#this fic is my outlet for whenever something bothers me lol

[virgo-dream]

✨ dreamling / fluff / acts of service / mature ✨

SUMMARY: It's been 10 days since Dream of The Endless was rescued from Fawney Rig by one Hob Gadling, who takes it upon himself to see to Dream's recovery. While with Hob, Dream is provided with something he'd been missing even before his imprisonment: to be cared for.

read ch 01: "may I" here or on AO3 (2021 words)

Dream’s eyes blinked open. 

He’d been laying in what seemed like a very comfortable bed. It was certainly more comfortable than glass and iron, so much so that it made him nearly uncomfortable to feel his body resting over the welcoming springs of the mattress underneath his frail body. He could feel the weight of soft, warm blankets over him. Softer than stale air, warmer than a room deprived of sunlight. Still, weighing on him, heavy. Too heavy. 

He didn’t know exactly how long he’d been there for. He remembered very little; the sound of breaking glass and gunshots, the sting of cold air and freshly spilled iron blood invading his nostrils, slicing him from the inside out. Nausea, pain. Fatigue, so much of it. Then, the feeling of the binding circle breaking, like a rope that had been tied around his chest had finally been cut, like he was allowed to move again. He didn’t have it in him, physically or mentally, to do anything about it. 

Next thing he knew, he was in this bed. 

He remembered waking up other times, during different moments of the day, or maybe different days altogether. He felt the burning warmth of the sun on his cheek, then followed by the sound of curtains being shut. He’d seen the blue glow of moonlight, and the gentle tones of dusk. While he’d been all-knowing for most of his existence, 100 years in complete isolation were enough to throw him completely out of the cosmic loop, and in his current state, even if he did want it, he would not be able to throw himself back. Telling the time was not in his current roster of abilities. 

Still, the bed. The blankets.

Dream didn’t dare to move. He was hesitant, confused. Scared, really. Everything felt good, and good could only mean bad, because bad was the nature of men, and good was the currency in which they traded. A soft bed with warm blankets was a transaction, just as immortality, riches and power had been the price for his freedom. He had no interest in trading. 

Still. The bed. 

The heavy blankets. 

Too heavy, too soft, too warm. Soft to the point of contradicting itself into a horrifying itchiness, the worn threading cutting through Dream’s paper thin skin. The pillow threatened to swallow his head, but not without chewing thoroughly first, while the blankets felt heavier and heavier, ready to crush him, ready to break him more than he’d already been broken, ready to— 

“Hey, hey— it’s okay. It’s okay, it’s over now.” 

Dream hears the voice first, or maybe last, he isn’t sure. It’s detached from time and the actions surrounding it, from the feeling of the mattress bending next to him as someone sat on it, a pair of hands taking one of his own, caging it like he’d once been caged. Dream fought back against the touch, but all the strength he’d envisioned was only translated in a meek shaking of his bones, twitching fingers and what he now realised were sounds coming out of his own mouth. Still, it seems to get a reaction out of his new captor. His hand was released, in an act of fake mercy. 

“…today is July 12th 2022. It is now 6:45pm. I’m Hob Gadling. You’ve been here in my apartment for 10 days now.” 

Ah. There it was. 

Dream’s eyes blinked open once more. So much came flooding back to him at once, it was difficult to not feel nauseous. His tear filled eyes were hard to trust, and when he brought his hands closer to wipe the stripes of salt and fear away from his cheeks, it wasn’t as difficult as it had been to move just a moment before. When he spoke, his voice was rough with sleep and the newfound tightness of his throat. 

“…h.. hob ?” 

How could Dream forget the kindness of that smile? The gentleness of that touch, the softness of his voice… the way those arms had carried him out of his imprisonment, hands that had bathed him, dressed him and fed him, tended to his needs and held him through the terrors that haunted him. How could he forget Hob Gadling? 

“Hey there, my friend.” Hob smiled, reaching to brush the strands of hair glued to Dream’s forehead with cold sweat away from his eyes, tucking them behind his ear. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I was preparing your soup.” 

