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jokertrap-ran · 3 years ago

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Evan’s 6✩ Inspiration: Umbrae Secrets [繁荫秘语] Date Translation (END 2 + 3 + 4: Call Out)

“This is such a remote area. Were I to do anything, it would be nothing more than a piece of cake.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Evan’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 6✩ Inspiration has 8 Endings!! *Reblogs and likes appreciated! *Evan’s tag will be #For Night, For Revolution *T/N: This card takes me out so quick I needed time to recover. Hunter and prey... MC triggered the Hunter...

After pondering for a while, I finally decided to…

✥ Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

⊹ Ask Evan for his opinion ⊹

MC: Any bright ideas, Evan?

Evan: I'm thinking that maybe we can find a place to set up camp early…

Evan: Because you seem very eager to camp out.

MC: You got me. Let's go with that then!

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan was very experienced when it came to selecting a suitable campsite.

Eventually, we managed to find a fitting flat and cosy patch of grass that was both leeward and shaded, with a source of water nearby.

By the time we finished setting up the tent, the sky had already gradually darkened. The temperature of the forest quietly dropped as the occluding darkness surrounded us. But I had Evan with me, so there was no need to fear.

We lit the camp stove and roasted some food. The flickering firelight became the most dazzling thing in the forest, casting dancing shadows and lights all around. There was a certain romance to it.

For a moment, all I could hear was the crackling of fire and the soft chips and buzz of the insects nearby. It felt as if even time had come to a standstill.

❖☆———————————★❖

I inadvertently raised my head. The night sky above was adorned with stars, like fine scattered gemstones sewn onto an expanse of black velvet. Each and every one of them was equally lustrous, converging into a glimmering band of light and extending into the distance.

I watched the sky in a trance while lying on the grass. Evan sat quietly beside me

After a while, I tugged on his sleeve.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Look, the light of the stars only becomes much more apparent once all the lights have been extinguished.

MC: The grass smells good too, so why don’t you try lying down too?

He looked down at me with a smile and contemplated the idea. He finally agreed after a moment of hesitation.

Evan: Alright.

❖☆———————————★❖

He moved closer and laid down beside me. Now, another rhythm sounded in my ears: his gentle and steady breathing.

Evan: It is very beautiful.

MC: I feel like it's been a long time since I last saw a starry sky like this.

MC: No wonder those philosophers always liked looking up at the stars when they think. Now I understand why they would.

MC: The sight of an area this vast can make people forget all trivialities and let their thoughts wander further to the past and even the future.

Evan: So where has your mind flown off to now?

MC: Me? I’m thinking that since the forest is so beautiful, maybe I’ll go live in the forest next time, aha.

Then, a curious thought popped into my head.

MC: Right, Evan. Have you ever thought about where you’d like to live after having fulfilled all your goals?

❖☆———————————★❖

I waited for a long time, but Evan never replied.

Did he fall asleep?

I decided to gently call out to him…

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E2: If you fail to call him ⊹

I’d called out to him multiple times in a row before he finally turned his head, looking slightly out of it.

Evan: Are you calling me? Sorry, I spaced out.

MC: Oh, no worries.

Evan smiled at me but didn’t say anything more.

Some people are made of mysteries. Perhaps this was simply a question he didn’t wish to answer now.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E3: If you call him EVAN (陆沉) ⊹

Evan instantly snapped back to attention upon hearing me call out to him. He smiled apologetically.

Evan: Sorry. Your question's a little hard to answer. I lost track of myself thinking it through.

MC: Huh? Have you never imagined such things?

Evan: Hmm. That might be because the matters I always have on hand are more important, so I tend to focus all my attention on them.

MC: Right… I've been there and done that too.

MC: Back when I was schooling, I often found studying to be very dry and stressful.

MC: But, whenever I found myself unable to bear it anymore, I would fantasize about Summer Vacation and draw new motivation from it.

MC: Whenever I felt down or life got hard, I’d always dream about how much better life would be after I achieved my goals.

MC: Maybe you could think about it this way too?

Evan: After fulfilling my goal?

Evan: After that… I think nothing matters after that anymore.

His last sentence was so soft that it sounded as if he was mumbling to himself, and I wasn’t too sure if I’d actually heard him.

I turned to him in question, but he never answered, keeping so silent that it was almost as if he was one with the very ground.

I was starting to feel a little inexplicably worried when he then opened his mouth, as if the prior silence had never existed.

Evan: How about you tell me about it first? What’s your ideal life like? Maybe it’ll nudge me in the right direction.

MC: Hmm… Sometimes, I like lively Cities.

MC: But other times, I like someplace quiet; somewhere with mountains and water… I think that’s a pretty good place to live too...

MC: But there's no wifi there and I can’t eat my favourite ice cream… It’s a real pickle.

Evan: Perhaps what you like is change itself.

MC: Yeah… But some things will never change!

MC: Like, how I don't want to be too far from everyone.

MC: Without the people to share interesting things and breathtaking sceneries with, it'll certainly take the fun out of things.

His low chuckle sounded near my ear, close at hand.

Evan: I now know where I'd like to live next time.

MC: Where?

Evan: Somewhere not too far away from you. Would you welcome that?

MC: Of course I do. But, aren't you already here by me?

He turned his head over, watching me with a serious look as the light flickered at the bottom of his eyes.

My arm moved, inadvertently brushing against his cool skin, but also not shying away from it. He flipped his palm and encased my fingers within them.

Evan: You are correct.

Evan: To me, right now, life is perfectly fine as it is.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E4: If you call him HUBBY (老公) ⊹

Evan shot me a slightly surprised look. Suddenly, the realization of what I'd just done washed over me.

Then, he shifted closer to me; so close that I didn't even dare turn my head.

Evan: Are you trying to hint at something by suddenly addressing me in this manner?

Evan: This is such a remote area. Were I to do anything, it would be nothing more than a piece of cake.

I inwardly froze. Evan was different from usual today… His warm breath brushed past my ear, inciting a continuous yet faint ticklish sensation.

MC: Hahaha… You wouldn't...

Evan: And why are you so sure that I wouldn't?

MC: You're always mindful and courteous. You aren't… that sort of person.

Evan: "That sort of person"? What sort of person?

He lifted his head in interest, looking down at me in a condescending manner. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't even get a sentence out right as the temperature of my cheeks rapidly shot up.

MC: That… That sort… Evan, stop making fun of me like that…

He narrowed his eyes into a smile, suddenly flipping himself over and balancing himself above me!

Rationally speaking, I knew deep down just what sort of person he was, but my body still ran on instinct: It sensed danger.

His broad form, usually reassuring, looked immeasurably intimidating from this angle. I couldn't help but bite my lip as my heart sped off the charts.

MC: Evan, what are you… doing…?

Evan: I'm thinking about your question.

Evan: You asked me what sort of place I'd like to live at, correct?

MC: Then… what does this have anything to do with that?

Evan: I feel like your eyes might hold the answer I seek.

MC: That's a lie and you know it…

My voice grew softer and softer because Evan was slowly lowering himself down.

Watching those dark red eyes of his that hid a glimpse of a smirk in its depths gradually draw closer, I panicked, stiffening up as my mind went completely blank...

I frantically swiped his glasses from the bridge of his nose, turning over to keep them away from him.

MC: Any more, and no glasses for you!

Evan paused, a little stunned at the sudden loss of his glasses. He then moved away with a smile, lying back down on the grass.

Evan: Did I scare you? I apologize. I just wanted to poke fun at you.

Evan: Sometimes you’ll bite off more than you can handle when you think someone too simple.

I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief before angrily puffing out my cheek.

MC: Okay, okay, you’re not simple! Even more so to keep your glasses away from you!

Evan: Then I’d better stick close to you and let you lead me around. Will that be alright?

Evan: Hm? (Y/n).

I turned my back on him and felt him gently place a hand on my shoulder. The heat swiftly passed through the thin fabric of my clothes, making me unwittingly shudder at the warmth.

I could even feel his eyes digging into me. The area where he burned holes into me with his eyes was hot, the grass underneath me was no different, and neither were the glasses I held in my hands.

I couldn’t form the words to answer him; all I could do was to hope that he couldn’t hear how fast my heart was racing.

❖☆———————————★❖

The next day, early morning. I woke up to the melodious singing of birds.

Evan was already awake, neatly dressed and sitting on the folded chair at the entrance, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Evan: Good morning. Sleep well last night?

MC: Brilliantly! I was so tired from walking so long yesterday that I fell asleep the moment my head met the pillow.

MC: Oh, right. It’ll take quite a long time to go back where we came, so let’s eat something, pack up, and leave as soon as possible!

Evan set his cup of coffee down,

Evan: Aren’t you forgetting something?

MC: Huh?

Evan: I recall you wanting to see bamboo piths, but we have yet to see any.

I froze, awkwardly laughing it off

That had originally been an excuse to get him outside and I’d totally forgotten about it.

MC: Hehe. I’m not that adamant about seeing bamboo piths.

MC: I only said that back then as an excuse to get you out so that you can relax.

MC: I heard that you had things rather rough before that so I was a little worried about you.

He looked slightly surprised. Then, he lowered his eyes, a warm smile catching onto the sides of his mouth.

Evan: So it was because of me.

Evan: Thank you for accompanying me here. I’m certainly much more relaxed now.

MC: But considering how you were previously… Are you really okay?

Evan: Yes. It’s probably not as bad as you’re thinking. I was just thinking about some old people and old things and felt a little glum about it.

Evan: I never thought that I’d end up alarming others.

MC: Why am I “others” now?

MC: Don’t bottle your troubles up to solve them yourself. You need to remember to share them with people close to you as well!

Evan: Okay. I will keep that in mind.

I still didn’t know what he was troubled by, but I suppose this was still within my expectations.

From my impression of him, he has always been strong. It was almost as if he was shouldering a mission that no one knew about, walking down a similarly obscured path.

After finishing breakfast, we packed and prepared to leave the forest.

We idly chatted with each other along the way until suddenly, Evan stopped short while we were passing through an area.

Following his gaze, I saw a unique-looking umbrella-shaped thing growing within the shrubbery’s shade.

Evan: See? We still managed to chance upon it.

MC: Wow, are all of these bamboo piths?

We walked over together, squatting beside the small white fungi.

It had a small black cap and had grown out a long white mesh skirt.

This was the first time I ever saw a bamboo pith growing in the soil. I widened my eyes in surprise, unwilling to blink as I drank in the sight. After observing it for a while, I finally raised a finger, reaching out to touch its “skirt”.

MC: It’s so wet and soft-looking! It’s adorable! Have you seen it before, Evan?

MC: I can’t believe you managed to recognize it at a glance!

Evan: Yes. It was back during the first time I’d been driven into the forest as a child.

Evan: I witnessed the law of the jungle and escaped from the jaws of death of a snake. I felt like the forest was a place filled with danger and wanted nothing but to leave the place the faster, the better.

Evan: Then, just as I was hungry and exhausted, I saw a bamboo pith.

Evan: At that time, I didn’t know what it was and if it was actually poisonous.

Evan: Deep in the throes of despair, I thought “why not just take it, eat it, and see what my fate turns out to be”?

MC: Evan…

Evan: But guess what I saw while I was hesitating?

Evan: I saw it growing its fungus skirt. All it took was a little effort on its part, and its little skirt grew longer and longer.

Evan: I stared at it blankly, in a daze. I didn’t even notice that my legs had gone numb from how long I’d stared at it.

He retracted himself from his memory palace, turning around to face me with a smile.

Evan: It was as simple as a little young lady, capable of encouraging me with its adorability and enchantments.

Evan: It made me understand that forest, in all its gloom and doom, still has its own little interesting spots.

Evan: And that one is only capable of seeing it by living on, don’t you think?

His expression was quiet, but within those calm eyes of his, I could see that little boy who’d struggled his hardest to remain strong. I felt my heart constrict slightly at that and moved to hold his hand tightly in my own.

MC: Evan, that’s all in the past. You’re no longer that helpless little boy.

Evan: No, I’m fine.

Evan: I might have forgotten even this if we hadn’t seen the bamboo piths today.

Evan: It feels a little unbelievable when I think back on it now. It was a memory plagued by darkness, yet it still held its own beautiful moments.

I felt a pang of sorrow creep into my heart. Words of comfort were right at the tip of my tongue, yet I felt like they’d be completely helpless.

This man before me, strong as a warrior; someone who’d been forced to face life-or-death decisions from a very young age… Maybe he wasn’t as complicated as I initially thought he was.

There are many reasons why one would choose death, but to choose life? The reason was simple; just a little spark was required, and Evan was no exception.

MC: I forgot who said it, but someone once said that the meaning of existence that people spend their entire lives seeking out is actually hidden in the simple things.

MC: Evan, won’t you say that you might end up thinking similarly as well one day?

MC: You might not be able to find it immediately, but that’s fine. I will accompany you in your search for it, no matter how long it takes.

Evan fixed me with a profound look before stretching out his hand and reverently crossing it over my own.

Evan: Alright. Together we shall be.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 4 + 6 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 7 + 8 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ☆Light & Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Revolution⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #陆沉 #Evan #For Night For Revolution #繁荫秘语 #Umbrae Secrets

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wingsofhcpe · 3 years ago

Text

whumptober day 1- barbed wire

fandom: shadow & bone

pairing: fivan [ivan x fedyor kaminsky]

rating: T+

additional warnings: blood & injury

you can also read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34208404/chapters/85114393

[tagging @camilleisback upon request <3]

It’s days before Ivan finally finds Fedyor.

The druskelle, clever bastards that they are, have elected to hide near the borders with Fjerda and wait for reinforcements rather than make a run for it. There’s an abandoned warehouse that must have once been a butcher’s store near a withering Ravkan village; it’s well-camouflaged between the trees, and the vegetation and snowdrifts muffle the sounds of screaming that echo from inside as the witch-hunters torment their prisoners night and day. The location would have been impossible to hide, had it not been for the honed senses of a Heartrender being able to detect the distressed heartbeats from miles away, as well as an experienced Squaller sensing the slightest vibrations in the air that are commonly caused by loud noises such as screams.

Seven Grisha had been taken captive during the druskelle raid at their camp; when Ivan barrels into the warehouse, druskelle dropping left and right with nothing but a flicker of his wrists, he finds two survivors and five rotting corpses. For a moment, he fears the worst- but as his senses clear and the adrenaline of battle fades, he realises one of the two remaining heartbeats echoing in the dark, murky space, belongs to Fedyor. Ivan’s head snaps like a hound catching the scent of blood, and it is mere seconds before his eyes adjust to the distorted light coming from the busted door, and he finally makes out a shape at the far end of the warehouse. Before he can even think about it, he’s running.

