Miaou Miauuu

His gaze rested somewhere over your shoulder, unfocused, as though whatever occupied his mind was infinitely more interesting than the story you'd been telling for the last ten minutes.

Silence settled, broken only by the quiet scrape of silverware against ceramic as you pretended to enjoy the food.

You weren’t going to make a scene. You weren’t. "...Are you even listening?"

"I am," he said, smiling to himself. He had been doing that often today.

Fucking liar.

You slowed down eating, remembering the hour you’d spent on your make-up, doing it and then taking it off and redoing it. Knowing your high-strung mood was able to ruin the night, you’d begun the night much more casual, but when you realized he wasn’t going to talk, you’d grown nervous and started talking like a blabbermouth. 

Maybe your story didn’t matter anyhow, especially to a man like him, but the fact he couldn’t even scramble up the tiniest bit of interest was killing you here.

If you ranked on his priorities, it must not be very high.

You gave a small laugh, trying to brush it off, still sounding very hurt even to your ears. “You don’t even know what I said.”

A pause.

He blinked innocently, and held steady eye-contact, as if compensating for the rest of dinner where he’d stared everywhere except at you. You even wore a push-up bra tonight and a plunging neckline to avoid having this happen again, but it seemed the days where you could look nice and have his full undivided attention on you were done. 

Now he came home, showered, threw on some fucking graphic tee-shirt- it bothered you greatly- while you were looking overdressed. “You were talking about someone misunderstanding you. Someone from your watercolor class.””

You stared at him.

Watercolor class.

You weren’t deaf. You’d heard the slight derision he’d unintentionally added when saying those words. How lowly you were. Boring him with a story about being slighted at a watercolor class. He didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t care.

You picked up your fork, before immediately placing it back down next to your plate, and realized how this scene looked, how civilian, how boring. He had to be restless out of his fucking mind, sitting here with you. The fact he’d even deigned to show up, to grace you with his time, and here you were, starting a domestic dispute with ravioli in front of you. 

You couldn’t help yourself. “You just guessed.”

He had the gall to sigh. “I didn’t.”

“You did.” 

"I didn't guess." Chrollo’s voice was patient. Similar to the way someone speaks to a child throwing a tantrum over nothing. He’d been doing that often lately, and it only made a shiver run down your spine. "You mentioned it three times this week. The instructor who kept correcting your brushwork in front of everyone."

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Had you? You couldn't remember. The online watercolor class was something you'd taken up back then to fill the hours when he was gone, which was often, which was most of the time, and when Chrollo came back smelling like places you'd never see and people you'd never meet, you talked. Filled the silence. Apparently about your brushwork and the people who couldn’t appreciate it.

"You think it's stupid," you said flatly.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." You said, feeling the edges of your mouth pulled down. “It’s not hard to figure out. Your face practically screams it.”

Chrollo set down his wine glass with a soft clink. The candlelight caught the cross on his forehead, made it look almost holy, which was laughable, which was insane, but here you were, upset that your boyfriend (was he your boyfriend? He'd never used the word) wasn't paying enough attention to your cleavage at dinner.

"You're being difficult," 

"I'm not trying to be.” You said, looking in a different direction just so he wouldn’t notice the twitching of your lips. If you cried, this night truly couldn’t be saved anymore. He wouldn’t touch you when you cried, and it wasn’t like he fucked you as often as he used to. “I’m just a bit upset.”

"Is there any need to be?"

God, you hated when he did that. 

Made you feel like you were the one being unreasonable when he was the one who'd disappeared for two weeks without so much as a text. Last time he hadn’t even woken you up to say goodbye.

"Forget it." You reached for your wine and took a longer sip than was probably advisable. "Tell me about your trip."

He mirrored taking the wine glass, but took a much more modest sip. "You wouldn't find it interesting."

"Try me."

"No."

Just like that. No. Like the conversation was a door he could simply close, and you didn't have the key, had never had the key, would never be given the key because you weren't good enough, weren’t smart enough, weren’t in-group enough, weren’t-

You weren't enough. 

