#although that could’ve been one of those ‘defied the lord’ times
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Regulus has accidentally poisoned James before and then completely freaked out (going so far as to have a crisis of consciousness)
But what he forgets is that James is a Marauder and has ingested and lived through most if not all of the common and uncommon poisons in Europe and India, and he’s currently making his way through the rest of the world
Also james’ dad would occasionally forget which water glass or mug contained a rare potion so safe to say James is practically invincible (spoke too soon)
Anyway no one can convince me otherwise that this isn’t how regulus ended up admitting his feelings while believing James was straight up dying
#pity that Voldie didn’t try to arsenic James to death#although that could’ve been one of those ‘defied the lord’ times#marauders#harry potter#marauders era#hp marauders#james potter#regulus black#moony wormtail padfoot and prongs#marauders headcanon#jegulus#how jegulus got together#james potter headcanon#james loves regulus#jegulus headcanon#sunseeker#sirius black#remus lupin
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Harem AU Chapter 5 - Beautify, Defy
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Category: Other
Fandom: Transformers
Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Starscream, Knock Out, Skywarp, Unnamed Characters
Relationships: Megatron/Sideswipe, Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe/Skywarp, Sideswipe/Unnamed Characters, Sunstreaker/Unnamed Characters
Additional Tags: Propaganda, Sticky, Induced Arousal, Forced Orgasms, Throatfuck/Deepthroat, Oral Sex, Orgy, Size Difference, Coercion, Angst, and everything is non-con
Words: 20074
Who wanted one monster of a chapter? No one? Eh, you’re getting it anyway.
“Here you are! I was looking for you two.”
Sideswipe opened his optics groggily and felt Sunstreaker similarly stir beneath him. Mutual confusion was the first thing to fill their spark, first at the surroundings—grand bookshelves with more book files than they could count fitted on the orderly shelves; the artificial window next to them streaming equally artificial sunlight into the room.
Then at the voice that rang completely unfamiliar but spoke to them as if they knew each other.
But memories flooded back faster than either of them would have liked. Their abduction, rape, introuction to the harem wing, more rape, repairs–
It reminded them just how far Iacon and their life were. This wasn’t their alley, or their friends speaking to them.
Sunstreaker’s optics focused on Knock Out first, but Sideswipe’s were quick to follow. The medic was staring at them, hands on his hips, an amused little quirk to his optical ridges. “Something wrong with your appointed sleeping arrangements?”
Right, they were in the library instead of the berthroom.
Why were they here?
...Right.
“No, no- I mean… Uh. They were just-” Sideswipe started, but didn’t really know how to explain how impossible it had felt to be anywhere near interfacing mecha after… After everything. He really didn’t expect Knock Out to understand.
Knock Out seemed to get what he was trying to say anyways, although his reaction wasn’t exactly sympathetic. The medic merely waved his servo through the air in dismissal. “The mates do that all the time, you’ll get used to it. Just keep it out of my medbay.”
Medbay..?
Did Knock Out really think they would want to partake in that stuff?
Sideswipe opened his mouth in offense, but Knock Out continued speaking before he could get a word in. “But that’s not what I’m here for. I am here to handle your repaints,” Knock Out announced proudly, looking like he expected them to be overjoyed at the news.
Crickets.
“Something wrong with our current colors?” Sunstreaker asked after Knock Out’s face had already fallen, but the acknowledgment of anything color related had the medic perking right back up.
Medic, and something of a body artist too, apparently.
“Colors themselves, no. Their application and quality of paints used? Yes.”
Both of the brothers frowned. Knock Out wasn’t necessarily wrong as far as the quality of the paint used on their bodies went. Their commissioners had never been rich to begin with; investing on something as superfluous as paint hadn’t really been a priority.
And then… Touching up on their paint was a necessary step as far as not looking like street rats went, but when you were already struggling to get by, any paint that even halfway matched your existing color was good enough. They’d always gotten lucky enough to not end up with horrendous patches of mismatched colors, but, you know…
It was what it was.
And apparently that wasn’t good enough here, anymore. Come on, just look at their goddamn surroundings! It wouldn’t do if they were looking at all shabby in the lap of luxury, would it?
Sideswipe growled. “And what if we don’t want to?”
Both Knock Out and Sunstreaker looked at him in surprise, but only Sunstreaker’s look dawned into understanding. Knock Out’s just deepened into confusion. “Why wouldn’t you want to?” he asked, twenty shades of incredulous.
Yeah, why wouldn’t they want to? To be difficult, that’s why.
“I’m sure Megatron wants us to look the part,” Sideswipe continued, hating the bitterness in his voice.
He didn’t want to be a bitter mech. He’d always hated those types.
Right then he couldn’t really help it, though. Everything was too fresh, made him too angry.
This time Knock Out caught on too. Once again, he wasn’t very sympathetic. “Oh, don’t be like that.” Sideswipe snarled in earnest, Sunstreaker’s growl vibrating his frame beneath him too, but true to form, Knock Out took no notice whatsoever. “I doubt Lord Megatron even notices what manner of paint you have, and he will mess it up sooner rather than later all the same. This is purely for your own comfort.”
“If he’s just gonna mess it up, what does it matter?” There he went again, being bitter. He couldn’t really say he appreciated the reminders of what had happened and would no doubt happen again, though. Knock Out might not have given a shit, but Sideswipe sort of did. It was his frame and his life on the line.
Once again, Knock Out didn’t really seem to understand. “Don’t you want to look pretty, just for your own sakes?” was his argument, worded as a question. And looking at how Knock Out looked… Probably very expensive paint gleaming, red and silver and white colors more lush than Sideswipe had ever seen… And he wasn’t a mate, Hot Shot had said. Just the medic.
Did Knock Out look good just for himself? Probably. Who did he have to impress, really? With a job as hands on as his was, it could’ve been forgiven if he had some oil and grease stains on him.
Instead his finish was absolutely flawless. Like he took a lot of pride in his appearance. It made him fit right in with their opulent surroundings, but Sideswipe had to wonder which had come first: the surroundings Knock Out was in, or his apparent vanity. Maybe he’d kept himself looking tip top even before he’d gotten his post as the harem’s medic. Sideswipe was pretty sure he hadn’t always been in the position, at the very least.
To Knock Out, looks probably meant a lot, even removed from Megatron.
To Sunstreaker, looks also mattered, except before they hadn’t really had the opportunities to do much about that. They’d done what they had been able to with what was available to them, knowing it was never a lot.
Here and now? With the washracks they’d already seen in their use?
Primus, they could do so much more.
And it was a siren’s call Sunstreaker couldn’t resist. Just for his own sake.
Beneath Sideswipe, Sunstreaker nodded, and Sideswipe could feel his eagerness even through his own reservations. But… He couldn’t really deny his brother this, knowing how much Sunstreaker wanted to be proud of his own looks. He already looked good. How more beautiful could he be with a proper paint job?
Sideswipe wasn’t as eager, but he still climbed off Sunstreaker, letting his brother sit up before they both got to their pedes. Knock Out clapped his palms together in satisfaction and gestured them along, leading the way from the empty library, through the stretch of hallway, and into the washracks. There were a few other harem members around, showering, tending to their finish, or even relaxing in the oil bath.
Relaxing. That felt a little beyond Sideswipe. He just… Couldn’t get his mind off what he feared the near future would bring for long enough to even chill.
Sunstreaker wasn’t much better, but desperately wanted to distract himself. Sideswipe couldn’t really disagree with that goal.
Any little moment not spent dreading the future would be most welcome.
“Have a shower first and I’ll get everything ready,” Knock Out instructed them before sauntering over to the corner with all of the paints and painting appliances and– Really, Sideswipe didn’t know what most of the stuff there was.
Knock Out definitely seemed to know though.
He drew his optics from the medic and followed Sunstreaker to the closest set of unoccupied showerheads. Again the solvent was warm, a stark contrast to any of the showers they’d had in Iacon.
He would’ve still rather been in Iacon, cold showers or not.
There wasn’t a whole lot to wash after what Knock Out had already cleaned during their repairs, but he could still feel some things dislodged from his internals by the running solvent. They both had a quick scrub down, lingering under the showers for just a little bit longer than strictly necessary to enjoy the warm liquid—but they ran out of excuses to stay eventually, and made their way over to Knock Out after drying up.
Sideswipe could sense Knock Out’s impatience, but the medic didn’t say anything, just proceeded with the whole process they’d apparently agreed to. “I’ll strip your colors first,” Knock Out told a second before he attacked Sunstreaker’s paint. His brother revved in affront, but Knock Out just shushed him and went ahead to quickly and efficiently remove the color from Sunstreaker’s armor. He kept his touches appropriate as he had for the whole of the short duration they’d known him, only doing what he needed to and nothing more than that.
Disquiet still echoed in their spark, but it was more Sunstreaker’s concern over the state of his frame as gold and black were washed away in favor of the bare grey of their armor. They’d been promised a higher quality repaint, but it was hard not to feel a little concerned when you were left with nothing first.
Once Sunstreaker didn’t have a speck of color left on him, Knock Out abandoned him to wait while he did the same to Sideswipe. Sunstreaker waited, awkwardly and feeling more than a little naked, while Sideswipe felt that same alarm as he had, seeing the color fade from him too. Gone were his red, his white and his black, replaced by deathly grey.
...He really felt really nude like this, even if his armor was completely intact and no untoward pieces of machinery were showing anywhere.
Knock Out did a once over around the both of them before he nodded his acceptance at his work. “Primer next.”
Primer next. Like he wasn’t a medic at all, but some sort of body shop worker, Knock Out went on to spread that evenly across their colorless armors with the touch of a true professional. “How are you so good at this stuff anyway?” Sideswipe couldn’t help but ask as Knock Out progressed with his work.
Knock Out’s field pulsed with gratification at the praise. “A personal passion,” he said simply. “I’ve gotten quite a bit of practice in on all the mechs Lord Megatron drags here.”
And… They could’ve gone without that reminder.
Either oblivious or uncaring of their momentary discomfort at the topic briefly brushed, Knock Out went on, “I swear half of you don’t even know how to manage yourselves when you arrive, but I have taken it upon myself to make sure you all learn how to make most of the facilities you have in your use.”
He said it like it was the peak of altruism for him to do that. And to be fair, instructing them about washrack and beauty product usage probably wasn’t part of his job description.
But if no one had told him to do that much, then it likely said something about how much he cared about appearances that he was making sure others kept themselves looking even partway as decent as he did. Because, so far as they’d seen, all of the harem members were in pretty excellent shape as far as they paintjobs and finish went. They had also been told Megatron more or less expected that, but… Yeah, it was probably a little too much to expect everyone would’ve known how to make use of everything available to them here.
It was all still a topic to put Sideswipe in a really surly mood, but Knock Out didn’t take notice of that either, just finished with what he was doing. “Do you use these washracks yourself?” Sunstreaker took it upon himself to ask over Sideswipe’s sullen silence.
“I am allowed to, but I have my own ones in my quarters,” Knock Out shrugged a moment before he stepped back and cast a critical optic down them both.
Sideswipe resisted the urge to try to cover himself up. Not like there was really anything to cover up either, just the feeling.
But, satisfied with whatever he was seeing, the medic nodded. “Now then! What colors do you want to be?”
The brothers had a pause before they shared a look. Sideswipe… Hadn’t really ever considered switching colors. They could’ve never afforded it anyway, and not like he had hated his colors.
Much the same applied to Sunstreaker.
Although… “We actually get a say in our colors?” Sunstreaker asked sharply, optics shifting back to Knock Out.
The medic didn’t flinch at the tone. “Well, only as long as Lord Megatron doesn’t order otherwise… But so long as you keep your choices within good taste, he never has.”
Why didn’t it surprise them one bit that their colors were only theirs to an extent? What even belonged to them anymore?
Sideswipe couldn’t really think of anything. They’d been shown pretty thoroughly that in this world they belonged to someone else entirely, and their own wants were void.
Sunstreaker growled, but came to his conclusion first. “I’d like to stay gold and black.”
Were there really any colors Sideswipe would’ve rather been in other than his old ones, either? As quickly as he tried to think about it, there were ones he’d maybe like to try one day, but right now he just wanted that little piece of home with him. Little piece of him.
“Red, black, and white for me,” he followed on the heels of Sunstreaker’s answer.
“Really? No changes? This is your chance to reinvent yourselves!” Knock Out argued, but turned to the shelves overflowing with paints all the same.
“Don’t really want to reinvent anything,” Sideswipe muttered. Sunstreaker revved in agreement next to him.
“Suit yourselves. Let’s make those color choices of yours shine. Your old paint jobs really were in desperate need of some work.”
Sideswipe snorted. “We’re guttermecha, what did you expect?”
“Ah. I suspected as much from the state of your systems. Well then, this is quite an upgrade for you!”
“An upgrade?!” Sunstreaker snarled even as Sideswipe stilled in disbelief. His brother rounded in on the medic, who had the good sense to back away. “After all the slag we’ve been through, all the slag you know we’ve been through, and you call this an upgrade?”
Knock Out put his servos up in a placating gesture. “I only meant your surroundings. Your life really couldn’t have been that good in the gutters.”
“It was better than this!” Sideswipe exclaimed, drawing both Knock Out and Sunstreaker’s attentions back to himself. It diffused the situation somewhat, as unintended as that side effect was. Although his engine continued to growl in warning, Sunstreaker took a step back and Knock Out relaxed—somewhat.
“If you say so.” Sideswipe wanted so badly to continue arguing on the topic, because there was no way in the pits anyone could possibly think any of this was an improvement to damn anything no matter how lavish the surroundings were–
But Knock Out had already turned to the paints, entirely brushing aside the topic. “Let’s do you first, Sunstreaker. Gold, you say? I’ll put your old color to shame.”
And… That was exactly what Knock Out proceeded to do. In a pretty roundabout fashion, because first he picked a deep, rich brown color. “I said gold,” Sunstreaker repeated, more than a little alarmed when Knock Out aimed that color at him.
He even took a step back, he was that intent on not getting miscolored. Sideswipe couldn’t help his snicker, even through his own confusion over how Knock Out could misunderstand simple instructions.
“We’ll get you to gold, trust me. But this, first.” The medic arched one of his optical ridges and wiggled the can at Sunstreaker.
After a long, tense moment Sunstreaker finally stepped back within reach.
“Do you want your old color placement as well?” Knock Out still asked, and when Sunstreaker nodded an affirmative, he set to work.
First came the brown. Knock Out coated all of the supposedly to-be gold armor plates in it even as Sunstreaker stood there tensely, only comforted by the thought that if this all went horribly wrong, the color could be stripped again. As much as Knock Out had asked for that bit of trust, neither twin was really ready to give it yet—no matter how the medic gave the impression he knew exactly what he was doing.
After the brown… Came a darker brown. “Just what the pit are you doing?” Sunstreaker asked as they both stared at the medic in simple confusion.
Knock Out just looked smug. “You’ll see.”
And ahead he went with applying the darker brown onto the lighter brown, although Sideswipe noticed that he didn’t apply it evenly anymore. Rather he just brushed it onto select locations, blending it in with the underlying layer for carefully applied gradients, that…
It honestly added a lot of depth to the color. Sunstreaker, as an artist, could appreciate that, and Sideswipe felt Sunstreaker’s suspicion changing breeds.
That suspicion was further nurtured when Knock Out then picked up a paint that was actually gold. He painted that on top of the browns, blending it into the existing color layers at the edges even as he made it the dominant color.
And the end result dawned in front of their optics. Where Sunstreaker had been painted in a flat shade of yellow-orange that approximated gold, his color now was alive like his plating was still molten. He didn’t need to rely on light and shadow to play on his armor to bring out his color. The careful blending and layering Knock Out had done had integrated light and shadow into his very paint job, accentuating his features and his color until he looked like a living avatar of–
Primus, he really needed to stop staring. Sunstreaker needed to stop staring.
Sunstreaker needed to stop loving his new look so much.
Knock Out noticed their wonder and their admiration, and he looked more self-satisfied than Sideswipe had ever seen anyone look before.
In all fairness, it took Sideswipe a good amount of time to pick his jaw from the floor as Knock Out finished applying the gold.
And he wasn’t done even then. Next came a bright yellow, near white, and Sideswipe thought he might just die from the gleam it added to Sunstreaker when Knock Out applied just bare hints of it in select spots.
And that wasn’t even saying anything about the paints themselves! Color selection aside the very substance screamed splendor. Without a sealant, without a buffing it already glowed.
Sunstreaker had never looked better, and pits, Sideswipe hadn’t believed anyone could ever look as good as his brother did just then. Sunstreaker couldn’t tear his optics off himself, and Sideswipe found himself struggling with the same thing.
He suspected they’d both spend a lot of time staring at Sunstreaker a long while still. Was there even any getting used to the manner of grandeur Sunstreaker had just gotten dressed in, just from a few brush strokes from a knowledgeable individual?
A “passion”, Knock Out had called it, but fucking hell, Sideswipe was sure most professionals couldn’t have done what Knock Out did. Though what did he know, not like he’d ever had the chance to go to any professionals.
He did know he’d never seen anyone walking around looking like a flaming star trapped in a metal casing.
“Satisfactory?” Knock Out asked with a demure smile—so fake—and Sunstreaker couldn’t find the words. Neither could Sideswipe for that matter.
So they both just nodded mutely.
Knock Out’s smile blossomed into a full grin and he turned back to the paints. “Next, black.”
He didn’t get too fancy with the black, just applied a deep, shiny shade of it onto all the parts that had worn the color before too. But somehow the simplicity of that only brought out the utter glow of the brighter, more domineering gold, adding contrast between the two colors.
Like the shining sun against a starless, blackest night sky. It should’ve been a physical impossibility, but here Sunstreaker was, the very embodiment of that.
It made Sideswipe long to see it in the true sky, but even if he did, could it compare to this?
“Well, how do you like it?” Knock Out asked, looking Sunstreaker’s frame up and down with that endlessly self-satisfied expression.
He’d earned it, if you asked Sideswipe.
“You turned him into a goddess walking among mere mortals,” Sideswipe responded honestly, digits twitching with the desire to touch. But how could he touch a masterpiece like Sunstreaker in fear of doing anything to ruin it?
Megatron would ruin it.
He didn’t want to entertain that thought, but it became an impossibility after Knock Out said, “One more thing,” and turned his attention to Sunstreaker’s back.
And the brand.
Just like they’d seen on Hot Shot, he carefully painted the flaw on Sunstreaker’s plating until it stood out just so from the otherwise uninterrupted, glistening gold.
Sideswipe really could’ve gone without these reminders of where they were and what for.
Reminders of everything that had happened, and would still happen.
But he tried to shake all that off and… Focus on just the present, like he had been doing. Allow himself to become distracted by Knock Out’s impeccable work.
Knock Out still applied sealant over Sunstreaker’s new paint job before he called it done and stepped to the side to allow them to gawk some more. “Thank you,” Sunstreaker said, and by the Thirteen Sideswipe wasn’t sure if Sunstreaker had ever thanked anyone that genuinely before.
Sunstreaker was a little vain himself, and Sideswipe thought he might’ve just found a kindred spirit.
And maybe now Sunstreaker could unleash on himself all the self-care he’d always wanted, but that they hadn’t had the option for. He could keep himself as shining as he was now, with everything freshly applied. And clean. They wouldn’t have to worry about the gutters’ grime soiling their frames anymore.
He would’ve still rather taken the gutters over this.
But they didn’t have the choice, so until they figured out how to get the frag out of this mess…
They’d get out still, but why not enjoy the little things in the meantime?
“You’re welcome,” Knock Out said before turning to Sideswipe. “Your turn. Let’s see if I can’t dazzle you like I dazzled your brother.”
This time they didn’t question it when Knock Out first picked out a deep purple. Sideswipe could already feel Sunstreaker’s expectation of where this was going to go, now that they knew something about Knock Out’s tricks.
So first all of his armor bits that had been red were now painted over in purple, and as he had done with Sunstreaker, the next color applied was a deeper violet. Sideswipe watched as just certain bits of his features were brought into the shadow of that color, accentuating the lighter areas.
He would’ve looked better than ever with just that bit of work, but he’d said he’d wanted red, and by Primus but Knock Out delivered red. It was the next color he picked out and began to apply it with the same blending he’d performed on Sunstreaker, but Sideswipe noticed he also left the layer pretty… Thin.
He was becoming red, there was no question about that, but when his freshly painted armor caught light… The red was tinting towards purple.
Knock Out did another pass, making the red a little thicker at certain places, and Sideswipe could only stare in awe as his formerly blank red was transformed into a real work of art. The last color that came was pink, just little touches of it as highlights.
What did he look like in the end?
A jewel. His red was never just red, but a thing of light and shadow and color that made his plating look lush like never before. He didn’t even know how to describe the sheer extravagance of his new color, from the rich red to the near black—the depth in it.
Sunstreaker might’ve been a star of the highest heavens, but Sideswipe became a precious stone born in deep reaches.
“I take it you like it?” Knock Out asked with a grin, watching Sideswipe ogle himself.
“What kind of witchcraft do you practice?” Sideswipe asked a little breathlessly as he turned this way and that to catch all angles of himself from the mirrors and watch the play of light on his plating.
He was dazzling now. Just like Sunstreaker
“No witchcraft, just years of practice and some natural talent,” Knock Out smirked before he brought out black. “Now, let’s continue.”
He first applied dark purple on all of his black areas too, before he went over it all with true black. Unlike Sunstreaker’s obsidian that provided just the perfect contrast with his gold, Sideswipe’s black was made to edge towards purple, complementing his red.
The results were as out of this world as Sunstreaker’s.
And then was the turn for his white. Knock Out pulled no punches with that either. Purple and pink peeked through the later applied white just enough that he shimmered, and none of his colors clashed. There was no denying red was red, black was black, and white was white, but the hues, tones, whatever they were, they all suggested in the same direction.
It brought everything together and made his paintjob so much more lively than it had ever been before.
Even if they had gone to a professional bodyshop, could they have come out looking like this? How many anywhere on Cybertron had Knock Out’s level of skill, or the interest to go as far as he did? It was probably more of the latter, actually. A paintjob like this, it was just… Over the top. He could only imagine how difficult it would be to maintain too. How many would really see it as appropriate and not a neon sign that screamed ‘mug me’?
But everything around them was over the top now. They fit right in.
He felt he should’ve been more upset at the thought, but the wonder overrode everything else for the time being.
He couldn’t stop staring at his reflection.