Hob had been taking care of him for a while now. His extraordinarily human friend, his saviour, his constant, the only light to ever touch that wretched basement. He’d bravely rescued Dream from an imprisonment that had nearly caused his current form to expire, and now aided his recovery, as patient and devoted as he’d always, in a way, had been. This bed he rested in was Hob's own, gracefully offered, tearfully accepted. The pillow his head rested on also belonged to his friend, as well as everything else surrounding him. 

Dream wasn't sure how long he'd taken to just. Stare at Hob. Long enough, surely, to warrant a worried frown from him, followed by a voice so gentle it almost felt like it asked permission before entering Dream's ears. "Let's breathe together, okay?" A simple enough request, now that Hob had already helped him ground himself somewhat in what humankind called reality , this awful state of existence he'd been forced into for so long. Now, he required breathing, as a child did, and reassurance that he could do it much in the same way. Still, he nods in agreement. 

"May I take your hand?" 

Dream ponders for a moment. They've done this almost every time he wakes with his mind scrambled, deep into terrors he can't escape. Still, Hob asks for permission to touch him, with respect and reverence he'd long forgotten. He tries his vocal chords once more, the biggest effort he can make in answer to the lengths his beloved friend had been going to accommodate his bleeding wounds. "...you may." 

Hob smiles again, in his sweet, understanding way, completely devoid of pity, but maybe injected with a little pride. Proud of Dream, perhaps, as he'd told him the morning prior. Dream remembers now, he thinks. 

You're doing great, my friend. Two full meals today. I'm proud of you.

He took pride in even the smallest of progress, it seemed. Dream remembered feeling the same way when his son sang out his first words. Danced away his first steps. Remembering hurts.

"Come back to me, Dream." Hob squeezed his hand, as gently as a child would, and Dream was hit with the realisation that his mind had wandered off into treacherous woods. Hob rescued him once again, and seemed to be willing to do it over and over. Blue eyes rimmed with red and liquid fear darted back to meet brown ones filled with kindness and patience. Dream nods once again.

Hob places Dream's open hand to his own chest, over his heart. He breathes in slowly, the movement of his chest calm and smooth. "...breathe in through your nose." He instructs, and Dream tries, how he tries. The air slips in staccato, and Hob needs to remind him to "..hold it in, for a bit. Now, breathe out through your mouth." It's difficult to adapt to calming oneself down through breathing when oxygen had never been a necessity, and understanding the calming properties of full lungs only came with the long, torturous 100 years he spent refilling them with carbon filled gas repurposed by his own tired breathing apparatus. 

They repeat this ritual about 5 times, and when Dream catches his own rhythm, Hob releases his hand again. Dream wishes he hadn't. 

"Good. You did great, Dream."

" Dream ."

Hob seems confused for a moment, before smiling at him again. So many different smiles, that one had. So many different meanings, all in the design of his features. "You've told me your name a couple of days ago. I can call you friend, if you prefer. Or anything else, really."

Giving his name to Hob was something he had the agency to do, after being barred from it for so long. He chose to do it, and regretted not doing it sooner. He'd rather Hob have it than anyone else, really. "Use it. I've given it to you. It is yours to use." 

"Alright, Dream." It sounded so sweet in his voice. So gentle, caring. Full of devotion. More than ever, Dream needed it. Desperately. "Would you like to eat now? I might have to reheat the soup–"

Desperation does not suit a king. 

"You dare–" Dream had no idea what possessed him at that moment, to speak that way. Memories folded atop each other, feelings seemed misplaced and hard to differentiate. Hob certainly did not deserve to be ordered around, but for once, he felt strong enough to take , take his own dignity back in his starved hands. Shame washed over him like a cold wave on a winter storm on the shores of the Dreaming itself, and Dream retreated back to his withering disposition. Not without asking for forgiveness, though. In his own deflective way. "...I would like to. To eat. I–"

"It's alright, Dream." Hob reached to take his hand again, without asking this time. He assumed his welcome was extended, and Dream was relieved to not have to grant it again. "If anyone is calling the shots here, it's you, okay? You want to eat, we eat. I'd love to assist you in it too, if you'll have me."

Hob seemed to have the workings of his fragile mind figured out, at least now. Maybe he'd seen this particular brand of rudeness stemming from desperation, maybe Dream had behaved like this every time he opened his eyes since being rescued. Dream would have punished rudeness like that if it had ever been directed at him, but Hob seemed to see beyond the offence and straight into the heart of the issue. "...you are too lenient."

