Fic: And We Three, Dreaming 1/3
Fandom: Homestuck
Pairing(s): Eridan/Feferi/Sollux - ♓♡♒♠♊♡♓
Rating: MA-Explicit
Specific warnings: Pervasive language, xeno/tentabulge (http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2cfx7OA1l1rsva9so1_1280.png, http://s1030.photobucket.com/albums/y366/TheLilRedHen/?action=view¤t=TrollAnatomyDerp.jpg BOTH LINKS NSFW), light fluid play, rough/violent sex
Summary: Left alone with his memories, Eridan is given one more chance at forgiveness.
This story contains explicit sexual acts between a trio of consenting adults, as well as explicit descriptions of alien genitalia. If any of the above offends you, please do not read further. All characters depicted are twenty years old. Elements of this entry are taken from Feferi: Report to Eridan (http://www.mspaintadventures.com/?s=6&p=004367).
And We Three, Dreaming
==> Eridan: Remember.
cuttlefishCuller [CC] began trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]
CC: W)()()()()(-E-E-E-E-EW.
CA: fef are you in
CC: Yea)(…
CA: that took forevver
CA: i was gettin wworried kinda
Your name is ERIDAN AMPORA, and that is the UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE FUCKING SWEEP. Your palms still sting from the sharp bite of your nails, and your fingers are still bent and sore from the fists you had clenched them in to keep yourself from asking for status updates every five seconds. But now that she’s in, you relax, letting out a deep breath as you slump back in your chair. A splash of purple on the ceiling catches your eye and you studiously ignore it; no great military campaign was ever won without sacrifices, sometimes painful ones. There will be time to grieve later, but if there isn’t, you don’t think you’ll be very upset about it. It would only be awkward trying to eulogize him with him hanging around in his new bloodpurple glowing state, anyway, judging you with his eyes. But she’s replied, and you lean back in to read her exquisite tyrian text.
CC: But Sollux finally came t)(roug)(, and now I believe t)(e full c)(ain is complete!
CA: man that guy
CA: hes a fuckin drama machine it is fuckin pathetic
CC: YOUR STUPID FIS)(Y FAC-E IS T)(-E DRAMA MAC)(IN-E T)(AT DO-ES NOT)(ING BUT W)(IN-E AND GLUB.
Her response is immediate and something about it feels off. She’s almost never so high-strung - well, no, she is - but something in particular about this response puts a tang of metal in your mouth, and makes your thoracic cavity feel tight tell him to go away. I don’t even have the energy for thith. As if you needed more complications… pushing any thoughts of the landscraping mustardblood filth from your head, you swallow hard and unclaw your fingers, which have sought refuge in your palms again. It’s all or nothing now, and your hands fly across the keyboard with painful care. Her next words give you hope it didn’t work then and it won’t work now, and you rise to your feet as Trollian logs the keystrokes of her unsent message…
CC: I t)(ink it is not really necessary for me to be your moirail anymore.
Stunned. You’re dimly aware of your knees giving out, and your chair goes rolling away and fetches up against the wall, its wheels dragging through the slowly congealing film on the floor. It’s only a second to bring it back, but you can feel your collapsing and expanding bladder-based aquatic vascular system thumping painfully hard as you race to sit back down and formulate some sort of reply. Three words are the most coherent you can get, but you find it hard to care; your hands are shaking visibly, and you can’t seem to steady them shaking with fury this time, aching to slap the smug grin off of his face, ball up his shirt, slam him against the wall and hurt him until he never stands up ever again, but you try. You have to fix this.
CA: no
CA: please dont
CA: look im bein serious here dont do this
You close your eyes against a hot stinging sensation, and she’s there in front of you, cradling her trollpad in the crook of one arm and typing, swiftly and surely, with the other hand. Her pretty face wears a look of consternation; her brow is furrowed and her gaze is sharp and clear. Talking seems easier than typing, so you take a few steps closer until she notices you. “Wwe’re supposed to be fated to be moirails, aren’t wwe?” you ask, hating how pathetic your voice sounds. “You can’t just throww that all awway just ‘cause you’re sick a me…” Crawling on your stomach, grasping at one last straw as it rapidly and irretrievably slides down the load gaper. Her expression changes instantly, and pain stabs you directly in the thoracic cavity, because her face is soft and beautiful and kind. But her words are cold, and they burn as they drop from her lips and slap you across the face.