He couldn’t stop staring at Sunstreaker.
They looked damn well ethereal, and he really… He knew they’d always looked good, their features beautiful, their frames conforming to objective standards for what was attractive.
But what they had looked like before was absolutely shabby in comparison to what Knock Out’s work brought out of them. They were beyond gorgeous now, all the best of them brought out and laid there for everyone to see—more eye-catching than he had ever thought possible.
Primus, he wasn’t a vain mech, he really wasn’t, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like looking pretty.
And he looked so pretty.
As did Sunstreaker.
They both did.
Tears came to his optics despite himself and Sideswipe buried his face into his palms as his engine hitched. Sunstreaker didn’t dare touch him physically lest he ruin Knock Out’s work, but their spark swelled with the emotion of them both. Awe, wonder, a little joy, pride.
That last one was mostly Sunstreaker’s.
And Sideswipe’s tears came just a little more numerous knowing Sunstreaker had reason to be proud of his looks like never before.
“Now now, it’s not worth crying over,” Knock Out said, but Sideswipe could hear the grin in his voice, as well as the pleasure over work well received. Knock Out’s field was a steady thing of that emotion, and Sideswipe really couldn’t blame him for it. “Let’s seal that in, then we can polish you two.”
“‘Kay,” Sideswipe mumbled, but first–
Another ugly reminder of the situation they were in when Knock Out, before the sealant, painted in his brand too. Sideswipe didn’t want to look in the mirrors to see what it looked like. It would’ve been better if it stood out like a sore wound, not this… Subtle, in a manner that made it look intentional in every way.
That was what it was, wasn’t it? Intentional. A mark of their standing, one Knock Out didn’t have.
It had never been outright stated, but Sideswipe could only guess it belonged only to Megatron’s mates.
Knock Out sealed the brand’s new color in with the rest of it. Sideswipe tried to not think about it too much, and Sunstreaker made sure to not show him his back either, knowing what was there too.
A little denial, yeah? Let them enjoy this before everything went to hell again.
Because he was real damn sure things would go to hell all over again.
“Alright, that should do it,” Knock Out said once it was all done, casting one more critical glance at his work on the both of them before he nodded. Up to par, then. “Let’s shine you two up.”
Weren’t they shiny enough already? But no, despite the shimmer of their armors, Knock Out ushered them to the shelves of all manner of polishing supplies, and shined up they were. They got a crash course into what did what, too, and it became more and more apparent that Knock Out wasn’t just a skilled medic, but one hell of a body artist.
If you asked Sideswipe, there were a lot more interesting things than the order you were supposed to use the products and supplies in and how to use them for the greatest effect, but Sunstreaker was enraptured. Which was honestly pretty cute, and Sideswipe had to cover up his giggles more than once. There were a lot of questions too, but instead of being annoyed at the barrage, Knock Out seemed to enjoy having found someone who was turning out to be passionate about the same things he was.
And Sideswipe tried to pay attention, he really did, but it was just so dull. Besides, if Sunstreaker figured it all out, then that was the both of them covered already, so not like he needed to put in all the effort to understand every last bit. They could just sync their memory files later and he could integrate all the stuff Sunstreaker had learned and that would be that.
He did still follow all of the instructions when Knock Out made them do some things for themselves, or help each other out when they couldn’t reach something.
Sideswipe was sure it took them far longer to have the full routine completed than what it would’ve taken if Knock Out had just done it on them, but the medic seemed to take their ability to perform it on their own very seriously. Was it because he didn’t want to help them again, or just because he thought it was important enough that everyone should know how to do it? Somehow Sideswipe got the feeling it might just be the latter. Knock Out definitely seemed vain enough that he might just extend that expectation to others.
It worked in his favor that Sunstreaker was starting to head down the same path. Now that he had the option to go all out on his looks, he was absolutely reveling in it.
Even despite… The surrounding circumstances.
But it was a good distraction if nothing else. Sideswipe tried to let it sweep him away too. Focus on the moment, forget about the rest for a minute.
Yet all too soon they were done. Completely done—painted to a master’s degree and shined to a ridiculous extent.
They glowed.
“Thank you, Knock Out,” Sunstreaker said before Sideswipe had even finished picking his jaw off the floor. And he had thought they looked good freshly painted… Pssh.
Look at them now. And to think they were nothing but guttermecha. It was a life they’d likely just return to after they’d escaped this place. They might never again look like this.
But the memories would last and he’d always look back at this with nothing but marvel.
“You’re very welcome. Some of my best work, if I do say so myself. You two make excellent canvases.” Was that a compliment on their looks? Sideswipe grinned, because yeah, their hard features weren’t that bad, were they? From their armors to their facial markings, the things that didn’t change as easily as plain color had always looked just fine.
Now though, with what Knock Out had done to them, all of that was just emphasized. If they’d been somewhat striking with their beauty before, now they were sure to draw all optics on themselves just by existing.
And Sunstreaker carried himself just a little bit straighter.
“Yeah, thanks. Frag if I knew paint could even look this good,” Sideswipe said too, to which Knock Out smiled all knowing like.
Like he’d gotten that sentiment before. And if he’d painted other newcomers, he probably had.
“I’m a miracle worker, I know. Now, why don’t you go grab some energon and show yourselves off a little? Something like this deserves some admiration, doesn’t it?”
Sideswipe laughed, but he couldn’t wholly disagree with that. Knock Out’s motivations were probably to just have his work shown off, but it was on their frames, which meant they were the ones getting the attention even if the thanks went to Knock Out.
And Sideswipe had always liked attention.
Pits, though, if he’d set up with his little table and cards looking like this… He had no fragging clue what would’ve even happened. Probably he’d have had an easier time with his tricks at least, his looks just distracting the audience too much for them to pay attention to what his servos were doing.
But it would probably end up with him mugged. He looked like a damn wealthy target right now, that was for sure.
Even if they still had next to nothing to their names. Just their surroundings had changed, and their outward appearance with it. It was like the glory of the palace was contagious, and had now stuck on their shells.
But inside it was still all the same. No… Worse than what it had been before. It didn’t matter how pretty the palace, how pretty they were, they’d still gotten raped too many times over for him to even keep count.
Looking better than ever didn’t erase that, and he was sure as pit it wouldn’t protect them either. If anything, it just made them bigger, more appealing targets, although at least everything suggested they’d only have to worry about Megatron, and not about his cronies anymore.
That was still bad enough though.
It was so fucking bad enough.
And no matter how he tried to fight those thoughts, they kept coming back. How could they even stay away with their whole current situation? They were running on borrowed time as far as not being forced into Megatron’s berth again went.
He didn’t really have an appetite, but… Everything would probably be even worse if he wasn’t running on full reserves.
So he nodded to Knock Out’s suggestion. Refuel and show themselves off. He could do that.
And Sunstreaker was downright eager to do it. The latter bit anyway.
Yeah, it’d be nice to see everyone’s reactions, wouldn’t it? Especially those who had already seen them, before Knock Out’s rework of their paint jobs. They could appreciate the before and after.
“Thanks again,” he said in parting before he and Sunstreaker exited the washracks.
Starscream strode towards them the moment they set a pede outside the doors. “Knock Out is done with you? Good. Here.” Brusque, a datachip was shoved at them and Sunstreaker took it reflexively. “Kaonite language files. No one wants to speak standard around you forever.” He said that like it was a dirty word, and maybe it was, with how closed off Kaon was according to the little education they had. It didn’t exactly give the impression Kaon was at all welcoming towards the outside world.
Why a Vosian Seeker would think the same way was a mystery, though.
They stared at the datachip Sunstreaker had gotten a little too long, prompting Starscream to speak up with an impatient, “Well?”
That probably meant they weren’t supposed to install the files when it suited them, but right now instead. Sideswipe glanced at Sunstreaker and Sunstreaker glanced at Sideswipe, before Sunstreaker shrugged and inserted the datachip into the port on his wrist. A security scan proved its contents to be harmless and nothing that it didn’t say it to be on the tin, and Sunstreaker proceeded to download and install them before ejecting the chip and handing it to Sideswipe for him to do the same.
Sideswipe gave the chip back to Starscream afterwards, who nodded at them. “Integrate those quickly, you’ll need them. I suggest the library.”
And once again the Seeker took off without further fanfare, striding down the corridor and leaving them to stare after him.
Sideswipe prodded at the new files in the quiet after the flier’s departure. They were… Really thorough. They probably wouldn’t be left wanting after they’d integrated even half of them; the other half just seemed to be some fancy words he didn’t even have the translations for.
The hallway wasn’t seeing a lot of activity right then, but one mate passed them with a grinned, “Looking good there!” in Kaonite that immediately put their new files to use, and Sideswipe was reminded of their assigned task. Go to the dining hall and show themselves off while getting some energon.
He glanced down at his frame and was once again struck by the new glory of his paint job.
Primus, that would take a while to get used to.
“Shall we?” Sunstreaker asked, focusing back on the present from his own familiarization with their new downloads. It was a novelty to even have new downloads. They definitely hadn’t been able to afford any that didn’t come free from the datanet.
And you couldn’t ever trust those would even be safe to install.
“Yeah,” Sideswipe nodded, and together they continued down the empty hallway. There was only one other mate to see them, standing at the doors to the berthroom. He raised his voice to address them with a cheerful, “Knock Out got his hands on you, eh?” followed by a laugh and a double thumbs up.
So far so good. Sideswipe didn’t manage all the way a grin, but a smile pulled at his mouth despite himself.
Then they came to the dining hall door. There were a few mates scattered about, one bigger group and a couple of smaller ones, as well as a pair of loners. Optics briefly glanced their way as they entered, then did a double-take.
This time Sideswipe outright grinned at the chorus of approval that rose around the room. The overarching sentiment was that Knock Out had done excellent work once again, and that the results spoke for themselves—that they looked good.
He’d known that already, but the affirmation was pretty nice all the same.
Conversation broke out about Knock Out’s skillset and the makeover he’d given to all of them, from what Sideswipe was able to make out of it without eavesdropping too much, and from the slower pace of understanding that came from having to search his new files for every other word. Starscream hadn’t been kidding when he said they’d need the installs. Everyone seemed to speak Kaonite by default, even though most of them couldn’t have been natives.
But they were in Kaon, so. It made some sense.
He and Sunstreaker walked past the tables and to the energon dispenser to grab themselves a little something to top off their already beyond decent fuel levels, and… Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he was this well fueled.
It was a nice feeling, as much as he hated the underlying reasons for it.
Only problem with that plan was that the energon dispenser was really, really fancy. There were more screens and buttons and flavors and options than either of them had ever seen, and definitely more than they knew what to do with.
That button probably created the cubes themselves, and it looked like that scale was for the warmth of the energon, and those seemed to be the list of flavors to choose from and… Combine even?
This thing really needed some better instructions, seriously.
They were still staring at the whole apparatus a little helplessly when a field burst out behind them to alert them to another’s approach. When they turned to look, a solidly built black and red mech came to them, masked and visored. He made up for the lack of expression with his field though, flaring it in friendly greeting. “I can help you with that. It’s kinda daunting the first time, isn’t it? Heh, or maybe the first few times even. But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it quick.”
Coming in Kaonite, it took Sideswipe a moment to understand what was being said, but the mech waited patiently until he was able to formulate an answer in the same language. “Yeah, uh, that’d be appreciated,” Sideswipe smiled back after a moment’s delay. He and Sunstreaker shuffled to the sides to give their new instructor room.
“You start here, choose the grade and the size, like this,” the black mech started, pressing the buttons with familiarity and walking them through the whole, depressingly long process. Sideswipe was sure it would become easy enough eventually, but he really didn’t want to be here long enough to figure it out.
Everyone treated them like they would be here for a while, though. Like they were here to stay.
Like pits they were! They’d fragging well figure out a way to get out.
But first it would be helpful if they were left alone for a second that they could spend exploring their options. As it was, it felt like someone constantly had something to say to them or do to them or have them do.
“...And that’s that,” their instructor finished, pulling out his cube and raising it at them. “I’m Runabout, by the way. You’re Sideswipe,” he pointed at the red twin, “and Sunstreaker,” he pointed at the gold twin, “right?”
“Right,” Sideswipe confirmed with a small smile.
“Hah, got it right! Your colors give you off, Sunstreaker. Real nice paint jobs by the way.”
“Thank you,” Sunstreaker said, preening under the attention. Sideswipe snickered, and Runabout’s field burst with amusement too.
“It sometimes feels like Knock Out knows all the tricks of the trade, eh? Well, haven’t yet run into anyone who would’ve complained about it,” the black mech shrugged. “You’re twins too, aren’t you? Split-spark? Your spark signature...s? Kinda give you off.”
Sunstreaker huffed and Sideswipe’s lips pulled into a full on crooked smile. “Yeah, it does that.” It was Runabout’s turn to laugh.
“Must be nice. I’ve got a twin too, goes by Runamuck. You’ll see him around, but we’re only bond twins, not split.”
“Split-sparks be pretty rare, no?” Sideswipe asked a little cautiously. Again, lacking education on that matter—and every other matter—but it was the impression he’d been left with.
Runabout confirmed it with a nod. “Rare as frag. We’ve got three other pairs of twins here that I know of, but never met split-sparks before.”
“Who are the others?” Sunstreaker had turned to man the dispenser, but glanced Runabout’s way with his question.
“Topspin and Twin Twist are here in the harem, and Soundwave has a symbiote pair, Rumble and Frenzy, both bond twins,” Runabout told, watching Sunstreaker go through the long ass process of getting a single cube and giving him tips when it looked like he wasn’t sure what the next thing to do was.
Overall Sunstreaker was handling it pretty well though, in Sideswipe’s opinion. “Soundwave has frame twins in his flock too, Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw,” Runabout continued.
“...That’s a lot of twins,” Sideswipe noted. He had sort of known that frame twins and bond twins in particular weren’t that rare, but having four other pairs of twins around still seemed like a lot.
And now they were the fifth ones.
“Not so much if you consider how common other types of twins are, though,” Runabout said as Sunstreaker finished getting his cube. Lightly flavored, warmed midgrade, which just seemed all kinds of luxurious to Sideswipe, and it wasn’t even that fancy. At least not compared to what the dispenser could do.
He went to take his turn next as Sunstreaker took his first experimental sip of his fresh energon. Taste like nothing they’d ever experienced burst over his sensors and made his optics widen in surprise. The midgrade Megatron had given them had been high quality, and this was too, but combined with the light flavoring and the warmth that snaked into his tanks, the experience was… It was beyond just fueling because you needed fuel.
It was enjoyment.
Runabout’s field flared with amusement again. “Tastes good?”
“Yeah,” Sideswipe breathed, then went back to fiddling with the dispenser, intent on getting the same experience with his own frame. Runabout stayed to help him too, and Sideswipe managed to create a cube for himself as well. A little faster even than Sunstreaker. Hah, take that!
It was nothing too fancy for him either, because he really didn’t know what combination of things would’ve worked and what wouldn’t have, but it had flavor, it had additives, and it was warm too.
Sideswipe hurried to take a sip under the amused gazes of Runabout and Sunstreaker, and he wasn’t disappointed. Well refined, it was quality fuel like they’d never had on the streets, and combined with all the extra in it, it was a trip down the road of luxury that now surrounded them. It warmed his mouth and sore throat and bloomed across his sensors with taste he wouldn’t have ever even imagined.
Which was maybe a little dumb, it wasn’t like the rich were the only ones with flavored energon. But they had never had it even close to regularly. As little extra as it would’ve cost, they hadn’t been able to spend even that much.
This was another little experience he would think back to fondly once they got the fuck out of here. He might even miss it.
But it wasn’t worth even entertaining the idea of staying. Nothing would be after what they’d been put through.
“Enjoy,” Runabout said with a laugh before he wandered off with his own cube. Sideswipe watched him go join a white mech with a near identical frame.
Probably Runamuck, then.
The dining hall was big enough that even with the mecha scattered about it, they had no difficulties finding a more private spot just for them in one corner. They sat down with their cubes, side by side, and…
Then it was quiet. Sure, there was the background noise of conversation and laughter, alien with its harsh tones, but their newly acquired language installs were hard at work making them understand all of it.
But they didn’t focus on any of it, just let it all flow over them. In through one audial, out the other. No one was talking to them, no one was particularly even paying attention to them. Aside from their night in the library, it was as alone as anyone had left them since they… Since they’d arrived.
It was a time to sit down with their reorganized memory files, their defragged processors. And… Honestly, going through with their defrag cycle really hadn’t helped much. Things were still awful, their frames still ached in reminder of the rounds Megatron and the others had had on them, and they were no closer to a plan of escape.
Though that last one was mostly because they hadn’t gotten a chance to go explore and see the place for themselves. Once they knew the way of the land, then they could start planning.
It would be hard, he had no doubts about that. But they’d worked their way out of a lot of shit during the course of their short life. They could make it out of this too.
Somehow.
To get started on that… They fueled in companionable silence, enjoying the energon finer than anything they’d had before. Like, really enjoying it, savoring every mouthful, drinking slowly to lengthen the experience.
Their cubes had completely cooled down by the time they were done. Just in time too, because the mecha in the dining hall had changed during their long fueling process, and a few were getting a little… Frisky.
It was unbelievable how easily and quickly things could devolve into that, and Sideswipe couldn’t stomp down—nor did he really want to stomp down—the stirrings of straight up disgust.
Or maybe that was Sunstreaker. He didn’t bother to try to track down the source.
But whatever depravity the others were going to get up to, they wanted nothing to do with it, and to the tune of a quiet growl from Sunstreaker they dispersed their cubes and hastily left the dining hall just as panels started to snap open.
Fragging pits these mecha were messed up.
His spark was a whirling ball of anger without a target, and lots of other emotions he didn’t even want to make sense of or address. He and Sunstreaker strode down the hallway and towards the only place they knew where they could escape all of that… That.
The library. It was quiet now too, aside from the rattle Sideswipe’s armor had taken on as they entered.
He was venting heavily by the time they’d made it to the back of the room and the sofa they’d recharged on. He didn’t sit down, instead took to stalking up and down the corridor between the shelves. Sunstreaker claimed post as a silent sentry at the halfway point of his path.
For a moment neither of them said anything, the only sound coming from the angry revving of their engines and Sideswipe’s pedesteps as he marched back and forth. Emotions blurred. Mostly anger.
Anger at the injustice of it all, of everyone’s complete disregard for the situation they were—like their feelings didn’t matter at all, like their experiences didn’t matter, like the slag had been done to them was… Was… Okay, or right, or something. Acceptable.
It wasn’t! None of it was acceptable. No living being should go through the kind of shit they had within the span of a couple of orns. Had it been that long? Longer? Not as long?
Primus, he didn’t know.
He didn’t fragging know.
Sideswipe stopped at one end of the corridor and buried his face into his hands. How the pit had things gone so wrong so fast? They’d had their quiet life, and it hadn’t been much, but it had been theirs. They’d belonged to themselves, had no one tell them what they should and shouldn’t do. Not even the law, when it came down to that or survival.
Here nothing belonged to them, not even their own frames. They’d been shown that pretty thoroughly.
They had no say in anything anymore. Any say they did have—illusion, easily stripped from them if the higher powers decided so.
Sunstreaker’s servo landed on his shoulder, a steadying weight. Sideswipe hadn’t realized his engine had started hitching, but it had. Now he took several ventilations, forcing them deep, even, fighting back the torrent of emotions. Shoving it all down.
It would be no use to give them a foothold now. He had to be able to think clearly.
They needed to find a way out. Start that process, long as he expected it to be. There couldn’t possibly be an easy way to do it.
And they couldn’t talk about it out loud, could they? If the mecha here were smart, they would expect they wouldn’t just lay down and take it all. They’d already fought back. They hadn’t accepted things.
If others had been brought here like they were, they had probably tried to escape too. The place had to be prepared for that.
Escaping wouldn’t be easy, he was sure of that. But they would do it.
One way or another, they would do it.
That would mean leaving the harem wing. It was their first obstacle. Get out the door somehow. The rest of the palace would follow after that, but they’d need to get through the doors to the wing itself.
Couldn’t be that hard, right?
He was pretty sure it was going to be that hard.
Sideswipe cycled one more ventilation before letting his arms drop and glancing back at Sunstreaker. His brother nodded at him. He nodded back.
Time to test the damn door.
The library wasn’t completely empty anymore, there was another mate returning book files to the shelves. The twins snuck out without bothering him and turned down the dim, lush corridor to the looming double doors that functioned as the only entrance into the wing that they knew of. Maybe there were servants’ passages, and if there were, they’d need to find those too—they’d probably be their best bet at escaping, at any rate.
But basics first. Test the limits of their cage. See how far they could go.
...Not very far, it turned out. No one stopped them from getting all the way to the door. The guards didn’t even glance at them when they approached.
They got all the way to touching the doors, but they wouldn’t budge. Locked.
“We’d like to pass,” Sideswipe tried saying to the guards.
They still wouldn’t even glance at them, just stared straight ahead. You’d think they were fragging drones or something, but no, he could scan their spark signatures just fine.
They were really good at acting like drones, though. “Hello?”
Nothing.
No reaction whatsoever.
Sunstreaker frowned and waved a servo in front of the optics of the guard on the right. They didn’t so much as focus on his hand.
It was like they were completely braindead or something, but that couldn’t be. They’d seen other guards moving just fine. Never saying a thing, but the way they had held them down to be branded—it hadn’t been the drone-like approximation of motion that characterized non-sentient machines. It had been fluid. Like they had all of their senses still.
Either these mecha were programmed like nothing he’d seen before, or they were trained for their role really well. Their dark colors alone blended right into low light. Combined with their stillness and silence, it was so easy to just ignore them.
That was probably the entire point.
They probably weren’t potential allies though, and he doubted there would be any going through the doors without explicit authorization from someone more important than them.
So… Either they needed to get that authorization, or they needed to find an alternative route.
Which would be faster?
Which would be easier?
Which would come with higher chances of success?
They were likely to get only one chance at this. Their plan would have to be rock solid.
They needed to know all of their options before they could decide on the one most likely to work.
Most likely to see them the fuck out of here.
And somehow… Somehow they would need to make it look like they weren’t desperately plotting a way to escape. They couldn’t afford to come under any more scrutiny than what he was sure their status as newcomers already brought them.
The library seemed to be the least used location, the quietest.
Might as well start there.
With that thought they abandoned the main doors and the good for statues guards watching over them and retreated back the way they’d come from. The library was abandoned again, the one mech that had been shelving things gone. The mecha here really didn’t seem to appreciate the peace and quiet, or else they didn’t feel like they needed it.
