#bbdb update

[percyinpanties]

Lovely Juliane decided to commission the next chapter of before it gets better the darkness gets bigger. ♥

I am super grateful this allowed me to continue on something of mine, even if I cut the chapter short to fit her budget. c:  If you ever wanna consider commissioning a new chapter of a fic of mine, hmu and I will give you special commission rates due to the reduced input you’ll have on the outcome. ♥

[percyinpanties]

UPDATE - before it gets better the darkness gets bigger CH 02

i should have picked a shorter title. 

anyway, here it is. almost 8k long because i have a death wish. 

read below or on ao3. format here is a bit funny bc I have to write in gdocs. sorry about that. 

warnings in the tags.

Lance rarely ever dreams these days, but this time when the darkness surrounds him, he find his mother’s face looking back at him. It’s been so long since Lance has dreamt of her, or thought of her at all for much longer than a small, painful moment.

 In Lance’s dream, his mother is smiling.

Her lips are moving, too, and while Lance cannot hear her words he wishes that she is reminding him how much he has been loved back when she was still among them.

 When Lance was a little boy, he wanted to grow up to be just like his mother. Being the youngest child in his family, Lance had always been very close to her, especially once his older siblings had all moved out.

His mother was always a loving and kind woman, and she had held their family together for as long as she was alive. Even though she was an omega, it was always her who made the decisions in their house, Anyone who would bother to look close enough would realise that Lance’s mother was the head of their family rather than the alpha she had married.

 Lance was only fourteen when she passed away as the last straw in a series of tragedies.

 They were nothing without her. Her death broke Lance’s father’s heart and it tore their family apart like nothing else had before.

For a long time, it turned Lance bitter. Not knowing or understanding the circumstances and reasons for her passing only made accepting it more difficult and Lance had never handled grief well to begin with.

 In Lance’s dream, his mother is reaching out to him. Lance wonders how she would feel if she’d known he would present as an omega two years after her passing, how she would feel knowing her son carried the same trait that had been her demise.

Lance tries to move forward, to fall into his mother’s arms, but finds that his legs refuse to obey him.

 His mother’s smile falls and her arms drop. She looks sad, rejected, and Lance feels as if someone stabbed a hot knife through his heart.

 It is not an expression he has seen often on her face, which only makes it ache more. It reminds Lance of times he would rather not remember.

  Just after Lance’s thirteenth birthday, the late King’s daughter and her husband ascended the throne. They had a young son, a strong alpha boy who Lance would later get to know as the Prince, and they were a popular couple. Lance remembers his mother being so hopeful when she heard that the Princess would finally be Queen.

 The years leading up to the King’s death had been rough ones. Political quarrels, civil war and a worldwide economic crisis had wrecked their kingdom and its people.

Even though Lance’s family was well off they had felt the impact of it, had suffered through the consequences.

 Many, including Lance’s family, had believed the Princess would be able to turn things around for the better. The next years, however, proved that the people’s trust was wrongly placed.

 In all fairness, the new Queen hadn’t dealt the best cards when she took the throne after her father’s death. The kingdom was still struggling to recover from the crisis of the past years, birth rates were at an all time low while poverty and unemployment were at an all time height.

 The young Queen was determined to change things for the better, pushing through economic and social reforms almost on a daily basis for her first few months in office.

 Initially, it worked.

 Jobs were created, the economy experienced a small boom, trade went up again. The media adored the Queen, as did Lance’s mother. He can’t recall having heard a single bad word thrown her way during the first year of her reign.

 Sadly, it didn’t stay that way for all too long.

 Two months before Lance’s fourteenth birthday, a new kind of suppressants were released as one of many new drugs funded by the government’s healthcare reform. Many of the old drugs were not supported by insurance any longer, but the royal pharmaceutical corporate group had allegedly been working hard on replacements.

 Lance’s mother, his oldest sister and one of his brothers were only a few of the millions of omegas that switched to the new drug when it came out. None of them would have believed that it would be their downfall.

 There were no side effects at first. No headaches or mood swings, no weight gain or uncalled-for pains that the traditional medicine sometimes came along with. Those who previously reacted sensitive to suppression chemicals got along much better with the new option. The government funded the drug, making it cheaper and easier available to the public and of course, people soon believed that it was the best option available.

 That was when things started to go wrong.

 The day of Lance’s fourteenth birthday, his oldest sister went into a sudden, violent heat.

There were only a few occasion then that brought their entire family together and they had been celebrating, sharing food and stories that afternoon when Lance’s sister broke into a fever.

