldn’t be coming.

Something ugly planted itself within her after the events that transpired just two weeks ago. It churned in the pit of her stomach. It was as if her insides were being twisted inside out. And she couldn’t seem to place the emotion. Anger? Guilt? Embarrassment? All the above?

Either way, she was too busy to think much about it. With finals and her new job, Nesta’s schedule was jam packed every week. She wasn’t complaining. She savored it. She was never left alone with her thoughts. There was always something to do and since all the work exhausted her, she no longer had trouble falling asleep.

After applying to Rita’s, she heard back from them a week later.

Nesta,

Thank you for your application. It’s always exciting to hire a new employee, and I was especially ecstatic when I discovered you were Feyre’s sister. That little rag-tag group stole my heart.

After reading through your resume, I would love for you to be part of our little team here at Rita’s. I’m not one for interviews (they’re pretty pointless if you ask me), so just let me know when you’re able to start. My family and I are on vacation until the 29th. I’m looking forward to meeting you.

Best, Rita

And with that, Nesta was no longer unemployed.

----------------------------

She started just a couple days following Thanksgiving. Rita had closed down the bar for the holiday, she and her wife leaving town for an annual vacation. According to Feyre, Rita only took off two weeks in the year. And since her family didn’t celebrate Christmas, those two weeks were reserved for Thanksgiving.

Nesta barely slept the night before her first day. She hated new places, new people. New jobs. It was all just… a lot to take in. But she showed up the next day, her anxiety hidden behind a confident stride and a professional attitude.

Right off the bat, Nesta noticed the welcoming atmosphere of the bar. It was a bit rustic, the wooden tables and chairs worn. The vintage bulbs that hung from the ceiling provided warm, dim lighting. The high chairs that sat in front of the bar counter were cushioned with plush, deep red fabric. Nesta looked around the walls to admire the art. She noticed upon closer glance that they all had names of local artists next to their respective work. The small space was elegant, inviting, homey.

Rita didn’t hesitate as she walked up to Nesta and gave her a hug. She stiffened, unaccustomed to physical touch of any kind – much less from a stranger. Rita seemed to read the room and retracted her arms with an apologetic smile.

“Forgive my wife,” a voice said from behind Rita. Nesta looked up to see a blonde woman smiling. Not at her, but at Rita. “She doesn’t have any sense of personal space.”

Nesta watched, amused as Rita stuck her tongue out at her wife. Turning back to Nesta, she waved her hand. “Forgive her. She’s just jealous.”

That seemed to be a good enough icebreaker as any. After being introduced, Rita led Nesta behind the bar. The next hour was spent training. Rita told her how she began her business, the bar’s signature drinks, and the other employees who worked there. Apparently, there were only four bartenders excluding herself: Emerie, Helion, Viviane, and Thesan. It had been an hour before open when Nesta had arrived and by the time the clock hit five, Nesta was pretty confident in her drink-making skills. But that wasn’t what she was worried about; it was more the whole “costumer service" thing. To say the least, Nesta lacked people skills. She had no problem calling people out on their shit, and she was going to have to learn how to keep her mouth shut in front of customers. Gods only knew how angry Rita would be.

That anxiety dissipated when one of the workers, Emerie, clocked in. She strode in confidently, her gaze unwavering as she approached Nesta.

“Three things you need to know. First thing, don’t ask me to cover your shift unless you’re dying or you win two tickets to a Beyonce concert, in which case I’m coming. Second of all, wear a lower cut shirt next time. Men are disgusting and won’t spare a look at you unless you flash a little cleavage.”

Nesta crossed her arms. “And the third?”

Emerie pointed to a board behind them, one that Nesta hadn’t noticed when she walked in. “We have a competition going on to see who earns the most tips. Lucky for you, we just started last week. The winner gets full control of the music for a month and as many rounds of drinks they can handle paid in full by the losers. So,” Emerie appraised her, “don’t fall behind.”

Nesta inwardly laughed at the woman’s attempt to intimidate her, especially considering she was a good foot shorter than her. Little did Emerie know, Nesta was competitive as fuck and she would do anything to win. Especially if there was alcohol involved. She smirked. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

Emerie blinked at her in surprise. Nesta just held her stare.

Then, Emerie’s lips broke into a smile. “Oh, I’m going to like you.”

-------------------------------------------

Since their first meeting, Nesta and Tomas had studied together about once a week. If Nesta was being honest, she would have completely forgotten about finals if Tomas hadn’t offered to help her study. Her mind was preoccupied with all the other shit going on in her life, and the only reason Nesta hadn’t yet failed that class was thanks to Tomas. She was baffled at his reputation as an asshole T.A.; he’d been nothing but resourceful to her since the beginning of the semester.

At least the job at Rita’s was going well. She liked all her coworkers for the most part. Helion was loud. Viviane was sassy. Thesan kept to himself. Emerie was her favorite. Nesta learned that she had been working there since its beginnings. Apparently, Rita and her wife took her in when she was young, and they’d been like family ever since. Nesta and her couldn’t be more similar. They would complain about customers before they even turned their back. Both of them were no-nonsense women who didn't tolerate bullshit. They were both suckers for romance novels and had a large distaste for country music. And most importantly, they bonded over their hatred for the same people.

It made for the perfect friendship.

But her job was only taking away time that she needed to utilize for academia. Despite Nesta’s efforts to study for the gods-damn exam, she wasn’t prepared in the slightest. During their sessions, she could barely focus. Tomas’s words went in one ear and out the other. When he gave her extra work, she rarely did it. Her mind was scattered; it was as if she was sleepwalking through her days. Wake up, go to class, work, study, sleep. Rinse and repeat. Nesta was exhausted.

So, with the exam just three days away, Nesta didn’t have any other options. She couldn’t fail this course and jeopardize her education.

Her plan was simple. T.A.’s had access to exam answers. Tomas was a T.A. All she needed to do was get those answers from him in one way or another.

The idea had been swirling around in her head for the past week, but she’d always shoved it to the background when it surfaced. After all, it was her last resort. Nesta didn’t cheat. In fact, she despised when people took credit for doing jackshit. It was hypocritical, and yet...

I can’t fail. Not again.

It wasn’t like it would be hard either. She didn’t have to do much to get Tomas’s attention. That first day she'd introduced herself after class, it was impossible to miss the way his eyes flicked down to her chest every few minutes. Add to that a lip bite and a suggestive glance, and those answers would be hers.

What could she say? Men were simple like that.

------------------------------------------

It was Tuesday, Nesta and Tomas's last study session before the exam.

As Nesta sat at the table eating dinner, which consisted of a cup of coffee and a granola bar, her phone vibrated beside her. Picking it up, she saw Tomas’s name flash across the screen as she received his text.

Hey – my roommate had to borrow my car so I can’t meet you at the library. How about we study at my place?

Nesta smirked. Gods, he made it so easy.

What’s your address?

Nesta retreated to her room and opened her closet. Glancing at the time, she hurried as she grabbed the most provocative outfit she could find. She threw on a lacy, long-sleeve bodysuit that molded to her every curve. Stepping into a skirt, Nesta had to shimmy her hips to pull the tight fabric up, covering only a couple inches of her upper thigh. With a couple flicks of her wrist, she adjusted her makeup and fluffed her hair.

Nesta spared a glance at the mirror. She grinned.

There was no way she would be leaving his place without those answers tonight.

Nesta shoved on a pair of booties and gathered her things. She quickly shut the bedroom door behind her.

“Ooooh!” Elain peered over the couch as Nesta beelined for the front door, her heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floor. “Special occasion?”

Nesta didn't respond.

But Elain didn’t take to being ignored.

Nesta watched as she pulled herself off the couch and faced her with a sly grin. “Hot date?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I’m going to Tomas’s to study for my exam.”

Elain nodded her head, shooting a look at her that said, Sure, you are.

Nesta ignored her again, not slowing down.

“Should I expect you to return tonight?”

“Mind your business, Elain. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

“Be safe!” Elain called as Nesta hurriedly walked out of the apartment.

-------------------------------------------

When Nesta pulled into his gravel driveway, there weren’t any lights on, save for one on the first floor. She noticed his parked car.

Weird.

Nesta didn’t bother questioning it, though. Her stomach was already a bundle of nerves. Fidgeting in the skintight skirt, she tugged it down an inch so the neighbors wouldn’t look out the window and catch a free showing.

Gods, what am I doing?

Every step she took closer to Tomas's house, the further her heart sunk. It's not like she wanted to do this. But Nesta didn't have any other options. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and she was the one who put herself in that situation to begin with. So it was going to be her who got herself out of it.

You're going to hate yourself if you do this, a voice warned inside her head.

She shoved away the thought.

Even though her heart raced as she approached the front door, her strut was strong and confident. She didn’t falter for a step.

Nesta released a shaky breath and composed herself. She knocked once and the door was already opening.

“Nesta,” Tomas greeted her, eyes roaming over her body. He wore a polo shirt and sweatpants. She wasn’t sure if she shivered from the numbing winter air or his raunchy gaze. Nesta stifled the urge to zip her jacket all the way to her neck. “I’m glad you made it.”

Nesta pushed past the desire to say fuck it. To just go back home and accept the fact that she was going to fail. Instead, she plastered on a charming smile and giggled softly. “Thank you for inviting me.”

He led her inside. As she followed him, she caught a whiff of something strong. Vodka? Rum? She wasn't sure. But it was coming from Tomas.

Why the fuck did he drink when we're about to study?

They walked past the kitchen table. Nesta faltered.

“Aren’t we going to study here?”

Tomas looked over his shoulder with an easy smile. “I figured we could do it in my bedroom. It’ll be more comfortable anyway.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond as he kept walking. Nesta followed him reluctantly. She wanted to seduce him, sure, but there was no way in hell she was going to fuck him for the answers. She wasn't going to go that far.

“Welcome to the man cave.” He gestured to his room.

Nesta rolled her eyes inwardly. Man cave? Really? Gods, men are insufferable.

When she took a step in, she was assaulted by the overwhelming scent of men’s cologne. She stifled the urge to cough. His room was cramped; there was barely any space to walk. The comforter was brown, along with his pillows and walls.

Nesta hated brown.

The one thing she noticed was none of Tomas’s textbooks were out. In fact, his backpack was shoved in the corner.

“So where -"

Nesta was cut off when she felt Tomas directly behind her.

She spun around to face him. That's when she noticed his eyes. They were red-rimmed and glossy.

He hadn't just had one drink. He was drunk.

“Damn, girl," Tomas leered, taking a step closer to her. Nesta took a step back, trying to keep distance between them. "I thought it was going to take a little more effort than this to get you into my bed, but then you showed up dressed like that."

What the fuck?

“I think there was a misunderstanding –"

“Oh, trust me, I don’t think that’s the case.” Then Tomas's arm was around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Nesta tried to back away, but he only held her closer. His grip was tight. Too tight to shove him off.

“Tomas, no – “

“Aw, you don’t mean that, baby. I see the way you look at me.” His mouth pressed against her ear, his hot breath enough to make Nesta gag. “You’ve wanted this for a long, long time. Just as long as I have."

Nesta scanned his room frantically. There were no windows. His bedroom door was closed. And locked.

That’s when she started to panic.

"Can we just talk for a minute?" She willed her voice not to shake. Maybe if she remained calm, tried to reason with him -

Nesta cried out in pain as Tomas pushed her onto the bed. Hard.

"Please, stop!"

Tomas paid no mind to her pleas as he straddled her waist before she had the chance to get up. Nesta could only look at him with wide eyes as he loomed over her. Fear crawled its way up her throat at the look he was giving her. He placed a damp hand on her hip, his nails digging into her skin. He slid his hand further up, past her stomach until -

No, no, no nononono.

Tomas palmed her breast over her shirt, squeezing so hard that tears spilled over Nesta's cheeks. She tried to kick her legs but he was so heavy, too heavy. His weight was suffocating, her breathing was rapid and her heart was pounding and she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think; what should she do, what should she do, what should she do -

His lips slammed down on hers. Her cry was silenced. Tomas tried to shove his tongue into her mouth, but Nesta kept her lips closed as she squirmed underneath him and kicked her legs. But he remained on top of her. He wasn't budging.

"Open your fucking mouth," he growled against her lips. Nesta sobbed as she kept fighting to get him off her. He kept moving his mouth against hers, forcefully trying to open her mouth until Nesta bit down on his lip as hard as she possibly could.

Tomas reeled back with a hiss and touched his lip with a hand. When he withdrew it, blood shone on his finger. He glared at her. "You bitch."

Nesta didn't see his palm coming until she felt the sharp slap on her cheek, her head snapping to the side from the sheer force. The wind was knocked out of her. She felt paralyzed, helpless.

Nesta was motionless under him as his mouth dragged along her bared neck. He sucked on her skin hard even to bruise. Another sob escaped her clenched teeth. Her fists were balled tightly, a scream trapped in her. Bile rose in her throat when Tomas rubbed himself against her. She felt his erection press hard against her stomach, and she nearly threw up right there. His hands fell to the fabric of her skirt as he began to hike it up to her hips.

Something within her snapped.

Nesta didn't know what happened next. All she knew was her fist was burning with pain and she was shoving Tomas off her, sprinting for the door, racing through the house. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins as she heard Tomas yell her name behind her but she was too fast. He was too far behind.

She didn't stop running until she fell into the driver's seat of her car. She didn't bother buckling her seat belt as she peeled out of his driveway.

Sometime along the way home, Nesta stopped shaking. Her tears dried. Her heart stopped pounding. Her thoughts disappeared until she was left only with a silent mind and an empty feeling.

Nesta stared at the road in front of her, and she happily invited the feeling of numbness as it flooded into her body.

---------------------------------

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vexedtonightmares · 4 years

Text

last dance (elu ballet au) chapter seize

Lucas is in his final year at the Paris Opera Ballet School and he’ll be damned if he lets his former friend-turned-rival Eliott steal the lead role in their production of Swan Lake.

aka- lucas and eliott are rivals who are forced to room together for their final year of ballet school before they try to enter the company. we can all see where this is going.

i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix. x. xi. xii. xiii. xiv. xv. xvi.

ao3

**tw: mentions of eating disorder and bipolar disorder**

Dimanche 12:44

They were a week out from the show, which meant everyone was in a frenzy. The studios had been booked all day and people came and went as they pleased to practice, everyone a little bit more sluggish than usual on account of the late night they’d all ended up having.

After Eliott and Lucas’ show, their whole year stayed in the auditorium all night under the guise of cleaning it up, but they were really just enjoying one another’s company. There weren’t going to be many more nights like this, so they had to take advantage while they still could. The silly string actually smelled quite bad, but Lucas didn’t think any of them had cared much about it, too lost in the moment and each other to think about anything other than their happiness. It was so beautiful to experience, being in a group like this one. Sure, some of them were better friends with each other than others were, but that night they’d all been one unit built through sweat, strength, blood, broken nails, and more than a few tears.

Lucas was still finding silly string buried in his hair when he ran his hands through it as he practiced, and even though it was kind of gross, he couldn’t help but smile.

He and Eliott were switching off rehearsing with Manon and Imane, both of whom chided them multiple times for not paying enough attention to their partners and too much attention to each other. Thankfully, Lucas had already gotten a fair amount of practice with Manon, so they looked to be in good shape for the weekend. Imane and Eliott hadn’t had as much time to work through the choreography together, but it didn’t seem likely that the two of them would have to perform together on stage, so they weren’t worried.

They had yet to run through the entire ballet in full costume onstage, and Lucas couldn’t have been more excited to start dress rehearsals. They wouldn’t start until the next morning since the show was beginning on Friday, and Lucas hoped that nothing would go wrong, but he didn’t want to jinx it. There was still a lot to be done, and so much that could go wrong, but they were so close.

It was quite surreal that it was finally happening. It seemed like just yesterday he’d come back to school with Manon, marvelling at the year ahead. At the same time, it seemed stupid that at that point he’d been so overcome with blind hatred he’d thought he wouldn’t survive the year sharing a room with Eliott. Now he couldn’t imagine surviving without him.

Eliott flashed him a smile just meant for the two of them, like a secret they shared, and Lucas dropped his head to hide his own grin. One of the best things about falling in love was the secret language that came with it, the one neither person had to learn but already knew by heart. It was a good thing he would never have to live without Eliott.

