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malusmagpie · 1 year ago

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Driven To You

Pairing: AU!CarGuy!AnakinxReader

Summary: Y/N has a small crush (obsession) with a car guy in her class and is so wrapped up in avoiding him, she doesn’t realize she might have actually caught his eye.

Directly inspired by the photos of Hayden driving/being around cars bc mmmmmmm delicious.

A/N: IM BACK BABY. SORRY FOR BEING GONE SO LONG I LOVE YALL. ENJOY! P.s. THE TITLE IS CHEESY AND THE WRITING IS EVEN CHEESIER. SORRY IM FEELING ROMANTICAL. This is a slow burn and i intend to do more parts!!!

Word Count: 6.9k

There was a sense of dread that always came over you upon waking up. You’d immediately think of all the things you had to achieve in the day. The thought alone would make your sheets feel all the more inviting whilst making fibres of the carpeted floor in your bedroom look like searing hot needles. This morning though, as you poured the boiling water from the kettle into the cheap insulated mug your college had given you as an acceptance gift, you smiled to yourself. Your roommates were still asleep. You had chosen your courses too late to be picky about what time slot you’d be scheduled with, and the quiet in your little apartment made plenty of room for you to listen to the music you had blasting through your headphones. You stirred your coffee and placed the lid on the tumbler before picking up your bag and keys. You slipped on the shoes you’d meticulously picked the night before and headed out the door, making sure to lock it twice. The dodgy door had a lock that wouldn’t properly latch unless you pulled it whilst locking it — but it worked, is what your landlord had told you and your roommates.

You stared down at your outfit while you walked. When you applied for a fashion degree, you hadn’t quite had the forethought to realize you not only needed to be good at what you did, you had to look like it too. It wasn’t a school mandated rule but it was some sort of unspoken requirement amongst your peers. You’d never been good at making friends and the treatment you had been getting from dressing comfortably during your first semester wasn’t helping your case. Now, dressing well was all you ever did. Leaving the house in clothes that weren’t carefully picked made you almost uncomfortable, even just going to the convenience store on the corner was a mission. You decided to stop hyper-fixating on whether or not the pattern on your skirt was vintage in a cute way or vintage in a grandma way because either way, it would be considered better than leggings and a big sweater.

“If it gauges a reaction, it’s fashion.” Is what your professor always told you. You were careful to only step on the tiles of the sidewalks, never the seams, and you always waited a second after the crosswalk signal went from red to white, just incase some insane city driver forgot what a red light meant. You’d narrowly avoided cars a handful of times during your walks to campus and learned it’s better to be patient.

As you walked you wondered if you’d see him today, the blond boy with the loud car and even louder friends. He was the reason Wednesdays were less daunting to you. It was the one day a week you had a class with him. He seemed kind and quiet which was a vast contrast when you looked at who and what he surrounded himself with. He had an odd name too. You only knew that because you both took the same boring and useless elective course. You didn’t shake away the thoughts, the feeling of a crush always made you excited. Making up stories about them in your head and fantasizing about how they liked their tea was all good fun to you, especially when you knew you’d never speak to the person.

You felt around the outside of your bag on your side until you felt the spirals on your hard covered sketch pad and let out a small sigh when you were reassured that you brought it with you. Your head whipped around at the sound of a loud exhaust coming your way and you smiled to yourself while thinking about how you were psychic and manifesting him, completely ignoring the fact that he was in the class you were making your way to. The yellow car came into view and you prayed it would make it past the yellow light ahead of you. The car was fast enough to do so but you’d never seen him drive fast before. That was another interesting thing to you. A car guy who doesn’t drive like an asshole was almost unheard of.

Your eyes flickered over to the now red light as you saw the car slow down right in front of where you were to cross the street to access the campus. You almost debated walking to the next cross walk and doubling back to avoid walking in front of him. You looked at the time on the giant clock on the front of the campus building and sighed. You couldn’t be late during mid term season. You waited a second when the crosswalk signal switched from a red hand to a walking figure. Your eyes, hidden under sunglasses, watched him in his car. His arm was rested on the door panel and he was biting his thumb nail, looking ahead of the wheel with his other hand lazily draped over it. He either hadn’t seen you yet, or he didn’t care to look at you. Both options seemed to relieve you as you walked. You shook your head to hide your face with your hair and pretended to text somebody on your phone, in reality you were simply typing gibberish into your notes app. You were sure he had seen you for the small duration that you’d walked in front of your car and the thought made you speed up your strides.

As you walked across the grass and towards the door you heard his car drive in to your left and park where he always parked. You smiled to yourself, thinking of the mild annoyance he must have faced when he saw a rusted Prius parked in his spot just a few days ago. It was perfect for you though, from where he was forced to park you could finally see the front view of his car perfectly through the window you always sat at and it made for a decent addition to your sketchbook. You blushed to yourself when you realized just how many sketches you had of his car. You didn’t even like cars, in fact you had sneakily walked behind his car in the parking lot once just to see which model it even was. You just liked him but drawing him seemed far too delusional, even for your liking. Besides, you were never good at drawing faces anyways.

You pushed the large door to the lecture hall and it swung open with ease. You greeted your professor who was nose deep in her kindle at her desk, she barely even muttered a response back. You smiled to yourself when you realized you were the only other person there. It was a smaller class but this gave you time to sit and sketch an outline of your muse, to be completed later. You settled down in your usual spot and snapped a quick photo to reference later before opening your sketchbook. You flipped to the back of the book where your secret drawings were. Not very well kept but nobody was looking through your notebook anyways.

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head when you saw a figure move outside the window. You watched through your peripherals as Anakin slid out of his car and closed the door. He adjusted his pants, which looked about four sizes too big, and locked the car before walking out of view toward the building. You squeezed your eyes in embarrassment and placed your pencil within the spirals, shutting your book slowly. You’d been so eager to draw the stupid car you didn’t check to see if he’d left it yet. You hoped to whoever was listening, whatever greater force there was, that he didn’t see you taking a photo.

You sat there in silence, staring at the wall and jumped when the door opened even though you were entirely aware he would walk in at any moment. You didn’t look at him. You placed your fist under your chin and stared down at your cellphone as he walked to his normal spot. Four rows to your left and two rows back. He sat right in the middle of the back of the class. You wondered what kind of person that made him. Clearly he wanted to be seen by the teacher, but maybe he sat at the back because he wasn’t eager to participate.

You milled the theories over in your head as other students began to file in. You noticed Anakin had come in alone. He usually had his friend with him but today, his friend came in late. He chucked a wrapper of some sort at Anakin and sat next to him. Anakins soft laugh made your heart do a flip and you leaned further into your hand. His voice was deep and it carried quite far even though he was speaking softly to his friend who made no effort to use his inside voice. You didn’t even notice the time fly by as you gazed at the chalkboard behind your professor, watching as the words she wrote turned into jumbled letters from staring for too long.

The bustling of people around you getting up to leave caught your attention and you began to pack up your things with haste. You picked up your bag and pulled it over your shoulder, taking care not to trip down the narrow and steep stairs of the lecture hall. You noticed Anakin and his friend sitting at their seats. They were deep in conversation as they moved at a snails pace to pack up their things. You, on the other hand, were itching to go home to watch whatever dumb show your roommate had on and eat.

The sun was bright when you pushed open the door that led you to the parking lot, causing your eyes to squint. You pulled your sunglasses off their perch on your head and placed them snug on your nose before you heard the door swing open behind you. Your head just barely turned but the sound of a man’s voice calling your name made you swivel on your heels.

“Hey, Y/N.” Anakin said as he approached you. His keys that hung from his front belt loop jingled with each step he took and you looked at him dumbfounded. The class was small but to know your name, that took a little bit of effort surely. “You forgot your charger. At least I think it’s yours. You’re the only one who sits by where it was.” He held out a small white block attached to a matching white cord. You held your hand out with an appreciative smile and he dropped the charger in your palms.

“Yeah it’s mine. Thank you.” You spoke as you shoved the cord into your over stuffed bag. His head moved in a nodding motion.

“No problem.” He said curtly. Your eyes trailed him over for a second before you decided that was likely the end of the interaction and you began to turn.

“Do you like cars?” He asked. You began to panic as you thought of the embarrassing photo you’d taken earlier. You desperately clambered your brain for an answer.

“Not really. Why?” You realized your words seemed a bit harsher than intended and you threw in a polite smile to soften the blow.

“Oh no reason.” He shrugged. You weren’t sure if you were just trying to relax yourself or if he truly hadn’t watched you snap a photo from the large, untinted window of the lecture hall. “There’s a car meet tonight. Just wanted to know if you’d be interested.” He finished and you looked at him. You tried to understand exactly what was going on and why it was going on but your brain left you with no answers.

“No that sounds fun.” You answered before you could think but his eyes lit up ever so slightly and your heart pounded a little louder than usual.

“Oh cool. It’s kind of like a super hushed thing though, a lot of these cars are technically not allowed to be on the roads.” He started and you looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, shifting your weight. “You’ll see what I mean. I can pick you up or did you want to meet there?” He leaned against the wall behind him.

“Pick me up. 42 Queen, apartment 215.” You smiled. “I’m not gonna get arrested right?” You asked and it pulled a laugh from Anakin. He shook his head and you revelled in the way his hair flopped over his head.

“Not on my watch.” He said through a straight teethed smile. “42 Queen. 215. Got it. I’ll be there at around nine.”

You looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Nine? My bed time is ten. I have class in the morning.” You said only partially joking. Anakin rolled his eyes, a disbelieving smile on his face.

“Car meets like this don’t happen before sundown.” He crossed his arms over his chest and you sighed dramatically. Despite your internal panic you kept your composure quite well. For that you commended yourself.

“Fine. I’m doing this for the promise of fun. So I better have fun.” You stated as you began to step back from him. He smiled at you, a knowing smile that signalled that you wouldn’t be disappointed. You took your leave, bidding him goodbye with a nod before walking as fast as you could to your apartment. He watched you scurry away with his hands shoved in his pockets before pushing himself off the wall and heading to his car.

When you got home you went straight to your room and sent your roommate a text, briefing her on the news of today. An excited smile was seemingly permanently plastered on your face. You laid your things on your bed and grabbed your sketchbook before making your way to your small desk. You heard a knock on your bedroom door as you began to sketch away at the drawing of the car, this time it included Anakin sitting inside. The photo you took captured it perfectly. You mumbled for whoever was at the door to come in. Your roommate Jean cracked your door open.

“Busy?” She asked as she entered the room fully, closing the door behind her. You pulled your headphones off one ear and turned to her with a shrug.

“Just drawing.” You muttered as she walked over and looked over your shoulder at the sketch. She knew about Anakin, all three of your roommates did, but she knew about absolutely everything. The drawings included.

“God, you’re insane.” She said jokingly with her eyes peering over your shoulder and you threw your pencil at her. She laughed and picked it up off the floor before placing it on your desk. She leaned against the surface and crossed her arms. “I’m really happy for you, Y/N/N.” She smiled down at you and you wrapped your arms around her waist with a smile. She uncrossed her arms to run her hands through your hair gently.

“Thanks, Bean.” You fondly used the name Bean for her, she wouldn’t dare let anybody else call her that. her boyfriend tried it once and she shot him a death glare so intense he apologized profusely. She was a bit intimidating. Tall, black dyed hair, piercings and tattoos. The whole nine yards. You pulled away from the embrace. Her hands held your hair as you retreated and dropped it gently before returning to their crossed position over her chest.

“Your hairs getting so long.” She was in school for cosmetology and was usually the only reason you looked presentable. You looked down at your hair and nodded.

“I guess it is.” You sighed. You knew she could tell that there was something on your mind and you sighed again. Her blue eyes felt as though they had pierced into your soul and you looked up at her.

“So a date… You never mentioned how it happened.” She sat down on the floor beside your chair. Her arms crossed over your knees as you turned to face her and she rested her chin on her folded limbs, eyes staring up into yours in excitement.

“Not a date. He never explicitly said that. That being said, I left my charger in class so he came and gave it to me and we just talked for a minute.” You smiled and she laughed in disbelief.

“So you didn’t talk to him first. What are the chances? Maybe God does exist.” She mused and you rolled your eyes, your hand reached for a pen on your desk and you clicked it before beginning to colour in one of her tattoos.

———

The hours went by slowly, probably because you were watching the clock every chance you got. You had already changed, and then changed back into what you had on before as not to look like you were trying too hard. You’d redone your makeup and fixed your hair. You brushed your teeth and ate. You even finished an assignment and it hadn’t even struck 7pm yet. You groaned as you walked out of your room. Your roommate was sitting on the couch in front of the television, her eyes flicked over to you with a smirk upon her features.

“Antsy?” She questioned you and you pouted as you approached the fridge, looking for a snack to pass the time.

“Only a little.” You rolled your eyes as you sat the the kitchen bench with a banana. Her hand raised with the remote as she switched from Netflix to Spotify. You watched as she put on a playlist before coming to where you were sat in the kitchen. She reached under the counter into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of cheap champagne. The sight made you nauseous. Last time you’d seen that type of bottle you were face down in a toilet by midnight. “No.” You started and she laughed.

“Just a few. You’re wound up too tight right now. One or two drinks over the next two hours won’t kill you.” She smiled, waving the bottle in your face and you groaned again. With a hesitant hand you reached out and grabbed the large glass bottle from her. She turned around and opening the fridge with an excited squeal as she grabbed the orange juice. “Mimosas make everything better.” She smiled.

You took the liberty of grabbing two of the delicate glasses she bought for these kind of drinks and placing them on the counter. Jean was a bartender at a fancy golf course so she always had the means to make a good drink at her disposal. It almost worried you sometimes.

“Mimosas feel like a brunch thing.” You mumbled as she poured the glasses 3/4 of the way with champagne and topped them off with what seemed like two drops of orange juice. She smiled, her head tilted as she looked at you.

“Mimosas deserve to be enjoyed all day, any day.” She slid the glass to you carefully and held her own in the air. “To Anakin, I guess.” She said with a shrug and you raised your own glass, clinking it gently with her own before downing half the drink. It was cold and refreshing, and surprisingly, if you hadn’t known it had alcohol in it you never would have noticed.

She was right, the next two hours were spent talking about Anakin. You showed her his instagram where he had no pictures of his actual face. She theorized on how he likely had a crush on you, and you brushed it off. It wasn’t long before you found yourself at the bottom of your second drink and heard a knock at the front door. Your eyes widened as you stared at her and she laughed.

“Go open it before he leaves.” She whispered and you scrambled off the couch and walked over to the door. You unbolted the locks and cracked the door open.

You saw his tall frame stood in front of you, hands shoved in his pockets as per usual. You smiled and opened the door fully.

“Hi.” He said with a soft smile. His eyes moved around your apartment and landed on the bottle of Prosecco and orange juice on the counter. “Pregaming I see?” He asked, his eyebrow raised ever so slightly.

You heard your roommate speak from behind you and you could have jumped out of your skin. She was always such a quiet walker.

“Just a little. I’m Jean.” She stuck her hand out and you watched as Anakin shook it.

“Anakin.” He responded.

“Have her home by one.” She smiled as you slipped on your shoes. You rolled your eyes and looked behind you, shooting daggers at her and she shrugged. “Keep your location on.” She said and you groaned in response.

“Okay. I love you.” You mumbled and she responded with the same words back before you ushered Anakin out of your apartment. You heard the door lock behind you and you sighed. “Sorry she’s just like that. All the time.” You laughed gently and he smiled.

“No she seems cool.” He nodded. The two of you walked down the corridor and into the elevator silently before you piped up.

“So what exactly is a car meet?” You asked, your head turned up toward the boy who stood tall next to you.

“It’s when people with cool cars meet up.” He said, he looked down at you with a smile and an embarrassed blush rose to your cheeks. Seemed clear enough.

“Right. Just making sure.” You nodded and he smiled as the doors of the elevator opened. You followed him out as he led you to where he’d parked. You felt a sense of anxiety surrounding the situation, a new place with a new person made you feel a little uneasy.

When his car came into view you felt your heartbeat quicken and when he opened the door for you, you could have sworn you felt faint.

Anakin leaned on the door panel as you got in before shutting it once he saw you were completely settled. He walked around to the front of the car and sat in the drivers seat as you looked around the vehicle you’d only ever seen from the outside. It felt surreal. The small amount of alcohol in your system was nice but it wasn’t helping much as you watched him settle in the seat and turn the key in the ignition.

His hand pushed at the shifter and the car began to move. “I might have to drive a little faster. Turns out it started at 9 so we’re technically late.” He mumbled as he drove out of the parking lot. You stared out the windshield.

“As long as you don’t kill us.” You smiled and you heard his laugh in return.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He chuckled again as he turned onto the road. He began to speed up and your feet pushed against the floor mat to steady yourself. The roads were mostly clear which was good, you weren’t in the mood to swerve through traffic today. The car was loud over the music playing in his car and your eyes scanned over the radio to see what the song was called. You’d never heard of the artist but it was definitely something you’d listen to. You made a mental note to save the song to your phone as he drove quickly and carefully at the same time. It surprised you how effortless it looked and felt.

“Who taught you how to drive?” You asked when he came to a red light and he placed his hand on the shifting knob, wiggling it left to right as he waited for the light to change.

“I did. My dad owned a shop and would let me drive the cars to and from the lot. When i learned the basics I would take the cars out at night.” He smiled fondly at the memory, causing a smile of your own to creep onto your lips.

“That seems nice.” You responded. “I never learned.” He looked at you for a moment as he sped down the brightly lit streets of the city.

“I could teach you.” He shrugged and you looked at him for the first time since being in the car with him.

“I couldn’t ask that of you.” You shook your head and he shook his right back at you.

“No it would be my pleasure. I like doing this. I’d love to teach somebody else how to do it.” As he spoke, a car head began to take a left turn before he was able to make a right turn and he laid his hand on the horn for a second and the other car stopped to let him go. “I’d love to teach you so I could know you were aware of who has the right of way when making a left. Jesus they just give licenses out to anybody these days.” You laughed gently at his passive comment to the other driver. “I swear I only encounter scary drivers when I have somebody else in the car.” He chuckled and you rolled your eyes.

“Maybe you’re the bad driver.” You said jokingly and he smiled, his eyes shined under the street lamps.

“Yeah, maybe.” He mused as he pulled into a parking lot. It was full of cars and you could hear bass heavy music playing in the distance. He parked his car next to the rest of them and you watched as people glanced over, taking notice of the new vehicle in the parking lot.

“See? It’s literally a meet up for cars.” He said with a grunt as he pulled his emergency break up as high as it could go before turning the car off. The two of you exited the vehicle and he locked it before walking over to your side.

“I see that.” You responded and he smiled sheepishly.

“It’s kinda lame. Just didn’t wanna come alone and you seem nice enough to fall for it.” He said, a joking tone laced his voice. You let out an exaggerated breath and shook your head.

“You were right to think so.” You looked around at the cars around you. There was no more than 50 but you’d never seen this many people and cars in one spot.

He spent the night showing you around, explaining what cars he liked, asking you which ones you liked, and stopping to say hi to people briefly. About an hour in you began to understand why this could be fun, people were doing drifts and burnouts in the empty side of the parking lot and truth be told it was interesting to watch, especially when you knew you could never do that. It seemed he was well known in the community, that would explain why people stared as he drove in.

“Do you still race?” Anakin was talking to yet another guy who was standing by his own car. Anakin shook his head.

“Not since I got that ticket.” He responded. The guy laughed.

“You’re better than the rest of us. I think I have three tickets now.” He chuckled and Anakin rolled his eyes.

“If I was living in my moms basement with a job at the pizza shop I’d have three tickets too, man.” He laughed and the other guy laughed in unison. Anakin pushed his fist against the other ones and began to walk away. You chuckled and he looked down at you. “What’s funny?” He asked curiously.