Unbelievable.
But it worked in their favor. They split ways to explore the shelves running along the walls, searching for any signs of hidden passages. Not that they really knew what the pit they were looking for exactly. Seams? Any signs that things folded or moved, transformed this way or that? That was their best guess, having never actually seen a hidden passage that wasn’t a simple alleyway tucked in an unexpected place.
He didn’t think they’d find anything even that obvious around here. Servants were supposed to come and go unseen, weren’t they? The rich that could afford them didn’t actually want reminders of them, wasn’t it like that? They were just supposed to do their job and stay out of the way.
Maybe. That was their theory. Primus, he wished they’d even gotten to read some fictional book files on the topic, that would’ve already been a better start than knowing nothing more than what they could guess at—nevermind having any concrete knowledge rooted deep in reality.
But, even if they had known something of how these things worked on Free Cybertron, could they have expected it to function the same in Kaon? Maybe it would have, maybe it wouldn’t have.
They didn’t know jackall about that either. Was there anyone who did know, though, with how closed off and secretive Kaon was? Probably some expert like that existed.
Didn’t benefit them at all right then, though. All they had was their own limited knowhow, about as limited experience, and their own smarts.
But it would need to be enough to get them through this.
They met back together at the back of the library, none the wiser to any hidden passages that might’ve existed. Maybe there were none here, could just be that. The bookshelves were huge, and you know, full of book files. It would probably be a bit of a hassle to have some sort of secret passages hidden in the middle of them, when there wasn’t an inch of bare wall left aside from the fake windows sitting at the back in steady intervals. Sideswipe stared at one of them now. It showed the cityscape of Kaon, from high up. Fliers flitted between the towers, and far, far below them you could just make out the tiny dots of lights of the grounders traversing the roads.
It was probably streamed through some actual cameras. Didn’t benefit them though. Neither did the actual, real windows they’d seen in the berthroom. For one, because they were grounders, and couldn’t have just flown to freedom through them.
And second, it was unlikely they would be able to break the glass in a million years.
They’d have to search the other rooms too, but that would be more difficult with the other mates around. Maybe during the night, if even just the majority were recharging, if not all of them.
But it was the middle of the morning and most of them were going to be wide awake. Bad time to go snooping around.
What did that leave for them to do? Kill time? Try not to think about everything that had happened?
It would help if they could understand the language fluently though, no matter what they’d end up doing. Starscream had suggested the library, and they were in the library now, and it was a solid piece of advice. They’d either need to listen, talk, or read to integrate the new files, and reading was the most likely to provide them a wide range of vocabulary to integrate a larger portion of their installs.
Hushed voices came from the entrance as several someones entered the library, and that was probably their cue to start acting normal. At an unspoken agreement both brothers started browsing the shelves in a genuine search for something to read.
It looked like they were in the history section, though he would’ve used the term loosely based on the titles. Among ones that were probably history, there were others that just sounded like… Propaganda.
‘Abandon the Uniform’
‘Death to Individuality’
Probably referring to Free Cybertron, was his guess. Didn’t really cast it in a positive light.
‘Uniform Cybertron: Rise of the Primacy’
Hey, that one might even have some hope of staying objective!
‘Kaon’s Great Conquerors’
‘Thunderwing – High Protector of Kaon’s Cultural Heritage’
The last one caught his interest. It still had a strong whiff of being biased as all pits, but there was no denying Thunderwing was an important figure in Cybertron’s history, even as far as Free Cybertron was concerned. He had his own history files on the mech.
But what was Kaon’s take on the mech Free Cybertron liked to paint as a villain? After all, Thunderwing had been the one to lock up Kaon. That was a pretty big move against freedom, wasn’t it?
What he found shifting through the pages of the bookfile was an entirely different story. The events leading to the Unification were quickly covered by the beginning of the book, and already the angle taken when describing them was just negative. Bad this, bad that, things went wrong.
It went completely against the history files he had integrated.
And it only got worse once they got to describing Thunderwing’s response to Zeta Prime’s maneuvering. It did come with a lot of details Sideswipe’s files didn’t hold—though how true those details were was an entirely different question. It could just be Kaon knowing more about what had happened in Kaon, or it could be made up stuff to make Zeta Prime’s campaign look worse. Either way, it definitely framed Thunderwing’s actions having been entirely in the name of preserving Kaon’s independence and culture, like the title said.
You’d think locking up an entire city, no one in, no one out, would’ve been an extreme measure just to protect your culture.
The book didn’t much agree with that assessment. It talked about the heroism of Thunderwing’s stand against Zeta Prime and Unified Cybertron’s troops, the event that both the book and his own history files agreed was the point where all cordiality between Free Cybertron and Kaon had been severed.
But not once did the book talk about the Cybertron outside of Kaon as Free Cybertron. Instead it talked about Free Kaon. The rest of Cybertron was only called unified at best, indoctrinated at worst.
Considering Kaon was the damn city that had closed its gates all those eons ago, not Free Cybertron having done it for it, he was really struggling to see how Kaon was free in any way. Free Cybertron was where you could go wherever you wanted without being stopped by massive walls with more guns than any sane mech would mount on them.
If you had the credits to travel, anyway. If you didn’t… Tough luck.
They’d know something about the unkindest cards Free Cybertron and Iacon could hand you. Off to gutters with you! Good luck scraping by, forgotten by all officials. Enjoy the splendor of the city from the perspective of a vermin.
A little disturbed, Sideswipe closed the book file and carefully placed it right back where he’d picked it up from. In the meantime Sunstreaker had wandered off to the fictive section’s romance shelves, and was puzzling over one starcrossed lovers story about a Kaonite and a mech from Crystal City. Instead of the Kaonite being desperate to escape Kaon or despairing about the closed gates of his city, he was instead… Worried for his long-distance lover. Worried that he’d believe the lies Unified Cybertron was feeding him.
And in the book’s happy ending, the Crystal City mech was “freed” from Unified Cybertron’s corruption and joined his Kaonite lover in Free Kaon.
Sunstreaker put that book file away too, but something gave Sideswipe the feeling that the same theme would repeat in any and every bookfile they’d pick up.
“Megatron’s called for an orgy tonight!” someone announced from the library doorway before rushed pedesteps signaled the same mech’s departure, and the exclamation sounded again from further down the hall.
They sounded almost excited about it, but Sideswipe froze in place. His spark started spinning wildly as the implications of that rampaged into his head.
More interfacing.
More interfacing with a lot of mecha.
More interfacing with Megatron.
His ventilations quickened despite himself, and before he knew it Sunstreaker had appeared next to him, equally anxious but hiding it infinitely better.
“What are we going to do?” Sideswipe whispered at him, catching his bottom lip between his denta and worrying it aggressively. He couldn’t handle more fragging with Megatron. He couldn’t.
Before Sunstreaker could answer with anything, more pedesteps had them turning their attention to their right. Skywarp appeared soon after, waving at them.
He was so cheerful. How could he be so cheerful? “Hiya! I was thinking, do you need any help preparing for the orgy? I mean, it’s your first.”
“Preparing?” Sunstreaker asked incredulously, before Sideswipe had even come up with any theories of what Skywarp meant.
Skywarp didn’t keep them theorizing for long. “You know… Megatron’s pretty big,” the Seeker said, approximating the width and length of Megatron’s… You know, with his hands.
And Sideswipe really, really didn’t need any reminders of it. He cringed towards Sunstreaker, his brother snarling lowly before he snapped at Skywarp, “No, we fragging well don’t need help preparing.”
“Oh.” He didn’t want to feel sorry for Skywarp, he really didn’t, but the mech looked like a kicked puppy and Sideswipe couldn’t help himself. “You do plan to prepare though, right?”
Sunstreaker stayed quiet for a moment before he growled out, “No, not really.”
Skywarp frowned. “It’ll go a lot easier if you’ve prepared though. You’re even smaller than me and Star.” And the pair of Seekers were about the biggest mecha they’d seen in the harem, yeah yeah.
“No,” Sideswipe found his voice to say, frowning right back at Skywarp. No, they weren’t going to prepare and just… Accept what was going to happen.
Act as if they had no way to escape it.
Even though they probably didn’t have a way.
“Oh,” Skywarp repeated, scuffing the floor with his pede. Sideswipe got the feeling he thought he was acting in their best interest, but he fragging well wasn’t for as long as he wasn’t slagging planning a way to escape right with them.
And as nice as Skywarp seemed, Sideswipe was sure he wasn’t anyone to be trusted with their plans of getting the frag out of here. Skywarp was… Okay with what was happening. He hadn’t shown any signs that he wasn’t.
He treated it all like it was normal, like fragging well everyone here did.
It wasn’t normal! How could anyone think it was normal? Or something that shouldn’t be fought against at every turn. Every mech should have the right to self-dictate, you couldn’t just… Take all of that away from them.
But that was exactly what everyone here was doing.
“Um…” Sideswipe started despite the refusal and denial he stubbornly clung to, that tenacious hope that said they could still escape the orgy, “Who all… Participates in it?”
Skywarp seemed almost relieved that he was getting something other than no’s from them. “The orgy? Just the harem, and probably Soundwave,” he answered quickly, and Sideswipe in turn felt some relief that the likes of Motormaster and Vortex weren’t going to be present.
The harem and Megatron, and apparently Soundwave too, those were bad enough.
Especially Megatron.
And probably Soundwave. Everyone in the harem itself seemed pretty nice, but Megatron definitely wasn’t, and for Soundwave to have gained as high a rank as he had, Sideswipe highly doubted he was a particularly nice individual either.
“How does it work exactly?” Sunstreaker asked. Sideswipe glanced at him and at the deep frown etched on his brother’s handsome features.
That was a good question. His optics shifted back to Skywarp.
“Everyone gets together and frags,” was Skywarp’s answer, which was all kinds of duh, but the Seeker continued before Sideswipe had the time to berate him for stating the obvious. ”Megatron will activate a signal that makes your interfacing protocols go haywire. It’s a lot of fun, makes ‘facing a lot more rewarding, and you know, it’s pretty fun even normally.”
“...Haywire in what way, exactly?” Sunstreaker prodded further, sounding several degrees below happy.
Sideswipe couldn’t say he was feeling very happy either.
“Makes you horny,” Skywarp clarified with a shrug. “Like, really horny.”
Yeah, Sideswipe was definitely feeling unhappy right now.
And Skywarp called it “rewarding”.
Sideswipe wanted nothing to do with it. Neither did Sunstreaker for that matter. His brother growled. “Sounds like mind games to me,” Sunstreaker said, and Sideswipe nodded in agreement.
Skywarp didn’t look like he really knew what to say to that. The flier shifted his weight from pede to pede, his gaze drawing to the side, and again Sideswipe almost felt sorry for him.
But he couldn’t just ignore the way Skywarp normalized all of this. Enjoyed it even.
He was as fucked up as the rest of them.
“Well…” Skywarp said after an awkward moment of silence that the twins refused to break, “I guess… If you change your mind I’ll be in the entertainment room.”
With that he wandered off, his thrusters clicking on the floor until he retreated too far for them to hear.
Sideswipe halfway collapsed against Sunstreaker with Skywarp gone and no one there to witness them. “We’ll just stay right here,” Sunstreaker murmured to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
And… That sounded good. Hide away in the library. Let the rest of them have their fun, but they would stay in the maze of shelves and not participate.
He hoped they could do that, anyway. There weren’t a lot of other places to go.
Out of lack of anything better to do, they continued to browse the literature, and the same theme continued. Free Kaon, a fooled Cybertron outside of it, terrible Primacy, all hail Kaon’s rulers, yadda yadda. There was nothing that deviated from that norm. Was it because really no one wrote that stuff, or because it just wasn’t let into the harem’s library?
Or was it not let anywhere? Was this how they brainwashed their citizens? Because you would’ve thought the people would’ve revolted against the oppression of their government and tried to regain their stolen freedom.
But that had never happened. At least, not as far as Free Cybertron knew—Sideswipe was pretty sure something like that would’ve made it into their (very basic) education.
No Kaonite book spoke about any uprising like that either, though. Would they have written about it, or pretended it never happened? He really didn’t know.
He didn’t know how much of anything here he could trust. But… It all was a new perspective to their existing history files, if nothing else. Who knew, maybe there was a smidgen of truth to all of this and those that genuinely believed this version of events—everything about the villainy of the Primacy and the savior Thunderwing had been, succeeded by a line of tyrants that had followed in his footsteps and kept Kaon locked down tight.
All the way to Megatron, their personal tormentor.
His servos shook as he deposited his latest bookfile back to the shelves. Time had turned and it was closing in on evening.
‘Tonight’, it had been said. It wasn’t an exact measure, but maybe there never was. Maybe Megatron would just show up when he pleased and start the whole thing. He was sure the tyrant would’ve had every right to that, at least. Even telling his plans ahead of time was probably just… What? Some weird gesture of thoughtfulness so everyone could be prepared?
If nothing else, the hours they’d spent in the library had done a great job of integrating their language files. They shouldn’t have issues with understanding Kaonite anymore, so… Yay.
It hit him like a freight train. One moment he was standing there, reading the titles at the backs of the bookfiles.
The next he was on his knees, gasping, his engine quickly revving higher and higher and heat pooling in his frame—concentrating in a spot down under. Sunstreaker groaned somewhere off to his side, in much the same predicament as him, although his brother was still on his pedes.
Just leaning heavily on one of the solid shelves.
It took Sideswipe a good amount of time to clear his mind through the haze of arousal enough that he at least had his senses about him again. This was… Probably exactly what Skywarp had been talking about. The sheer arousal coursing through his lines made him grind his denta as he staggered back to his pedes. His valve slicked despite himself, his spike thumping against its cover.
He was panting, fast ventilations that failed to do shit to cool his frame. It was hard to focus. At least, hard to focus on anything that wasn’t how turned on he was.
But even through it, he knew he didn’t want to interface. His frame wanted to, Primus, it needed to, but he didn’t want to. It was nothing but an unwanted invasion on his senses, something to further rob him of his right to control his own frame. An attack from the inside, this time.
This was worse than having his frame abused by external forces. This was like how Megatron had forced him into arousal with his damned hand. Just as unwanted as that time.
Sideswipe heaved one ventilation after another, fighting down the need. His interfacing protocols really were going haywire, just like Skywarp had said they would. They kept firing, convinced by something unseen that he was aroused, making him aroused, and there was nothing he could do to make them believe otherwise. Something overrode his every attempt.
He hadn’t known anything like it was even possible. Forcing arousal through interaction with the frame, yeah, sure.
But arousal forced upon him without anyone or anything even touching him?
Just who had come up with this? For what purpose? For this alone, to make harems desperate for a spike or a valve to facilitate orgies?
It probably had some other uses too, but he was a little too preoccupied to start thinking about those other things, no matter how he wanted to. Anything to distract him from the heat suffusing his frame and muddling his thoughts, hammering him with that need need need.
Sideswipe moaned, but kept denying his frame. He wasn’t going to– Fragging touch himself or whatever. And he wasn’t going to go out there with the others. He hung onto his force of will stubbornly, exercising the self-control he’d never had a hell of a lot of—but it would have to be enough now. He was a hedonist, but this wasn’t about pleasure alone.
This was forced upon him. This he didn’t want.
It didn’t matter how long this would last. It couldn’t matter. He wouldn’t admit failure even if his frame overheated from his obstinate denial.
Was that his thought, or Sunstreaker’s? Sunstreaker had always had more control over himself. He could deny himself.
Sideswipe latched onto that strength now to power himself through this too.
But time absolutely crawled by, the both of them holding onto the bookshelves to even remain on their pedes, and every second of every minute their interfacing protocols kept running, making their engines rev, their arrays throb.
It couldn’t have been too long though, before there were mecha entering the library. The twins could hear them walk around until they found them, and with some effort Sideswipe glanced off to the side.
It was the guards. Both of them. “Megatron has ordered you to the berthroom,” one of them spoke up, voice even, but not the empty monotone of drones.
The confusion over their real nature managed to distract Sideswipe for a precious second that wasn’t spent circling around his own heat.
Sunstreaker growled, his engine revving with anger as well as arousal. “Frag off!” he barked at the guards, who didn’t even shrug as a reaction to the vitriolic fields flaring in warning.
They just walked to them without any hesitation or any excess gestures. The first one went past Sideswipe, but the second one grabbed him. Sideswipe wished he could’ve said he put up a fight, but instead his frame arched against the other mech and he gasped at just that completely innocent touch.
His mind didn’t care what manner of touch it was though, everything registered as potential relief to be sought for.
Sideswipe bit back his moans as the guard bent his arm behind his back, straining his shoulder and elbow and by that taking good control of his frame—especially seeing he didn’t have his full faculties.
And that thought scared him. He still had enough of his mind to fervently not want any of this, but too much of it was addled for him to completely deny his protocols.
Sunstreaker was cursing, and although his state was no lesser than Sideswipe’s, he had enough wherewithal to fight the guard taking a hold of him. And that was exactly what he did when the guards started to push-drag them from the library, Sideswipe’s pedes terribly uncooperative and his interface array pinging him incessantly. There was a frame touching him, and right now his processors were convinced the only right thing to do was frag them.
A method of torture, that was what this could be used for as well.
They were marched all the way to the berthroom, and the longer the walk went on, the harder even Sunstreaker found it to keep struggling against the hold on him—the harder it got to not push against it for reasons that were the very opposite to breaking free.
The berthroom doors opened for them to a scene that Sideswipe had feared and dreaded and feared some more: mecha, all of the harem, fragging. There was moaning, there were overloads, the stench of lubricant and transfluid was heavy in the air, everyone had a partner or several.
And overlooking it all from the massive berth on the raised dais, was Megatron. And Soundwave next to him, as Skywarp had predicted. They both had their spikes out, Soundwave stroking his own and… Starscream’s helm bobbing over Megatron’s. The Seeker was fingering his own valve even as he worked Megatron’s spike, and pits, if he was as affected as Sideswipe felt, it wasn’t a wonder he didn’t have the patience to focus on just servicing someone.
How he could just kneel there and service Megatron though, wings fluttering like he enjoyed it… That part Sideswipe didn’t understand. Not at all.
Megatron’s optics fell on them as they entered, and with a simple flick of his claws he summoned them over. Of course, they wouldn’t have gone if they’d had a say in it, but the guards still kept their hold on them and dragged them to the dais.
With another arrogant gesture Megatron had Starscream draw off his spike with a final parting lick on the tip, and with a glare at them—that Sideswipe also didn’t understand—the flier hopped off the berth and wandered off.
Sideswipe didn’t pay attention to him, because Megatron and Soundwave had all of their attention on them. “These the new acquisitions?” Soundwave asked with an oddly mechanical voice that momentarily distracted Sideswipe from the heat in his frame.
“Yes,” Megatron responded with some satisfaction ahead of his piercing optics focusing on the brothers. “I trust you were given your new language files?” the tyrant asked in Kaonite, as he already had conversed in. Its harsh tones fit his demeanor a lot better than Standard did.
Sideswipe found himself nodding before he could think better of it. “Good,” Megatron said before he let his optics travel down their frames in a way that made Sideswipe’s plating crawl and Sunstreaker growl. “And I see Knock Out got his hands on you two.” Amusement? Definitely amusement, but Megatron’s engine also rumbled in something that was nothing but approval.
Sunstreaker growled harder, but before Sideswipe had the chance to join him in the sound, Megatron had already turned to Soundwave. “Take your pick,” the grey mech said with a genteel gesture at them, and Sideswipe really didn’t like the thought of being handed off to–
Be abused all over again. And Soundwave got to choose which of them he wanted to violate.
The dice fell on Sideswipe, because Soundwave pointed at the red twin before turning his hand around and flicking the extended digit.
The gesture was clear as day.
This time Sideswipe had the time to snarl.
Megatron’s field extended briefly with amusement, right before the guard holding him stepped closer to the berth—close enough that Megatron could reach to grab him by an arm. The guard let go of him as he was hoisted onto the berth, scrambling on its surface as he was dragged across it only to be shoved in Soundwave’s lap.
His arousal skyrocketed at the contact. Sideswipe’s engine hitched, his vocalizer spat a little sound of static.
“Come here,” Megatron said to Sunstreaker, but Sideswipe’s focus went to the mech whose spike was touching him. He was frozen in place for a moment too long, because Soundwave didn’t waste time grabbing him, manhandling him onto his back and pinning him in place. Soundwave wasn’t as big as Megatron, but he was still larger than Sideswipe.
And once again Sideswipe himself at a disadvantage against someone larger and stronger than him.
“Open,” came the command, Soundwave’s spike nudging against his closed valve cover. Lubricant was leaking through the seams, and Sideswipe stared sightlessly at the ceiling as his frame reacted. There was a spike so close to him, a promise of a relief, of interface, and he couldn’t do more than gasp after gasp at the torrent his mind turned into.
But he kept his cover closed. He didn’t want this, no matter what his frame thought.
He didn’t want this.
His frame didn’t listen to reason. Soundwave rubbed his spike over his cover, and Sideswipe keened as the need and desperation assaulted his senses. It was all he could think about. It was all he could do to keep his cover closed. His fans were spinning madly, but it wasn’t enough to cool his frame. Nothing was enough.
Nothing would be enough and there would be no relief until he gave in.
But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Sideswipe shook his helm, side to side over and over again. Tears started to run from the corners of his optics again as his arousal suffocated him. It all became about this moment, about the spike teasing so close to his valve, and oh Primus he wanted it so badly.
No. No, he didn’t want it. His frame did. His frame wanted it like he’d never wanted anything before and his tears flowed as he kept denying.
“I know you want to,” he could dimly hear Megatron’s voice say, and he suspected it wasn’t directed at him, but it rang true regardless.
He wanted to.
He didn’t want to.
Sunstreaker wanted to.
Sunstreaker didn’t want to.
The golden twin snarled where Megatron kept him poised right above his Primus damned spike. His hold was tight, so tight it didn’t matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t break free. Heat was wafting from his frame—even with all of his vents blown open, he was still hot. So, so hot.
And Megatron was smiling at him. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, what was happening, but by all appearances Megatron was completely unaffected by whatever ailed him and Sideswipe and the rest of the harem. There was no desperation about him.
Just the sense of smug superiority Sunstreaker had already come to associate with him.