 It was a sight Lance hasn’t forgotten since. Watching his sister wrecked by cramps and seizures, shivering and whimpering and crying had been one of the scariest experiences in Lance’s life.

Her wife carried Lance’s sister upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms while Lance’s mother ushered their other guests to leave. Lance’s sister hadn’t gone into heat since she’s had her twins five years before. Her body didn’t remember how to cope with the sudden onslaught.

 No one understood why her suppressants would so suddenly fail. Her wife had been sure that she’d taken every pill on time, Lance’s sister didn’t drink and wasn’t on any other mediaction.

Up to that day, she had been in perfect health.

 Lance can see her now, in his strange memory-laced dream. She is passed out on the bed with an unnaturally pale face and dried tears on her cheeks. His mother sits by her side, runs her fingertips over her forehead.

She is not crying, not yet, but Lance can tell how close she is to breaking. He remembers being able to smell his mother’s fear.

 Lance and his parents were worried sick for the next month that came. His sister’s wife took her home the next morning, and then called them almost daily to keep them updated. At first, it looked like Lance’s sister was recovering, improving again.

Lance remembers guiltily that he’d felt hopeful, how sure he was his sister would come out on top.

 The sudden heat had left her weakened though.

 When a new virus began to spread, one that seemed to specifically target omegas, her immune system didn’t stand a chance. No one understood where it had come from, or why only omegas seemed to succumb to its symptoms.

 It was a tragedy.

It was the first time Lance had seen his mother cry.

 He can hear her sobs now, echoing through the dream. He can feel himself crying too, tears hot on his cheek. Lance knows he is out cold, that this is not reality. It does nothing to give him control and nothing to lessen the pain.

 The morning after they learned of his sister’s death, Lance mother went into heat for the first time in fourteen years. No one knew then if it was the stress, the trauma of losing a child, if she’d forgotten her medication through her worry.

 She didn’t survive long enough to contract the virus.

 There was nothing that could compare to the pain Lance felt when his mother closed her eyes forever. He feels an echo of that pain now, but he’s grown almost numb to the feeling. He misses her with every day that passes, but he has stopped seeking someone to blame.

 It seemed like a coincidence, back then, losing both his mother and sister. Until more and more omegas reported their suppressants failing, until more and more omegas were admitted to hospitals all over the kingdom with the same strange virus no medical professional had seen before. Until Lance’s brother fell ill, and until not even the best doctors money would buy could make him last any longer than Lance’s sister had.

  Over the next weeks, the situation escalated. The kingdom was at a tipping point, and a single step in the wrong direction might have set off a chain of reaction that could never be reversed.  

 The virus was mutating. It began to attack betas and alphas, whose immune systems are not subject to their reproductive cycle.

Finally, the government started properly funding research into a cure, much too late for most of the virus’ victims. Too late for Lance’s sister. Too late for Lance’s brother.

 Reports were leaked that accused  government of approving many of the new medications despite them not having been researched to the extend they should have. Worse even, in their rush for any improvement at all, they released drugs with known side-effects and malfunctions.

 Tensions rose, the same people that had loved the Queen so much were now quick to blame her for the lost lives of their loved ones. She disappeared from the public eye and their kingdom’s newly won stability tumbled down like a house of cards.

 Attacks and riots began, ministers and government officials fled the kingdom.

The people were angry, livid even, and they had every right to be.

There was no Queen to diffuse the situation, every day it escalated a little more.

Soon, Lance believed then, there would be civil war. His father had considered taking them away somewhere safer.

 A month of chaos and violence had passed when suddenly the head of the biggest pharmaceutical company came forward publicly.

The news were transmitted live all over the kingdom, and Lance remembers sitting in their living room growing paler with every word.

 The man admitted to having released ineffective suppressants and birth control, purposefully and behind the back of the reigning Queen and King.  He admitted to giving ill advice to the young Queen when the virus surfaced, suggesting to let it run its course rather than take immediate action to contain it.

The man had tears in his eyes as he spoke, Lance can’t recall now if he believed they were genuine. Apparently, this man had lost his own family to the virus, to his own bad decisions, and ridden with guilt he turned himself over to authorities and the public.

 There was no word from the Queen, still, but over the next days several advisors, ministers and high ranking officials were arrested and publicly put on trial. Only then did Lance and his family finally get an explanation for what had happened to Lance’s mother, his sister and brother.

 It was a scandal like none their country had seen before.