“Nothing. I would have taken what you said personally but he just brushed it off like it was nothing.” You smiled and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Didn’t you recognize him? He’s my buddy from the class we’re in together.” He said with a smirk and your eyes widened.

“Oh my god, it was. I didn’t even notice. I should have said hello.” You groaned and he laughed again.

“Now you’re the rude one.” He said with a tilt of his head and you sighed.

“I guess I am.” You responded. You walked next to him, glancing over at cars. You learned you had an affinity for Miata’s. Almost ever car you liked tonight had been a Miata. “You raced?” You asked.

“Yeah. It was fun. I’m gonna do it again soon, just wanted to lay low after I got booked.” He shrugged, his hands found their way into his pockets again. You nodded. You always had an idea of him, and he was proving those ideas to be wrong. You couldn’t help but like the truth of the matter just a little better than the fantasy version of him you had made up.

“Damn, Marty’s here.” He grinned as he pointed to a hot dog stand in the distance. “Honest to God he makes the best hotdogs you’ll ever have. Let me get you one. Have you eaten?” He asked excitedly and even though you had, you couldn’t help but enable his excitement.

“I could eat.” You smiled and he beamed, making a bee line for the hotdog stand.

“Good ‘cause I’m starving.” He called over his shoulder and you sped up to keep up with him. A laugh escaped you as you noticed how fast he was walking.

“Slow down.” You laughed as you reached for his arm. You caught him and grabbed him gently to pull him back. He stopped to let you catch up and looked down at you.

“Maybe you should speed up.” He looked down at you while your hand gripped his arm. Your stomach did a flip as you stopped in your tracks, looking up at his eyes. You’d never noticed how blue they were. The two of you stood silently, looking at each other, before you heard the sound of his stomach grumbling. Your laughter wasn’t easily contained when he looked down at his stomach.

“Yeah let’s get you your hotdog.” You smiled, he chuckled and let his arm drop down just far enough where it grazed your hand and your entire arm erupted in goosebumps. Your hand instinctively went to grab his hand. Your fingers twitching to hold his hand made his hand stop and slowly intertwine with yours. You never broke the eye contact and you felt as if you could hear him speak through just the emotion in his eyes. You had to breathe manually when he started walking toward the hotdog stand again.

He ordered two, one for both of you and pulled out his wallet to hand Marty a bill. He had to let go of your hand to do so but the warmth in your heart bloomed when he went to hold it again as soon as he put his wallet back in his pocket. A small blush rose to your cheeks. He told the man to keep the change and handed you one of the hotdogs. The two of you took turns using the condiments on the side of the cart before sitting down on a curb right next to it.

“How is it?” He asked, his mouth half full. You smiled as you finished chewing.

“Really good. Haven’t had a hot dog in forever.” You smiled and he nodded, humming in agreement. You noticed people begin to leave and you pulled your phone from your bag and noticed it had only been two hours. “It’s not even that late yet.” You said and he looked around. You followed his gaze to red and blue lights flashing in the distance and he stood up.

“Time to go.” He mumbled as he threw the last bit of his food away and you followed him, throwing yours away as well. Your chest began to fill with a small sense of anxiety, you’d never dealt with the cops before. You’d been relatively well behaved your entire life so situations like this were alien to you.

He walked calmly toward his car and you stuck to his heel. As you approached the yellow vehicle he pulled his keys off his belt loop and unlocked your side, opening the door and allowing you to enter fully before shutting it and walking over to his own side.

When he got in the car he placed the key in the ignition and glanced over at you. “We haven’t done anything. My car, while extremely modified, is almost perfectly legal.” He smiled assuringly and you nodded before realizing he said almost.

“Almost?” You asked and he shrugged as he began to push the car into gear.

“Yeah. Almost. Nothing big. If I get out of here now they won’t bother ticketing me.” He mumbled as he checked his surroundings before finding a gap between the other cars that were leaving.

You held onto the door panel tightly as he drove, anxiety bubbling up more every second. You were always prone to freaking out. He took a right from the parking lot and began to drive with the other cars around him. They were definitely all doing speeds that would get them in trouble on the small backstreet. You looked at him again and he glanced into his rear view.

“See? It was only one cop car and now it’s stuck in the parking lot.” You turned your body to glance out the back windshield and slumped back into your seat with a huff, followed by a small laugh.

“I was really freaking out for a minute.” You mumbled causing Anakin to let out a short belly laugh.

“Yeah. You should see how it feels to be booked during a race. That’ll get your blood pumping.” He had a tone in his way of speaking that made you think that one day you might experience exactly what he was talking about. His words almost distracted you from his fast driving.

As he turned down your neighbourhood he slowed down. There was no more cars with you guys and he seemed to relax in his seat.

“Sorry for that.” He started. “And for cutting the night short.” He smiled apologetically, only letting his eyes leave the road for a moment to flash it at you.

“Oh it’s fine.” You mused. “It was kinda fun.” You smiled back at him and your grip on his door loosened. You watched as he pulled into the small crescent driveway of your apartment building and parked the car. “I’d like to do that again, and maybe watch you race one day.” You finished as you collected your purse from its spot at your feet.

“I’d like that too, only if you’re being serious. I can’t tell with you.” He smiled and you rolled your eyes.

“I am.” You insisted as you plopped the purse in your lap and looked at him. “I see you drive every Wednesday. I’ve never seen you drive like that before, though.” You mentioned and it raised a hum from him.

“I only do it when I need to. Sometimes when I want to. Driving to school doesn’t exactly ignite my excitement.” He shrugged and you sent him a playful look.

“What warrants your excitement then?” You asked, leaning your elbow on his centre console and placing your chin in your palm.

“Ah the usual, cars, racing, pretty girls in grandma skirts.” He shrugged and your mouth dropped, a mix of a gasp and laugh flew out of you as you rolled your eyes and lifted your head.

“I like my grandma skirt.” You mused. His compliment settled in your stomach, making it so somersaults.

“I didn’t say I don’t.” His voice was quiet as he looked at you and a blush rose to your cheeks. His hand reached out to brush against yours and you let him grab it.

He brushed his thumb along the back of your hand as the two of you sat in a silent tension. The air in the car seemed thick during the silent conversation you had with your eyes. He cleared his throat, averted his gaze and dropping your hand before pulling his keys out of the car.

“I’ll walk you in, it’s late.” He mumbled as he reached across you and pushed your door open. You couldn’t help but feel mildly disconcerted at his reaction. He seemed so confident in his ability to flirt with you. You couldn’t pin point why he didn’t kiss you, it was one of the most obvious opportunities you’d ever seen. Regardless, you stepped out of his car.

“Sure.” You called behind you as you shut the door. He met you at the front end of the vehicle after locking it and walked next to you. The automatic doors of the building opened and you led him to the elevators. His hands were in their usual place, deep in his pockets as you pressed the button. You looked at him from your peripherals, agonizing over the suddenly awkward tension that filled the air between you two.

As you waited in the elevator you sighed. He looked at you, you pretended you didn’t notice, and the doors opened. The small hallway revealed itself through the elevator doors and you stepped out before him. He was hot on your tail when you finally approached the door and pulled out your keys.

“Can I get your number?” He asked from behind you and you froze, your key only inches away from the lock. You turned to him and nodded, stating off your number. You watched as he typed it in and turned his phone to you, you smiled when you saw your contact name had a grandma emoji next to it and nodded, confirming that he put the number in correctly. Your feelings were in a constant state of fluctuation. You couldn’t pin point whether he didn’t like you, or if he was just an awkward individual. Surely, somebody who looks like Anakin could never be so socially inept. Stranger things have happened, though.

He placed his phone in his pocket before letting his eyes fall on you again, your heartbeat raced as you waited for him to say something. Your eyes searched his desperate to find a hint of what he was thinking but you couldn’t pin point anything.

“Thank you.” He whispered. “For coming with me. It was really nice.” He continued and you nodded your head again. It seemed that was all you could do. You tried to push out some words.

“Me too.” You said and furrowed your eyebrows in embarrassment. “I mean. Sorry. I meant to say no problem. It really was fun.” You scrambled for words to avoid looking like an idiot. He smiled, his hand reached up and rested on your cheek. Your breath stopped for a moment as he used his hand to raise your face toward his. His lips brushed softly against yours and your eyes fluttered shut.

It was over before you even got to understand what happened and he dropped his hand gently, stepping back. He placed his hands back in his pocket as your eyes opened again. You could have died right then and you’d die happy.

“Sorry. Should I have asked before I did that? I feel like I should have asked.” It was his turn to ramble and you laughed gently, shaking your head.

“No it’s okay. I was waiting for you to grow a pair and do that.” You smiled as you turned around to unlock your door.

“Well good thing I grew a pair, huh?” He asked and you turned to him as you opened the door to your dark apartment. Your roommate was likely passed out after finishing the rest of the bottle.

“A great thing, really.” You whispered and he shot you a smile.

“Well, get some rest. I’ll shoot you a text later.” He whispered back as he began to back himself down the hallway again. “Goodnight, Y/N.” He smiled.

“Goodnight, Anakin.” You responded before you stepped into your apartment and locked the door behind you. You hadn’t even gotten your shoes off before your phone buzzed in your purse.

“Hi. It’s later. Wanna do this again soon?” The text from an unknown number read. You laughed quietly to yourself as you typed in a quick response.

“Yeah but you’re gonna have to pick me up until I get a license.” You responded.

“I have 0 issue with that. Besides. I told you I’d teach you how to drive. :)” You laughed at the text as you entered your room for the night.

“Deal. Goodnight. Drive safe.” You responded, your tired body and mind didn’t even let you change or wash your face as you laid in bed. Your eyes fell shut as you heard another vibration come through on your phone but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at it. You told yourself you’d take a look in the morning, but the longer you went without seeing the text, the more antsy you got.

“I’m gonna have to. Gotta take a pretty girl on another date soon. Goodnight.” The text sat in front of your eyes and you let out an excited squeal before tossing your phone on the bed. You cuddled into your sheets and let yourself fall asleep, only hoping to dream of him just so you could see him again.

#star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars #anakin x fem reader #anakin #anakin skywalker x female reader #sw anakin #anakin star wars #slow burn #anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin imagine #au anakin skywalker #star wars au #anakin fanfiction #star wars prequels

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ch3rrywrites · 1 year ago

Text

like broken pieces of glass (lyney, lynette, & freminet x y/n)

masterlist┆next post featuring them

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❛❛ angst with the fontaine siblings. ❜❜

𓆩♡𓆪 warnings: fontaine archon quest act 1 & 2 spoilers, reader is gn, hurt no comfort, lyney's part has implied cheating, reader is dead in lynette's part, argument in freminet's part

𓆩♡𓆪 category: angst/hurt

𓆩♡𓆪 wc: ~200 per character

𓆩♡𓆪 a/n: freminet and lynette's were a little out of character but i'm new.. and i'm not writing too much for angst not sure if freminet was revealed as fatui during the trial... but let's say he was

taglist: (pleasee please lemme know if you want to be tagged!)

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Lyney

"You never were going to tell me, were you?"

That was the last thing you had said before turning away.

But what you dreaded was how he didn't run after you. How he didn't reply. How he just... watched you disappear into the sunset... probably-

Never to return.

What about the banquet that night, where you’d entered a party full of princesses and princes, beautiful chandeliors, and tiles that decorated the floor in a flurry of gold?

It seemed like heaven.

Only… if this was “heaven,” then it would be your “hell” too.

Lyney had excused himself to the restroom, and you were strolling around the party, taking note of the different antiques and flower vases.

Some had diamonds patterns, some had animals, and some had wings. Looking past a flower vase, you saw a person in a top hat kissing someone else...

Wait, kissing?

"...Lyney?"

Darkness would engulf the room, followed by screams behind you as you raced out of the very place you'd call "heaven." Then, the sounds of that magician’s footsteps would chase after you, pleading for a chance to talk, anything.

Your world had shattered, and Lyney was desperately trying to pick up the pieces. But, the broken glass would only cut his skin, everytime he tried.

Minor cuts, but permanent scars.

But alas, when Lyney looked up at where you previously stood, all he saw was dust. Dust.

It's time to go home.

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Lynette

All she saw was you-

You, who drunk tea with her everyday. You, who sat with her in silence at dawn. You, who helped her with her makeup before a performance.

She should've never entered these ruins with you, should've ignored them when there were signs of Primordial Water inside.

And yet, you'd urged her on... all for what? To finish a task the traveler had asked her to? To show her the gift you'd promised?

What gift would there be if you're... not even alive? What mora would be worth this? What future would you have together? "It's okay." She had reassured her worried brother, "It's just for a little while."

If only she knew this would happen...

And here you are, falling into the monstrous abyss that which is the Primordial Sea.

You had accepted your fate. You didn't fight back against the waves, call out her name, or reach for her hand.

"Farewell, Lynette."

Your teary eyes met her gaze one last time.

When Lyney had arrived at the scene, he desperately tried to pull her away from the water. But she wouldn't budge, just staring at the darkness pooling under her.

"I'm... f-fine, Lyney."

"But, it's dangerous here... and where's Y/N?"

She didn't reply.

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Freminet

"No! I won't have it!" Freminet flinched at the tone of your voice.

"I thought you were..." You sighed, "-nice. Not someone who's part of a scandalous organization."

He didn't respond.

All you saw was his figure leaving the house, footsteps clinking away.

You stared at the spot where he previously stood, as if trying to break the floor apart with your intense gaze. But alas, you knew that would not help.

That day during the trial...

"Tell me, aren't you and your siblings from the House of the Hearth?" Focalors' voice echoed through the stadium.

You'd expected Freminet to object, to protest against her statement, or just... something. But alas, he never spoke up.

Never.

"Freminet?"

And now, as well as detaching yourself from your beloved, you'd detached yourself from your home. Your one and only... true home.

Perhaps it's time to move on.

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masterlist┆next post featuring them

#lyney x reader #lyney x y/n #lyney x you #lynette x reader #lynette x y/n #lynette x you #freminet x reader #freminet x y/n #freminet x you #genshin angst #genshin scenarios #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #fontaine x reader #angst #genshin impact #fontaine

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nyrandrea · 1 year ago

Note

Yo! Not sure if you are accepting requests for Astarion x Reader and what not but if you are, here me out; it's known that it is possible for Astarion to be kidnapped by Cazador when you are fighting at the Inn. So what about if this happened and, to try and further break him and just be a total twat, Cazador sets it up that it seems the reader/Tav has come to save Astarion only to reveal that it was all a charade to break him and drag him to the ritual (could be a shape changer of succubus, whatever you like). Astarion is utter broken, THEN the real Tav comes charging in, tearing apart everything in their way to save Astarion. We have utter angst followed by utter fluff!

Ooh I very much liked this prompt as I've never written from Astarion's POV before so I hope it comes across alright!

TW for kidnapping and slight emotional manipulation

Word Count - 2.5k

Enjoy!

xxx

Astarion shifted his shoulders side-to-side while splaying his fingers, both done in attempt to free himself of the rope binding his wrists.

As he was ushered, his heavy breaths were muffled against the cloth that had been tied around his neck. As it obscured most of his vision, he couldn’t see a damn thing, but he knew exactly where his kidnappers—his so-called ‘brother’ and ‘sister’—were taking him.

Back to his old master.

Astarion had tried to fight the spawn – Gods know he did – despite knowing it was futile. His friends had tried to save him, you had tried so, so hard – he remembers the way you desperately crawled to him, weakly calling out his name before he was dragged away.

When fighting was clearly no use, he tried to convince them just to discuss their options, that surely they could figure out a way to work together to defeat Cazador, but it was all for naught. They thought he deserved this, and, in a way, so did he.

The longer they travelled, the more his struggles eased.

Even with the bag over his head, Astarion could tell when they reached the Szarr palace. The air within was thick with the musty scent of centuries past, a haunting aroma that seemed to seep from the very walls themselves.

Dimly flickering torches lined the uneven, moss-covered bricks, casting feeble, wavering shadows that danced with eerie grace. The stones, slick with moisture, whispered secrets to those who dared listen, their ancient whispers a chilling backdrop to the silence. The floor, uneven and cold, was a mosaic of cracked tiles, their patterns lost to centuries of neglect. Puddles of stagnant water collected in the lowest recesses, reflecting the dim torchlight like dark, unblinking eyes.

“I’m... sorry that it had to come to this,” Leon said. His voice was monotone, making his words sound like a cheap, hollow excuse.

“No, you’re not,” Astarion bluntly replied. “Whatever master wants, master gets. Just a shame we all must get slaughtered in the process, hm?”

Silence was his answer.

Astarion flinched as a door creaked open and a familiar stink filled his nostrils – Leon had brought him to the ‘Kennel’, where he had spent tendays being tortured by Cazador’s cruel and sadistic servant Godey – a vile creature that often haunted his nightmares.

The cloth covering Astarion’s head was ripped off and he was forced to gaze at that familiar, hideous skull.

“If it isn’t the nasty little runaway!” Godey all-too-cheerily announced. “Ah, but you always find your way back to Godey, hmm?”

Astarion grimaced.

“If I had my way, I’d saw off your legs - that’d put a stop to your wandering.”

“As pleasant as that sounds, I’m guessing the master said no?” Astarion said with a little smirk; a mask to hide his fear. “After all, I’m sure he needs all of my blood on the inside for the Mass.”

“But he needs you obedient too,” Godey growled. “And I should cut out that tongue of yours for a start.”

The skeleton brushed his fingertips on the hilt of his dagger, as if he was considering it for a moment.

“That means no barking, no biting, no struggling – a well-behaved little doggie.”

“I’ll never do what he tells me again,” Astarion sneered. “I’d rather die.”

“Oh, you’ll do both! You will do whatever he requires, and if you’re delusional enough to think any of your little friends will come and save you, well...”

As if on cue, the doors swung open behind Godey to reveal... you.

Astarion's eyes met yours, and a torrent of emotions surged through him. His lifeless heart almost fluttered as you bypassed Godey and approached him, a mix of apprehension and joy welling up inside.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you rushed towards him.

“Astarion, my love...!” you whispered. “I’ve come to save you; I couldn’t bear to be apart from you any longer.”

Astarion extended his arms to embrace you. Your touch felt warm and comforting, and it held him in an embrace that seemed so familiar.

For a moment, he was overcome with joy, believing he had another chance at freedom, that both of you could take down Godey and escape from this wretched place. But as seconds passed, something felt amiss. Your eyes were colder, your words more hollow, and a chilling unease settled in his bones.

“I missed you so much,” you continued, your voice wavering with a hint of deception.

But Astarion noticed the subtle differences in your gestures and expressions, even the way you spoke was... off. He pushed you away and stared into your eyes, searching for the truth.

“Who are you?” He demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and heartbreak.

‘Your’ facade began to crumble. In a flash of darkness, there was a revelation of a true, grotesque form. Its face twisted and contorted into a nightmarish amalgamation of shapes and shadows.

It was a shapeshifter, a creature of dark magic, cunningly disguised as you.

Astarion recoiled, his heart shattering into a million pieces. He realised the cruel trick that had been played on him, his eyes glistening with tears.

“A gift from the master,” Godey said all too smugly. “To remind you that you are not worth saving.”

The shapeshifter, grinning wickedly, vanished into the night, leaving Astarion alone in the darkness, his heart aching with betrayal and sorrow.

“Now,” Godey said, approaching him with a chain. “Be a good little mutt and tie this around your neck, it is time to accept the fate that has been chosen for you.”

The chains felt so heavy in Astarion’s hands that he merely let them slip and pile onto the floor with a heavy clang. He just felt so tired. Of running away, of daring to have hope, of falling in love, only to have it ripped away. Existence was... nothing but a cruel joke.

And Cazador was the one laughing at him.

Godey snarled as he bent to pick the chains up and thrust them back into Astarion’s arms. “Do not disobey! Or do I have to get the knee-splitter out for old time’s sake?”