That was the thing, wasn't it? You saw it in the way he looked at you sometimes, when he thought you weren't paying attention. Like he was constantly calculating your value and finding the sum wanting. You tried to meet his standards every day, but like your adoptive mother back in Meteor City had repeated to you daily ‘the stench of a gutter rat would always follow you’. 

Chrollo had managed to prove otherwise for himself, but he was an exception.

You weren’t.

Just a gutter rat wearing perfume. 

"You know what?" Your laugh came out brittle, sharp-edged. "Fine. No problem."

You turned away, fingers trembling as you fixed your hair. 

"I have someone anyway," you said, the words arriving fully formed, if a bit higher than your normal pitch. "Someone who actually wants to listen to me."

When he didn't respond you added more bullshit.

"He's in love with me, fully. I didn't think you'd mind, since you're gona most of the time anyway." You weren't sure if you were going too far, but your mouth kept spouting out words. "We've... had sex. Here."

That got his attention. For a second you wondered if he’d get mad, furious, even. He’d demand to know who, and you’d hold onto the lie for as long as it took for him to realize how much he treasured you. Or even if he’d just touch you and say kind things to you out of jealousy and greed, that was fine too. Just anything.

You heard the shift in his breathing.

And then he laughed out loud, a full-on enthusiastic noise you'd not heard come from Chrollo ever before.

"Who would your lover even be?" Chrollo said after a while, leaning forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Can’t believe it. A sordid affair in my own house.”

You didn't turn around. Couldn't. "Does it matter? The point is, I don't need your approval. Not anymore."

It was theatrical, ridiculous. As if it was even possible for you to ever love someone other than Chrollo, but as it seemed Chrollo had forgotten about how important he was to you, or at least about how important you were supposed to be to him, you didn’t care. Sometimes you had to be the gutter rat wearing perfume and own it, rather than apologize for the scent underneath.

Chrollo suddenly stood up and walked over.

"You know," he said, pulling out his necklace from underneath his shirt, "for someone claiming she doesn't need my approval, you spend a remarkable amount of time arguing with me."

You glared at him as he lowered himself beside your chair. 

Had you been moving too much during the conversation?  Vaguely you remembered that he wouldn’t have accepted that at all at the start. He preferred you motionless back then, just in his lap and holding onto him. At least back then he demanded your attention, and you could hardly understand where all that desire had gone.

And then he grabbed the key attached to the necklace and… unlocked the cuffs keeping your legs bound to the chair.

Wait…

“What?” You said as he moved on to your other foot, pulling loose the cuffs, the skin underneath raw and scarred in a way they’d been for years. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

You could hardly believe what he was doing.

“Why.. why would you..”

"I’ve decided that I approve."

The words were so simple that for a second you wondered if you'd heard him correctly.

"What?"

When you didn’t remove your ankles from the cuffs even though he’d unlocked them, he took them both off personally and stood up, placing the iron cuffs on their respective place in the corner of the room. It’d been… what? Six years since you’d ever been as loosely contained as you were now.

Chrollo smiled gently and pet your head for a few moments. "I said I approve."

"You approve," you repeated, staring at him.

"Completely."

His hand slid from your hair to your cheek, cradling your face with a tenderness that didn’t match the humor you could see swirling around in his eyes. Grey eyes crinkled as he stared at you, though you’d never been good at accurately reading exactly what was going on inside him.

For one reckless second, you wanted to close the distance between you. Kiss him. Apologize for whatever invisible line you'd crossed. Fix whatever had gone so catastrophically wrong that he’d release your chains like it was nothing.

“Of… what?”

"Of this affair you've somehow managed to begin," he continued, his tone taking on an almost exaggerated nonchalance. "I must admit, I didn't think you had it in you."

His gaze drifted lower.

"And since you don’t need me anymore, these..." He tilted his head ever so slightly. "Those cuffs are no longer necessary, don't you think?"

It wasn’t difficult to know what you looked like right now. Restless, scared, and utterly lost. Was he cutting you loose?!  