“I love you,” he mouthed across the room, because he was sappy and he could. If Eliott was the sun, then he was Icarus, flying, falling, but ever in love with its golden rays and the warmth it brought into his life.

Imane snapped in front of his face and he realized he’d probably been staring too long with a dopey expression on his face. The blush that always adorned his cheeks around Eliott deepened, even as Eliott mouthed the words back to him behind Imane.

“I swear, if I’d known you were going to be this insufferable in love, I never would have wished for it for my birthday,” Manon teased, ruffling his hair.

“Shut up,” he groaned, leaning out of her reach, then paused. “Wait… you’re joking, right?”

She raised one eyebrow, turning back to face the mirror with a smirk on her face. She was such a shit, but he supposed he couldn’t complain because the two of them were cut from the same cloth. He pretended not to notice Imane rolling her eyes at all three of them. He knew it was in jest anyways, he knew that Imane liked him a whole lot more than she pretended to.

And, thinking of her, he had to get all the information out of her about her and Sofiane. They could pretend nothing was going on all they wanted, but literally everyone knew it was a lie. He was happy for her, whatever the case, because he could tell she and Sofiane cared about each other deeply and had for practically their whole lives.

Caring was something he’d grown up without, never really considering the impact it might have when he found it. He liked to be cared for, he’d come to realize. Being cared for wasn’t being pitied or belittled, it was a show of pure affection from someone who loved you through thick and thin. Sure, it would still take him some getting used to, but Manon, Imane, and Eliott were just the people to help him with that. He liked to be the one giving care as well, it came more naturally, probably because he’d done it unknowingly with his mother when he was young. There was nothing quite like showing someone how much they meant to you.

The rehearsals continued, going by more smoothly than initially anticipated, mostly due to the fact that the four of them were pretty professional when they wanted to be. It was strange for the show to be looming so close, it really was. Even stranger still was the fact that Lucas would dance the role of his dreams with one of his best friends opposite him in front of an audience that was sure to be more overwhelming than any he’d ever experienced prior.

Thinking about it led to wild daydreams of performing on the same stage as the principal dancer in the Paris Opera Ballet Company. If he even wanted to stay there, that was. It seemed blasphemous to even think of leaving, but he wasn’t assured a place in the company and he didn’t know if this environment was the one he was destined to belong in. He and Eliott hadn’t talked much about what they were going to do after this year, and Lucas had been avoiding thinking about it too much. Not so long ago he’d feared there would be no future for him. He’d wait until after the show, he decided, then he would figure out what the hell he was going to do with his life and his career, if his brain could hold out that long.

Career was a weird word for him to use, even in the confines of his own mind. It meant that his dreams were in reach should he decide to reach out and grab them. Hopefully they wouldn’t slip through his fingers.

Eliott snaked a hand around his shoulders, knocking their heads together. “Break time?” he asked, probably noticing how Lucas had zoned out over the last few minutes. Lucas nodded sinking into Eliott’s embrace.

“Perfect,” Manon said, patting her forehead for sweat that wasn’t there. It boggled his mind, honestly, how she simply didn’t sweat, like she’d just decided not to or something. “I have to meet Daphné,” she continued, light flush coating her cheeks.

“Why haven’t I been giving you a hard time about that?” Lucas wondered aloud, considering all the jokes he could have made about the two of them. Manon surely hadn’t held back on his behalf.

“Because you love us both too much,” Manon suggested with a wink, and Lucas rolled his eyes at her.

He raised one eyebrow, gathering his things from the front of the room. “I take offense on behalf of me and Eliott,” he said, nudging Eliott, who nodded even though he’d been talking to Imane.

Manon pouted at him, patting his cheek maternally. “Please, as if you don’t already know how much I love you.”

“That’s so sweet, Manon, but I’m gay,” he lamented.

“Me too,” she mocked, in the same tone of voice, “For the most part at least.”

She kissed him on both cheeks, waving to Eliott and Imane before leaving, eyes glued to whatever Daphné had probably just sent her on her phone. Eliott re attached himself to Lucas immediately after her absence, bodies melding into place, such a comfort in existing side by side.

Imane left as well, reminding them to meet back there in an hour or so to continue rehearsing, and Eliott and Lucas trailed a bit behind, too lost in their own world to see her meet up with Sofiane and walk off in the opposite direction.

Eliott covered Lucas’ eyes as they walked back to their room, both of them giggling like giddy schoolchildren, and he uncovered Lucas’ eyes with a flourish after struggling to open the door without his hands.

“Ta da!” he exclaimed proudly, gesturing to their room.

Lucas looked around for what the surprise was supposed to be. “Ah, Eliott? What am I supposed to be looking at?”

Eliott’s face fell and turned bright red as he bolted behind the kitchen counter, cursing. He rematerialized a moment later, holding a tray of muffins. Despite himself, Lucas softened.

“My famous blueberry-bacon muffins,” Eliott said proudly, and Lucas tried not to visibly show any disgust.

“When did you make them?” he asked instead, and Eliott blushed again.

“Ok, technically I didn’t make these ones specifically, Idriss did, but that’s only because we’ve been rehearsing all day and I still wanted to do something special for you,” Eliott continued with a timid smile. Every time Lucas thought Eliott couldn’t be more endearning, he had to go and do something like make Lucas want to eat blueberry-bacon muffins, didn’t he?

Lucas took the tray from his hands and set it on the counter before wrapping his arms around Eliott’s neck. “I’m sure I’ll love them,” he lied, then pressed their foreheads together, “But not half as much as I love you.”

“I’d give you the world if I could,” Eliott said sincerely, and Lucas believed him. He had no reason not to. “No,” he amended, “The universe. Every single one of them.”

Lucas leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “You already have.”

Eliott shut his eyes, rubbing their noses together and wrapping his arms around Lucas’ waist. Neither one of them moved an inch, sinking into the moment, and Lucas was struck by the peace he felt. It was a silent dance, the two of them swaying there in their kitchen slash living room combo area. It was easy to picture living in their own little apartment, spending most of their nights like this. If that was what their future held, no matter how far ahead, Lucas couldn’t wait.

Lundi 13:07

Eliott’s blueberry-bacon muffins had been awful, so Lucas declined the offer to go home and cook with Eliott during their dress rehearsal lunch break, instead agreeing to join Yann and Arthur in meeting up with Basile. They hadn’t seen him in a while, and Lucas had to admit he missed him and the illusion of normalcy he brought to their lives. He didn’t know how fucked up they’d all been recently, at least in Lucas and Arthur’s case, so there was a lot of catching up to do.

His friends had made him pick the restaurant, probably to assure that he would actually eat, but his knowledge of restaurants was pretty limited due to a combination of his eating problems and lack of free time outside of school, so they ended up at one of the same places they always went to but no one seemed to mind. Lucas ordered himself a sandwich and a salad, ignoring the looks that Yann and Arthur shared over his head.

Basile joined them, bringing the energy of a thousand suns with him. After exchanging pleasantries, he barrelled into talking about some drama he’d found himself in when Alexia had convinced him to help her throw a clandestine party in their school, but then the night guard turned up and almost caught them, and Lucas realized that if his life was crazy, normal was a whole other level of crazy.

“But, uh, what’s been up with you all?” Basile asked, noting all of their wide eyed gazes. He hadn’t stopped talking for nearly fifteen minutes, not that any of them minded, but he had been eating the entire time as well, words somewhat garbled for at least half the time he’d been speaking.

Yann and Lucas exchanged a look, wondering where to even begin. Arthur cut in instead. “You’re coming to the show this weekend, right?”

“Of course! I’ve told everyone at school about it a million times. Alexia too. Not sure how many people you can count on, to be fair, but Alexia, Idriss, and I will for sure be there cheering the loudest. Oh, and Alex,” Basile added, almost as an afterthought.

“Alex?” Yann inquired.

Basile clarified, “From Alexia’s party earlier this year? He and Emma have been dating since then, I think. And he’s friends with Idriss and Sofiane. Not sure about Eliott— oh, sorry, Lucas.”

Lucas furrowed his brows. “What?”

Basile blinked at him. “You hate Eliott?”

Arthur burst out laughing and Lucas blushed bright red. Surely he’d told Baz about Eliott… but then again he’d only just told everyone at school, and not necessarily because he’d wanted to. He just assumed everyone knew at this point, but that clearly wasn’t the case.

“Ah, Baz,” Lucas began, unsure of how to say it gently, “I’m, um, Eliott and I, um…” Fuck, he couldn’t do this, he felt so weird. Literally all Baz knew of Eliott was shit he’d heard from Lucas over the years, he didn’t have Arthur’s experience living with him or Yann’s ability to see past Lucas’ blind hatred and respect him as a person even if they hadn’t thought they would ever be friends.

“They’re fucking,” Yann supplied, and Lucas smacked him on the arm.

Basile’s jaw dropped wide open and his eyes searched Lucas’ face, as if looking for a hint that Yann was lying. It was technically true, but what he and Eliott had was so much more than that.

“They’re in looooove,” Arthur corrected, and Lucas shifted uncomfortably again, watching as Baz’s jaw dropped so far Lucas was convinced it would end up on the floor. Arthur met Lucas’ eyes across the table reassuring him that there were no hard feelings, which Lucas appreciated, because a small part of him did still wonder if there was a universe where Lucas still hated Eliott, and saw Arthur as something more than a friend.

“I need every detail right this minute,” was all Baz seemed to have the ability to say, still in utter shock. Lucas kind of wanted to circle back to Alex dating Emma, and Yann looked like he wanted to as well, but he supposed he didn’t mind talking about Eliott too much.

The look on his face must have gotten too soft too fast, because Basile nearly yelled in surprise, squinting at him. “Is this what a Lucas in love looks like? It’s terrifying,” he said to Arthur and Yann, and Lucas glared at him.

“Do you want me to tell you, or not?” he asked, crossing his arms, and Basile finally gestured for him to continue. He hadn’t told Yann or Arthur anything about how it had all gone down really. He launched into how he and Eliott had sort of become friends by accident, various small instances coming to a climax of pushing and pulling each other into a fountain and realizing that their hate was more or less a facade to cover up other feelings, at least in Lucas’ case.

He snuck in details about his eating disorder, wondering if he’d have to say it or if Basile would be able to infer from context clues. He hoped for the latter but was prepared for the former. Yann and Arthur seemed a little shocked at how many subtle hints they’d missed, but for the most part Lucas and Eliott had been good at keeping their romantic lives separate from the studio and vice versa. He didn’t tell them about Polaris, because he wanted Eliott to be able to tell people about it, but he did talk about the countless nights they’d spent together in the studio and how they’d accidentally been in the room when Manon and Daphné confessed their feelings to each other.

“Wait a minute,” Basile cut him off, holding his hands up. “Daphné… blonde Daphné? Gorgeous Daphné? Love of my life Daphné?”

Lucas shrugged. “Uh, yeah, I guess? What about her?”

Basile dropped his head into his hands dramatically on the table. “No! Do you think they’re going to break up any time soon? I swear, I’ve only met her a few times, but it was love at first sight. And second, and so on.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” Arthur chimed in, patting Basile on the back. “Daphné is a lesbian.”

“She could be bi,” Basile pouted, lifting his head.

“Ah, but she’s not,” Arthur said apologetically, sharing a look with Lucas. Basile’s antics, while exasperating in large doses, had been sorely missed by Lucas.

“So what’s going on with Emma and Alex, then?” Yann asked casually, finding his opportunity.

Lucas narrowed his eyes, speaking in a low, warning, voice, “Yann…”

Yann ignored him, and Basile looked a little disgruntled by the subject change. “I don’t know much, Alex finds me annoying, I think, but him and Emma are annoyingly cute every time I’ve seen them together.”

“Oh, cool,” Yann said nonchalantly, and Lucas shot him another warning glare. Now was not the time for Yann to rediscover his feelings for Emma or get jealous over Emma’s new relationship.

“What about you, Tuturo?” Basile asked, moving on to eat a bit of Yann’s lunch. “How’s life been treating you?”

Arthur zoned out for a minute, and Lucas completely understood where his head was at. How was he supposed to succinctly wrap up a lifetime of struggle into one neat story to share with a friend? “Fine,” Arthur decided finally, “Better recently than it has been.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Basile sighed. “I must admit, you guys are a lot more boring than I’d hoped.”

Lucas laughed, taking a small bite of his salad. “I just told you all about my secret relationship with my roommate who I previously hated.”

“Yeah, but now you’re all happy and in love,” Basile said ruefully.

“He almost got kicked out of school a week ago, and now he’s playing the lead on alternating shows,” Arthur supplied, pointing his fork at Lucas.

Basile slammed his hands on the table. “Now this is what I’m talking about! Spill the tea, Lallemant, spill it now.”

Lucas took time to flip Arthur off before considering where to start. He was sure his final year of ballet school would be a story he’d tell for a long, long time, so it didn’t hurt to start then. He wondered how Eliott would tell it, or how Eliott would tell their story. Lucas’ version was tinged with regret and a bit of his chaotic energy, but wrapped in care. Where he might include stories of them doing stupid things and singing stupid songs in the middle of the night, he suspected Eliott would include the soft moments shared in the hazy morning light. Eyes meeting across the kitchen counter and hands gently tangled together as they talked, the only distance between them created by a current of words and thoughts to intimate to share aloud.

Was Eliott sitting in the kitchen with Sofiane and Idriss at that moment, each of them trying not to cringe over blueberry-bacon muffins as Eliott’s face lit up in wonder talking about their relationship? Was his version yearning and heartache warmed around the edges with the light of the sun that filled Eliott’s heart so full of love?

It was interesting to think about, that was for sure, the fact that there existed parallel universes even inside their own minds. Of course everyone saw and experience life differently, but Lucas had never really thought about it in terms of how two different people might recount the same series of events. It made him consider how he’d been the subject of so many misunderstandings in his life, and how much of that was probably due to his own perspective varying from the perspectives of others. Hadn’t his hatred of Eliott for years proved that? He was quite the unreliable narrator, especially inside his own mind, but wasn’t everyone? Was there even a person in the world who trusted themselves with unflinching clarity? If so, Lucas didn’t envy them. The questioning and mistakes were what made him human, and what made the epiphanies and happy moments much more worthwhile.

He’d been talking on autopilot while these thoughts ran through his mind, not really even paying attention to Basile’s reactions to the dramatic series of events that he simply called ‘life’. Basile cracked a few jokes when he was done, and Lucas melted into a laugh, shaking his head. A week ago he’d never thought any of this would be worthy or capable of being laughed at, but there they were.

Healing often took him by surprise, but it showed itself in subtle ways. This laugh, for example, or the fact that he’d eaten his whole meal without overthinking it. It said more about the safe space his friends had provided for him than anything else, but he was glad for it all regardless. He’d only had Eliott for a little while, he’d had these friends much longer, and he would never let himself forget that no matter how much he loved Eliott. Both loves were different, but that didn’t diminish either one of them, both just as important and essential to his healing and growth and livelihood.

They not only made him better, mentally, and physically, but they also made him want to be a better person so he could return the favor to them. Arthur was his first target, and he didn’t really know how well he was doing, but he was trying, and that would have to count for something.

Life was just a series of trying and trying and trying again, wasn’t it? Lucas had come close to not trying as of late, but he was glad he hadn’t stopped completely, because the payoff was so worth it.

Mardi 18:12

It was Lucas’ first therapy session beyond his diagnosis session, and to say he was nervous was a bit of an understatement. He didn’t know his therapist, she was different from the woman who’d assessed him previously, but she had a kind smile and pulled her hair back in a way that reminded him of his mom. He didn’t know if that made him sad or hopeful. Well, he supposed she was supposed to be the one to help him figure that out, wasn’t she?

She shook his hand as he walked into her office, sitting down on the couch across from her. He fidgeted a bit, not knowing how to sit. Was this formal, or casual? Was he supposed to lay on the couch like they always did in the movies?

“I’m Dr. Rowe, but you may call me Angelique, if that makes you more comfortable. In my experience, most of the people I treat prefer us to address one another on a first name basis, but I’ll do whatever suits you,” she said, voice kind. She looked younger than he’d expected her to be, but looks could be deceiving and he wasn’t stupid enough to ask.

