#skylin is tagged for this but the main ship will actually be rexwalker

[faellain]

The Eldritch Solarpunk Isekai

Summary: Anakin wakes up in strangely colored dark forest after seemingly dying. But is everything as it seems as he discovers more about the past of this world? Better yet, can he do it without dying to one of the cults running around?

Snippet 1

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when anakin wakes up, it's in a forest. which is, admittedly strange as he was certainly in a car just a minute ago. instead of city skyline, though, a canopy of trees with moss green trunks and midnight blue leaves hang above him. little silver starfruits hang above his head. at first, he thinks the odd coloring might be the result of a concussion, but when be lift his head to feel the back of it, there's no crack, blood, or bump to be found. it's not even sore.

through the trees, he can see that the sun is out, but beneath their shade it's almost night. above him, a starfruit sways and plops off the tree, bouncing off his stomach and rolling along the grass. another equally strange bit of flora, the grass is short, but soft as velvet. even in the shade, its teal hue is obvious. anakin plucks a blade of it, twirling the small grass between his fingers.

he takes a few deep breaths, trying to remember what happened. a soft ringing echoes in his ears, a terse frown prominent on his face as he pushes through the headache to his memories. 

/ /

“i take you in, i feed you, clothe you when no one else would and this is how you repay me?”

anakin hates him. disgust boils up inside his stomach like a witch's cauldron, bubbling over with dark magics. his adoptive father doesn't have to care any more. he has long since aged out of the system and, legally bound or not, anakin is not his son. there is nothing between them.

so why does dooku keep coming back?

“you didn't have to bail me out,” anakin reminds him, letting his head thunk against the tinted window of the jet back rolls-royce dooku had been favoring lately. all dooku bothers to do is scoff, slipping quickly into silence after.

new york's skyline creeps along in bumper to bumper traffic. honking horns scream into the already noisy city's atmosphere. next time, he'd go scrapping in staten island. being bailed out in manhattan during rush hour sucked. the cops might even look the other way on staten island. maybe give his prosthetic a sideways glance or sneer at his long hair, but anakin blended in there.

the best scrapping was in the bronx. anakin found the strangest things there. perhaps it was the age of the borough, it's old age seeping luck into the soil that let anakin find the parts he wanted to use for his latest creation or bit of fiddling. for now, he had to steer clear of the bronx. one too many arrests had put his poster up in the police department.

any scrapping would be delayed. if anakin knew surly old dooku, and he did, then his father was about to drag him out two and half hours to the catskills rather than make him stay in dooku's brooklyn two level high rise or pick up anakin's currently impounded powder blue 1992 mercury cougar that he'd bought for one thousand even. upon getting a good drive with her, he named her twilight. she was the only thing he owned besides the clothes he stored in her trunk and the bits and bobs of metal he played with in his pocket. when he had been arrested this time, the officer who pinned him broke his phone. an old pink motorola razr, it's worn hinge snapped the phone in half when anakin had been pushed to the ground. dirt had gotten up his nose, but all he could think about was the feeling of the snap followed by the crunch of his thigh decimating the rest of the phone.

“i want to go to the impound lot to get twilight,” he finally says to dooku’s disappointed silence that had been growing.

“i will not pay to free your death trap,” dooku replies, “we are going up to the mountains. you can earn some honest money doing handiwork and then we can go back and get it. or better, sell it and get you a better one.”

“twilight runs and she's warm in the winter,” he retorts. 

dooku goes uncomfortably quiet in his seat. being reminded that anakin lives out of his car always bothers him. it's why anakin brings it up— making dooku feel bad is at least a minor victory.

hesitation follows as dooku flexes his hands on the steering wheel, “we could always stay in the mountains. the handiwork is good there and i can do that— what's it called? telework?”

“you know i hate the fucking catskills,” anakin snarls at him, “and i’m not putting myself in a position where i owe you more than i already do.”

dooku bites right back, “you had every opportunity, but you insist on throwing everything away!”

“i came with a record and it was never going to go away!” anakin snaps, “don't act like i can just change my life.”

“you can. you just don't want to.”

indignation is a hell of a drug. and dooku had just injected it directly into anakin’s veins. anakin sucks in a breath to really scream, really lay into the reality of his life to this old man who thinks his shit doesn't stink when a deep, loud horn blares. red light glows at the top of the windshield. his head whips right. a semi-truck in the middle of the fucking city. and dooku is mid-blowing a red light. anakin slams his hands onto the wheel, trying to turn it up on the sidewalk.