The vampire wordlessly submitted and allowed himself to be led out of the Kennel and into the corridors of the dungeon.

A heavy, suffocating atmosphere hung in the air, as if the crypt itself held its breath, waiting for something unseen to stir in the shadows. It was a place where the echoes of the past whispered of forgotten sorrows and ancient curses, a realm where the line between the living and the dead blurred into obscurity.

"Astarion...!" a distant voice cried, slicing through the dungeon's oppressive silence. Determined footsteps reverberated against the cold, stone floor, the sound of clanking armour ringing in the eerie stillness.

Godey paused, appearing confused. “What...? Can’t be the shapeshifter again...”

The footsteps edged ever closer, and Godey turned to face these unexpected intruders, forcing Astarion to turn with him.

Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart and... you were rushing down the hallway. As you approached them, the ancient stone walls seemed to tremble in anticipation.

The groups’ menacing sneers faded into incredulous expressions at the scene before them, and an overwhelming shame punched Astarion in the gut at having them see him so... vulnerable. Humiliated.

They reached for their weapons, but your eyes met Astarion’s with a fiery, unyielding gaze. Your face was bloodied, and lips curled as you snarled like a feral animal – a far cry from the innocent but fake show that the shapeshifter had put on only moments before.

“Let him go!” you demand, your grip tightening on your sword, its blade gleaming with an ethereal light.

Godey flinched back, obviously surprised.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, the master needs him,” the skeleton said. “Leave this place and he may grant you enough mercy to let you live.”

“Afraid we can’t do that, bones,” Karlach snarled before turning to you. “Can we please just kill this thing and get our friend out of here?”

“Friend?” Godey scoffed. “This dog doesn’t have friends. Now leave!”

You meet Karlach’s furious gaze, and nod.

"Get back, Astarion!" she hissed, and in a dazzling display of athletics and brute strength, brought down her mace upon Godey, his skull splitting with a sickening crack.

Gale summoned bolts of lightning to dance around him. The damp air crackled with electricity, illuminating the dungeon in an otherworldly glow. All it took was one bolt to strike Godey down until he was nothing more than a pile of dust.

Your eyes remained locked on Astarion as Shadowheart raised her hand, and the shackles that bound him burst apart with a resounding snap. He stumbled slightly; disbelief etched across his face.

“Oh, thank Gods we found you in time,” you sigh in relief as you approach him. “Are you hurt?”

He said nothing. Just... stared at you.

“Can you walk?” you tried, holding out a hand to touch his shoulder. “We need to get you out of here.”

“Don’t touch me!” he winced back, and you instantly retracted your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you said, backing up to give him space. “What’s wrong? What can I do to help you?”

Astarion’s scepticism waned a little; this version of you was a lot more... convincing than the last one. The way your eyes crinkled in distress, those little twitches your fingers did when you were nervous, even your scent was... almost enough to convince him you were the real deal.

Yet, doubt clawed at the edges of his mind like a persistent, haunting whisper.

"You can't be real," Astarion whispered, his voice laced with a soft tremor.

Your eyes welled with frustration and hurt, but your voice remained gentle as you replied, "Astarion, I am as real as the air we’re breathing and the ground we stand on. I'm right here."

Astarion shook his head, his disbelief lingering like a stubborn fog.

"No, this isn't possible," he insisted, his voice rising. "This is another trick, isn’t it?”

“Trick?” Karlach tilted her head.

“Cazador sent you,” Astarion said, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled in disbelief, almost hysterically. “Not one shapeshifter, but five? I mean where... where did he even manage to find you all?”

“Not how I would thank my rescuers, but each to their own, I suppose” Shadowheart said incredulously. “We need to leave, unless you fancy waiting for the cavalry to arrive.”

Karlach bumped the cleric’s shoulder. “Just give him a moment, yeah? He’s obviously a bit... confused.”

“Oh, it’s all as clear as day to me, darling,” the vampire spat, making her flinch. “Put on the act as much as you want, but I will not be going anywhere with you.”

He glanced down at the dust pile beneath his feet and gave it a good kick. “Though I suppose I should thank you for getting rid of him, nasty little thing.”

“That was... Godey, right?” you tentatively asked, and his red eyes flashed back up as you slowly edged forward. “I remember you telling me about him, that night we spent near the underground lake, do you remember? We stared up at the rocks and pretended to point out constellations.”

“How on earth could you... know that?”

When you were close enough, he reached out tentatively, his trembling fingers brushing against your cheek. The warmth he felt was real, but his mind refused to surrender. “You can’t be real,” he repeated, his voice a whisper and laden with desperation.

Part of you wanted to use the tadpole to reach into his mind to convince him you were real, and it would have been the quicker option. But you couldn’t—wouldn't— invade his privacy like that.

A whirlwind of emotions tore through Astarion—love, hope, fear, and an overwhelming sense of longing. He wanted desperately to believe you, to pull you into his arms and never let go. Yet, the scars of his master that etched deep into his soul held him back.

You reached out and gently took Astarion's hands, placing them on your chest, your touch warm and reassuring. "I understand your fear, but you have to trust in us. Trust in the way my heart skips a beat when I look at you. I am real, Astarion. Our love is real."

Tears welled up in his eyes as he finally allowed himself to believe. With a trembling hand, he cupped your face, his thumb wiping away a tear that had escaped your eye. “It’s really you,” he breathed, a mixture of awe and relief in his voice.

You leaned into his hand. “It’s really me.”

“As much as I would love to recite the perfect poem to encapsulate this heartwarming reunion,” Gale said, putting a hand on both your shoulder and Astarions. “I do believe we should make tracks.”

Astarion didn’t even have it in him to make any quips or comebacks, so he merely nodded, allowing you to take his hand as you led the way.

With renewed determination, the group made their escape, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake. Fire and lightning clashed with steel, and the dungeon's oppressive darkness was pierced by their resolute will. Together, they left a burning path of retribution in their wake, until they emerged into the moonlit courtyard and didn’t stop until they made it all the way back to camp.

“Woo!” Karlach cheered, turning back momentarily to hold up her middle finger up to the Szarr Palace as it disappeared over the horizon. “Can’t believe we actually managed to pull that off.”

“Neither can I,” Shadowheart deadpanned, her expression softening as she looked at Astarion. “But... I’m glad we did.”

“So am I,” Gale smiled. “This team wouldn’t be the same without your... well, let’s say charm.”

“You have such a way with words, Gale,” Astarion weakly joked. “But... know that I am grateful for you rescuing me, even if it didn’t seem like it at the time.”

“Aw, that’s alright!” Karlach gave him a thumbs up. “You’re with us now, and that’s all that matters.”

“I appreciate that, darling but...” his voice trembled slightly. “Cazador, he’ll... he needs me for the ritual. He will come after me again.”

“I’d like to see him try,” you said, your confident smile betrayed by your eyes as you clutched onto his hand like a lifeline. “He may be a vampire lord, but he doesn’t even have a slither of Karlach’s strength, or Shadowheart’s resolve or Gale’s power. And if all else fails we’ll just throw Lae’zel at him.”

You pause for a moment.

“I know we fucked up tonight but... that won’t happen again, Astarion. We’ll do better. I’ll be better. He... that bastard won’t get you.”

The corners of his lips twitched up into a smile as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze in kind. He felt the warmth of your love wrapping around his dead heart, like a protective cloak. In that moment, Astarion didn’t know what path lay ahead for him, but he knew that Cazador wouldn’t have any say in it, or anyone else for that matter.

His future... belonged to him.

xxx

eh... sorry the ending's a tad cheesy but hope you enjoyed anyhow!

Links to my other Astarion works

Everything's Fine

Restless

Request - Astarion kills everyone in his path to get to you

Request - Astarion tries to save you from kidnappers

Request - Astarion helps you to see that you're beautiful

#astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #my writing #fanfiction #request #tw kidnapping #bg3 gale #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 karlach #bg3 godey

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some-creep · 7 months ago

Text

Here's my longer than anticipated prototype Falke fic. I'll reblog this later with an AO3 link but right now I can't get any of the formatting to stay because it's on Google drive and I'm on mobile

She awakens to a blinding white light. Her body is stiff and feels foreign as she tries to work out how her limbs work. It is with remarkable difficulty that she manages to push her body upright, only to double over at the unexpected weight of her frame. She gives a moment of pause, trying to make sense of her surroundings as her head threatens to split in two at every errant thought. Her stomach, which she suspects to be empty, still threatens to spill its contents all over her lap. Long before her eyes have the chance to focus, she hears a new sound over the mechanical buzzing that persists throughout the room. Voices. Unfamiliar. Then, an unknown force guiding her to lay back down which she does not fight. Her ears strain to listen, but the words do not make sense.

“I knew it. I told you I had a good feeling about this one, didn't I?”

“You did, but just because she's woken up doesn't mean she'll–”

“She will. If not, she can be molded like all the others.”

“Yes, but her neural pattern is highly unpredictable given the donor. Not to mention the experimental bioresonance module that–”

“Enough.”

The voices fall silent. She can only wonder what they were discussing, though she has no time to dwell on the specifics. Someone begins to stroke her hair, causing her eyes to flutter back open. They are nothing more than a fuzzy gray shape looming over her, and no matter how many times she blinks, her eyes refuse to focus.

“Can you see me? Adjust the calibration on her eyes.”

They wait for a moment before her vision begins to clear through a means she cannot understand. She is staring up at a dark haired woman she does not recognize, her outline haloed by the bright overhead light.

“Good morning, Falke.” Her face beams with pride but the name that falls from her lips sparks no recognition.

She can only lay there, trying to study her face in hopes that doing so can grant her the knowledge she desires. It seems, she thinks, like she is meant to respond, but she does not know what to say or how to say it. She furrows her brow in confusion, hoping it will suffice for an answer.

“You're going to do great things for us. Do you know that? You're very special.”

She manages to tilt her head to the side just enough to make it clear she's still confused. The woman above her doesn't seem surprised by this fact. She doesn't know what makes her special or what great things she is going to do. In fact, she isn't even sure how she knows anything and why there are gaps in what knowledge she does have.

She has no memory of a moment before this one, yet, in a general sense, she understands the world around her. The woman speaking to her appears to be middle aged, head adorned with a golden laurel crown. She is laying on some sort of bed. The room she is in is overly bright which further accentuates the sterile white ceiling and walls. Yet she does not know who she is. The woman had called her ‘Falke’ but the name means nothing to her. That is the name of an animal. A bird of prey. And she is not an animal.

Then…what is she?

She accepts her name as Falke for she knows of no alternative. The woman does not share with her her own name at that moment, a fact Falke simply does not question as it is of little concern to her compared to everything else. Something feels off. Everything feels wrong. The dark haired woman looks small in a way she doesn't understand. Her body fills out the bed to an unusual degree, and the sensation of touch is distant.

The woman excuses herself with a promise to return later. Falke does not watch her leave but listens to her footsteps, long, confident strides, across the tile floor. She hears a mechanical door glide open then shut again, leaving her alone with whoever else she had heard speaking before.

“Okay, Falke,” the voice, male, her mind tells her, begins to speak, “I'm going to ask you to do a few simple things for me so we can make sure everything is in working order, sound good?”

Falke nods her head slowly and begins to follow along with the basic instructions being given to her. Follow this with your eyes, move your head, wiggle your fingers, good job, now lift your right arm, your left, can you sit up for me?

The instructions are easy to follow, but there is an undeniable disconnect between her mind and body. She feels as if she is controlling a puppet rather than her own physical form, yet she sees her arms move with her own two eyes. But they do not look correct. Falke does not know what her arms should look like, but the sleek black casing does not register as being her skin. As she stares at her hands, pressing her mechanically jointed thumb and forefinger together, she feels them touch with the faintest tap of plastic on plastic.

Falke wonders if this body is able to cry. The desire is overwhelming, but her expression never changes.

Führungskommando-Leiteinheit-Replika: FKLR. Affectionately referred to as simply Falke amongst the Gestalts who monitor her. It is not a title she understands, but she hopes one day it will become clearer.

Until that time comes, her days are filled with tests and experiments to assess her current functional capacity. She is finally used to walking after several days of stumbling around helplessly and falling into walls. She no longer feels nauseous looking down from her unimaginable height. Her body still feels too heavy, but the scientists tell her it is common with larger Replikas and she will gradually stop noticing it. She is even becoming used to her dull sense of touch as she learns how to properly gauge the information her body is giving her and what it means in context to the world around her. The scientists always tell her they are proud of her, and she finds she enjoys this a great deal.

Falke is not like the people around her. They are small and made of flesh and bone. One of the first things they made sure she knew was that she is capable of great destruction, but that she is a good girl who listens well, so she will be mindful not to harm those around her. She does not have a reason to disagree with this assessment of her. They have not lied to her yet. They are kind to her. They make sure all her needs are met.

Falke enjoys spending time in her room; the room she had been moved into once she was capable of maneuvering independently. It has the same sterile white walls as the rest of the facility she calls home, but it is adorned with Nation paraphernalia. The first time she had seen the room, decorated with flags and portraits of the Nation’s Leaders, she had felt uneasy and out of place, but now she finds great comfort in the iconography. It adds a sense of warmth to her world, she thinks, to know she is being watched over and cared for by the Leaders.

It is the Great Revolutionary that she met when she first woke up. She visits Falke as often as her schedule permits to check on her progress. Falke wishes she would stay longer to talk to her instead of her overseers, but she is a very busy woman, and so she understands the aversion to idle chatter.

She spends the majority of her free time reading the books they have provided for her, or watching the films left for her. She is moved by the stories of how the Nation's people have struggled under the unjust rule of the Empire, and she hopes one day she will be able to assist in some way. She is promised that this will be the case.

Falke wonders why she was made to look like the Great Revolutionary and her daughter. She takes the photos off of the wall to study them from time to time. Their gazes are stern and commanding, and she wishes her expression could match. She has seen her own face and she cannot stand to look at it. She does not recognize the woman who stares sadly back at her.

It is lonely, she finds, being an experimental Replika. The people around her have little interest in talking to her about anything besides her progress. She is making great strides in utilizing her bioresonant abilities, and the scientists always talk excitedly about each new milestone she reaches.

She is able to look into the minds of volunteers placed before her, and tell her overseers whatever information they ask her to retrieve. The Gestalts who volunteer always seem frightened of her, and she never sees the same one twice, but they reassure her it is just a test. If she encountered the same person again, she would not be facing a new, potentially more challenging mind.

Today, as she stands at the far end of a custom built firing range, hurling objects at targets with only her mind, she thinks to try talking to the scientist tasked with observing her. She, like all Gestalts who work in close proximity to Falke, was given a special implant to ensure Falke could not manipulate her outside the scope of any test.

“Does it hurt still, doctor?” She asks, not turning her attention away from her work.

The woman does not immediately answer, though she unconsciously raises her hand to the stitches on the side of her half shaved head.

“I hope you aren't mad at me over it.”

“Mad?” She repeats, and her voice startles Falke. Responses of any kind are rare if they fall outside of work related discussions.

“You were assigned to me, and because of that, precautions had to be taken. I…hope you do not blame me for this.”

She is quiet for a moment longer before she speaks again, voice unsure. “No, Falke, I don't blame…you. Now focus on your task.”

Falke smiles sadly to herself, lowering her head for a moment. She does not look up as she casts the final projectile, a metal ball, through the remaining wooden target, showering the firing range with splinters before the ball impacts with the floor. The sharp sound fills the largely empty room before fading away to silence once more. Falke stands and waits for further instructions as she watches the ball roll back and forth until finally ceasing all movement.

“It still hurts.”

“...Hm-?”

“My head. You asked me before if it still hurt.”

Falke turns slowly to look at her. She's learned by now sudden movements make her Gestalt overseers nervous, so she takes great care not to worry them.

The woman is not looking at her, though she does not appear to actually be writing anything in her notes, simply fidgeting about.

“I'm sorry to hear that. I wish there was something I could do.” Falke decides to sink down to her knees in hopes it will make her a little less intimidating. She doesn't want to scare off the closest thing she's ever made to a connection. She owes it to the scientist to be as accommodating as possible, given the state she was in because of Falke.

“What are you doing?”

“It's easier to talk if we're at the same level, doctor. I thought you might appreciate it.” She tries to smile but worries there's no point to the gesture. Falke notices the Gestalt glance back at her, and can only assume she sees.

“We aren't supposed to be talking at all,” she says, though she is making no attempts to stop the conversation.

Falke chuckles, nodding. “If I wasn't meant to talk to people, then why was I given the ability to speak? Surely, speech is unnecessary if I am able to influence those around me with only my mind.”

“That's an interesting point. One I don't have an answer for.” She looks up to see Falke still smiling, eyes brighter than normal. She thinks for a moment, taking a deep breath. “You're lonely,” she observes.

Falke nods. She is a sentient being with little in the way of interactions with others. It has started to gnaw at her more and more each day.

“I'll discuss this at my next meeting and see what can be done about that. You're dismissed.”

Administration-Datenverarbeitung-Logistik-Replika: ADLR. That is how they introduce her to the Replika they've brought in from another facility. They tell her it will be a good way to test their compatibility. He is not a new model like her, last generation, but there had always been speculation he could perform better with proper Replika guidance. No such person had existed…until now.

They tell her she will get along well with him. That, mentally, he should be easily influenced by her, and that if she wants someone to interact with, this will be how she gets it. She is told there are no other options because once she is Commander, she will not have time for friends and other such nonsense as that. Seeing him for the first time makes her regret ever bringing up the issue at all. There's no reason for it. He's a perfectly unremarkable Replika standing no taller than the average Gestalt and offering little else but his presence.

The way he looks at her makes her uncomfortable, but she can't put her finger on why that is. None of the Gestalts look at her with the same level of wonder. No, it's more than wonder, it is as if he is enamored with her. Love at first sight. The Gestalt scientists seem pleased by this development and decide this is a sufficient cure for Falke's loneliness, giving her no time to protest.

She no longer has any personal time to herself. Adler’s only purpose is to serve her, which means following her at all hours of the day. It also means sleeping in her room as there is no other space set aside for him. Falke tells herself she must adapt to this because, after all, isn't this what she asked for? Companionship in her off hours?

He does not understand personal space in a way she would prefer, but she finds it difficult to verbalize her wants. It is not a situation she has ever been in before, so more often than not, she is silent. She knows the scientists told her that Adler would be easy to manipulate with her abilities, but she is well trained, and only uses her powers when it is asked of her. It seems rude, she thinks, to exert her influence over someone for no good reason. She fears repercussions for misuse of her powers.

So instead, she pushes down her concerns and accepts this is her life now. She ignores the fact she knows he watches her sleep, and she ignores the thoughts she hears on accident. Sometimes it is difficult to not read people's minds now that the ability comes naturally to her. He thinks about her body a great deal, but since he has not done anything wrong, Falke does all she can to ignore it.

She feels nothing in return. She doesn't know what she is supposed to feel about him, but every conversation she forces her way through leaves her feeling empty. She tells herself she just isn't used to being around other Replikas yet, and in time, it will get easier like so many other things have for her. But she wishes it would happen faster.

He is sitting too close to her as usual, on her bed, and Falke is trying her hardest to simply ignore him. She misses her privacy so very, very much…

Adler says something to her, for which she only hums in response, hoping it will be enough to express her disinterest. It never is.

FKLR units will be judged on their actions, not by their words. These words echo in her mind as she stares vacantly forward. Her duty is to serve the Nation. Serving the Nation will require sacrifice. It will require moments of action that might seem overly cruel, but they are for the greater good. Her creator had made sure she understood this, that there would be times she would be asked to do things she might find questionable, but to trust she was doing the right thing. And nothing was off limits.