He growled at the tyrant, but his vision was shimmering and glitching from the amount of signals his interface protocols were sending him, overwhelming his processors. Heat pooled in his abdomen, in his groin, and he was desperate for the spike he was held above. At least, his frame was. The rest of him couldn’t have wanted it any less.
He didn’t want to give in to Megatron’s games, admit defeat in the face of the tyrant’s ploys. Sunstreaker held onto his inhibitions with an iron grip, but the longer he resisted, the more amused Megatron grew.
A strangled groan escaped him when he was lowered just enough for the tip of Megatron’s spike to flirt with his scorching cover, lightly slipping in the lubricant leaking out of him. He was so wet. His frame was so ready.
Yet he held back, closing his optics in his effort that he refused to call doomed. There had to be a way to withstand this, and he would find it.
There had to be a way to deny Megatron what he wanted.
Sideswipe didn’t find it. His brother’s engine hitched, then revved, and his cover snapped back. Soundwave buried himself to the hilt at that moment, and Sideswipe screamed.
Pleasure rocked their core as the infernal protocols were satisfied, and Sideswipe sobbed in relief even as self-loathing burst in their spark.
It wasn’t enough to override the sheer satisfaction of giving in, though, the alleviation, release from the little hell that their frames had been turned into.
Sunstreaker’s mouth fell open, though no sound came out. His frame shook from the conflict of need versus will—his armor rattled.
And he could hear Megatron’s laugh, feel the pulse of approval in his field. It seemed that no matter what they did, Megatron liked it. Whether it was them fighting him or them giving in to him, for Megatron it was always victory.
And for them it was always loss.
His spark sank with their utter helplessness, and when Sideswipe received a particularly hard thrust courtesy of Soundwave—Sideswipe moaned, drunk from the pleasure shattering his world—Sunstreaker’s valve cover opened without any conscious input from him, a gush of lubricant falling onto Megatron’s waiting spike.
Then he was dropped down, Megatron’s spike tip finding the entrance to his valve and sinking in. His weight impaled him all the way, the tyrant’s girth stretching him open so wide. Sunstreaker grunted at the pain his internals complained with, but the fact it didn’t hurt quite as much as before was a terrible realization to come to.
He didn’t want to get used to this.
But the pain became an afterthought with the reward Megatron’s spike was, as far as his frame was concerned.
Disgust. Disgust with his frame, disgust with the way it had been turned against him.
Sideswipe was crying in earnest, pleasure, humiliation, and that same revulsion coiling together until they strangled their spark, and Sideswipe couldn’t take it.
Pit, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if he would be able to take it either, not when Megatron drew him up, lighting sick pleasure in his frame as his spike dragged over the wet sensors in his valve—and then let him drop back down, and the pleasure multiplied.
He didn’t want any part of him to want this, and he fragging well didn’t want to enjoy it, but here he was, a prisoner in a frame that was lighting up as Megatron repeated the same motion over and over again. Sparks started to spit from the gaps in his armor, and Sunstreaker overloaded embarrassingly fast, groaning as his frame locked up tight. Megatron revved at the way his calipers clenched around his spike, Soundwave jerked when Sunstreaker’s overload pulled Sideswipe over the edge too and had his frame doing the same, and the both of them kept fragging them all through their release, only extending it.
Disgust. So much of it he thought he would drown, and he wasn’t sure which of them thought that. Both of them, maybe. The sentiment echoed in their spark even as their frames reveled in what was being done to them. Sideswipe’s reluctant moans joined the ones already sounding from all around the room, adding to the noise of debauchery that dominated everything.
But Sunstreaker could barely focus on anything except the slick sound of his valve being penetrated time and time again—and the fact the pain of it was quickly receding, replaced with nothing but his affected mind’s approval of what he was doing.
Not that he was doing anything. Megatron kept a hold of him, Megatron fragged him, Megatron did things to him. He used his frame, and it wasn’t important that he was forced to enjoy it as well.
Or maybe it was. Maybe Megatron drew perverse pleasure from knowing he was forcing him into experiencing pleasure from the unwanted violation of his frame.
Soundwave humped Sideswipe harder, drawing ever louder noises from his brother, until he thrust in deep one more time and overloaded without a sound. Then it was over—Soundwave didn’t play games, just pulled out and scooted back, leaving Sideswipe laying there, leaking transfluid and lubricant and fighting to make any sense of the state of his helm.
Megatron wasn’t far behind, his engine rumbling louder as he neared his own completion. It couldn’t come fast enough if you asked Sunstreaker, but still, before Megatron got that far, Sunstreaker reached his limit and ground his denta as another overload wracked through him. Next to them, Sideswipe arched off the berth with a surprised cry as the pleasure crashed through their spark to him and shoved his overly sensitive frame straight over the edge with no external stimulus.
But the way his valve tightened and clenched down was enough for Megatron to shove him down on his spike. Sunstreaker could feel the hot pulses of transfluid at the very back of his valve, but as much as his frame rewarded him for it…
He wasn’t relieved. This wouldn’t be it, he knew that much with absolute certainty.
They were just getting started if the past was any indication.
Megatron shoved him off his spike and Sunstreaker fell forward, catching himself with his arms. His frame still shook, his interface protocols far from satisfied—still telling him to keep going, to continue, frag his way into oblivion.
And he doubted that would change before Megatron decided they were all done.
“Give him here,” Megatron spoke up, and Sunstreaker glanced his way just when the tyrant reached an arm for Sideswipe. Soundwave grabbed his brother, pulled, and just like that, Sideswipe was handed from one rapist to another. Megatron caught him and maneuvered Sideswipe until his twin’s face was right next to Megatron’s massive spike. “Suck.”
Sideswipe shook his helm even as Soundwave moved to snatch Sunstreaker before he had the time to get the frag away from there. Despite his cussing the gilded twin was still pulled to the second in command, and in short order Sunstreaker found his valve invaded all over again.
At least Soundwave wasn’t quite as big as Megatron. Not that it would’ve really mattered at this point, their frames were far too eager to translate everything into pleasure. Even the pain from penetration by a too big spike.
“Suck,” Megatron repeated with more weight, his servo landing on the back of Sideswipe’s helmet, and he could remember all too well how that same servo had begun to crush when he’d defied too much.
Despite the memories, Sideswipe shook his helm again, the best he could under Megatron’s hold.
It didn’t begin to tighten though, as he had expected it would. Instead Megatron brought his other servo into the game and pried his mouth open, pulling him up until he could insert his spike straight into Sideswipe’s mouth, and shoving him down as deep as he could get with the angle. Sideswipe gagged when it rammed into the back of his throat, and his faceplates stung, and he hated it, and he wailed. Megatron’s engine rumbled with satisfaction at the vibrations his vocalizer made.
“Suck,” he said again, lightening his hold enough that Sideswipe could pull back—but not all the way. He stopped him before he could get the tip of Megatron’s spike from his mouth.
Sideswipe didn’t do as he was told.
He was shoved back down. He cried out.
Megatron let him pull partway up again, enough that his spike wasn’t harassing his gag reflex anymore.
Sideswipe refused to please him.
He was pushed down, Megatron’s spike practically smashing into the back of his intake.
And Sideswipe caught on.
Tears streamed down his face, but when he was allowed partway up this time, he put his mouth and glossa to use and did what Starscream had been doing. His glossa lashed across and around the spike, probing at the tip, and he pulled his helm back only to push back down. All the things he’d done when he’d willingly given oral to any of the many berth partners he’d had over the years.
He was so far from that life. So far from home.
But Megatron didn’t take control of his helm again. His servo didn’t leave his helm either though, a steady sign that he wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere even if he wanted to.
And he wanted to so badly. He didn’t want to be doing this, and he kept his optics tightly shut to keep himself from having to see the grey armor. Pretend it was someone else. Someone he didn’t hate.
It didn’t work too well when the sheer size of the spike he was forced to service was too much of a reminder in and of itself.
At least he was allowed to go at his own pace, a small mercy. It was almost overshadowed by the fact his frame was still throbbing with need even after the round with Soundwave. That hadn’t gone anywhere, and half of his tears were from the near pain of a frame denied.
As if reading his thoughts, Megatron switched the servo holding him and reached down his frame with his newly freed one, sticking two thick digits into his sopping valve. Sideswipe couldn’t quiet his moan despite how he knew it would only pleasure Megatron further—and he didn’t manage to stop his frame from jerking backward against the intrusion.
If nothing else, he did stop himself before he started to outright rock on the digits.
“Everyone,” Megatron said suddenly, raising his voice until it dominated the room. The noise quieted down considerably, everyone paying attention as he continued, “Come greet your new confrères.”
Sunstreaker revved hard somewhere outside of his field of view, and not just from his arousal. Sideswipe stilled, hoping he was misunderstanding the implications of Megatron’s words.
But obediently—because you didn’t say no to Megatron, did you?—the mates disengaged from each other and crowded towards the dais. “Skywarp,” Megatron called first, and the Seeker quickly jumped onto the berth, and–
On Megatron’s further beckon, came up to Sideswipe.
Behind him.
Megatron removed his digits from his valve, only for smaller servos to land on his aft.
Sideswipe jerked away at once, or tried to, because Megatron’s servos tightened on his helm and kept him from pulling off, leaving. He tried to speak too, to voice his refusal, but Megatron shoved him down on his spike and muffled any sounds he might’ve wanted to make.
He tried to reach back instead, twisting his frame this way and what to keep Skywarp from going through with what he knew was coming, tried to shove him away–
But Megatron intercepted his servos and pulled them forward, pinning them against his thigh.
It did mean he let go of his helm though, and at once Sideswipe pulled off and fought against the hold on his arms. “NO!” he yelled, clear as day, yanking against the hold on him, trying to move his lower frame away from Skywarp—he couldn’t make it any clearer he didn’t want this.
But his engine revved with excitement, his ventilations came fast and hard, and arousal clouded his thoughts until nothing but want and no remained.
His valve dripped.
He met Skywarp’s optics, the Seeker’s servos steady on the plating of his aft, unwelcome—but then Skywarp glanced up, at Megatron, nodded quickly, and without any further stalling, his spike found Sideswipe’s valve.
Sideswipe screamed his denial. It didn’t hurt, the fragging opposite: his frame arched in overload just from that first entry, but he’d said no. He didn’t want it.
No one cared. Not even Skywarp, as nice as he had seemed.
The flier might’ve been larger than he was, but he was nowhere near to being Megatron’s size. His spike was nothing but unwanted pleasure when he began to move. Fast.
“Starscream,” Sideswipe could hear Megatron rumble, and in a flash the other Seeker was just there, leaning down to lick up the length of Megatron’s spike.
Right next to Sideswipe’s face.
He should’ve felt angry, he was sure he should’ve felt angry.
Instead there was just despair. Starscream kissed his way up Megatron’s length until he reached the tip, where he took the massive girth into his mouth and sank smoothly down it, all the way to the base.
And Sideswipe was forced to watch the whole process while Skywarp fragged his valve.
Sunstreaker growled expletives off to the side when he was flipped onto his back. Soundwave was there, dipping his digits into his leaking valve and using his thumb to rub along Sunstreaker’s spike cover until it snapped back to a strangled groan from his twin and his spike pressurized rapidly.
But right next to Soundwave were other mates called forth by Megatron. One positioned their own soaked valve atop Sunstreaker’s spike and sank down, another took position behind them and lifted Sunstreaker’s hips enough to sink into his valve. Sunstreaker overloaded hard between the double use of his array, pulling Sideswipe into another screaming overload of his own. Skywarp made a surprised sound above him, before Sideswipe could feel hot splashes of transfluid against his valve sensors.
The Seeker pulled out only for another hot frame to replace him. Sideswipe glanced back even against the good sense that told him don’t look.
Runamuck.
His claws sank into his hips and Sideswipe jerked from the sensation a second before Runamuck’s spike invaded his valve and the mech set up a pace even faster than Skywarp’s.
He wished it would’ve hurt, but with his valve so fragging wet, it only lighted his sensors in wholly pleasant ways.
Runabout went for Sunstreaker, but with his spike and valve already in use… What did that leave?
Sunstreaker told in no unclear terms he didn’t have the permission to do it, but ignoring his brother’s protests entirely, Runabout shoved his spike into Sunstreaker’s mouth.
No surprise, he got bitten.
He only laughed it off though, pulling out with the air of no hard feelings. Except there were hard feelings. There would be a lot of hard feelings by the end of this.
There were heated fields all around them and equally heated frames that took their turns with them. Sunstreaker’s spike and valve were free range, as was Sideswipe’s valve.
And Starscream mouthfucked Megatron until the tyrant came and turned around to switch to using his valve afterwards.
Right in front of Sideswipe’s face.
He didn’t want to have the front seat view of Megatron’s spike disappearing into the Seeker’s valve and coming back out almost all the way before Starscream came down again. Megatron enjoyed it, his field a thing of arrogance and enjoyment, and by all accounts Starscream enjoyed it too. And not in the… Forced way, but genuinely.
Like he wanted it.
And now Sideswipe could feel anger. It wasn’t enough that Megatron himself had his way with them, or that Soundwave did.
The whole goddamn harem needed to have that same right.
Another overload crashed through him, triggering one in Sunstreaker too. Megatron kept a hold of his arms even as Starscream fragged his valve on his spike, keeping Sideswipe right there where he had to witness it all. Even if he didn’t look, he could hear and smell it.
And behind him, the mechs kept switching. Everyone only stuck around for as long as it took them to overload, and every time Sideswipe overloaded it felt like he dragged an overload out of someone else too. His fans had been running high for so long already, straining to keep his frame cool even somewhat.
Pits, but it felt so good.
He wanted none of it, but his frame was singing with pleasure, every sensor turning more and more sensitive with every overload wrung out of him.
Megatron overloaded two more times too, before he ordered Starscream off his spike and the Seeker went, almost reluctantly. As much as he didn’t fragging need the closeup view, he still wished Starscream had stayed when Megatron’s attention switched to him next. “Suck.”
He swore the bastard was on the verge of laughing when he said that. Suck his transfluid and lubricant covered spike? Suck him off at all?
Fat chance.
Sideswipe growled, a second before his frame seized in another crest and fall of ecstasy. Megatron really did rumble something that sounded an awful lot like a laugh before Sideswipe’s helm was maneuvered until he was in a perfect position to take Megatron’s spike into his mouth.
Which he wasn’t going to do, no fragging way.
Megatron’s optics shifted over to where Sunstreaker was getting fragged even more thoroughly than Sideswipe was, although everyone had stayed away from his mouth in further practice.
Up until now, because Megatron nodded, and instantly Soundwave had his digits in Sunstreaker’s mouth, probing at the back of his throat until Sunstreaker was struggling to keep the contents of his tanks down all over again.
And Soundwave didn’t let up.
Because Sideswipe didn’t cooperate.
“It’s you or your brother,” Megatron explained, and the fragger was almost smiling. “I do remember how eager you were to service my spike in your brother’s stead. Now you have the chance to do that.”
Sunstreaker’s frame bucked up, the little he could with the weight of another mate atop him. Soundwave kept thrusting his digits in, uncaring of Sunstreaker’s denta.
And Sideswipe couldn’t put his brother through that whole thing all over again. Sunstreaker hated using his mouth. Hated it.
When it came to Megatron Sideswipe didn’t exactly like it either even if he hadn’t really minded doing it with partners he’d chosen, but better him than Sunstreaker.
If he didn’t, who knew how much further Megatron (and Soundwave) would’ve still gone to get what Megatron wanted, anyway.
Sideswipe bit back his revulsion and opened his mouth. As soon as he did, Megatron pushed him down and Sideswipe had to shove back his instinct to fight it.
Instead he took the spike into his mouth, transfluid and lubricant and all, and tried not to think about what he was doing.
Tried to ignore the taste of other mecha’s interface.
Soundwave removed his digits from Sunstreaker’s mouth, and that was all Sideswipe needed to think he had made the right decision even as he had to force himself into motion. His glossa wanted to recoil, he wanted to recoil, but he kept a hold of himself even when yet another mech took a turn at his valve. Their thrusts rocked his frame and made it that much harder to service Megatron’s spike, but he tried. He used his lips, he used his glossa, he even dared to use his denta a little bit—just enough to satisfy Megatron with the extent of his cooperation.
No more than that.
Or so he hoped, anyway.
“Swallow it,” Megatron ordered, and Sideswipe’s hopes that this might even stay tolerable were summarily crushed. His throat constricted just at the thought of having to force the thick length down it.
Wasn’t his mouth enough?
“You saw how Starscream did it,” the tyrant continued, with that fragging amusement in his voice. He knew how much Sideswipe hated this. How much Sunstreaker hated this.
And Megatron was enjoying it. Found their distaste of the situation entertaining.
The mech at his valve overloaded, another’s release fell on Sunstreaker’s gleaming paint and his brother growled in offense—and then it was turn for the next ones. Who hadn’t had a round with them yet? Don’t be shy, step up to the queue for your turn to rape them!
“Now,” Megatron said, and that was all he needed to say for Sideswipe to hear the threat in his voice. No doubt he had something unpleasant in mind for Sunstreaker if Sideswipe didn’t obey.
Sideswipe swallowed thickly, fighting with himself. He didn’t want Sunstreaker to suffer any further, and he was sure Megatron would find a way to make him suffer, but Primus, he didn’t want to do this. Not even the arousal in his frame was a factor, because arousal didn’t magically want to make him perform oral.
But when Megatron’s engine growled in final warning, Sideswipe steadied himself, cycled a deep ventilation and lifted his frame enough to have the room to sink down on Megatron’s spike—let it press into the back of his throat, then down it.
Fresh tears welled in his optics as the damned thing stretched his intake until nothing but pain and discomfort was left, but Megatron was satisfied. His servo rested at the back of his helm, his other one going so far as to release Sideswipe’s arms.
Not that it mattered. As impaled as he was on the tyrant’s spike, there was nowhere he could’ve gone. It was still a relief, some illusion of freedom, and he propped himself up with his arms to– To maintain a better angle. “All the way,” Megatron told him, and biting back his keen, Sideswipe obeyed and sank down the rest of the way, until his face touched the tyrant’s groin. “Move,” was the next order, once he was through with the previous one, and Sideswipe closed his optics tightly. It didn’t stop the tears from streaming down his faceplates.
Here he was again, told to service their tormentor’s damned spike under his own power. It wasn’t like he had to. Megatron would make Sunstreaker feel it if he didn’t cooperate, but he might not force Sideswipe. Right?
So he was almost doing this willingly.
At least, that was what it felt like when Megatron’s servo remained nothing but a weight on his helm. Nothing that was forcing him down, or forcing him into motion or– Forcing him into anything.
Just there.
But he didn’t want Sunstreaker to hurt if it was in his power to prevent that. He didn’t want to find out what manner of methods Megatron would still use to get him to do as he was told. Instead, under the tyrant’s heavy servo, Sideswipe pulled back until his aching throat was free of the spike’s intrusion, only to push back down.
And repeated the motion, just as Starscream had done.
He hated it. Every moment of it, having to fight his gag reflex every time he took the spike to his throat, the short-lived relief of pulling off again—having to fight himself just to convince himself to swallow the massive length again after every time.
If nothing else, it effectively took his mind off the continued use of his valve. Too many spikes to count had already emptied themselves into it, transfluid practically pouring out of it by now.
But it didn’t hurt. If his arousal hadn’t been stomped down so effectively by what his front end was made to do, no doubt he would’ve had plenty of overloads from it.
Sunstreaker was having plenty of overloads from the unwanted use of his equipment, but even that wasn’t enough to pull Sideswipe over the edge with him anymore.
But he did what he had to do to keep Sunstreaker from going through something worse than just getting fragged up his valve, or someone using his spike. Soundwave was still there, having other members of his harem see to him. If what they’d seen so far was any indication, the blue mech wouldn’t hesitate to act as additional servos for Megatron, as preoccupied as Megatron was with Sideswipe.
With his damned brother. Wasn’t anything enough for him? How many times already had he forced one of them onto his spike, just to watch them struggle to take it and taking his pleasure from their pain? It wasn’t Sunstreaker having to throat Megatron’s spike right then, but he felt no relief at the fact when Sideswipe’s ache of having to perform the act skipped from one spark-half to the other.
And it was more welcome than the pleasure. He’d rather have pain, at least that would remind him he wasn’t willingly subjecting himself to any of this.
Instead of being allowed that, though, his frame kept arching off the berth, charge kept zapping across his armor—one grand overload after another from having both his valve and spike used in ways that were nothing more than pleasurable.
It was a small comfort everyone had kept away from his mouth after he’d bitten Runabout. He still couldn’t understand how the other mates—mecha in the same situation as they were!—could do this and show no hesitation or regret, give no apologies. Maybe Megatron would have made them all do it regardless—he got the impression the tyrant always got his way one or another—but the least they could have done was show remorse. It wasn’t a secret they didn’t want this, to be the center of the attention of this… Orgy.
It was nothing but an orgy, because as much as they all took their turns with them, they were all equally busy fucking each other while they waited, or after they’d had their turn.
But they were the main event. Megatron had made them the main event.
Another overload crashed through him despite the abuse Sideswipe was going through, and he hated himself just a little bit more for it.
It seemed, though, that at last all of the harem had had their turns with them, because no one else moved to take the place of the last two mecha on him. Sideswipe’s valve was similarly abandoned, and…
Megatron didn’t overload. He removed his servo from Sideswipe’s helm and tapped the red twin’s chin instead. After a moment of still confusion Sideswipe experimentally pulled off Megatron’s spike, and indeed he was allowed to do that. In fact he was allowed to go so far as to scoot away from the tyrant, stopping once he was outside of reach and… No one prevented him from doing so.
Was it over?
Sunstreaker propped himself up with his arms, but froze when Megatron’s gaze shifted from his brother to him. “I do so enjoy your valve,” their prime abuser near purred, and Sunstreaker would’ve gotten the fuck out of there if Soundwave’s servos hadn’t landed on him and pinned him in place. Megatron looked off to the side, and Sunstreaker followed the path of his optics to find Starscream glaring at the lot of them. The expression smoothed off quickly though, once Megatron’s attention fell on him. The Seeker was beckoned with a simple, “Starscream,” and that was all the invitation and direction Starscream needed to return to the berth and take a hold of Sideswipe.
His brother squeaked in surprise and tried to pull away, but the larger mech shackled him in place with his hold, bracketing Sideswipe with his legs and securing him against his chassis.
It was clear enough that Starscream did just what Megatron told. Just like everyone here seemed to do, but the tricolor Seeker took a more… Active role than the other mates, somehow.