His gentle friend chuckles, and Dream feels a tingling on his stomach. "Not leniency. Compassion." He begins to move to get up, but stops himself, turning once more to look at Dream's wondrous expression. "Would you like to eat here or in the kitchen? Might do you good to get off the ol' bed. A nice chance to change the sheets for you too."

Dream ponders. Hob would change the sheets for him. Would bathe him, brush his hair. Find clothing in a choice of colour that appeased him. He'd done so much already. So much . "...in the kitchen."

Hob's face seemed to light up at that. He always seemed excited when Dream was willing to try something new, and this was no exception. Now, memory fully restored, Dream could truly appreciate the sentiment. "How do you feel about walking?"

"I feel...unwilling." He'd give anything to walk, run, fly even, if he had the strength for it. But he'd give everything for a chance to be held. Of the many things Dream had been cruelly deprived of, touch was the one he was the most ashamed to admit he'd missed. Such a base need, an animal want, a desire , pesky thing. He did not need touch, he did not. Did not . He craved it . Craved affection how his physical form craved air, so desperately it almost sent him into a panic again. His unwillingness to walk might get him what he so desperately wants. 

"That's fine, my– Dream ." My. Dream. "May I pick you up?" My Dream . "Haven't been able to get you a wheelchair yet." My Dream.  Harder to get a hold of one in the area than I remembered." His Dream. 

There's a breathlessness to Dream's voice when he remembers he must speak to be heard in the Waking, unless he uses his powers, of which he currently is unable to do without considerable strain. Voicing things physically is more difficult than he'd remembered. It takes a sort of willpower he never quite understood and always underestimated. "...you may."

[writing-in-april]

Woodland Adventures

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Female Reader

Summary: Santiago and Reader go on a camping trip to relax after everything that happened in South America.

A/N: Hey! This is my thirteenth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April!!!!!!! This is my first fic I’ve ever written for Santiago so I’m kinda excited 😆 he’s one of my favorites and it’s taken me a while to figure out what I wanted to write for him. I actually had this finished for a while and then there was a convo I had that made me change it because of that video of Oscar licking a knife- so I changed it lol 😂@writefightandflightclub I just couldn’t help myself 🙈 Feel free to drop me an ask about anything here!! Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of Santi struggling with PTSD, Smut, Dom!Santiago, Size kink, Knife kink, Masturbation, Unprotected sex, Outdoor sex

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.4k

Everyone had their own ways of finding an outlet to escape to whenever times were tough, and even when they were good. Some would rather stay at home to curl up to watch television or read a book. Santiago had other ways of escaping, ones that were a bit more taxing and long.

He had dragged you out into the middle of nowhere to go camping in the woods. He had told you many times before that this was his favorite way to relax, saying that the fresh air breathed life back into his lungs. You weren’t going to complain though, after what had happened in South America you knew he needed it. You couldn’t deny that the scenery was gorgeous and he was right, the fresh air did make you feel like you could finally breathe again.

Santiago however, had been trying to test your ability to breathe this entire trip. Every morning he’d choose a different area of path in these woods to hike through, which would inevitably exhaust you. You weren’t necessarily surprised that your boyfriend, a veteran, was in much better shape than you. He still had to keep himself in somewhat great shape because of his current job working in private security.

Despite knowing all of that, you couldn’t help but bellyache and moan after a certain point each day, when your knees ache too much to go any further. You also preferred basking in the sweeping scenery that encompassed everywhere around you rather than walking right through it. It sounded like heaven to just stop and stare at the world around you, but this trip was for Santiago so you tried to not get him to stop unless you were exhausted. You’d ask on the next trip to sightsee more, you at least got to watch the sunrise and the morning dew get to form before you went out each day. And, you wanted to help Santiago in any possible way that you could, even if it did test your physical limits.

Today in particular was testing those limits, your forehead glistening with sweat that had begun to drip down the rest of your face. You kept trying to wipe the beads of sweat with a rag and force your knees to go just a touch further. When your knees began to buckle under the weight of the backpack, even with the light load, you knew you couldn’t go any further without potentially dropping to the ground.