Training dummies do not bleed. They do not beg and apologize to an uncaring attacker. Falke has dismantled many in her brief time alive, and this feels no different. But she does not know why she does it; she cannot say what set her off. Was it a thought? A comment? A brief moment of unwanted contact? She does not feel any guilt as she looks at the thing laying crumpled on her floor. It is of no more interest to her than a discarded mannequin covered in red paint. Falke looks at her hand and realizes she is clutching soaked wires in her fist, though where she'd yanked them from she could not begin to guess.

She wipes her hands on her legs and crawls back into bed. For the first time since Adler had arrived, her room is quiet again, and she finally feels comfortable enough to sleep.

Falke is scolded for the mess and made to clean it up herself. She finds it surprising that she is not punished for what she did, simply for the aftermath of her actions. She helps the scientists who come to collect the body place it into a bodybag before it is removed. They ask no questions about the mangled figure and only leave cleaning supplies when they go.

She sets to work cleaning up the sticky, half dried puddle of coolant that leaked across the entire floor during the night. There is so much, spread across the tile and under her bed, that she feels like she is only able to smear it around with the rags she was provided with. Even so, she considers herself lucky that this is all that is expected of her.

As she scrubs diligently on her hands and knees, she notices unidentifiable flesh caught between the joints of her fingers. Falke knows it will be difficult to properly clean up, maybe even impossible without help from a technician. She tries to push the thought aside as she hears the door to her room open once more.

Someone steps inside, tracking footprints all over the half cleaned floor. Falke bites back the impulse to say anything, and she is glad for this when the person speaks.

“Falke,” the voice says, quick and sharp. It is her creator, the Great Revolutionary herself.

Falke flinches and keeps her head bowed low, suddenly ashamed of her behavior. “Good morning,” she manages, before adding, “ma'am.”

“I hear you broke your new toy.” She shifts her weight as she speaks. Falke suspects she's crossed her arms.

“It was…” calling it an accident might not be a complete lie, she hadn't meant to do it, after all, but it was far too brutal of a scene to suggest there was no intent whatsoever. “I'm sorry. I know everyone worked very hard to get a companion for –”

“Look at people when you're talking to them,” she barks, bringing her boot hard against Falke's shoulder and keeping it there.

Falke is considerably larger than her, but as she is now, groveling before her master, she is no more powerful than anyone else would be. She looks up at the woman for whom she shares a likeness, muttering an apology as she meets her eye.

“You made my shoes filthy with your little mess. Clean them,” she orders, twisting her foot back and forth before pulling back to let Falke sit up.

Falke carefully moves off of her knees and sits back, legs crossed. She is made painfully aware of her unusual stature once more, but instead of finding comfort in the protection it brings, she just feels awkward and out of place under the Great Revolutionary’s gaze.

The woman, without a word, places her boot on Falke's thigh and waits. Falke takes one of the few still clean rags and dunks it in her bucket of soapy water, ringing it out with one hand. She places her other hand against the woman's calf to steady her as she begins to spot clean as much of the sole as she can manage from their positions.

While she suspects the display is all for show, Falke sheepishly speaks up and says, “you might be more comfortable if you sat on my bed.”

She ponders the suggestion for only a moment, and, seeming pleased with Falke's desire to be obedient, moves to sit on the edge of the bed. She crosses one leg over the other, inviting Falke to continue with the faintest hint of a smirk on her face.

Falke doesn't think she's ever seen her creator smile before, especially not at her. The expression, however distant, spurs her on. She edges closer to the bed, taking her ankle once more before she continues to clean every tread free of dirt and blood. Her work is meticulous and loving as she thinks to herself no one has ever had the honor of tending to the Great Revolutionary like this before.

When she feels a hand on her head, she hesitates, glancing upwards. It is a nice feeling, one she's rarely experienced, but one she would like to earn again. She is not wearing gloves, as is often the case when other Gestalts touch her. It is simply wordless praise for her efforts.

But the moment cannot last long. Soon, her creator is rising to her feet and heading back out the door, leaving her with only one final order. “Hurry up and finish cleaning. We haven't got all day.”

“Hello, Ara. It's nice to meet you.” Falke smiles at the old Replika model. She tells herself she will do better this time around with her companions. She likes this one better than the last anyway, she thinks. Ara has an exceptionally quiet mind, and what thoughts Falke does pick up on are quite regular. She thinks of work and of her hobbies, quietly tending to plants in secluded areas of the facility. This particular unit has been working here for longer than Falke has been alive.

Like many others, she is, of course, impressed by Falke's stature. She is confused as to why she was relocated here at all, but ultimately she is relieved the person she was placed with seems to be nice enough. That thought Falke finds peculiar; that a Replika might be so concerned with how nice someone is.

“I'm sorry they didn't tell me what I was supposed to do with you. If… I had to guess, you're meant to replace my previous…” Falke hesitates on the last word, unsure what she should call the late Adler. Finally, she settles on, “assistant.”

Ara only nods, offering up a simple, “oh” in response. It is clear she has never been an assistant before, nor has she ever been separated from others like herself. Because of this, it becomes obvious she isn't interested in talking.

Falke finds it strange they'd be so quick to replace Adler after what she'd done to him, but she sees no point in questioning it. It has been a few days since the incident, and maybe they have decided it is worth giving her a second chance. She had proven herself with her creator immediately following the incident, so it makes a kind of sense.

“You have tools?” she asks, noticing the belt around her waist.

Ara nods.

“Do you know how to fix Replikas?”

She shrugs.

“Do you think you could help me clean the joints in my fingers? It's difficult to do it yourself. I'd ask the Gestalt technician but I'm afraid she'd be mad at me.”

Ara nods once more before Falke leads them off somewhere quiet where she may work undisturbed. It is a simple enough procedure, and her hands are larger than average, which she hopes will make them easier to work with.

Maintenance is an odd thing for Replikas. To be so vulnerable around another is a difficult task at the best of times. Any time she is operated on, it leaves her feeling strange afterwards. Lonely, almost. Empty. The technician usually just ignores her the entire time and is firm about not letting her linger afterwards. Ara, she thinks, isn't likely to do that.

Falke lays her hands on a table as she kneels on the floor, offering them up with no resistance. Ara says nothing as she begins to examine each joint to understand how she is put together. She will not need to remove any casing, figuring the wires inside will provide enough slack to clean between each segment without the need to disconnect any internals.

Ara does not comment on the gunk she scrapes out of her fingers, and Falke appreciates this small mercy. In fact, Ara doesn't even seem interested in its origin at all as she works. Falke can only watch her in a sort of awe as she expertly disassembles and reassembles each digit. Her expression does not change as she works, holding Falke's hand to better manipulate it as she sees fit.

Falke is almost disappointed when she finishes the procedure, but to her surprise, Ara does not move. Instead, she looks up at Falke, cocking her head to the side.

“Better?” She asks.

“Better," Falke replies, taking a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Ara remains seated as she lets Falke take her hand. She does not pull away, nor does she comment on the gesture.

Falke looks away, muttering an apology. She knows better than to behave this way. She has been chastised countless times before for trying to overstep boundaries like this. But Ara seems to think nothing of it.

“It's normal,” she says.

“It…is?”

“Yes.”

“No one’s ever told me that.”

“They never do.”

Falke furrows her brow, wondering why her Gestalt masters would neglect to explain a normal Replika reaction to her. She tries not to think about it as Ara gently squeezes her hand in return, all the while expression never changing.

She soon finds she much prefers the company of Ara to anyone else in her life. Unlike Adler, her thoughts are easier to handle. She is respectful of boundaries without needing to be told. And, above all else, she is knowledgeable about Replika life. Overtime, she grows comfortable enough to talk and length, and she tells Falke about different unit types she has met over the years that Falke has only read about in passing. Of EULR, and STCR, and STAR units. How, despite what they are told, some units are nicer than others. Some she could be friends with and others she tried to avoid.

She speaks of relationships and how Replikas form bonds with one another that fall outside of expected parameters. Sometimes they are ignored, other times punished. In rare cases, they are encouraged for enhanced unit performance. ARAR units are encouraged to befriend EULR units because EULR units can read their emotions better than anyone else. Falke jokes that she is also very good at that, thanks to her bioresonance.

Ara sleeps in her room the same as Adler before her, and follows her around during the day. She finds herself wishing that Ara would follow a little closer. That she wouldn't sleep so far away at night. When they watch movies, Ara always does so from the floor. She says she doesn't mind, and Falke knows she is telling the truth, but she wishes she was not.

The scientists do not like Ara. Or, perhaps more accurately, they do not like her relationship with their beloved FKLR unit. They see Ara as beneath her, and cannot understand why *this* one is who Falke has chosen to keep around. ARAR units are worthless to the Nation, holding no more value than materials used to build them. They are meant to do hard labor and to be disposed of when they break. Ara is able to ignore the constant remarks, but they begin to grate on Falke's nerves.

She cannot read their minds, but she does not need to when they speak their hatred so openly. She cannot exert her will over them, but she does not need to when she can exert her strength.

A comment is made, one day, as she and Ara are sitting by one of the rare windows in the facility, looking out at the dull landscape of rock and concrete, bathed in bright, artificial light.

“You were supposed to have killed this one by now.”

She knows the comment hurts Ara, who still manages to avoid a visible reaction. But Falke knows what she's thinking. How uncomfortable the idea is that she is a sacrifice given to their new pet as a plaything to break.

Falke can no longer stomach it. With a flick of her wrist she sends the Gestalt backwards through the air and into a nearby wall. She hears a bone snap on impact, an arm, she figures, by the way their thoughts shift to the pain they're trying to make sense of. She rises, placing her hand on Ara's back to guide her back to their room before she takes things further and does something truly regrettable. Falke keeps her close the entire time with no resistance.

“It's not fair,” she whispers, maybe more to herself than to Ara as they step back into their room together. “The way they treat you. The things they say. You don't deserve it…”

She moves to give Ara her space, but finds the shaken Replika stopping her from parting. And so Falke lingers. She pulls Ara to sit on her bed, and then to lay by her side.

“I'm sorry,” she says, pressing her head against the side of Ara's who is looking up at the ceiling. Her hair smells of machine oil even after all this time away from her old post. “I know I shouldn't have done that. But it's not fair.” She emphasizes the word as if it will better prove her point. Ara does not often think about what is fair and what is not, only focusing on the way things are in the moment.

“Thank you,” Ara says after a while. She turns to lean her head against Falke's.

Falke wants to say more but does not allow herself to speak. She wraps her arm around her companion's waist, closing her eyes. There is much she could still say. Promises she could make but never really keep. Plans they could make to do…what? There was nothing left but to pray for mercy and enjoy what peace still lingered between them.

“Falke, please don't make this any harder than it needs to be. I don't like this anymore than you do.” The large metal collar hangs over the scientist’s hands as she stares back at him in disbelief. There is no reason to obey in the moment, but she suspects a worse punishment awaits if she does not. Her gaze shifts from confusion to hatred as she willingly sinks to her knees, still a head taller than the man even like this, as she allows herself to be restrained.

He apologizes again, but Falke does not answer as a heavy chain is hooked to her collar with the other end fed through a small hole in the wall. She does not know where it leads, but soon, the chain catches and pulls through the wall with a slow mechanical grind muffled on the other side. She is unceremoniously yanked backwards until her back nearly touches the wall. She cannot stand nor can she fully sit, leaving her to fumble about trying to right her body with little success.

The man looks at her once more before turning away. She thinks his expression is that of pity, but it is too brief to be certain. He closes the door behind him, sealing her in darkness.

She does not know if this room was designed for her, or simply repurposed because of her. It is barely more than a closet, able to comfortably hold four normal sized Gestalts, she guesses. It is a pointless train of thought, but she has nothing to do but think.

Falke was not told how long she will be held here, but she suspects her punishment will last long enough to make her beg for freedom. She is meant to be prideful, but even she must have her limits. What better way to test them than this?

And so she sits and thinks. She thinks of her behavior leading up to this moment. She thinks of the betrayal she feels in being chained up like an animal. She thinks of her creator, and how she will feel seeing her like this. Falke is like family to her, is she not? They share a likeness, and for Gestalts, that is important. It means nothing between Replikas but she is no common Replika, and therefore it is something to hold on to.

She dreams of a life that is not her own. Of places she's never been and of languages she does not understand. She is a woman of great power but she has no reflection to speak of, and no name is ever uttered. People serve her, and she leads them with everything she has. But she is not Falke in those moments.

Sometimes she dreams of Ara, and every time she wakes wishing she hadn't. The loneliness she feels when she wakes up hurts more than the awkward angle she is forced into. In her dreams, they are happy. They are together. And they are safe. Falke wakes in her old bed with Ara at her side, and she enjoys the briefest moment of joy as she is convinced it is all a bad dream. They exchange words she will not allow herself to hear and then she opens her eyes to darkness. She does not know what happened to Ara and does not dwell on it, happier in her ignorance.

Days pass in her confinement, and it becomes difficult to tell if she is awake or asleep. She can no longer feel her legs, and she is certain the joints have locked up entirely. Sometimes she thinks she feels other people nearby, but even if she tries to speak to them, nothing ever comes of it. They are nothing but shadows lingering in front of her unfocused eyes.

Falke entertains the idea that she might die in this room. Punished for a crime she's all but forgotten, likely observed by some hidden camera as she rots away. Alone. She hopes the overseers are amused by what they see. Delighted to watch her sit and whither away as her body's systems desperately inform her something is wrong and she needs immediate care which is not coming.

A sudden electric shock rushes through her skull, jolting her head upright with a hoarse yelp. The pain forcibly reconnects her mind to her body as she becomes keenly aware of all her senses at once.

“Well, it seems that works after all.”

Her creator stands before her, holding a small black device in her hand. Falke reaches towards her with one feeble hand before she is hit with another painful jolt.

“You're an embarrassment. Look at you. You had so much promise and you were going to throw it all away. And for what?” She reaches out, grabbing Falke by the hair to yank her head upright.

It does not register as pain amongst everything else her body is experiencing. She blinks a few times as if it will help the ache in her head.

“You represent the Nation. You represent me. Do you know how bad you made me look? Hmmm?” She pulls Falke's hair again. “What kind of superweapon are you? You were really going to throw everything I've given you away for some…some worthless piece of machinery?”

Ara, she thinks as her chest tightens. She will not ask. She already knows.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, ma'am.” Falke forces the words out in hopes they will spare her from further misery.

“I should have you decommissioned. There's no reason not to. You're a failure. Just like all the others.”

“No, no I'm… I am not a failure. I won't let you down again. I promise.”

The Great Revolutionary thinks for a moment before she slips her arms around Falke's neck. The brief embrace is cut short as she unlocks Falke's collar only for her body to collapse under its own weight as days of strain catch up to her all at once.

“See to it that you don't.”

Falke finally understands what it means to be a Commander. The people she controls are tools to be exploited for the good of the Nation. If she will not be afforded special treatment, why should they? Compassion is weakness. It causes one to behave in unexpected and dangerous ways. Ruthlessness is rewarded. Violence. Cruelty. Her only purpose is to function as a weapon, and to see to it those below her do the same.

She is given a small troop of Replika soldiers to command, and she does so mercilessly. Though they are only meant to run drills, Falke punishes any failure as seriously as if it were the real thing. Her overseers are pleased by this development, and they tell her they have enough data to begin production on her line.

Atop her head, she is now adorned with the same laurel crown as her creator. A symbol of her status as leader. But it is nothing but a cruel facade. Made of metal and welded into her skull, it connects to a device now to be standard in all FKLR units. Each delicately carved golden petal helps to carry an electric current through her brain and down her spinal cord. A shock collar for minor infractions. A killswitch when they grew tired of her.

Ara is never mentioned around her again, and the only evidence she ever existed at all are Falke's fading memories of her. In the end, she was nothing but a sacrifice, killed by Falke’s impulsive, violent nature. Something she is rewarded for when it is properly directed. At her underlings. At her enemies. No, the Nation's enemies. She is just their means to an end.

There is no fanfare in it as all the pieces fall into place. This had always been the goal. The Replikas that serve her are terrified of what she is capable of and quickly fall in line. They look at her with fear and awe, and she looks back with disdain. Their deaths will mean nothing to her. And they will die. Pointless, violent deaths in a bid for control against the Empire, an already waning power. Few Replikas still serve the Empire, and those that do are first and second generation. Nothing more than worthless machinery. In many ways, weaker than the Gestalts they die for. She feels no pity for them when she is shown images from Vineta, a planet of great interest to both states. Their deaths are necessary. Her death will not be.

“You've come a long way, Falke.” The Great Revolutionary smiles up at Falke, but she does not return the expression.

Her gaze is stern now, all of the time. Every interaction she has with other people is not a syllable longer than it needs to be. She stands and waits for her to continue speaking or to finish the conversation, and this fact seems to please the Gestalt.

“I wanted to show you something now that you've officially been deemed a success.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, but offers no further reaction.

Her creator chuckles, amused at how alike they've become in such a short span of time. That had always been the point. “Come,” she orders, leading Falke away.

She was born here. She ‘grew up’ here, but there are still many areas she has not seen. Most of the facility is a mystery to her, and one she no longer cares to understand. The things she is meant to know, she is told, all else is a waste of her time.

They walk in silence down several near identical gray hallways before descending down an elevator Falke barely fits in. She no longer makes comment on the fact the world is not meant for someone like her. She slouches over as always until they reach a sub basement. It is noticeably colder this far down, but neither comment on it as they approach an unassuming metal door.

Her creator swipes an identification card through a panel at the side of the door before opening it. Freezing cold air spills out into the empty hallway as the woman steps inside and flicks the light switch on. Falke waits until she is invited instead, ducking under the doorframe and pausing to observe her surroundings.

The walls are lined with several large machines, each with a small window at approximately eye level with Falke. They are humming in quiet unison with a purpose unknown to her. In a way, they resemble coffins the longer she looks, though she dare not approach one to see what lay inside.

“Your predecessors,” her creator says as she gestures towards the machines. Falke remains silent, so she continues. “Such is the case with all Replikas. Though, other Replikas aren't permitted access to information such as this. But you're different. You're special.”

“Are they dead?”

“Most of them,” she says, watching Falke cautiously approach the wall to peer inside at one of her failed siblings.

They all looked the same to her. Frowning, she asks, “why keep them?”

“For reference. We always hold on to our failures until we stop making them. After that, they are disposed of to make room for the next creation.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because,” she clicks her tongue, “you are to know everything about those you command. Including all of the unsavory parts they don't know about. And what better way than this?”

Falke brushes her hand over a pane of glass to clear the fog from it to better stare at her sleeping reflection inside. “You said,” she pauses, “you said most…of them are dead. What about the others?”

That had been the right question to ask, it seems. The Gestalt nods. “How observant of you.”

Falke watches as she approaches a pod to input a code on a small keypad. She steps back as it hisses to life, followed by the distinct mechanical thunk of several mechanisms clicking into place before, finally, a door swings open.

The FKLR unit inside falls forward, trailed by dozens of wires connecting her to the device behind her. She is dazed, but gradually, she seems to be coming to her senses as she looks around the room. She sees Falke first, and makes a weak attempt at crawling towards her.

“Are you… are you here to help…me? They told me it would just be for…just a little bit. Can you hear me?” Her own voice says to her, trembling, pathetic. Her expression is almost childlike in its naive desperation as she looks up at an uncaring mirror.

“Pitiful thing, isn't it?” Their creator says, placing her boot on the FKLR unit’s back. “Take care of her.”

Falke frowns once more as she realizes she is being offered a firearm, one she does not take immediately.

“I know you've fired a gun before. Prove to me you can do this.”

She listens to herself whimpering on the floor, begging for a different outcome. The FKLR unit is promising to be a good girl this time. She will listen. She will work harder. She will do all of the things she should have done when she had the chance but failed to do. Her crying is cut short by a single gunshot.

Falke says nothing as she returns the gun.

“Well done. I'm proud of you, Commander Falke.”