 The plan, allegedly, had been to forcefully increase birth rates. Not enough children were born, their economic boom wouldn’t last but soon collapse if there wasn’t a new generation to carry it.

At the time of crisis, manipulating the reproductive cycles of those who carried the kingdom’s children seemed like the best option.

None of those involved had realised how violent a heat would be after years on suppressants, and they had not listened to the doctors that warned them about such side effects. More so, no one could have expected the virus.

What had been simple on paper had turned so much more complex in reality and had spiraled out of their control before they had realised what had gone wrong to begin with.

 The day their verdict was passed was the first time the Queen showed her face in weeks.

Their kingdom was torn and people were grieving, and if there had ever been a time they needed a strong monarch, it was then.

 Lance can see her in his dream now, which strikes him as strange. He had watched the transmission with his father, sitting alone in their estate.

 The Queen had held onto the podest she stood behind, her features uncharacteristically pale. There was sorrow in her eyes, and her voice wavered with unmistakable pain when she spoke.

 She has the same tone in Lance’s dream, but her features begin mixing with that of Lance’s mother. Lance feels conflicted, he knows those are just his memories blurring together, but even so he doesn’t understand why he is recalling the worst years of his life now.

 Hands on the podest, the Queen spoke slowly, carefully picking her words.

Two nights before, she announced, she had lost her husband, the King, to the same virus that had taken so many loved ones from her people. She had been deceived by her most trusted advisors, and she loathed herself for her own blindness. There was nothing left to do for her but beg her people’s forgiveness, as they would need to stand together - united and strong - if they wanted to prevail after this terrible tragedy.

 The memory sharpens.

 Behind the Queen, Lance sees her son. He hadn’t known Shiro then, but he recognises him easily now that he relives the moment. For once, the prince is not what catches Lance’s attention however.

 Behind the Queen, he sees the woman.

   Lance gets ripped out of his dreams by a sharp pain on the skin of his thighs. He tries to flinch away but neither his legs nor his arms move very far, held back with a metal clang. Lance's eyes fling open, but for the first moment he can’t see anything against the blinding brightness of the room.

 Lance blinks a few times, forces himself to still so he won’t hurt himself in a panic - even though all he wants is trash and scream.

The room slowly comes into focus as his eyes get used to the light: against all improbable hopes that today had only been a nightmare, Lance finds himself in a room that is definitely not his own.

 He's still in the palace.

They drugged him, tied him down. From the feeling of soft sheets against his sensitive skin, Lance can guess they stripped him too. Humiliation makes his cheeks burn and before he can stop himself this time, he tries to rip his hands free again.

 They turn out to be restrained with soft leather cuffs above Lance’s head. The metal clank must have come from their links catching on the bed frame they are secured to, giving Lance very little hope that he can violently free himself even if he tries. Although the actual restraints around his wrists are made of soft leather, it is too thick to give even slightly as Lance pulls once with all the strength he can summon.

 Despite them opting for leather over more secure metal, undoubtedly to avoid any marks on Lance's skin, they didn't take any security risks.

 “He’s awake, Ma’am.” A voice, deep but surprisingly gentle, comes from Lance’s right.

 Startled, Lance stops tugging at the cuffs. He hadn't thought to look around, to check what or who had woken him and if he was alone.

 When he turns his head, eyes wide like those of a spooked animal, Lance’s eyes land on a young man about his own age, although much larger compared to Lance’s lean build. The guy is holding a thin wooden stick, like the ones usually stuck into popsicles, but the tip is sticky with some blue substance.

 Wax, Lance realises.

They’re waxing his skin.

That must have been the pain that woke him.

 Lance feels the colour drain from his face as he takes in the setup.

There’s a soft mattress under his back and curtains drawn around one side of the bed. He can hear voices distantly, so he knows there must be people right outside the door.

 Most of his skin feels unusually sensitive, especially where it is touching the sheets, which must mean they have been going at this for a while before the pain brought Lance back to consciousness.

He doesn't want to consider what else they might have done while he was out.

 What is going on here?

 “Perfect.” The woman. Her voice makes Lance still. “I was wondering when you’d come back to us, Lance.”

 When he looks up, he finds her standing at the edge of the bed Lance has been deposited on. She is smiling down at him, but there is no sympathy in her expression now. She looks downright cruel, and some part of Lance finds comfort in the fact that at least she is showing her true colours now.