“I just can’t look after you anymore. You’re free to do as you wish now,” she says. Her gaze shifts, going over your shoulder, and the small but genuine smile on her perfect black lips is burned indelibly into your think pan. “We both are.”
And that does it. “I didn’t evver need anyone to look after me,” you snarl, closing the distance between you with two angry strides. “I wwas totally fuckin’ fine! My ambitions wwere noble! And really none of your business, quite frankly, your majesty!” You can feel blood rushing to your face, tinting your cheeks and forehead and fins. Maybe it will remind her who she’s talking to Is it hopeful to surrender to a murderous demon like a coward?!. Did you just consider pulling blood rank on the Heiress? You suppose you did. “The only reason I put up with stickin’ my flipper into this fuckin’ shithole quadrant with you was-” No. There’s no reason to continue. You can see her eyes widen as she makes the connections for herself, and you turn away, lips pressed together hard enough to blanch them.
“Was what?” she asks behind you, voice even. She wants to hear it from your lips, to have it in writing what sort of ridiculous notions you had bouncing around your stupid fucking head. You decide to deny her the satisfaction.
“Nevvermind,” you mutter, pulling your scarf closer around your neck. Its ends swing strangely, as though their weight has been changed - and you know this scarf intimately, with the familiarity of long, long wear. She gave it to you, once upon a time. Something niggles at the back of your mind, but you ignore it, shoving your hands into your sodden pockets and stalking away.
“Tell me,” she barks, sharp and with the rich ring of power, expecting to be obeyed. You have never heard her use this voice before, and it surprises you how quickly your rage returns. Here, at the end of your moirallegiance and your friendship, she wants more to hold against you. Overkill to a truly ridiculous degree. Like using a laser harpoon gun on a worm. You tear your eyes open as you spin around, fingers painfully tight around the hilt of your wand as you draw.
“No,” you scream, eyes wide, flecks of spittle flying from your lips. You take a step back, and your foot slips in the puddle of your lusus’ blood. Except… it isn’t really his blood, is it? The scenery changes for a split second: a dark grey floor made of some alien metal, walls of the same, an oppressive and claustrophobic little space. Computers line the walls, glowing sullenly in idleness, a droning hum that gets under your skin and stays there. In the center of the floor, a shockingly wide pool of liquid seeps down along the lines between the tiles, staining them tyrian purple.
You lower your wand slowly as your vascular system gives another slow, tortured contraction, and another thick wave of offal-tainted purple erupts from your stomach and splashes over your shoes. It’s in your mouth, too, and spitting it out takes longer than it should, a thin curtain of rich purple spilling down your chin. Another slow beat, as your body attempts and fails to process the horrible damage it’s sustained. Something slips out of place with this one and unfolds, landing wetly on your shoes. You look back at her and her thoracic cage is a ragged hole, shreds of cloth and skin and muscle flapping loosely with each unsteady breath she takes. There’s surprisingly little blood on the front of her shirt - a tyrian trail down between the remnants of her breasts - but her back has to be a mess, and her hair is clotted and tangled with blood and shards of bone. “Oh god,” you whisper, letting the wand fall from suddenly nerveless fingers. “You’re real.”
Feferi nods, opening her blank white eyes. “Hello, Eridan,” she says quietly.
==> Eridan: Handle it.
Just as quickly as the earlier shift, you’re back in your respiteblock. You're not so sure you can handle this, but you can’t very well not try. You take a shaky breath, reaching out to pull your chair over to you - miss once, twice before you manage to snag the armrest. You half-fall into the padded seat, letting it spin, and let your gaze drift over familiar furniture and belongings that once would have been comforting. You hear soft footsteps behind you as Feferi steps carefully down off of your dresser and approaches you; by the time she stands at your side, her wound is gone. She looks whole and healthy again - as perfect as she has every day since you first met her. There’s a lump in your throat, and you swallow hard. “I… wwhat do you wwant, Fef?” you finally manage to ask, intertwining your fingers as well as you can to keep your hands steady. No dice; they keep shaking, and eventually you give up and bury your nails into the well-worn leather of the armrests.