It pained you to ask, as you had done this everyday you had gone out, but you absolutely could not go any further. Your energy was completely shot, not even your consideration for Santiago’s penchant for hiking could force you to take another step, “Santiago? C-can we go back? I’m not feeling good…”

Your words must have made him even more concerned than any time before as he had shot to your side immediately to help prop you up. You opened your mouth to say something else, but he quickly cut you off, “You don’t need to say anything else cariño, I’m taking you back to our tent.”

Somehow even though you both had taken the same exhausting path to get to this spot in the woods, Santiago still had enough energy to pick you up. He tapped your thigh twice, like he did whenever he asked you to jump to wrap your legs around his waist, which on a normal day happens when you want him to exhaust you. Almost immediately after you had jumped and he had you in his arms your eyes began to droop close out of sheer exhaustion.

——

When your eyes blinked open you groaned, then you moved a hand over your eyes to block out the sun that had peeked through the tent. Confusion was your next thought, wondering how you had gotten back to your tent and onto the cot to sleep. Santiago must have carried you all the way back to your tent and tucked you in so you could sleep. You slowly sat up with a groan, you were sore but now much more energetic as you must have gotten a few good hours of sleep.

Traipsing out of the tent you looked around the small camp you had both set up to find Santiago. When you turned your head to the right you found him, sitting on the ground sharpening small sticks with a hunting knife, most likely out of boredom. He must have felt his eyes on you as his head snapped up quickly, searching for whoever had been looking at him. He flashed you a small smile when he realized that it was only you, his hypervigilance had gotten worse again after coming back, along with his nightmares. But, seeing you and being with you made it all seem better.

You went over to sit next to him, your own back now to the same tree. He went back to work on the sticks he had been mindlessly sharpening, though this time he wasn’t silent as he now had company, “You had me worried for a while cariño, thought I had worn you out too much.”

“Nah- I was fine.” You joked to try to help lighten the mood and the unnecessary guilt he was feeling. He didn’t have an answer to your joke, just continuing to peel the bark of the sticks with the sharp metal. Turning to face him more you leaned forward to press a small kiss on his cheeks that were scratchy from his light stubble. You frowned a little when you still got no answer and decided to cup his face in your hands so he’d have to stop what he was doing to listen to you, “I’m fine, I promise. I was just tired- you did nothing wrong baby.”

He nodded his head in confirmation, his eyes slightly glistening because of the unnecessary guilt he was trying to let go. You then leaned forward to press another soft kiss on his forehead, mutual understanding now flowing in between you both without having to say it out loud. You didn’t know exactly what he was going through, some of the details were kept from you, but you’d be here with him through it all.

After you had both let yourselves be silent for a while, you spoke up and changed the course of the conversation, “What are you doing with those sticks?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Just passing the time.”

“You could’ve hiked some more while I slept you know.”

What he said next made your heart swell and almost break, “I know, I wanted to make sure you were safe.” You knew he was trying his best after a horrible situation that had left him in pieces.

“Thank you, Santi. You always take good care of me, just remember I’m not fragile.” You did appreciate the gesture, only adding the last part at the end as a reminder. You pressed one last chaste kiss to his face in thanks, this time to his nose, before going back to your original position against the tree. He looked like he wanted to perhaps argue with you, but decided to accept your gratitude.

Santiago was soon testing your breathing in a different way than before, arousal creeping up inside of you as you watched him go back to destroying the sticks with his knife. Sometimes the way he did things reminded you of how strong he was, how easily it could be for him to break you. He cared about you so much to not want to break you, but you wanted to put your trust in him so he could hurt you in a way that felt good.

You wriggled a bit, causing Santi to look over at you for a second before going back to what he was doing. This was going to be the death of you, you were already soaking through your panties and soon it would be your shorts too. Deciding to test the waters once you were too turned on to ignore you snuck one of your hands down your shorts, discreetly unbuttoning them so you could continue to watch.

At first you just rubbed small circles into your clit to try to satiate some of the arousal coursing through your veins. It made some pleasure spark through you, biting your lip to make sure you didn’t make any noise. When you slipped your fingers to curl inside you was when it started to feel really good, pushing you close to an orgasm while you curled them upwards.