“Um, first names are fine, yeah,” he agreed. Dr. Rowe seemed to formal for what they were going to be doing, even if it was his first instinct to refuse the familiarity. “I’m Lucas,” he supplied, even though she probably already knew that. She probably already knew more about him than he did.

“Lucas,” she confirmed anyways, giving him another warm smile. He couldn’t tell if that was her natural reaction or if she was just trying to be extra welcoming. Whatever the case, he didn’t mind it, and he could already feel himself becoming a bit more at ease.

She shuffled the few papers she was holding, turning more professional. “I have your diagnosis reports with me here, but that’s not what I want to talk with you about today, ok?”

“Ok?” Lucas put his hands under his legs, definitely not to keep them from shaking.

“Just… tell me about you. I don’t want to know you through what various files and diagnoses tell me, that’s not going to help either of us. I want to know you. Who is Lucas, really?” she prompted.

That was the question of a lifetime, wasn’t it? “Well,” he began, “I’m… struggling. I have been for so long I forgot what it’s like to not live every day in some sort of pain. It’s not that I didn’t want to get better, it’s more that I didn’t think there was any way of getting better. I didn’t know that was an option.”

“But you do now?” she asked.

He smiled involuntarily. “Yeah. I do. Someone in my life recently has helped me realize I’m worth more than I ever thought. I’m not really sure if I believe him all the time, but I think the same of him, so I get where he’s coming from and I try to listen.”

“What is your relationship to this person?” she continued, listening intently as ever. He already liked this session better than the one he’d had previously.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Lucas said, ducking his head. He knew for a fact he had when Yann had dubbed his ‘sappy Eliott face’ on right now and he didn’t want to be too much of a lovesick disaster right off the bat. “Eliott.”

“How did you two meet?”

He almost snorted aloud. She definitely wasn’t going to have been expecting what he was about to tell her. “We were best friends growing up,” he began, because it was as good a place as any to start. “We both go to school at the Paris Opera Ballet School, which you obviously know, at least on my behalf, but yeah. We kind of, um, grew apart for a few years, but we became friends again this year, and then something more.”

Angelique considered this, and she looked like she wanted to ask more about it. He figured she would. There was too much to cover in a single session, though, and the last thing he wanted was for her to come to come sort of conclusion that he and Eliott weren’t good together. Because if anything was true, it was that they truly did belong together.

“He’s helped me a lot, he’s the only one who really saw what was going on and wouldn’t let me talk my way out of it,” he said.

“Do you do that a lot?” she asked, “Talk your way out of things?”

He nodded. “Well, yes and no. Most times I just don’t talk about it at all, or get super defensive.”

She looked at him curiously. “You seem rather open with me?”

Yeah, he was kind of confused by it too. He shrugged. “I guess so many people know about the deepest darkest parts of me now that I don’t see the point in hiding it.”

She laughed. “That’s a start.”

“I guess,” he agreed, smiling minutely. “Is there, um, anything I should be talking about in particular?”

Angelique shook her head. “These sessions are more or less dictated by you. I’ll give my input, and I’ll lead you in discussions, but I don’t ever want to monopolize the conversation. This is about you and your growth most of all, and we’ll get there however you’re most comfortable.”

“And if I don’t know?” he asked.

She smiled, but it wasn’t a smile borne from joy, nor from sadness. It was a smile of understanding. “That’s ok too.”

He appreciated her flexibility, it did in fact make him feel better about being there, but he also wanted some sort of structure. Should he jump in with the capital T trauma right away, or was that something to be saved for later on when they knew each other a little better? Then again, she already knew quite a bit about him didn’t she? Even the things unwritten in his diagnoses were written in the way he sat or his vocal inflections. She could see the bags under his eyes or the light inside them, and she could see that he wrung his hands together when he didn’t know what to say or that those very same hands were made to hold the hands of another. Someone she could probably see was always on his mind, even in the quietest moments.

“I have a show starting this weekend,” he said instead, the only thing he could think to say.

“In the ballet?” she clarified, and he grinned, finding his footing. He could talk about ballet for hours and never tire of it.

“Yeah, it’s my final year of school, and every group of terminale students puts on a ballet production in the winter for the holidays, so this year we’re doing Swan Lake,” he explained.

She nodded along like she understood so far, which was promising. “And Swan Lake, is that one you’ve heard of? I apologize, I don’t know much about ballet.”

Lucas laughed, mostly to himself. It was crazy how those two words could mean so little to someone who was completely outside of the ballet world. “It’s been my favorite show since I was a kid. Prince Siegfried, the lead male role, has always been my dream role.”

“Is that who you’ll be playing, then?” she asked.

“That’s kind of a long story,” he admitted, “But yes, in a way. I’ll be alternating the role with Eliott. The show runs for two weekends, so he gets the Saturday matinee and the Sunday matinee, I get Friday evening and Saturday evening, and then next weekend we switch. Otherwise I’m just in the corps, which is sort of like the ensemble.”

She nodded. “And Eliott… is this the same Eliott…?”

She didn’t finish the thought fully, but he understood well enough. Who was Eliott? The man of his dreams, and so much more. “Yeah, this Eliott is my boyfriend.”

She blinked, sitting up a bit straighter. “I see.”

“When I said it was a long story, I really meant it,” he laughed nervously.

“Do you want to talk about it all now?” she asked, giving him the option to take things slowly, and he decided that was what he needed at the moment, especially with the show so close. He could go deep into his psyche once the show was over.

“Actually can I just talk a bit about ballet, for now?” he asked.

Angelique nodded graciously. “Of course. We’ll move at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.”

“Ok,” he agreed readily, deciding what he wanted to do with the remaining time of their session. To his surprise, it was almost halfway through already. He was certain that not every session would fly by as quickly, but it was nice that this first one hadn’t been excruciating and uncomfortable.

“So,” he began again, and shared his passion for dance with Angelique, sparing no details of how he felt and what ballet did for him and his emotions. Being a dancer was where all the troubles and pain came about, but the act of dancing itself was ethereal. Nothing else mattered when he was dancing. Sure he might mess up some steps here and there or get tired after a while, but those things never bothered him in the moment. In the moment it was just Lucas in his purest form, and that was the sort of feeling he wanted to be able to find away from the stage or the studio.

When he spoke, he was worried Angelique wouldn’t understand, but he could see in her eyes that she did. She may not know anything about the finer details of which he spoke, but the overall feelings were universal, and as long as they both knew that Lucas could see their sessions being really good for him. He hoped they would be, at least.

It was a big, scary step to take to even go there in the first place, but he was proud of himself for doing so. Lucas from months or even weeks ago probably never would have predicted this. But he was Lucas Lallemant 2.0 now, and he’d found some love for himself that he was determined not to lose again for as long as he could. And if he ever did lose it again, he wanted to know how to find his way back, and being there with Angelique seemed like a great place to start.

Mercredi 9:39

It was the third day of dress rehearsals and Lucas was finally able to practice in his properly fitted costumes. He’d felt a twinge of guilt on Monday when he’d tried on the costumes made for him and realized they were at least a few sizes too big. He hadn’t really thought that was possible, but the measurements had been taken right after casting, and though no one had said anything about how much weight he’d lost in the meantime, the proof was in the outfitting.

It was a wonder to him how he hadn’t seen it, but then again he really hadn’t wanted to, and his brain liked to trick him into believing or disbelieving things more often than not. His ribs protruded too far and his collarbone was too defined and his jawline wasn’t sharp in the right kind of way, but he promised himself he would get back on track and try to fix the damage he’d wrought on his body for real. Sooner than later.

Lucas could see in Eliott’s eyes that he knew why Lucas had been quieter than normal while getting dressed, lost in his own head. He didn’t really want to talk about it, partially because he was ashamed and partially because he didn’t even know what he would say. Being thinner had never really been his objective, he’d always been fit from rigorous dance training, but there had always been that voice in the back of his mind telling him what a real ballet dancer looked like and how he needed to do everything in his power to be that person so no one would be able to overlook him ever again.

Yet in doing so he’d somehow allowed himself to waste away to someone small and fragile. He didn’t want to be fragile, he wanted to wear his costumes with pride and show the world that Lucas Lallemant wasn’t broken. The people he loved already knew it, and a part of him did realize that it shouldn’t matter if the whole world knew as long as the people he cared about did, but Lucas had always wanted more, flawed as that logic might have been.

Complicated emotions aside, it did fill Lucas with a bit of pride to be practicing the role of the Prince in full costume. Another thing he could see in Eliott’s eyes was how much he wanted to see Lucas outside of that costume, or maybe even have his way with him in it, and that was not very conducive to the fact that he was wearing tights.

Funny how he’d have to revert to all his old ignoring Eliott tactics for an entirely different reason. Thankfully, he was quite busy, as he was rehearsing for the Prince that day. When he’d been informed that he’d be the Prince in the first show instead of Eliott he’d gone from shock, to panic, to unease, to cautious acceptance. Eliott said he didn’t care, that he was happy to have a chance to dance the role at all, but Lucas knew it made Eliott a little upset that Lucas got to open and close their show in the lead role. He would have felt the same, but probably would have been more vocal about it.

Manon looked beautiful, of course. At the moment she was dressed in her Odile costume, the darkness of the tutu standing out starkly against her pale skin. No one could say she didn’t look striking up there on the stage, even during a simple dress rehearsal. Imane would have looked just as striking, and Lucas made sure to let her know that even if she pretended she didn’t want to hear it.

Lucas risked a glance at Eliott as Manon practiced her fouettes, mind trailing back to the weekend, knowing before their eyes even met that Eliott was thinking of the same thing.

You did them better, Eliott mouthed across the room, nodding to Manon.

He most absolutely did not, but he appreciated the sentiment. It must have shown on his face, all sappy and soft, because behind Eliott Yann mimed puking and Lucas had to take a momentary glance away from the man of his dreams to glare at this best friend. Eliott’s brows furrowed, turning and laughing in a small inaudible breath when he realized Yann was beside him. Lucas briefly wondered if he could (or should) start inviting Eliott to hang out with him and Arthur sometimes. He thought he might like that, and he thought Eliott might too.

“Lallemant, to the stage please,” the director called out, voice reeking of displeasure, but for once Lucas didn’t give a shit. After the show his interactions with the director would likely be kept to a minimum, so long as he didn’t fuck up like he had this term, and then he’d be gone and the director would only be a blip on the tapestry of his life. One that, with effort, could someday be stitched over.

Nevertheless, he did go to the stage, because no matter how shitty the director was it was like he’d explained to Angelique the day before; ballet meant too much to him to give into all the bad things. Maybe that was an unhealthy way to think too, but he could cross that bridge some other time. The same thoughts that had been plaguing him plagued him once more, his career and what it would end up being flitting in and out of the center of his thoughts.he closed his eyes briefly, brushing it all aside. For now, he was choosing to let himself enjoy this experience as it came and not dwell on the things he might have dwelled on a few weeks prior.

Lucas took Manon’s hand to practice one of their duets, and the soft smile that graced her face as he did so perfectly encapsulated how he felt under the lights of the stage, dressed in his costume, knowing that Eliott was probably watching him with pride. The last time he’d been on the stage with only one other person he and Eliott had been alone, wondering if their futures were about to slip through their fingers and if this was the last stage they’d ever dance on.

Manon and Lucas danced together seamlessly, a bond forged in what may as well have been blood, as she was one of the closest things he’d ever had to a sister, shared experiences and emotional support bringing them together in a way that impacted their dancing in the subtlest of ways. It was trust in its purest form, and it worked for the stage and the show in ways neither of them probably would have imagined when they’d been partnered up a year beforehand. Neither Lucas nor Manon had ever really been the trusting sort, but once someone earned that trust they’d go to the ends of the earth for them.

Lucas was still getting used to the idea that someone might actually go to the ends of the earth for him, that many people would if given the chance. The funny thing was, Lucas had never considered whether or not the ends of the earth even existed, he’d simply been certain everything in life had a definitive starting and ending point and that nothing in the middle really mattered much at all.

But on that stage, taking Manon by the hand, locking eyes with Eliott in the wings, he could see that everything in between mattered most of all. What was a beginning without something to follow, to turn a moment into infinity? And what was an end if not for everything leading up to that point, that one final moment? It was more likely that an end didn’t even exist, that the present was all that really mattered.

Minute by minute, Lucas and Eliott had promised, and minute by minute it would be until those minutes reached their eternity.

JEUDI 23:57

Lucas’ head was on Eliott’s chest but he wasn’t tired. He should have been sleeping, the show was less than twenty four hours away, but he couldn’t bring himself to. At first he dismissed it as nerves, but he truthfully wasn’t that nervous. At least not in a bad way.

He was thinking, that pesky thing that always seemed to get him into trouble. Not about the show in particular, but a little bit about everything. The same thoughts from earlier in the week had hit him like a ton of bricks earlier that day and now he couldn’t get them out of his mind, no matter how much he tried. It seemed ironic, given how he’d only been thinking about how imperative it was to live in the moment a day ago, that he now was considering the future once more.

The thought that had struck him had come at a brief moment, and surprisingly it hadn’t had anything to do with him at all. Eliott was onstage practicing and the director was looking at him with such distaste that some of his friends had even asked Lucas about it. And yes, Lucas knew that the decision to let them stay had likely not been unanimous, the director leading the opposition, but Eliott had been his star for so long that to see him flip completely only bolstered with the information of Eliott’s mental illness was sickening. It was disheartening and downright cruel to see what a change such a thing could bring, something entirely out of Eliott’s control, simply because the director viewed neurodivergence as lesser than. It wasn’t only him, of course, it would and probably had been already, many people, but it made Lucas think.

He’d always dreamed of entering the company after completing his training at school, the Paris Opera Ballet was one of, if not the most prestigious ballet in the world, but did he want that if he had a pretty good idea of how he’d be treated? Did he want to put himself into a situation that might derail his healing process? If not, what were his other options? The realization that his future was almost entirely his decision had come without warning and pushed the thoughts into a full on spiral.

“Lu?” Eliott’s sleepy voice interrupted the train of questions pushing their way into his mind.

Lucas hummed in response, listening to Eliott’s heartbeat. Eliott continued, just as groggily, “I can hear you thinking.”

“Can you?” Lucas teased, half of him willing Eliott to go back to sleep the other half wanting to talk and talk and talk until all the thoughts ran free from his head and he felt like he could breathe peacefully again.

“Lucas,” Eliott said, sounding more awake now than before, and Lucas sighed.

“Eliott.”

Eliott shifted so they were lying opposite one another, ignoring Lucas’ small groans at being denied Eliott’s chest as a pillow. “What’s going on?”

Lucas sighed again. “I know we promised minute by minute, and I’m trying, but these thoughts won’t leave my mind and I don’t know what to do about them.”

“What thoughts?” Eliott looked concerned, and Lucas didn’t want him to be.

“I don’t want to be here next year,” he said quietly, realizing how that sounded when Eliott stiffened beside him. He rushed to clarify, “Like, in the Paris Opera Ballet. I don’t want to dance for the Paris Opera Ballet.”

Eliott relaxed slightly, nodding. “Oh. Yeah. Where do you want to be?”

Lucas hadn’t gotten that far yet. “I don’t know. Somewhere I’m not already a pariah.”

“You aren’t a pariah—”

“We both are, Eliott. The director has a say in the company too, and I don’t want to give him the chance to ruin ballet for me more than he’s already tried to,” Lucas pleaded, not really sure why he was pleading. It wasn’t like Eliott wasn’t listening to him, he was. Lucas just felt the need to justify everything to an extreme degree all the time.

Eliott simply looked at him in one of those ways he always did, one of those ways no one ever had before, and touched his cheek softly. “Hey. Lucas. I understand.”

“Oh.”

Eliott smiled minutely, thumb brushing Lucas’ cheekbone. “I haven’t really allowed myself to think about it, since my diagnosis, but… I don’t know if I want to be here either.”

“Really?” Lucas blinked in surprise. The way Eliott loved Paris… Lucas had never seen anything like it, so he’d never even considered Eliott might feel the same way he did.

“It hurts me a bit to even think about,” Eliott admitted, “Because I love Paris more than I can even express, but Paris will always be here.”

“What do you mean?” Lucas asked.