Fedyor’s body is suspended by the wrists from a meat hook attached to the ceiling; it’s bad enough to see his lover limp and unmoving like a corpse, but then Ivan takes a closer look and realises with gut-wrenching horror that Fedyor’s hands aren’t bound with rope but with thick coils of barbed wire. The jagged points have dug deep within the skin, leaving sickening gouges across Fedyor’s wrists and forearms. There’s blood everywhere, having dripped down to his elbows, shoulders and even his hair. It has created a small puddle on the rotting floorboards, and Ivan’s boots squelch as he steps on it, trying to get as close to Fedyor as possible. The latter is nearly unconscious, but he makes a low, keening sound when Ivan attempts, in vain, to undo his bindings. It’s no use; the barbs are embedded deep into the flesh, and trying to uncoil them now will only cause more damage, more bleeding, more pain. They have to be cut away, but Ivan isn’t sure whether any of his Grisha is carrying a blade sharp and slender enough for the job. Either way, his first concern should be getting Fedyor down from where he’s still hanging from; this way, he’ll be able to get a better look.

It’s slow work, painstaking for both parties. Fedyor stirs in and out of consciousness as Ivan works, whimpering and begging for mercy. Ivan realises with a pang of unrestrained fury what a devilishly clever idea it had been to bind a Grisha’s hands in such a manner- Fedyor’s hands are close enough, he could twist them if he tried, he could use his powers to do away with his captors. But the barbed edges would shred his skin further if he did, would cause him to suffer and bleed even more. The druskelle had evidently known that; they had risked their own lives for the sake of toying with their prisoners in such a sadistic, inhuman manner.

Fedyor’s weak, pained cry jolts Ivan out of his fury-addled thoughts, and he realises belatedly that he has pulled too roughly at the wires; fresh blood is trickling from somewhere, and Ivan swears colourfully under his breath.

“I’m sorry, moye serdtse, I’m sorry,” he whispers, hoping Fedyor can hear him, hoping he knows Ivan doesn’t want to hurt him, he just has to get him down for his own good “I’m almost done. Just stay strong for me, Fedya.”

Finally, he manages to pry the hook loose from the wire; Fedyor’s body drops lifelessly, but Ivan is there to catch him and gently lower him to the floor, until Fedyor is lying against his chest. Ivan holds him gently, cradling him against his own body and whispering apologies and reassurances. It’s only then that Fedyor’s eyes open just slightly, brown irises glazed with pain and pupils dilated. His cracked, bloodied lips move, and Ivan has to strain to hear him.

“You found me.” The injured man whispers, and Ivan nods seriously.

“Of course I did, my love. I’m here now. You’re safe.” He doesn’t mention how he’s been too late; how he’s allowed the druskelle to torture Fedyor for four long, endless days. How they have lost five of their own, because Ivan had been too incompetent to find them fast enough.

Yet Fedyor’s mouth twitches into a small, relieved smile. “I knew you would… you always… find me…”

“Shh…” Ivan lays a hand on Fedyor’s cheek, flushed with fever. “Don’t talk now.”

They stay still for a little while; Fedyor’s ragged breathing echoing in sync with Ivan’s relieved sighs as he holds his beloved close, peppering gentle, loving kisses across his bloodied cheeks and brow. Eventually, Ivan carefully places a hand over Fedyor’s still bound wrists.

“I need to take these off.” He says softly, and catches the glint of fear in Fedyor’s delirious gaze. “I cannot lie to you, Fedya, it will hurt. But it will only be for a little while. It’ll feel much better after.”

Fedyor whimpers softly. “…so much. They hurt so much, Vanya. My hands… it feels like they’re on fire…”

“I know, I know.” Ivan voice cracks with despair; seeing Fedyor suffer like this, it’s too much to bear. “I will make it better, I promise. Just… Just trust me, dearest.”

Fedyor’s eyes close, but he nods tiredly; even while in so much pain, he must know there’s no other solution. Ivan takes his kefta off, bundles it up into a makeshift pillow and lays Fedyor down on it as carefully as he can. Then he calls out to one of his Grisha, requesting the sharpest and thinnest blade that can be found in their equipment or the druskelle’s. While rummaging, he takes the opportunity to hastily check on the other survivor, a younger Inferni woman- she’s alive and in slightly better condition than Fedyor, although her hands have been bound in a similar manner. By using her powers to heat them up, however, she has made the wires pliant and thus easier to remove. Clever, Ivan thinks to himself. He would have asked her to do the same for Fedyor’s bonds, but she looks so pale, and she can’t even sit up without feeling faint. No, he can’t run her any more ragged. The dagger will have to do.

Finally, Ivan finds a fine, razor-sharp blade within one of the druskelle’s coats. It’s possibly used for gutting fish, and is less than clean, but it’s his only choice, and anyway, Fedyor’s probably already suffering from an infection judging by the rust that covers the wires. Dried fish gore won’t make a big difference at this point.

“Close your eyes and count to fifty, Fedya.” Ivan encourages as he kneels next to his partner. “Focus on the numbers. Don’t think of anything else.”

Fedyor nods feebly and does as he’s told; his eyes close and his lips begin to move in a voiceless mumble as he starts to count. Ivan slips his fingers carefully between the coils of wire, and as gently as he can, he begins to saw at it with the dagger. No matter how gentle he tries to be, however, Fedyor’s body immediately tenses and his breath comes out in short gasps. Ivan shushes him softly, although he knows it’s not much help. The best he can do for Fedyor now, is focus on his task. And so he does- he does his best to shut off the pained gasps that soon turn into whimpers, and saws methodically at the accursed barbed coil until, little by little, it starts to come off.

“…fifty.” Fedyor murmurs shakily at some point, and Ivan doesn’t have to look to know there are tears running down his blood-crusted cheeks.

“Ten more, moye serdtse. I’m almost done. You’re doing so well. You’re so, so brave, my Fedyenka. So brave.”

Fedyor’s chest heaves as he cries quietly, but he doesn’t complain, not even when Ivan finally cuts through the wires and is able to pull them away. There’s a sickening wet sound as the barbs are pulled free from Fedyor’s flesh, where they’d been wedged for days, and Fedyor’s back arches- for once, he can’t keep in the hoarse scream that rips out of his throat. But the next moment his muscles relax as Ivan unbinds him completely, his fingers twitching slightly in relief as blood circulates back to them. Ivan breathes out a sigh, and places his palm on Fedyor’s forehead.

“I’m done, Fedya. It’s alright now.” Fedyor only shakes his head a little, unable to speak. But his heartbeat has eased just slightly- he’s still in pain, but he’s better.

The group makes camp right there, inside the warehouse (after moving the corpses of the druskelle away and dumping them into a snowdrift to be prey for scavenging animals. Serves them right). They hold a funeral pyre for the deceased Grisha, but Ivan only speaks a few words as the squad’s leader and then retreats back into the building; one of the others has lit a fire in the middle, right under an opening in the rotting roof, using old scraps and thin branches. The interior is warm now, and the smell of burning cloth and wood is chasing away the odour of stale blood and dead bodies. Ivan directs two of the Grisha to stand watch as soon as the funeral pyre outside is done, and focuses on the task at hand.

He digs around the ruins until he finds something that resembles an old, cracked wooden bowl- possibly used by the previous owner of the establishment to collect the majority of the blood that poured from freshly slaughtered cattle. It looks cleaner than one would expect, and it smells only vaguely of blood; nothing a good rinse with snow can’t fix. After that’s done, Ivan refills the bowl with snow and holds it over the fire until it’s turned into warm water. He rummages through the squad’s supplies too, and finds clean cloths and bandages.

Fedyor’s eyes flutter behind pale, close lids when Ivan returns to his side, although he seems to weak to open them. Still, Ivan knows he’s still conscious and in pain.

“I’m going to clean your wounds.” He says softly, sitting next to the other man. Fedyor can only hum in agreement- it’s not like he could move away even if he wanted to. Even if he didn’t know his wounds had to be cleaned before infection set in for real. There was no Healer with them, as conflict hadn’t been expected. It had only been a reconnaissance mission. It would be three days of fast riding at the very best, until they made it back to the Little Palace, and Fedyor wouldn’t last for half of it if Ivan didn’t do something to keep the infection at bay.

So with as much care as he can possibly muster, Ivan takes hold of Fedyor’s hand into his own and lifts it up slowly to take a closer look. Even with the dried blood obscuring the worst of it, Ivan can already tell it’s worse than he’s initially assessed; the cuts are deep, the skin around them swollen and hot to the touch, and there’s white liquid concentrated on the edges of the deeper, wider gashes. Fedyor’s hand is trembling in his own, and Ivan can only imagine how much it truly hurts. Fedyor has a high pain tolerance, yet even for him this must be almost unbearable.

In a desperate attempt to comfort his partner, Ivan starts to hum a slow lullaby as he soaks a strip of cloth in the warm water, then wrings it out and starts to slowly, gently clean the blood and grime away from the cuts. Fedyor lets out a quiet sigh of relief, the clean, warm water immediately doing wonders for his mangled hand. Ivan allows himself a small smile; he doesn’t cease his humming while he continues to carefully clean and bandage Fedyor’s left hand, then his right. All the while he keeps a metaphorical eye on Fedyor’s heartbeat, glad to feel it gradually grow slower and more relaxed. The last thing Ivan does after he’s checked Fedyor for other open wounds (he’s satisfied to find nothing, although the dark bruises on his face, chest and ribs are certainly worrisome), is clean the rest of the blood from his husband’s hair, face, and neck. By the end of it, the water in the bowl has turned from clear to a dark, muddy brown colour. Ivan does away with it as soon as he can- he can no longer stand to look at Fedyor’s blood.

Most of the other Grisha have gone to sleep by now, including the other survivor- a good sign all in all, and Ivan can see from where he stands that her own wounds have also been taken care of. The two Grisha he’d ordered to stand watch are doing so in a perfectly straight posture, even after four gruelling days of riding and searching, and Ivan makes a mental note to mention their names and devotion to the General when they go back to the capital. When he’s certain everything is in order, Ivan finally allows himself to lie down next to Fedyor. The wooden floor is uncomfortable at best, but he doesn’t care. Gently, he slings one arm over his husband’s sleeping form and draws him close. He’s never letting Fedyor go, ever again.

Fedyor hums a little in his sleep, cracking one eye open to look at Ivan. Immediately, he smiles tiredly and Ivan smiles back, unable to begrudge him such a simple pleasure.

“How are you feeling, moye serdtse?” He asks.

“Much… much better.” Fedyor whispers in a relaxed manner. Yet Ivan doesn’t harbour any illusions- he knows the pain and fever will come back with a vengeance soon, and he wants Fedyor to get as much rest as possible until then. He’ll need it. So he places a chaste kiss on Fedyor’s lips and starts filing his hand through the latter’s hair. Predictably, Fedyor submits to the affections; Ivan knows how to best make him relax, even under such conditions.

“Sleep.” Ivan whispers tenderly, and Fedyor nods. Before he closes his eyes again, Fedyor offers him another small smile.

“I knew you’d find me.” He mouthed, and Ivan nodded, pride and love and devotion swelling in his chest.

“Of course, my love. I will never leave you. I promise.”

Even if the whole Ravka, the whole world, was against them, they believed in each other. And in the end, that was that really mattered.

#my writing #whumptober 2021 #fivan #heartrender husbands #shadow & bone #fedyor kaminsky #ivan no last name #fedyor x ivan #angst #whump #whumptober

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the-odd-job · 4 years ago

Text

Harem AU Chapter 6 - Waiting Game

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Skywarp, Starscream, Unnamed Characters Relationships: Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Referenced Rape, Referenced Orgy, Coercion, Angst Words: 9428

No I’m not late with this or anything, what are you talking about.

I’m really excited for chapter 7, ngl. But this first.

He would have never guessed that it was possible to fall asleep after something like that. How could the mind calm down enough to allow for rest?

But it wasn’t about the mind. It was about the body, pushed to its limit by an overload after overload—energy reserves used to depletion, all charge drained from one’s batteries.

Exhaustion.

It didn’t matter how the mind suffered and reeled, at that point. The frame took over, demanding things. Demanding rest. A chance to recharge.

And that was what it had decreed in the end. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure how long it had taken, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Those memories were best blurry and out of focus.

Like how many unwanted overloads it had taken to finally knock him out. Sideswipe, too. How much distress it had taken for their minds to shut down, only now beginning to return to him as he climbed out from the grasp of pitch black sleep.

He wished he could’ve fallen straight back into it when reality began to creep in, but his processors’ march to consciousness was unrelenting. Memories began to flood in too, fuzzy as they were, and long before he wanted to, he became aware of where he was.

Of where he still was.

The only upside in the whole situation was that he couldn’t feel his field or scan his spark signature. Before his optics opened, Sunstreaker was already mostly confident that Megatron was not in the vicinity, and once his optics did open, a glance around confirmed that the tyrant was nowhere to be seen.

Figures. He probably had more important things to go, being the leader of the whole goddamned city and whatnot. Have his fun, fuck and rape, then go on his merry way without a backwards glance!

He couldn’t confirm that last one, but it wouldn’t have surprised him.

There were plenty other spark signatures around him, other fields—Sideswipe was passed out next to him, warm to the touch and–

And covered in all manner of fluids.

Sunstreaker averted his gaze quickly, scanning the rest of the room. They were still on the large berth, and although there were a couple of other mates on it as well, most were recharging in their own cots. Some were already awake, talking in hushed tones to avoid disturbing those that were still resting, but even that didn’t account for everyone.

It appeared quite a few of the mates had recovered faster than him and Sideswipe had. But considering they had gotten most of Megatron—and Soundwave’s—attention, Sunstreaker thought that was fair enough. They hadn’t been allowed to choose their pace, or whether or not they’d like to have breaks, or—Primus, if they even wanted to interface in the first place.

He was shaking, his plating rattling just so. Were his ventilations a little faster than what they were supposed to be? Those were probably just the aftereffects of everything that had happened during the course of the night.

Everything else he shoved down deep, twice as resolutely when Sideswipe began to stir next to him. A small, wounded moan was the first sign of life his brother made, and it was nearly enough to break Sunstreaker’s spark all over again.

As if it had ever recovered from the first time.

Sideswipe returned to awareness much faster, panic seeping in before conscious thought. His optics snapped open to a wild look around, an uncoordinated jerk in his limbs.

“Hey, hey,” Sunstreaker said at once, battling his own frame to roll onto his knees and land a servo on Sideswipe’s shoulder—and wincing from the stab of pain from his lower body.

Megatron hadn’t gone out of his way to damage them this time around (and Soundwave hadn’t seemed interested in that either), but his valve was still throbbing angrily and his hip joints protested how much time they’d spent spread around someone’s hips.

He wanted to purge, but pushed that down with the rest of it to focus on Sideswipe instead. His twin’s optics locked on him after a pass around the room, and slowly the look of prey faded from them as his mind caught up.