“You're confused.” His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek before he withdrew his hand entirely, as if even that small touch had become unnecessary. “I understand.”

“No.” You stood too quickly, your legs buckling. Your hands caught the edge of the chair before you could fall.

He didn't reach for you.

That, more than anything, made your pulse race.

He simply watched you stumble with an amused glint in his eyes.“Careful.”

You stared at him, waiting for the inevitable. For him to sigh, to pull you back into his lap, to remind you how fragile you were, how it was all just a joke, how he’d cut off your legs if you ever truly cheated on him. Instead he merely walked back to his seat and raised his glass of wine to his lips.When you just looked at him, utterly lost, he chuckled.

“You're free to walk around, you know.” He said. 

You narrowed your eyes. "...You're not going to stop me?"

“Why would I?”

His answer landed with horrifying ease.

“You've been unsatisfied, haven’t you? I wouldn’t want to keep you against your will, now, wouldn’t I..”

"I—"

"So stand."

You did.

Your knees trembled violently.

Without consciously deciding to, your gaze drifted across the apartment until it settled on the front door. 

You hadn't been outside in months –not once—and somewhere along the way you'd stopped thinking about the door altogether. It had become just another piece of furniture, another fixture of the apartment that existed without meaning anything. Now, all at once, it seemed impossibly real. It was only a few meters away, an ordinary wooden door with a polished brass handle, close enough that you could cross the distance in seconds if you wanted to.

If you wanted to.

Your eyes lingered there a heartbeat too long.

Chrollo caught the movement immediately.

"You may leave if you wish."

"..."

"I won't stop you."

Your heart hammered so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

"What game is this?" you whispered. “Are you trying to be funny?”

"There isn't one."

"You've never..." You laughed once, short and breathless. "You've never let me walk anywhere alone."

"And now I am."

"You chained me to a chair."

"I did."

"You told me I'd never survive without you." You cried out. “That I’d be dead before daybreak if I ever left.”

Chrollo shrugged. "I believed that at the time."

"At the time?" you echoed, and you hated how disappointed you sounded.

His expression remained infuriatingly mild.

"People change."

"No," you said immediately.”No!”

"No?"

"You don't."

For the first time, something almost amused crossed his face.

He moved past you toward the bookshelf, selecting a volume with the same casual interest someone might have in deciding what to read before bed.

"If you've grown tired of living here," he said without looking at you, "you're welcome to find somewhere else."

Your stomach twisted, but your disappointment melted into rage when you saw him sit down and open his book. He was so full of shit. SO. FULL. OF. SHIT.

"Well, fine.” You said, seethingly, “I’m done with this.”

You took one step toward the door.

For the first time in years, the door was unlocked and you could walk right out. Right into the real world. It’d be a little breezy, being late into July, and you weren’t exactly dressed for that, so with quivering legs you walked towards your bedroom, got a jacket, and without even looking at Chrollo another time, you left the apartment.

It’d been close to six months since you’d gone outside, and it was years since you’d gone outside unattended. 

There’d been no need to. Your life was good here. There were rules, there was structure, love, central heating, food, and no need to fight.

Considering you’d expected to die long before you’d reach your twenties, every day had been a gift with Chrollo. Every morning, waking up in a warm bed, next to the love of your life, felt like you’d been reborn and given a chance few residents from Meteor City were ever given.

The Chrollo of today was sanctified, in your mind, yet realer than ever, considering you’d lived with him for years and had been allowed to see his more human side more often. Back then, when you were young and starving for anything real, he’d been larger than life. He always stood far away, giving speeches and standing at the forefront of every event that was worth anything in Meteor City. When the Troupe left, and became a point of pride for Meteorites, they were as good as celebrities.

And then he came back. And you met him. Talked to him. He remembered you. Remembered the colour your headband had been, the one you’d worn for years while watching the troupe perform their original plays.Admiration had turned into love, and you remembered the first time you’d made love to him with perfect clarity.

He sought you out whenever he visited.