 “You can't do this.” He whispers hoarsely. Every word hurts his throat on the way out, and Lance guesses he must have screamed and fought more than he had thought when they'd tried to put him down.

 In Lance’s head, it sounds like it must be a nightmare, so obscure that it cannot possibly be the truth. He’s being held hostage at the royal palace, to be forced to marry a prince he hadn't spoken to in years, and every grain of common sense wants Lance to reject this reality rather than accept it as what it is: the terrible truth...

 The Shiro Lance knows… the Shiro Lance used to know - he would never have allowed this, Lance refuses to believe that with every ounce of his being.

 Time may change people, and maybe, the prince has changed as well, but this… Lance doesn't want to accept that Shiro would put him through this against his will.

 “Continue.” The woman addresses the man by the bed now, completely ignoring Lance’s words. “We don’t have time to waste before the ceremony and the seamster will be here in less than an hour.”

The man nods slowly, but he doesn’t reply.

 He doesn’t seem too happy with this job, whether that is because of Lance or the situation they have found themselves in, Lance can’t tell. Chances are that Lance is the first omega this guy has seen in years and if he is an alpha… Lance swallows dryly. He tilts his head ever so slightly toward the man and inhales slowly through his nose, praying to every deity that he is being subtle enough.

 Hardly any scent.

A beta, most likely.

 Lance feels himself relax just a little. He has to stop panicking if he wants to stand any chance of escaping this mess, but the possibility of being alone with a strange alpha exposed to an omega for the first time is enough to set Lance off, nevertheless.

If he keeps going like this, Lance doesn’t like his chances from here on out.

 The man sighs, which catches Lance’s attention. He looks vaguely familiar, but there are more important things to consider than whether or not Lance has met this stranger before.

 Lance hisses when hot wax is applied to his skin again. There isn’t much left that Lance feels has been left untouched, and even though it is almost worse to consider what has already happened in the time that he was asleep, Lance finds some sort of comfort in knowing this ordeal won’t last much longer.

 He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can do this, but he needs to think.

 There must be a way out.

 Although… realistically, Lance needs to at least free one of his wrists from the cuffs linked to the bed frame. There is nothing he can do as long as his hands are tied, but Lance also knows he doesn’t have the physical strength to break the restraints.

However, they won’t be able to keep him chained down forever, especially if… if the ceremony is as soon as the woman’s words make it sound.

 The wax is ripped off Lance’s skin once more and this time, a whimper escapes Lance’s lips. His thoughts scatter in the moment of sharp pain, concentrating on only this sole sensation.

Lance’s skin feels almost raw, although he knows that his mind must be exaggerating how bad it really is.

 Lance has always loathed being touched by anyone who wasn’t family. He had believed to be a beta for most of his teens, and after presenting as an omega at sixteen, he was completely unprepared for all the new kinds of attention that came with this. It has left him wary and this treatment now, and the knowledge of how much more his privacy must have been invaded already, is soon becoming too much for Lance to handle.  

 “I’m sorry.”

 Lance hears the whisper, but for a second he believes he’s imagined it.

 “I’m almost done. One more. I’m sorry.”

 Lance opens his eyes slowly to squint at the man next to the bed in disbelief. The image is blurry; Lance hasn’t realised that tears have gathered in his eyes.

 The stranger avoids Lance’s gaze, but his expression is pained nevertheless. He must know Lance is being held in the palace against his will, and he evidently doesn’t enjoy this anymore than Lance does. He may have as little choice regarding his servitude as Lance does in being here… and if he is speaking up now…

 Lance raises his head, lets his eyes scan what little he can see of the room. They seem to be alone. This is his chance!

 “Please.” Lance whispers. It’s desperate, and he already knows it is most likely futile, but Lance cannot not try.

 His voice is hoarse still, and the pain of speaking hasn’t lessened. He wishes he could ask for some water, but even if he believed they’d give him what he asked for, there is some pride left within him that won’t allow him this request.

 “I don’t wanna be here.” Lance adds, and he makes sure that his voice carries all the emotion that threatens to take him over. “Please.”

 There’s no answer. The man clenches his hands to fists, looks away and grits his teeth. His gaze goes beyond the bed, to the side obscured by the curtains.

Lance doubts that this man is here of his own free will only grow stronger at the sight.

 Even so, Lance feels a tear slip down his cheek.

As much as he knew it wouldn’t work, being proven right still hurts.

 Another tear follows, then even more. He feels pathetic for crying, but once the first drop has escaped it's near impossible to reign them in again.

 And what can he do now, anyway?