Megatron wasn’t here, relief. Sunstreaker was here, relief.

Sideswipe’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. What was there to say anyway? What could they say? Something to make things better?

There was nothing that would make things better.

That thought snapped between them like a whiplash, and Sideswipe caught his lower lip between his denta before he dropped his gaze. Sunstreaker’s servo on his shoulder tightened.

He hated to see his brother like this. Sideswipe was supposed to be larger than life, the light in the room, centerpiece of any party—everyone’s friend, always cheerful, refusing to let anything bring him down.

Here and now? What Sideswipe was meant to be and what he was were… Miles apart.

But was that any wonder? There was the whole of a planet between where they were and where they were supposed to be.

Their life had been torn from them. They had been given no chances to let that sink in. All there had been was a relentless input of new things intermittent with abuse, abuse, and more abuse. Change after change after change… And more trauma than he had wanted to believe was possible.

And he feared this was only just the beginning.

That thought he didn’t want to reach Sideswipe, though, so instead he gave his brother a gentle shake to earn those optics back on him.

Sunstreaker smiled. Just a small smile, but even that felt so… Fake. And like it hurt to even produce the expression.

There was no reason to smile, but for Sideswipe he’d try to do so anyway.

“How-” he started, before thinking better of it and cutting his vocalizer. There was no point in asking how Sideswipe felt. Useless words, when he could feel and see all too well how Sideswipe was feeling.

Not well.

To put it mildly.

What to say instead? Or should he let there be silence?

“We- We should probably visit the washracks. Would you like to?”

Sideswipe took a moment to register his words before he nodded carefully, and swallowed, hard.

They both cringed at the taste of transfluid on his glossa and at the back of his throat, but Sideswipe nodded again, more firmly this time around, and began to push himself up. “Yeah, that… That sounds like a good idea,” he said quietly, flinching when he caught a sight of his frame.

Paint transfers and fluids were splattered liberally all over him. Sunstreaker knew he didn’t look any better.

They really needed those washracks.

As one they scooted over to the edge of the berth and dropped down onto the dais it was on, and from there to the level of the rest of the berthroom. Some of the other mates glanced their way, but they didn’t stick around to see if anyone would’ve liked to say something to them.

They had been a part of it. All of them. Mecha in the same situation as they were… There was no way all of them were here any more willingly than them, and yet.

The fragging shit they’d done. To them. To each other. Just…

He didn’t even want to think about it. He could feel his anger rising, but it had no target in the present, and he didn’t want to take it out on Sideswipe. Sideswipe stumbled along next to him as they crossed the short distance through the hallway into the washracks, that weren’t empty—of course they weren’t, that would’ve been far too much to ask—but that still held the promise of washing away at least some of the signs of the… Orgy.

They scurried over to the far end of the room, to the last showerheads, and then under their hot sprays. Solvent pattered down their frames, and slowly it began to loosen the dried fluids, a process made much faster by the smooth coat Knock Out had applied onto their paint jobs, compared to the rough texture of…

Of before.

How many times did it need to be said he’d rather have that life than this? It might’ve been a life of poverty, of scraping by, of going hungry, of uncertainty—but was there any more certainty in this?

Beyond the certainty of more ways to hurt them, physically and emotionally.

They had fuel, they had access to high quality paints and polishes, to washracks… A roof over their helms.

But the price wasn’t worth it.

Sunstreaker shuttered his optics, letting the solvent fall over him and soothe aching cables as it trailed into his internals through the gaps in his armor. Beside him Sideswipe did the same, and blissfully the other occupants didn’t break the silence of the washracks either. Maybe it was just because of the two of them, but the mood felt so somber. Like it wouldn’t have been right to speak.

So they didn’t. Without a word, but together, they grabbed scrubs and began to clean their plating to the best of their ability, helping each other where appropriate. The sealant Knock Out had used to protect their new paint was surprisingly good at its job. The paint transfers littering them came off in a way Sunstreaker hadn’t experienced before. Usually that amount of scuffs would’ve required touching up the underlying paint afterwards, but now… That didn’t seem necessary.

He wasn’t sure how grateful he was about that. It was one less thing to worry about, but also another consequence of their situation—a separation from before, when they evidently hadn’t sealed their paint properly, or hadn’t had the ability to seal their paint properly. Whichever it was.

Same result.

It always came back to it: he’d rather have the before, even with all of the supposed downsides it had come with.

They hardly even seemed like downsides anymore, compared to the downsides of being held captive in Kaon like this.

But as easily as the paint transfers came off, and no matter how well the solvent and the scrub dislodged the fluids that had dried on him, they did little to remove the ghost sensations that were left behind—and they did nothing to the way lubricant and transfluid streamed from his valve when he opened his cover against his better judgement. The moment he did, Sideswipe wished he hadn’t, but… He just wanted it out. Was that too much to ask? Too much to hope that he could make it feel like nothing had happened?

It was, wasn’t it? Gravity pulled out quite a bit of it, but he knew, he just knew there was still so much left inside that he had no way to remove.

And he didn’t want to touch it. Primus, he just…

His helm hung. He knew Sunstreaker was worried about him, and Sideswipe knew he was… Acting out of character in a lot of ways.

But could he be blamed for it? Look at what had happened to them. What did they have but each other, anymore?

What had they ever had besides that?

Freedom, that’s what. A right to self-dictate.

His paint was gleaming already, but that was only because of the repaint Knock Out had given them. He looked good.

He didn’t feel good. He didn’t want to look good. He wished he looked the part of the guttermech he was, even if he’d spent his life fighting that very appearance. But it was better than this—being a pretty, polished doll for one tyrant and his lackeys to use. And if he’d ever thought… If he’d ever thought that the other mates could be allies in this situation, those hopes had been crushed last night.

They were complicit. They did what Megatron told, even if… Even when that involved what it had.

It was so wrong. Didn’t they see how wrong it was? How could they just…

How could they?

Sunstreaker’s servo closed around his wrist and Sideswipe was snapped back to the present enough to realize he had washed the same spot for a needlessly long amount of time already. There was nothing left to clean in that area. There was nothing coming out of his valve anymore, his crotch and inner thighs washed clean by the running solvent, and he let his cover close back up.

So why didn’t he feel clean?

Why couldn’t he forget how many servos had grabbed him by the hips to–

His claws, sharp like they hadn’t been since they were first activated, had dug furrows into the soft scrub. Sunstreaker’s hold on his wrist tightened. “I’m fine,” Sideswipe whispered on reflex, knowing full well his brother’s concern.

He was lying. They both knew he was. He couldn’t lift his helm. Couldn’t… Couldn’t just put on an act and pretend that was the truth. He’d always been able to before, no matter what had happened.

But never before had this happened. Evidently there were limits to what even he could fake his way through.

Sunstreaker didn’t say anything, but let go of his arm to go back to cleaning himself up. They were both clean already though, at least visually. There was nothing more to wash away. No paint transfers, no lubricant, no transfluid.

Nothing but the feel of it all, and Sideswipe wasn’t sure if that could be washed away. Maybe in a million years they could’ve.

But not so quickly.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice from behind them and Sideswipe jolted from his thoughts. Both him and Sunstreaker spun on their heels to face Skywarp, Sideswipe with wide optics, Sunstreaker with a growl.

Skywarp shrunk back a little bit from the aggression aimed at him, but wasn’t wholly discouraged. “Um, I came to see if you needed help washing up, but it looks like you got it already,” the Seeker said. He was clean too, but that wasn’t a surprise considering he hadn’t been in the berthroom anymore when they’d woken up.

Under different circumstances, the offer would’ve been a nice gesture.

Under these circumstances?

“You have some fucking gall,” Sunstreaker hissed. Sideswipe’s ventilations hitched, and he didn’t, couldn’t look at Skywarp, letting his gaze drop again. Sunstreaker stepped up in front of him, between him and the Seeker, and he was angry. He was so angry it was like a physical wall between him and the rest of the world.

Skywarp wasn’t completely blind to the danger and took a step back from Sunstreaker’s righteous fury. And it was righteous.

Look at what Skywarp had done. Right along with the rest of them.

And now he was here, acting like none of it had happened.

This place was so upside down. If it wasn’t for Sunstreaker, Sideswipe thought he might’ve started doubting the whole fabric of reality at this rate.

‘Yeah, I participated in your gang rape, but would you like me to help you wash up?’

Not even an apology. “You and the whole rest in this Primus forsaken place!” Sunstreaker continued, his voice rising until it was nothing short of a bellow. Skywarp took another step back.

Sunstreaker didn’t pursue, but Sideswipe knew the only reason for that was that he didn’t want to leave Sideswipe alone. If it wasn’t him inadvertently holding Sunstreaker back, there would’ve been nothing to save the Seeker from his brother’s wrath.

Justified wrath, if you asked Sideswipe.

“I just thought-” Skywarp tried to say, but Sunstreaker didn’t let him finish.

“Get. Out,” the golden twin snarled instead, pointing at the door. He probably had no rights to order anyone around, yet in the face of the anger directed at him, Skywarp took yet another step back.

“If-” he tried to speak again, and again Sunstreaker cut him off.

“OUT!”

Sideswipe was pretty sure that could be heard all throughout the harem wing, but at least Skywarp finally believed there was nothing he could achieve here, and hurried to the door with just one backwards glance.

He looked… Sad? Hurt?

He had no right.

The few other mates that had been in washracks cleared out quickly after their winged compatriot, sending more glances their way.

And then they were alone.

Sunstreaker’s engine revved, but Sideswipe slumped back against the wall under the still running shower. Numbly he reached for the controls and turned it off—to conserve the amount of solvent used, but what did it matter how much of it was used? Whose solvent was it?

Megatron’s. Everything here was Megatron’s.

Including them.

His vents hitched again at that thought, at the reminder—why Sunstreaker was angry at Skywarp.

The whole fucking mess of it.

Skywarp had been a part of it. And– He hadn’t come to apologize, had he? Unless offering help was his way of apologizing.

But he could’ve said something too. Some acknowledgment that what had happened was so, so wrong. They too had to think it wasn’t right, didn’t they? How could anyone think it was okay? He was pretty sure Megatron knew it was messed up too, but Megatron just enjoyed that fact.

What about the rest of them, though? If Megatron’s behavior could be explained away with just sadism and cruelty, what was the excuse for the others?

Was it going to happen again? Were they, all of them, going to do it again? Turn their audials off to any protests they had, because… What, just because Megatron told them to?

He knew all too well what Megatron was like, already, and they’d barely known him for any amount of time. In that he really… He really couldn’t blame the others for not disobeying him.

But he still didn’t understand it. There was no resistance whatsoever, not even any visible reluctance.

They just did it.

They’d said no, and they just did it.

They might act nice towards them, be helpful, or try to be… Skywarp, Runabout. Aside from Starscream’s weird attitude, no one had been mean towards them.

Aside from last night.

They were just as messed up as the rest of this. How was he even supposed to look at any of them anymore, after what they’d done to them? How was he supposed to look at Starscream and not think of the Seeker’s face or valve right next to him as he serviced Megatron right in front of his optics? Without any signs of hesitation?

Or Skywarp. How he had just… How everyone had just…

How much more of this was there going to be?

When was it going to end?

“What are we going to do?” Sideswipe blurted, prompting Sunstreaker to break his angry staring contest with the door. “We need to get the frag away from here.”

Desperate.

Get out.

But how?

When?

“We’ll find a way,” Sunstreaker said, promised, turning back to him and wrapping him into a warm and familiar embrace. And Sideswipe wanted to believe. He buried his face in the crook of his twin’s neck, and he wanted so badly to believe that they would find a way out before… Primus, he wasn’t sure. Before what?

How much more of this could he take? What would happen when he couldn’t take it anymore? “We just need to hold out until we do,” Sunstreaker whispered to him, and Sideswipe could feel the shiver in him. Neither of them was unaffected by this. But they were holding it together pretty well, weren’t they? Despite everything.

They’d beat the odds before. They would this time too. Like Sunstreaker said, they’d just need to survive until then. They could do that.

That thought and the pulse of his brother’s half-spark against his chassis steeled his resolve. It was just them, but that was fine, because it had always been just them. And that was all they’d ever needed.

It would be all they needed here too. They would find a way out, and they would do so before it was too late. No, no. It would never be too late. They would just need to be patient and wily, outsmart the cage they were in, undo all of its locks, and steal back their life.

“Yeah,” he responded to Sunstreaker with no more volume than what Sunstreaker had used, and wrapped his arms around his twin in turn. And he meant it. Maybe… Maybe all they’d need were little moments like these to keep a hold of their sanity until they could break free.

The washrack door opened with the quiet swoosh of a well oiled mechanism and they glanced up in alarm. One of the mates was standing in the doorway, looking a little awkward. Like he didn’t want to be there. “Hey. Sorry about the interruption, but,” and Sideswipe tensed all over, because how could any news borne by their assailants be good ones?

His gut was proven right a second later. “Megatron’s summoned you, Sideswipe.

“Alone.”

“What the pit…” Sideswipe whispered, and Sunstreaker growled, his arms tightening around him.

“No,” his brother said. “You can go tell him to frag off.”

Sideswipe burrowed into Sunstreaker’s embrace, his spark beginning to flutter faster and faster with the implications.

Alone with Megatron.

It was bad enough with Sunstreaker there, when he could draw strength from his brother and share the experience and the attention. Sure, they were used against each other too, but it was still better to be together. Bearable to be together.

It was never bearable.

How was he supposed to go without his brother?

His plating was clattering against Sunstreaker’s, but that only made his twin tighten his hold enough that Sideswipe worried their armors would buckle.

And as much as he trusted his brother, as much as he knew Sunstreaker’s desire to protect him from everything and anything… He feared there was nothing Sunstreaker could do to protect him from this. Not from Megatron.

That was a terrible, terrible thought. He keened at the inevitability of it all, of the– Of the–

“Please please please no,” he pleaded, looking up at the other mate still standing in the doorway. “Please I can’t– I can’t go through that, not again, not with him– Please.”

Tears welled, then fell at the thought of what Megatron could do to him, and oh Primus but there was so much, and he was sure his imagination still couldn’t conjure anything even halfway as awful as what Megatron would think to do. Even with everything that had happened already, no matter how many times and in how many ways they’d already been raped, he was sure Megatron would find new ways to torture and humiliate them.

Him. Just him, if he went alone. “I can’t,” was what it all boiled down to, and he couldn’t even hate how badly his voice cracked when he said that, trying so hard to beg with the newsbringer. Make them understand.

Their look was sad, pitying. Maybe they did understand.

Maybe they’d been through the same thing.

Maybe they didn’t have a twin to share it all with in the first place.

But they were a part of it. Had been, last night. They’d carry out Megatron’s orders.

And even if they didn’t want to do that, what could they do? Could they really just carry the message back to him, ‘hey, they don’t want to, so I guess this isn’t happening’?