A lot had happened since then, a turning point was when you’d come back to your small room back in Meteor City and noticed it was completely empty, with Chrollo sitting on your cot, explaining that he was moving you, saying it was something he ‘felt like doing’. 

Considering you’d been close to leaving Meteor City yourself, to try your luck in the outside world and probably die in some gutter after having your organs stolen (the outskirts of Meteor City were always looking for stragglers no one would miss) this wasn’t something that troubled you greatly.

It started to rain, and you pulled up the hood of your jacket.

The rain came down in that miserable, persistent way that never seemed to commit to becoming a storm yet somehow still managed to soak through fabric, collecting on your eyelashes and dripping from the edge of your hood as you wandered without direction.

Your shoes were splashing through shallow puddles that reflected distorted neon signs and apartment windows lit by people who had no idea how extraordinary your afternoon had become, how the entirety of your entire life had shifted because one man had decided that after years of insisting the world would devour you the moment you stepped outside, he suddenly couldn't be bothered to stop you from opening the front door.

Every few steps you glanced over your shoulder, not because you were afraid of the strangers moving around you with umbrellas and shopping bags and phones pressed to their ears, but because surely, surely, eventually you would catch sight of the familiar silhouette that had followed you everywhere your life had ever allowed you to go, the black coat, the measured pace, the neutral expression that would eventually harden into irritation before he took your wrist and informed you that you'd made enough of a scene. 

Every glance was met with disappointment. 

The first ten minutes were infuriating. The next ten became insulting.

By the time you reached a busier district where storefronts crowded against one another and people flowed continuously across crosswalks despite the weather, the anger had settled into something uglier than rage because rage at least implied there was someone standing opposite you to receive it, someone listening, someone reacting, whereas this felt like screaming into a pillow for no one’s entertainment.

You slowed near a crowded intersection and deliberately remained there while the pedestrian light changed twice, refusing to move with the current of people.

Chrollo had hated crowds. Hated strangers touching you. Hated not knowing exactly where your hands were, where your eyes were looking, who had looked at you in return. He would've been beside you already, fingers wrapping around your arm with deceptive gentleness, steering you away while calmly explaining that if you insisted on behaving carelessly he would simply have to make decisions on your behalf.

You needed him to do that!

How dare he make you dependent on him, and then just… lose interest?!

Nothing happened, though you did receive an annoyed shove from a man that was sick of you standing still in the middle of the crowd.

You laughed under your breath, but it came out brittle, almost hysterical, because perhaps he was watching after all, perhaps he was hidden somewhere above the street or across it, comfortably invisible, waiting to see what you would do now that he'd granted you this ridiculous little experiment in independence, and if that were true then you refused to give him the satisfaction of behaving exactly as expected.

And if that were true, then you refused to give him the satisfaction of behaving exactly as expected.

So you did the opposite.

You crossed streets without checking as carefully as you should have, lingered outside bars where loud conversations spilled into the rain, wandered through narrow alleyways that instinct alone insisted were terrible ideas, and every time your pulse lurched with anticipation because surely this would be enough. This would be the moment he'd step out from the shadows with that soft, disappointed sigh that somehow always sounded more frightening than anger.

The longer he didn't show up, the bolder you became.

You started talking.

At first it was harmless. Small conversations with strangers waiting at crosswalks or sitting beside you on a bench, comments that drifted naturally into stories before either of you quite realized it. You spoke about the Phantom Troupe, watching their expressions shift as you calmly insisted they were real and casually revealed some names, some info, some confidential stuff you’d picked up over the years. 

Sometimes the strangers humored you. Sometimes they looked concerned. Most simply excused themselves at the first opportunity.

You told them anyway.

You described their members, their abilities, the crimes everyone knew they'd committed and the ones no one else possibly could have known about, your voice growing steadier every time you repeated the story.

No one believed you. At least not to your face.

Which somehow made it even easier.

In a department store, while pretending to browse kitchen appliances, you noticed an unattended whiteboard set up to advertise some sale. Someone had left a handful of dry-erase markers beside it.