 Without outside help, Lance knows he doesn’t stand a chance. Deep down, he’s known that from the second the needle pierced his skin before, but the realisation sinks in a little more with every second that ticks by. It feels like an ever growing stone in the pit of Lance’s stomach.

 If by some miracle, he manages to free himself of his cuffs, he would still have to escape this place. Lance doesn’t know the palace, if he’s even within the actual royal residence still. He wouldn’t know where to go or where to turn, he has no clothing on his back and his smell would be a dead giveaway even if he tried to hide or blend in.

 He is most likely the only omega in the entire building. There is nowhere for him to go without risking discovery. And if he makes it out of the front door… the palace outside of town and getting to the suburbs alone would be extremely difficult - not to mention that Lance isn’t entirely sure a barely dressed omega would meet a better fate there than what Lance is experiencing now.

 They planned this, so much is clear. There was never a choice, the second Lance accepted the invitation, maybe even before that, they had decided his future.

They won’t be reckless now and leave him any openings, not if they’ve gone to such lengths already to get and keep him here.

 Lance’s hands clench into fists and he screws his eyes shut tightly in an attempt to stop the tears.

 No. He scolds himself. No. Stop this.

 Lance cannot afford to care about how hopeless it seems now. There is always a way out, there has always been before. And He will find it. He will not go down without a fight.

  The last strip of wax comes off Lance’s skin and even though it stings just as bad as before, no noise leaves his lips this time. A moment later, those large hands are back on his thighs, spreading some sort of lotion or oil - the substance soothes the pain and leaves Lance’s skin soft and shiny, but even so Lance has to grit his teeth in order to not flinch away from the touch.

 Lance only relaxes minimally when the hands are gone and he hears the man take a step back away from the bed. He opens his eyes again slowly, and luckily this time they are void of fresh tears.

  Lance is regaining some of his composure, although he struggles to keep it that way. In his chest, his heart is still beating fast enough to hurt.

He needs to find a way out. He can do this. He has no other choice.

 “Get him up on his feet.” Lance hears the woman again, and pales.

 He looks around, but she is obscured by the curtains drawn around the bed. He hadn’t realised she was still here, but her hovering presence just out of sight might explain the man rejecting Lance’s pleas before… Of course she wouldn’t leave to of her captives alone to plot together.

 Even so, Lance cannot help but feel a surge of hope. His first tactic might have been a fail, but if they want him up on his feet, they need to undo his cuffs. This is as much of an opening as he will get, Lance knows that.

  He lies obediently still when the man comes back to the bed and unfastens Lance's ankle cuffs from the bed. His thoughts are racing, and he hopes that the rush of adrenaline accompanying them doesn't show on the outside as well. His core is tense, wound up too tight in preparation of what comes next.

 A hand rests on his ankle when the cuffs come free, as if the man is expecting Lance to try and free himself or struggle as much as he had when Lance has woken earlier. Instead though, Lance only turns his head to the side and casts his gaze down sadly, miming as if he has given up already.

 Another second passes by, then the hand moves higher, leaving Lance's skin entirely until it joins the other hand already on Lance’s wrists.

 This is the moment. He has to make this count, Lance knows he'll likely not get another chance like this one.

 Lance waits until he hears the cuffs release.

 He only has a second. Before he can think better of it, he draws up his legs and pulls his arms forward hard. The man stumbles toward the bed but Lance uses this to kick him in the chest with as much strength as he can muster.

 Lance would feel bad for the guy, given he doesn't seem like a volunteer here either, but he has no time for sympathy now. The man goes down with a pained shout and Lance  rolls to the other side of the bed.

With too much momentum to stop himself, Lance falls through the drawn curtains on the other side onto the floor in front of the bed.

 Clumsy after not having moved in so long, and maybe from some remnants of tranquilizers in his blood, Lance struggles to get back to his feet as quickly as he'd like. He can’t see the woman yet and a look around the room tells him all he needs to know: there is a door up ahead and while he has no idea where it leads, it's his best shot right now.

 Lance scrambles forward, afraid that he's already lost too much time. He's sure he's heard the man grown on the other side of the bed, maybe already back on his feet as well. There's not another second to waste.

 Lance's fingers touch the doorknob when suddenly a cold hand wraps around his shoulder. He's ripped backward, then hurled into a whole other direction until his back violently connects with a wall.

Lance gasps in pain and blinks, disoriented but trying to see who had caught him so close to having gotten free

.