Inevitable. Megatron was inevitable. This was his kingdom and all in it lived to serve.

Strength left him, and only Sunstreaker’s hold of him kept him up. “Sunny,” he whined, pathetic, but he was beyond caring about his own dignity. As if he even had any left at this point. “I can’t do it, please.”

Sunstreaker understood, if no one else did, and a protective growl rumbled in his brother’s engine. “He won’t get you,” Sunstreaker promised quietly but resolutely—and despite that, Sideswipe could feel Sunstreaker’s uncertainty.

The want to protect was real, so very real, and there wasn’t a single fiber in his twin’s being that wanted to hand him over to their tormentor.

But neither of them knew how to avoid it. What could they do? They were so powerless against the tyrant.

The mate had disappeared from the doorway, but Sideswipe didn’t feel even a moment’s relief at that fact. And he was right. A moment later two guards and Starscream entered, the Seeker following behind the black clad mechs. “Our Master doesn’t make requests,” he said, sounding annoyed, like this all was just an inconvenience to him. The guards came for them, but Sunstreaker positioned himself between them and him, and Sideswipe cringed further against his chassis.

Inevitable.

“Resistance is futile.” Starscream’s words sounded like they came from a mile away with the way panic began to pound in his audials, but there the Seeker was, echoing thoughts they’d already had.

Turning them into hard truths.

He was frozen in place when the guards took a hold of Sunstreaker and forcibly pulled him away despite his cursing, but without his brother there, fight or flight took over.

He chose flight.

Sideswipe bolted for the doorway the Seeker blissfully wasn’t blocking, through it and into the hallway, and–

And then he didn’t know where to go. Where could he go that would get him away from his fate?

There was further ruckus coming from the washracks behind him, and some other mates either hanging out in the hallway or on their way to here or there looked at him, but Sideswipe didn’t acknowledge them. He didn’t know what to do.

Until the sounds behind him got closer, the fields of the guards, and he took his legs under him again and dashed to the main doors leading in and out of the wing.

What did he do that for?

They were locked, as they had been before. The guards on this side having left them hadn’t changed that fact. Of course it hadn’t.

And he had nowhere else to go.

“Leave him alone!” Sunstreaker yelled behind him, his voice registering dimly but enough that Sideswipe cast one panicked look over his shoulder.

There were mecha peeking through the doorways, curious over what all the fuss was about. There was Sunstreaker, struggling against Starscream’s hold, but unable to break it. Held back. “Sideswipe! You fragging dronebrains, leave him alone!”

And there were the guards, headed straight for Sideswipe.

Give up?

No. That wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t just willingly subject himself to this.

He deserved better.

He had value, he had rights. This was wrong.

Megatron was wrong.

“Get away from me!” His voice was still shrill when he cornered himself against the grand doors. As ever, the guards offered no reaction, too intent on following their orders to the letter no matter what. What Sideswipe wanted was of no consequence when pitted against what Megatron wanted.

It wasn’t right!

The hallway was big, but it wasn’t big enough. When he made one last desperate attempt to get past the guards—and to where? The rest of the harem wing, only to be cornered again?—they only had to reach to get a hold of him, and the grip was like a vice.

“No!” He struggled all the same, but they merely caught him arm apiece, and push-dragged him towards the doors. “Let go of me! You- Don’t!”

He didn’t want to go through those doors. Not like this. He fought, he fought so hard, and he could hear Sunstreaker’s angry and fearful yells, and feel the way Starscream’s claws sank into his armor to keep him in place.

Just until they were through the doors and they closed behind him and the two guards with a decisive slam.

His ventilations came fast and hard and there was no willing them into a calmer pace, not when his spark was a whirlwind of fright and desperation. He offered none of his cooperation, but the guards were big and burly and didn’t give a damn about his struggles. He was marched through the halls and past the other doors until they came to those ones.

The ones he was going to have nightmares about for the rest of his life, most likely.

They opened to admit them to the bleak interior of Megatron’s wing, but where Sideswipe had expected to be merely shoved in to find a place to hide and postpone what couldn’t be avoided, the guards instead pulled him further into the wing.

And further, and further, all the way to the lounge at the end of the hallway.

Megatron was waiting, big and imposing despite the fact he was presently sitting on one of the couches with a cube of energon in one servo, a lit datapad in the other. He glanced up when they entered, his optics brightening with… Pleasure? Glee? Anticipation? Greed?

No matter what it was, Sideswipe wanted nothing to do with it.

“Ah, good, you’re here,” the tyrant said as he set the cube down on the table in front of him and subspaced his datapad. It was so conversational, the way he said it, like there was any damn way Sideswipe would’ve come here voluntarily.

Like there were any faint traces of cordiality or rapport between them.

As if they could have normal conversations.

A flick of Megatron’s servo as he rose to his pedes, and the guards let go of Sideswipe, turned around, and left. The door closed behind them, and Sideswipe doubted it would open again anytime soon.

And once again he was the target of Megatron’s focus, except this time there was nothing and no one to function as a buffer between them. Or as a distraction. Or… Anything.

Now there was nothing but the weight of those red optics staring down at him and making him feel so small and vulnerable.

Which he was, when compared to Megatron.

“Where’s your brother?” Megatron asked, but with the way he grinned when he said that, Sideswipe knew Megatron knew exactly where Sunstreaker was.

He was just toying with him.

Sideswipe responded anyway. “You only wanted me,” he said, trying and failing to keep his voice strong and steady.

Sunstreaker might’ve managed that feat.

He wasn’t Sunstreaker.

He was scared out of his wits without his brother. His voice betrayed him completely on that front, wavering and shaking, but he still hoped even some of his resolve remained and shone through—even one remnant of his belief that Megatron wasn’t within his rights to do this, no matter what the mech seemed to think.

But no one had the rights to do any of this to another living being. Not even the unquestioned ruler of Kaon.

“That I did,” Megatron said, sounding decidedly pleased. “Come. We have much to do.” Again there was a flick of his digits and the expectation that that was all the order Sideswipe would need, as it was all the order everyone else seemed to need.

“No,” was what he said instead, planting his pedes, raising his chin, and keeping his voice steady.

Just for the duration of that single word, but it was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

“No?” the tyrant asked, his amusement palpable. “I see. What would you like to do instead?”

Games. The damn megalomaniac was playing games with him, and Sideswipe’s spark spun wildly, but every moment spent pretending Megatron was in any way interested in what he wanted was one less moment spent doing what Megatron wanted.

“I would like to go home,” Sideswipe said, and his voice was shivering again.

“...Please,” he tacked on after a beat.

You know, just to be polite. Couldn’t hurt.

“Home?” Megatron mused, bending to pick his cube back up and… Sipping from it. As they talked.

So casual.

Sideswipe didn’t feel so casual. He swallowed, hard, but the dreadful anxiety didn’t lessen or go anywhere. Of course it didn’t.

“I hear you were guttermechs, you and your brother,” the grey mech continued while Sideswipe just stood there, with nowhere to go and nothing to say that would change the course of this. And no matter what Megatron said now, Sideswipe was sure it wouldn’t change anything. He was just toying with him.

And having fun while at it, by all appearances. “Do you even have anything to go back to?”

“Yes,” Sideswipe answered, and it was true.

There wasn’t a whole lot, he could admit that much. They hadn’t had a lot.

But they’d had enough.

“Really? Did you have everything you do now?” Games, games, games! Megatron knew what he was doing, and he was enjoying himself. There was that gleam in his optic, the caress of a smile on his lips.

Sideswipe didn’t want to play this game.

“You should thank me.”

For a moment he couldn’t believe what he heard. How had he– Why had he expected Megatron wouldn’t go there? Was there anything the tyrant wouldn’t do, any trick in the book he wouldn’t use?

But did he mean it? Sideswipe didn’t know. Maybe his view of reality was so warped that he did mean it, that he was functioning under the delusion that this was somehow an improvement.

It wasn’t, and damn him if he was ever going to be thankful for the abduction and the rape that Megatron seemed to be the base cause of.

Megatron’s orders, Megatron’s desires. “Never,” Sideswipe hiss-growled in a way that was more at home on Sunstreaker’s vocalizer. He could grasp anger now, his servos balling into fists.

That was the only answer there was to stupid suggestions like that.

“Hmh.” Megatron, so noncommittal, but with one more gulp he emptied his cube and dispersed it.

And Sideswipe’s anger deflated, burst by the spike of fear that thought it knew their little chat was over and they were about to get down to business.

That fear was joined by the fear that the other fear was correct when Megatron began to approach him, and how much fear was that?

A lot, Sideswipe concluded, because his knees nearly buckled from it and he barely managed to stumble away from the tyrant’s approach. His spark was spinning faster than it ever might’ve before. He hadn’t feared a great many things before. Maybe he should’ve, but he hadn’t.

And he’d never feared anything like he feared Megatron.

Megatron didn’t take offense in his escape this time either, and pits but Sideswipe wished he would’ve. It might’ve broken the aura of smug superiority and full control that surrounded the larger mech—compare that to Sideswipe, barely staying upright on weak legs, tripping over himself in his hurry to keep distance between them.

It was a doomed effort, like it had been all the times before. Slowly but surely—like he was drawing things out just for the sake of it—Megatron cornered him and snatched him by the arm before unceremoniously dragging him to the berthroom. That door closed too, once they were through it, and then he was once again tossed onto a massive berth. Megatron followed him onto it, but slowly enough that Sideswipe had the time to scoot to its furthest corner.

Out of reach.

Not that Megatron cared. Oh no, the tyrant had entirely different plans that apparently didn’t involve chasing Sideswipe around any more at all. Because Megatron merely settled himself onto the other end of the berth and spread his legs in invitation, that damn amusement in his optics when Sideswipe’s gaze passed between them and the dark crotch. “Coax it out.”

Sideswipe balked. “What?”

“Coax it out,” Megatron repeated patiently like the benevolent leader he wasn’t.

Did he really expect it? He was there and Sideswipe was here, and he wasn’t in range to force him.

Did he think Sideswipe would do it willingly?

He almost felt offended. “No!” he said, drawing his knees up and glaring at their captor. The whole situation was absurd enough that some of the anxiety melted away from sheer disbelief–

But it was quickly replaced by the fearful expectation of what Megatron’s plan here was. He had to have one beyond just expecting Sideswipe to do as he was told like a good little mech.

Everyone else might’ve done it, followed Megatron’s every word and gesture, but he fragging well wouldn’t.

That fear gained more fuel when Megatron still didn’t take the bait and merely said an even, “You will.”

And… Did or said no more than that. Sideswipe waited, a tense ball of nerves, but nothing happened.

Absolutely nothing.

Well, beyond Megatron shifting his attention away from him entirely. He pulled a datapad from his subspace and focused on it instead, leaving Sideswipe to wait.

And wait.

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

Hours passed. At some point Megatron got off the berth and moved to his desk, and by all appearances set to work on… What did tyrants even do for a living, besides ordering others around and creatively tormenting them? Sideswipe had no idea.

And Sideswipe… He was left to wait, there, at one end and one corner of the berth, with his knees drawn so tight to his chest and a pit of ever deepening confusion in his tanks.

You will. That sounded like a threat and a promise rolled into one, but as much as he already knew Megatron to be capable of, he had no idea how he planned to achieve this one thing when he didn’t look like he was planning to use his own frame to get it, this time. What did he expect to happen? For Sideswipe to suddenly change his mind? Out of boredom maybe?

Because he was bored. Anxious, but bored. He was prone to that to begin with and had always had bigger thrills than Sunstreaker just to keep himself satisfied.

And now he was left with nothing more to do than sit and stare at another mech’s back.

It didn’t sit too well with him, but it was far from making him desperate enough for something to do that he would’ve magically begun to want to service Megatron of all mecha. Or really anyone, at this point in time.

Everything was still too fresh for him to want anything to do with interfacing anytime soon.

And although he wasn’t forced to interface right then, Sideswipe only felt a modicum of relief. Sure, the present could’ve been worse, but he feared the future would be even worse than what the present could’ve been if things had at all gone like he’d expected them to. Megatron had a plan and an intent, there was no doubt about that even if Sideswipe had no idea what it was.

But the end goal at least had been made clear already: for Sideswipe to interface with him, presumably without too much force being involved.

If that was it, it was under his control, and it was an easy promise to make to himself and the world that he wouldn’t do it.

No matter what it came down to.

As long as Sunstreaker remained unharmed, but Sunstreaker wasn’t even here.

Why didn’t he feel so certain despite his desire to stand strong? Why did he trust Megatron to have too many trump cards that he wouldn’t be able to counter?

He could’ve taken it as a moment’s respite, but it didn’t feel like respite at all. Just a truckload of uncertainty over what the future would bring.

He stayed right where he was for what felt like an eternity while Megatron tapped away on his datapads. And then…

Then Megatron got up and left.

Sideswipe stilled in utter confusion when the door closed behind the tyrant and he was left alone in the damn mech’s berthroom.

He didn’t want to be alone there, even without Megatron present.

Yet he was, without exactly any say in the matter.

What the pit was going on?

And if he’d thought he’d been bored before, without even the stimulation of watching someone working—and that wasn’t exactly good entertainment either—he thought he was quickly driven towards insanity. He didn’t dare move though, just in case that would’ve summoned his harrower. Somehow. He sort of doubted there were cameras in Megatron’s personal quarters, but what did he know. Maybe the mech just really liked leaving his mates alone here, only to watch them squirm through some hidden cameras.

But Sideswipe wasn’t squirming. Sideswipe wasn’t really doing anything, in fact. Well, besides just… Waiting. Waiting for Megatron’s return, waiting for what would happen next, waiting for what kind of torture the future would bring.

He waited for a very long time. It was closer to a half an orn before he could hear pedesteps on the other side of the door and tensed all over from the light doze he had entered just to pass the time. Conflicted emotions followed right after, boredom warring with fear over whether it was better there was another living being to look at to have something to do, or if he’d rather not have Megatron anywhere near him.

The latter was winning by the time the door opened to admit the big mech. He strode in like he owned the place—which he did—and landed his optics on Sideswipe. The door closed behind him, and Sideswipe felt as trapped as he ever had.

Was this it? Had Megatron’s patience ran out and now he would just pin him down and rape him? At this point that might’ve even been relief, something familiar in the place of whatever this was.

But instead of coming for him directly, Megatron again climbed onto the berth and stayed well out of reach. He spread his legs, and then he gave the order again. “Coax it out.”

Sideswipe shook his helm. No. He still wasn’t about to do that. What had Megatron expected to achieve by leaving him alone for a time? Cooperation?

No fucking way.

Megatron waited for a time, gave him a chance to reconsider… And then moved. Sideswipe expected the worst the moment the tyrant came towards him and he bolted off the berth, but instead of pursuing him, Megatron merely…

Reclined. The fragger reclined on his berth like he was about to go to recharge.