#signalis #signalis falke #fklr #signalis fklr #i really hope i didn't mess up anything copying this over #i didn't realize there was s limit to how much text you can copy paste

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firefly--bright · 3 months ago

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etymology of acting

jean kirstein x reader (modern au)

summary ; the lights are out but you've never been able to see things so clearly. his silhouette isnt just a shape anymore.

warnings ; nothing more than some hurt/comfort as usual

a/n ; i've realised. i like writing oneshots more than i like writing series. so i am very sorry that im not updating my bigger fics i just,,, need more motivation for them.

taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿ song to listen to while reading! ✿

You’ve never really been sure of what you are.

Maybe who you are would be a better question. How do words come to be? Is it the cultural significance that makes them more important or is it just the fact that theyre the most used? You decide your name holds none of the meaning – be it heavy or light – that all the other words do. Not really significant or most used or said or thought about.

You knew your place in the world well enough to know where your name fit. Moreso, how your name didn’t fit, feeling foreign coming from familiar faces, feeling even further away coming from you. it sounded more like of what you should, of who your parents wanted you to become, hope you’d turn out to be. Something far greater than yourself. At least you knew this – you wouldn’t live up to it.

It takes a while to get used to at first. A way to let people down gradually. Nothing dramatic, nothing noticeable; but when you go through the same pattern as you always have countless times, you start seeing it as such. As something more dramatic, to give yourself more meaning. Youre waiting for the moment to come crashing down on you, waiting for the light to stop being bright an consuming and more of just a flicker. But that would be giving yourself too much importance. Giving yourself too much meaning.

“I mean… I didn’t, haven’t, fought people before,” jean says, “or – wait. Maybe I have.”

You breathe out a laugh. “you don’t remember if you’ve fought people before?”

“I mean, its not…whatever. Maybe I was too small to remember.”

“five year old jean, tearing into people’s jaws. What a rebel.” You say. Its his turn to smile.

The marble tiles of your kitchen floor are cool, your thighs resting on them, back against the glass of your oven. He sits in front of you but you cant see more than his outline. The lights have been out for a concerning amount of time now, and the curiosity of wanting to find out why had long since died down, turning into simple acceptance of this nights fate. His voice is the only thing you can hang off from, even if youre anchored to the ground.

it’s the in-betweeness of this. The space between your bodies, though not far away, knees touching only briefly, is when you realize you’re going to fade away soon. He’s going to find it mundane to look at the same face you had been seeing. The light is going to flicker, and you can feel it. The anticipation of something that will undoubtedly hurt nobody but you, quiet and accepting, and you’ll end up having to face the light again; wait for another light that needs to be snuff out. You’ve never been the greatest in having yourself be enough.

It's a performance at first. Jean had sat next to you and you’d started, lights and all. Smiling soon turned to relentless, comfortable teasing, turned into the second act. The deeper feelings that would be kept with you and only you for the rest of whatever you were living. Act three started just as act two did, gradually, softly, and you could sit in silence without having to find the strength to speak something more important than you into existence. You knew what would happen next. The end act, before the bows, before the close curtains. Your name wouldn’t be credited after this, no, he’d leave the theatre and not look back, forgetting why he spent the evening there. Maybe it was necessity, maybe it was boredom.

Act three, scene four, your voice spoke again after the pause, after catching his voice in your hands. The shared can of the energy drink was getting warm because of jean’s hand, your cold ones doing nothing to help. “I used to pretend I was in, like, a tv show when I was five.” You said. A hook to another unimportant, soon forgotten story, but it was in your script. So you spoke. You couldn’t see his smile, but he hummed lowley, your cue to continue.

“there was this show I used to watch a lot, like, to the point where I memorized almost all of the script.” You say, taking a sip of the drink. The carbon had fizzled out, leaving sugary residue on your lips, coating your tongue. “so when the house was empty in the afternoons, I would play all the parts out myself.” You say. Your words carry more weight now than they ever have and you’d probably have to clean up the mess it would make on the floor in the morning, having the light of the sun to accompany your mistakes. But for now it was okay. Improvising your lines was easier when it was with him. Act three, scene four, you could let your performance waver because you knew it was coming to an end.

“Is that why youre so good at talking to yourself?” he asks, his voice laced with a smirk you can almost feel against your cheek, despite him sitting across you. his hand brushes against yours, warm, calling, and you hand the can to him. You roll your eyes and you know he cant see it because it’s improvised. “im an amazing self-talker. Give me some credit.”

“alright. You’ve won my oscar.” He says. You snort. “your oscar?” “for your groundbreaking performance.” He says. Another sip.

You breathe in the way his words shape you. you don’t know which row of the audience he’s sitting in, but it feels awfully close, enough for him to catch you breaking character. Amazing performance, he said, not knowing what he meant, but you took meaning in his comment anyway, just as you did with everything else given to you. all words had their meanings, whether good or bad, cultural or just because of their uses. Everything had meaning and he was calling it an amazing performance. Your laugh makes no noise – youre breaking character.

“I was shit scared of the dark when I was five, too.” He says. The can is still with him, and you tilt your head. “you were a very accomplished five year old.” He scoffs, you continue, “starting fights and being afraid of the dar-“ “as if. I won those fights.” “is that why you forgot they even happened?” “maybe, yeah, what about it?” you laugh, breaking character. He grumbles, “whatever. I was brave.” His chest puffs up in faux confidence.

“right, what were you saying?” you ask. He clears his throat. “I was just gonna say I don’t mind being in the dark now.” “that’s deep.” “can you be serious for, like, two seconds-“ “you know me better than to ask me for that.” “right. I like nights now because of you. That’s all. Make fun of me.” But then you don’t say anything. Breaking character. Being on a thin ledge so he could see you and being pushed back, making you lose balance, suck in a breath.

Act… three, was it? Scene five. You don’t know what to say. He continues where you don’t. “like, I mean – okay, I like working with you at night, and I like staying up with you. it… im not scared of the dark anymore because of you. don’t look too much into it, it’s whatever, don’t. don’t make this weird.” He says, effectively making it weird, but you don’t mind. Youre on the stage, pleasantly confused because jean is in the audience with a smile and not with indifference.

youre on the stage and he’s telling you its okay to not be on one, to break character, to join him in the dark of the seats and leave the bright, overhead spotlight that makes you squint against it’s pressure.

The distant wailing of an ambulance sirens plays somewhere in the distance, the honk of cars, the shout of a crow that was somehow awake, the rustling of leaves. And with everything – all of the things outside of the theatre in your head, making you less important, was jean. There was barely any identifier to know he was in front of you except for his silhouette and his voice that had gone quiet. His thumb played an invisible beat on the can.

“when… when I was five,” you started, finally, not knowing what was coming out of your mouth, not following a script. Act three? Which scene was this? Jean was infront of you. you didn’t know how, but your voice held importance. “I was alone a lot. I used to be scared of ghosts. Especially at night. But since I was alone I decided that I had to fill the space up with games. With plays. Talking to myself.” Because that was the only thing that made you important – tied to the ground - but then jean’s hand in on your knee, warm. An anchor. The curtains are closing. “and now I have someone to listen to me. Im not one of the ghosts in my house.”

If jean’s eyes were the only pair that were ever to witness you, you’d let that be. You’d be important in the darkness of your house and not under the all-consuming, weighted spotlights on top of you, shining against your every move, making it more important, but then the lights turn on, all of them at once, making you witness how you’ve made him.

His cheeks are red, warm, the tip of his nose in the same shade, his hair now lit up by the overhead shine, creating an almost gold halo on the crown of his head, a little frizzy and messy from raking his hand through them so many times. but really, its his eyes that make you break the character you were trying so hard to keep, because it didn’t make sense that he was looking at you the same way in the dark, going unnoticed, his gaze soft and now highlighted with a small white dot around his pupil, browns swimming, tethered to your figure. He was looking at you without your performance, without the proof of light to guide him.

Breaking character. Remembering there was a character to break but not caring about it, not in this moment, not when the spotlight has shut down, no-body controlling your lines except for yourself and the air in your apartment, still and full of life, unsaid confessions.

He clears his throat, shifting behind, looking up to the light, realising that there was brightness apart from you. “well.” He says. What else is there to say?

“well.” You echo, but neither of you get up from your seats. There was secrecy in the dark, but now that everything is in front of you, youre a little more afraid. “it’s… lat-“ “you wanna watch a movie?” he asks, interrupting your invitation for him to go back home and away from you despite wanting nothing more than to stay by his side. You smile, unabashedly, cheeks stretching. “yeah.”

“not-“ “ten things I hate about you-“ “no. not that.” He says with a roll of his eyes. He doesn’t get up. His hand is still on your knee. “come on, you liked that movie!” “yeah, for the first two watches. We’ve seen that like, a thousand times now.” “not a thousand. Twenty, maybe.” “close enough.” “which movie, then?” you ask, jean shrugs. He hadn’t thought this far into the moment, and really, he doesn’t mind watching the same movie again as long as you were next to him, letting him sit too close to you, letting your shoulders relax, letting your thoughts ease. He liked you like this, not dancing around yourself, not trying to do something spectacular. You already were.

But he cant say it. So instead he says your name. with purpose, with meaning and weight that anchors you to the ground and brings you back into your body. “youre…not a ghost.” He attempts at something bigger than what he means to say. He doesn’t know how you do it. But you look at him like you know exactly what he means. Words have meaning, culturally or just because they’ve been too much, and you look like you understand them more than anyone else. Reading in between the lines, each letter having its shape and sound being heard even if its quiet.

“thanks to you.” you say. His thumb traces a circle into your skin. Unscripted.

“speaking of ghosts-“ you start, making jean groan. “do not-“ “we should watch conjuri-“ “I will kill myself.” “that’s also what one of the ghosts does to herself.” “jesus fuck.” “come on, its so bad and cliché.” “i… fine.” He concedes.

Your smile is brighter than the lights. It comes naturally to you, the script lies forgotten and you join him in the audience, sitting close.

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein x reader #shingeki no kyojin #jean kirstein x you #aot #jean kirschtein #attack on titan

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sweetstarart · 1 year ago

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Welcome home house interior headcanons!!!

Home looks mostly normal but in every single room something is missing (The kitchen only has one chair, the bathroom has no mirror etc.)

Their indoor walls are the same color as their outside walls and their wooden floors are the same color as the door

Many of Wally's furniture has eyes however they are not alive most of the time

Sometimes Home uses them as an extra pair of eyes

Their favorite piece of furniture is a sofa with eyes at the arms

This sofa can walk if home so chooses!

I've said it before and I'll say it again, almost every floor in the house is made of mattresses!

Everywhere is a cozy place to sleep accept the bathroom

All the rooms are decorated with adorable dog themed stuff and accented with clown and dog stuff (horns, balls, prank stuff, chew toys etc.)

There's food hidden in every room 👀

Barnaby would rather you take your shoes off the door so there's less dirt and mud on the mattresses but he won't rly enforce it. He'll say "Take your shoes off, or dont!" And never mention it again

Sleeps in a rly big dog bed that has a pattern that looks like ketchup (i drew his room before but I wanted to mention it bc it was fun to make ^^)

His bathroom is a mix between a human bathroom and a dog salon (bc I am all about this dog motif)

There's paw prints everywhere even on the ceiling!

The wallpaper looks like his vest

Looks like a Bodega but a lot bigger

Has a freaking grill behind the counter so can make hot dogs

Has tons of stuff in jars behind the counter as well

Has a secret room, thats where he sleeps at night

It's a rly big room and it has everything he needs (including a secret bathroom!)

Sleeps in a sleeping bag in a hammock like a caterpillar in a cocoon

Has absolutely everything in his room

Has a red and orange tile floor!

The wallpaper looks like his shirt

Her house has a green carpet that resembles grass

It even has little flowers in it!

Her wallpaper in her bedroom is pink with little white flowers on it

The rest of the wallpaper matches her dress

Her bed has tons of heart shaped pillows of varying shades of red and pink

Has a massive closet that looks tiny, but is actually a walk in closet!

Has a big cozy love seat ^^

#barnaby welcome home #barnaby beagle #barnaby b beagle #wally welcome home #wh wally #wally darling #howdy welcome home #wh howdy #home welcome home #julie joyful #julie welcome home #welcome home julie #welcome home #welcome home home #welcome home howdy #welcome home headcanons #welcome home hc

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mawrblaidddrwg · 28 days ago

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WIP Wednesday - Sons of the Saiyans

“Please don’t make me go in there. Chi-Chi will never let me see the light of day again if she finds out that I was in a strip club,” Goku was half hiding behind his hands as Vegeta dragged him by his arms towards the black painting building.

“I don’t want to fucking go in there either! I’m not a pervert like R—” Vegeta stopped mid sentence realizing what he was about to say. He swallowed hard, pushing the name down his throat. Still not able to speak it out loud. “But that’s where the people we need to talk to are,” Vegeta said.

“Easy for you to say, Vegeta! Bulma would probably be thrilled to be in there. She probably has a stack of dollar bills ready to go,” Goku grumbled, his cheeks turning crimson. “Chi-Chi is going to throw hot coffee in my face if she finds out.”

Vegeta had to think very long and very hard about anything else other than the visual of Bulma at the Red Ribbon. He took a deep breath in; he had to focus on the task at hand.

When they entered the doors of the Red Ribbon, Vegeta clicked the safety of his gun that was tucked into his jeans immediately. After all, he was the one who ended the ceasefire, so it seemed only appropriate for him to be ready to fire at any moment. Goku put the hood of his sweatshirt on over his head trying to squeeze it as tight as possible to himself, resembling a turtle attempting to hide inside of its shell.

“Kakarot you’re so fucking embarrassing,” Vegeta sneered feeling even more disgusted about having to enter the Red Ribbon with his cousin.

Vegeta braced for the loud, violent sounds of dance music pounding his skull once the door opened, but instead was greeted with the melancholy riffs of How Soon is Now. Several dancers paused upon his entrance into the bar and he noticed the lack of patrons. His black eyes did a quick sweep of the premises and right away he noticed the blonde woman who shot him the last time he was here. She immediately pulled out a shotgun from behind the bar. She was wearing clothes this time and seemed to be the bartender instead of a dancer, adorned in a short acid washed skirt and off the shoulder top.

“We come in peace,” Vegeta said holding his hands up and pretending as though he hadn’t just clicked the safety off of his gun.

“Right, sure. And I’m Madonna. Nice try, asshole,” she cocked the shotgun and aimed it at Vegeta’s head, who held his ground with his hands still up.

“Hi, um Miss. We are here to talk to someone named 17,” Goku said realizing that any impression Vegeta would attempt to make would result in their heads getting blown off.

“You look very familiar,” she said warily, nodding towards Goku behind the barrel of the shotgun.

“My uh—” Goku swallowed the bitter pit lodged in his throat, “my brother, Raditz was a frequent visitor here.”

She eyed him suspiciously for a long while until she seemed to accept his answer. “Are you here to shoot 17’s kneecaps off too?”

“Technically, I only shot one of Gero’s kneecaps,” Vegeta corrected her before she gave him a pointed glare. “But no, that’s not why I’m here. I have a business matter to discuss with him.”

“Fine, hand over your gun then,” she walked around the bar still pointing the shotgun at him.

“I don’t have a gun,” Vegeta lied.

She shot the gun at the floor near Vegeta’s Dr Martens and shattered a black tile from the black and white checkerboard pattern on the floor. Goku nearly jumped out of his sweatpants, but Vegeta didn’t even flinch. The sound of bullets ricocheting being the closest thing he could think of to a bedtime story.

#my fanfic #sons of the saiyans #vegebul fanfic #dbz fanfic

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everlastingdreams · 11 months ago

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The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 23

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: The Wrath Of The Gods

Notes: /

Warnings: !Grief!. !Violence!. Torture. !Sexual Assault!. !Rape Threat!. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +190K

Chapter: 23/ It’s a secret.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lancelot fell over on his side. Your body caved in at the sight of it happening, “No! Please, no!!!”

The Hidden’s enraged voices took over all sound.

You fought to get to him before it was too late to save him with your magic, the Brothers used their combined strength to keep you on the floor.

They forced you to watch him suffer, blood streamed out of his chest fast and began to pool under him.

The many times you had screamed out his name were countless, it was like being in a haze.

It took longer for Lancelot to die than the others, and by the time it was over you sat defeated and drained on the cold tile floor. Your vision was blurred completely by the tears.

This was the Reaper’s way of motivating.

Soran was saying something, you heard not a word of what it was.

Your eyes did not move away from the Ash Man, your friend, that had met a cruel end.

Only when the Reaper knelt down in front of you did you hear, “Bring him back.”

You spat in his face in response.

Soran held back his anger and rose to his feet. “Unhand her.”

The Brothers let go off you immediately at his command.

Soran coldly said, “Change his fate. Or will you leave him to rot?”

With the shock going through your body, you did not trust your legs. You crawled to Lancelot, your knees were in the blood when you got to his side. “Lancelot…”

The leaf pattern that had risen to the surface of his neck, no longer looked green, they looked withered like leaves who had abandoned their tree long ago. A sob cruelly forced it’s why out of you at the sight of it, you couldn’t stop them from flowing out of you anymore, the agony had taken hold on your body in the worst way.

Soran had left the knife where it was, a cruel act.

You could not heal a person when a weapon was still in their heart, the Reaper must have known this.

It forced you to remove the knife from Lancelot’s heart, and doing so was the most awful thing.

The knife fell from your hands, you didn’t want to touch it ever again.

“I am so sorry.” You sobbed and touched his cheek.

It was testing the Reaper’s patience it seemed. “Stop wasting time!”

You felt physically ill, it did not stop you from cupping Lancelot’s face and quietly begging the Hidden for help. “Please… hear my plea… give me your strength.” The green glow overtook your eyes, “And I will be your summoner.”

The Hidden’s power surged through your veins at the offer and it felt almost too strong to bear.

This magic felt wrong, like the Old Gods themselves gave it to you with great reluctance.

Still, you selfishly took it from them. If they decide to punish you for it, so be it.

Your head began to hurt, and as the pain increased blood came from your nose.

Your vision blurred until all you saw was green and all you heard were the Hidden.

The Old Gods had accepted you as their summoner and took control, proving how powerful they could be.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

The cold that enveloped you in the cell had you jolt back into consciousness.

Inside the cell it was dark and it only added to your disorientation. You tried to get up and your legs gave up immediately.

Gods… you were tired.

It felt like you had been trampled over by a horse. You crawled to the bars and held on to one. What had happened after you had lost control to the Hidden? Had they made you do the impossible? One thing was for certain, it had drained you.

An attempt to call out Lancelot’s name failed miserably, your voice was both too weak and too strained, his name changed into air instead of a word because of it.

Your throat hurt and your trousers were covered in blood. His blood…

They had left a meal for you, the soup was still warm. The grief made it difficult to swallow a sip of soup to fix your sore throat.

You drank some, no longer caring if it contained poison, you needed to catch your strength and the warm soup helped your throat.

When you called out for Lancelot, louder this time, you waited for a reply.

The wait lasted and you had never felt so alone. You put the soup down and knocked it over on purpose.

It was as if your body had shut down, there was no hunger or thirst anymore. There was no point to drinking soup to fix your throat if there was no one there to hear your call, at least no one that you cared about.

The Ash Man’s death was numbing.

The only feeling truly registering was of the cold iron bars against the side of your face.

You had not even heard them enter the dungeon and only noticed them when the group of Brothers stood outside your cell.

“She’s finally awake. Soran will be pleased.” These bastards sounded happy to find you alive. Even though they had left you in a cold dark cell unconscious.

The cell door was opened, and you were still too weak to get up off the floor.

It took two of them to tie your wrists and drag you out of the dungeon whilst the others helped.

They weren’t taking you to the dinning hall, it took too long and the route was different.

They opened the door to a bedchamber, the carpet flooring was softer to sit on when they left you there and locked the door. They didn’t even bother to help you sit on the bed, you sat on the floor, looking at it.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when the Reaper walked into the room, your mind was elsewhere.