The woman stands in front of him, eyes cold, mouth drawn into a sneer and one of her arms across Lance’s chest.  

 “Why do you insist on being so difficult.” She snarls. It is not a question.

 Her free hand comes up and wraps wrapped around Lance’s throat, her sharp nails dig into his skin. It is a threat, Lance knows that, although he has his doubts she’ll actually hurt him.

 “I’ve given you so many chances to make this easier. You have left me no choice.”

 The hand drops from his neck, then her arm leaves Lance’s chest. At first, Lance believes she’ll just drug him again.  

Instead however, she raises her hand and slaps him hard across the cheek.  It stings so badly that it makes Lance's eyes water and head swim. He winces in pain even though he hates to give her the satisfaction.

 “We all have to do our part. You will marry the prince whether you like it or not, boy.” She looks at him with distaste and Lance stares back at her defiantly.

 It all she needs to justify another slap, this time backhanding Lance across the other side of his face. Pain blooms all over his face and his lip splits under the force of her hand. Lance can taste the blood on his tongue, his vision is swimming with large black dots.

When he raises his arms in a weak attempt to protect his face, she punches him in the stomach. Pain shoots through Lance, he doubles over as his knees give out below him and he falls to the floor.

 He can smell her now, the pheromones of an angry alpha, and for the first time, Lance is actually scared of her.

Memories of school bullies who just loved pushing around the little omega come flashing through his mind and he curls in on himself, a new sob tearing out of his chest before Lance has even realised that he is crying again.

 “The more you struggle, the worse I will make this for you.” The woman warns him in a low tone. This time, Lance takes her threat seriously. He doesn’t look up, only curls in further on himself and hopes she won’t inflict even more, worse pain on him.

  She watches Lance for another moment, then pushes away from him and the wall. Lance is left shaking on the floor, but unrestrained and not held back, the door right in his reach. His head raises and his gaze flits over to the doorknob. Lance wonders how stupid it would be to risk it again now, if he’d even make it the few feet to the door while he is shaking like a leaf in the wind.

 Before Lance can make up his mind, the woman catches his gaze and klicks her tongue.

 “You can try all you might, boy. This door won’t open for you.” She informs him. A cruel little smile spreads on her features as she regards Lance a second longer, then she nods toward the door. “Go on. Try if you don’t believe me.”

 This time, no one stops him on his way to the door and no one stops him when his fingers wrap around the doorknob. His knees are scraped from falling and then crawling over the floor, and his arms tremble - when he tries to pull himself up, he only sends a new spike of pain through his body.

He doesn’t need to be on his feet for this, Lance tries to tell himself, so he reaches up again and twists the doorknob from where he is kneeling on the floor.

Nothing happens.

Lance tugs, and the door stays in place. He pushes his second hand against the wall, doesn’t care that the woman is watching when he rips at the handle now.  

 It doesn’t budge.  Angry tears stream down Lance’s cheeks, a sob threatening to break free, but even so he pushes and pulls at the door like a madman.

 “Please.” He whispers without realising he’s said the word aloud. “Pleasepleaseplease. God, fuck- please. dammit.”

 The door doesn’t move even a fraction of an inch. Of course not. Of course they would have locked the door. Why is Lance so naive and stupid and why would he believe they’d even let him get to the door if it was a legitimate way out?

 Lance feels his eyes burn with fresh tears and anger light up his chest. After what has happened in the last twentyfour hours, he cannot believe what a fool he is, kneeling sobbing and bleeding in his underwear in front of a door that will never open for him. He must look even more pathetic than he feels.

 Lance squeezes his eyes shut, drops his forehead against the wooden door and lets his tears run freely. He is sobbing quietly for several minutes before anyone says anything.

“When you’re done with this pitiful display,” The woman speaks up. She is approaching again but Lance hardly finds the strength to shrink away from her.

“The seamster is almost here. We need to make you presentable for the ceremony.”

 Her words are salt in Lance's open wounds. He doesn’t need to be reminded of why he is being kept here or that, while he is their only option, he is a pitiful excuse for a bride.

Lance is trembling all over again, struggling to stop new sobs from breaking out.

 “Get up.” She commands, but Lance doesn’t answer, doesn’t move, doesn’t even look at the woman as she stops behind him.

 She is getting to him and Lance doesn't like that in the slightest. The more Lance struggles, the more difficult this will become for him, the more will she hurt him and the closer will he be monitored.  If he played along, maybe he can at least spare himself some pain until a new opportunity for escape presents itself.