Eliott moved his hand to Lucas’ hair. “I want to experience a bit of the world outside what I’ve always known. I’ll always have Paris, we’ll always have Paris, but it might be fun to see what else the world has in store for us. I’ve always wanted to go to London, or Berlin, or America, I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Hey,” Lucas said, placing a hand on Eliott’s cheek. “I want that too, I think. I’ve just been scared to admit it to myself. Paris is just a place, when it really comes down to it. I’ve never really had a home until now. My home is with you.”

Eliott blushed, looking a bit flustered even in the dim light and Lucas couldn’t help but smile. “And mine with you,” Eliott said, voice no more than a murmur.

Lucas turned onto his back and gazed up at the ceiling. Sometimes he forgot whose room they were in at night, but it was usually Eliott’s. Lucas knew that Eliott liked sleeping there better, in the comfort of the drawings and posters he’d hung up on the walls in the bed with the sheets he carefully made every day. Lucas preferred being in there too, it felt warmer than his room, more personal. They were almost through with the term and Lucas had yet to put up any decorations in his own room or make it look like more than a place he slept every once and awhile. Eliott’s hand slipped from his cheek to his waist.

“What are you thinking about now?” Eliott asked.

“Us, I guess,” Lucas said, gaze still turned upward.

“What about us? Good things I hope?” Lucas could hear the hint of a smile in Eliott’s voice and he let it wash over him like a warm blanket.

Lucas folded his hand over the one Eliott circled his waist with. “Of course. I think only the best things of you.”

“You didn’t for quite a while there,” Eliott joked, and Lucas finally turned his head back to look at him.

“No, I didn’t.” He hummed, settling back into Eliott’s side. “Part of me has always been afraid of change, you know? But this year so many things have changed, and I don’t really mind it.”

“No?”

Lucas shook his head. “I mean, for example, I moved out of my dad’s house, which is probably one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, I became closer with Manon than I ever thought I’d be and now I can’t imagine my life without her, I had to face some new realities about myself and my mental and physical health, and I fell in love with you. If you would have told me last year that any of this would be happening, I’m not sure if I would have laughed or fought it with every fiber of my being, but I’m glad I didn’t. I’m glad it all happened.”

“You’re telling me it was never a fantasy of yours to fall in love with your arch nemesis?” Eliott asked, scandalized.

Lucas laughed louder than he meant to, thinking about Yann talking about enemies to lovers fanfiction and whatnot. “Was it yours?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Eliott agreed right away. “I thrive off of sexual tension concealed by a layer of hate. That’s the only reason I let you hate me, of course, so that one day you could push me into a fountain, I could pull you in after me, and our story would reach its peak.”

“Psssh, that is so not the peak of our story,” Lucas shot back.

Eliott raised an eyebrow at him. “No?”

“No! Our peak hasn’t happened yet. If we’re lucky, it never will.” Lucas began to draw a graph with his hands, hoping Eliott was following along. “It’s like one of those graphs for exponential growth, you know? The curve keeps going up with no end.”

“You lost me,” Eliott said apologetically, and Lucas just laughed.

“I forgot math and science aren’t your subjects.”

Eliott scrunched his nose, nudging Lucas a bit. “No need to rub it in smarty pants.”

Lucas nudged him back, taking the time to meet him halfway for a soft, searing kiss. “All I’m saying is that I love you exponentially. My love for you grows each day with no intention of ever stopping, even when we’re old and grey.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll ever be old and grey.”

Lucas giggled despite himself, despite the fact that he’d been trying to be serious. “What the fuck does that even mean? Are you a vampire or something?”

“They don’t call me Edward Cullen for no reason,” Eliott said with a slight shrug, and Lucas broke down into giggles again.

“Who calls you Edward Cullen?” he asked between bouts of laughter.

Eliott started to laugh too, trying to hide it. “No one yet. But they will.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Lucas said, adoration coating every layer of his voice.

“Ah,” Eliott said, pulling him close. He kissed the tip of Lucas’ nose, then his lips. “But I’m your idiot.”

Lucas blushed bright red, kissing Eliott senseless because he could. “That you are,” he agreed. And it was in that dim, love drunk light that Lucas realized no matter what he decided or what he wanted to do with his life and his career, he could do it. Because he had Eliott, and he could do anything with Eliott by his side. With Eliott the dark wasn’t so dark and the light had never been brighter.

It was crazy to think that he’d never considered the possibility of another person making him feel that way, like his heart was on fire in the best way possible. Daddy issues aside, love was never something he’d taken for granted, and he had never intended on giving his heart away unless he knew the person on the receiving end deserved it. And that Eliott did, he deserved every bit of love Lucas could offer.

Internal tumult put to the wayside for the time being, Lucas breathed in and out more steadily once more. His eyelids felt heavier than they had a moment earlier and he leaned into the feeling, aiming to be as well rested as possible for one of the biggest days of his life so far. He wondered, at the end of his life, how this day would rank, if it would rank at all. He couldn’t decide if he hoped it did or hoped it didn’t. There were so many good days to come, there had to be.

Lucas was on the precipice of sleep, brain shutting down more and more with each passing second when Eliott decided to speak again. “And by the way?” Eliott whispered, just as Lucas settled back onto his chest, falling closer to sleep with every passing second, “I love you exponentially as well.”

Lucas fell asleep with a smile on his face.

VENDREDI 18:45

Fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes until everything Lucas had worked so hard for was realized. Rehearsals had been hell, even though they had really only been finalizing blocking and lighting, not wanting to tire anyone too much before their big night.

Manon looked to be a vision of calm in her white tutu, makeup done to perfection, probably by Daphné, who held her hand loosely. They’d all just vacated the stage and waited in the wings, smiles full of eagerness and anxiety. Imane in particular refused to talk to anyone, tying and retying her pointe shoes. Lucas felt like his whole body was buzzing with nerves, but there was nothing more to be done. This was it. They’d made it, and now it was time to show everyone what they could do.

He didn’t know whether he felt better or worse about the fact that there was no one in the audience there to cheer him on. On the one hand, he could probably dance better for a crowd of strangers than he could for people he knew, but on the other it would have meant everything to him to see his mother’s face out in the crowd, or even just to know that she was proud of him. He hoped that in another universe she was proud, and that she would greet him after the show with a bouquet of flowers and a hug to last a lifetime.

Minor costume snafus aside, everything backstage was running well and everyone was where they were supposed to be. Eliott looked like a dream, even dressed for the corps. Lucas hadn’t mentioned anything, but he could see the longing in Eliott’s eyes when he looked at him, longing that couldn’t be attributed to the love they felt for one another. Sure, come Saturday Eliott would have his chance to be in Lucas’ position, but this was supposed to be him, and he wasn’t supposed to have to share the spotlight.

Basile had been blowing up his, Arthur’s, and Yann’s phones before they’d gotten into preparation mode, so he could only assume that he’d find Basile, Alexia, Alex, and Idriss somewhere in the crowd being the kind of idiots ballet tried to avoid. He loved them for it.

Arthur came to stand beside Lucas, looking down at him. It wasn’t like Lucas had never seen him wear contacts before, but he was still struck with how different Arthur looked without his glasses. He looked less like a boy, more like someone regal, deserving to be sculpted in marble. He looked like the type of person Lucas could only hope to be someday, even if it was all just a facade.

“How are you feeling?” Arthur asked.

Lucas looked out to the stage from the wings, wanting to pinch himself to make sure this was all real. “Ask me again after the show?”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked up. “You’re going to do amazing,” Arthur promised, sounding so sure.

“Thanks,” Lucas said genuinely, instead of deflecting with a snarky comment like he wanted to. “You too.”

“Pssh, please, with Eliott in the corps no one will look at me twice,” Arthur joked.

Lucas could have joked back, or rolled his eyes, but being where they were, he was feeling a bit sentimental. “They’d be stupid not to,” he said, and Arthur looked surprised.

“I mean it,” he continued, looking Arthur in the eye, “You’re a really amazing dancer. I know you’ve been through a lot, and if I were you I probably would have quit a long time ago, but I can see how much you love it when you allow yourself to. So do that, allow yourself to love it, because this world is a horribly fucked up place but if you can find happiness somewhere along the way you should hold onto it and never let it go.”

Arthur was still looking at him intently, unspeaking. “It’s what I do,” Lucas admitted, “And you know me, I’m no optimist, I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason and that everything we do is all in god’s plan, or whatever, but I do think that we can create new memories to try to escape the bad ones, and that when we love something, it should never be a bad thing.”

“You’re wise now, too, who the hell are you?” Arthur said, looking him up and down, which was about as sentimental as he expected from Arthur. But then, he admitted, “I’m trying. To enjoy it. I want to, because all of you here mean more to me than anyone else in my life, and if anyone deserves one hundred percent of me, it’s you all.”

“Me especially?” Lucas asked, nudging Arthur lightly and earning him a glare.

“Yes, you especially,” Arthur caved, pointing a finger at him as he did so, “But not because I’m in love with you. Or was in love with you. Fuck if I know anymore. Even platonically, you’re one of the most important people to me, I really mean that.”

Lucas smiled, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He was determined not to let them fall, even if only because Daphné had done his makeup so well. “You are to me too. And I really mean that.”

“Are the gays being all sappy, is that what I’m witnessing?” Another voice entered their conversation, a voice unmistakably belonging to the third in their three musketeers. Yann slung an arm around both of their shoulders, grinning cheesily. “Because if so, why didn’t you invite me?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, expression tinged with fondness. “I’m bi, asshole.”

“A gay is a gay,” Yann said solemnly, and Lucas resisted the urge to strangle him.

The three of them stood there for a minute in complete silence, even as the world bustled around them, looking out onto the stage.

“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” Yann said, all traces of humor gone from his voice. Lucas couldn’t do anything but nod, as if in a daze.

“It’s surreal,” Arthur agreed.

And then the moment ended, Emma shoving past them to get in the proper place, and Lucas realized their fifteen minutes had run out. Eliott was on the other side of the stage, but they’d already said their break a legs and kissed each other senseless for the night.

Manon’s fingers ghosted across his and he saw every emotion he was feeling reflected in her expression. He clasped her fingers, squeezing them tightly, and the small amount of tension that had been present left her shoulders, leaving her looking every bit the regal prima ballerina she was destined to be.

“Are you ready?” someone asked. Lucas didn’t even know if they were talking to him, but as the curtains opened and the lights flooded the stage, he smiled. Eliott’s eye caught his from the wings on the opposite side of the stage, filling him to the brim with warmth. There was no jealousy, no longing, just pure love and pride. The music filled the room and Lucas rolled back his shoulders, wasting only a single moment to mouth I love you across the stage to the boy on the other side. He stepped to the edge of the curtain, awaiting his cue.

“I am.”

***

The curtains closed, but the image of a whole crowd of people standing and cheering as he bowed in front of them didn’t leave Lucas’ mind, and he hoped it never would. He couldn’t feel a thing, adrenaline too high, everyone around him looked like they were moving in slow motion.

“How are you feeling?” Arthur’s voice invaded his daze, and Lucas blinked, image of the crowd vanishing from his mind. Ask me after the show, he heard himself saying only hours earlier as Arthur had asked the same question.

He thought about Manon and how they’d danced as one, a bond unbreakable in every sense of the word. Meeting Eliott’s eye backstage and kissing him during intermission, careful not to mess up their makeup. Sofiane pulling off a showstopping performance no one would ever forget. All the girls sharing the stage looking like they’d been born to dance there together. Julian from the year below holding his own on the stage, wholly out of his depth but handling it all better than anyone could have expected. Yann proving that he wasn’t someone to overlook, Arthur letting himself go and dance the way he’d held back from for so many years. The fact that they got to do this all again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again.

How was he feeling? Alive, happy, lost, tired, whole, every emotion in between a million times over. He thought of every universe he existed in, and how none of them could possibly compared to this one, in this moment.

Eliott swept him up spinning him around with the widest smile Lucas had ever seen.

How was he feeling?

“Infinite.”

#skam france #elu fic #elu #elu ballet au #skamfr #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #WE BACK BITCHES

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ussjellyfish · 6 years

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hide your fires | Paris/Georgiou, & Burnham | DSC | Mature

for the darling @reflectingiridescent during round 20 of @trek-rarepair-swap! You get mirror Philippa Georgiou/Afsaneh Paris and a little bit of Michael and her rather awkward sort of step-mothers. It might be set in the same universe as Incarnadine (so is), but you don’t need that to appreciate this.

Hope you like it!

Philippa’s bored, and a little lonely, so she breaks into Afsaneh’s quarters with dinner. It ends up being far more dangerous than she ever thought possible.

"Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.” - Macbeth

also on ao3"

Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.”

Starfleet security, even for their fancy space stations, is predictably laughable. Her ID is barely checked when she arrives in spacedock. She's given barely any instructions for beaming down. Her fancy new Section 31 ID is barely glanced at as she passes through the docking rim. This Federation was just at war and yet she could take the space station with a starship and a few torpedoes. The Charon could have taken over the whole United Federation of Planets.

That's not really the point, but it gives her something to think about while she waits. Even here, on Afsaneh's precious station, her apartment is simple to break into. Her security code is the same, some of the art is the same, but the Betazoid painting on the wall catches her interest. Her Afsaneh only collected Terran art, mostly Persian style, repeated patterns, reflections.

This is different. So colorful.

Like the rest of this damn universe. Everything's bright, cheerful and soft. Phillipa had to change her outfits just to fit in as she traveled through these strange places. Earth is by far the strangest. Unlike her jewel of the Empire, this Earth is swarming with aliens. Vulcans live in Paris, Tellarites in Russia, and Andorians love Antarctica. She heard whispers of them building a new Betazoid embassy in Colombia. Luckily, it's easy to blend in, wrap up her leather in a bright scarf.

Smile. Be nice, calm, and carefree.

It's almost painful.

Afsaneh, of course, is late to return to her quarters, buried in work. There's no Imperial Senate for her to sway, or politicians for her to threaten. She's probably trapped doing something tedious, health inspections, cultural responsiveness... Is it as rewarding, keeping this Federation safe from itself while it bumbles through, crippled by its ideals?

Setting her badge down near the door, Afsaneh unzips her uniform jacket and sighs, leaving it on the sofa. That little scar on her arm is different. Perhaps from her time in one of their little wars. She walks towards the kitchen, PADD in hand. Barely aware of her surroundings, as she reads her PADD, and not even the candles on the table make her look up.

"It's a very good thing I'm not an assassin."

"If you were, I wouldn't need to make sense of this security report."

Philippa takes the PADD from her hands, tossing it to the sofa with her jacket. "Why bother with security at all when your Federation is the most insecure mockery of a functioning government I've ever seen and the Mintakans will probably conquer you."

"They haven't discovered iron."

"When they do, you're undefended so look out."

Afsaneh chuckles, actually smiles and rolls her neck left to right to smooth out the tension. "You know, you can tell me when you're coming."

"That takes the fun out of it."

"Life without an empire's pretty dull, isn't it?"

"It's interesting to be no one. Philippa Georgiou is dead, officially, unofficially I happen to look a lot like her and other than adoring children who've watched too many comm news reports from the war and have a hero, I slip through your universe perfectly unnoticed."

"Don't hurt any of my ships."

"I didn't hurt any of your little ships."

"Or make me send Michael after you." Sitting down at the table in her black tank, Afsaneh reaches for her hair, pulling it down from the bun. She sighs again, leaning over the table. "Where did you find char kway teow ?" Her pronunciation is a little off, but she tries. Her Afsaneh's was always perfect, but Philippa had more time to teach her how to use her mouth properly. This version might require a few lessons.

"I visited Earth, your perfect paradise of peace and safety."

Afsaneh starts serving herself, starving as always. "And stole spices and vegetables? How terrifying you are, Emperor."

Rolling her eyes, Philippa pours the wine. "I wanted to see my home."

"It's beautiful."

"There were aliens on the beaches."

"Pulau Langkwai is a popular tourist destination."

"I sat on the cable car with a school group of Betazoid children who couldn't keep their thoughts out of mine."

"They're learning." Afsaneh takes a sip of her wine and grins, her lips far darker and more dangerous than the wine. "How did you keep from scaring them to death?"

Now she's the one who needs wine. Thinking of two people makes her thoughts calm enough to pass in this universe: Michael and Afsaneh. She lets the wine warm her belly, and looks down before she answers. "I thought of Michael when she was their age, and you, raising your children."