And when his systems began to cycle down, Sideswipe realized that was exactly what he was doing.

What the pit?

It was like he didn’t even care Sideswipe was there, standing on the floor of his berthroom, watching him go to sleep. Did he think it was safe, that Sideswipe wouldn’t do anything to him while he was out of it and vulnerable?

Except… Was he vulnerable? Was a mech like Megatron ever vulnerable? Was he dumb enough to shut down all of his systems for recharge, or did he leave enough on to royally mess Sideswipe up if he got too close or tried anything?

Greater mecha than him had probably tried to off the tyrant, but here Megatron was still. What chances did Sideswipe have against him? And there were two ways that could go. Either Megatron would just be amused, or he would take offense and… Kill him in retaliation? That wouldn’t surprise him.

He didn’t want to die here. Not in Megatron’s berthroom, not in this tower, not in Kaon.

He didn’t want to die at all.

It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take and not a price he was willing to pay for the slim chance he could end Megatron. And… Even if he did manage that, what did he expect to happen? He doubted Megatron’s lackeys would be too pleased.

No, there was no way that could’ve ended well for Sideswipe. It wouldn’t end well for him if he didn’t do anything, but at least by not doing anything he had the chances to get out of Megatron’s wing, return to Sunstreaker, and return to their escape plots.

He wouldn’t be able to escape if he was dead.

He still didn’t understand what Megatron was doing, though, but he feared he would learn the answer sooner or later, and that he wouldn’t like it. While Megatron was recharging though… Sideswipe didn’t think he would be catching any recharge himself, not with Megatron there. He didn’t want to let his guard down, even for a moment.

There was no way that would’ve led to anything good.

Sideswipe glanced around him at the spartan room. Megatron had made sure not to leave any datapads behind when he left, and there was nothing more to explore now either. If he even would’ve dared to snoop around while Megatron was recharging a couple of steps away.

So… Now what? He’d escaped interfacing for the time being, but he still didn’t know what the game they were playing was, and he still had absolutely nothing to do.

With a quiet huff Sideswipe backed up until his back hit one of the bleak walls, then carefully slid down it to sit on the floor, pulling his knees back to his chassis.

More waiting. A lot more waiting, listening to the peaceful whirr and rumble of Megatron’s systems. The sounds would’ve been soothing if they’d belonged to someone else, but coming from Megatron they only put Sideswipe on edge and made it impossible to forget where he was. He didn’t want to familiarize himself with the sounds of the tyrant’s recharging frame.

But here he was.

He didn’t full on recharge himself, not for the whole of Megatron’s recharge cycle, but he did enter a light doze like before. Not because he was particularly tired, but just to have something to pass the time with.

They were long, long hours that he anxiously waited for Megatron to awaken, and see what that brought with it. It gave his mind far too much time to work over all the unpleasant things that might await him in his unfortunate future, concoct all sorts of possibilities, each one more terrible than the one before.

And he feared Megatron would live up to all of it, somehow.

How had one mech become the biggest boogeyman he’d ever known?

Megatron woke up no sooner and no later than what suited him. Sideswipe snapped out of his thoughts the moment the sounds of the tyrant’s systems changed and started to ramp up again, signaling his return to full awareness. It was a short process with no time wasted, just the steady climb from recharge to everyday functioning. Soon Megatron was already sitting up and stretching like Sideswipe would’ve expected from any mech.

But it looked so wrong coming from the sadistic dictator that had no right to remind him of the common folk that didn’t go around kidnapping and raping others.

It didn’t take longer than that for Megatron to take notice of him, though, and Sideswipe pressed tighter against the wall at his back when the tyrant’s red gaze zeroed in on him. “Sleep well?” Megatron asked.

Sideswipe’s lips drew back in a snarl.

Megatron didn’t laugh, but it looked like it was a close thing. “Come here and coax it out,” he gave the order once again, patting the berth in invitation.

“Slag you!” Sideswipe growled back at him and decidedly didn’t go over to fragging coax it out.

“Suit yourself,” the tyrant said genteelly before getting up from the berth and leaving the whole room.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Sideswipe was alone all over again.

This didn’t make any damn sense. “Why doesn’t he just…” he murmured to himself, trying to make sense of the mix of emotions his spark was pulsing with. On one hand, relief that he wasn’t getting raped like he’d gotten a lot recently.

But on the other he just… Wanted it over with. It would hurt, and he’d hate it, but afterwards he could return to the harem wing, to Sunstreaker, and hug his brother, and listen to him hear say they’d get out yet.

He didn’t want this waiting. Waiting for Megatron to unleash his cruelty, waiting for the suffering, the pain, the humiliation.

Get it over with.

It’d only hurt for a while. And on the other side… There might just be a moment to gather himself back together before the next time he’d need to survive Megatron’s attentions.

But this?

“Fuck this,” Sideswipe whispered, his servos finding their way to his helmet and cradling it.

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

Again he sat, and he waited, and again it was such a long, long time before Megatron deemed to return. Sideswipe didn’t even want to count the hours.

“Coax it out.”

He refused.

Megatron didn’t force him.

Megatron sat at his desk, drank his energon, and worked, and Sideswipe sat on the chilly floor, against the wall, and watched him because he had nothing better to do.

Another recharge cycle Megatron slept peacefully on his berth. Sideswipe remained on the floor, tense and anxious, but not as tense and anxious as before.

He hated that. He didn’t want to get used to Megatron’s presence, but his emotions were tiring him to the point of dulling when nothing bad happened.

Another morning, another order, another time he didn’t do as he was told.

Another time Megatron left him alone while he went off to who knew where.

This time Sideswipe got up and went to the door, experimentally testing if it was locked or if he could maybe even get to the lounge on the other side.

But it was locked. He was not only held prisoner in Kaon and the palace, but now in Megatron’s berthroom too.

What did he want? For him to just… Was it all he wanted that Sideswipe would go to him and do as he was told? Was that all?

“Frag off with that,” he muttered as he turned from the door and crawled under the berth, all the way to the center where he could be sure Megatron wouldn’t be able to reach him. He curled up there and tried to get some real recharge in the spell of peace and quiet when Megatron wasn’t present.

And tried to ignore his slowly depleting fuel levels.

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

When Megatron returned that night, he halted right at the door, probably because he couldn’t see Sideswipe right away. Sideswipe tensed, but it wasn’t like his spark or energy signatures had gone anywhere. In short order Megatron had fully stepped into the room, walked over to the berth, and crouched down to see under it.

Sideswipe met his optics.

Megatron smiled at him.

Sideswipe growled.

But Megatorn said nothing, and did nothing else, only stood back up and went to his desk. He had energon with him again. Sideswipe could hear the cube hit the desk every so often after Megatron took a drink from it before setting it back down.

And although Sideswipe wasn’t exactly exerting himself, his frame was still using his energon reserves for simple functioning. The decline was slow, but steady.

He wondered if Megatron had any plans to give him fuel.

Probably not.

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

Orns. Straight up orns.

He stayed under the berth stubbornly, ignoring the cold wafting from the floor, barely warmed by the heat of his frame. In fact, putting those two against each other, it was his frame that was cooling rather than the floor warming.

He didn’t move much either, and his cables were getting stiff, but he didn’t dare do anything that would’ve earned Megatron’s attentions. As it was the tyrant only crouched to take a look at him and smile at him right after he returned from spending the day who knew where doing who knew what dictator things. He didn’t say anything and wouldn’t try to get him to come out from under the berth, but Sideswipe knew what was hanging in the air between them despite their silence.

Coax it out.

That was what he was supposed to do. What would happen if he did? Yeah, no doubt there’d be interfacing he wanted absolutely nothing to do with, but… What about after?

Would he get to go back to Sunstreaker?

Primus, but he missed his brother. He was bored out of his mind, but more importantly than that... He just wanted his twin’s embrace and the comfort of a frame near identical to his own, of a spark that was a half of his own.

He could really use a hug right about now, honestly.

Because he didn’t know what to do. Time passed, but Megatron showed no signs of planning to let him leave, or of offering some fuel to him. And his fuel meter, it was lowering to uncomfortable readings. He’d already used up a large portion of his reserves during the orgy, and hadn’t had the time to replenish them.

How far would Megatron let things go? Until he went to stasis?

Would he leave him to rust under his berth? His reward for his determination?

Was it worth it? He wanted to see Sunstreaker again. He wanted to have the chance to leave this hellhole for good. A chance to reclaim his life.

He wouldn’t get that if he became forgotten under a tyrant’s berth.

But what he would need to do to get out of here… Pits. There was no winning. He got to choose between two kinds of damned, that was all.

He wanted Sunstreaker here, so, so badly. He didn’t want to do this alone, be here alone.

Sideswipe curled up tighter as Megatron settled down for another recharge cycle above him. His HUD was blinking a fitful warning at him, beseeching him to fuel soon before he became too weak to do so. Hunger was gnawing at his tanks, near empty by now. He had little more than the energon in his lines, and that was losing charge steadily. It wouldn’t be too long before there wasn’t enough of it there to power his engines.

And if he couldn’t power his engines, he wouldn’t be able to move. Then what?

Best case scenario was that Megatron would have him pulled out from under the berth and refueled, but that would only land him back to square one. This wasn’t even a game of wills anymore, if it ever had been. It didn’t matter how much willpower he had. Even if he had enough, he’d just lose another way.

Inevitable.

His fate was coming for him whether he liked it or not. There was no way out that didn’t involve doing Megatron’s bidding.

When would he give in?

Was it just a matter of time?

He tried to quiet his sob and drew his field in even tighter than it had already been. Megatron didn’t need to know how he was feeling.

He didn’t need to know he was winning.

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

Two more orns. He held on for two more orns, cold, lonely, bored out of his fucking mind, but still preferring that to the future he feared.

Despair. The warning on his HUD had gotten upgraded in priority and was nearing critical. Stasis or pleasing Megatron, those were his two options. He couldn’t see any others.

When Megatron came back that night, he crouched at the end of the berth as was usual by now, and Sideswipe met his optics, knowing his own were dimming.

“Are you hungry?” Megatron asked and brought a cube to his view. Sideswipe’s throat constricted at the promise of much needed fuel. His frame demanded him to take it, to avoid being forced into stasis.

Into being completely helpless.

As if he wasn’t that even when his tanks were full.

“You must be,” the tyrant continued with a tone of fake kindness, like he actually gave a damn about Sideswipe’s wellbeing.

He just cared about how he could get Sideswipe to do what he wanted. How to make him like everyone else in that regard.

And it was working. Sideswipe closed his optics and entertained defeat. He wouldn’t last another orn. It was now or never if he didn’t want to choose stasis over Megatron’s clutches.

He just wanted back to Sunstreaker. What was he doing except drawing things out at this point? He couldn’t win. There was no reality where he would get his way and get out of here without going through Megatron first.

Without doing what Megatron wanted of him, first.

He would… He would just have to keep that in mind. He was doing this for Sunstreaker, for their reunion. Not for himself, and definitely not for Megatron.

For Sunstreaker.

He closed his optics tighter. The words hurt when they came out– “What do you want from me?”

–But the approving pulse in Megatron’s field hurt even more.

“Come out and see.”

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#transformers #maccadams #megatron #sideswipe #sunstreaker #starscream #skywarp #harem au #twins #fic #2020

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omgviolette12 · 5 years ago

Text

After Hours - Chapter 7 A professor Loki fanfiction

Previous Chapter

Summary: Evelyn Monroe has been a TA for professor Laufeyson’s Calculus course for four months now. He was known to be quite strict, but that never deterred her from applying for the position in order to be close to the man she had been secretly pining for. One evening, she returns to his office after opening hours… and with her bountiful luck, she walks in on something not meant to be seen.

Chapters: 7/?

Words: 2800+

Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Tags: @milkymaidme @dangertoozmanykids101@alexakeyloveloki @little-moonbeam-666 @marvel-ous-fics@clovermariear@lynnesm@bitchyikes@moon-child-of-a-poet, @allthecraftandthings@bubblegumspitt @shockwavee @blondekel77 @nerd--nirvana @valdemarismynonbinarylove

If you’d like to be added, let me know. I’ve also posted this on AO3

_______________

Evelyn stared blankly at the man in front of her, as his words and the close proximity between them stunned her into silence.

She attempted to formulate a coherent reply to his filthy admission, but all she could manage was a squeaky whimper.

"Oh…"

Oh? Oh?! This man, my professor, literally just said he wanted to fuck me to high heaven, and all I could say was oh?!!

Despite sensing the woman in his arms had grown increasingly flustered, to the point he feared she would faint again, Loki refused to relent as he continued to bombard her with his fantasies.

"I've watched you for so long, wanted you for so long. To see that beautiful smile of yours, shine just for me. To see you laugh, cry, and scream - Just. For. Me. I will have it no other way, from this day forward. I swear it. No longer will I settle for someone else."

His words were filled with such passion, such overwhelming possessiveness, that Evelyn could not believe that it was directed towards her. Of all the women he could have in this world, he wanted...her? Little ole' Evelyn? A student?

She couldn't believe it. As she began to doubt the sincerity behind his words, Candice’s voice replayed inside her head.

‘He just seems the type to...you know, fuck his students on the regular...have hoes on call, you know the works. Just warning you, I don't want your feelings hurt.’

Because of this, Evelyn gradually began to think that he probably just wanted a quick romp in the hay with a student to satiate whatever fantasies he may have, and then find some way to shut her up later.

She wanted...to be more than that.

“...And what makes you think...that..uh..I want the same thing...? That I want you?”

Evelyn once again blurted out the first thing that came to mind, while attempting to distance herself away from him. She had tried to sound confident, but expectedly, she failed miserably.

Despite that, her words did manage to stun him for a moment - for he did not expect her to utter such nonsense.

He fixed her with a steady glare, daring her to disagree with his next words,

"Just moments before, in front of my door, you were muttering to yourself how much you yearned for my touch, despite my roughness. You expect me to believe otherwise?"

Evelyn was stumped, mouth opening in shock. She didn't want to believe he actually heard her and pushed it to the back of her head, pretending that his reply at the time meant something else. But the dastardly man held no reservations about burying her in embarrassment.

Nevertheless, she continued to play dumb in order to preserve the remaining scraps of dignity she so cherished.

"I could like...um... I don’t know, have a boyfriend..or..something...? I was probably thinking about him at the time."

The room dropped several degrees in that instant.

"...Boyfriend?" The forceful way in which he spat those words made it sound like it was the most repulsive thing in the world, his eyes now cold as ice.

He laughed mirthlessly as he closed the distance she had made between them, stalking towards her like a wolf eyeing his prey. "Now, pray tell, who would this...boyfriend of yours be? I have never seen you with -"

He took a pause before he could finish his sentence. Slowly, his face began to twist in barely concealed anger, as if he realized something.