If he goes about this the right way, they might be more lenient with him in the future. Playing the docile omega they want him to be shouldn’t be so hard, and if they believe they have broken him...

 Lance doesn’t get as far as making a decision. The woman grabs a fistful of his hair and starts pulling. Lance cries out at the pain, scrambles to move along as she drags him up to his feet.

 “I don’t ask twice.” She hisses when Lance is standing, making himself small as she towers over him. “Over there, get yourself cleaned up.”

 Reluctantly, Lance steps away from the door. He can feel a bruise forming on his cheek and his knees hurt with every step he takes away from the door. His gaze is fixed to the floor, his posture sagged and he doesn't have to pretend much to look like all fight has left him.

 “You won’t get away with this.” Lance protests weakly even as he walks over to where the man that attended him earlier is waiting. Some of the resentment he feels still rings through, but it’s deliberate.

His change has to be gradual, or the woman will be suspicious. Lance has underestimated what he is up against twice now and he won’t make the same mistake again.

 The woman laughs humourlessly and watches as Lance limps over to the other side of the room. There is a small vanity standing against the wall on the other side of the bad where the man is waiting.

Lance pales and hesitates when he remembers how he kicked the stranger. In contrast to Lance’s expectations though, the man doesn’t seem to hold Lance’s outburst against him. When he reaches for Lance’s wrists, his grip is a little firmer but still as gentle as any other touch had been before. Maybe he understand that  an animal which is caged will lash out even against the hand that feeds it.

 Lance is being led to the small table. There is a shallow bowl with water and a washcloth, which the man now takes to clean the blood from Lance’s split lip off of his skin. He checks Lance’s knees and palms too, which are luckily only a little scraped.

 “It’ll be fine within the week if he doesn’t open the wound again.” The man tells the woman, who has taken a seat on a chaise by the foot of the bed. That is where she must have been hidden before too, Lance realises, as it would be convered from the bed and either sides of it.

 Once the wounds are cared for, the stranger leads Lance to a small pedestal in front of three large mirrors that take up an entire corner of the room. Next to the space is a little working table with several long sheets of white fabrics draped over. They vary in opacity and quality and some are intricate lace - there is no doubt in Lance’s mind what they are for.

 He’s seen a room like this before when his oldest sister took him shopping for a dress before her wedding. The memory is painful, even more so when Lance considers what she would think if she could see him now… He pushes it away, and steps onto the pedestal without complaint when he is being nudged toward it.

 Struggling hasn’t gotten him anywhere and he doesn’t want to be hit again.

 Behind Lance, a door opens. He has to grit his teeth so he won’t do any stupidly impulsive, despite knowing that even if he tries to make another run for it, the door will be locked long before he gets anywhere near it and he’ll likely just get another beating.

There’s quiet whispers, then someone claps their hands and Lance flinches before he can stop himself.

 “So, here we have the little omega, eh?” A voice asks behind him.

 In the mirrors, Lance can see a small, very old man looking up at him. His face is so wrinkly he hardly even looks like a human anymore, and his sparse hair is discoloured and greasy.

Despite the strange appearance, Lance has a feeling that there is more to this man than meets the eye.

 He nods slowly, not sure what else to do but knowing that the old man expects an answer.

 “Ah, very well. I just finished a truly beautiful suit for your groom.” He walks around Lance as he speaks with surprising agility, taking in every inch of Lance’s skin with his eyes. “I already know what we’re gonna do with you. All that nice skin, would be a shame to cover it all up, eh? Gotta do something about those scrapes though, what a shame.”

 This time, Lance doubts it was a question as much as a statement so he just stays silent. He’s grateful those bony hands have stayed away from ‘all that nice skin’ so far and he’d rather not invite the man to touch by agreeing with his musing.

 In a flurry, the man produces a sketchbook from somewhere within the ridiculous coat he is wearing. In a different life, Lance might have found him amusing or even liked the seamster.

The sketchbook is thrown onto the working table and opened to an empty page, then Lance watches as he produces a piece of coal out of one of the many pockets in the coat and starts sketching out Lance’s silhouette on the paper from a few angles.

 “My tape.” The man commands then and holds out his hands. One of the people that had followed him in jumps into action and hurries over. As if handing over an ancient artifact, the young woman places a small roll into the old man’s open palm with utmost care. He makes a pleased hum in reply, but does not offer his thanks before he turns back to Lance.

 “Hold still, little one. We’ll be done here in no time.”