"How many do I have?"

Philippa sets down her chopsticks, meeting Afsaneh's dark eyes. "There were three, one died in an attempt on your life, one served me faithfully until her death in combat and the last tried to kill you."

Blinking as she takes that in, Afsaneh lifts her glass in a mocking toast. "Here they're both alive and neither has tried to kill me, yet, I suppose, though I doubt it."

There they are, on the holo sitting on the bookshelf. The father is a different man, not the one Afsaneh's mother chose for her, but someone she would have married for love. Though his absence from Afsaneh's life now suggests that it faded.

"You were there, at their births, when I realised I carried them, even when we were both married, you have always been at the front of my heart."

"The other me."

"She's there, even though you try to be so cold and calcucating, I see her."

"That's impossible."

"I would have said that about good char kway teow on Starbase Nineteen, and you've already proved me wrong." Afsaneh takes another bite, smiling around her chopsticks. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to get my old lover back."

"Good." She returns to eating, less interested in the dead version of herself than the woman sitting across from her.

"But, I will admit I'm certainly intrigued by you."

"Oh?"

"Most people who want to see me again just leave a message, send me flowers."

"I could go steal some from the arboretum while you eat desert."

Afsaneh's eyes are so dark they could swallow stars and that smile is a light across universes. She knows it. She shouldn't. This is not her home, nor her lover, but she's a kindred creature, someone who understands her. Afsaneh knows who she is and has no fear, no hatred.

Only desire. She's intrigued when she licks her lips like that.

"We're out of wine," Afsaneh says, lifting the bottle. "Unless you brought more."

"We'll have to drink yours."

"Pity. I think you have more expensive taste."

Empty plates and empty glasses sit between them, taunting them. Do they stay here or do they engage in something they'll both regret? Will they even?

"You look at me like she did."

"I do?"

"It's the way your eyes shine, how you can't stop looking at my mouth." Afsaneh stands, resting her hands on the table. "It's really quite charming."

Philippa leaves her chair, circling the table until she can touch the bare skin of Afsaneh's arm. This universe thrives on emotion, connection, interdependence. She can't rule, she can't murder nearly as much as she'd like, and without Michael, she's alone.

Afsaneh's just as alone, even with her children and her ex-husband, and her starbase is so much easier to reach than one of Starfleet's favorite ships. Though, she'll have to cause some kind of trouble to see Michael soon. Just to make sure the unpalatable Kelpian has treated her well, and that she's happy.

Afsaneh tenses just a little, not to fight but with intrigue, leaning close to Philippa's neck. "How do you smell so good coming from a stolen Orion death trap?"

"Magic."

Reaching out to touch her hair, Afsaneh sighs. "You smell like her."

"We grew up in the same city, perhaps she smells like me."

"We went to Langkwai many times, my Philippa and I, and she showed me everything. We walked along the beaches, sat together in the surf. She used to stick flowers in her hair and we'd find them crushed in the bed in the morning." Afsaneh strokes for her hair, losing her reticence.

Philippa can't resist. "Does that mean you prefer to be on top?"

The gentle flush of pink across Afsaneh's face is so different from her Senator, her weapon, her master of intrigue.

"It's not a firm preference."

"Good."

Afsaneh chuckles, dropping her hands to her hips. "So that's why you're here?"

Running her fingers across Afsaneh's cheek, Philippa winks. "And dinner."

"Dinner seems to be finished." Afsaneh takes one step back towards the bedroom. "Unless you brought desert."

"I thought you might provide that."

That gets her. Afsaneh chuckles, then places a hand on her chest, her fingers warm through the leather. Philippa's heart does not respond to much, she's worn it down over the years, but now she's tantalized. She wants, and this version of her beloved she has never tasted, never known. Will she sound different at climax? Do her nails feel the same on her back?

"That's rather forward of you."

"I thought you'd appreciate a lack of bullshit."

"I like someone who knows what the fuck she wants."

"And if it's you?"

Afsaneh slides her fingers up to Philippa's neck, beaming. "Then we get along just as well as I thought we would."

"You're not afraid of being conquered?"

Afsaneh back further towards the bedroom, guiding her along. "Who says you're going to be doing the conquering?"

Philippa laughs, but her throat's tight with desire. The teasing is fun, but she wants and the wordplay is only an appetizer. A taste... She presses a little and Afsaneh pushes back, shoving her against the wall. It's not the bedroom, but the hand on her stomach means it doesn't matter. Afsaneh strokes her chin, staring at her as if stripping her defenses with her eyes. When they kiss it's measured, calm, feeling each other out, tasting.

She tastes the same, and her lips have the same heat. There's none of the thrill of danger, the threat. This Afsaneh would never kill her, wouldn't even hurt her, and that hasn't been a trait in one of her lovers for more years than she wants to remember her way back.

The fear in the back of her throat is a new one, sharper than the wine or Afsaneh's lipstick. This doesn't have to hurt, won't end in death, and Afsaneh knows her.

Even loved her.

The other her might not have been tough enough to stay alive, but she risked things Philippa never has. Afsaneh nibbles her neck and her heart thuds. Maybe it's worth trying it, just this once. One night of vulnerability, a dalliance with the foreign concept of trust. She hasn't had enough to drink for that. There might not be enough wine on the station for that.

"Wonder where this goes." Afsaneh strokes the zipper on the front of her leather jacket. "Another corset?"

"I knew I was visiting you."

She pouts, and the purr in her throat is obscene. "And I only have my uniform."

"I think you wear it best."

"Not Kat, or Ensign Killy?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you."

Afsaneh nips at her shoulder, peeing leather from her arm as the jacket slips off. "I thought it might make you feel more at home."

"Would you really like to know what the other you did to my lovers that she disapproved of?"

"I can imagine that, but I'd rather imagine other things she might have been good at." Afsaneh runs her thumb over her breasts, devouring the corset with her eyes. "Or did you hold her down?"

"Only when she asked me too." When Afsaneh begged, she was so much fun. That was all a game, ploys and counter ploys, teasing and pushing boundaries to see how long they could trust each other, even they even could. This is exploration, feeling out the stars, and that is part of the other her, the ghost who smiled with her heart naked.

Afsaneh kisses her again, then steps back, pulling her tank over her head. That bra is definitely not Starfleet, it's too blue, too lacey, but the view it provides could rival sights from her former empire.

"I thought you might like that." Now Afsaneh turns, walking into the bedroom. "Computer, lights to four." It's hardly candle light, or the rare glowing crystals of Aenar, but in any light, watching Afsaneh step out of her trousers is a beautiful sight.

Turning to face her, arms crossed beneath her incredible breasts, Afsaneh smiles again. "Are you waiting for a formal invitation or a sign of weakness?"

"Are you trying to decide which I'd prefer?"

"I'm trying to decide if I want to rip the laces on that thing or undo it slowly." She stalks forward, wrapping her arms around Philippa's neck. "Though I like you staring at me."

"Good."

"Leather suits you." She takes another kiss, fitting their mouths together with more hunger. This time her tongue's insistent, forceful, and Philippa gasps. Her corset is too tight to breath in. That's why she's a little lightheaded, must be. "But I want it gone."

Chuckling, Philippa allows her to removes her trousers, and in that shuffle they fall to the bed, lying tangled on top of sheets too smooth to be Federation. "You do like expensive things."

"These?" Afsaneh props herself up on an elbow, eyes bright. "I might have gotten them as a gift, from a very charming trader that happened to be oh-so-terrible with her paperwork."

Her little indiscretions, tiny breaches in protocol, make her so much more intriguing. She's bent the rules for years within her Starfleet bonds, not for personal gain, or ambition, it seems that Afsaneh Paris wants to have a little fun with her life.

Philippa surrenders to another kiss, leaning down over her until Afsaneh flips them, using her legs to place Philippa on her back. She straddles her hips, beaming down. "Letting your power go to your head?"

"Only when it gets me something I want."

Her Afsaneh would tear the corset off with a knife, maybe nick her skin just to remind her that she was not to be trifled with. This one takes her time, letting her hair fall over her shoulders, heavy like her breasts. She's beautiful, dark and and teasing, profoundly unafraid.

Unlike the knife's edge she expects at her throat, there's no sting in her eyes, or her hands, only warmth and unfettered desire.

"Take it off."

Philippa reaches for her corset, but Afsaneh shakes her head.

"My bra. You can't stop staring at it."

"I love that this was beneath your uniform all day and you didn't know I was coming."

Afsaneh trails her hand down Philippa's chest, then grabs the corset right between her breasts, dragging her up to kiss her. "Who says I didn't know?"

She has too many questions, but Afsaneh kisses her again, taking her chance to demand answers. Her fingers find the laces of her corset, untying that with skill not out of place in her universe. Perhaps her fingers are just always nimble. Removing her bra is simple in comparison, it snaps free and gently, Philippa eases it off of her breasts. Teasing her nipples distracts Afsaneh enough for her to fumble.

"Naughty."

Afsaneh runs her teeth along her neck and before she can concentrate again, her corset's off, hitting the floor beside that delicate blue bra. Afsaneh sucks her breasts, rubbing her fingers across her panties, taunting, teasing, and the fabric's out of place, they should be naked, she should be able to taste her.

"Let me," Afsaneh insists. "Let me." She stands, removing her own panties. She pauses for a moment, golden and beautiful in the weak light. She doesn't have Afsaneh's scars, and that one on her ribs is new. The little silver lines on her stomach speak of her children. She eases the last shred of clothing down, then bends, pulling them from Philippa's knees to her feet with her teeth. "I used to love doing that at the Academy."

They had years of this, warm, comfortable, playful sex, without consequences or fear. When Afsaneh kneels again, this time between her thighs, it's the most terrifying moment of her second life. There's no pretence, no knife under the pillow, just an incredibly beautiful woman and a whole night of pleasure.

"Trust me," Afsaneh asks her, hands on her knees. "I'm very good at this." She leaves the rest of that dark lipstick on Philippa's inner thighs, kissing her way down while fire melts her body down to molten metal that Afsaneh works like a blacksmith, building, molding, taunting her towards orgasm. She digs her fingers into her back, into her hair, then the too-smooth sheets of the bed.

Breath comes fast, than it seems like she can hardly find it at all. She never allows this, even when her slaves are absolutely loyal, but Afsaneh tastes her, traunting, and sends her flying. Heat blooms in the back of her skull like a flash grenade until it blinds her. Afsaneh holds her, kissing her while her orgasm breaks her control. Maybe she already lost it, already surrendered too far.

Her eye sting and Afsaneh brushes her tears away before they kiss again and she tastes herself. How long has that been? Will Afsaneh tastes the same as she remembers or is that also different here? The whole multiverse could collapse into Afsaneh's lips against hers and she wouldn't complain. She might not even notice.

Exploring her with her hands, she teases that place on her hip that makes Afsaneh moan, and taunts her with her fingers higher on her thighs, then hr breath, hot against her skin. Tasting her takes Philippa back to the other world, but the way this Afsaneh cries out is different.

Free.

She doesn't fear her the way her Afsaneh always did. There's no hint of performance, no Emperor to please. Only pleasure and naked skin, sweat and longing. Philippa takes her time, licking without hurry or real intent because she could listen to Afsaneh's breathing go ragged until the stars go nova. The hand in her hair makes her suck, rub her teeth against her clit and that whimper sends a rush of heat down her own spine.

Orgasm shudders through her, making her back arch like a temple of a sacred city. Afsaneh has no tears, only breathy laughter.

"Who knew you were so gentle."

Philippa strea at her, cups her cheek. She kisses her forehead, then her cheekbone. "I've never been before."

Afsaneh's hand tightens on her back, but that's her only sign of surprise. "It's not bad, is it? This soft universe."

Kissing her until she can barely breathe, Philippa falls to bed beside her, trembling. "It's terrifying."

"When I was young, and foolish, you told me that as beautiful as the stars were overhead, it was the blackness that intrigued you. Between all those little lights was the void, and it went on forever. That was the unknown, and that was why you joined Starfleet, to discover more of that darkness, to find more light." Afsaneh strokes her hair, toying with the wall it falls on Philippa's breast. "You laughed at me because I was a city girl who joined to get away from my parents and do something with my life other than keep up traditions or stuffy old rituals. I never enjoyed the dark, not until you made it beautiful."

Philippa blinks again, shutting her eyes before they betray her. "That wasn't me."

"The way you smiled between my thighs, it might be."

A three day refit of the navigational deflection would be frustrating, but Starbase Nineteen is the closest base, and she hasn't seen Afsaneh since the incident with Philippa, and she's the first person Michael wants to tlak to when shore leave is allowed. Captain Paris has the day off, and the computer says she's in her quarters. It's late enough in the morning to stop by, it's well after eleven hundred, and Captain Paris did remind her that they were family.

Family doesn't need an invitation. It's a very human rule, Vulcans would be very civilized in their visits, but the captain- Afsaneh- is as lonely as Michael, and losing Philippa took something from her that can't be replaced, even with another Philippa who has been a little more lucky with death.

She rings the door chime, confident for nearly a minute before doubt sets itn. She should have sent a message, arranged to have lunch. It's too awkward to just arrive at her quarters. She starts to go, she'll forget about this and maybe try for diner, and the door opens. Afsaneh's hair lies in waves on her shoulders, tumbled and mussed, and her lips are pink but her face is free of makeup. That make on her neck is very familiarly, and Michael could be back on that beach, suddenly aware that her captain's very good friend was more than a friend.

A very beautiful, distracting not-friend, almost a step-mother, in a way.

"Michael! What a lovely surprise, come in, we're just having breakfast."

We?

And there she is, sitting in Afsaneh's purple robe, her hair just as wild with marks on her own on her bare shoulders. There's no Imperial aura to her at all, and that flush of embarrassment wouldn't even have happened to her Philippa.

Her Philippa was shameless with Afsaneh.

Afsaneh touches that bare shoulder and then fixed Philippa's robe. "We have a guest, dear."

"What a nice surprise." That wistfulness passes over Philippa's face and she doesn't slam it down behind her mask. She lets it stay. "It's good to see you."

"And you. It seems like you're staying out of trouble."

"Well see," Afsaneh says, grinning over a croissant. "She might have earned some kind of punishment by tonight."

Michael's face burns like a solar flare and Philippa's cheeks flash pink.

"Only if she's very very lucky."

#trek-rarepair-swap #dsc #philippa georgiou #Afsaneh and Philippa #Afsaneh Paris #mirror philippa georgiou #mirror philippa georgiou x afsaneh paris #and michael burnham at the end #with her not quite step mothers #sex and way more emotions than philippa was ready for #and a lot of flirting #discovery

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ernmark · 6 years

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Hello! I hope nano went well for you (however you want to define that) I'm selfishly very glad to have you back. I would love to see something where Juno gets to be the violently protective one and Peter is the one to be rescued. We don't get to see Peter shaken out of his cool very often. ( If this overlaps with an existing AU or a new monster! AU, all the better)

Thank you~

This is pretty much one of my favorite tropes ever, and I don’t tend to write it very often, because it tends to get dark.

On that note, if you’re sensitive to blood, gore, body horror, mind stuffs, etc, maybe skip this one.

The existing AU it fits into is the Vampire and Werewolf AU, of which you can find the first part here.

If you weren’t expecting that AU to go in this direction, it’s probably because I got hit hard by the flu over the weekend, which resulted in me spending a night with a high fever trying to keep my insides where they belonged while this whole sequence was spinning in my head in an endless feverish loop.

I think the end result reflects that.

“Again.”

And Juno tried, dammit, he tried. But his skull felt like it was splitting in two all on its own, and reaching into Nureyev’s head felt like sticking his hand in a blender– except that you could only ever do that twice, tops.

This? There was no end to this sick game.

Miasma let out an irritated sigh and reached for the dial.

“No, wait!” Juno cried, dragging himself back in. “Just give me a second. It’s a–”

Miasma wasn’t listening. She turned the dial. Agony hit Nureyev like a sledgehammer– and Juno, still inside his head, felt every shock. He hissed through gritted teeth, the straps around his wrists and ankles straining as his back arched off the table.