“Can I sit down for a bit?” she asks, not even pretending she’s not dodging the question. Your teeth aren’t suited for grinding, but you give it a fair shot anyway at her proximity. She’s close enough that you can smell the sea on her skin and hair, even though it’s been… you don’t even remember how long since any of you have been within a hundred million miles of a sea of any kind. She’s never worn perfume, as far as you know, but she’s never had to; the sweet seabreeze scent of her has always been enough for you. You stand up and take a few steps to escape, gesturing at the vacated chair after a few seconds. She sits down carefully, almost perching on the edge, as though it’s your real chair and not some fake produced out of sheer nothingness emptier than the void of space by her imaginary friends and she’s afraid to impose. Cute. “So… how have you been?”
“Wwhat, really? Really, Fef?” The venom in your voice visibly stings her, and you feel a savage ugly thrill of satisfaction at it. “That’s the best you can do? After -” after I murdered you - “I don’t evven knoww howw many swweeps, the first thing you’re askin’ is howw I’vve been? Like it’s been a wweek or twwo an’ you wwanna catch up?” You shake your head, turning back to her and leaning back against the dresser. She frowns and folds her arms across her breasts, not quite glaring up at you.
“I’m just trying to be civil, Eridan,” she shoots back, her voice several degrees cooler than it had been. “It can be hard for some people to adjust, that’s all. If you don’t want me here, then just say so and I’ll go.” She stands up and heads for the door, her footsteps slipper-soft on your floor.
“Wwait, Fef,” you say immediately, almost leaping back to your feet. “I’m… I’m sorry. Please… please don’t go.” You’ve taken a few steps after her, and your outstretched hand hovers around the level of your waist for a few seconds as you try to figure out what to do with it. Finally you let it fall, but you don’t relax, can’t relax, tension thrumming through your body. She looks back at you for a long moment, then slowly turns and walks back to the chair. Silence reigns.
“Wwhat do you wwant, Fef?” You ask again after a time, almost whispering. Your gaze drops from her to the floor, and you hug yourself around the stomach as a phantom pain settles in across the silvery bite of Kanaya’s chainsaw. “I don’t… you don’t just wwanna talk about howw I’m settlin’ in to the rest a my fuckin’ eternity. I don’t believve that for a second.” You shift on your makeshift seat, burying your face a bit further into your scarf. She gave it to you years ago, and you’ve washed it so many times since then, but you still sometimes smell the sea breeze in its weave. “An’ I think wwe ran out a things to say a long time ago. So wwhat do you really wwant?”
“Well, first I want you to look at me,” she replies, rolling the chair a bit closer. She reaches out to touch your elbow, the lightest brushing of grey fingertips against black cloth, and you flinch away. She doesn’t pursue it, leaning back to give you a bit more space. “I think… I just feel like we really need to talk. About a lot of things.” What does she want you to say to that? You opt to say nothing, and after a few seconds she continues. “Eridan, please. Will you at least look at me?” For a long moment, you don’t want to give her the satisfaction, but something makes you lift your eyes from the floorboards and meet her blank white eyes. She smiles sadly, and you feel color come to your cheeks.
“There, that’s better,” she says, settling into a more comfortable position in the chair. She rolls a bit closer, but doesn’t try to touch you, which is fine with you. No more “platonic palecuddles,” now or ever again. “Now, let’s talk. How have you been?”
“Howw do you think, Fef?” you ask, in a tone of voice you want to think of as anything other than bitter. “I got sawwed in half an’ then I got dumped in here, an’ that’s the fuckin’ sum total a interestin’ parts.” You sometimes forget what’s real and what isn’t as you dream, getting more and more caught up in the memories the bubble feeds you, an endless stream on repeat of the worst things you’ve ever done. You’ve watched her die hundreds of times, and every time it feels like the first. “Pretty borin’ otherwwise. I don’t evven knoww howw long I’vve been here.” What is there to keep track with? The moons are fakes, and your husktop clock is fake too. Even marks on the wall will disappear with the next memory.