  The measuring process is humiliating to say the least. Grubby little hands touch Lance in all sorts of places that he would rather stay untouched by creepy old seamsters. Lines of coal are drawn directly on his skin, whether on accident or purpose Lance isn’t entirely sure. Every now and again, the man lets off him to scribble something into his sketchbook, but it’s never long until he’s back on Lance.

 Lance would regret playing along with this if he wasn’t scared of punishment if he did anything to rebel. And anyway, he knows there isn’t a way around this now. If he struggles, they will simply tie him or sedate him, making the process take even longer than it does now.

 Finally, the band wraps high around Lance’s neck for the last time, pulled taut like a collar before it’s let go.

 “Perfect. You were a very good model.” The old man praises Lance and pats his thigh like one might with a pet. “Now, I need to work. We will have the fitting in the morning.” The old man announces as he finally steps away from Lance.

 He turns to the woman, who has been watching the whole procedure with her cold and calculating glare, an ever constant threat in the corner of the room.

 “Be sure the omega sleeps, that disgraceful split lip is already bad enough, I don’t want any of those ugly dark circles on his face tomorrow, too.” The little man tells her, apparently unafraid of the much taller presence.

 The woman nods, but doesn’t step out of the seamsters way yet.

 “There is one more thing.” She says, slowly. Her eyes leave Lance for the first time in an hour when she leans down to whisper in the old man’s ear.

 Lance cannot make out the words, but the old seamster doesn’t seem overly pleased with the request as he frowns up at the woman as soon as she pulls back again

 “But this -” He starts, then stops when the woman holds up a hand.

 “I’m afraid I must insist. We don’t want the boy spoiling the ceremony now, do we? And this way no one will have to see that disgraceful lip either.” She says with a very pointed look at Lance.

 Maybe she is just waiting to hurt Lance even more, waiting for him to step out of line so she has an excuse to show him who is the alpha in this room. Whatever the case, Lance doesn’t like the way she regards him now any more than before.

  As soon as the seamster leaves, Lance is allowed to step down from the pedestal. His legs ache from the fall and standing so long, and he is almost grateful when he is being guided back to the bed.

 Idly, Lance wonders how different this might have gone had he agreed yesterday.  If he would have been allowed to go home to pack his things, allowed to call his siblings he’s only seen once in the past year and invite them. If they had let him see Shiro, the prince, beforehand and if Lance would have been allowed any say in this process.

 He doubts it, somehow. They have shown him how little they care for his wellbeing and his comfort, that he is just a pawn in the Prince’s ascension to become King. Who knows if they will even keep him here once Shiro’s position is secured.

Some distant part of Lance wonders if he had agreed had Shiro asked himself, if Shiro had come to visit Lance to explain… evidently though, Shiro doesn’t care any more about him that this horrible woman whose care Lance has been put in does.

 “It’s late. We need to get some food in him before putting him down for the night.” Again, the woman is speaking over Lance to the man who has had to handle Lance all day. It sounds as if she is talking about a dog rather than a human.  “Leave the hands free for now, I will be right back.”

 With that, she leaves out of the same door Lance had attempted to escape through earlier.

A large hand wraps around Lance’s upper arm and pulls him the rest of the way toward the bed.

This is the first time they are truly alone, the first time the woman has actually left Lance out of her sight…

If he speaks now, he probably won’t have to face a punishment as severe as the last one...

 “I’m sorry I kicked you.” He whispers as soon as the door closes again. He doesn’t look up to the man, doesn’t have to pretend to feel bad about it to give the impression of a sad, kicked puppy. “I’m just so scared…”

 This part is no lie, Lance doesn’t even have to fake the little shiver that goes through him. There is no answer, not yet, but Lance isn’t going to give in just yet. Not this time.

 “I… I can’t believe they’re getting away with this…” He says and now looks up after all. There are tears gathering in his eyes and Lance pretends to try and blink them away before the first spill over his cheeks. There isn’t much acting involved in his pleas, which Lance hopes makes him all the more convincing. “How does no one care I’m being held against my will?”

 The man’s free hand clenches at his side and he turns his gaze away from Lance, closing his eyes for a second before he turns back to Lance.

He seems to search Lance’s face for a moment, as if he is expecting something more that doesn’t come.

 “After.” He says after a second, gaze not moving from Lance’s eyes for even a seond. “After the wedding. Wait until then… be strong.”

  It is nothing but a small spark of hope, but it is catching the rest of Lance’s being on fire.

After the wedding.