Your eyes slipped closed after a while of you staring at his hands while you played with yourself. You started to fantasize what Santiago might do to you with those hands, maybe he’d wrap them around your neck while he fucked you. An orgasm was fast approaching you, that was until you were cut off by Santiago speaking, “What are you doing?”

When you froze because of being caught your release that you had been close to achieving then abated. You answered in the most innocent voice you could muster up, “Nothing.”

“Get up and strip.” His tone told you that there was no room for you to argue, not that you really wanted him to anyway. Quickly you shucked off all your clothes, while Santiago stood up as well. All Santiago did was free his now hard cock from his cargo pants, not bothering to strip off any of his own clothes.

When you turned around to face him he instead grabbed hold of your shoulders, making you face the tree. Another order was then barked at you, “Bend over.”

You scrambled to bend over, only getting a few seconds to get comfortable in the position before he notched his cock at your entrance and began to sink inside you. Your walls stretched around his thick length as they always did because of how girth he was, but you were wet enough already that it was easier than usual.

His pace was rougher than usual once he worked himself all the way inside you. You weren’t going to question or complain though. It was exactly what you wanted, what you needed, and again you bit your lip hard to try to contain your moans.

“Don’t you dare hold back those pretty noises, Princesa, no one’s around to hear them.” Almost immediately you let out a moan that was so loud it might have bounced off the trees and echoed. He was right, if no one was around to hear it, the only people that would know how unrestrained you were letting your loud noises be, were you and Santi.

The bark bit into my hands harder as you gripped my fingers harder into the tree to try to keep yourself propped up. Everytime he thrusted into you, your eyes were tempted to roll back into your head. You tried to fight that urge because you couldn’t help but want to keep them fixed right on the hand that Santi was using as leverage for each of his deep thrusts inside you. In his hand he still held tight the hunting knife that he had been using.

You felt filthy being turned on by how he could do anything to you with that knife while you were small underneath him. Each time the front of his thighs hit the back of yours, his grip on your hip, and the one on the knife would get stronger. The veins in his hands became more prominent each time he strengthened his grip, making you think about what else he could do with his hands, and the knife. Your knees started to buckle when his cock brushed up against your sweet spot inside of you, but you kept your gaze strong.

Santi must have noticed at some point where you were looking, seeing what you couldn’t take your eyes off of. You figured out that he had noticed when he suddenly pulled out of you, turning you around roughly before speaking gruffly, “Did you like watching me with the knife? Hmm?”

You whimpered and nodded your head, admitting wordlessly your filthy desires. You already had felt small underneath him earlier while he took you from behind, but when he tapped your hip twice to signal you to jump you felt minuscule with his body crushing yours against the tree. The bark was now biting into all the skin on your back, though the slight stinging pain you felt was ignored when he sunk back inside you. This time he wasted no time in building up his pace, slamming his hips into yours with brutal efficiency.

You had almost forgotten about the knife that was still being held in one of his hands, until he brought it up back into your line of sight. Again, it was hard to keep your eyes focused on him as his cock railed into you, building your orgasm behind the scenes. Though, when he slowed his pace for a second so he could drag his tongue across the blade your drooping eyes snapped open, wide with astonishment. He then threw it to the side, landing somewhere in the pile of sticks he had cut apart and picked up his pace again.

“Can’t believe you trust me enough to have that knife so close to you.” He breathlessly spoke in disbelief, making you let out a moan which he again had no intentions of stifling, “Yeah, that’s right, moan while I use, Princesa.”

It wasn’t long before both of your releases hit hard. You tried to writhe and wriggle underneath him, but he had you trapped underneath him as he filled you. His broad shoulders did most of the work to pin you down as he finished letting you both ride out your highs.

When he began whispering sweet words into your neck laced with some obvious sadness, you were worried he might feel guilty for using the knife. He often treated you like glass, afraid to handle it roughly in case it shattered because of him. So, just to banish those thoughts swiftly you cupped his cheeks again after he had let you down, then giving him a similar reassurance as before, “I’m fine, I promise. I wanted you to do that. I promise I had a good time Santi.”