“About a year - half a sweep,” she answers, offering the information like a gift. “Or at least, that’s what it’s been for me. I don’t really understand how time works here… they’ve tried to explain, but it just makes my head hurt.” She shrugs, looking apologetic, like this is something you actually care about. Maybe she really does think that, but the funny thing about not caring is that you don’t really want to spare the effort to correct her, either, and so you say nothing. She looks a little uneasy, but forges on ahead anyway.
“So… have you heard from any of the others?” she asks, trying and failing to smooth over the clunky change of subject. “Sometimes the horrorterrors let me know when someone from our timeline’s nearby, and I go and say hi, but I guess you can’t really do that… maybe your bubble’s crossed with theirs?” She looks like she really hopes that’s the case, folding her hands together in her lap and sitting forward a bit.
You shake your head. “No one.” This is true, and it only hurts a little to admit. “No one at all. You’re the first.” It makes sense; no one ever bothered to seek you out when there wasn’t an empty void filled with monstrosities older than the concept of time between you, and you can’t think of a single reason why that would change now that there is. “Wwhich is cool, I guess. Not like I havve much of anythin’ to say to Eq or Nep or Tavv.” To be honest, meeting anyone else at this point would just be a hassle. Your memories are enough, and will have to be for the rest of time.
“Oh,” she says quietly, and the gentle expression on her face - the concern in her blank eyes - strikes you in the thoracic cavity like a punch. You look away, trying to regain your balance, and she speaks again. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” you mutter, tugging your scarf up again. She opens her mouth, closes it again, then looks down at her slippered feet, kicking her toes together like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. You both know whose fault it really is.
“Listen, Fef,” you say suddenly, cutting off the silence before it can become even more awkward. “There’s somethin’ that I… kinda wwanna say.” You’ve always been smart enough to read the atmosphere, and it’s clear as day to you that when she leaves this time she’s never coming back. She sits up straighter, looking at you, and you press on. “I just wwant you to knoww I… forgivve you. For runnin’ off wwith the lowwblood, I mean. An’ evven for attackin’ me in the lab. Evverythin’s forgivven. All of it.” You cross your arms, looking back at her to gauge her reaction.
She’s drawn herself up as far as she can, frowning. “Glub,” she says, a bit sharply, before pausing, sighing, and letting herself slump back down. “I wasn’t going to mention Sollux at all, Eridan,” she says, looking down at her feet. “I knew it’d just make you angry, and I don’t want you to be angry with me anymore.”
“Well, I think I’vve got some fuckin’ reasons to be angry,” you snort. “First off-”
“This has nothing to do with him,” she insists, cutting you off. You talk over her.
“It’s got evverythin’ to do wwith that lowwblood piece a filth,” you snap. “You knoww wwhen things started goin’ wwrong? Wwhen you met that fuckin’ genetic flotsam, that’s wwhen. I kneww he wwas bad news from the first time-”
“Eridan, stop,” she warns you, moving to stand up, but oh, you’ve been waiting far too long to get this all off your nub, and you stand up too. You have a few inches on her, but she stares unflinchingly up at you, her brow furrowed. “This isn’t what I wanted to talk about. If you’ll just listen-”
You raise your voice to drown her out, pacing a few steps away, your boots striking the floor like gunshots. “-an’ wwhen wwe got into the Medium, you wwere just fuckin’ ovverjoyed, wweren’t you? I didn’t notice you droppin’ evverythin’ to come help me wwith the fuckin’ angels after my head, but the instant poor fuckin’ Sol doesn’t make it in he’s all you fuckin’ talk about-”
“He died, Eridan,” she shouts, losing her cool. You grin - well, at the very least you bare your teeth. Finally. “That had nothing to do with how I feel about him, it was because he was dead! And he died saving my life! Do you know what that felt like? No you don’t! Because you’ve never listened to me, and all you do and all you’ve ever done is glub about your own stupid problems, and it just makes me so glubbing tired-”
“Hoofbeastshit,” you snarl, taking a step toward her. “You-”
The slap is delivered with the full force of her highblood strength, and it knocks you straight to your hands and knees. Your glasses go skittering off across the floor, fetching up against the wall, and you put a hand to your stinging cheek. The only sound is Feferi’s breathing, harsh and fast, and the silence stretches for an eternity.