And just as quickly as it started, it fell away, leaving them both gasping. Something wet seeped from Juno’s eyes, but he couldn’t tell if it was blood or tears. He couldn’t tell if the agony was in his head or Nureyev’s.

But he was still there, inside Nureyev’s head. In the sudden absence of pain was a moment of numb clarity. Nureyev’s eyes were on the card, even if his mind wasn’t.

“The card,” Miasma said. And maybe the most twisted thing about all of this? She sounded bored.

“Blue diamond,” Juno panted. Already his grasp on Nureyev’s head was slipping, but he clung on.

“Very good. Next.”

Nureyev flipped the next card, and Juno’s stomach lurched. He yanked himself out of the thief’s head. He couldn’t. Goddammit, he couldn’t, he just couldn’t.

Miasma narrowed her eyes at him, and she reached for the dial.

“Red diamond,” Juno said.

It had to be red. Of course it had to be red.

She pulled her hand back. “Next.”

“Goddammit, just give him something to eat already,” Juno said. “It’s been days.”

“Vampires can survive weeks between feeding,” she said carelessly-- as if alive was the same as whole or in tact or sane. “I won’t need him to last that long.” She tipped her head toward the microphone. “Next.”

Juno had no choice.

He went back in.

The moment of clarity had passed, chased away by the pure, sweet red of the card– and in its wake was nothing but hunger. It was overwhelming. All-consuming. The next card was in Nureyev’s hands, but he wasn’t looking at it– his eyes were on the masked assistant in the corner of the room, watching the pulse beat under the skin of xir neck. Nureyev could taste the memory of blood on his parched tongue, could imagine it pouring hot and thick down his throat. Every fiber of his being was driven toward it, honed with animal instinct and inhuman thirst.

He wanted to kill– to rip open that pathetic sack of flesh and take what was his due. He wanted to slaughter every creature in this godforsaken tomb and gorge until he was satisfied.

And if he gave himself half an instant to feel it, Juno wanted it, too. And not just because of the vampire sharing his head.

He was sick of hurting, of being hungry and tired and used– but more than anything, he was pissed. Because Miasma had come into his city. She’d killed his people. She’d tortured his thief. She’d violated his mind.

The ancient, animal part of him– the part that he shared with kingpins and gangsters across the galaxy– wanted to kill her for it. Slowly.

But he was Juno Steel, not just some goddamn werewolf, and he wasn’t going to hand over control to that side of him. He was smarter than that. Smart enough to know that he was strapped to a table and Miasma’s people were packing heat, and even a werewolf couldn’t shrug off a laser to the head. Revenge might be sweet, but it wasn’t worth a damn if he didn’t make it out of this tomb alive.

Look at the card, he mentally pleaded, wishing like hell that this mind-reading thing worked both ways. Come on, Nureyev, look at the fucking card. Please. Please, goddammit, please just look–

Nureyev’s eyes flicked down, and Juno got a glimpse. Just one, but it was all he needed.

“Black triangle,” he gasped. “It’s a fucking– fucking black triangle.”

“Very good.” Miasma couldn’t even be bothered to look up at him. “Next.”

“No.” Fuck, he could barely get the word out. Every time he went in, it got harder. He couldn’t take it anymore. “No more cards. No more games. Not until he eats.”

“No,” she said flatly.

His straps creaked as he threw himself at her. “Goddammit, this is inhumane!”

“I don’t care.”

And of course she didn’t. Why would she? After all, torture and murder and nonconsensual medical experiments didn’t ding her moral compass; why would she give a shit about starving a man to death?

So Juno grabbed onto the only thing she did care about.

“It’s interfering with the experiment,” he said quickly. “He– he’s too hungry to think straight, and if he can’t think then I can’t read his mind, okay? Just let him eat, or let me in there and I’ll open a vein myself.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” she said in that flat, detached way of hers. “If he isn’t useful, then he’ll be disposed of.” She reached for the console again, not for the dial but for the intercom. “Assistant, get rid of the thief–”

“Goddammit, stop!”

“Then give me the next card, Juno Steel.”

His brain felt like it was trying to claw its way through his skull as he forced himself back into Nureyev’s head. Choked screams were spilling out of his mouth, but he had to keep going. He had to reach just a little farther– just a little–

There: Nureyev’s eyes. His vision was tunneling, their edges going hazy and red. His eyes were fixed straight ahead at the card in his hand.

“Black triangle,” Juno said.

“I said the next card,” Miasma snapped.

“What are you talking about? That was the next card. It’s– it’s not my fault your people did a shitty job shuffling the deck.”

“There are no repeated cards in this deck,” Miasma said.

“Well, then I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe somebody’s been cheating at poker night. I don’t know, but that’s the goddamn card in his hand.”

Miasma narrowed her eyes. “Then draw the next one.”

But Nureyev didn’t reach for another card. The black triangle stayed in his hand, slowly crumpling in his grip. There was no conscious thought left in his head– nothing but the hunger and the all-consuming pain.

“Nureyev?” Juno whispered. He could hear his own voice filtering through the intercom. He could feel Nureyev reacting to his name for just a moment, trying to respond, but there were no words left in his head. “Nureyev, please, just draw a card.”

Nureyev extended his fingers. The card fluttered from his hand.

Juno’s own vision was fading, but he fought against it. He couldn’t black out now, not when Nureyev was like this. He had to stay awake.

“Something’s wrong with him.” Juno tried to grab at Miasma’s arm, but the cuff kept him in place. “This needs to stop. Just give him a break, or give him something to eat, or some water, or–”

Miasma’s finger twisted on the dial. Juno felt every volt that arced through Nureyev’s spine. As soon as Juno stopped screaming, she leaned in close.

“Draw the next card.”

Juno thrashed at his restraints. “Don’t you get it? He can’t! Neither of us can! We need rest, and we need food, and we need–”

Miasma reached for the intercom button again. “Assistant.”

Juno sagged. Finally, she was going to give them a break.

“Assistant, I’ve had enough of this. Kill the thief.��

No.

No no no no no.

Juno could hear the masked assistant stepping toward Nureyev. There was a knife in xir hand.

Nureyev bared his teeth at his attacker, but there was nothing else he could do.

He was going to die.

After all this, Peter Nureyev was going to die.

And suddenly, getting out alive didn’t matter so much anymore.

In his head there was only hunger and hatred and a deep, primordial rage.

You want control? Then fucking take it.

In the vampire’s mind, there were no words.

First there was hunger.

Then the knife.

It was glowing, crackling with its own electricity– meant to stun him, disable him, keep him from fighting back, but he’d fight all the same. He’d never stop fighting (but he was so tired, and so hungry, and so hurt, and he wanted it to stop).

And then there was a sound.

He knew these noises– the wet gurgle of a punctured lung, the choking gasp before a death rattle, the howl of a predator. The song of a hunt, echoing through the chamber and abruptly cut off, but it wasn’t over.

The one with the knife turned away from him. Xe ran to the door, only to be knocked back when a second human crashed through. There was blood on that one’s hands, on her clothes. He could smell it from here, and the vampire’s mouth watered. Together the humans fumbled at the lock, bleating their panic with throats that could not scream.

The door pounded.

Once.

Twice.

The humans bolted like rabbits as the door lurched open. They didn’t get far.

He couldn’t see the blood spilling onto the floor, but he could smell it. He could taste it in the air, sweet and saporous, and it made his mouth water.

Footsteps drew close, each step punctuated by the click of claws on stone. Even without words, he could recognized a werewolf on sight.

The wolf loomed over him, his bulk hunched forward, his muscles rippling, his whole form cloaked in sleek black fur. His lips pulled back from his fangs in a growl. The vampire flashed his fangs in return– he would rather fight as a predator than die as prey– but only for a moment’s defiance. He was hurt. He was tired. He was so, so hungry.

The wolf reached out to him, and that must have meant something, but the vampire didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was what was dripping from the wolf’s paws, the sweetness of a meal so near his face, the satisfaction as he ran his tongue over one extended claw, and then the next.

It was ambrosia on his lips, utterly irresistible. He didn’t let go of the claw until he’d licked it clean, and only then to take the other and bring it to his mouth.

He didn’t realize until he’d lapped away every last drop that the cuffs around his arms were gone, shredded at his feet.

When he looked closer, he realized that the wolf had changed, too: he was smaller, thinner, more human. When he leaned in, Peter felt no fangs– just full, soft lips, and always, always the taste of blood.

#the penumbra podcast #writing prompt #fanfiction #I love hearing from you Alec #it always makes my day #alecjmarsh

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someone-im-close-to-fanfic-blog · 7 years

Text

Chapter 9-Run.

As the title says. Get on it, everybody.

Chapter Rating: PG13. Boy, does Wilson have a bad mouth when he’s mad.

When Wilson finally settled into his tent, it took a moment to realize his sister wasn’t in there with him. Realization hit like a brick when it finally set in.

“Ohh no.” Panic quickly set in and he glanced around rapidly. “Willow?” Where could she be at this hour? A thousand possible ideas raced through his mind, so quickly, in fact, that he was about two seconds away from completely blanking out when someone opened the tent.

“Oh, god. Wilson?” Willow’s hair was untied and messy, her shirt crudely buttoned and her collar crooked. “Uh...hi.”

“Where were you?!” Wilson demanded. “I was on the verge of a mental breakdown!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Willow crawled into the tent next to her brother and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I’m...I was just...I thought I had more time…”

“Where were you?” Wilson asked again, a bit less angry this time now that he’d seen what state she was in. He had a pretty good idea of where she’d been now. She mumbled something in response. “Hm?”

“Wigfrid’s tent.” She said sheepishly, her face a little flushed. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d stay out later…” She let go of Wilson and buried her face in her hands, embarrassed.

Wilson processed this for a moment. “About what I would have expected. Whatever happened to ‘planned on dating’? I mean, I’m not upset with you or anything, except for your not telling me you’d be screwing around with her and would be back late and instead left me here to have a heart attack over your absence…”

“Buzz off! We weren’t...ugh.” Willow huffed. “Look, I’m as stressed as you, alright? We both are. Neither of us are sure how long we’ve got left, what with recent events and everything, Winnie’s scared out of her mind that everyone thinks she did it and we’re just trying to get as much time together as possible. Is that a problem?”

“I’d appreciate it if you had at least told me you’d be out late.” Wilson replied bitterly. “But no, it’s not a problem. I was just worried about you is all. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“Well, are you mad at me?” Willow asked.

“No…”

“Then I’m not mad at you.” Willow pecked him on the forehead. “Let’s just go to sleep now, alright? Lighten up. I’m sure you and Maxwell were doing the same thing out there.”

Wilson sighed. “You could be right, you could be wrong.” He flopped back under the sheets and Willow joined him. “Well, goodnight, I guess.”

“Goodnight.”

They fell asleep shortly after.

Almost as soon as he closed his eyes, a blinding white light rendered Wilson sightless for a few brief moments before his eyes focused.

‘Oh, boy.’ He groaned internally, recognizing right away where he was. ‘Not this shit again.’

It was the same room in which Charlie coerced him into almost shooting his sister. Almost.

For a while, Wilson just stood there, motionless, waiting for Charlie to make her move on him. By this point he was pretty damn certain she was the one behind his weird dreams. It would certainly explain why he was unable to control himself for the most part here, at least.

Finally, he got tired of waiting.

“Charlie, come out. I know it’s you.” It was probably the most impulsive and ballsy thing he’d ever said, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Whatever she wanted to do to him, he wanted over as soon as possible. Just like that, he heard a soft whoosh noise that sent such a strong feeling of surprise through him that it was paralyzing.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” She was right behind him, but the scientist was too scared to turn his head and see what she looked like. “Well, I guess if you’re so desperate to see what I’ve got for you tonight, I’ll let you have it.”

A snap of her fingers and Wilson felt the familiar feeling of a gun pressed into his hand. It was about what he would have expected. He tightened his fingers around it, waiting for his instructions to get this over with as soon as possible.

“Now…” Charlie’s shoes clicked across the floor as she began to pace behind him. “Let’s say you’ve been faced with the choice of having to kill one of two people.” She snapped her fingers again and before him appeared two people--no, illusions of people. Wilson knew better. It was Wigfrid, and to her left was Willow. The blank expressions on their faces gave the scientist the chills.

“You have to choose one.” Charlie suddenly placed a hand on Wilson’s shoulder, and he flinched. Even through his clothing, he could feel how cold her hand was. “You do not have the chance to wake up until you pick.”

Wilson swallowed. This was going to be hard.

‘It’s just a dream.’ He reminded himself. ‘Stay calm.’

“Do you know how to fire a gun?” Charlie asked after a bit of silence.

“Yeah.” Wilson tightened his hands around the weapon. At least his arms could move.

‘It’s just a dream.’ He reminded himself again. ‘Just do it.’ Even still, he couldn’t pull the trigger. Even in a dream, it didn’t feel right. It would never feel right to him.

“Come on, now.” Charlie prompted. “Point the weapon and shoot. Surely a brilliant man like yourself knows how one of these works?”

Part of Wilson wanted to accept the “brilliant man” part as a compliment and the other half wanted to drop everything, turn around, and slap her to the ground for insulting him like that. The man instead bit his lip, pointed the gun at Wigfrid, screwed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger. What he’d expected to hear was the sickening thump of a body hitting the floor and possibly even the sound of Willow screaming at watching her lover die, but neither came, and it only seemed to make the bone-chilling silence of the room even louder.

“Good. Now open your eyes.” Charlie prompted, and Wilson obeyed, because he knew he had no choice. The illusions of Wigfrid and Willow that had stood before him moments before were gone now. “Your eyes are such a pretty shade of gray, you know, both yours and Willow’s.”

“Is that so.” Wilson stared, bewildered, at the empty space before him. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected at this point. It was Charlie pulling the reins here, after all. ‘Expect the unexpected, and prepare for the worst.’

Charlie hummed with approval. “Now, let’s see...what to do with you next? I’m not going to let you wake up just yet.” She began to pace behind him again, making Wilson’s stomach churn. How long had he actually been asleep for, he wondered, and how much longer was Charlie going to make him sleep? A sickening thought crossed his mind for a split second of Willow in tears because her brother had slept so long she thought he was dead, and it made the scientist’s hatred of Charlie and her antics grow even more.

“Don’t worry, I won’t keep you down for too long.” The woman suddenly stopped pacing. “I can tell what you’re thinking, you know, and it’s quite interesting. You must really love Willow, don’t you?”

Out of pure spite, Wilson didn’t respond.

“Playing the quiet game with me, I see. Well, I don’t blame you, but you’ll have to succumb to me sometime.” She laughed. “After all, I do control you, at least in here I do.” She tapped the side of his forehead with a single finger. Wilson found himself frozen again, just before he was to turn around and get a good look at her face. She seemed close enough for him to do so, but he couldn’t, and that bothered him all the more.

“Why are you doing this?” The scientist demanded, trying desperately to prevent himself from succumbing to panic. “That I won’t tell you,” She responded, almost joyfully. “Yet.”

“Then what will you do to me next?” He dreaded the response, but it killed him not to know.

“Again,” She chirped. “I won’t tell.”

Wilson clenched his teeth. He felt trapped, like a lab rat. There was no easily comprehensible way that he could think of to describe how horrible it felt to be held hostage like this, and in his own mind, nonetheless. There must be some way for him to get her to let him go. Suddenly, an idea came into his head. He prayed Charlie wouldn’t find it out.

“I don’t know what it is you want from me, Charlie, but playing god isn’t going to get it from me.” He remarked, a bit flatly.

“Oh really?” She chuckled. “Don’t underestimate me. I could kill you right here if I wanted to.”

“But you won’t. I know you won’t.” He tried to suppress a snicker. He could tell this was quickly going to make her mad, and that amused him. “And what makes you think that?”

“You would have done it already if you wanted to.” He shrugged, saying it like it was common knowledge. Maybe this wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but boy, did it feel good to piss Charlie off like this. “What’s the point of this, anyway? You said you’d plan to tell me later, didn’t you? It’s later now, so go ahead and just say it.”

“Wiseass.” Wilson heard a woosh and felt her grab him by the back of the shirt. “Don’t be smart.”