“LOOK OUT!”

beneath the sound of the horn sounding a second time, anakin can hear dooku yelling at him not to grab the wheel. glass shattering comes next, but anakin can't hear after that. everything is dark.

/ /

if that was a car crash, then this is the weirdest hospital he's ever been in. long slow breaths are doing little to truly calm him down, but he can't do anything more than that. adrenaline and anxiety are forcing him into becoming a heavy weight, sinking into the velvet grass.

maybe it was some weird experimental hospital dooku had requested for emergencies. he doubted it, but that was a better thought than thinking he was in hell. because there was no way anakin skywalker was getting in heaven. purgatory at best.

he lifted his prosthetic hand, its 3d printed whiteness stark in this blue forest. while his arm had moved, the hand had not— out of battery. it was stuck in ‘holding a steering wheel’ position. a soft groan escaped him. he had just charged it! it was the only thing dooku had ever given him that he kept. 

anakin finally sits up, blood going cold at how abruptly realization hit him. no hospital would have left his prosthetic on. and there was no way, in reality, for him to end up in a forest when he was just in the urban jungle of new york city. especially one that was midnight blue with silver, sparkling starfruits. plus, if he was dead, why would he take his prosthetic with him and why would it be *out of battery*?

wherever he was, it was real.

“toto, i got a feeling we're not in kansas anymore,” he murmurs in an effort to make himself laugh. it doesn't work.

tree leaves could be a lot of of colors, but he was pretty sure the color of the night sky wasn't one of them. he let his hand wander parts of his skin, but he could tell he wasn't injured. even his legs, bare from the knee down in black cargo shorts, seemed fine. moving his joints, he stretched making sure he was okay. a long suffering sigh escapes him.

there was no way to determine north outside of what little glimpse he could get of the sun. at least the big yellow ball of light looked normal. its slow movement looked like a descent so anakin decided it was headed west. 

while he had never been a boy scout, anakin had run away before and knew how to orient himself. he quickly turned to his right. when in doubt, head north. as he did though, he saw something in the distance. through the leaves, shadows were moving. 

no. not shadows. coming toward him was a parade of figures, about ten in total, all wearing midnight blue cloaks that hid them among the leaves. beneath the cloaks all of them seemed to have silver clothes that glimmered from the inside if they caught the light. anakin's throat dried immediately, particularly feeling the arid weather infesting his flesh, cracking his esophagus. he had seen enough horror movies to know where this was going. 

south it fucking was then.

anakin takes off running in the opposite direction. a quick thought made him duck east under some low branches. old habits died hard. but he could still hear the footsteps behind him. looking back never got anyone anywhere, though. when you looked back, you slowed down and if you slowed down you got caught. despite the burn in his muscles, anakin pushes on. no way was he going from holding to wicker man victim. 

trees thin out as he runs. what would happen once he left the woods? would the figures stop at the edge or pursue? each beat of his heart was thunder roaring in his chest, pushing pulsating blood through his ears making him hear his heartbeat like a storm. running from cops or crooks was one thing, a cult was another. all he could do was press onward. he clearly hadn’t been too deep into the woods, but that didn’t mean he was anywhere near civilization. 

yet, he could never expect just what he would find at the edge of the forest– the edge of the world. 

anakin does his best to slide to a stop, but the dirt has little hold and a lot of give, especially in his old worn sneakers. a shout escapes him, turning his throat raw as he flails, falling over the side. another quick thought saves him. he turns, grateful suddenly that he’d been holding the steering as he’s able to get both of his arms on the edge of the world. his feet kick in the open air, eyes facing a white rim around the forest. wind whips at at him, threatening his grip as he grits his teeth to try and pull himself up. 

below him, when he looks quickly to see what falling would entail, is a vast expanse of dark, deep ocean. waves lap at a translucent… trunk of sorts that is supporting the forest. while it appears as a unified whole, when anakin squints, he notices that there are several pieces twisting together like a tight braid. he squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his head to the rim as he struggles. maybe he really shouldn’t have skipped the pull up bar days at school. 

“you fool!” he hears someone shout. 

if it’s dying or cult, anakin will take the cult. 

“help!” he shouts, trying to make sure the people know exactly where he is. he did not survive a car crash just to die by hitting an ocean a skyscraper’s height below him. 

two hands grab his own, a sigh of relief finally escaping him as he’s dragged up and over the edge of the forest. bruises form as his hips hit the band, but he couldn’t care less as he’s back on solid ground. he heaves, nearly tempted to wretch, as he pushes his hands against the still velvet, still very teal grass. thank fuck. oh, than fuck. 

“what is he wearing?” he hears one hooded figure ask. 