He ducked his head a little at your words, probably out of embarrassment that you had caught his guilty feelings swirling again. Mirroring his previous actions he nodded his head in confirmation, then wrapping his arms around you in an all encompassing hug. You whispered your own sweet words into his neck for a bit, without sadness, until you pulled him back in the direction of your tent, “Come on, let me clean up and then we can try to sleep. I’m tired, you wore me out again.”

Ask Me Anything

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[forever-forgotten-angel]

To Be Named Soon Strip Club Fic (Prologue)

Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Warning: I am currently planning this to have some Thomas/Virgil romantic elements, if that’s not your thing please move on and have a wonderful day! In addition, this story involves strippers and will likely have some explicit content at some point, so if that isn’t you thing, also please move on and have a wonderful day! Summary: Sanders Sides Strip Club AU, with a newbie Virgil who still isn’t sure about performing in front of actual people and protective club owner Thomas who just wants his employees to be happy and reach their full potential.

Pairings: Patton/Emile, Logan/Roman, Thomas/Virgil, Virgil/Remy, possibly Thomas/Virgil/Remy depending on how things go. More couples may be added. 

Hello! So if you follow myself or @organizeddiscord (which you totally should because she’s awesome, but that’s just my opinion) you’ll probably have already seen the conversation about a Stripper AU for the sides. This is what I have come up with. Hope you enjoy! PS: If anyone has a good suggestion for a name for this fic please tell me, I couldn’t think of one I liked. 

Virgil was an utter mess at fifteen.

 Granted he doesn’t think he’s that much better at present, but he thinks (or at least hopes) he’s got it a little more together.

 He’d always felt off, different. Just saying hi to people, or asking a teacher he’d had for months for a bathroom pass was hard for him. He tried so hard not to care. But he was constantly plagued with thoughts of what everyone was thinking, and saying. Still, he put on the mask of the uncaring person he wished he could be.

 He was a loner. He had very few friends, and the ones he did have were more acquaintances than anything. People he didn’t think would kick him away if he sat at their lunch table, but no one he really talked to or hung out with outside of school.

 The person he talked to the most was probably Mr. Greene, the school counselor. He was a quiet but kind man who never complained when Virgil dumped all of his problems on him. Mr. Greene had urged Virgil to get a true therapist, one who could properly diagnose his anxiety and maybe prescribe him something to help. The sweet counselor had even talked to his parents about it.

 His parents didn’t believe in therapy. They didn’t think there was anything wrong with him. He just wasn’t trying hard enough. He was too lazy. Too scared. Too weak. “Just stop being so damn shy and talk to some people like a normal human being. We don’t need to pay good money for you to talk to some old hack who’s going to put you on pills that you don’t need and will only cost us more.” His parents had tried to ban him from talking to Mr. Greene as well but they couldn’t really do that. After all, the school counselor was there for all the students

 It pissed Virgil off more than anything, because deep down he truly thought some professional help could really help him. Yet, his parents’ words wormed their way into his mind. Was there really nothing wrong with him besides being too much of a scaredy-cat to actually approach anyone?” No, that wasn’t all there was to it. He knew it wasn’t. Didn’t he?

 It was hard to remember with it constantly being shoved down his throat. “You’re just not trying hard enough.” “Stop being so anti-social.” “Join a club.” “Make some friends.” “Get involved with a physical activity.”

 That was another thing. His parents kept pushing for him to get into a sport of some kind. They’d even signed him up for a few sports at the community center they were members of. No offense to the sports themselves or those who enjoyed them, but it was just too much for Virgil. Close aggressive contact and shouting everywhere. He’d quit as soon as he could much to his parents dismay.

 It was at the community center, after a swim in the pool (one of the few activities he liked, though he enjoyed the leisure of swimming and didn’t think he’d enjoy the pressure of a competition), that he saw the flyer. Pole dancing classes free at the community center. Must be sixteen or older to apply without parental permission.

 Virgil remembered his father and mother talking about strippers once. The utter condemnation and disgust in their tone. But hey, they were the ones who wanted him to get involved in a ‘physical activity’, right?

 Virgil waited quietly until sixteenth birthday, and celebrated by signing up.

 His parents had been livid, but there was nothing they could do. Virgil was signed up, and of age to do so himself. They couldn’t cancel his membership until the end of the year. They couldn’t stop him from going, as Virgil had found ways to sneak out years ago (thank you family parties that he’d felt the need to escape from, the only thing those parties had been good for). They just had to deal.  