That didn’t matter right now, though, because Megatron was also moving, coming for him and Soundwave let go of him only for Megatron’s servos to take a hold of him instead. Sunstreaker’s engine growled, from aggression as well as the arousal raging in his lines—and now that the twins weren’t on the menu, the other mates had gone back to happily fragging each other silly—but it didn’t dissuade the tyrant one bit. “Keep your servos off of me,” Sunstreaker added in for good measure, trying to jerk away, but of course it didn’t work.
“You don’t give the orders here,” was all Megatron said, and wasn’t that the truth, enforced with physical superiority. Even now, despite his struggling, Megatron simply flipped him around until he was on his front, and pulled his hips up.
Annnnnd they had been here before. “Are you going to break my back again?” Sunstreaker growled even as his frame sang hallelujah at him for the proximity of another spike near his valve. His ventilations ran even hotter at the promise of being entered again, yet all the while his spark spun wildly from how much he didn’t want this.
It was of no consequence, though.
“That is up to you,” Megatron responded, and Sunstreaker hated, he hated the false choices the tyrant kept giving them.
His spike shoved into his valve, and the stretch was as immense as ever, but it wasn’t the first time he’d already taken it tonight. His valve stung, but that was all.
He wished there would’ve been more.
And what was he going to do about it? He could submit to the treatment, or he could fight and be made to submit to it eventually anyway.
He would have fought anyway, if Soundwave hadn’t positioned himself in front of them right as Megatron set up an even but relatively calm pace.
He knew exactly what Soundwave was planning.
He was having none of it. “Pit no!” he barked even as Soundwave grabbed him by the chin and pulled his upper frame off the berth, bringing his helm level with his spike.
Sunstreaker tried to jerk away, but the second in command merely tightened his hold.
“We can do this to you,” Megatron spoke up behind him, gaining his attention with a harsh thrust into his valve, “Or to dear Sideswipe.
“Your choice.”
Choices! How dare he call these choices?
Sunstreaker’s gaze shifted off to the side, to his brother. Sideswipe was staring at them with wide optics, wet tear tracks staining his pale cheeks. It wasn’t much of a decision to make. If he could spare his twin this, he would, no matter how Sideswipe tried to convince him otherwise. Their spark pulsed with his pleas.
Sunstreaker ignored him and let his optics shutter.
He didn’t voice his acquiescence, but Soundwave took it for what it was anyway. Sunstreaker didn’t fight it when clawed digits opened his mouth and a spike was slipped inside. Smaller than Megatron’s, but still too large, he gagged when it hit the back of his throat and forced its way down the channel that just wasn’t designed for this kind of use.
Soundwave didn’t care about minor details like that any more than Megatron did, and as soon as he was penetrated from both ends, both Megatron and Soundwave began to move properly. Megatron was rough, every thrust hard and rocking his frame forward, to Soundwave’s spike. Soundwave was barely any gentler, grabbing a hold of his helm to keep him in place for him to take his pleasure of his mouth in the way he wanted to.
Neither cared about his comfort, but that was nothing new. They put in no effort to coordinate their motions, and Sunstreaker struggled to ride it out when his frame was jostled back and forth with no proper rhythm to any of it. The calipers at his valve ached from being pushed so far, but overall that didn’t hurt no matter how heedless Megatron was.
His mouth was an entirely different story. His only consolation was that at least it wasn’t Megatron—Soundwave wasn’t in the same size class as the tyrant he served, but the fact remained his intake and its calipers simply weren’t made to expand as far as they were made to do right then. Every thrust that sheathed Soundwave’s spike into his throat brought a fresh wave of pain from components protesting the abuse, but he couldn’t have pulled away even if he’d wanted to with the hold Soundwave kept of his helm. He struggled against his gag reflex.
He’d already emptied his tanks enough times from treatment just as this. Could he avoid doing that this time around?
But despite it all, his engine revved, and as Megatron continued to thrust into his valve, Sunstreaker’s overload built until it peaked and left him freefalling on the other side. He groaned as charge burst in his frame, the tightening of his valve calipers drawing Megatron over the edge as well.
As he’d done during their first days with them, he pulled out and let his transfluid splatter onto Sunstreaker’s back. He shuddered in disgust, but was it a good or a bad thing that he was distracted from that almost instantaneously? Because Soundwave sped up his pace, ramming into his throat with a single minded intensity that had Sunstreaker’s frame reacting before he could stop himself. He tried to pull away at the same time as his servo came up to push Soundwave away from him, a pained whine building in his throat. His throat constricted with the attempt to force the intrusion out, out, out–
But Megatron caught his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, holding him in place for Soundwave to do as he pleased.
And Soundwave pleased his own overload, which he roughly took from Sunstreaker’s intake until his frame was convulsing from its desire to expel the contents of his tanks all over again.
Finally though, and before his frame won the battle he was having with it, Soundwave smashed in one more time, buried himself deep—and overload crackled over his plating, transfluid shot down his throat, and yet the blue mech made no sound. Pits, he was making Sunstreaker look like a loud one with how well Soundwave held onto his silence.
But at least Soundwave didn’t linger. As soon as his spike had emptied itself, he pulled out, leaving Sunstreaker to swallow down his load. His helm hung; he tugged at the arm in Megatron’s hold.
To no avail. Megatron kept his hold on him, keeping his aching, heated frame in place.
Primus, it didn’t matter what he did or what was done to him, his frame still yearned for more. There was no end to it, every overload wrung out of him just making his body thirst for another one.
Sideswipe was no better, and he’d been left alone for one precious moment. There was relief in their spark for that, but his frame found it unbearable. He was rocking in Starscream’s hold, tortured by the tantalizing proximity of another’s interface array that was not given to him despite his frame’s demands. His engine was revving on high, fans spinning madly.
Sunstreaker knew exactly what that felt like, just like he knew the mind and the spark’s absolute hatred of their frames’ physical betrayal. Their spark cried no more, their mind begged for it to stop, and their frames kept running like they were drugged.
“Have I neglected you?” Megatron asked, and Sunstreaker turned his helm to see the tyrant’s attention squarely on his brother. Sideswipe was staring back at the grey mech, optics still wide and engine whining from both arousal and fear.
No matter the need in their frames, nothing could make them want Megatron’s attention.
“Let us fix that,” Megatron carried on, uncaring of their actual opinions. “Starscream.”
His name was all the instruction the Seeker needed, and Sideswipe was released only to get shoved in Megatron’s direction. His spike was still standing proudly, showing no signs of being done despite his apparent immunity to whatever was plaguing the rest of the harem, and Sideswipe tried to scramble away before that tool could be used on him again.
It didn’t work. Megatron released Sunstreaker only to snatch Sideswipe instead, and in short order his brother’s legs were spread wide around Megatron’s hips and he was screaming from the intrusion into his frame.
Soundwave laid his servos on him in the meantime, and Sunstreaker’s spark threatened to entertain defeat. Starscream was fingering his own valve as he watched the show in front of him, frowning anew, and behind him the rest kept fragging each other or themselves as if they could genuinely enjoy any of this.
And as Soundwave entered his frame all over again, Sunstreaker’s moans joined all of theirs as his frame was drawn into yet another overload.
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#transformers#maccadams#megatron#sunstreaker#sideswipe#starscream#knock out#skywarp#harem au#megasun#megaswipe#twins#fic#2020#megatwins
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Day 15: Laughter
Read on AO3
They laughed. It was neither laughter of joy nor laughter of companionship. They laughed at him.
Aziraphale laughed, too. Not because their laughter was infectious or because he wanted to. He laughed dutifully although he did not understand why they thought him so ridiculous. What was so laughable about his idea? He did not know how to phrase the question because he did not want to give them even more reason to laugh at him.
Gabriel was quick to lecture him anyway. “Aziraphale, I’m sure this idea comes from a pure heart but, forgive me for saying so, it really proves a stupefying lack of insight into the greater good.”
“These things are bound to happen when you are out of touch with everyday divinity,” Michael said with a pitying look. “With only humans as company for centuries, it’s no wonder your perspective is a little skewed.”
“I suppose it is.” Aziraphale tried to chuckle to show that he was in on the joke. “So I take it you won’t consider my suggestion?”
Gabriel snorted and shook his head in amusement. “You certainly haven’t forgotten that Heaven does not attach value to material objects?”
“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed in relief. Just a misunderstanding then? “It wouldn’t necessarily have to be material objects for everyone. I thought about blessings, about healings for the sick and hurting, giving the hungry something to eat… Or just little miracles like snow on Christmas. A white Christmas really makes humans so happy.”
“Good Lord,” said Michael, “you are slobbering over this.”
Aziraphale flinched. He threw Gabriel a nervous look, hoping for validation from him.
“Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale. Haven’t 6000 years on Earth taught you anything? Happy humans are not necessarily devotional humans.”
“As we have highlighted in our final reports every century,” Michael added. “Statistics show that miserable humans in hopeless situations are more likely to turn to Heaven. How is that news to you?”
“I-I-I know that, of course. I-I just thought it would be nice to give them at least one good day a year. So they could be happy on Christmas even if their lives are otherwise miserable. They would be so thankful, I’m sure. Wouldn’t that secure souls for us, too?”
Gabriel sighed in exaggeration. “Enough of that. You should pay more attention to your routine business instead of this wool-gathering. I hear the demon Crowley has trapped you in London in an infernal ring of fire.”
That was wild. “Er…” Aziraphale did not know how to react to that because he did not want to get Crowley into trouble. That idea must have come from one of Crowley’s embellished reports to Hell (because Aziraphale was fairly certain that he was not trapped in an infernal ring of fire…although he had not left London for quite some time). He should have warned me about that, Aziraphale thought, mildly put off because it presented him as an incompetent angel once more.
“Do you need assistance?” Gabriel asked. He sounded almost worried.
Well, better make the best of it. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I have already breached the ring of hellfire. You see, over the millennia I have become quite experienced in thwarting the demon’s wiles.” See? He was not completely useless.
“That’s good to hear.”
Then Aziraphale had a sudden flash of insight: It would not be so horrible if Crowley had really trapped him in a ring of hellfire in London. In fact, it would be very convenient this weekend because Heaven had ordered him to go to Manchester of all places to bless the launch ceremony of a little church, and the weather forecast looked grim and he really would have preferred to go to the Royal Opera House to see Hansel and Gretel. It was one of his favourite operas and the new production had gotten favourable reviews. He cleared his throat. “However, I’m still busy with extinguishing fires around London. So… I might not be able to make it to Manchester this weekend.”
“Oh, no worries there. I myself will deal with the Manchester business,” Gabriel promised. “You stay in London and focus on that hellfire.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s very gracious of you.”
“Well, it’s what we do, isn’t it?”
***
Now Aziraphale had the weekend off but he was still not over the archangels’ patronising behaviour.
“And then I suggested we – that is, all the angels – could make a collective miracle on Christmas,” he told Crowley when they had lunch in a new Korean restaurant. He needed to get a few things off his chest before he could fully enjoy his delicious starter. “How does the saying go? Peace on earth for everyone et cetera. You know how the humans have invented so many lovely Christmas traditions to spread joy but there are still so many people who are ill or hungry or poor or homeless or just don’t get any presents and feel lonely. So I thought if all the angels put in an effort we could make Christmas a happy event for everyone. A bit like those human fund-raising galas.”
Crowley gaped at him. “You – you suggested that to the archangels?”
“Yes, and can you imagine how they reacted?”
Crowley snorted. “So you – you practically proposed they should dress up as Santa and come to earth to, ha, spread festive joy?” He snorted again and then – he laughed. “Ooooh, I wish I could’ve seen their faces! Bet they loved it!”
Aziraphale huffed and put down his napkin, trying very hard not to let it show how Crowley’s reaction hurt him. “Excuse me,” he said primly, “I need to go to the restrooms.”
Crowley raised his brows because there really was no reason for a supernatural being to go to the toilet. And Aziraphale did not know what to do once he was there. He adjusted his bowtie, washed his hands and miracled away a rude doodle from a tile. He felt stupid and a little betrayed because he had thought Crowley was the only supernatural being to understand. But he had laughed at him, too. Why was it so ridiculous to want to give a bit of kindness once a year? It made Aziraphale angry and so he reached a vicious decision: He would spread joy on Christmas, no matter what the archangels or Crowley thought. Let them laugh!
When he returned to their table, their main dishes had been served but he was not hungry anymore.
“You alright?” Crowley asked without looking at him.
“I’m perfect, thank you,” Aziraphale said icily.
“Is your food not good? You can have mine, I’m not really hungry anyway.” Crowley pushed his dish towards Aziraphale.
“I’m not hungry either.” Aziraphale pushed the dish back.
“Right. How about a digestif?”
“No, thank you. I have work to do, seeing as I will have to do the seasonal blessings all on my own and with the job in Manchester… oh, and apparently I’m trapped in an infernal ring of fire, so I’ll have to sort that out, too.”
Crowley stared at him. “What? How – who?”
“Oh? Isn’t that what you told Hell you’d achieved?”
“Of course it wasn’t me, what do you take me for?”
“But you told them.”
“No! Aziraphale, whoever did this – I had no idea. This is – shit. They must’ve… fuck.” Crowley put a black credit card on the table and stood up abruptly. “I’ll deal with this. You stay away. Okay? You just go back to the – no, you better stay here or…” He frantically looked around, visibly shaken.
“Crowley, stop.” Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s arm to make him calm down. All his anger had evaporated. “There is no ring of hellfire. Well, at least I’m fairly certain there isn’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean, I can’t be entirely sure but to me it just sounded like the archangels had, as usually, no idea what was going on.”
Crowley took a calming breath. “I hope you’re right. But I’m going to check anyway.”
“Be careful, please.”
“You know me, angel, I’m always careful,” said the demon who had once walked into a church and directed bombs onto it.
***
There was no ring of hellfire. A misunderstanding, as Crowley found out once he contacted Hell to make an enquiry. Apparently, the demons had not fully grasped yet how the M25 worked.
“I have no idea how that bit of information got to Heaven,” Crowley said, “but luckily you can rely on angels being daft idiots.”
Ah, yes. There it was again. Crowley had always made it clear that he thought angels spineless, empty-headed creatures. And he had laughed at Aziraphale’s plan like the archangels had done, too. A plan even too stupid for the daft idiot archangels.
“Don’t look like that,” Crowley said. “I obviously didn’t mean you.”
Aziraphale sniffed. “Well. You obviously thought my… Christmas plan was stupid.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. You laughed.”
“Oh, come on. I wasn’t laughing at you. It was just that it was so funny to imagine the reaction of the other angels.”
“They thought it funny, too.”
“You can’t have seriously thought they would ever…” Crowley grimaced. “You did.”
“Why is it so ridiculous to expect angels to do good?” Aziraphale said in a huff.
“Because they aren’t…they aren’t good, not like you. Come on, Aziraphale, you said it yourself: They have no idea what’s going on on Earth. Why do you listen to them?”
“Just so you know, I will spread as much joy on Christmas as is in my power. And don’t even try to thwart me.”
Crowley grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You defying the archangels – that’s pretty badass.”
“They didn’t exactly forbid it.” Aziraphale considered. He was not stupid. He knew Crowley was making fun of him – not in a condescending way now, more in their usual needling each other. He also knew that Crowley still felt at least slightly remorseful. If he played his cards right… “Anyway, you could help me. Seeing as it’s something the archangels don’t exactly approve, it’s only proper for a demon to participate. Who knows, it could get you another commendation from Hell. Maybe this time even for something you actually did do.”
Crowley muttered something to himself and rolled his eyes and grimaced and then said: “Just for the record, I know what you’re trying to do here, angel – tempting me to do good deeds.”
Aziraphale tried to suppress his grin. He almost had him. It always thrilled him to tempt Crowley to be nice. “I’m sure we could work some more demonic elements in. Let’s say, I take care of getting some presents for humans who can’t afford it, and then you can wrap the presents with tons of sticky tape and tie the bows very firmly and with several knots so they will be so annoyed when they try to unwrap the presents.”
Crowley grinned toothily back. “Let’s make a deal. We do your evil Christmas plan on Friday and on Saturday we go to the cinema to watch the new James Bond film.”
“Hm.” Aziraphale could not really see what Crowley liked so much about that James Bond fellow but he would endure it for the sake of, well – the greater good or evil or whatever. For a happy human Christmas. “We can go to the cinema on Sunday. I wanted to see Hansel and Gretel at the Royal Opera House on Saturday.”
Crowley shrugged. “Fine with me. But weren’t you meant to be in Manchester on Sunday?”
“Gabriel will do that one.”
“Really? Gabriel wants to go to Manchester?”
“He, er, might be under the impression that I am busy extinguishing infernal fires in London.”
“You – what! You didn’t – you can’t – holy shit. You just sent Gabriel to do your tedious work so you could, what, enjoy a weekend off in London?”
“He offered. And I really wanted to see the premiere.”
“You are such a bastard,” Crowley said in delight.
Aziraphale knew he meant it as a compliment, but still, an angel should not strive to be called a bastard. “There’s really no need to insult me.”
Crowley snickered. “I can’t believe you did that! Ha, can you imagine Gabriel doing the shitty work in Manchester while…”
Just for the record, Aziraphale really tried to suppress his giggles but Crowley’s laughter was just too infectious.
#31 days of ineffables#ineffable advent calendar#Ineffable Husbands#aziraphale#crowley#good omens#fanfic
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A Different Path [Sirius Black AU] - Part 6
Summary: Post-graduation AU in which the reader, Lily and The Marauders have just joined the Order of the Phoenix. As tensions are at its highest in the First Wizarding War, the reader, who likes Sirius Black more than she would like to admit, is framed for the murder of Marlene McKinnon.
Parts: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8
Author’s Note: Sorry for the looonngg wait but here it is, slightly longer than usual :) I had to start this about four times before I got anywhere decent with it so I hope you like it!! Feel free to ask if you want to be added to the taglist.
Gif is not mine. Words: 3.2k
It was a cool Saturday, with the sun running in and out of the clouds and a light breeze floating through the streets. Y/N walked slowly. There was no rush to get home today so she took her time, noticing the little things. How hot of a summer June had brought about, the spidery little cracks in the pavement, King’s Cross station and the bustle of passengers rushing to board the trains, the high pitch of a child’s laughter. Azkaban had made her forget these things; forget what it felt like to be surrounded by life.
On some days though, she was overwhelmed.
It was either too loud that she wanted to shut herself away again or too quiet that she wanted to scream and fill the silence. As much as Y/N had yearned for an escape from Azkaban and its desolate cold, she was dismayed to find that she didn’t completely belong in the world outside of it either, a world that had once been so familiar. She cherished her freedom but at times, the myriads of colour swirling in her vision were such a stark contrast to what she’d grown accustomed to; the greens too lively, yellows too bright and blues too fresh.
Her new apartment was bizarrely, situated in a Muggle street that was usually very busy. Dumbledore had insisted this was safer, in case there were still any lurking Death Eaters waiting to attack. After her release three weeks ago, it had been distributed by the Daily Prophet that Y/N Y/L/N was a key element to Voldemort’s downfall. Only through her information had the Potters been safe and so all of a sudden, everyone regarded her as the hero. Some people even stopped her on the streets, people who had not so long ago been convinced that she was the traitor. Now, they sang her praises.
Y/N wanted none of it.
Over the past three weeks, the visitors had been many – Dedalus Diggle being the first, to Y/N’s surprise. She’d opened her door to find his eyes red and before the shock even registered on her face, he’d pulled her into a hug, not noticing the way she flinched.
Full of apologies, Dedalus had stayed to help her unpack some of her things. After Y/N had assured him that her imprisonment was by no means his fault and that Crouch Jr. was an immensely talented wizard whose Forgetfulness charm would’ve been impossible to deflect, he had told her everything regarding the Ministry after the Dark Lord’s downfall. The last of the Death Eaters had been rounded up although a couple, namely Lucius Malfoy, had gotten away with some plea of being under the influence of the Imperius curse.
Y/N knew it was a lie – Malfoy had been a topic of great discussion in Azkaban, among the first few Death Eaters caught after the fall; Y/N knew many of them despised him for lying and taking the easy way out. It made her uncomfortable that she would be seeing him around the Ministry from now on.
Moody was the second visitor. Never one for small talk, he’d come to check on her, grumble about Crouch and his knack for holding long trials before going on his way. More members from the Order had visited too, some bearing small gifts, intended to be housewarming. Y/N smiled at them politely, accepted their condolences and spoke only when necessary. It was foreign to have to pretend in front of them, wizards and witches she’d known and been friends with once but Y/N didn’t know how else to act.
Today, her visitor was none other than Lily Evans.
Potter, Y/N corrected herself. Spotting the redhead sitting on the steps to her apartment, she stopped in her tracks. Lily wasn’t the only one there either. She had brought a different sort of gift – an infant who was seated in her lap, his head resting against her shoulder. With untidy tufts of black hair, his likeness was his father’s but his eyes, so blue that Y/N could see them from where she stood, were Lily’s entirely.
It was Harry Potter.
Lily sprang up once she noticed Y/N. Walking slowly forward with Harry peering curiously at the newcomer, a small smile broke out on her face.
“Hi.”
Y/N took a moment to respond.
“Hey.”
None of them said anything after that, using the time to take in each other’s appearances. Y/N looked incredibly haggard, thought Lily. While her old friend had spent the first week of her release in St. Mungo’s (she knew this because Moody had told her), Azkaban’s traces were still fresh on her face. There was a slight tremor in her voice too, and her shoulders were stiff with tension. Lily’s face fell a little – this visit was perhaps doing Y/N more harm than good.
On the contrary, Y/N didn’t think she’d ever seen Lily look healthier, happier. Though those two things weren’t out of the ordinary for Lily, she knew that much of her newfound radiance was due to the little boy in her arms, who was now cooing softly at his mother. Dumbledore had informed her that the Potters were safe the minute she’d gotten out of Azkaban but seeing them in person made Y/N feel a little better.
“Do you want to come in?”
Lily looked relieved and nodded eagerly. She was grateful Y/N hadn’t brushed her off; Lily had much to thank her for.
Her new apartment was sparsely decorated. A few plants here and there, Y/N’s favourite coat flung over the nearest sofa, beams of sunlight filtering through the windows. Lily followed Y/N into the kitchen and took a seat on the dining table, opposite her friend. After a few minutes, she broke the silence.
“Oh! I forgot – here,” she rummaged in her bag and pulled out a wand. Y/N froze.