"...You mean to say…" his eyes slowly narrowed as he spoke through gritted teeth, "It was that daft boy that came to get your things? Andrès, was it? Pardon me for saying this, but I cannot see what has you so smitten -"

She wanted to play along with it. But the idea itself was so preposterous to her brain that she busted out in laughter before she could even think to stop herself.

"Oh fuck no! Andrès? Mr. Chunky Chunks? Phew! You're real funny, you know that?"

If she were any sillier, she would've slapped a knee before rolling on the floor, still laughing at his suggestion.

Evelyn did not look up to see his expression, but she guessed he must've looked pretty aggrieved.

" He's...heh-heh... he's just a friend. Did you really think..."

Evelyn trailed off, slowly recalling her interaction with Andrés earlier that day. His sour demeanor, and anger at failing the course after speaking to Loki on her behalf.

“Uh...wait… is that why,” Evelyn laughed nervously to herself, before looking up at him to gauge his reaction, “...Is that why you failed him? Because you thought he was -“

“- Of course not,” He cut her off a bit too quickly, slowly averting his eyes from her person, “ The boy had missed classes, with today being his third absence. As my TA, surely you must know what that means.”

His words were logical - if Andrès missed that many classes, then his failing had nothing to do with her, thankfully. But if that was the case, why was he avoiding direct eye contact? And why was he getting a bit red in the face?

"In any case," her professor abruptly cleared his throat to change the subject, "We have more important things to discuss."

Suddenly even more nervous than she was before, Evelyn's heart began to thump loudly at the change of his tone.

Well, here goes nothing...

“I...um, I now know that you’re attracted to me. But...I’m not sure what you’re expecting from me,”

Evelyn began quietly, twiddling her thumbs, “ At this point, I can’t deny that I feel the same way. But...I think what we want from each other is a bit...different.”

Loki raised his dark brows at her insinuation, “ And what exactly do you think I want from you, darling?”

Evelyn sighed to herself. It was best to be honest with the man, he could tell a white lie from a mile away.

“...I think you just want me for sex. A quick lil fuck, fling, whatever. Then you’d toss me to the side whenever it’d convenience you.” She took a deep breath, hands across her chest as a source of comfort, “ ...I want more than that. I am more than that.”

His eyes revealed nothing as he looked at her in silence, seemingly unaffected by her words - but the slight tightening of his jaw was extremely telling.

Evelyn worried she might’ve been a bit too blunt about it. But his voice soon echoed within the room, unusually soft and complacent,

“...I understand that due to my actions towards you, and what you have seen of me, that I have left a rather unfavorable impression of myself attributed by a lack of self control,” he began to move a hand to caress her face, but hesitated for a moment.

When she did not flinch away, he rested a large hand against her neck, caressing her cheek idly with his thumb, “ You may doubt my sincerity, but please trust that I want you entirely as my woman, my lover, or whatever title you feel comfortable with. I...I admit my initial intentions towards you were not pure. However, just your body isn’t enough now, as wonderful as it is. I need your heart, your mind. And in return, you shall have mine as well.”

In response to his heartfelt confession, Evelyn could only gape at him with big, googly fish eyes. Why did she feel like she just got proposed to?!

Suddenly dry in the mouth, Evelyn forced herself to choke out whatever insecurities she had...about whatever what was between them now. He was so open with her - the man was usually extremely closed off with his feelings, she could hardly pinpoint his mood most of the time in the past...but now she could see a side of him she never thought she would ever witness. His vulnerability. She could at least show him the same courtesy.

“...I’m just - I’m afraid I won’t be able to make you happy… I’m not as experienced and knowledgeable as you, and other women... and.. uhm..”

She could tell that her babbling had piqued his interest, as he gently prompted her to continue by massaging her neck in an attempt to help her relax a bit.

However, it only made it harder for her to speak, so her next words came out only a tad jumbled since she spoke as fast as possible to get it over with.

“You’rewaytoobigandIhaven’thadmypussypoppedyet!”

Phew, got it out there!

Feeling accomplished but mostly embarrassed, Evelyn turned her head away from his touch to cover her face, hiding behind her small hands.

An uncomfortable amount of silence passed.

“Could… pfft-“

In response to the stifled laughter before her, Evelyn slowly peeked from her hands to look at his face.

“Could you please, repeat what you just said? Just...just once more. I didn’t quite catch that.”

He was grinning from ear to ear, his expression extremely jovial to the point she gaped at him in fascination. When was the last time she had seen this cold, strict professor of hers laugh so openly? Never. With the exception of the little chuckle he graced her with once, his smile was a rarity. So needless to say, she felt herself blushing at the thought of being the source of his happiness, and future happiness to come. Oh, and the sound of his laugh was hot as hell too.

In any case, she righted herself before she decided to change her sentence completely, “Ahem! Mm! Uh...I said that I am extremely inexperienced when it comes to pleasing a man, as you’d technically be my first ever relationship. And first everything.There. I said what I said.”

His grin grew even wider at the change, “If those are your concerns, please rest assured. I’m in no rush to… haha... ‘pop your pussy’ as you so eloquently put it. As I’ve stated previously, I intend for our relationship to be a serious one. Set the pace however you’d like. But when the time comes...”

He leaned in closer, causing her breath to momentarily falter, “ I’d be more than happy to teach you, many many things. Just as I’ve done in the past. You’re a fast learner, darling. You needn’t be so worried. I’ll be slow, and gentle. Your first time will be pleasurable - and like a good girl, you will accept all of me.”

In those icy blue eyes, she could see his barely constrained lust - the tension in his shoulders as he held himself back from giving into his baser desires. He didn’t want to scare her away like last time, she realized.

But those very words that left his lips, awakened something primal within Evelyn herself. Her skin prickled with excitement, and she could swear the wetness from her most intimate parts could rival Niagara Falls right about now.

Since we’re both consenting adults attracted to one another...a kiss to start things off wouldn’t be so bad, right? Yep. A nice little peck. Just to see what it’s like...

Horny Evelyn™ has finally made an appearance. So, spurred on by adrenaline and hormones, she decided to take the plunge and ask for one.

"Then...then to start things off, how about a kiss? I mean - just a peck, I've..oh shit, this is so embarrassing - I mean, I've always imagined what it would be like...with you. So yeah…"

Loki seemed surprised that she even suggested it, his eyes widening by a fraction. “While extremely tempting my dear, I fear I lack the self control at the moment to have it be…’just a kiss’. Unless, you’d be willing to take the risk.”

Evelyn pretended to think about it for a moment, before replying with a sharp nod of her head, “Yep, I’m sure. Since I’m with you now...I kinda want to get used to being intimate with someone. Baby steps. So yeah... let's do it."

The air changed, charging with so much tension it was almost stifling. She watched as he came closer to her, his entire demeanor giving away the excitement he felt at the opportunity to finally kiss her without reproach.

Their breaths picked up when he snaked an arm behind her back to pull her flush against him, while using the other to tip her head up by the chin.

Without breaking eye contact, he inched closer and closer, until their lips finally touched.

As soon as they did, Evelyn felt as if she stepped into an entirely different world. Everything disappeared in that moment, as if he was the only one that existed. His scent, and the softness of his lips were now the only things that mattered. Overwhelmed with this sudden sensation, she grasped at his shirt, desperate for more contact.

Loki had indeed intended for the kiss to be chaste - but the sudden action on her part spurred him to take things just a bit further. It was a bit underhanded, but a little pinch to her hip gave him all the access to her mouth he needed.

Instead of focusing on the sudden pain to her hip, her senses were instead zoned in on the sensation of his tongue that was now inside her mouth. She moaned, reveling at how it felt to have him inside her. She imagined her first kiss to be a sloppy mess, but the man kissed with sensual grace. Aside from the masterful use of his tongue that was about to leave her a panting mess, the subtle movements of his hips against her own left her wanting for more.

Without breaking the kiss, he turned them around so that she was now backed up against his desk. The position reminded her of when he first embraced her in his classroom - her legs open for him to stand between them, and the familiar hardness that pressed against her core.

She let out a small gasp against his lips when he began to grind said erection against her with earnest, the sudden jolt of pleasure catching her off-guard. Delighted at the sounds coming from the young woman before him, he grew even bolder, slowly moving his hands away from her hips to grasp her butt - lifting her unto his desk in one fell swoop.

Heh…”just a peck” my ass. I might actually get fuckidy fucked to the moon and back at this rate. So much for going slow…

Unexpectedly however, her professor soon broke the kiss of his own volition. She was about to protest, but the look in his eyes shut her up immediately. It was filled to the brim with want, and she worried that they now passed the point of no return.

“I would like to touch you...even more. May I?

She was in a bit of a daze, so she was confused as to what he was asking of her. Weren’t they already touching?

Smiling at her confusion, he made it easier for her by showing exactly what he meant.

So, Evelyn nothing short of yelped in surprise when she felt his large hands cup both of her breasts through her dress.

She didn't stop him when he began to massage them - it was as if she were in a trance like state of pleasure. She watched his hands with rapt attention as he played with her breasts, and just the sight of her professor touching her in such an intimate way caused the ache in her sex to worsen.

She jerked against his hardness with a sudden pinch of a nipple, causing him to release a deep groan of pleasure.

Evelyn decided that was the sexiest sound she'd ever heard, and she wanted more of it.

So, she began to move her hips in tandem with his, bringing about a friction that left them moaning unashamedly.

"You feel so good, my dear Evelyn… fuck! - I'd give anything in the world to be deep inside your tight-"

Knock knock!

"- Hey..uh... professor Laufeyson? You in there?"

The jarring voice of Andrès froze the two lovers within the room, effectively breaking the spell of wanton abandon between them.

___________________

A/N: I apologize for the delay! I was busy getting ready for school, doing assignments, etc. That my writing/reading really took a backseat. Also, some exciting news - I’m going to go see betrayal on Oct.13th! I’m so excited...like omg!

Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought, what you

hope to see, etc.

#loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fic #Loki Laufeyson #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fic #loki odinson #loki smut #professor loki

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aplaceofstone · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Twin Peaks Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dale Cooper & Laura Palmer Characters: Dale Cooper (Twin Peaks), Laura Palmer Additional Tags: character-typical orientalism, Dreamscapes, Post-Canon, Symbolism, Road Trips, Future Fic, but also past fic! what year is this, trick - Freeform Summary:

Windom told Dale about the dugpas. Dale tells Laura about the dugpas. Laura doesn't say much in this one, already knowing that projection is one hell of a drug. And while they don't talk about it, they both remember peeking under the curtains only to find themselves staring at a vast and starless expanse beyond. In the end there is nothing to say.

My Trick or Treat story for @cerealninjakat!

ETA I’m told AO3 is being glitchy, does this work?

It's another all-night drive to nowhere. Town after town, highway after highway until time and distance lose meaning. Their whole world has shrunk to the space within the arcs of a rental car's headlights, all dark asphalt and road paint. The radio is broken. When words flow out of their throat, they come out heavy and full of static. All they fill the air with is ghosts.

"Have I told you of my encounter with the dugpas?" asks Cooper.

"The what?" asks back Laura, eager to break the silence, not quite sure this is the way to do it.

"Dugpas, Laura." He grows bold, there's an echo of an old story molding his words, it's an easy path to follow. "The dark magicians who are otherwise known as red caps, as Madame Helena Blavatsky describes them in her early theosophical writings. They are an old sect of monks who resisted the yellow-cap gelugpa reform of the fourteenth century - a deeply spiritual affair, the details of which, if I am to be completely honest, mostly elude me - and practice their drunken sorceries in the great monastery of Sakia-jong, deep in the heart of Tibet. Or… in Bhutan." He frowns, losing momentum, struggling to chase back that memory, that knowledge, the abstract idea of a geographical map, finding no help in Laura's distant gaze. "...sources differ. It is said... that they can imbue even common objects with their evil magnetism. It is a fearsome power to be sure. To hex pieces of cloth that they place on the mountain paths that lead to their monastery, so that incautious hikers will step upon them and be subject to a tremendous psychic shock, making them fall to their doom. The high path of knowledge and spirituality is indeed a treacherous one..."

"Oh, yes." She nods, slowly. It's a slow day. "I met those. Didn't think they were monks, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I met those. But I didn't think they were monks."

Cooper nods. Certainties like that, they go nowhere. One day he and Laura herself will find out what she meant by those words, if it was her memory, or his, or something they have not experienced yet, or they will not. Happens to the best of them.

Regardless, he has his tale to tell, a tale which, as he recalls, began when he appeared in the mountains, far, far away. "Laura, the mountains…"

In his memory, which is coming back to him as would a dream, one moment he was not there, the next he was, dragged through the ether by invisible forces. Summoned, is, the word, through obscure magic rituals. The mountains! The stone was old and heavy under the melting snow, banded, folded upon itself in so many layers that traced their parallel lines along the sharp cut of the mountainside; the gray horizon stretched farther than he had ever seen. Cooper stood motionless on a flat, dark rock. The pale six o'clock sun was still high in the sky. Amidst that stillness, a crimson line snaked through the valley, slowly marching toward him. It was a procession of monks, chanting in unison as they walked, and they wore red robes and red hats, and he knew what they were, and he could not move, overtaken as he was by fear. One by one, as they came next to him, they grabbed his face and observed it, tracing their fingers along his hairline and down to his jaw as if to find some secret there, a crack, a fault line. He didn't know their faces and they knew his face and they judged him. He knew, as he knows now, that there were good monks far away, in the monastery which lay at the end of the valley, whose golden domes could be seen on the horizon where the two mountains met. He thought, in his terror, that if he could get away, he would be able to take refuge there and the good monks would look after him. He thought they would show him their truths. But he could not get away. One by one, they grabbed his face and observed him, and they let him go. Imperfect moon, they said. Imperfect moon. There was no moon in the sky, but that is what they said, and then they left. The valley was empty again. He wanted to run to the safety of the monastery, but as the last monk passed him by, he was not in the mountains anymore. Whatever mystical force had taken hold of him had loosened its grip, or another power had grown stronger. He found himself back in his bed, relieved by the simple familiarity of the objects around him, and went on to get a good cup of coffee, a fact which is positioned as the moral of the story, and maybe it is, he concludes with an awkward smile.

And then: with the gravity of the plate collision that gave birth to the mountains, this moment shifts, morphs, stretches, grows tighter and more brittle.

They linger in their motel room. The desert fills the horizon outside their window; Laura feels that she has seen this place already, with its vast clouds above and constellations of cacti on the ground, and lived this life already, and heard this story already. So it goes, on and on, swirling in the clouds, already written in secret patterns on the ground. They are tired.

"Have I told you of my encounter with the dugpas?" asks Cooper.

"The what?" asks back Laura.