“Last I checked, my intelligence is the only reason I’ve been able to survive this world for long.” The scientist bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“You insolent little shit.” The woman behind him kneed him in the back hard, sending him sprawling onto the floor. The gun in his right hand made a metallic noise as it crashed against the ground with him. “Don’t you dare forget: I control you. I’m more powerful than I’ve let on, you know. Not even all of you and your puny friends, Maxwell included, could take me down if they all worked their hardest and in unison. Therefore, I suggest you quit being such a wiseass to me and learn some obedience. While I’m here, you obey me. No one else.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Wilson shuddered as he tried to prop himself up on his arms. “I take it you’ve been watching me, haven’t you? During the day, I mean.”

Charlie paused. “I have. Why?”

“Then if there’s one thing you should know about me,” The scientist grabbed the gun next to him. “It’s that no one controls me. Not even you.” He cocked it, the sound of the bullet clicking into its chamber echoing in the room. He held it to the side of his head as he rose to his feet, back still turned to the person behind him, who scoffed.

“Shoot yourself. I don’t care!” She laughed. “You may wake up from it, and you may die. I won’t tell you which it is.” She sang, mockingly. However, she didn’t realize that that wasn’t exactly what he had planned.

“Fine by me.” Wilson raised his finger to pull the trigger. He took a deep breath and, spinning on his heel to face Charlie, quickly moved the gun from his head to point it at her. Only then did he shoot.

For a split second, he saw her face. He could see it was pale and framed by thick black hair that fell around her chin like soft feathers, and her thin eyebrows were raised in surprise at his sudden move. However, as soon as he pulled the trigger, his eyes shot open in the tent and he sat up, panting, and instantly he forgot what the woman looked like. It took him a moment to realize what had just taken place, but once the memory flooded back, he immediately congratulated himself for his fast thinking.

“Willow?” Wilson looked over to his side and saw his sister sleeping peacefully next to him.

‘Oh, thank god. At least I wasn’t too late for that.’ He breathed a sigh of relief. Willow stirred in her sleep, and a few seconds later her eyes fluttered open. She yawned, a bit discombobulated from sleep, and groggily looked up at her brother.

“What time is it?” She mumbled.

Wilson peeked outside the tent and saw the sun beginning to rise over the horizon. He also saw Wigfrid, spear in hand, leaving the camp.

“Your wife is just now leaving, so I’m guessing it’s pretty early.”

“She’s not my wife, you ass.” Willow lightly punched him on the arm as she sat up, but smiled. “I’ll be right back.” She stumbled out of the tent and Wilson watched her run over to Wigfrid, who seemed surprised to find Willow awake this early but was nonetheless delighted. They embraced one another, Wigfrid’s fingers tangled in Willow’s thick black hair that fell all the way down to her waist when untied, and pulled away a while later with a quick kiss. Willow mumbled something into her ear and the redhead gave her a reassuring pat on the back.

“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll be fine.” Wilson heard the performance artist reply in a soothing voice. One more kiss to the forehead from the woman and she was gone. Willow returned with a goofy smile and a blush on her cheeks.

“Well, you two must be going steady.” Wilson exited the tent and yawned, stretching himself out.

“I guess you could say we are.” Willow replied quietly, running her fingers over her cheek. Wilson couldn’t help but feel extremely jealous at how happy she was with Wigfrid. Even though she was younger, he actually had a tendency to get jealous of her for a long time. She was so pretty compared to him, and adults always seemed to treat her better for some reason. There was a time, he remembered guiltily, when he thought that because Willow was a woman, people liked her more. Consequently, he found himself frequently wondering if people would love him more as a girl than a boy. He’d since outgrown that train of thought, but that wasn’t the end of him being jealous of her. He figured there would never be an end to his jealousy, now that he knew she was still alive.

“Lucky.” He blurted. Willow looked at him strangely and then laughed.

“Aww, looks like someone’s jealous.” She lightly punched him on the shoulder.

‘Oh, if only you knew the half of it.’ Wilson thought bitterly, but laughed it off. “Yeah, sure. Let’s get some food in us, then, and since it’s wintertime I guess we need to finish harvesting the rest of the farms to add to our stash of resources. Nothing grows in the winter, so we’ve got to be careful about that.” He explained as the two made their way over to the campfires.

“Ah.” Willow nodded in understanding. “Well. I guess we don’t want any of the plants dying on us, do we? This vest is quite nice. You all make this stuff yourselves?”

Wilson nodded proudly. “Yeah. They’re quite warm. Saved my butt from freezing on more than one occasion.” He grabbed some boards from a chest and started fires in each of the three fire pits.

“Well, let’s just hope I won’t be a victim of freezing this year.” Willow shivered, and not from the cold.

“Oh, Willow, you’ll be alright. We’ll take care of you.” The scientist gave his sister a reassuring pat on the back. “Besides, I’m sure those ten years you spent in roaming around England must’ve taught you a thing or two about winter.”

“Well, you’re right about that.” The woman nodded. “Man. I’ve had a few close calls with death myself, actually, thanks to this time of year.”

“Is that so. Guess that means you’ve got sort of a taste for what it’s like, then.” Wilson began to rummage through the ice boxes like what had just been said was the most normal thing in the world. Willow hummed an affirmative in response.

“So, during winter, what do we plan to do?” She asked, kneeling down next to him and going through the food stash with him.

“To be honest, I’m not sure.” Wilson sighed. “There’s not much we can do besides harvesting meat from traps and such, since none of the farms replenish themselves for the...I’d say three weeks to a month that winter usually lasts.”

“Huh. That’s short.” She remarked. “So you just sit around for that time? Booo-ring.”

“Yeah. Not the best of times, I know.” Wilson sighed. “Time’s pretty fucked here, sis. I’d get used to it.” He thought for a moment. “There’s these wild hounds that usually attack the base once per winter, near the end. They’re annoying, but it’s not like we can’t handle them.”

“Hounds?” Willow raised an eyebrow. “Like wolves?”

“No, not like wolves.” Her brother shook his head. “These dogs are big. I’d say they’d come up to your hip handing on all fours. Pitch black fur most of the time, though I have seen white and red species, and you can’t mistake their barks for anything.” He huffed. “Maxwell once told me that these variations were created when he added a surplus of red and blue gems to a bunch of hounds. Real smart move on his part.” He rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Red ones deal attacks with fire, blue ones deal them with ice. Believe me, they’re annoying and require lots of effort to take down. Big time.”

Willow whistled. “Jesus. That sounds like a mess. How do you handle them?”

“Tooth traps. We’ve got a menagerie of them set up just north of here, to the left of the bees. That takes them out pretty quickly.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Yeah. Still, it’s a bit of a pain to get everyone to get up and get over there, especially if they’re warming up. We’ve got another fire pit set there, though, so unless someone forgets to bring fuel then freezing isn’t a problem.”

Willow chuckled. “You all must be quite experienced in this world.” Her face fell a bit, and she became for solemn. “I guess that’s what ten years of being here will do to you.” She bit her lip and Wilson cupped her cheek.

“Hey, don’t look so sad.” He said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” She sighed bitterly, her grey eyes shifting to the side. “When I think of how long you’ve been here, I wonder just how much you’ve suffered, and…” She sighed, her voice catching in her throat. “It hurts me to think about what happened while I was blindly wandering around for you.”

“Willow…” Wilson paused, her words sinking in. “Hey. Sure, things have gotten bad for me, but in the long run, I really can’t say I’ve suffered.” He thought back to his first days in this realm, looking upon the scenery and breathing in the cleanest air he’d ever been exposed to with awe and amazement. He remembered feeling astounded at the simplicity and yet the diversity of all the life living there, the time a catcoon nuzzled against his leg while he was gathering wood in one world, the way his heart pounded against his ribcage and the pride he felt the first time he successfully managed to ward off a group of hounds. “I mean it. Despite the dangers, this place is nicer than London will ever be.”

“Is that so?” Willow leaned her head against Wilson’s shoulder, and he nodded.

“Think about it. There’s no street rats to bully us, the environment is in stellar condition from what I’ve seen, and everyone who is living here is friendly and sociable at best. Don’t worry.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’ve been mostly alright in the time we’ve been apart.” He decided right then and there that he could never tell her about the suffering he had been subjected to in this world; it would break her heart to know the truth.

Willow smiled. “Well, if you say so.” She looked up from her brother’s shoulder. “Oh! Look who’s awake. Good morning, Wendy!” The siblings rose to their feet and the blonde child clutched her thermal stone tightly with a yawn.

“Good morning.” Wendy’s voice was monotonous and quiet. She sat down next to the fire and set her stone by it. She mumbled something under her breath as she sat down in front of the conflagration.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Willow asked as her brother started loading one of the crockpots with food.

“Oh...you heard me?” Wendy looked up at Willow, surprised.

“I did.” Willow nodded. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. I’m just...curious.” Clearly in her time of being here she hadn’t figured out Wendy’s general nature, Wilson thought.

He wanted to stop her and tell her about how Wendy was very sensitive and withdrawn, and how she should probably just leave her be, but Wendy took him by surprise with what she said next.

“Well…” The girl fidgeted with her fingers. “I was wondering if you and Mr. Higgsbury needed any help with making breakfast.”

“Oh! You want to help us out?” Willow looked over at Wilson, a bit surprised as well.

Wendy nodded shyly.

“Well, of course you can.” Willow smiled warmly. “Just heat that stone up a bit and come over when you will. Many hands make light work. Your help would be appreciated.” She ruffled Wendy’s hair lightly, and the child smiled too.

“I...gee. Thanks, Aunt Willow.” She mumbled. Willow looked over to her brother and gave him a thumbs-up.

“You know…” Wendy said as she wandered over to the crockpots with the younger Higgsbury. “You two sort of remind me of how I was with Abigail.”

“Abigail?” Willow asked, looking over to Wilson.

“Her twin sister.” Wilson replied, firing up one of the pots.

Wendy nodded. “She’s dead now, but we were close the way you two are.”

“Oh, I see.” Willow nodded and opened one of the ice boxes.

“She’s been dead for a few years now. I came here shortly afterwards...I’d rather not talk about it.” Wendy mumbled the last part.

“That’s alright.” Willow reassured her quietly, patting her on the back. “Hey, while we’re here, why don’t you help me make some jam for everyone else? Just get some berries from the icebox, there’s a good girl.” Willow smiled in approval as Wendy grabbed a few handfuls of berries and added them to the crockpots.

“I think everyone else should be waking up soon.” Wilson said, looking over to the tents. He could already see Webber stumbling out of his tent.

“Oh! Good morning, Mr. Higgsbury and Aunt Willow and Wendy!” He ran over and hugged Wendy, then Willow, and finally Wilson.

“Well, good morning to you too.” Wilson ruffled the half-spider’s hair affectionately. “Why don’t you help us make breakfast, too?”

Webber smiled and nodded eagerly, and Wilson couldn’t help but feel almost like they were a complete family in that moment. He wondered what he had done to deserve such a thing.

Now, at first, this morning seemed perfectly normal for everybody. They sat down and ate as they came. The Higgsburies and the children gathered what was left from the farms. Maxwell smoked and studied the Codex Umbra between glances up at the siblings and their work, Wolfgang entertained Wes and Woodie with stories about Russia. All was going fairly well for the start of the winter.

That is, it was going well until Wigfrid ran screaming back into the camp.

“Dear god! Everyone, run!” She stopped for a few seconds, panting heavily.

“Wigfrid? What’s wrong?” Woodie asked slowly, concerned as everyone else was.

The redhead held up a finger as she struggled to catch her breath and then held her hand to her ear. A few seconds later, the sound of barking could be heard. It had to be the hounds, Wilson knew that much, and from the volume of it, they were coming close fast.

“Why couldn’t you just take them on yourself? You’re better equipped than any of us.” The scientist grabbed a few of the thermal stones that had been soaking up heat by the fire off the ground, becoming slowly more and more worried. Why hadn’t Wigfrid fought them off? It wasn’t like she couldn’t do it. Maybe they’d have to make a run for it after all.

“There were too many. We have to get to the traps.” Wigfrid shook her head. “Come on, everybody. You know the drill. Wes, grab healing supplies in case we need it. Woodie, fuel. Now. Everyone else, grab some of whatever and get running. We may have to hide out somewhere else; there’s a lot and it could just be too many for the traps to take on. We may have to split up, but I doubt that much.” She looked behind her as the barking drew closer. “Go now! Hurry!”

Immediately, everyone ran to the chests to grab what they could. They already had warm clothing, so they just grabbed fuel and other resources. Willow and Wolfgang grabbed packs and stocked up on food. Wilson grabbed a few tools and some torches in case he had to light anything up. Then again, Willow had her lighter for that, but it was always nice to have anything extra on hand, as he’d learned.

“Oh, shit!” Wigfrid cried, clutching her spear. “They’re here! Move it, MOVE IT!” In the distance, Wilson could see a massive pack of shadowy figures running right towards them and knew they didn’t have much time. Quickly, he grabbed Willow’s hand and led the group to the tooth traps.

“This way!” His bag bounced against his back and his feet hit the ground so hard it stung as he and the others desperately tried to outrun the dogs. They ran to an area with stone walls surrounding a square area of land, a long and narrow entryway that twisted and turned, and tooth traps littering the ground for a good three meters in. Everyone ran through the entryway, some occasionally colliding with the walls, until they came to a small space surrounded by the walls with a campfire and a few chests in the middle.

“Woodie, start up the fire. I’ll keep a lookout for those dogs, see how long it takes to kill them.” Wigfrid said, standing on one of the chests to look over the walls surrounding them. Wilson managed to hop up next to her for a second, and his jaw dropped at the amount of hounds that had been following them.

“Good god, there must be at least twenty-five of those!” He marvelled, both amazed and terrified. He counted, and there were twenty-six. Close enough. Lately, everyone had noticed that when the hounds did attack, they were more aggressive than before and came in higher numbers, but the most they’d ever taken on at once was ten. They’d come just as the end of summer came around and everyone was forced to wait them out for what felt like hours in these stone walls. That’s what led to Wilson and Wolfgang taking it upon themselves to reinforce the place; they knew it was only getting worse from here. Never in a million years, though, would they have guessed that it would have gotten this bad this quickly. On top of that, Wilson noticed, not all of them were jet black. There were some red hounds and blue hounds thrown in there, too.

“Yeah.” Wigfrid shook her head. “Christ. Fire hounds in winter? Never seen it before.”

“None of us have.” Wilson hopped down from the chest.

“What’s the situation?” Willow asked him, holding a frightened Webber close to her. “There, there, child, everything’s going to be alright.” She turned her head to the quivering child and said before turning her attention back to her brother.

“Bad.” The scientist shook his head. “This is the biggest group we’ve ever seen. Twenty-six, if I counted correctly, and it’s mixed company.” She looked confused at this statement, so he clarified. “Red, blue, and black hounds. Not good. We’ve never seen it before, so we’ve got no idea how we’re to deal with it.”

“That sounds terrible.” Willow’s eyes widened in fear.

“Not to worry, though, dear sister. These traps are mostly fireproof, and if nothing goes wrong then we’ll be in and out of here soon.”

“Might wanna bite your tongue, because something did go wrong.Very wrong.” Wigfrid’s eyes widened with terror and she looked back at the group. “Those hounds aren’t taking any damage from the traps.”

“What?!” Everyone shouted and exchanged looks of panic.

“Impossible.” Maxwell mumbled. Wigfrid shook her head.

“Yeah, apparently not.” She groaned, holding her weapon close to her. “What joy.”

“What do we do?” Webber asked, clutching onto Wendy’s hand.

“If they won’t take damage from the traps, we can’t fight them off.” Wilson re-adjusted the backpack on his shoulders. “We have to make a run for it.”

“But where to?!” Tensions grew stronger as the sounds of barking grew louder.

“There’s a cave system below us. We’ll wait them out there.” Wilson stood up on one of the chests, ready to vault himself over.

“What?! That’s crazy, the nearest entrance will take forever to get to!” Woodie objected.

“Do you have a better idea?” Willow snapped, joining her brother on the chest.

“Well...no.” The lumberjack admitted. A dog barked, and everyone turned to see a fire hound standing right behind them. As Wigfrid had said, it appeared to take no damage from the tooth trap it was standing directly on top of.

“Ohhhh my god.” Wilson grabbed onto the top of the stone wall, preparing to pull himself over. “RUN!”