He spoke his usual madness. “We control the balance of life and death.”

Your thoughts slowly returned to you, “What?”

Soran kept a small distance. “The Weeping Monk is alive.”

Your eyes snapped to him, it didn’t feel real, was he even telling the truth?

Your question was sharp, “Where is he?”

He was deliberately vague. “We are keeping him somewhere else right now to see how well your magic has worked.”

You tried to get up from the floor and managed to do so by using one of the bed posts as support. “I want to see him!”

Soran had not expected the news to fuel you so. “I was right to believe in the legend of the Dawn Folk.”

You hated that he had been right. “This is wrong!”

He stepped closer, hand close to a knife on his belt, “Did you consider it wrong when you brought the Monk back from the dead? No. You are willing to defy the odds if it serves your purpose, just like I am.”

How dared he compare himself to you?!

You were tired of his blatant attempts to try and get you to join his cause. “I will not damn my people for you! The Hidden gave me the power to save a Fey. They make it no secret that they are the gods of the Fey and not of Manbloods. This sort of magic is against the rules of nature itself!”

Soran knew how weak you were after such use of your powers, he took the opportunity to get physically closer. “ In a few decades, a new Brotherhood will be born of the Dawn Folk. Half-bloods, but your legacy will spread and bring victory to the Church. My warrior blood, mixed with yours.”

It was the final insult to your clan, for them to become what had caused their erasure. He would turn them into murderous monsters, they would be able to heal and bring each other back from the dead, an enemy to be feared. Even one Dawn Folk child would be enough to heal the Brothers for years to come and ensure that the Brotherhood grows in power.

He continued to try and act like this was normal. To try and… charm you? Did he truly think you could ever fall in love with him??

He tried to caress your cheek and you quickly moved away, using the bed as support.

You tried to get that idea of of his head before it lead to trouble. “The Church will never accept Feys as allies!”

Soran was unwavering in his belief. “You saw how Father Carden used his Weeping Monk, his name is feared among the Fey. Not even the Holy Father will disapprove when the Dawn Folk rises to bring us glory. The Brotherhood will be undefeatable, Dawn Folk will heal their brethren.”

The danger he posed to you was evident.

You fed him doubt, “What if I can’t carry children? Have you ever thought of that in your ‘great’ plan?!”

He did not care for the torment it would put you through, his eyes were on the goal. “We will try. Your gods are no strangers to using their powers to assure the Fey are surviving. And I know the secret to children of the Dawn Folk. A full moon.”

It was a long kept secret among your people that all Dawn Folk children were conceived on a night with a full moon, that was the key. If the Reaper knew, it meant one of the Dawn Folk must have told him.

Soran had not a glimmer of real compassion in his eyes. “Think of my offer. You could become the most powerful woman in the lands at my side.”

He was truly delusional.

Finally you got back some strength in your legs and used the bedpost as support to try and take some steps away. “The only thing I would become is a monster!”

You noticed how he kept his hand close to the belt that held the knives across his chest.

He tried to reason, “In time you would be seen as a saint. Your children will save many.”

“Many bastards of your Brotherhood!” You snarled.

There was a change in his eyes.

Your instincts kicked in and with the little strength in your legs, you bolted to the door and actually reached it.

But the Reaper’s reflexes were fast, he pushed it shut before you could open it enough and trapped you between his body and the door.

Panicked, you hit him with your elbow and tried to turn around.

He shoved you with your front against the door, and even now he acted like he wasn’t doing anything wrong. “Shhh… do not fight.”

You wished he wouldn’t feel you tremble, but he was too close not to.

Soran seemingly believed you could be persuaded. “I intend to keep you alive, to offer you an existence outside of locked doors, something the Church will not offer you. All I ask is that you surrender yourself to me.”

It was obvious what he wanted, he had made that very clear these past few days.

And you weren’t willing to have this bastard anywhere near you, let alone carrying his children and letting him have your body to use.

You struggled against his hold. “Go to hell!”

He gave a sneer, “Only the Fey are headed there.”

You gave your own back, “I will do one thing for the Dawn Folk. I will survive you.”

Some of his anger slipped out, he took hold of the back of your head and slammed your temple against the door. Hard.

Right afterwards, while tears began to brim in the corners of your eyes, he acted like it was your fault.

“Stop making me take these measures.” He warned and began to move your vest up.

The panic truly settled in when he touched your lower back and the waistband of your trousers.

No. No. No…

You used the strength of your wrists bound together to try and push back to no avail. “Get off of me!”

He coldly dismissed the protest. “It will not take long, stop struggling.”

It only made you struggle more and than a knife was near your eye.

The bastard threatened, “Remember, I do not need all of you. You do not need your eyes to use your magic or have children.”

Oh, you dearly wished that the knife was in your hands instead, you wouldn’t be threatening…

By trying to hold back tears, you wanted him to know that he wouldn’t break you. Not when his hand groped your chest and not when he tried to take off your trousers.

The fury that flared up inside of you was the thing that kept you from shattering.

He did not care when you began to quietly ask your gods to give you their strength.

Maybe he should have cared.

The voices of the Hidden filled the air and Soran all of a sudden stumbled backwards and away from you.

Their aggressive intervention came with the whisper of your title.

~“Summoner.”~

“What are you doing?!” He regained his footing fast but it was clear that he was in pain.

Was that… panic you saw in his eyes?

You had no idea what was happening or what the Hidden had done.

“Brothers!” He called out, the panic audible in his tone.

Two of them entered the room at his call, quite baffled to see their leader half-buckled over in pain.

“Soran-” One tried to speak.

Fury burned in the Reaper. “Take her back to her cell! Now!”

You heard the Reaper curse as they dragged you out of that room again.

The Hidden had kept their promise to you as a summoner. The ancient power of Festa and Moreii was their gift to your acceptance. And what better use for it than making the Reaper regret all he had done to you.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Hours passed in the cell again, and you were yet to see if it was true that Lancelot was alive. Where were they keeping him? Was there another part to the dungeon you had not seen yet? Or was it a lie the Reaper had told to pacify you?

You still felt his hands on your skin, and in the darkness of the cell you could let the tears flow.

Your shocked state, huddled up in the corner, did not alarm the Brothers who passed.

“They say our leader’s steel is damaged.” One whispered.

Steel?… Oh.

“Do you think… she did it?” The other wondered.

They looked in the direction of your cell with great suspicion.

Good. Let them fear.

The bastards were cruel enough to take the torch that provided little light and moved it to a holder on a wall further away.

Their footsteps rescinded and you heard them close the iron door that led to the stairs.

It was both frightening and comforting to be in the darkness alone. At least they left you alone there.

You leaned your head against the wall, hiding far at the end in a corner of the cell.

Another hour passed, then a Brother came over with a stale looking piece of bread.

“Got you something to eat, Fey.” He put it down on the floor, putting his arm between the bars to do so.

When you gave no response and didn’t even look, the Brother whistled.

His pathetic attempt at comforting could not hide the threat under it. “Come now. It will only get worse for you if you behave like this, Soran can do a lot worse than what he wants to do with you. Give him what he wants.”

You didn’t want to waste the little energy left in you on this bastard and continued to ignore his existence.

The Brother sighed. “Can’t say I didn’t warn ya. All you had to do was open your legs.”

It really made it hard to hold your tongue and not call him every horrible name you could think off.

Your eyes never left that strange dirty spot on the wall.

You heard him take a couple of steps away and past the cell, and then a loud thud, it made you jump a little

You looked and saw the Brother face down on the ground.

The steel of a blade had cut across his neck and send the Brother to the floor whilst he bled out rapidly.

The next thing you registered was a sword sinking down into his back and withdrawing from it.

You had not moved a muscle, like your body was frozen in place.

It was strange to know that you knew who stood in the shadows outside your cell just by the way he walked and moved.

The door of your cell was unlocked seconds later. Your mind was slow to process it all and slowly you rose to stand.

Lancelot stood in the doorway, like something had stopped him.

Even in the dark he could see enough of your face to know that you had been crying. Your eyes were haunting.

He spoke your name, gentle and with relief.

You couldn’t believe the miracle that stood before you.

This was the second time the Ash Man had opened the door to freedom for you, this time you were actually glad to see his face.

And only the heavens knew how it gave you a surge of energy strong enough to cross the small distance and breach the line that had once been.

You reached for his aketon and latched yourself onto him, feeling the warmth of his body and considering it a blessing after having it felt cold and lifeless.

Tears ran their path down your cheeks and unto his clothing. There were things you wished to say, but you couldn’t get a word out.

Never before had he felt arms hold him like this, another being willing to blend into him.

After the cold hold of death he had experienced, the warm hold of life was more than welcome.

The Ash Man’s response was delayed by only seconds, then his arms came around and brought you in closer.

No one had ever held you like this before, in an embrace that felt like it could protect you against the ocean’s strongest wave within a storm, with your head cradled in his hand while he vowed that you would have your freedom again.

You weren’t afraid to hold him tight, murmuring into his shoulder. “The Hidden brought you back to us.”

Lancelot couldn’t stop stroking the back of your head with his fingers. “You brought me back.”

It was your voice he remembered pleading for his life.

He explained how he freed himself, “That hairpin was useful indeed.”

With great reluctance you broke away and took the smallest step back, he took the moment to cut the ropes from your wrists.

You noticed the second sword at his side, “Found those?”

He handed it to you. “One for you. I ‘found’ keys as well.”

He found it all on the one that had been guarding the door to the cell they had kept him in. He could only try to pick the lock when the Brother guarding his cell was asleep. The man was snoring like a boar seconds before he died.

Next thing you knew, Lancelot was steering your chin to the side as his eyes focused on your face, “Did he do that?”

He could see the discoloring on your temple.

It took you a second to realize he must be seeing a bruise from when Soran had slammed your head against the door. “He…”

Your throat tightened like a cord had wrapped around it.

He feared the worst, hot white rage boiled in his veins, “What else did he do?”

“Nothing.” You didn’t know why you lied, maybe because it felt humiliating.

By steering your chin again, he made you look at him as he searched your eyes.

It was that that made you try to tell the truth. “He tried to… but the Hidden helped me.”

You didn’t need to say more, he understood what it had meant.

He cupped your neck, the burning fury carried his vow, “I am going to kill him.”

For now, all you wanted was to leave this place behind. “No. We need to get out of here.”

It was like his mind sprung into action seconds before he did. He took hold of your arm. “Stay close to me.”

You let him lead you out of the cell, it was easy to tell that he had some idea as to where he was going. “Where did they-”

He quickly hushed you before it would alert the enemy.

As you followed him, you had to step over the bodies of the Brothers that had crossed his path whilst he had made his way to your cell.

He plucked a torch from the wall and used it to set fire to the wooden pillars you passed.

“What are you doing?!” You whispered.

Lancelot continued to strategically set them alight. “Burning this fort will force them out and offer distraction.”

He steered you along, and away from the fire.

The keys he had taken from one of them were put to use on a door that lead into a narrow pathway, he locked it behind you. He wasn’t guiding you out of the dungeon the way the Brothers had been doing so.

The pathway ended with another door and opened to a dungeon where many rodents had their home.

It looked far worse than the one you had been kept in.

He shared a look, and while passing a cell he pointed to the dead Brother he had left inside of it.

They had kept him there…

You gave a look that told him you understood.

A vague sound came from the direction you had come from, then a loud bang was heard. They were trying to break through the doors that had been locked to keep the flames behind you.

“They know.” Lancelot said and urged you to follow.

He walked faster and led you to a narrow stairwell. You followed him up the steps, sensing he no longer knew where to head now.

He searched through the keys to find the one that would open the gate at the top of the steps and let the two of you out of the dungeon. He was visibly stressed.

You touched his arm, hoping it would calm him somewhat.

Lancelot took a deep breath and focused on the keys, finally finding the right one that unlocked the gate.

It was impossible to ignore how many times he had touched your arm now, as if he constantly feared that you would disappear from his side.

Oh, how things had changed. Once you had hated this, now if felt quite nice.

Past the gate it was a completely different world to be in. The fort was warmer than the dungeon below, but it was also swarming with members of the Brotherhood and you knew that any loud sound could cost you your freedom again or worse.

He wanted to turn to a hallway on the right but you stopped him, that one lead to the large stairs that they had dragged you up to bring you to that bedchamber.

You could see him take a deep breath through his nose.

If he could smell a breeze that would lead him the way to an exit…

Lancelot tilted his head, deciding to take the route ahead instead.

The urge to run out of there was strong, but it would make too much sound. The only thing you could do was walk faster than usual. A door was opened in the distance, Lancelot quickly opened one nearby and upon finding the room empty he moved you with him inside of it.

It was pitch dark inside, the only shimmer of light came from the torchlight passing under the door.

The both of you stood against it and listened.

A group didn’t walk by, they ran by. They must be on their way to the dungeons to find you and help their Brothers.

Lancelot waited a few seconds longer, than opened the door again.

The plan was to continue the path ahead, but there were so many voices coming from there that you pulled him into the direction you had come from.

He took the torches off the wall and set the large curtains in the hallway alight.

You pulled a curtain down and draped it on the floor across the width of the hallway, “Put the torch to it, it will give us time.”

Smart.

He set fire to the curtain on the floor, and then followed your lead.

You remembered a little from the path to that bedchamber, there had been two other stairwells, one that led up and one that led down.

The size of the stairs took up the width of the entire hallway. Such a big fort must have multiple exists, there had to be.

Once up the higher floor, you hurried to the stairwells that were right next to each other.

You were about to begin descending the ones leading down, when you heard voices coming from below.

Lancelot shared a look with you, you were already rushing over to the curtains and pulling one down while he took a torch again.

You let some of the curtain drape over the first few steps, than he put to torch to it.

The castle was already starting to smell of smoke, the old wooden floor would not survive for long.

Lancelot took you by the hand and pulled you up the stairwell that went a floor higher again. “I can smell the sea.”

That meant you were close to getting out of there…

At the top of the stairwell was a heavy wooden door and you could hear the sea at the other side of it.

None of the keys he had on hand worked and the two of you ended up having to use your swords to get the door to budge, then Lancelot put his shoulder against the door a couple of times and broke it down.

Heavy wind and rain almost pushed the door shut in your face again, luckily the Ash Man anticipated it and kept it open. He let you step outside first and you couldn’t care less that the rain was enough to soak through your clothes in minutes.

The rain mixed with the dried blood on Lancelot’s aketon and cloak. The moonlight was the only thing offering light, the sea around you would have appeared as a black abyss otherwise. You were at the top of the castle’s keep, fear had no place in you anymore when hearing the sound of the sea around you and the wind going through your clothes.

Fire was breaking through the windows in multiple places throughout the castle and it was spreading with aggression. For a moment you wondered if the flames were somehow connected to the one who had created them. If the Hidden made your healing magic stronger, who was to say that they did not make their summoner of the Ash Folk stronger as well?

Lancelot stood not far from you, his eyes fixed on the flames down below.

You faintly heard the Hidden, and deep down you knew that the flames were not just born from fire, but from fury as well.

While you were looking around to reach the alure of the castle walls, the heavy door Lancelot had shut behind him was kicked open.

The Reaper had managed to avoid the flames that had begun to fill the hallway where his bedchamber was located, by fleeing for his life he had chosen the same route you had taken.

The sword was already in Soran’s hand, still he seemed surprised to see you and Lancelot there.

Immediately, Lancelot stepped in front of you.

This bastard would have to crawl over his corpse before he would ever get to lay a hand on you again.

The Reaper watched the flames destroy his Brotherhood, then looked at the one responsible for it. “If Father Carden had seen this, he would have given the order for your execution himself.”

Lancelot fought back the response it caused in him and spoke to you over his shoulder, “Go. I’ll distract him.”

You weren’t going to leave his side again, especially not when he was facing the Reaper in battle. “No.”

There was a sword in your hand, you weren’t running from this.

Soran offered a chance to the Ash Man, “Hand her over and I will see past this.”

Lancelot scoffed, a wry smile formed. “I will not.”

The coldness in the Ash Man’s tone put ice to shame.

Soran took some steps closer. “I only offer, because I know how she will suffer once I kill you. Permanently, this time.”

Even now, he was trying to blackmail others into submission, while his fort was burning to the ground and none of his Brothers were there to aid him. The confidence the Reaper displayed worried you, he showed no fear.

Soran got closer, warning you of what it meant to fight him, “I have trained the strongest of men, the Trinity Guard’s skill is no match for the Brotherhood and neither is yours, Brother.”

“I am not your ‘Brother’!” Lancelot’s tone was sharp.

The Reaper spun the sword in his hand. “You’re right. You betrayed us and now you will suffer the consequences of it.”

Lancelot did not let Soran get closer and faced the inevitable battle head on.

You knew he was doing it to try and keep Soran at a distance from you. The Ash Man was walking to the blade to protect you from the monster that wielded it…

Lancelot was the first to lunge and saw Soran move skillfully to avoid the blade.

The Reaper was not the sort to fight fair, the knives he carried on him weren’t there for decoration, he drew one and tried to cut Lancelot’s arm with it.

It was anticipated by the Ash Man, he had seen him reach for it and punched Soran in the jaw after avoiding the knife.

He had to duck to avoid Soran’s sword cutting off his head, the bastard did manage to land a kick against his stomach that send him stumbling back.

You attacked the Reaper, aiming to disarm him.

Soran blocked your sword with his, but you took him off-guard by striking him across the face with your fist.

He hooked his sword with yours, forcing you closer and then he moved his elbow in a quick motion, it struck your jaw and nose.

Only a few ‘things’ of you were necessary to him, others could be damaged… he had been truthful about that.

That blow to the face landed you on the ground, leaving you disoriented for a moment.

Liquid ran over your lips and you realized blood was running down from your nose.

The fight was still going on and you pushed yourself to your feet, feeling some vertigo hit as you did.

Soran was trying to get Lancelot closer to the edge of the keep, undoubtedly to make him fall. He attacked Lancelot, using the sword as a distraction to aim the knife for the heart of the Ash Man again.

Lancelot was strong enough to grab Soran’s arm to prevent it, but the Reaper took solace with sinking the knife into his shoulder instead.

He gave Soran a push, who left the knife lodged where it was.

You saw Lancelot pull the knife out of his shoulder. The knife was worse enough, but you saw where he was standing.

You ran up to the Reaper, sensing what he was about to do.

That rotten filth had lunged at Lancelot with the sword, Lancelot blocked it with ease, but he could not defend himself against the second kick he got from the Reaper.

He lost his footing and stumbled backwards. As a last effort to save himself from falling down to the rocks below, Lancelot held on to the edge of the keep with his hands.

Dangling from the wall, he had little chance to pull himself up again, Soran was quick to go and step on his hand so it would let go.

You charged at Soran and slammed your body into his side to knock him over, when he hit the ground you reached for Lancelot’s arm to help.

You had only took hold of his arm for a few seconds when you were ripped away from him by the Reaper who pulled you away from the edge.

He clearly didn’t want to risk you falling to your death. “Stay away from the edge, you are still needed.”

You elbowed him in the side and broke free, only to be grabbed by him again.

He held on while you struggled against him. “I will let you watch how the Weeping Monk shatters his skull on the rocks below!”

The Reaper was determined in not letting you escape from his sight and steered you with him to where Lancelot was hanging on for dear life.

And then Soran saw that the Ash Man was no longer hanging on to the edge.

Soran had made the mistake of turning his back on Lancelot, his priority should have been with him, not you.

You knew that there wasn’t enough time for you to pull Lancelot to safety, but what you could do was touch his arm and heal his injuries, making him strong enough again to save himself.

Then all that need to be done was distract the Reaper to buy him time. To move in Soran’s grasp so he would not be facing the edge.

Soran must have thought Lancelot had fallen, because it took him three counts before the truth of the matter set in and he realized he had been tricked.