“Sorry,” you whisper. Your rage has cooled in an instant, curdling into a dark and cold lump of regret and self-hatred that sits heavily in your stomach. You pull yourself up with the dresser, hand still pressed to your cheek, and turn away, staring at the floor.
There’s no answer, and you hear her footsteps heading for the door. So this is how it ends? As partings go, it’s barely better than the last one, and you shut your eyes tightly and will her to just hurry up and go. The perfect fucking end to the pathetic, ugly story of Eridan Ampora. And if her shocked, angry face is the last you ever see of her… well, at least it’s a change from the vaguely surprised expression of a corpse.
“I’m sorry too,” her voice interrupts, and you open your eyes to see her standing there, holding your glasses. She offers them to you wordlessly, and you take them, settling them back on your nose without looking at her. You sit back down on the dresser, and after a few seconds she sits down too, her thigh touching yours. You don’t look at her, but you don’t move either, and after a few moments she speaks again. “…I guess we should talk about this after all, huh.”
“I don’t see wwhat’s left to talk about,” you mumble, lacing your fingers in your lap. “Look, Fef, it wwas… good seein’ you an’ all, but you don’t havve to force yourself to stay. I wwon’t mind if you wwanna go after that.” It is, of course, the only thing left you would mind. But you'll have an eternity to get over it.
“It’s okay,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t.” She doesn’t look at you, but fiddles with the heavy gold bracelet on her wrist. “…So. You… know how I feel about Sollux, right?” She says it hesitantly, like she knows what an obvious question it is but doesn't have any idea where else to begin.
You feel your nails bite into your knee through the fabric of your pants, your blood starting to roil again at the mention of his name, but you take a breath and manage to keep it under control. “Yeah. I got a feelin’ or twwo, yeah.”
“I don’t know what it is about him,” she says quietly. “He’s such a grump, but somehow it feels like… he understands me, even when he doesn’t sound like he’s listening. Or maybe… like he’s pretending not to care, but I know he really does. He cares a lot. And he’s so hard on himself all the time, like he doesn’t think he’s good enough for me…”
“I don’t think he is,” you mutter. She looks at you, tense, ready for another outburst, but you just shake your head, tired. “I don’t think anyone is, Fef. You’re just… you’re pretty an’ kind an’ knowwin’ you wwas the best fuckin’ thing that evver happened to me an’ I wwas too stupid to just shut my glub hole an’ say it before evverythin’ wwent to hell, an’ wwhen I did… wwell.” You take a deep breath. “I knoww I’m not good enough for you either, but it still hurt, seein’ you smile at him. Howw wwas I supposed to wwatch that?” you ask quietly. “Did you evver evven think a how that made me feel?” She’s looking steadily at you, not blinking, and her expression is almost impossible to read. You take a deep breath and plunge ahead; you’ve already ruined things, so you might as well say everything you have to say. “I don’t… I knoww I wwas kinda a shitty moirail. I didn’t listen to you, an’ it wwas alwways you supportin’ me all the time, an’ all my stupid fishy face evver did wwas wwhine an’ glub.” You attempt a small laugh, but your throat is having none of it, and instead it sounds like a choked-back sob. Which may or may not be more appropriate. “An’ I wwoulda made an evven shittier matesprit. So maybe it’s better that you’re wwith Sol noww. At least…” Oh god, here come the tears. “At least he makes you happy…” Yup. The world has turned purple and blurry, and you squeeze your eyes shut painfully tightly. “God, I’m so sorry, Fef…”
“Oh, Eridan,” she says softly, almost whispering. Her fingers brush the back of your hand, and you find your hand sandwiched between her own. “Do you remember that night I came ashore?” she asks, stroking the back of your hand with her thumb. It’s distracting and relaxing and you don’t want to be relaxed and you immediately try to pull away, but her grip is suddenly like steel so you stay where you are. As for the question… of course you remember. There’s only one night she could be referring to, and your cheeks flush yet again as she keeps talking. “We were only three sweeps old, and I was visiting you for the first time. I’d never been on land before and I didn’t have any shoes…”
“You cut your foot on a rock an’ couldn’t stand back up,” you say thickly, the image clear before your eyes. A little girl sitting in the surf, wailing as she clutches at her foot, tyrian purple swirling in the foam. “I wwas gonna say I told you so, but…”
“But you didn’t,” Feferi replies. Her eyes are closed, and it’s obvious that she’s seeing the same thing you are. “You picked me up on your back and carried me all the way back to your hive, and I was screaming about how I was going to die and wiggling around the whole way. And then when we arrived, you bandaged me up, and you looked so serious the entire time, like you wanted to lecture me…” She smiles and gives a little giggle. “Actually, didn’t you? I think you might have.” She stands up, still holding your hand. “That’s one of my most precious memories, you know. You were so careful and gentle with me, and I felt safe with you. I couldn’t think of you for days afterward without blushing.” She’s blushing a little bit now, you can’t help but notice, but your entire body feels hazy and numb as you stare up at her.