Confiscated ever since she’d gone to Azkaban and now lying in front of her, was the wand that had killed Marlene McKinnon. It was a miserable reminder and Y/N wanted to snap it in half and throw it as far as she could. Instead, she picked it up gingerly and thanked Lily, knowing full well Moody could’ve brought it when he’d come last week.
“Did Dumbledore ask you to bring it?”
“I offered actually,” Lily’s voice was small. “I… I wanted to see you.” After a beat she continued although quite hesitantly. “Sirius wanted to come too.” Stopping once she saw Y/N’s face fall further, Lily cursed softly and rushed to amend herself. “I told him you might not… that you might–”
“Not want to see him?” Y/N finished for her, finally meeting her gaze. Her voice had a stiffness to it like Lily had never heard before. It was so unfamiliar, so unlike the girl she knew that Lily could only nod. Y/N said nothing more, keeping her gaze on Harry. He stared back, the curiosity still lingering on his face.
“How are you?”
The minute she’d said it, Lily wanted to snatch the words back. It was such a stupid question to ask, after everything that she opened her mouth to apologize but Y/N beat her to it.
“Fine,” she replied quickly. The mask she’d donned in front of all her old friends from the Order when they’d come to visit was slipping back on. It pained Y/N to have to pretend in front of even Lily, but there was no other way about it. “Everyone still stares though.”
“Do they say anything to you? Anything rude?” Lily asked. “Because if they do you can tell Dumbledore. He’ll shut Rita Skeeter up.”
“That’s okay. The last thing I need is Rita writing that I’m incapable of handling things myself.”
Lily’s voice was quiet once again. “You’ve gone through more than enough, they would understand.”
“No they wouldn’t,” replied Y/N, her voice equally soft. Lily had always been extraordinarily kind, always seeing the absolute best qualities people had to offer but it still amazed Y/N how she could be so trusting, so understanding after all that had happened.
Harry had grown desperate for some form of entertainment and was reaching eagerly for the flowers in the centre of the table. Without saying anything, Y/N moved a small blossom out of the vase and it floated in the air momentarily before drifting over. Harry, with his eyes alight in excitement and mouth open in awe, happily clapped his hands and let out a tiny shriek as it tickled him on the nose, apparently out of its own accord.
A small shadow of a smile peeked out of Y/N.
“Do you want to hold him?”
Without waiting for a reply, Lily reached over to place him in Y/N’s arms. He was very small and soft, the warmth radiating off him seeping into her too. He wriggled around a bit to make himself more comfortable before turning back to the enchanted flower, still twirling in the air. It slipped out of reach of his tiny fingers as he tried to grab it, making him squeal again.
“I heard you defied Voldemort three times,” Y/N said, changing track. “Did you?”
There was a small spark of triumph in Lily’s eyes as she replied. “Yeah. Only made him more desperate to come after us.”
“Didn’t succeed though, Harry’s still here.”
Her face darkened a little. “Because the Longbottoms paid the price.”
This was news. Lily saw the confusion on Y/N’s face and continued.
“Voldemort knew who the prophecy referred to but he had no hope of getting to us because Sirius was Secret Keeper,” she exhaled slowly and her voice shook when she spoke again. “Dorcas was the Longbottom’s, she was the closest to Alice.”
“She was captured a week before it happened. Voldemort personally killed her after he’d tortured out what she knew. He… he thought even if Harry was the boy in the prophecy, he would eliminate Alice’s son from the equation all together just to be sure and take us later.”
Y/N held her breath, dread sinking into her bones.
“He told Alice she could live if she surrendered her son.” Her eyes were downcast and shrouded with pain as she talked of Alice Longbottom. Lily too, it seemed, had ghosts of her own. “She refused.”
“Granting the son sacrificial protection,” murmured Y/N.
“Yes. The curse rebounded and Voldemort was destroyed.”
Lily watched Y/N’s brow furrow, nonplussed.
“That can’t be.”
“What do you mean? You’re saying he didn’t die?”
“He couldn’t have. Not if Harry is the chosen one like you say. The curse only rebounded because of Alice’s sacrifice, not because of the son.”
“The chosen one,” Lily repeated. She shook her head. “But he still vanished.”
“He was the most powerful Dark wizard, knew all sorts of magic. Probably knew of ways to preserve yourself even if your body was destroyed.” At Lily’s stare, she shrugged. “They talked in their cells a lot, his supporters. Never shut up about how great he was.”
Silence enveloped them for a while.
“What about Frank Longbottom?”
Lily’s face contorted again. “We thought he was safe,” her voice was barely above a whisper. “Then they got him and tortured him until he went insane.”
Y/N knew exactly who Lily was talking about. She remembered all too well the effects of the Torture curse and the blinding agony that accompanied it. She also remembered the day Bellatrix had been brought in to the cell adjacent to hers, face devoid of the triumphant smile she’d worn that day. It haunted Y/N more than she liked to admit, that smile.
“Bellatrix?” Y/N asked. Lily gave her that look again. “Her cell was next to mine after they brought her in.”
“Oh.”
Sirius had told her about what he’d seen in the Pensieve. Chest heaving with sobs, he’d described the night Marlene had died in excruciating detail, as if reliving the experience. Lily had felt sorry for him then but it was nothing compared to how she felt now as she imagined Y/N’s sorrow.
“What of the boy?” asked Y/N.
“Neville lives with his grandmother now. Frank doesn’t remember him,” Lily’s voice was thick. “He doesn’t remember his son.”
There was nothing to say to that. Y/N could sense that Lily had never openly talked of this before, how much it had affected her. This little boy, who could’ve so easily been Harry, would grow up an orphan, grow up alone. Even if Y/N had managed to save the Potters, she’d been of no use to the Longbottoms. She had never known Alice and Frank that well but it was enough to let loose the tears gathering in her eyes.
“You blame yourself,” Y/N said. “I get that. Above everyone else I get that. But it wasn’t your fault.”
Reaching out across the length of the table, Lily clasped Y/N’s hand. It broke her heart to see the girl flinch a little before squeezing back.
“I should be saying that to you. I don’t deserve your sympathy,” she said. “It’s only that I never thought I’d lose all four of them. First Marlene, then you, then Dorcas and Alice.”
“That’s not true,” whispered Y/N. “I’m still here.”
It was more of a reminder to herself than anything else but a relieved gasp escaped Lily. She reached over the table and pulled her old friend into an embrace. It was slightly awkward, with the table and Harry in the way but Y/N appreciated the gesture all the same. Lily knew it wasn’t forgiveness but it was more than she could’ve hoped for. Pulling back, she tried to smile despite her watery eyes.
“I came to thank you. For everything you did. I know you gave up your memory for Harry, to protect him. I can’t ever repay that but just know how grateful and how sorry I am,” she seemed to reconsider and added on. “We should’ve done something sooner. All of us, to get you out.”
Y/N didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure her voice would hold. Lily didn’t push her for one either.
“It’s Harry birthday soon. I wanted to ask if you would come.”
At that, Y/N protested. There was no way she could face a room full of people, people she’d once worked with, all of whom would spend half the time goggling at her. Not to mention she’d have to see Sirius and James too.
“I don’t think that’s–”
“You are the reason my son is alive. The reason I’m alive,” interjected Lily. She was nearly pleading. “Please come. It would make James and I so happy. It would make Harry so happy.”
Y/N looked down at the child in her arms once again, now fast asleep. Lily’s son, who’s existence had made her last days in Azkaban somewhat bearable. She’d dreamt of him sometimes, when Marlene’s dead body didn’t plague her nightmares. This boy, who she had never known then, had been a light at the end of the tunnel, an escape from her cloaked jailers.
Y/N was sure that there was nothing she wouldn’t do for Harry Potter.
“Alright,” she answered. Lily’s smile was as radiant as the sun beams shining through the panes of glass in the kitchen. “Only for a bit though.”
-
By the time Lily had left, the sky was a patchwork of pale pink and violet, the sun long gone. Y/N sat at the dining table still, running her fingers down the length of her wand. In truth, she had avoided using magic at all costs, preferring to walk instead of Apparate and do everything by hand. The Priori Incantatem version of Marlene sprouting from her wand tip was still a fresh reminder and having it back only made the burden heavier. She placed it away and out of sight.
Ready to start working on dinner, Y/N was about to unpack the groceries she’d brought earlier when the doorbell rang. Frowning, she walked to open the door but no sooner than she had done so, felt the overwhelming urge to slam it shut.
The very person Y/N had not wanted to see stood in the hallway. Sirius Black took her in with wide eyes, moving a few steps forward but she was glaring at him with such intensity, he felt as though he would shatter.
“I thought Lily told you not to come.” Y/N’s voice had taken on that cold edge again.
“Lily was here?”
“Just left.”
Sirius opened and closed his mouth, lost for words. She still hadn’t moved from the doorway; it was obvious he wouldn’t be let in.
“Is it fine if we talk?” His voice was shaky, the confidence that Y/N was used to nowhere to be found.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
Her gut should not have wrenched the way it did as his face fell but Y/N ignored it. She owed him nothing.
“Y/N please,” she flinched as her name escaped his mouth. “I’ll just be a few minutes, I swear–”
“I want you to leave.”
“Please listen–”
“Listen?” Y/N hissed. It was his turn to wince. How ironic it was that he was begging her to listen when he’d turned her away when she’d come to him, imploring him to do the same. Sirius gave her a pained glance before continuing, spewing words desperately now.
“You have every right to be angry, I don’t blame you for it at all but I just want you to know that I’m so, so sorry,” he stopped for breath, reaching out a hand. Y/N moved out of his grasp, face set in indifference. “I saw you in the Pensieve.”
“And now you believe me,” she said. “It took you three years and seeing it with your own eyes to believe me because my word wasn’t enough.”
She said it with no particular malice, but Sirius felt the words pierce him. His eyes had glossed over and Y/N, for a fleeting instant, faltered in her stance. Her hesitation disappeared as quickly as it had come.
“He was my friend,” his voice broke. “I didn’t think he was capable–”
“But I was?” It was the smallest slip in her demeanor but Sirius heard the anguish in her voice all the same. He shook his head fiercely but his words had escaped him again – what was there to say? How could he even begin to apologise?
“I was wrong. I made a mistake,” he was pleading now. “Please let me talk to you–”
“I want you to leave,” she repeated. Y/N held his gaze, waiting for him to do so but when he didn’t, she stepped back. Sirius let out a choked sob and moved to follow her but she shut the door with a firm thud.
For the longest time she stood there, rooted to the spot and as unmoving as still water. On the other side, Sirius seemed to be doing the same. She thought she heard him sniff a few times and at last, there was a pop, signaling he’d Apparated away.
Heart heavy and hating the remorse filling her insides, Y/N trudged back to the kitchen. You owe him nothing, she told herself again. She moved about blindly, barely noticing what she was making and all the while, her mind kept wandering back to him and the crestfallen look on his face. Seeing Sirius again had undoubtedly opened a fresh wound that she’d never given a chance to heal in the first place.
It was only halfway through eating her dinner that Y/N realised she too, was crying.
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Love me like you do (Part 28)-Balem series
A/N: 28! I’ll shut up, but know this one is long!! Like…it’s 7,879 words long. Lol
MOOD MUSIC: Walk through the fire by Zayde Wolf
***
That point in time made itself known by the rhythmic ticking of the clock. Each swing of the pendulum making you realize how critical your decision was. You could’ve backed out, you still could you supposed, but somehow defying any of the Abrasax family seemed a dangerous game to play. There was very little power left in your hands, and you resigned yourself to accepting that. “Okay…” You mumbled to yourself, trying to calm your nerves from kicking in. Your eyes glanced out the chamber windows, watching a number of clippers go by. For such a large and endless universe, you somehow felt entirely alone in it. You wondered if Balem was out there, trying to search for you through all this mess. In your bones, you had to believe that he was. No matter what point you were in your relationship with him now…all you felt was this desire to be near him. Although, somewhere in the deep corners of your mind you weren’t even sure you could face him anymore. It was like a potent mix of emotions boiling inside you, causing conflict within your heart. What would you say to him? How could you explain the decision you were making? At this point, there was plenty of questions, but only one constant answer. You didn’t know.
As you let out a shaky breath, the doors slid open, revealing Famulus in her gold dress. She seemed ready for a royal wedding, but that smirk on her lips implied otherwise. “Titus is ready for you.”
You hesitated in your spot, one hand pressed against the glass. The apprehension kept you in place for a second, but regardless of your choices, if you didn’t move, someone would gladly retrieve you for their lord. “Yeah…” You nodded at her, giving the view one last glance before following after her. You prayed to whatever gods there were that he’d be out there looking for you right now.
“This way.” His assistant smiled, moving aside and holding her arm out. You merely stared at her in contempt, brushing passed her rudely and following the few guards down the hall. They made it seem a big deal, this wedding, and you could scarcely believe Titus would blow such an amount on an arranged marriage. But, knowing the wealth he was rumored to squander, it shouldn’t have been that shocking an action. The Abrasax clan enjoyed flaunting their power and wealth to whoever would pay attention.
“And there she is! My blushing bride.” Titus spoke with an excitement in his tone, finding more to be proud of in this arrangement than you did. He stood there at the end of the hallway, large smile plastered on his lips as he held his hand out to you. You paused next to him, glaring down at it like he was extending an insult your way. It took all your willpower to ignore the urge to yell, but you did it. With a scowl upon your face you turned away from him, and kept walking.
“Charming.” He chuckled, nodding for his guards to follow closely at his side while he caught up with you. “You made the right choice.” Titus whispered, leaning down and brushing a strand of hair from your face. You pulled away from him in frustration, trying to keep this walk in a state of silence. He kept on speaking, sometimes letting his hand linger too long on your shoulder or side. By now, you began to drown out his words, focusing on the sound of your heels to the floor and the footsteps of the guards. It was all you could do to remain sane, but as your eyes drifted around the area you chanced upon the soldier next to you, his gloved hand resting cautiously over his gun. At the ready should any attack occur.
It was a choice that would appear asinine to most, but that alarm in you would not shut off. Of all the options fate would place in your hands, this one seemed the most plausible. You could end this, but the cost seemed incredibly high. You knew even if you managed to get your hands on it, the soldiers would kill you where you stood. No matter how many times you ran the outcomes, it was never in your favor. Right now though, you didn’t truly care. You looked towards Titus, his mouth still moving with mindless chatter and with a steady hand you began to reach over, hoping you could get to it in time.
“Here we are.”
His voice broke your movement, your heart now pounding wildly in your chest. You could only count yourself lucky your foolish attempt hadn’t been noticed by anyone. “What?” You mumbled, senses coming back to you.
Titus gestured for his entourage to open the doors, and as soon as he did the white light of the church blinded you, making you squint and look away. An orchestra accompanied the glorious view, and applause greeted you both as you waltzed in. As the view became more distinguishable, the nerves kicked in again, your eyes darting over the numerous guests that gazed at you like a queen already. “What is all this?”
“A formality. Most of them are sims, a usual for a royal wedding, pay them no mind. Now, come.” He gave your back a soft push, your body heading forward as the crowd gossiped below in joy. It was a strange feeling, being the center of attention amongst those you knew nothing of. Had Titus already announced you as his equal? It seemed an unlikely thing to do, but the the gaze of the crowd told otherwise. “Why are they-“
“I told you, pay them no mind.” Titus motioned for his guards to meet him down below, his hand still stationed at your back protectively. Though you guessed it was for insurance on his part, after all why risk losing his key to success.
“Right.” You spoke, still hesitating to move forward until the platform rose for you both. He took your hand and climbed atop the device, still smiling smugly with the pride of his future. You wanted to fight back, to rescind on your offer, but there was hope for you yet. As you placed one heel on the platform, a vision of luck attracted you to the window.
“It can’t be…” It was a faint whisper, so low no one could hear it through the cheers and applause of the Sims down below. But, you were aware of its meaning, and the dark of space tore open, the many hues of a portal opening up as a large black ship fabricated within it. With every foot that was revealed of its grand entrance, you felt your heart quicken. You would know that clipper anywhere, because nothing had ever quite taken your breath away as that beautiful and ominous technology.
“A smile? Are you almost happy for us?” Titus teased you, not realizing the cause of your joy. You were thankful for that, because your little slip up would’ve bought the pompous man time for a defense strategy. Now was not the time for snide remarks though, and you willed away the smile, nodding over at him.
“We’re all full of surprises…” You responded, hoping his assistant hadn’t become privy of Balem’s arrival. Not that the First Primary would find fault in that. He did adore making an entrance, grander than anything anyone could come up with. “Shall we then?” You feigned excitement now, probably coming on too strong, but Titus hardly cared anymore. He was already enamored with the idea of getting all he ever wanted.
“You read my mind, my dear.” He tugged you near him, the platform now floating down towards the long and heavily decorated aisle. Flowers flourished along the pews, each red and white and equally beautiful. If only this was an actual wedding, where two people loved each other, you’d likely appreciate the decorum more.
With a newly discovered energy, you followed him to the pulpit, the priest awaiting you both at the end. He had a smile on his face, likely unaware of the schemes the youngest Abrasax had formulated.
“Are you both ready?” The priest inquired, looking you over with interest before directing his question to Titus. By this point they had begun talking, every word now being drowned out by your thoughts. Your hope was placed in Balem now, and as Titus released your hand from his, you glanced over at the large stained glass windows again. In a few minutes, he’d likely be here, and that would be the end of this nightmare.
***
The Primary gazed ahead at the commonwealth ministry, watching as the church floated beautifully over the city. He had not bothered returning to this planet for a long time, it was almost a reminder of his family. Each member more pathetic than the last. He couldn’t begin to state the extent of his loathing for them all, but witnessing this mess Titus had created first hand…it destroyed any form of mercy he held within him.
“Have they received the signifying bonds?” He questioned bitterly, leaning back on his throne while the advisor scurried around him in worry. Mr. Night had tried to keep the ferocious leader at bay, but the longer this journey took, the angrier Balem became.
“I-“
“Do you have anything of WORTH,” Balem’s voice rose towards the end, his eyes becoming wild with rage as Mr. Night attempted to deflect his questions. “To say!” He slammed his fist on the arm of his throne, jaw tight as he tried to will his anger away. Every second they grew closer to you, to Titus, he felt that control loosen inside him. Nothing would satisfy him until he had his brother’s head on a pike. “Mr. Night…” Balem’s tone wavered, eyes narrowing dangerously towards the church as he awaited an answer.
“W-We’ve not heard any word, my lord. It would seem the ceremony is barely starting.” The advisor refilled the cup of wine near his lord, constantly stealing glances at him. He knew Balem was beyond pacification now, but he could only hope the Primary didn’t take everyone down along his war path. “Shall we make communication with Titus, Lord Balem?”
The Primary never tore his eyes from the church, his fingertips tapping along his chin as he contemplated his move. But, there was no other way around this situation now. Calm endings was never his forte, and he wasn’t planning on showing mercy anymore. “Defense shields up.”
The captain never hesitated in his commands, and he ordered the crew members around before taking his seat at the front. The glow of the shields began to form around the clipper, ready to take the brunt of any blasts or impacts they may encounter. “Shields are up, Lord Balem.”
Balem scowled deeply, ready to bring this foolish plan of his brother’s to an end.
“Take him down.”
His advisor’s eyes widened, nearly spilling the wine he held in his concern for their safety. “My lord, I strongly-“
“If you are so frightened, Mr. Night, I suggest you scurry away like the rat you are. Otherwise, you will provide me with nothing but silence.”
The most frightening thing of his career, was the days Balem held a calm rage to him. Where the ferocity in his eyes was so evident it could still the breath in you, but the demeanor he held betrayed that. Mr. Night had learned long ago to never approach or try to steer him from his decisions in this state, and so he shut his mouth, taking a seat and bracing himself instead.
“Prepare for impact.” The captain warned, and within seconds the head of the clipper collided with the church.
***
Titus held his hand up to the crowd, the constant cheers finally clawing at your nerves. He seemed annoyingly proud of it, that signifying bond upon his finger, as if that tiny detail alone would award him the very secrets of the universe. He turned to you after gaining the affection of the guests, and smiled in a very eerily happy manner. “Your turn.”
You chewed nervously at your lip, watching him closely for any sign of refusal. But, you knew better than to expect his sudden disgust with you. With a meek nod you turned to the priest, and parted your lips to recite the vows of his world. “I, Y/N…enter into this union…” You paused, eyes drifting anxiously to the large stained glass windows above. He was here, your salvation, he was right outside and you couldn’t stall this for much longer. You felt the apprehension again, the vows now hard to preach when the thought of Balem being outside hung in your mind. Trying to pretend everything alright was becoming difficult, because somehow his presence made you want to break down.
Unfortunately, your facade was well documented by the very people Titus put in place to protect him. Without being aware, Famulus had noticed your slip, and her suspicious gaze followed in your direction. There wasn’t much she could see through the stained glass, but her instincts were good enough to take action. She lifted her wrist to her lips, speaking softly into the device she had while you remained in the dark.
It was Titus’ cough that alerted you, his eyebrows lifting as if to rush you into continuing the ceremony. You pursed your lips, and shoved the doubt in your mind away now, hoping you could buy just a little more time. “Being of sound mind and…and…” It couldn’t happen, even with Balem just outside you didn’t have it in you anymore to complete this foolish plan. Maybe it was the proof of his affections for you, coming to your rescue like this, or maybe you just couldn’t betray him even in jest.
Titus narrowed his eyes at you, his expression drifting from worried to angry. It wasn’t until you saw Famulus lean over to him and whisper that those cold, dark eyes grew impossibly vengeful. “You conniving little-“
The glass along the walls shattered into nothing, the shards looking dangerously beautiful as they fell in a glow of colors. It was hard to appreciate such a sight, when the screams of the guests followed suit. You had to duck your head, barely escaping Titus’ reach when he screamed at you and his guards. “Get my bloody army! Start firing you fools.” He reached for you again, missing a step and finding purchase on the pulpit. He tried desperately to remain dignified, but the crash that rocked the church left the building tilting onto its side. “Famulus!”
His assistant slid down the steps, barely keeping herself safe as the pillars began to fall onto the pews. You crawled your way along the aisle, knowing if you even tried to stand it wouldn’t end well. You wondered why Balem chose such a way to attack, but you figured that entitled fury wouldn’t stay caged for long.