Lancelot’s sword came down on Soran’s arm, and severed his lower arm from his elbow.

It fell to the ground at your feet and you instantly felt the hold on you disappear.

You broke free and created a distance.

The sight of the severed arm did shake your stomach a bit.

Without a sword, and horribly wounded, Soran was powerless when Lancelot stabbed him through the heart.

Lancelot twisted the blade and then withdrew it.

The blood mixed with the rain and it made for a gruesome sight.

Soran fell down next to his arm, and his dying breaths told you that he was choking on his own blood.

The silence that soon followed felt strange. You never thought you would be looking down at the Reaper’s corpse one day.

Lancelot stopped in front of you and wrapped a hand around your upper arm, then he moved closer, “Are you hurt?”

You could only shake your head, to lost for words by what had transpired.

Something on the ground reflected in the moonlight.

Soran’s ring…

“That ring… if we show it to the Fey…” You offered him the idea.

With the ring, they would be more inclined to believe him when he would tell them he had killed the Reaper.

Lancelot went over to retrieve the ring from the severed arm, while focusing his thoughts on something else and not on the fact that he was stealing from the dead.

He pocketed the ring and came back to you. “We need to go.”

You agreed with him on that and together you made your way over to the alure of the castle walls in search of a safe way down to ground. From the direction you were heading into, shouts were heard. You shared a look with Lancelot, knowing that the way back only led to fire.

He knew what had do be done to survive, “We have to jump.”

It was a long fall down into the sea and you weren’t keen on that plan at all, “Are you bloody mad?!”

Lancelot sheathed his sword, took you by the arm and steered you to the edge of the wall in between the battlements. “We jump or we die.”

Even his own faith in the plan seemed to falter for a blink when looking down at the sea that was only illuminated by the full moon.

The voices sounded closer, this had to be done.

“Dammit…” You cursed and sheathed your sword too. “You first?”

Lancelot managed to grin. “You lead, I follow.”

Oh, so now he had no problem with someone else taking charge.

“You’d better.” You warned and stepped to the edge.

It took a lot of your courage to make the jump into the depths below.

The fall went faster than you had anticipated and you hit the water, you swam to the surface right away.

Just as you reached the surface, the Ash Man hit the water on your right.

It were a couple of worrisome seconds until he came above the water as well.

Together you swam to shore and were grateful that the sea was calm compared to the rain and wind.

You crawled unto the sand, tired from the healing and the swim.

Even Lancelot struggled to get to his feet, when he did he looked back and saw the castle burning like the sun in the night sky.

You looked as well, seeing the flames claim all of the fort without mercy.

A deep sigh of relief left you, and for a moment all you focused on was the water moving around your body whilst laying in the sand.

A castle burning in the midst of night was sure to draw attention.

There was no time to rest. Some of the Brotherhood would escape the flames.

Lancelot held out a hand for you to take. “We have to leave this place. Others will see the flames from afar.”

You sighed and let him help you up, vertigo set in again and you had to lean into his side to keep yourself steady.

He did not complain, your magic had been what saved him, “Can you still walk?”

“Depends on how far we are talking about.” You admitted, “Did they take Goliath when they took you?”

He shook his head. “I send him away before they could try to take him too.”

In other words, you had no horse.

Lancelot didn’t let the newfound hope escape. “There have to be horses nearby. They brought us here on wagons…”

“Use your nose?” You made the suggestion.

He deadpanned. “Hard to smell anything besides the ashes in the air.”

Still, he tried to inhale deep and slow a couple of times.

After coughing the scent of smoke out of his lungs, he said, “I can smell a stable.”

“You can smell the wood and horses?” You frowned while letting him help you walk.

An actual chuckle fell from him, light as air, “I can smell the manure, and now with the rain the scent is strong.”

Gods, and you had even asked him to smell it…

The small laugh escaping you felt wonderful. “Lovely.”

His chuckling increased until he composed himself. He helped you walk over the rocks that had washed ashore over time. All of a sudden he stopped you and turned you to look at him, before you could question it, he made you tilt your head backwards to inspect the damage to your nose.

“I wish I could heal you.” He stated and let go, something akin of remorse was in his eyes.

You wouldn’t hear it, he had done more than enough. “I will live. Don’t you worry about me, Ash Man.”

It was one of the few things he could not do.

The sound of horses neighing reached your ears, they must have noticed the fire too. Lancelot helped you walk towards the sound until the vertigo you felt lessened. The sight of the burning fort against the dark sky and between the rain and wind was imposing.

You found the stables at the beginning of the stone pathway that had led to the fort. A wagon with horse stood outside of it and you left Lancelot’s side to go to the poor animal waiting for it’s rider alone.

Lancelot walked by and went into the stables. “Call out if you see or hear anything.”

You gave a nod, and saw how the horse was clearly glad to see someone.

He had left the door of the stables open, a few horses suddenly darted out and headed for the woods. You looked and saw that there were still other horses inside of the stables and that the Ash Man was cutting their reins loose. He was freeing them. Once he was done, Lancelot came out of the stables and joined you by the wagon.

This wagon equipped with a bonnet would be very useful, especially in this weather.

“We are taking the wagon?” You guessed his plan.

He gave a nod, “I’ll ride.” And steered you to the back of the wagon. “Up you go. Careful.”

You almost envied how energetic he was from the healing he had received from you twice, because you barely managed to get yourself up on the wagon, it took two attempts.

On the second attempt, he offered his shoulder for you to use and supported your elbow with one hand while using his other to make sure you didn’t fall.

And that was where it got him into trouble…

His hand was on your back until you were halfway up the wagon. And his attention had been on getting you safely onto the wagon, not on where his hand landed next.

When you felt it touch your rear, you were on that wagon in a blink.

The last thing he wanted was to make you think it was on purpose, that he would use the situation to…

He quickly began to apologize, “Forgive me, I did not mean to-”

You stopped him. “I know.”

The experience with the Reaper was still fresh on your mind, and you could not hide the look in your eyes from the Ash Man. Your mind had went back to the moment, and it took you a few seconds to feel Lancelot’s eyes on your face.

Not a word was shared when you looked at him, he knew…

With some reluctance, he stepped away from the back of the wagon and headed to the front.

You saw him climb up into the seat and take the reins, “Have you ever rode a wagon before?”

No…

“Do not worry.” He eased your mind while trying to sound confident.

He would do the worrying on his own.

Luckily, some of the wagon’s bonnet covered him from the rain as well.

And by the answer, you knew it would be an interesting ride.

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#the weeping monk #lancelot #weeping monk #cursed netflix #weeping monk x reader #cursed #lancelot x reader #weeping monk x you #cursed lancelot #the weeping monk x reader #daniel sharman character #daniel sharman

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tristayranambrosio · 6 months ago

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Day 1 for May DWC 2024 (HoT Fest)

The Tenacity Isle after four days of celebration and the endless cheers and music, art, and storytelling was at last silent. The wee hours of the night winked stary and dark over the grass and tiles of stage and field alike, catching twin moonlights from the disks above, casting the whole space in the comforting hues of blue-grey, and Lilac-white. I smiled at the thought, imagining how even with the Pair of Hosts having retired for much needed relaxation and rest, they still seemed to suffuse their space with the presence of their Music, their movement, their charisma and their selfless support and love… Like true muses. I wondered if they realized that they had the unprecedented ability to inspire art with a simple nod or smile of encouragement to those like me. I wondered if they knew that if it weren’t for their help and patience that so many less would even know they could reach for their potential and seize it… I wondered if the Hearts of Tenacity would ever truly know that they made the world so much richer for sharing it with the likes of me.

There was something bittersweet about the space being empty after being so full, bodies pressed together and moving as one with the lights flashing, smoke, mirrors, ropes, and any number of stage props and illusions all now spirited away leaving only the stage and floor in its marriage of geometric-cosmos offset by the overgrown infusion of the natural spill of grass and vines. It was like the two of them in the best way, every inch from shore to steep cliff peak… the Isle -was- Tal and Kon. It felt like home. I have one of those now, but had I not I could see myself escaping to this space because it was the sort of place I wished had born me… an excuse to claim I came from an island that carried every ounce of love and expression of two souls that could inspire art from nothing… I scaled the cliffs, caution be damned, because I wanted to look down at the space from its highest point… and it would mean my impulse would take root out of the way and not disrupt their stage. I’d waited for all attendees to leave, just to bask in the melancholy that followed the high of sharing the parts of my soul that were too intimate and raw for any other crowd… this audience understood. They always did. For that alone I owe the community they’ve fostered everything. When I finally pushed myself up to the peak… I was breathing raggedly and had to lay on my back to catch up. I placed a hand over my little star and gazed up at the night sky and decided it was probably good that I wasn’t a month further along… I wasn’t sure I could have made it up otherwise. When I rose I noticed the faintest hints of the night drawing closer to an end and begrudgingly accepted I had to head home, leave this strange pocket of reality where it was melodies that ran in my veins, and dance that powered my every movement… I swear to you the place was magical in all the ways I once dreamed a place could be. Like the very soil under my feet drank in our arts absorbing it and committing those emotions to its eternal memory. I scanned the cliff for the right space and smiled when I found it… a simple space that overlooked the stage from behind, a view that saw both the show… and the backstage where we drank the levels of caffeine and hangover cures to make it through to next evening’s rave or performance… where we all stored train conductor hats and so many fireworks we could be considered an explosives threat… Perfect. I retrieved the pair of rosebuds I had brought and set to work, One a deep Navy and Blue Grey the other a Pale Lilac and white. When the first bloomed it would be with blue fire and comet trails, petals almost feathered and patterned with the plums of a show-man… the other it’s mate would bloom in constellations and patterns, and flow with the traces of arcane ley-lines between the starlight. I never managed to have one bloom without the other and that was as it should be. In my garden it took me almost half a year to get them to propagate, but here… their roots basically leapt from their stems to bury deep in the performance saturated and music rich soil. Like they belonged. I sang softly one more melody to the space this year and sure enough… they bloomed in full color, vines spilling down the overlook, dramatic and extra in all the ways the two I had grown them for were. “A million dreams for the world You’re gonna make” Once the roses bloomed I trusted that the two Muses in residence here would appreciate them… because I suspected that removing them would be harder than just ignoring them. The gift was not enough to show them how much they meant to me, after all, how could I show how much their approval and support meant… How could any of us? It was a start. And I left for home with the Tenacity Isle perfumed with Comet Trails, Feathers, Starlight, and Arcane bursts.

@daily-writing-challenge @konietzko-sylvoran @talthorn-sylvoran (Love you guys thanks for hosting this year as always!)

#roleplay #world of warcraft #bard #trist'ayran #daily writing challenge #@daily-writing-challenge

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paperbackribs · 1 year ago

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The Gift (4 of 15) (Witch Steve AU)

previous: Chapter 3 Boys Are Witches Too (Part B) next: Chapter 5 You're Doing That On Purpose (Part A) Ao3 Link - Chapters will be updated ahead of Tumblr Content: 1.5K words, CW: Eddie briefly uses homophobic language against himself.

Last chapter, Steve called back his mother to explain the latest round of the Upside Down and the Hawkins crew heard and accepted Steve's accounting of being a Witch. Now, Eddie wants to have a deeper conversation about what happened when he died.

Chapter 4 Break the Illusion

They had all been talking longer than he had realised, Steve thinks as he enters the kitchen. A window, facing out into the back garden, lets in the soft light of the late afternoon sun, its golden rays spilling over Eddie, creating a gentle halo on the dark cloud of his hair. Eddie's metalhead armor—the oversized black leather jacket, silver wallet chain, and worn jeans—seems incongruous against the peach floral patterns of the backsplash their interior designer installed back in '82.

Eddie has hopped up onto the tiled counter in front of the window, facing the door as he waits for Steve to join him. He’s also returned to that enigmatic expression again, Steve notes, though Eddie’s white Reeboks tap restlessly against the cupboards and his fingers twist at his rings, belying a nervous type of energy. He hopes it’s not him that is making Eddie jittery.

Steve waggles his fingers in a wave from the doorway in an awkward feeling of déjà vu, trying to communicate his harmlessness.

“Why’d you do it, man,” Eddie’s face may not be giving much away, but the tightness in his voice worries Steve.

How does he go about explaining the uncanny to a person who has never experienced it except in short and deadly bursts through a murdering psychopath or a journey through an eerie replica of their town?

Eddie hadn’t acted so reserved before he died, before he was brought back to the revelation that Steve is a Witch. Even in the midst of that damned forest he had been full of irreverant comments while easily swaying into Steve's personal space. The thought that Eddie may look at his white eye now and see the ashen and grotesque Vecna sits heavily in his gut.

Considering Eddie's limited exposure to the variety of mystical present in their world, Steve supposes he can excuse the guy for being tense. A heavy sigh gusts out of him in an attempt to let loose the apprehension stuck at the back of his throat. Determinedly, Steve walks towards Eddie and hops up beside him on the cool tiles, intent on breaking through whatever barrier has sprung up between them.

His hands brush against the back of Eddie’s thigh as he settles on the counter and Eddie whips his head to Steve in surprise, but this time he gets the puzzling sense that it’s like Eddie can’t imagine Steve wanting to be physically close to him.

Steve wonders why that would shock Eddie so much. They had started a tentative friendship, hadn’t they, in the Upside Down? They had shared insecurities and glances of comradery, and silently agreed to protect Dustin as much as they could. They weren’t strangers, is what Steve’s getting at; the experience of the Upside Down was as intimate and bonding an experience as any war.

Maybe that’s how he should approach this, Steve muses, listening to Eddie’s tapping heel create a hollow sound on the blonde wood.

He had gained the best of friends by being honest on a gross bathroom floor the last go round. Perhaps presenting the truth as simply as possible will regain him Eddie’s trust.

“I won’t lie,” Steve promises, catching Eddie’s wide eyes.

“It was risky and pulling you back from the other world was a buzzer beater, even for me. But I don’t think you know what would have happened if you had died. There were so many people, Eddie, who were going to hurt. Who were never going to get over it. I could do this one thing, so I did.”

Eddie scoffs, looking down as he wears at his fingers around the rings, his skin starting to turn an irritated red. “Yeah, I don’t think the local freak disappearing is going to cause that much of a wave.”

“Eddie,” he grabs the other boy’s hand, ignoring the zap of warmth from their connection, the soft humming.

Eddie stills, but doesn’t look up.

“I know you don’t have much reason to have faith in what I can do but believe me when I say that I have the power to See this. And yeah, it would have hurt a lot of people. Dustin…”

Steve has to draw a breath to cover the anxiety he still feels over the tapestries he had unveiled. “Dustin would have been devastated.”

Steve watches Eddie’s lips quirk bitterly through the curtain of his dark hair, his black leather-clad shoulders almost as high as his ears. “Yeah, that shrimp doesn’t know any better,” he says.

“It’s not…” Steve cuts himself off, frustrated. “I’m not great with words, that’s Nance. But it wasn’t only Dustin, Eddie. I didn’t look far, but I Know that there are going to be people who love you so much that they don’t even realise the strength of your loss yet.”

Eddie's fingers tighten around his own and Steve belatedly realises that he’s been holding his hand this entire time. Still, Steve doesn’t drop it, thinking that maybe the connection between them is needed right now, to convey his sincerity.

It’s nice too, the feeling of warmth and affection shared in a simple touch. Other than Robin, it's rare that he has the opportunity to have skin-to-skin contact with anyone these days. At his heart of hearts, Steve is a tactile guy and it's just not the same as when he tousles Dustin's hair or pulls Max in for a side-hug. And, as much as he loves his mother, she never was the demonstrative type, even when he had seen her regularly.

“I think you’ve got a pretty great way with words, Stevie.” Eddie looks up at him from the corner of his one hazel eye, still looking a little tense but something was released with his words, Steve realises, relieved. The knot in his gut unclenching. Maybe being a Witch and deciding to change the tapestry of fate wasn’t going to stop him and Eddie from continuing to be friends.

Steve lets the responding lightness he feels fuel his answering smile, “Yeah, yeah. Don’t tell anyone, they think I’m an idiot. Don’t want to break the illusion.”

“I did too,” Eddie admits guiltily. “Before all this,” he waves his free hand in the air. “I thought you were some empty-headed jock who, while not the worse of the bunch, was certainly a member of the asshole brigade.”

Steve winces, “You weren’t far off.”

“Nah,” Eddie grins, leaning further into Steve's space to teasingly tug on a lock of his hair. He's so close that Steve can smell the warmth of Eddie's cologne and feel the subtle heat of his body.

For a moment, Steve’s breath catches and he’s not sure why.

Eddie seems oblivious as he continues talking, “Turns out you’re a good dude with a head and heart ready to save people. Even people you barely know.” The last of his sentence ends in a deep murmur while Eddie reflects on the bronze strands that he has effortlessly captured between his fingertips.

“Eddie?”

Eddie blinks, letting go to tug at the sable waves over his own ear. He holds up their joined hands. “You don’t mind this?”

“What, holding hands? Robin and I do it all the time.” Robin has a lot of opinions about what she describes as the overly moist and disgustingly warm parts of the human body, but she likes to hold hands just as much as Steve does. Sometimes they’ll watch a film, backs to the opposite ends of the couch but connected by a loose clasping of their fingers.

Eddie sneers, though Steve doesn’t think it’s directed at him. “Not afraid of catching something from the local queer?”

Steve blinks rapidly, trying to remember what that store owner had told him and Robin at their Indy visit. His gaze moves beyond the pale orange tiles that they sit on to the golden amber of the maple island across from them. Steve absently traces the wide space as he cautiously decides on his words.

Drawing on Robin's language and style from when Steve had shared a simliar admission, albeit with far less self-loathing, he shifts back to Eddie, trying to make his eye contact serious and free of judgement, "Thank you for telling me. I’m happy you felt you could share that with me.”

Even as he says the stilted words, Steve feels like an idiot; but his sincerity must have been felt by Eddie because the other man's shoulders drop along with his defensive layer. "Steve,” Eddie laughs. “What are you doing, man? You sound like Twiki.” He mocks Steve with a robotic bidi-bidi-bidi sound.

Steve bumps him with his shoulder in retaliation. “No! I just...” He groans, he really isn’t great with his words. “I have this friend,” he starts carefully. “And we visited this place for the first time last year.”

“Oh, no! Mystical traveller, you've trapped me in a maze of endless possibilities. What riddle do I need to answer to understand your wisdom?” Eddie cries out into the air, bringing both arms up in supplication, Steve’s arm wagging alongside him.

“No, shut up.” Steve keeps laughing, pulling their clasped hands down to rest on the counter between them, before Eddie shakes his whole arm off.

“It was a queer bookstore, and we were talking to the owner about how my friend told me they were gay, and Chris shared about when she outed herself. And it was terrible! Like really awful and she said all she had wanted was someone to tell her that it was okay.”

Eddie’s expression softens and his teasing smile quirks to the side. “That’s really sweet. You’re sweet, Harrington, aren’t you?”

Steve brightens with the compliment even as he rolls his eyes and jumps off the counter, letting go of Eddie as he does. Eddie lets him only to lean forward, elbows on knees, “Sweet little Harrington, looking after his lost lambs and saving the unrepentant satanist of the Hellfire Club.” His eyes are gleaming.

Steve points a bossy finger in his face, pulling it back before Eddie’s mock chomp connects. “Don’t make me regret it, Munson.”

“I think sweet little Stevie, you should just call me Eddie.”

Eddie sticks out his hand and, smiling, Steve shakes it in agreement.

“Oh wait!” Steve drops Eddie's hand, calling over his shoulder as he rushes away, “Wait right there, I’ll be back.”

“Okay.” Eddie sounds amused and a little bewildered.

Steve runs up the stairs two at a time and bursts into his room. Cleaned and folded on his dresser is Eddie’s vest.