“Life hasn’t been kind to you, has it, Eridan?” she asks quietly. “I guess it hasn’t really been to any of us, but I think you were always the most fragile of us all… and it broke you down and it made you hateful and selfish and bitter, and I helped.” She looks down, staring at your hand in hers. “And then I couldn’t put you back together. So I stopped trying. Maybe you were a bad moirail, I guess... but so was I, and I’m so sorry for that.” She gives a small laugh. “I guess maybe we really never were meant to be moirails in the first place?” You close your eyes against the sting, looking down, and she pulls on your hand. “Eridan! Maybe we weren’t meant to be moirails, but you were never a bad friend to me. I think you might even have been my best frond.”
The fish pun shocks you out of your reverie, and you stand up, successfully pulling away this time. Feferi looks up at you, a bit surprised, and you turn away, unable to meet her gaze. “Fef, I wwas gonna sell evveryone to Jack. I bleww up Kan’s matriorb. I… I fuckin’ murdered you,” you whisper, feeling more tears come. “Howw can I evver evven think of askin’ for forgivveness for that? Howw can you say I wwasn’t a bad friend?”
“I don’t know,” she replies truthfully, taking a step closer. “But I’m going to. And you don’t need to worry about asking for my forgiveness.” She smiles, and watery purple slips down her cheeks. “You already have it.”
“Oh god, Fef…” It’s too much. Your thoracic cavity feels like it’s about to burst, and you fall to your knees, tears blurring your vision too badly to even see her anymore. You cling to her legs, face buried in the soft fabric of her skirt, and bawl. It’s embarrassing and messy and you’re probably staining her clothes and crushing your glasses, but you don’t care. “Oh god, Fef, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” Listen to you, you’re barely even saying words anymore.
“Shh, Eridan, it’s all right,” she says, and her hands are on your shoulders and then your back as she embraces you, kneeling down herself to support your stupid blubbery wriggler self. “It’s all right. Everyone can be together again now, and we don’t have to hurt or be hurt by anyone anymore. I’m sorry too. Shh, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” But she’s crying too, you can tell; there are tears in her voice and also in your shirt from her face in your shoulder. It seems only fair after you probably ruined her skirt. It just feels right to throw your arms around her, and when she lets out a sob, you know she feels the same way. It almost doesn’t come as a surprise when she pulls back just enough to kiss you.
The kiss is awkward and almost painful, the force of her lips jabbing your own back onto your teeth and nearly drawing blood, but your think pan is too occupied with softness and warmth and the taste of the sea to care. You reciprocate after a shocked moment; if this has all just been just another dream, you won’t let it go to waste. But she’s solid and real in your arms, and more tears pour out from under your eyelids as you finally understand, and for once the universe is still and quiet and lets you have this.
“Fef,” you begin when the two of you finally break for air. A small, unhelpful part of your think pan comments that breathing is only a thing because you’re used to it being a thing and that you could conceivably have kept having makeouts for another hour or so, but that’s not useful so you tell it to shut up. Feferi looks at you expectantly, her lips a bit swollen, and her face is flushed purple oh god why is she so adorable. “Fef, I… I-”
==>Sollux: Interrupt.