The groan of the archways resounded along the church, the marble and stone cracking rather pathetically as the clipper curved against the walls. It came to a halt on the pathway above, the ramp of Balem’s ship finally descending onto the debris. You had to watch in awe of the whole ordeal, heart ready to just see his face again. But, as you waited for his arrival, Titus’ soldiers came rushing from the back, already shooting their guns to the many soldiers coming from the clipper. In the panic you began moving away, taking shelter behind a pew as lasers flew passed your head. If it wasn’t for the cries of the priest falling dead next to you, you would’ve sat silently with your head in your hands. Trying to pretend you were anywhere else but here. Somewhere in the distance you could hear Titus, still trying to bark orders to the men around him. You didn’t dare listen, placing your focus on surviving instead. But, the scream of agony that came next was hard to ignore.
With a gasp, you looked over the bench, eyes widening when you saw Titus on the floor. He was cradling his leg, blood dripping violently from the wound, and judging by the look on his face he was terrified. You almost pitied him, but the darker side of you reveled in the knowledge he finally felt pain. Even if it was a simple gunshot wound, he was now victim to the same feelings he caused everyone else.
“TITUS!”
You froze, fingertips digging into the bench when his voice rang down from above. It wasn’t that long since you last saw him, or even had the pleasure of hearing his voice…but it certainly felt that way. The fact that he was actually here, it wasn’t fully clear to you still, and as childish as it was you couldn’t bring yourself to turn just yet. That lingering fear of not seeing him again was still alive and well in your turmoil.
“Well there you are, dear brother!” Titus choked out between gasps of pain, crawling his way up the steps and towards the broken pulpit. Even with that vindictive tone, you could plainly see the fear in his eyes. Yet he still tried to escape his brother’s clutches, and ordered his soldiers to continue their advance on him. “I didn’t think you’d make it, Balem.” He laughed, wincing when he attempted to pull himself up.
It took a fool’s courage to continue that instigating, especially towards a man of Balem’s status. You had to admire Titus for that, even if it meant punishment. But, you grew sick of looking at him, now realizing just how pathetic a man he really was. And you couldn’t put off seeing Balem anymore, you had to fight your anxiety about it eventually. “Balem…” You sucked in a breath, exhaling softly as you slowly drew yourself to set your eyes on him.
What a contrast, was your first thought, because nobody in the world would ever be capable of emitting the power of the man standing above the pathway. Looking down at his injured brother with a gaze that spoke volumes of his lifelong hatred. It nearly took your breath away, seeing that authority of his striking in the air. And amidst the lights of the soldier’s guns around him, he looked ready to exact the revenge he had thirsted for. The sentimental half of you longed to call to him, to put aside the dangers and run into his arms, but you stayed frozen there…simply staring at this person you considered closer than anybody in your life.
Then his eyes fell upon you, making you forget all reservations you held if only for a moment. There was nothing like it, that feeling, like neither of you were prepared to accept the reality of your proximity. But, the second his eyes softened…you knew it was very real. Though no smile would grace his features, as always, his eyes were the expressive part and you knew immediately that there was relief in them. Time wasn’t on your side, however, and instead of a grand reunion you simply nodded at him. Needing him to know that you were safe at the very least.
Balem stared down at you, calmly releasing the breath he had been holding. Even meeting your gaze tore him apart, knowing that he still had to attend to pressing matters before taking you in his arms and bringing those lips he adored into a desperate kiss. But, until he had the privilege, he’d settle for destroying his brother and ripping him of everything he held dear. His gaze fell to Titus once more, his boots connecting with the platform as he descended into the pandemonium below. It’s like every foot he grew closer the world around stopped for him, the lasers ceasing, the screams lessening, he had a presence that could freeze the heavens if he willed it.
Balem gracefully got off the platform, his rhythmic strides taking him down the aisle towards his brother. He passed numerous injured soldiers along the way, some his, some Titus’. But, he barely paid their death throes any mind. In his opinion, they were all expendable, merely a means to an end.
You stood back against the pews, trying to summon the energy to fully stand as he grew close to you. But, the adrenaline coursing through your veins made it difficult to keep still. With a quick brush of your hands you removed the debris from your dress, and snagged the gaudy headpiece Titus made you wear off. You tossed it unceremoniously to the side of the church, the sound of the beads and silver bending against the dilapidated pillars. You felt Balem’s presence looming closer and while you expected the Primary to simply pass you by and head towards his weakened brother he seemed interested in other plans. The second you turned, you found him next to you, his green gaze mapping every inch of your body for any sign of harm. It took everything not to cry, even more not to succumb to the desire to be held. All you could do was let out a shaky breath and hope that would somehow be enough to placate him.
“My little bird…” Balem’s eyes grew relieved at the sight of you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. But, he didn’t touch you, not at first. He held it there against your cheek, the proximity enough to produce an effect on you. It was like electricity lingering, the heat coming from his palm begging you to cease all other rational thought. And then he caressed you, his fingertips barely stroking over your skin before he finally closed the distance. You held in your gasp, lips parting slightly to fit against his own. Balem kissed you hard, desperately, and it was like he stole your breath from your body and only demanded you focus on him and you. And how could you not? There were hardly any words to describe it, it was like an equal sense of joy and worry that you couldn’t shake. But, you craved it, yearned for it always. A simple moment in time when nothing in the world mattered but the sensation of his kiss.
You placed a trembling hand on his chest, releasing a labored breath as he peeled his lips from yours. He allowed himself a minute to linger there, that desirous look in his eyes making you flush red in front of him. He could not waste further time though, and with one soft press of his lips to your forehead he moved on to take care of Titus. All you could do was kneel down to the pew again, taking shelter behind it while you hoped the Primary would be safe.
“If you had just prostrated before me,” Balem smirked wickedly, his pride thoroughly entertained by Titus crawling fearfully away. His brother was too injured to stand, and there was nothing more poetic than finding the one person who wanted him down on his knees, now pathetically on his own. He reached him easily, keeping his strides shortened just to stall next to Titus. Balem enjoyed the power play, even more when he slammed his boot over the wound on his brother’s leg and elicited a murderous scream. “We wouldn’t be here, Titus.”
“Always the dramatic one, Balem…” Titus gritted his teeth, trying to reach for his wound only for Balem to stop him.
The Primary gripped his wrist hard, twisting his arm back as he leaned dangerously close to him. “Now look at you, my little brother.” He pulled roughly on Titus, bringing him up to look him in the eye. “Pathetically clinging to this idea of hope, well, I think you’ll find-“ He applied pressure to the leg wound, finding pleasure in how his brother cried out. He had to admire his refusal to beg, but he honestly wished for nothing more than that. “There is none left for you.”
Balem shoved Titus back to the ground, the sound of the glass crunching under Titus’ head. It was sickening how easily the mighty could fall, and Balem watched delightedly as the blood seeped from his brother’s face. He could hear Titus groaning in pain, desperately trying to reach back towards him to gain some upper hand in this fight. Unfortunately for him, Balem was in no mood for childish games anymore. He would end this here, and he’d make sure of it this time.
Balem lowered himself to his level, fingers curling in his brother’s hair before he promptly slammed his face harder into the shards on the floor. He could hear them tear into Titus’ skin, destroying that handsome face he seemed so proud of. “You have defied me for the last time, Titus!” He flipped his brother over, the glass embedded into his skin now stained red from his blood. It was a beautiful sight to him, something only he could be fond of. Yet, Titus still laughed through his agony…that same frustrating laugh that made Balem go mad with rage.
“I didn’t think,” Titus choked, spitting out blood as he smirked up at Balem. “It was possible to find hatred deeper than the one I felt for mother…”He spat directly into his older brother’s face, chuckling when the flecks of blood splattered over those prominent cheekbones of his. But, Balem kept his composure, merely clutching Titus’ hair tighter as he continued to speak. “You just love proving me wrong, Balem.”
The Primary clicked his tongue in annoyance, tugging Titus back to his feet and aiding him up the steps to the pulpit. He settled him against it, keeping him there while he retrieved a large shard of stained glass from the ground. He didn’t even care when it cut into his own palm, his anger was enough to quell the pain.
“I’ve heard enough from you, Ti-“
“Let him go!”
Balem quickly pulled Titus into his hold, turning around and using his brother as a shield from the potential threat. There was something eerily familiar about this situation, once again finding himself furious at another for holding something he held dear. And seeing Titus’ assistant, her dainty arm tangled around your neck like that, he was seeing red.
Famulus was shaking uncontrollably against you, holding you in the same position Titus was in. You offered Balem an apologetic look, knowing you should’ve ran for it when you had the chance. But, it was more than fear leaving you paralyzed. You mouthed a ‘sorry’ to him, holding onto Famulus’ arm as she pushed the barrel of the gun into your temple.
She looked absolutely destroyed standing there, barely holding onto her captive as blood dripped down her forehead from a scrape. Needless to say, Balem wasn’t impressed with her display of loyalty towards his brother. “Let her go. Now.” He seethed, clutching the glass harder in his hand and cutting through his own skin. He held it threateningly towards Titus’ throat, inwardly cheering as his brother stiffened in fear against him.
“No…” Famulus muttered weakly, darting her eyes from you to Balem over and over until she drove herself half mad.
“This isn’t a game.” Balem’s eyes grew deadly, his hair falling into his face from the struggle of keeping Titus still. He didn’t like when his plans were interrupted, least of all when someone of no status was the cause of it. “If you have any hope of leaving this deplorable church alive,” He pressed the tip of the glass into Titus’ neck, barely listening as his brother gasped in pain when the shard pierced his skin slowly. “You’ll release her. NOW!”
“I will not!” She stumbled through her words, trying to resist the overwhelming need to cry out for her master. She tugged you tighter into her, almost like she found comfort in your unwilling embrace. “Release him first…go on!” Famulus gestured towards Balem with the gun, obviously unstable with her plan.
With a shake of your head, you willed Balem not to do anything. Call it the courage of a fool, but you knew even if he was idiotic enough to release Titus, Famulus could still turn against you. In this moment, you weren’t sure of what to do, because wishing for the death of another was not like you. It was instinct to simply let them have you instead. “Balem, don’t.”
“Stop talking!” Famulus nudged the gun harder into you, causing you to wince in slight discomfort of the metal. If she pulled that trigger, the blast from the laser would be the end of you. And as panicked as she was, you were already thinking over all your life regrets.
Balem caught your eyes, a mixture of fury and doubt on his features. It didn’t help with your situation, but it was that silent plea behind them that made you listen. He was begging you to save yourself from harm’s way this time. Because, just like you, he was aware letting Titus go would do neither of you any good. He began to lift the glass away from Titus, attempting to disarm himself so Famulus would let you go. And every inch he withdrew his weapon, she did as well.
The pressure against your temple softened, and that was the second you took your chance at freedom. As her arm drifted away, you reached for it, pushing hard and watching as she shot the gun and a laser barely missed Balem and Titus. You heard the Primary darkly chuckle, his smug reply being the last thing Titus would ever hear. He pulled him closer, whispering casually into his ear. “Farewell then, dear little brother.” And as you fell to the ground in a heap along with Famulus, you heard the shard sink deeply into Titus’ throat. The gurgling is what made you look away, shutting your eyes tight as to forget that image forever. But, the sound of his body hitting the floor made sure to keep you perfectly alert to the damage already done as he bled out.
“NO!!” You turned to see Famulus crying, sunk down to her knees and fighting back her anguished sobs. You felt for her, you truly did, regardless of her wrong doing…she was just another piece in this terrible game.
“Pathetic.” Balem scoffed down at his brother, mentally taking a picture of this moment. He would never forget the exhaustion Titus had caused him, and he would make sure his name disappeared from the records of Abrasax forever. He gracefully walked over Titus�� body, cape drifting over him like he was merely a commoner in the streets. It was a strange thing to think, but after that chaotic display…it’s like you barely knew Balem. Until now, every violent act had been kept from you, it was like meeting him all over again in a darker light.
“Balem-“
He ignored your call, his gaze stopping on the splice who would dare to interfere with his family matters. He had no remorse for her loss, and as she sat crying on the floor, he took up her gun and held it inches away from her head.
“Balem, do-!” You sat there in a stunned silence, eyes widening when you saw her body fall forward onto the broken pews. It was one thing to have hatred for a man who constantly deprived you of joy in life. It was another to waste a life that only blindly followed the powerful. “Wha-…” You couldn’t believe he had just taken Famulus’ life like nothing. Even if she had wronged him by listening to Titus…you didn’t believe she deserved it. It was unreal, too harsh a situation to fathom, but by the time you recognized how awful this all was Balem was by your side again.
“Little bird.”
“N-No…” You had no control of your words or body, and your denial was said in temporary shock. All you could manage was a weak gasp and a panicked look to him. “I-“
Balem sighed heavily, watching as your hand shook over your mouth in distress. There was little he could do to comfort your fear, but he cupped your cheek gently, brow furrowing when you backed away from him. He respected the space you needed, knowing this sort of trial was not one you were accustomed to just yet. But, his hand lingered over your skin, caressing you from centimeters away while keeping the respectful distance you required. His hand was covered in blood, he could not completely drown you in such atrocities for today. “Come.” He brushed his knuckles over your cheek, gripping your arms and pulling you up with him before leading you away. “This church will not hold up much longer, we have to go. Now.”
You obeyed him quietly, stumbling forward when he gave your lower back a soft nudge. In the back of your mind, you knew this place could potentially explode, but all your body wanted was to fall down and stay there for days. And traversing the piles of bodies lying around was the horrid part of it.
“Y/N…”
You heard your name, but it sounded so far away now, and you barely registered who said it but you were sure it was Balem. His hands were still cradling you against him, cape enveloping you slightly as he met his advisor at the entrance his clipper had created. Their conversation was muddled by the weak cries for help from those who appeared to survive the first battle, but they would go unanswered.
“Right away, my lord!”
There was shuffling around, Balem’s soldiers rushing back up the ramp and both of you following suit. But, even in the safety of his arms, you felt impossibly broken.
***
You sat silently on the edge of the bed, bloodied fingers digging anxiously into the sheets. You couldn’t shake the sound of their screams from your head, nor the scenes of chaos caused by the Abrasax family. It was almost impossible to comprehend how two people could be the cause of so much pain in the world. You didn’t want to believe it, but the reality was plain as day.
“Any pain?” The medic dabbed gently at your minor injuries, the healing spray they used sealing the cuts right up. You nodded solemnly at him, barely registering what he even said. He nodded anyway, clearly uncomfortable with the silence you had provided him. He was in no position to argue though, and the last thing he wanted was for his lord to find fault in him. So with one last look over he let you be, his expression concerned before walking out the doors.
You could hear voices coming from the other side, one immediately capturing your attention. You could pick that tone out anywhere, and as you prepared yourself to meet with him, the doors slid open once more.
Balem wandered into the ship’s chambers, his eyes settling upon you in your pitiful state. He had never seen you look so crestfallen before, even during the early days of your courtship. He would take anything above your constant silence, even the attitude you so willfully gave him on most occasions. “Little bird…” He cooed softly, taking a seat next to you on the bed.
You barely glanced up at him, noticing the fine golden armor he was clad in now. He was completely washed of the blood and the guilt, if he felt that at all, and for some reason it distressed you. However, some part of you was aware that he had also considered you when changing. It was clear to see that the tattered state of his outfit had shaken you.
Without a word, he reached forward, taking a strand of your hair and brushing it away from your sweaty forehead. There was a scowl etched onto his features and you guessed it was due to your lack of conversation. But you couldn’t think of much to say now, your thoughts were too muddled for any proper sentences to form. “Here.” He cautiously spoke, not wanting to disturb whatever peace you may have settled into. He leaned over to the small table next to the bed, grabbing the bowl of water the medic had left behind. You watched curiously as he wrung the cloth out, the water sloshing over the edge of the bowl when he placed it between you both.
You expected him to hand you the towel, to walk away and demand you clean yourself up. It would appear there was a human inside him after all though, and with the most tender of touches he gripped your hands and held them gently over the bowl as he began to wash the blood away. You would’ve been enamored with him, but as the water turned a soft pink with all the blood caked onto your nails and hands you grew disgusted.
This felt so wrong deep down, and there was a repulsion inside you unlike anything before. Perhaps to men like Balem, all this horror was a regular occurrence, but you had never faced such chaos. Whatever traumas you held in life, they would never compare to the daily rituals of the elite in the universe. The truth was, it was just too much to register. Up until now, you had assumed he orchestrated numerous deadly plots against his family and those he deemed unworthy. But you always figured he kept that side of his world a secret from you. Far away where the negative aspects couldn’t do you harm. But, it would appear no matter how thorough he was, it still reached you. With a soft cry you fell forward into him, laying your head against his shoulder and releasing the sobs you had tried hiding away. You felt him stiffen, his hands still supporting yours. He stayed silent through your crying, unsure of how to proceed from here.
“I can’t…” You shook your head dejectedly. “This is…I-“ No matter how hard you pushed through, the words would not come forth. They remained stuck in your heart where the conflict you faced weighed it down. “I just…” Perhaps you did love him, with every fiber of your being, so much so it nearly hurt. But, in all the splendor of your romance you had forgotten the world around you and all this hell that came with it. It would be the words of Titus that stuck with you now, knowing he was right in saying you had become blind to his brother’s ways.
“You need rest, my beauty.” Balem comforted you, as best as he was able, and while you stilled in your sobs he slowly pulled free of you. With a compassionate nature he lifted your chin, his thumb sweeping along your bottom lip. You could see he intended to speak, to woo you into another bout of sweet nothings. But, you couldn’t stomach it right now.
“I want to go home.”
“We are-“
“No!” In your sorrow you shoved him aside, moving from the bed and pacing around the room. To an outsider you must’ve looked insane, but you had grown weary of the self pity and doubt you felt. “Earth, Balem!” You tore the worn gown from your body, quickly changing into the new clothes he had supplied you with. “My home.” You pulled the black top over your head, smoothing the material out before pointing at yourself for emphasis. “Your life is-“ There it was again, the doubt that clawed at your conscience, keeping you from spilling the necessary words to him. You couldn’t even bear to look at him. “I fell into your world, I wanted to resist it…but, I-“ You turned from him, hugging yourself as you carefully formed your thoughts. “I can’t keep watching you almost die, to watch others die…to nearly lose my own life!” You choked back your tears, immediately wiping the few that escaped. “This is too much.”
You heard the rustle of his clothing behind you, that familiar growl behind his words capturing your attention. “Enough of this talk.” His hands grabbed your shoulders, turning you around to look him in the eye as you denied him. The misery behind his stare was painful to take in, but even through his despondency he kept his demeanor in check like any king would. “Little bird.” There was a torture behind his tone, a sliver of forgiveness that he sought, and while you had no intention to analyze every detail of his emotions the minute his forehead touched yours you froze. “You’ve no idea what you mean to me…” his palms cradled around your cheeks, the corner of his lip twitching in discomfort of your admission.
This was the man you fell in love with, the softer side of his being that lulled you dangerously into a larger trap. There wasn’t a single part of him you hated, but there were aspects of his personality that were so cruel you weren’t sure you could ignore it any longer. The worst of it was you wanted to lean forward, to kiss him and pretend everything would go back to some semblance of normal. But, that wasn’t likely to occur anymore. You reached for his wrists, holding onto them weakly as you fought your heartache. “Take me home, Balem. Please.” He was a man who was capable of a deep caring, unconditional love. But, above that was someone who thrived on taking empires for himself, using human lives on earth for his financial gain…he couldn’t possibly change enough to be yours, or you his. “Take me home.”
Balem pressed his forehead harder into yours, his jaw trembling with an uncontrolled anger. You felt his grip on your arms tighten, but there was still that reluctance to ever lay harm to you. So he pulled away roughly, letting out a scream that could strike fear into anyone. His fist connected with the table, tossing the object on its side as he tried desperately to control himself. He could barely handle looking at you anymore, knowing all he ever wanted and wished for was slipping from his fingers. He loathed that vulnerability in him. “I did not cross the vastness of space to destroy all those lives…!”
You stared silently at his back, watching guiltily as he ran his hands through his hair. “Tell me you had no intention of killing Titus, or Famulus…or all those other innocent people…” The truth was, somewhere deep down you were elated he killed his brother, and that’s what caused such a struggle in you. There was a little bit of you vanishing every day you spent here, and no matter how hard you tried to deny it the evidence was there in the way you felt. Rooting for the death of another because it made your life easier. “Tell me, Balem.” No matter how bad you wanted to believe otherwise, you knew he went into that church intending for him and you to be the only ones walking out.
Balem’s head lifted slowly, but he still kept himself from gazing upon you. “I would drive that shard into his wretched throat a thousand times over…”
You could feel the disappointment growing, knowing all along what his motives were. Of course you were grateful for his interference, because without him you wouldn’t be alive or worse, married to a cold and callous man. That didn’t excuse the apprehension you had for his execution of those intentions.
“If it meant saving your life.” He continued on, trying to convey just how deep his care for you went. He wasn’t a fool though, and he knew when the battle was lost. “I will take you back to earth…” Balem could’ve forced his hand, asserted his authority and demanded you stay by his side until fate took him. Truth be told, he wanted to, because letting you go was not the outcome he had needed. In his mind this would’ve been the end of life’s interferences. Titus was dead, Kalique was no longer a threat, and the very power of his name was all his again. All he required was you by his side, forever. Yet, there was a point in someone’s heart where they realized the one they loved meant more than their own desires. He loved you, so unconditionally it conflicted with all his values. It was a foreign concept to him, but what he truly wished was for you to be happy. Anything to see that smile that could lift his spirits, and if he could grant you that…he would. “If that is what you desire.” He would give you anything in this universe, even if it meant his pain.
You could fight that feeling for years, but you were certain no amount of internal forgiveness could satiate the void. There was a conflict within you, one you weren’t ready to accept fully. How could you possibly just walk away from him, when all you wanted was to be in his arms at the same time? It was like a dread weighing heavy on your heart, and looking at him just made it worse. “I…” There wasn’t anything of worth to say anymore, at least not in his eyes, of that you were sure. You wondered if he hated you, perhaps loathed the heartache you had caused him. Perhaps that notion hurt even more than leaving. “I love you.” It was all you could think to say, because in this moment you felt it so deeply in spite of the choice you were making. He was everything for you, but his life, you weren’t capable of handling it. You convinced yourself of that.
With nothing else to say, you backed away from him, the need to reach out and comfort him so strong you had to physically hold your hand down. You wished he’d say something, you’d take anything at this point even a scream or punishment. Something besides the silence he permitted you with. “Well,” You bit down on your quivering lip, giving him one last look and hoping he’d turn around. It wasn’t a fair request to be sure, but you still selfishly wished for it. “I’ll be in the lower levels.” You turned on your heel, and almost made your way out the chamber doors before his strong grip imprisoned your wrist.