He checks it one more time – there are some blood stains that he couldn’t remove from the blue denim for the life of him, but he hadn’t wanted to scrub too hard and wear out the material. He gives it the sniff test as well – smells fine, just like his laundry powder, though he thinks he may have accidentally gotten some of his hair spray on it too. It’ll be okay, Eddie won’t notice.

He runs down to present his offering to Eddie, who's idly drumming his heels against the cupboard again, although now he leans back on his hands while staring up at the ceiling.

Eddie casually glances down to Steve as he bounds into the kitchen, lighting up and quickly reaching forwards as he sees what's in his outstretched hands, “My battle vest.”

Eddie runs a ringed thumb over a dark patch. Steve thinks that the maroon colour could pass for the stain of red wine, but wonders whether Eddie prefers the aesthetic of blood instead — something far more aligned to his admiration for Steve tearing his teeth through that demo-bat.

Nevertheless, he apologises, “Yeah, sorry, I couldn’t get it all out.”

“Nah, it’s fine, Stevie. It’s Metal, right?” Eddie looks up, happy. “Thanks, this has a lot of memories for me. It would’ve sucked if it’d gotten lost.”

Steve feels that warm glow of having done the right thing. He reckons that he may have come out the other end of the Upside Down with another good friend after all.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

Taglist

My taglist is always open, so let me know if you want to be added. Likewise, if you want to be removed, let me know. :) If I've missed you, definitely tell me because it's an accident!

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@everyrandomthing

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@whackyrach

Edit: @mightbeasleep

#witchsteve #steddie #platonic stobin #stranger things #steve harrington #any unexplained references are detailed in chapter notes on Ao3 #eddie munson #paperbackribs writing

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bellyyearner · 1 month ago

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Feedist Kinktober 2024 Day 5: Tea Party

Word Count: 1494

Thankyou to @fatguarddog for the theme list!

College Setting, Stuffing, Weight Gain, Teacher x Student, large feedee x small feeder, GN feedee x femme feeder, implied death feedism at end

Not 100% on the time period but definitely before cars, were talking big cities with horse drawn carriages.

The pompous halls of Brightway Academy are always a sight to behold, high vaulted ceilings adorned with chandeliers descending looking like falling stars as they glistened in the sunlight peering through the stained glass windows. The floor is adorned with complex tile patterns and marble statues in small receded cubbies in the wall. All of this high class beauty was typically filled with a swarm of bourgeois high class individuals, be they students or teachers, their fit bodies strutting the halls as if they owned them.

But for a few of the students, this wasn't the case, the public outcry from the citizens of Brightway about class division had caused the academy to offer scholarships. The things needed to qualify for those scholarships were kept hush hush amongst the dean and her cronies, but regardless the public had accepted this resolution. All the public needed was to see a few individuals from a familiar humble background to accept that class migration was possible.

You were one of 30 that had received the first scholarships and were now in your third and final year, but only a small handful of you were still the same person that had arrived at those academy gates 3 years ago.

Waddling down the long hallway for your bi-weekly meeting with Ms. Yorkstein you already knew exactly how it would play out, your meetings hadn't changed at all in a little over 2 years. It was frustrating to know that your education was different from the rest of the students and the few scholarship recipients that attended normal classes, but still this life was better than the farm you grew up on.

Shuffling step after heavy step towards her office you could hear your footsteps and heavy breathing echo, certainly alerting every classroom and teachers office you passed of your presence. You were on your 6th uniform since arrival and knew you were due for a new one. The white pants with gold trim were stretching at the seams, popping stitches whenever you sat down, your vest was unable to be buttoned without help and the overcoat wasn't long enough to hide your lard ridden gut, causing it to hang out the bottom by multiple inches, the fold at your love handles exposed as well. Mumbling to yourself as you waddled

"huff.. damn it.. how many times.. have I asked... fuckURP... to change the location.. for this..."

Your thighs scrape against each other with each and every step, demanding more and more effort with each passing moment. Belly wobbling as one giant heavy mass, packed full from breakfast and topped off by maids delivering snacks to your quarters before meeting Ms. Yorkstein for lunch.

Once you're within 20 feet of the door Ms. Yorksteins assistant Marie opens the door from the inside, further confirmation of just how loud your struggle has become.

"Ah reader, right on schedule. Leaving early sure does have it's benefits wouldn't you say?"

Still huffing and puffing you waddle right past her without a word, desperate to plop down onto the reinforced couch in Ms. Yorksteins office. Sitting at the table you see her, sipping her tea and taking in your fattened form. She was a tall woman, not that you'd know unless she stood up, most of her height was in her abnormally long legs. You could never get a read on the shape of her body, her full coverage white dress with jade green accents did a great job at hiding her, leaving only her face and hands exposed.

"Reader! It's so good to see you again, I take it you've been well?"

"huff.. yes ma'am..."

"Good.. well, help yourself"

She waved a hand towards the table in front of you, filled to the brim with pastries, confectionaries, and little sandwiches. Knowing you can't leave until she is satisfied you lean forward and grab a few items

"Marie.. be a dear and get some tea for reader here"

Marie does as she's told and starts to fill a cup for you, placing it on the side table within reach as you dutifully swallow the few treats you grabbed, leaning forward to grab more before taking a sip.

After about 10 minutes of the usual small talk and at least 2000 calories in sweets consumed, Ms. Yorkstein set her tea cup down

"Reader, despite your humble beginnings and lack of a formal education I believe that you're perceptive enough to recognize your situation, would you say that's accurate?"

Swallowing the sip from your tea cup and setting it down you reply

"yes ma'am"

"Would you care to inform me of what you think is happening here?"

"well..."

A short pause ensues as you lean forward to grab another pastry, stuffing the whole thing in your mouth and quickly swallowing it before you answer.

"I believe... that not only my size but the size of my friends is intentional... Sure.. a few of us who got scholarships are still thin but... 25 of us growing heavier and heavier week after week.. it's kind of obvious"

Ms. Yorkstein picked up her tea cup for a sip as she pondered your reply

"And why do you think the academy has accommodated all of that?"

Your belly rumbles, churning the sweets atop the rest of the days consumption, causing the exhaustion you feel to weaken your restraint

"...royals have odd tastes?"

Ms. Yorkstein bursts out into a deep belly laugh, spilling her cup of tea as it fell to the floor and shattered, her hands went to her sides as she tried to hold in her bewilderment.

"haHAA... heh, haaa... That was a good one reader, hehe.. ooohhh, well.. I can understand where you got that but no.... Well, yes and no, certainly some royals have odd tastes and hell you might even end up with one but no."

She snaps her fingers and Marie rushes over with a fresh cup of tea, handing it to Ms. Yorkstein, she takes a dignified sip and sets the cup on the table before continuing

"How do you think all of the opulence around you is possible reader? How is it able to be maintained and passed down? How do the empires that are built last across centuries?... You don't let just anyone be involved... Sure the lowly citizens can be mad about their lives all they want, sure they can go on strike, refuse to pay taxes, spread their ideologies of a better and 'more equitable' world.... But if you dangle something in front of their eyes, dangle opportunity for a better life on a fish hook, enough of them will chase it that they forget the power that lies in numbers"

She takes her cup from the table again and drinks what remains, setting it back down to the table

"Grab another pastry reader"

You grab 3, the baffling nature of her explanation distracting you, causing you to grab the amount you actually wanted. She looks pleased

"We take in a couple dozen of you commoners every year, segregate you and domineer you with empty platitudes but tons of attention, some of you get a real education, are treated like real students. But the vast majority of you? You're props... Nothing more, and nothing less. Those promises to your family about you just being oh so busy with school, promises that you'll be employed in another city after graduation and sending gold home to help the family, all of that is just to keep the public complacent. Keep them in the dark. A few commoners getting social mobility is fine, we can control them with ease, that's not an issue. But dozens? Adding up to hundreds in just a few short years? Why the fuck would we allow that?"

It dawns on you just how deep this all goes, at 19 you had expected to only see your family after you had been working for a few years already, after you were established you were gonna return home with riches and move them to a new area, you planned to help out your neighbors. Telling the school that information during the interview process was a terrible decision. You should've been more selfish. Ms. Yorkstein began to speak once more

"And you want to know the best part Reader? I'm not even worried about telling you this, you and I both know you can't walk all the way to the gates, certainly can't walk all the way out of the capital city past the markets into the outskirts. One you don't have the capabilities, and two you're so slow it'd be easy to catch you.... We are only a few weeks from graduation, so now my question to you is, would you like to go the route of 'Royals have odd tastes' or would you rather just keep eating yourself fatter and fatter within the academy walls, we can't feed you forever but we can certainly make your demise come quicker"

#violet stories #feedist kinktober 2024 #feedist kinktober #feedee story #feedism writing #feeding kink #feedee encouragement #weight gain story

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cocrante · 8 months ago

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I Start Over With You

[SOLANGELO FANFIC]

summary: After the great battle against the forces of Gaea, Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter had formed a long-lasting alliance. Everything had gone well, and everyone was ready to start anew. This included Nico, who, after confessing his feelings to Percy, was prepared to open a new chapter in his life—perhaps the happiest one the Fates had ever written.

note: the chapters will be updated every Wednesday. If you want to read upcoming chapters of the fanfiction in advance, I invite you to follow me on Patreon. Subscribing is not necessary, these chapters will be added for free on the platform on Mondays and Fridays. Following me there is just a kind and free gesture to support my work c:

Reblogs are highly appreciated c:

[CHAPTER 14]

THE CAMP JUPITER WAS JUST AS HE HAD LEFT IT, with the only difference being the new temples being erected, following the architectural patterns indicated by Annabeth. The Roman camp couldn't look better. It still bustled with nature spirits, lares, and fauns trotting through the camp's streets, occasionally hindering a hero in training. Some demigods strolled through the paths, discussing the upcoming war games. Others stopped and pointed at Nico, wondering why he had returned. With all eyes on him, he headed towards where Reyna was waiting.

The hall was bright, the tiles reflecting the sunlight, and the marble columns giving the building a regal appearance. Sitting there, waiting for his arrival, was Bellona's daughter, his adventure companion and trusted friend. She stood up, walking towards him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome back to camp, Nico" Reyna greeted, leading him outside. "I found a decent place in the city, and you can come to camp whenever you want" she said, heading towards the Roman city that mimicked the style of the Italian Rome, with its warm and round colors, making it almost feel like being on the same European peninsula.

Bellona's daughter told him - during the journey - that things at the camp had improved since the new agreement with the Greeks. She had received messages from Camp Half-Blood that summer, announcing that in the fall they would receive visits, so combat techniques could merge along with culture and lifestyles. "It wasn't easy" the girl explained. "Many are tied to the Mos Maiorum, the senate itself started by saying it was sheer madness" she sighed. "But even they cannot go against the will of our gods" Nico nodded, understanding the difficulty of accepting something different. He had been through it himself, and only the gods knew how long it would take for others to accept him as a camp member.

"But enough about the camp" Reyna said, noticing a certain silence from her friend. "It's been a while since we talked, besides that conversation the other day"

"I've been busy" he briefly recounted the past few weeks at Camp Half-Blood, mentioning something about Apollo's son, avoiding telling her about the Capture the Flag game and especially the kiss on the hill. The girl didn't make a sound, just let him tell, noting a slight and thinly veiled smile every time he mentioned Apollo's son. "He's a good friend" he concluded, letting out an imperceptible sigh.

"Just a good friend?" she dared to ask, as she had seen well beyond the tough exterior that protected him.

The boy took some time before responding. "Well, yes" he confirmed, though not entirely convinced. Reyna simply pursed her lips, not asking him more about that boy. If he wanted to tell her, he would, she thought. "Okay" she said, stopping in front of a building. "First floor. Your school is just a block away, you can't miss it. I've also taken the liberty of getting your books"

Nico was truly speechless; he hadn't imagined she had done him such a big favor. "Thank you, Reyna" he looked at her with deep gratitude.

"Don't mention it! For anything, you know where to find me" she handed him the keys, giving him a final pat before returning to the Roman camp.

Nico twirled the keys between his fingers, anxious and terrified to go in. He opened the door, dragging his suitcases behind him, climbing up to the first floor. There, he entered the comfortable apartment Reyna had found for him. It was a bright and warm room, the walls painted in a matte yellow and divided in half by charming Roman motifs. It seemed completely the opposite of his gloomy cabin.

Having found the bedroom, he unpacked his belongings there, hiding the box he had taken from camp in a drawer. He put away all his clothes, the few that he had, in the wardrobe, and having emptied the suitcase, he flopped onto the bed with a sigh. He didn't stay there for long because as soon as he touched the mattress, someone rang the doorbell, forcing him to go and answer. It was a real joy when he realized it was his sister, who had just knew about his arrival at camp. The two greeted each other warmly; Hazel had been missed more than anyone. Along with her was her boyfriend, the son of Mars, who seemed to have grown a couple of inches during those weeks.

Frank gave him a pat on the shoulder, quite happy to see him again. They had never really talked, but he was still part of Hazel's family, and that was enough for Frank to like him.

The son of Hades invited them both into the still-empty apartment, making them comfortable in the living room. He had a lot to tell his sister about those weeks at Camp Half-Blood, avoiding dwelling too much on Will and what had happened before arriving in New Rome. He also told her about Jason, who seemed to have completely rebuilt his life. "I'm really happy about that" exclaimed Hazel.

"Piper is such a good girl, those two make a beautiful couple" she told him, with Frank nodding in agreement.

"How's Percy?" asked Frank. The son of Hades just shrugged.

"Well, at least he hasn't gotten into any new trouble" he then told them about the absurd climbing wall challenge, of Jason being determined to win and not faint every two seconds.

The three spent the afternoon together, inviting Nico to join them for a bite to eat. The son of Hades agreed willingly, following them outside the building.

There were still many things Nico wanted to tell his sister, all carrying the same name. However, it was difficult to talk about them with Frank around.

They mostly talked about the Roman camp and how it had evolved in such a short time, telling him the same things Reyna had hinted at earlier: some problems that had arisen at the beginning, the decision to build more temples dedicated to minor and almost forgotten deities. "You should have attended the council" sighed Hazel, squeezing Frank's hand. "The Senate didn't want to hear any reason. According to them, we had to continue with our traditions" she briefly recounted what had happened after their return to camp.

"Some demigods thought the same, obviously" explained Frank. "Centuries of tradition thrown out the window" he grimaced.

"But even they had to bow to the will of the gods" Nico guessed. The son of Mars nodded.

"Thanks to the gods, they opened their eyes, our societies cannot survive if we don't collaborate. This was evident even this summer" added the boy, getting a nod of approval from Nico.

Frank began to speak freely, monopolizing the conversation a bit. He cared deeply about New Rome now that he had become praetor, telling them about the boring Roman bureaucracy that Jason had mentioned that morning, the holes to fill, the people to meet, all the supervision needed during the construction of the temples. "We could rely on Annabeth, she's a real architect!" exclaimed the boy.

The conversation gradually dwindled with the setting sun, coloring the green hills and the tips of the tallest buildings. Under that light, the city of New Rome seemed like a replica of the authentic Rome. "See you around" said Frank, bidding farewell with a nod.

"Of course" replied Nico, finally managing to spend five minutes alone with his sister, who had not missed the agitation and urgency to talk only with her. She was really good at reading body language. "Let's talk about what you forgot to tell me tomorrow, okay?" the girl smiled kindly, speaking near Nico's ear, who simply nodded and thanked her.

She walked away, the smile on her face leaving him in the driveway, which was slowly darkening.

The son of Hades returned to his apartment, finally lying down on the bed he had longed for all day. His mind was strangely empty, yet so full of thoughts that he didn't exactly know which ones to grasp.

He ran a hand over his face, forcing himself to get up, put on pajamas, and set the alarm for the next day. It was while turning the red hand that the air seemed to fold on itself, gathering the light like many small tiles, then opening into a window of light. On the other side, there was a brightly lit bedroom, although it was clearly night outside. The walls were covered with band posters, along with some photos and concert tickets now weathered with time. At the center of that window made of light was the boy who had been at the center of his thoughts all day.

"Hey!" Will was radiant as usual, but his smile faded when he noticed that Nico might be getting ready for bed. "Did I disturb you?" he hurried to say, regretful for not being able to call him earlier. Nico shook his head, placing the alarm clock on the nightstand.

"No, it's fine" he replied, unable to hide a certain embarrassment.

"Okay—" he tried to smile, but it was clear that something was wrong. All day, Will had berated himself for giving him that cheek kiss; he shouldn't have done it. Who knows what Nico thought now. "So, school starts tomorrow, huh?" he said the first thing that came to mind, even if it was rather mundane and predictable. Nico sighed, still not believing that he would really be picking up paper and pen again. "Yeah" he replied. "I'm kind of nervous" he hinted at a smile, sitting on the bed.

"It's normal" Will tried to cheer him up. "At least you won't have the fear of being expelled eight times" he joked, tilting his lips sideways. Nico stared at him, realizing that for the entire time, that was the first time he had looked him in the eyes.

"Then I guess they'll be more prepared for hyperactivity and dyslexia issues there" the boy continued. Nico struggled to imagine Will with such problems—at camp, he seemed like such a normal guy that Nico often forgot that, like most demigods, he suffered from hyperactivity and dyslexia. Life in mortal schools was often challenging.

"Do you start tomorrow too?" Nico asked then, breaking his silence.

"Yeah" Will sighed. "If it weren't for my friends, it would be a torture" It wasn't the first time he had said that, even during the days spent together at camp, Will always talked about his school and how heavy the schedules were, thankfully lightened by his two friends he had made during the past year. "Did you already get the list of extracurricular activities?" he asked, just to liven up the conversation. "It arrived yesterday, mom already signed me up for that music course. May she be blessed, I wouldn't know what to do without her" he said, unable to hold back a clear laugh. Nico thought about how it must be to have a mother; the only memory he had of his was of a faded smile, and maybe it wasn't even real. At that thought, he became saddened.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Will asked, concerned to see that dark expression.

Nico simply shook his head, coming out of his thoughts. "Nothing" he lied, trying to look at something other than Will's blue eyes. "Just tired, I guess" he said, trying to convince him with that excuse. Apollo's son tried to believe it, without delving too much into the details. "When does the course start?" he asked the next moment.

"Next week, while auditions for the choir are this Friday" he replied, and at that thought, he immediately became enthusiastic.

"A smile will be enough to get you in" Nico weakly smiled, imagining him auditioning for the school choir.

"Do you think so?" Will laughed.

"I think so" Nico answered so seriously that Will didn't know if he was really joking or being serious. He decided to take it as a joke.

The two continued to talk for a while, avoiding touching on the "hill kiss" topic. It seemed that both were fine with it, yet they couldn't deny to themselves that after that morning, a kind of strange tension had arisen. Will would have liked to explain, give him a reason for what he had done, yet something prevented him, perhaps the current situation. He thought that maybe it would be more appropriate to talk to him about it in person. Yes, he would do that when he returned to camp. However, he had not taken one thing into consideration:—"Remember during the game in the woods?" Nico suddenly reminded him, wanting to get that thought out of his mind that had been buzzing around all day. Will swallowed, hoping he hadn't heard it. "Yes" he replied, torturing his lips.

"You were about to tell me something" Nico continued, hoping he could talk to him about it now. Apollo's son nodded; he didn't want to tell him like this, via a message, but actually, at that moment, there was no one who could interrupt them. Will parted his lips, ready to tell him the truth. "Well, the thing is that..." he stammered, trying to find the right words, and as he struggled, the message was slowly dissolving.

"You'll tell me tomorrow" Nico hurried to say.

"Goodnight, Nico," he said just as quickly, before the window of light disappeared, leaving the son of darkness in the shadows.

"Goodnight, Will"

[CONTENTS]

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#🖇️ : fanfiction #i start over with you ☀️☠️#solangelo #will solace #nico di angelo #riordanverse #percy jackson #pjo #pjo fanfiction #camp halfblood

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