 Virgil was relieved when he showed up for the class and only a couple others were there. The class apparently wasn’t too popular. This didn’t seem to bother the teacher, a woman that looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, and was quite beautiful. Certainly someone Virgil would be attracted to, if he had any interest in women that is.

 The teacher’s name was Alina and she was quite laid back. She was fun and personable with the students, staring them off with some basic moves. Virgil picked up on it fairly easily, and enjoyed it far more than he would have thought he would.

 The class became his escape. Away from his peers, his parents, his worries He didn’t have to think of what everyone else is doing or if they’re going to affect him at all. He just had to be aware of his own body, his own movement, and his own limits. It was just him and the pole, a steady, unchanging, predictable partner.

 He starts showing up for the class early, eager to warm up so he can get right to dancing. It’s on one of these days that he sees Alina dancing her best for the fist time. She is up on the pole, flipping, and spinning, and swinging upside down. It’s entrancing.

 He begged the teacher to teach him how to do that. She regretfully informed him that it takes quite a bit of training to have the strength to dance like that. Luckily, Virgil used be in an advanced gymnastics class (until his parents had decided that wasn’t an ‘appropriate’ sport for him) and, while he was a bit rusty, he had kept up his body strength fairly well. Alina offered to let him give it a try.

 It was difficult at first. He gained even more respect for the people who dance like this for a living. The strength and flexibility and precision that it took was far beyond what he would have guessed. But he kept at it, coming to class early and staying late to work with Alina. And he got good. Really good. And he loved it. Being up at the top of the pole, close enough to the world to still experience it but up just high enough to be feel above his worries.

 He worked as hard as he could, building his arm strength, and his core strength, and his leg strength, until he could flip, and spin, and twirl as good as his wonderful mentor.

 His parents had been right when they said a physical activity really could help him, just not for the reasons they thought. He wasn’t cured by any means, but he felt better. And it showed in his attitude, his grades, and just his mindset in general. He had something he felt he was good at could be proud of and provided him an outlet that he desperately needed.

 He cried for a week when the end of the year comes and his parents announce that they are cancelling his membership to the center. He went to thank Alina, bringing her some lovely flowers to show his gratitude for all the extra work she put in with him, and regretfully informs her he has to quit coming to class. The surprised teacher immediately wheedles the story out of him. To his absolute shock, after hearing about his parents, she offered to continue teaching him at the club she works at, assuring him no one would be there during the day and she could clear it with her boss no problem.

 He insisted she’d be wasting her valuable time as, while he loved dancing, he knows he could never perform for a crowd. She insisted right back at him that as long as it’s making him happy and helping him then it is far from a waste of her time. She wrapped him in a hug as a few tears welled up in his eyes. He doesn’t like to admit just how tightly he hugged her back.

 And so that’s what they did. Virgil trained whenever he could with Alina, and eventually of couple of the other club dancers as well, and he kept getting better. And better. And better. The manager of the club even offered him a job a few times once he turned eighteen, somewhat joking (but not really), but Virgil remained steady in the fact that he just can’t perform in front of people.

 It was a sad day when he had to go off to college in a city that’s quite a ways away from the club. But he’d gotten a partial scholarship from the school that had really helped, as his relationship with his parents had only degraded as time went on and they hadn’t given him much and what he’d saved wasn’t enough.

 He knew almost everyone who worked at the club at that point, and they’d thrown him a going away party. There had been drinks, cake, and he’d been given a new bag for college filled with the dancers’ tips from a couple nights. He’d tried to refuse the money but they’d insisted.

 He said his goodbyes to everyone, saving Alina for last. He hugged her tightly as she assured him he’d do great in college and if not, he’d always have his dancing to fall back on, any club would hire him in a heartbeat. He laughed and once again repeated how he could never dance in front of people. She shrugged and gave him a coy look. “You never know.”

But Virgil did know.

 Or at least he’d thought he knew.

I know @organizeddiscord wanted to be tagged in this and I think @nightmarejasmine wanted to be tagged as well, actually I think they asked to be tagged twice so @nightmarejasmine lol :P. If anyone else wants to be tagged let me know.