Thinking fast, Wigfrid switched out her spear for a tentacle spike and whacked the hound across the face as hard as she could. The dog was flung into the side of the wall and snarled, shaking its head to try and alleviate some of the damage it had taken.

“I’ll try and hold them off!” The redhead shouted as everyone ran helter-skelter for the walls, trying desperately to fit onto the chests and lift themselves over. Willow and Wes saw the children having difficulty getting over, and climbed onto the wall before turning around and pulling Webber and Wendy up with them.

“I think it’s just north of here!” Wilson looked around quickly as the hounds’ barking drew ever closer. It was only a matter of time before they’d find out they weren’t in there.

“Winnie! Come on!” Willow shouted as she helped Wendy to her feet after the two jumped off the wall together. A moment later, the redhead bounded over the wall, an ice hound following her. She turned around and gave the dog a good, hard smack with the tentacle spike and motioned for everyone to get going.

They needn’t be told twice. Despite the bitter cold and the wind stinging their faces, they ran farther away from the base, legs burning. Wilson bit hit lip and tried to remember where the nearest hole leading to the underground caves were.

‘A bit to the east of here and past a forest of pine trees.’ That sounded about right. When they got there, they’d all clamber down into the caves if the hounds persisted and stay in all day. While the group never made it a priority to head underground often, the few times they had been there resulted in them building a fire pit and some crafting areas not too far from the entrance. They’d also found some berry bushes and trees somehow managing to grow down there, and they would use those for materials and food if they ran out. He doubted they’d be down there for very long, though, so it likely would not be needed for them to gather additional supplies.

The scientist looked behind him and saw that Wes and a few of the others were becoming weakened by lack of stamina. Wendy in particular seemed to be suffering. A mere ten meters behind them, the hounds continued to tail them.

“Jesus!” He groaned. “Will they ever give it up!”

He happened to refocus on the group just in time to see Wendy trip over a rock and fall on her face with a scream.

“Oh my god!” Wilson froze dead in his tracks and was nearly trampled by his sister and Maxwell. Thinking fast, he dove for her, and despite the exhaustion that was rapidly setting in he managed to pick her up and dash off again with her over his shoulder.

“Ow…” Wendy mumbled into Wilson’s neck, too spent to say much of anything else.

“It’s alright, kiddo. We’ll get to safety in a moment.” He promised softly, one arm on her back and one under her thighs to support her. Her left knee was bleeding badly, and blood trickled down her leg into the dirty white fabric of her sock.

“I hope so.” Her thick, blonde curls were tangled and matted, bouncing in messy bunches against her back as Wilson carried her. Luckily, the forest through which they had to travel next was just up ahead, and they made it through that without much of a problem.

“Alright, we’re here.” They stopped for a moment at the mouth of the cave, which was a large hole about five feet in diameter with a rope dangling from a tree down into the darkness below. The hounds had been lost a while back, but the barking continued to persist, and they couldn’t take any chances. Wigfrid held her arms up behind her head and was breathing deeply, trying to increase the amount of oxygen entering her lungs. “Who’s first?” She wheezed.

“I’ll go.” Willow volunteered. Everyone else was too tired to object. “I’ll give you the all-clear if it’s safe.” Wigfrid handed her the rope, not so subtly brushing the other’s knuckles with her fingertips in the process, and Willow descended down into the caves without much of a problem. There was a silence, and then her voice echoed up “All clear. Come on down!”

“Frailest go down first. That way, if those things catch up then the stronger and more able ones can fend them off.” Wigfrid shot a glance at Wes. “No offense.”

Wes shrugged. None taken.

“So, who’s going next?” Wigfrid looked around.

“Wendy’s got a hurt knee. Send her down, then Webber, then Wes and then Maxwell.” Wilson panted, letting the child in his arms down. The blood on her leg had clotted, but the marks were still nasty as ever, and the trail of dried blood didn’t aid the effect. Woodie whistled, just about summing up how everyone else felt about the nasty gash on her leg.

“We’ll treat it when you get down there, okay, sweetie?” Wigfrid cooed as she handed the child the rope. “There you go. Legs around the rope, like that. Willow! You’ve got a kid comin’ down, you better catch her!”

She let the rope go and Wendy slid down about as gracefully as one could with a hurt knee. So it went with everybody else, with Wigfrid herself being the last to come down. The caves were dark and ominous, but lightbulb plants lit up the place every now and then, and the silence was actually fairly nice. Wilson smiled to himself knowing those dogs would never follow them down there, and that they were prepared to wait them out if needed.

“So what’s everybody got on them?” Of course the first thing Wigfrid would do was take charge. Normally, that was Wilson’s job and she knew it, but the scientist figured she just wanted to show off to Willow. He wasn’t about to stop her.

Everyone who brought a pack with them opened it. Willow had brought a surplus of food; likely enough to last them a night and then some if needed. Woodie and Wolfgang had brought wood boards, grass, and sticks. Wes brought varied healing supplies, as one would have expected from him. Wilson had brought the tools, and Wigfrid had brought the weaponry. Maxwell had brought a small mix of what everyone else had, as well as two miner helmets.

“Why would you bring these?” Wigfrid asked, turning one over in her hand. “We didn’t realize we’d come down here until the last minute.” She eyed him suspiciously.

“The hounds have gotten more aggressive. I feared we may have to wait them out until night fell, and in a way, I guess I was right.” He smirked with the last sentence and Wigfrid looked a bit irked with him. Wilson couldn’t help but feel a pang of admiration for his thinking ahead, even if it was a bit fishy and oddly specific way of thinking ahead.

“Let’s rest up here a bit.” Willow insisted, grabbing some medicine from Wes’ pile. “Wendy’s got a leg that needs mending, and it’s not safe for us to split up down here in this condition.”

Wilson ran his fingers across the bandages that covered his own arm, but it didn’t register in his head that he might need to change them. Wes propped Wendy’s back up against a rock and skillfully disinfected and bandaged her knee. If it hurt her any, she didn’t show it. Webber clung to Willow’s side, trembling with all sorts of emotions at once.

“Hey, it’s alright.” She whispered to him soothingly. “They can’t get us now. We’re safe. There, there. No reason to be afraid.”

Wilson smiled fondly at how motherly his sister was in that moment. The children would certainly grow up to become good people with a figure like her in their life, and again the pang of pride that came from being related to her made him sigh contentedly. His legs no longer hurt, and down here was cold but strangely not as cold as outside was, so he felt at ease. Maybe, he thought, we could wait out the entire winter down here.

“So.” Woodie leaned back against the wall of the cavern. “What’s the plan? Where to?” He fidgeted with Lucy in his hands.

“I say we head in a bit deeper, to where the fire pits are.” Wigfrid insisted, spinning the tentacle spike with her wrist.

Wolfgang shuddered. “What wrong with here?”

“We risk freezing if we stay here too long.” Maxwell looked up at the mouth of the cave that was just five feet to the right and a good twenty feet above where they all collectively stood. “We need those pits to stay warm.”

“A good point.” Willow flipped out her lighter. “And I could really use a nice fire right now to calm my nerves. I’ll admit, I’ve never been a fan of the dark.”

“Truly, none of us are.” Wilson sighed. “So how long will it take to get there?”

“Not too long. Who’s got the stuff to make torches again?” Woodie handed Wigfrid some grass and twigs, and she fashioned them into two torches. “Alright. Willow, light them up and you can carry one. That lighter of yours, while pretty, doesn’t give us enough light to see five feet in front of us.”

“Yeah, I know.” Willow carefully lit the torches and took one. “Who’s gonna take the other?”

“Let Maxwell do it.” Wilson said. “He’s like a walking lamp-post with one of those.” He teased, earning a laugh from the others, Maxwell included. He looked over to Wendy “How’s your leg?”

She tried to stand up and gasped with pain. “Hurts, but I think I’ll be fine.”

“You sure you don’t need any help walking?” Wilson cocked an eyebrow. She didn’t look so steady yet. “It’s not that far, I can carry you again if you want.”

Wendy blushed, embarrassed. “Well...okay. Sure.” Wilson picked her up again, and she buried her face in his shirt. “Thanks.” She mumbled.

“No problem, kiddo.” He replied, equally as quiet.

“Aunt Willow…” Webber tugged at the cuff of the female Higgsbury’s shirt. “Can you carry me, too?”

Willow considered this for a moment. “Well, why not. Come here, you.” She picked up Webber and held him the same way Wilson held the girl, looking over Webber’s shoulder to see what was ahead of her. “Lead the way, Maxwell.”

Maxwell paused for a moment before motioning for the group to follow him and they set off. Wilson stayed close to the man holding the torch, with Wolfgang and the others following close behind. Willow stood by him, too. Webber and Wendy’s fingers locked together as they walked, too tired to do much else.

“Maxwell.” Wilson asked, nudging the magician’s side gently to get his attention. “How long do you suppose it will take to get there? I haven’t been down here in ages.”

“I vaguely remember it being a few paces more from here.” Maxwell sighed. “But you’re right, it has been a while since any of us have been down here. I certainly hope we don’t run into anything nasty down here.”

“Yeah. So do I.” Wilson agreed and, carefully balancing Wendy with his good arm, held Maxwell’s spare hand with his own. The magician seemed a bit surprised at the gesture at first but gently squeezed the other man’s hand, letting him know that it was okay. Wilson smiled, feeling a bit less tense about the situation. He would have done more, leaned in closer to his side and mumbled some disgustingly sweet words to him, but there were people around and he was carrying a child, so no way in hell was he going to do that.

Five minutes passed, and then ten. At the five minute mark they had to switch out torches, and the second time they had to do so Wolfgang nervously asked if Maxwell was sure they were going in the right direction.

“I don’t know, honestly. Wigfrid, were we?”

“What a great time to ask.” The redhead rolled her eyes. “If memory serves, then yeah. We were. Maybe we just came in at the wrong angle and missed the camp.”

“God, I hope not! How will we get back if we did?” Willow asked.

“We’ve been going in a straight line the whole time, right? All we’ve gotta do is go back the opposite way. No worries.” Her brother shrugged. “I think we should just stay here a bit longer before we head back to check for those overgrown dogs.”

Everyone mulled over this for a moment before nodding in agreement.

“Yeah. Besides, how long could it have possibly been since we came down?” Woodie asked.

“Years.” Willow joked, earning an uneasy laugh from everyone else.

“Yeah, right. Hey, Maxwell, hand me the torch, will you?” Wilson looked up to see the magician focused on something in front of them. “I’m gonna try to--Maxwell?”

“Am I the only one who sees that?” The taller man pointed a thumb to something in the shadows. Wilson strained his eyes to see it, but when they focused, he saw something towering over all of them in the distance. He might not have seen it if not for Maxwell pointing it out.

“The hell is that thing?” Wigfrid stepped closer, trying to get a better view.

“Do you think it’s alive…?” Woodie asked cautiously, holding tightly to Wes with one hand and Lucy with the other.

“Doubt it.” Maxwell advanced forward a few paces and the torch’s light revealed that whatever it was was made of metal and wood. It was tall and dark, with gears protruding from the sides in a way that made it look built by an amateur inventor. Despite how dark the caves were, clusters of red roses appeared to be thriving at the base of the machine, the vines snaking up the sides and the red flowers blooming all over. It appeared to be a kind of machine, but for what? A feeling of dread crept through Wilson’s body. Something about this rickety structure was oddly familiar, and quickly remembered why. It looked almost exactly like the portal he’d used to bring himself here.

“What do you think it is?” Woodie moved in closer to have a better look at a machine.

“It looks like a portal.” Wilson said, a bit unsteadily. “Wendy, I’m going to have to put you down.”

Wendy “aww”ed softly, but didn’t object any further as the scientist put her down.

“A portal? Hah! You’re crazy.” Wigfrid scoffed.

“Actually, he’s right, Winnie.” Willow softly placed a hand on Wilson’s arm, letting Webber down as well. “It looks oddly like the one I found that brought me here. Besides, do you have a better notion of what this might be?”

Wigfrid huffed and considered this for a moment. “Well...I guess you’re right. But if that’s the case, what should we do with it?”

“Don’t touch it.” Maxwell commanded. “Don’t touch it, don’t go anywhere near it, don’t so much as try to activate it. We have no idea where it’s going to take us, or who or what is on the other side, and if we go in there’s no guarantee we’ll come out alive.”

“He’s got a point.” Wilson eyed the roses growing around the base of the portal. The only way he could think of that flowers could grow down here would be from Charlie, and he was not about to mess with anything that had to do with her. Not after what had happened last night. “I say we just turn back and try to find our way out of here.”

“So do I.” Willow bit her lip. “I almost want to say that it was a bad idea to find this thing in the first place.”

Everyone else nodded in agreement.

“Then let’s get on it.” Wilson handed Maxwell the torch back, trying to brush his hand as subtly as possible but failing. “Wendy, are you good to walk on your own?”

The girl moved her knee back and forth. “It hurts, of course, but I think I’ll be fine.”

Wilson nodded. “Well, that’s good. Anyone have any idea how long we’ve been walking?”

“I’d say we’ve been wandering about for anywhere between fifteen and twenty minutes, judging by the amount of torches we’ve gone through plus how long we’ve just stood around talking.” Woodie said, checking the supply of materials in his bag.

“Yeah, uh...about that.” Wendy piped up. “Why didn’t we suspect something was up after we went through our first few torches? Like, I don’t think it was that far away, and I’m sure the rest of you remember that base the same way.” “I think it was just a collective case of ‘this seems a bit fishy but I’m probably wrong about that so I’m going to keep my mouth shut’-itis.” Webber offered.

“Probably.” Wilson chuckled bitterly. ‘We adults can really be stupid at times, can’t we?’

“We should probably make it our next task to just turn back and find the camp then, shouldn’t--” Willow was cut off by a strange noise some distance away. It echoed across the walls of the cave, and it took a few seconds for everyone to process that it happened.

“What was that?” Wilson instinctively grabbed Willow’s hand. They heard it again, louder this time. It was the distinct sound of hounds barking.

“No way.” Wigfrid groaned. “No actual fucking way. How did they get down here?”

“No idea.” Willow grabbed her brother’s hand. “Great. We’re basically cornered and we’ve got two children with us, one of them badly hurt. What do you all suggest we do?”

“We run.” Woodie answered, pulled Wes close to him and clutching tightly to his axe.

“But to where?” Webber clung to Willow, arms around her hip.

Wilson’s eyes flicked over to the portal behind them. Maxwell caught him doing so.

:Oh, no. Oh no, no, no. We are not going through there, Higgsbury.”

“Do we have a choice?” He placed his other hand on Wendy’s shoulder and defiantly looked up at the man standing next to him. “Think about it. There aren’t enough weapons to go around, certainly not enough armour to go around, and if we die and leave the children to fend for themselves, then they’re fucked, to put it lightly. Besides that, unless there’s a new breed of underground hound that we’ve yet to discover, then something tells me those beasts found a way down here without cracking their skulls open. If that’s the case, then our weapons and such will be completely useless against them since apparently not even the tooth traps can hurt them! Seeing as we’ve quite literally driven ourselves into a wall here, I suggest you comply with this idea unless you or anyone else for that matter can come up with a better idea.” He looked around at each and every other person standing there, too. “Well? Anyone care to derive a way for us to un-fuck ourselves right now?”

Everyone slowly exchanged glances and shook their heads.

“Then it’s through the portal for us.” Wilson took a deep breath and removed his hands from Willow’s grasp and Wendy’s shoulder. “Maxwell. Torch.” He held out his hand and the magician placed the torch in it, a bit shakily. The tone in Wilson’s voice was firm and serious, which made him a tad bit frightening to even the mighty Wolfgang.

“I think here’s the lever to activate this thing.” Wilson pointed to a protrusion in the side of the portal as the sounds of barking grew steadily louder. He handed the torch back to Maxwell. “Quickly, Willow, throw the switch! They’ll be here any minute!”

Willow nodded without hesitation and flipped the lever downwards, causing the gears on the machine to turn and whir. A group of black shadow hands crept up from the ground, grabbing one person each around the waist. Willow and a few others screamed with fear at the unexpected appendages and Wilson held his breath, closing his eyes as he felt the hands pulling him downwards. For a moment he heard the sound of a final hound barking, and then there was nothing.

#don't starve #story #chapter 9

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