"Dugpas, Laura. That is a name for the darker parts of the self. There is, you see, a tendency in occultist writings to speak in metaphors for the struggle of the human soul, so a text may describe the depraved dealings of a dark sorcerer, but when push comes to shove, what they mean to show is that all men may fall prey to those fallacies. It has long been proven that symbolic images are a way for the human brain to grasp abstract concepts that would be much too difficult to be absorbed directly. And so the Path of the Shadow, or the Left-Hand Path as it is also known, is a dark discipline for the the so-called black magicians of the Occident, but their archetype applies to us all. In a way, it is said, it stands for the selfish choices made by our ego in every little event in our lives, when we move away from universal unity and toward separation."

"Story of our lives," Laura laughs. There is no answer Cooper could offer that would make them feel better, so he offers none. Story of their lives.

Her laughter fades and he has to keep telling his story, to make sense of it. In this particular story of his life, then, the curtains parted and the mountains appeared before him.

"No, no, no, let me start again: I was standing in a small room, back then," he says, and they both know where that back then is, and that it still looms over them, trembling red in the corner of their eye, chevron reflections in a diner's toilet. It is them. But back then they curtains and the chevron were all around them, they were a place, which usually affords a certain degree of separation from the self. Except all of a sudden the curtains came up to him, sneaking on the floor and rising up against him from all directions. His body was surrounded by heavy red velvet. He tried to fend off the attack, but he saw faces in the fabric's folds, sneering at him. What he had thought to be curtains were rows of men and women dressed in red vests and red caps, some of them old, some of them young, their faces were all harsh and marked by evil, and they were all him.

This sea of red-clad people who were him swarmed to him and parted back, and instead of the room, the mountains laid before him. The mountains! The stone was old and heavy under the melting snow, banded, folded upon itself in so many layers that traced their parallel lines along the sharp cut of the mountainside; the gray horizon stretched farther than he had ever seen. Cooper stood motionless on a flat, dark rock, trembling, feeling naked against the open expanse of the valley. The pale six o'clock sun was still high in the sky. The figures in red had swarmed the ground. A doctor came forward - long face, gray hair, a veterinarian, a distant part of Dale Cooper but a part of him nonetheless - and visited him as he stood there, paralyzed by fear. Cooper knew that this sea of red was not all of him: there was a house far away at the end of the valley, whose roofs could be seen where the two mountains met, where all the good he had done waited for him, wearing different vests and different faces, to look after him and to show him the way.

"Ever had any luck running from yourself?" asks Laura, her interest piqued.

"Oh, they let me go."

The doctor stitched him back up, shaking his head at the end of his exam. Instead of explaining himself, he fell atop him, unfolding like a piece of fabric, leaving behind only the echo of his words: he shall bring others. He was a curtain again, and so were the others, and Cooper was back there, back inside. He spent the rest of that day thinking about those faces, an instant and twenty-five years. But the curtains never showed them again. They were far away.

Once again the moment shifts. It cracks, splinters, gains new mass.

They walk, because a car will not lead them where they need to be. They have been walking for a long time. The day is cold for the season, the snow hasn't fully relented yet, but their jackets are warm and their boots well-worn. The slope is mild and they are not alone on the path, tourists and locals alike enjoying the pleasures of a sunny day.

A row of gaudy little flags planted on the edge of the path catches Dale's attention; he waves at Laura to wait for him and kneels down to check out the closest one. The fabric is smooth under his fingers. The ground is smooth under his knees and he falls off the path, down the cliff. The world goes dark. Eventually, he lands on a different path underneath, one they did not tread on their way up. Laura is following after him, balancing herself with her open arms as she steps on big, flat stones on the mountain's side. With one last hop, she is standing by his side, helping him back up with a steady hand. They look ahead, trying to find their bearings.

The mountains beckon them. The mountains! It comes back to them, as would a dream, or they come back to it, or both at once when seen from an impossible perspective encompassing both ends of the story. The stone is old and heavy under the melting snow, banded, folded upon itself in so many layers that trace their parallel lines along the sharp cut of the mountainside; the gray horizon stretches farther than he has ever seen. Cooper stands motionless on a flat, dark rock, Laura by his side. The pale six o'clock sun is still high in the sky.

There are people walking on the path above; some stop to look at them. There are rows of people on a path higher up still, and yet more on the other side. Wool hats all over, 'tis the season (although which season it is, they could not say); some of them are red. They stare, for a while. Then they walk away, carrying their red hats with them, struck by indifference, keeping their secrets, their vices, their miseries, spreading them into the world. This place does not care. They have fallen into a mirror of itself and see now with razor-sharp clarity the simplicity of it all under the tales and symbols. It is vast and terrifying.

"Have I... told you… about...?" Dale says, and they are among ghosts, and a cold fog covers his words.

"Tell me that story," says Laura with the same urgency in her voice. "How did you get out?"

"I…"

The valley ends somewhere up North, as all valleys do. But there is nothing at the end of the road, where the mountains meet. No-one has summoned them: no-one has the power to let them go. Evil exists. A desolate crossing place leads into the unknown.

"I don't think I ever did."

#twin peaks #dale cooper #laura palmer

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sending-the-message · 6 years ago

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Anglerfish by coffinstuffer

Coyotes will sometimes lure domestic dogs out into the woods by playing with them. A single coyote will approach the dog, ears forward, tail up, acting friendly as can be. It may even roll on its back and expose its belly in a show of submission, to draw the dog into a bout of mock wrestling. Gradually, the games will push farther and farther away from home. Deep into the forest. That’s when the rest of the pack appears. Clusters. The dog’s new friend becomes its executioner as the pack begins to attack.

It’s not uncommon for lonely children to bond with imaginary companions. They invent invisible friends to pass the hours away with. It is considered a typically harmless behavior, as long as the child understands the ultimate difference between fantasy and reality.

I’ve often wondered about the correlation between invisible childhood friends and later mental disturbance. I wonder what the statistics of suicides and disappearances might look like, when juxtaposed against the incidence of imaginary friends and what age someone stopped seeing them.

The first invisible friend I can remember was named Kevin. He was a little boy just like me, if not a few years older. We used to play together on the beaches of Lake Michigan. Building sand castles, collecting rocks and splashing around in the water.

Kevin liked to swim a lot more than I did. He’d dog-paddle out far into the water, giggling and urging me to join him. I tried a few times, but whenever I swam more than ten feet from the shore, my mother would call me back. Kev and I played together almost every week from my early childhood until I was nine and my family moved farther inland.

I didn’t even realize that Kevin wasn’t a corporeal person until years later. I made some offhand comment to my mother about my old lakeside companion. She seemed confused, and said there were never any other children when we went to the lake. I would laugh and talk to myself. But there was no Kevin. At least, not that she ever saw.

Hyenas can mimic human laughter. There is a lot of African folklore about evil spirits that can imitate the voices of loved ones to draw you away from the village.

These stories might have been fairy tales, but they served a very real purpose. The people who survived were the ones who didn’t follow strange sounds in the dark.

I met Polly a few weeks after my family moved into a new house, in an area with dense forests and narrow roads. Rural Michigan might as well be the Canadian tundra. We were farther north than Toronto. Though the summers were pleasant enough, the winters got bitter cold.

I don’t know for a fact that I was the only one who could see Polly, because she only ever came around when I was alone. But once or twice, she seemed to disappear into thin air, which makes me think she wasn’t made of flesh and blood.

Polly was… weird. She made me nervous from the second she walked out of the woods. Maybe it was her bare, dirt-covered feet, or her wide, glassy-eyes. Even at ten years old, I knew that other children weren’t supposed to just appear like that. She shouldn’t have been wandering around in the middle of nowhere without an adult.

She always wore the same thing. A faded, floral dress, with her straw-colored hair in two messy braids. She never offered any explanation of where she came from or where her family lived, beyond just pointing back into the woods. She said they didn’t live far. They had a cabin out there.

I didn’t believe her.

But I was bored. No other children lived within walking distance. So Polly and I would kick a soccer ball around, and climb trees, and play cowboys and pirates. She always wanted me to come to her house. She said she had a lot of fun games there, but I wasn’t allowed to leave the yard.

Polly was predictable, at least. She was always waiting for me after school, regardless of the weather. When it got too cold out, we played up in my attic. I was alarmed by her lack of boots or winter clothing at first. But she always just shrugged and said the temperature didn’t bother her. She did try to get me to come outside with her sometimes. She’d say I didn’t really need a coat either. She said that if you stayed in the snow long enough, you’d stop feeling it.

At the time, I wasn’t certain she was trying to harm me. She was confused, lonely, and desperate for a friend. But at the back of my mind, a nagging voice told me she didn’t have my best interests at heart. So I never did follow her out into the elements without proper protection.

Sirens are an ancient idea. Creatures that take the shape of gorgeous women, or whatever their prey would find most enticing. Creatures that sing so beautifully, they can bewitch any listener. Creatures that are such effective predators, their prey doesn’t notice the trap until their ship has been dashed to bits on the rocky shore and there’s blood in the water.

My family moved just a little outside Detroit when I was about thirteen. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot of stories about what the city is like. What a ghost town it is. I’ve even heard it compared to a post-apocalyptic wasteland. But you have to understand, it was a pretty gradual descent from the 60’s until about 2000. In the early 90’s, it wasn’t in the terrible state it is now.

My parents and I moved into a relatively nice apartment complex. I went to the nearby middle school, and it was fine. I didn’t make friends very fast, but I also wasn’t scared for my life or anything.

Robert introduced himself a few days after we finished unpacking our boxes. He was fifteen. A tall, skinny black kid with a buzzed head and a thousand-watt smile. He said he lived down in one of the basement units, though I never saw it. His father drank a lot, and didn’t like company. We would sometimes hang out at my place, but it was kind of cramped, and my mother was usually home. So Robert and I spent a lot of time on the roof of the building.

It was terribly exciting. I remember the way my heart used to skip and flutter when we stole cigarettes from the corner store, or slipped a forty into our baggy jeans. On cool autumn nights, when Robert and I would lie back on a blanket and look at the stars, my skin would get inexplicably warm. I’d feel strange and fuzzy all over, and it was more than just the watery beer.

He talked to me a lot about how he wanted to be a pilot. He’d always dreamed of joining the Air Force. His dad said it was a stupid idea. They don’t let faggots in the army. I’d never heard that word before. Faggot. It felt heavy, and dirty, and also thrilling in the same way that everything about Robert was. When he cupped my face in his wide hands and pressed our lips together, it was like the hormonal floodgates burst open and I was suddenly hungry in ways I’d never experienced.

I started to suspect Robert was not real when I saw him fall nine stories into a dumpster below, and get up again without so much as a scratch on him. I decided to ignore all better judgment, because I wanted to keep kissing him.

We only lived in that Detroit apartment for about eight months. By the end, I was well and truly in love, and when Robert whispered that there was a way we could stay together–I almost listened. But I didn’t want to step off the roof. I was scared. I knew it would hurt. When I refused, Robert became despondent and disappeared. I didn’t see him at all the last three days I spent in that building.

Versions of skinwalkers and shape shifters appear in most cultures.

It’s a terrifying idea. Being hurt by something that looks like a friend. Danger that seems harmless. Wolves in sheep’s clothing.

I can’t help but wonder if something as old as humanity itself might be the thing these legends sprang from. Perhaps these stories are warnings of some primal memory. A creature that looks like a person, but absolutely isn’t.

After my parents split up, my mother and I went to Ohio. She had a sister there, just a short drive from Columbus. We all lived together in a trailer, along with my five-year-old cousin Becca.

I was sixteen by then, so I was often left to watch Becca after school and on weekends. I didn’t mind it too much. It wasn't like I had other friends. She’d fill in her coloring books while I did homework, then we’d go outside.

There was another little girl next door. Tess. She and Becca loved to run around together, racing up and down the dirt roads, playing tag. Whenever they’d go too far off, too close to the parkway for comfort, I’d call them back. Becca usually listened, but Tess always seemed reluctant. I didn’t think a whole lot of it.

One day, when I was a little too engrossed in reading a comic book and not watching the girls closely, I heard a shriek.

“Tess! Watch out!”

I looked up just in time to see a semi-truck blasting past, not even slowing down as it ran little Tess right over. My jaw dropped. Panic shot through me. Sure, she wasn’t my kid, and I hadn’t even been directly tasked with watching her, but this was still ostensibly my fault.

I was on my feet, ready to run to Mr. Callhun’s house to borrow his phone and call the police.

But Tess was still standing there. Completely unharmed. She skipped off the road, giggling and whispering into Becca’s ear. Becca still looked a bit shell shocked, but smiled and hugged Tess close.

My stomach twisted. It was terrible to see from the outside. One of those things trying to get my baby cousin.

When I got close enough, I grabbed Becca’s wrist and tugged her away. Tess eyed me. Cold and calculating. Unlike any of them had ever looked at me before.

Perhaps I’d gotten too old. The whimsical thinking of childhood had given way to suspicion and fear. Perhaps it could tell that I’d caught onto the game. Perhaps it was angry I could even still see it. Most people my age couldn’t.

“You leave Becca alone,” I said firm as my cracking pubescent voice could muster.

“Or what?” Tess smiled at me. I’d never noticed how sharp her canines were. How mean those overgrown, dirty fingernails looked. I hadn’t taken the time to get a really good look at her until that moment.

“I’ll hurt you.”

“Adam!” Becca began trying to struggle out of my grasp. Obviously embarrassed.

Tess had started to back away, still smiling. She probably knew I couldn’t do anything to her. But maybe I’d get someone who could. A priest or a rabbi or something.

“Becca.” I kneeled down to be at her eye level. “Look at me. Tess isn’t real, OK? Real people can’t get run over by a truck and live.”

“Let me go!” Becca wailed, pushing at my hand ineffectually, trying to squirm free.

“Becca. Please. It’s important. You can’t play by the road with Tess anymore. She wants to hurt you.”

Becca broke down into ugly tears. Face bright red. Windpipes constricting to form unholy shrieks. I sighed, picked her up and carried her back to the trailer. She cried herself out and fell asleep on the couch.

When her mother got home that night, I told her Becca was playing way too close to the road and wouldn’t listen when I said it was dangerous. I hoped that was enough to warrant keeping her inside for a while.

It wasn’t more than a few weeks before Becca stopped talking about Tess. When I asked, she said that Tess had gone away. I took comfort in the fact that I hadn’t seen her around either.

Anglerfish are grotesque creatures. Ugly, with long fangs and dull eyes. But in the depths of oceanic trenches, they can hide in the shadows. The only visible part of them is the glowing ball of light that sprouts from an antenna at the top of their head.

They advertise salvation, the only source of illumination in the pits of despair. But any creature that takes the bait meets a sticky end.