Balem held you like that, his grip trembling just slightly you almost missed it. He didn’t speak, he barely even breathed, but you knew him well enough to gauge what his gesture meant. He didn’t want you to go.
“Balem, I-“
Before you could finish, he dropped your hand, the small caress of his fingertips causing that familiar pain to take you. You had to fight back the tears, that same conflict coming back to you. But, he still remained silent as ever, and the last thing you heard was the fall of his footsteps heading away.
***
A/N: I humbly beg for feedback on this one. I wrote and edited this over 2 weeks, so…please? Lol This time I reallllly would appreciate it.
#balem abrasax x reader#balem x reader#balem abrasax#balem abrasax x you#balem x you#jupiter ascending#eddie redmayne#lmlyd
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“Gringotts, The Owl, and the Prophecy” My theory on how Albus Dumbledore manipulated the entire plot of The Sorcerer’s Stone.
It was the beginning of the summer in the year 1990, and another term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had come to an end. The wizarding world had been at peace for nearly nine years, with the Dark Lord having been presumptively defeated on October 31st, 1981. Quirinis Quirrell, the Hogwarts professor of Muggle Studies, excitedly discloses to the Head Master, professor Dumbledore, that he will be leaving his post to travel abroad to get first-hand experience in Defense Against the Dark Arts, his most passionate subject.
Sometime within the next year, 1991, Quirrell had come across none other than The Dark Lord himself, in the forests of Albania. However, this was a fantastic stroke of luck for both Quirrell and the Dark Lord. How could Quirinis possibly be lucky in coming across He Who Must Not Be Named?
Lets rewind a little further, to September 1st, 1981. Quiniris Quirrell is sorted into Ravenclaw. Throughout his Hogwarts years, although he was a gifted student, he found himself socially rejected — he was shy, awkward, timid, and he even had a stutter. He was, of course, a victim of bullying, and it was through this suffering that he developed a theoretical passion for the Dark Arts.
After Graduating from Hogwarts in 1988, Quiniris Quirrell became a professor at the school, where he taught Muggle Studies for two years, until he decided to pursue his secret ambition — redemption. After years of being bullied throughout his youth, he found himself longing for a chance to prove himself, to show all his tormentors that they were wrong about him. He was going to travel Europe and get first hand experience in the Defense Against the Dark Arts, becoming stronger and more skilled than anyone ever anticipated him becoming. But that was only part of his plan.
No, becoming a master of Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn’t going to be enough for him. He needed to achieve something incredible that would put his name down in the history books. Something that would undeniably redeem himself. I’ll give you a hint: he didn’t end up in the forests of Albania neither by accident, nor on a whim. His plan — find the rumored remains of the Dark Lord and turn him in to the Ministry of Magic. Yes! He was going to be the one the who REALLY finished off the Dark Lord for good! That is why it was fantastic luck that he did, in fact, run into He Who Must Not Be Named.
However, his luck ended there. Quniris Quirrell, at the young age of 21, became a puppet of Lord Voldemort. And this, my friends, is where the Sorcerer’s Stone begins — not Harry’s Story, not completely — it’s my theory about the story that went on behind the scenes, outside of Harry’s perspective.
The only person Lord Voldemort ever feared was Albus Dumbledore. I mention this because there is something very important that we need to consider: Dumbledore’s ability to “play the game.”
When Lily and James Potter were murdered on Halloween 1981, Lord Voldemort seemingly vanished, he was presumed dead — the wizarding world celebrated his defeat. However, Albus Dumbledore believed that Voldemort was not truly gone, that perhaps, he was still somehow alive. That’s a theory for another day, but for the sake of this one, let’s agree that Dumbledore did not believe, like the rest of the wizarding world, that He Who Must Not Be Named was defeated. He believed that it was only a matter of time until he came back — he just needed one stroke of luck.
And lucky Voldemort was, when he met young, good-intentioned Quiniris Quirrell. How lucky it was that the person who found him was so naive and so easy to manipulate. Even in the Dark Lord’s horrendous, decrepit, and not-explicitly-explained-state, I imagine he was still able to use some forms of magic, albeit there being some restrictions. It must’ve been all too simple for Voldemort to perform legilimency — which is, according to the official Harry Potter Wikipedia, “the act of magically navigating through the many layers of a person's mind and correctly interpreting one's findings.” It must’ve taken Voldemort no time at all to figure Quirrell out.
Voldemort used this magic to absorb Quirrell’s history — his childhood, his suffering, his pain, his anger, his fear, and most importantly, his ambitions to redeem himself and potentially find the Dark Lord. It was with this information that he was able to emotionally and mentally possess Quirrell, making him his first servant post-downfall — giving Voldemort the ability to take the first step necessary to regaining his full-strength — the finding of the Sorcerer’s Stone.
I hope you enjoyed that backstory and my mini-theory about Quirrell and Voldemort’s initial interactions, because now it’s finally time for me to explain my first Harry Potter theory, my first fan theory ever: Dumbledore’s Double-Bait: Gringotts, The Owl, and The Prophecy.
Dumbledore creates two baits for Lord Voldemort — the first bait was putting the Sorcerer’s Stone in Gringotts, and the second bait was his “urgent” letter from the ministry, summoning him immediately to London on June 3rd, 1992.
Bait #1: Gringotts
In chapter eight, “The Potions Master,” our golden trio visit Hagrid in his hut, where Harry finds a newspaper clipping from the Daily Prophet under a tea cozy on the table:
“Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts Goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.”
While this unheard-of attempted break-in at Gringotts Wizarding Bank frightened and mystified the public, Albus Dumbledore was relieved. Why?
Back in the beginning of the summer of 1990, when Professor Quirrell informed Dumbledore that he was going to study abroad in Europe, I believe that Dumbledore either guessed or actually used legilimency to discover Quirrell’s intention to find Lord Voldemort. And if, Dumbledore considered, Quirrell DID in fact find the Dark Lord, then he would undoubtedly be manipulated and enslaved to do his bidding.
Voldemort was weak, in a terrible state, pretty much dead. Before he would be able to regain power, he would need to regain his strength. Dumbledore hypothesized that if Voldemort does, indeed, use Quirrell to do his bidding, helping him somehow regain his strength, he would most likely attempt to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone. And this is why the stone was placed in vault 713.
Dumbledore procured the stone from Nicolas Flamel and placed it in vault 713 not for protection, but as bait. On July 31st, Voldemort attempted to steal the stone from Gringotts, just as he had guessed he would, proving to Dumbledore now that not only was Voldemort undoubtedly alive and attempting to return to power, but he also now knew the exact whereabouts of where he was, who he was with, and what his plan was. And with the bait being successfully taken, Albus Dumbledore was now a full step ahead of the Dark Lord.
But why was the stone in Gringotts in the first place? Why didn’t Dumbledore just put it in Hogwarts from the start?
Voldemort meeting Quirrell and then coming home with him to England and stealing the stone was only a theory, he didn’t know whether or not the stone was in any actual danger, he had no proof. Dumbledore wasn’t going to involve Hogwarts and the Heads of Houses in protecting a stone that only potentially could’ve been stolen. So, before school started, he put the stone in Gringotts.
Bait #2: The Owl and the Prophecy
Even more clever than baiting Voldemort into giving away his position and intentions, Dumbledore baited him to what he hoped would be his final demise.
In chapter sixteen, “Through the Trap Door,” the golden trio manipulate Hagrid into confessing that he drunkenly indulged to a mysterious, hooded figure how to get passed Fluffy. With this last piece of information, they were convinced that Snape, whom they thought was after the stone, finally had all the information to go down the trap door.
The trio frantically attempted to find Professor Dumbledore to tell him that Snape was going to try and steal the stone, but instead, they came across Professor McGonagall, who said:
“Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago…he received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once.”
My theory, you’d like to know? There was no urgent owl; there was no summoning by the Ministry of Magic. Dumbledore cleverly deceived Voldemort into believing that on that night, June 3rd, 1992, he would be nowhere near Hogwarts — no where near enough to prevent him from finally getting the stone. So, of course, with such enticing bait, that was the night Voldemort would finally steal the stone. Dumbledore not only baited Voldemort to go down the trap door that night, though, but Harry Potter as well.
Why did Dumbledore give Harry his father’s invisibility cloak? Why did Dumbledore allow Harry to explore the castle at night, encouraging him to find The Mirror of Erised, and then explaining to him how it worked? Surely, Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of the age could’ve just gone down the trap door himself to face the Dark Lord? Surely, Dumbledore could’ve just finished Professor Quirrell and Voldemort at any time during the school year? Why would he sacrifice Harry Potter, who was only a child? My final theory: he was preparing Harry to go down the trap door and face Lord Voldemort to fulfill the prophecy, finally destroying the Dark Lord for good.
In Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, chapter 37, “ The Lost Prophecy,” Dumbledore explains to Harry the Prophecy that was made about him, sixteen years earlier, by none other than Hogwart’s Divination Professor, Sibyl Trelawney:
“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."
Sibyl Trelawney explicitly predicted, while she was under trance by The Sight, that the only way the Dark Lord would be able to be destroyed was by the one “born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…”
Which meant that even though eleven year old Harry Potter was no where near ready to face the Dark Lord in the early morning hours of June 4th, 1992 (my exact birthday), he was the only one who would be able to finish him off for good. It had to be him and only him. And what better a time face him than when he’s the most vulnerable, the absolute weakest, already nearly dead? And thus, Dumbledore baited both Harry and Voldemort under the trap door that night with his fake “urgent” owl from the ministry.
#Harry Potter and the sorcerer's stone#harry potter#lord voldemort#tom riddle#the sorcerer's stone#the philosopher's stone#albus dumbledore#dumbledore#professor quirrell#gringotts#Hogwarts#ravenclaw#hufflepuff#gryffindor#slytherin#the dark lord#he who must not be named#fan theory#fan theories
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Getting to know each other
Summary: Now that Mot was back in his world, Dianite didn’t want him out of his sight. Mot likes his privacy.
When: After Mot comes back from RoM, mostly after Mot and Tom’s picnic date
———–
Dianite slept, in a weird sort of way. He kept this information private from his newly returned champion but it didn’t take long for him to question what his god did when everyone else went to bed. Dianite tried to evade the topic but Mot knew him too well to let it go. It was briefly explained that even spirits needed to rest and that he shouldn’t worry about it.
Truthfully, Mot didn’t care about the how or why his lord now had to rest, but he did care about the fact that he suddenly had a few hours of freedom from the nether spirits supervision. He hated the feeling of being watched and Dianite knew which only made him feel even more creeped out. He loved having his god back but this was getting ridiculous.
At first he used the extra time to write or engage in other ‘hobbies’ that he didn’t want anyone watching. He quickly got bored trying to stay awake just for the few extra hours but even as he went back to his usual sleep schedule, he kept the information in the back of his mind.
Mot had attempted to talk to his alternate a few times and failed a few times. Every time they got talking he simply couldn’t stand the knowledge that everything they said was being heard. After the two of them had a heavily censored picnic, Mot had slipped a note card into Tom’s pocket.
Unsurprisingly, Tom showed a late. Although he had reassured Tom that he had a right being there as Mot was given a room, Tom still felt the need to break into the priest’s house. Tom seemed to not even be trying to be sneaky considering Mot had been watching him walk around for a few minutes from the front window. After Mot took a few pictures he walked out and turned the porch light on. Tom jumped and dropped the crowbar he was holding.
“Just saying, I could have gotten in my own way!” Tom said as he entered behind Mot. “Sure you could’ve.” The older man muttered.
Tom followed Mot’s shadowed figure down the halls and into his temporary room. Tom ignored the sign and walked in behind him. After Mot turned the lamp on they sat down on opposite sides of the bed, facing each other, both analyzing their alternate. Tom broke his gaze and focused his eyes on his hands, thinking.
“So, why did you bring me here?”Tom said, lifting his head to look around the room once more. ‘He won’t look at me’ Mot noted. It didn’t take him long to figure out why.
“Don’t worry, I don’t want to fuck you.” Tom froze, a blush growing on his cheeks. Mot discreetly rolled his eyes now that he had conformation that Tom had assumed all the wrong things.
“I want to get to know you. Our lord keeps stalking us and I don’t know about you mate, but I don’t like it!” Mot stated matter of factly. Tom was quiet for a second and chuckled.
“You don’t like it? Weren’t you two together before he died? You over ‘im?” Tom joked. Mot raised his eyebrow, understanding what Tom was saying.
“Not together, just…” Mot scoured his brain for a nicer term for ‘fuck buddy’. Tom smiled, remembering the awkward walks of shame he partook in.
“Friends with benefits?” Mot chuckled and nodded.
“Anyways, we aren’t here to talk about my non existent sex life, we’re here to get to know each other.” Tom was about quip that his sex life was included in ‘getting to know each other’ but the older man gave him a jokingly stern glare that quieted him.
Mot informed the other man that Dianite was ‘sleeping’ and two comfortably talked about themselves without the possibility of interruption. They went over the basics such as where they were from, hobbies, friends, and how often they jerked off. When they exhausted those topics they went deeper into their pasts. Mot skipped over most of the details of his time in the streets and tried to explain things the best he could without having a panic attack. His memories after the age of 14 and before Dianite were a blur. After that age he was rarely not high on whatever drugs the old men gave him before they used him or the ones he took so he didn’t have to remember. He often found himself awoken in alleyways and empty drug houses after who knows how long with money in his pocket. Tom ignored the pauses and inconsistencies in Mot’s story and didn’t question why most of his teenage years were skipped over.
Tom pieced together memories of a family he barely remembered anymore yet still yearned to meet. He talked about his last memories of them, and how he awoke on a new land with his distant friend. Mot smiled as Tom recalled the other Mianite as he had to deal with him as well. While Mot was in the other world he never bothered to learn about the other Dianite so Tom went over him as well. While they never had what Mot and this world’s Dianite had, they still felt something for each other and they weren’t afraid to admit it. Tom confessed that while yes, this place was great, he just wanted to go home and see his Dianite again.
After obligatory backstories were shared, they told each other of the adventures and ‘death defying’ stunts that they pulled. If Mot hadn’t seen the salt shaker above the other man’s house then he doubted he would believe it. Tom had no trouble envisioning his alternate getting chased around by Steve’s perpetually irritated roosters though.
After personal questions were asked dick jokes were made, one of them finally noticed the time.
“3:48? How the fuck did this happen?” Tom said in disbelief.
“Well you did show up at midnight…” Mot huffed. They both walked out to the front door, neither of them having grown tired. They stood out for a good minute or two and enjoyed the sight of a deer and her babies sleeping.
“So, same time next week? I still want to know you got away with attempting to poison Mianite!” Mot held back a laugh and watched as Tom turned away walked off. He was grateful that it was assumed they would meet again as he didn’t want to ask and force Tom to listen to his sob stories. It made him feel slightly better that Tom was there voluntarily.
-
Nobody could figure out exactly when the duo had become so friendly. Their friendship had blossomed in the next weeks despite nobody seeing them interact, save for the occasional spar. Martha was happy that they were getting along as it meant Mot could force Tom to be nicer to her and maybe not steal her stuff all the time. The Mianitee’s weren’t too happy that their frenemy had an ally but they dealt with it. Dianite? He liked Mot's influence. Mot was turning Tom into a valuable asset and he was kinda getting attached to the dumbass. The only thing he had to do now was beg (not really, because he’s a god and gods don’t beg!) for Mot’s forgiveness for the extreme friendzoning he pulled back then.
While most people were silently celebrating the friendship, someone was getting more and more annoyed by the week. The priest. He was getting tired of finding crowbars in front of his house.
#Mianite#this had a potential for a different ending but it was just and extra sentence so I cut it out#i like this better though#also the part about tom thinking they were gunna fuk just kinda happened#night bc dia was sleeping#he disregarded the sign bc it said only dia#then it kinda just fell onto the page and i accepted it#also i had to include some tom/s1dia in there
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THE WHITE PRINCESS: Review
I’ve been waiting forever to made this review about the first and maybe only season of The White Princess and it’s finally time, yaay. Nothing has been confirmed yet, but I don’t think they’ll make another one, guys. Otherwise they wouldn’t have skiped seven years and God forbid that they plan doing a series about The Constant Princess, I don’t wanna see my Henry being even more murdered by this wretched “modern historians”, argh. Anyway, let’s go!
I’m gonna start saying that Emma Frost doesn’t deserve the cast of TWP. I mean... Since the first moment I was stunned by the actors talent and quality the show has, if only fallen in the right hands it could’ve been a great and historic accurate sucess. Dawn you, EF! Although most people may disagree, I like this cast best than the other one from The White Queen, especially for EoY and MB (I will never forgive what was done to her, btw). Jacob Collins-Levy and Jodie Comer, God bless you both!
Moving on... I don't have all the issue great part of the historical fans had with clothes or location. It's really hard if not impossible to things look like they did back then and I kinda liked most of the wardrobe, especially Henry's. My only complain is in the continuous repetition of clothing for Lizzie and Henry. Dear Lord, it had me distressed in the whole season. Why couldn't they just change a little bit? Okay, it was middle age and all, but... Could they just variate a little more? They were King and Queen, after all. Sometimes I just had the impression they did everything in the same day. In episode two Lizze spend months while Henry was on progress with the very same dress, it gave me the chills. Other thing that bothered me was the throne, couldn't they just match when Lizzie's were beside? In this last episode there was a scene where it matched and it was so more pleasing. If they had both thrones why go with all the trouble?
When they announced The White Princess was really coming, I didn't have any expectations bc I've read the books and it was so trash, garbish really. I would only watch for fanmade and fanservice purposes since there's so little on screen things about Henry VII and with the quality of nowadays... Almost none. Happily, they changed a lot from that excuse of a book, but with EF having the power to change SO MUCH I don’t quite understand why she go though with the rape scene (it was a rape scene), it burdens me so much to know it could be so different if she hadn’t lied about the way they filmed. It troubles me to wonder if she does think that wasn’t rape. Instead of change that, she made MB murder Jasper Tudor. Say what you will of PG, but at least she never did that, right? Despite of it, I find myself enjoying the show even if it did made me frinkle and wanting to kill EF and PG sometimes.
There were priceless moments and I will cherish and rewatch it everyday with all of my heart. Pretty much all the scenes with little Arthur and little Harry, I loved those boys and the fact they give them a little personality, it wasn’t like they were just there. And I have so much fun with the “hints” they give about Henry VIII, lmao. They could’ve shown a little more of Margaret and MARY too! I never forgave The Tudors for “exclude” her, I will do the same to TWP. Henry and Lizzie acting lovey-dovey was soooo *heart eyes emoji*, I really loved it. Essie Davis were also a blessing, so sassy and funny. I also adored that that EoY were a lot more active as a Queen then in the books and even a little more than in real life. The scene when she goes after the army and bring it back to Henry was AMAZING!
Only that in contrast of that they changed Henry too and not in a good way, unfortunately. It made me so angry to see Henry portrayed as a useless King who did pretty much nothing during the entire series politically speaking. It was all his mother and his wife, seriously. It pained my heart because Henry VII were a very smart, cautious, able business man and King. Also, what the hell they did to Cecily? She’s not that boring mean girl even in the books, she’s so friendly to Lizzie. I hated they changed that! And they sold it as a feminist show, lol.
Alright, what really bothered me during the whole show was the Yorkist af thing. It was painful to watch and disgraceful. Henry was paranoid, yes. As he should as the first King of a new dinasty who took place after another very beloved one, but he wasn’t SO HATRED BY EVERYONE nor ALONE IN EUROPE. Some self-pity moments were exagerated and beautifully played, it made me so sad to see it and at the same time so in awe to watch Jacob acting on it. The same is worth for Maggie, my heart ached for her and poor Teddy, so I will pretend she wasn’t in the season finale’s episode. I won’t say a word about Perkin!Richard tho, I don’t have the stomach for it, sorry.
I made a list of the highlights good and bad things on show as well just to make it shorter and don’t prolongue myself even more in the subject:
Aesthetically beautiful even if there were A LOT of dark scenes when it was day, but the lack of light can be ignored with time. The change of scenes was cool for me, but the coronation scenes... It should’ve been more long at least, it were just seconds and I was so disappointed.
The cast is AMAZING, REALLY. No bad things to say about anyone, it’s perfect and highly talented. IF ONLY THEY HAD BEEN IN THE RIGHT HANDS!
Some hypocritical moments and complete change of personality got me really annoyed in some moments. Like Margaret in the last episode and Lizzie with the whole “hidden and patient” thing, it didn’t go for very long and became a lost plot.
It’s a good distraction for period dramas fans, the inaccuracy can be laughable or disgusting, but if you chose to close your eyes and pretend you’re in a nightmare and create a fanfic in your head to change that, it will do.
The kids! They were so cute and I loved every scene with them, I only regret they skipped 7 years and didn’t show anything about Elizabeth or Mary.
They left the Henry/Catty Gordon thing open to interpretation, they should’ve done that with Perkin and instead they confirmed he was really Richard.
Jasper Tudor was a delight, I loved his scenes on episode 3 when he goes to Burgundy, the development of his character there was very nice, the end of that scene and the waste of it afterwords... Not so much.
Portrayal of Henry VII by Jacob Collins-Levy. The mix and complexity presented was just the way I imagined, he didn’t had to say a word for you to understand what was going on, his eyes talked for him. But the lack of Kingly!Henry... No, they made him weak and violent (?) in it’s place, the writers fault, of course.
Elizabeth Woodville was really fun in her quarells with Margaret, but the fact that she defied Henry in open court and nothing really happened to her was so unrealistic and dumb for a clever woman like her.
The relationship between Lizzie and Henry did save the episodes, it was the best thing of the show and Jacob and Jodie have a lot of chemistry. But even book!Lizzie said “I love you” to Henry once, and this one didn’t.
Okay, guys. I will bid my farewell here or it will be too long and boring to read, sorry. I had a really great fun watching it, fulfill the ache I had for more Tudor stuff (even if it was a Yorkist show most of the time) and period dramas. I recommend it as a good pastime and i’ll give and 7,5 for the whole tv show in general. What are your thoughts? My inbox are always open to discuss about it as well, bye!
#the white princess#twp spoilers#henry vii#elizabeth of york#jodie comer#jacob collins-levy#margaret beaufort#jasper tudor#thoughts#twp
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