“what is on his arm?” another asks. 

anakin looks up at them. they are now the holders of his fate, after all. if he believed in anything, he’d be praying they weren’t serial killers. hopefully, they were just run of the mill hippies committing tax fraud or something. the hooded figure at the front, the one who had grabbed his hands was silent, looking at him skeptically, if the tilt from beneath the hood was anything to go by. 

that one’s cloak was different from the others. silver embroidery of the moon in different phases lined the edge of the hood and on the cuffs of the sleeves. despite its simplicity, it was beautiful to look at. still, the hoods did a good job of keeping the wearer’s face in shadow. anakin could see little more than the man’s chin, peeking out from the hood. maybe he really should start praying. 

“are you alright?” the figure asked. 

anakin nodded, “think so. you scared the shit out of me.” 

“that explains why you ran,” murmured the figure, who anakin figured might be the leader. 

that was when the leader removed his hood. slowly, it slipped away from his head. most likely, he had removed it to show anakin that he was just an ordinary person. yet, it only made anakin’s stomach bottom out. his breath shook as he stared up at the figure. lush brown hair spilled out as the hood came down, two bright blond-white locks hanging down at the front. the face was soft, but brought him no comfort. all he could do was wonder if his eyes were playing tricks on him. 

“ferus???” 

/ /

moving out of dooku’s home had been a godsend. able to finally be free of him, anakin felt lighter. there was a world of possibility at his fingertips. all he had to do was work around his record, find a job, and get his life on track. a fuck up was no longer who he had to be. he could be the man his boyfriend saw in him.

ferus olin was uppity and smart and didn’t take any of anakin’s shit. at first, he’d hated it. dealing with ferus made him want to scream. getting to know each other though, throughout high school, resulted in a mutual respect that grew into friendship that had blossomed into love. after all the shit he’d lived through, after dooku’s hollow gestures, he had someone who loved him. believed in him. saw the good no one else could see.

until, of course, that all fell apart too.

they had lasted a year. living together was very different than being high school sweethearts it seemed. despite his best efforts, anakin couldn’t get a job. scrapping was easy money, if illegal, and anakin was good at it. ferus was flabbergasted the first time anakin got arrested. they worked together to try and get anakin’s record expunged, but anakin knew they needed money. he thought he’d be more careful, but he’d gotten caught again. ferus didn’t give him a third chance.

“you don’t want to change. your grandfather’s right.” 

“you’re just like every other rich fuck who thinks that they know! god, what the fuck did i ever see in you?”

even as he slams down twilight’s trunk with a suitcase of clothes and toiletries, knowing ferus thinks he plans to go back to dooku when anakin knows he can never do that, he can still hear the echoes of a fight from months ago ringing in his ear. all he’d done was come to pick up the last of his stuff. but he can feel ferus’ eyes on him, watching him.

once they’re gone, anakin heaves a sigh of relief thinking that it’s over, that the chapter of this part of his book has ended. instead, as he’s about to climb into the driver’s seat, ferus slips out of the apartment building and stalks over to him, standing on the passenger side of the car. chilly air makes ferus tug a jacket tighter around his arms. 

“i still love you,” ferus tells him, “and if you do change, and i haven’t moved on, you know i’ll welcome you back with open arms.”

anakin frowns, “you think you’re so much better than me. you always have. i’m not your charity case.”

ferus shakes his head, “it’s not like that at all.”

“bullshit!” snaps anakin, throwing up his hands, “love is supposed to be unconditional! you’re not supposed to throw me out if you still love me.”  

“my love is unconditional,” he replies, the blond locks of his hair moving in the slight breeze, “but i love myself too. and i have to do what’s right for me.”

anger rears up like a bucking horse inside anakin. he feels like he could blaze as hot as the sun, melt ferus alive. instead, he bangs his fist on twilight’s hood, leaving a dent that he’ll have  to bang out later. his ex-boyfriend jolts at the sudden violence. while the anger doesn’t go away, the reaction makes anakin settle a bit, resorting to harsh glares and frowning.

“you’re selfish then,” anakin tells him, “and i hope you regret making me leave.”

when he slams the door closed behind him, he doesn’t look at ferus in his rearview. looking back makes you slow. it gets you caught. instead, he looks forward. in the four years since that day, anakin has not once returned to queens. he doesn’t dare. ferus could always be anywhere in the city, but queens had been the home of his love and his happiness. two many good memories turned sour there. just stepping over the borough line felt like trudging into solid, spoiled milk. there was no good man ferus saw, after all, just the man anakin pretended to be for him. anakin was anakin. that was that.