I still see them every now and then. Little old ladies begging for help across a busy street, right when the light is about to change. Pretty strangers at bars who are far too aggressive in urging me to have another drink. Lonely hitchhikers that ask to travel to places the GPS will never find. But don’t worry. They know the way.

I’m not sure what they are. I can’t be the only one who notices them. After all, most of us had the ability at one point. We just grew out of it. Perhaps we shed it as a survival mechanism.

Perhaps I’m one in a million. A kid who got stuck with a genetic allele that should have been bred out generations ago. Perhaps my existence is purposeful, and I’m a new evolution when it comes to defending ourselves against the strange and bitter unknown.

I can only say one thing for sure. Keep a close eye on your children when they start to tell you about their new invisible friend. Chances are, that friend is not friendly at all.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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cursewoodrecap · 5 years ago

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Session 3: Darkness in Your Past

Hello everyone I’m still like. WAY sick. And I will be performing our next session entirely through texting and enthusiastic mime. But I can probably type, even if I’m hacking and wheezing?

In this session: oh no, backstory!

The party finishes their long rest at the bandit camp, universally antsy to get going and prickly with each other after certain ethical disagreements.

As the bandits warned us, the road turns out to be full of traps, and 3/4 of us roll terrible, awful perception checks. Clem, comically, immediately falls into a hole. It’s less comic when we realize there’s sharp spikes at the bottom of that there pit trap, but Valeria Channels Divinity and summons the Chains of Rack, catching Clem before she can tumble into the stabbity stabs. WHOOPSIE.

Traveling onward, we find a huge tree has crashed down across the path. We are all experienced players and thus suspicious bastards, and Shoshana rolls a good enough Nature check to suddenly have a childhood memory. There was once a local woodsman that she and her best friend used to hang around, a lumberjacky fellow and hunter named Mordecai. A good-natured fellow, he would let the local children tag along and show them lots of tips and tricks about the woods. Using the remnants of that remembered knowledge, Shoshana picks up on a few wood shavings and out-of-place bits. This thing has been tampered with.

“Everybody stand back,” she says, “I’m gonna poke it.”

“Wait, I have a crossb-” Gral begins, but Shoshana slaps it with a Mage Hand, which is only a 30 foot range. Two crossbow bolts shoot out of where the log has been hollowed out and the bark has been thinned to a sheet, and one sticks right into somebody’s boob. Good job, folks.

Going forward seems to be all well and good until, suddenly, someone notices we can’t hear Valeria, who’s guarding the back. We turn around and surpriiiise, a wild beast-man is hanging out of a tree and has her by a garrotte! There is a brief debate about whether attempting to free her by swinging an enormous greatsword is really the best?? idea??????? but Valeria puts an end to the discussion by stabbing the guy herself.

We complain at the DM about all the traps, and then get distracted, because OOH, A RAVINE.

Shoshana goes quiet at the familiar sight, but there’s something worrying here. There’s a beast-man of the Hunt and his wolf on watch, but there are dead people and wolves scattered over the blood-stained ground. A clutch Silence spell from Gral allows us to overcome the sentries with no alarm raised; Clem bisects the wolf with Extreme (and mildly panicked) Prejudice.

Inspecting the scattered corpses, they seem to have been pierced by something long and thin - like arrow wounds, except there are no arrows to be seen.

We cautiously move forward, Gral sneakily scouting ahead and messaging back to the clanky folks what’s up. Shoshana tries to sneak, but is too distracted looking at the Hunt-people corpses for - someone recognizable, maybe? - and trips over a dead wolf. CLANG CRASH WHAM, roll for initiative, folks!

We slash our way through a couple of toughs and their wolves, Lookin’ Cool and Kickin’ Butt, but...this is like, two guys. What happened to the terrifying force that had the bandit crew cowering in fear? Why are most of them gone, or dead on the ground with the same arrowless arrow wounds?

Maybe the answer is through that door.

What Shoshana remembers as a bit of a hollow in the wall of the ravine - enough shelter to get a quick snatch of rest, maybe - has been covered over with a crude ceiling and a curtained hide door. No sounds are coming from inside, so we cautiously make our way in.

It’s not much. Some rough skins and blankets to sleep on, a bag hanging on the wall, and a metal chest that we determine is booby-trapped. And loose scraps of paper, scattered across the floor. Shoshana bends down to pick one up, and reads it.

The gasp is audible. She stares at it, struck, as her player reads the text sent to her by the DM. The others begin to investigate the room as she stands there, absolutely floored - and then snatches for the next piece of paper, like lightning. And then the next, and the next, on her knees scrabbling for them, reading each one with mounting frenzy. She’s muttering to herself - “Why would she-? No, how-? The whole time?! And she NEVER??? How could she-”

Valeria cautiously picks up one of the cast-aside notes, reads it, and then caaarefully places it back on the floor, because Hoo Boy This Is Some Personal Stuff, Let’s Give Her Some Space. They seem to be unsent, half-finished letters, addressed to Shoshana.

While spooky lady has a breakdown, Clem ably does a bit of medicine for Gral and Valeria to get everyone in fighting shape for whatever comes next.

Shoshana collects all the letters, and somberly takes the pressed flowers Valeria found on the rudimentary table. Elsewhere in the room we find a key to the big chest, but still stand to the side when we release it - good, because an unsteady Mage Hand isn’t enough to hold the trap wire properly taut. Clem insisted we open the chest last thing before we leave, for fear that the roof would cave in, but a big scythe just swings out of the wall and slices the air where we all Decided Not To Be Standing. We find a bit of money, a Ring of Jumping, Ser Balderich’s sword, and a magic horn that is only heard by the person you choose to hear it.

The horn is apportioned to Shoshana, being the squishiest and the most likely to get targeted by these creeps. Shoshana, emotionally a bit frazzled, accepts it bemusedly. “Why?” she inquires dully. “I mean, it’s not like you’re exactly invested in my survival, past the next hour or two.”

Gral immediately protests. “I gave my word I would protect you, as part of my promise to bring you to Duke Shieldeater’s service. I would not betray that.”

Valeria nods enthusiastically. Shoshana blinks and then gives the universal “get a load of this guy” gesture to Clem.

Gral continues. “If truth must be known, I...am not entirely here on the Duke’s orders. I serve him, but it was my own decision to come find you. I strongly believe we Orcs need better relations with the local civilians. And I have my own aims, as well.” Cryptic behind his mask, he does not elaborate and continues back out into the ravine.

Up ahead is the part that Shoshana knows is waiting for her. A thick blanket of branches and hanging foliage cast a section of the ravine into deep darkness - a canopy impenetrable to light but not, as she remembers, to the falling, flailing body of a young woman.

It’s distantly terrifying that seeing it again feels so much like coming home. A voice curls out of the ravine, welcoming her back at last. It’s impossible for her to tell whether the others can hear it.

“Ser Balderich is in there. The bandits said they were keeping him in the dark place, and...that’s where...”

Valeria firmly places her hand on Shoshana’s shoulder, reaching out in empathy to steady a comrade in a time of clear emotional distress. Shoshana feels a gauntleted hand land on her shoulder, the executioner’s cue to go face her death with dignity. They go forth, into the darkness.

...

So, it’s DARK in there. Valeria lights up the Rune Beetle. It’s still dark, supernaturally so, heavy and sick-tasting in the air. Even those in the party with Darkvision are limited, and they move ahead slowly and carefully. Luckily, Ser Balderich hears them coming, and starts shouting at the FIENDS! who are BACK FOR MORE, ARE YOU? and the party is able to find the pit he has been thrown into, heavy wooden bars embedded over the top.

Seeing the glint of Valeria’s silver scales in the dim light of the beetle, Ser Balderich’s shouting stops short. “...Marius?” he asks, disbelieving. “You survived? D-did any of the others-?”

Valeria recognizes the name of Kyr Marius, a mentor of hers at the monastery where she trained. Another silver dragonborn of the order, with years of combat experience. “I’m not Marius,” she lets him down, “But we’re here to get you out!”

Ser Balderich, beaten and bruised and with at least one broken arm, is still with-it enough to notice that a young female voice does not sound like his presumably middle aged male friend. But he makes a quick recovery: “Oh! Uh, well, Kyr, it is an honor! But beware, the fiends are not far-”

Yeah, they’ve definitely noticed we’re here. A couple of worgs prowl out of the darkness as Valeria and Clem try to pry the bars off the top of the pit and haul Ser Balderich out. With Faerie Fire, Gral manages to illuminate one of the worgs and a mysterious cloaked figure, who simply gestures and we all take 3 Taint. What the what? It’s on.

We have a narrow battle - fleeing seems like the only option at one point, as several of us are boxed into a Hunger of Hadar spell by flanking wargs, but we persevere. In a moment of crisis, Shoshana pulls strength from the darkness and takes Taint in exchange for temporary HP. Finally, Clem and the wounded Ser Balderich break through to the cloaked figure. As Clem’s greatsword pierces the flowing cloak, it collapses to the floor, empty. The figure’s taunting voice drifts out to us one last time, looking forward to the next time we meet. You can try to escape the Hunt, just like your little friend, but this is where you belong in the end...

Limping forward, we investigate the cavern behind where his empty cloak fell. Well, not the part that spirals off forever into the darkness. We’re not that stupid. But there’s a little room, off to the side, and we stop short seeing it. There’s a bloody altar, decorated with animal skulls, facing a hanging painting on an animal skin.

The crude tapestry depicts a figure wearing an antlered helm, tearing his way out of where he is bound by tree roots jutting from the ground. Three less-detailed figures behind him seem to be similarly bound. The edges of the canvas are decorated with grotesque, gory scenes of animals and hunters slaying their prey.

Oh, right. The DM notes he forgot to add the horror part of the scene. We look to the other side of the room and see a human corpse, nailed up on the wall. The word “PREY” has been carved deeply into his chest.

It’s Mordecai.

Shoshana is already so emotionally drained, barely able to register her dull rage at these grotesque atrocities here in HER darkness. She raises her hands, but Ser Balderich speaks up, saying Ser Quentin Morozov, his friend the Cursebreaker Knight, may have use of the tapestry. It might help him in his studies. Meanwhile, Valeria is gently pulling the body off the wall, looking for any sign of the man’s religion and finding not a symbol of the Obereon pantheon but a small pendant with two faces - Baba and Gramps, kindly spirits still respected by some of the more rural woodsfolk. Valeria’s big enough to carry the body, covering the carved words with her cloak and promising him a proper burial.

Shoshana lets them, dully watching. She can feel something magic within the altar, but the only thought she has left about today is the general concept of NO. She raises her hands and a wave of fire overtakes the altar. As it burns, the oppressive feeling of the darkness lessens. It doesn’t disappear, but something vital to this place has been destroyed.

A bit dazed, the party staggers out into the light, Valeria carrying the hunter’s body and Clem supporting a weakened but determined Ser Balderich. Wanting to avoid whatever hunting party was sent out after the escaping huntress, they make it back to the abandoned bandit camp before collapsing to regroup.

Valeria and Ser Balderich get to talking, Valeria asking how Ser Balderich knows her old mentor Kyr Marius. Did Ser Balderich ever speak to anyone who knows what happened at the Crusade?

Knows what happened? Pssh, Ser Balderich was THERE. Though it’s clearly a painful memory, Ser Balderich explains what happened to the members of Valeria’s order:

The Crusade was closing in, about a day’s hard travel from Valdsheart, the Duke’s capital city - the center of the Curse. The Order of the Rose has made it to the old summer palace - the roses were in bloom, the gardens were beautiful, still immaculately maintained by automated Unseen Servants that had continued working even as the city had been abandoned.

The commanders of the various knightly orders gathered together at the Rebel’s Temple. (A History check lets us know that this was the temple that Karena, the leader of the rebellion against Keva and the first Duchess of Valdia, had established to ask the blessing of the gods over the new nation.

If anyone ever had doubts the Curse was intelligent, they were ended by the way it waited until the knights were separated from their commanders. When the attack started, the gardens sprang to life. We were attacked by thorns and deadly spores. Ser Balderich took his horse and rode for the temple, while the knights held the line against the tide. The temple was holy ground - it should have been well-warded. Arriving there, he saw the windows stained with blood - the place was overrun. There were two groups of survivors still fighting: Archcleric Rudolf Klemsk and his knights of Rack fled one way, while the Peacock Knight (founder of the Knights Radiant) held the line alone. There were waves and waves of creatures, all sorts.

(Gral: Ser Balderich, please describe these creatures. DM: Absolutely not, it’s like midnight.)

Ser Balderich, unable to help, fled back to the palace to help the forces there. It was totally overrun. He hopes some got out, but was unable to get close enough to see. The aftermath? Well. Archcleric Klemsk got out, but Something happened there - afterward, he and his followers became the frightening Knights Penitent who violently hunt down all corruption and impiety. He assumes the Peacock Knight was overwhelmed, but he has been sighted since.

...I’m sorry.

Ser Balderich tells us: If anyone is going to solve this, it won’t be a marching army. It will be someone like my friend Quentin, and his Cursebreakers, or the madmen at Sturmhearst. We Beggar Knights will stand watch, and ensure as many people possible live to see the day the Curse ends, if that day ever comes.

We all mull that story, and then begin to get up to go. A quick discussion of options comes to this: we’ll go back to Ovruch and drop Ser Balderich off there, so he can recover and protect the town. In the morning, we’ll travel to the town of Holzog to bring the tapestry to Ser Quentin - perhaps he will be interested in our stories, as well. Gral certainly wants to discuss something with the Cursebreaker.

As everybody’s putting on their backpacks and stuff, Shoshana interjects, confused. Um...aren’t you guys...forgetting something?

Ser Balderich considers. “...yes.” He comes over to her, and she closes her eyes, readying for it.

“...I did not thank you, for rescuing me. You have my gratitude.”

N-no, you guys, don’t you need to...? Y’know? Take care of me, now that the Hunt and the bandits are dealt with?

...Oh.

Ser Balderich scoffs, compassionately. “Shoshana, I saw you reject the power that altar could have given you.” (Player: wait what? DM: yeah, there was a magic item in there”) “You were given your abilities, and what did you do with them? You took care of cats. You are not the monster you believe yourself to be.”

Valeria is nodding. Gral is nodding. Even Clem is nodding. Shoshana’s brain just about fails to compute; you can see the blue screen behind her eyes. We pack up, find a quiet spot in the woods to bury poor Mordecai the woodsman, and make our way back to Shoshana’s place to crash.

---

We roll against the Taint we acquired in the Hunt’s territory. Gral and Clem fully save. Valeria takes a minor corruption. Shoshana is offered a deal by the DM and takes it, gaining a minor corruption as well.

We each draw a card for the next session: The Hunter, The Knight, The Madness, and The Heretic.

#session recap #the ravine #the hunt #shoshana bat chaya #gral omokk'duu #valeria argent #clem haxan #balderich von mornheim

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