You hesitated for all of three seconds.

Then, with a grin that felt almost delirious, you uncapped one of the markers and began writing.

THE PHANTOM TROUPE IS CLOSE

Beneath it, you listed every member you could remember, adding the spider logo, fragments of information that made perfect sense to you and would look completely unhinged to anyone else who happened to walk by. You even scribbled a warning beneath it all.

IF YOU SEE THEM, RUN.

When you stepped back to admire your work, a woman pushing a shopping cart slowed beside the display, reading the board with growing confusion before glancing suspiciously in your direction.

You smiled at her and walked away.

Your heart hammered so hard it hurt.

By the time you stepped back onto the open street, the rain had dwindled to a light drizzle, and you carried yourself with the strange certainty of someone who had already died.

There was no version of this where Chrollo simply let it go.

He had never tolerated betrayal, unless it served him, and he despised half-assed plans like these. You had spent the afternoon telling strangers about the Phantom Troupe, writing their names where anyone could see them, scattering pieces of their existence into the world with reckless abandon. If he hadn't been watching before, surely he would be now.

Sooner or later, he would find you.

And when he did, there were only two possibilities.

Either he still loved you enough to drag you back home, lock the door behind you, and keep you alive at his side...

Or he'd kill you where you stood.

Oddly enough, you found yourself hoping for one of those outcomes.

Because the only thing you couldn't bear—the only thing that made your chest tighten until you could hardly breathe—was the possibility that none of it had mattered. That he had truly grown indifferent. That you could scream his secrets into crowded streets, carve the Phantom Troupe's name onto every wall in the city, and he still wouldn't think you worth coming after.

Death was terrifying.

But indifference was unbearable. You would not accept becoming forgettable.

The night had grown… cold.

You’d been sitting on a park bench close to your home for a few hours now. 

Waiting.

The realization began creeping in with nauseating slowness that he might actually have meant every word he'd said, because he simply...didn't care enough anymore to interfere, and somehow that possibility hurt infinitely more than the years of chains and locked doors ever had 

Because captivity at least required some sort of attention whereas indifference required absolutely nothing at all.

If he cared even a little , he'd have to come closer now. He'd just have to go outside. He'd have to find you. You weren’t even far. He could probably find you within a few minutes. It wasn’t hard.

You waited.

Nothing.

NOTHING.

The absurdity of it ignited another flash of fury so hot that your vision blurred, and before you could stop yourself you began entertaining another set of increasingly childish, increasingly desperate ideas solely because they all shared one purpose: making him react. 

You could walk into the nearest police station and tell them your ‘boyfriend’ had kept you imprisoned for years. You could flirt openly with some stranger, kiss the first attractive person who smiled at you, sit in their lap if necessary, just to see if he’d hear and care about it. You could disappear entirely, board the first train leaving the city without checking the destination, and wait to see whether he'd appear in the carriage before the doors closed.

Every fantasy ended exactly the same way.

With him not coming.

With him remaining exactly where you'd left him, comfortably seated with his book, turning another page while the apartment gradually cooled around him and the side of the bed where you slept remained empty for the first night in years.

You stood up from the park bench.

"...Come on," you muttered beneath your breath, staring at the wet pavement as tears fell down your face. "Come get me."

You lasted another hour before you decided to walk up to your own doom.

The freedom that had felt so impossibly vast when you first stepped through the apartment door had quietly collapsed into an exhausting absence of direction, every street asking you to decide where to go next when for years those decisions had simply... never been yours, and somewhere beneath the anger you found yourself wondering whether Chrollo had known that would happen, whether this entire miserable afternoon had been another one of his carefully arranged lessons whose purpose you wouldn't understand until long after it was over.

Having returned home, you stared up at the familiar windows for several long moments.

The front door opened exactly as it always had, and the dinner table welcomed you, the food still plated and cold. The candles were still burning, so you walked towards them and blew them out.

The apartment was silent.

The bedroom door stood open.

Chrollo was already in bed.

One lamp burned softly on the nightstand, casting warm amber light across the room, and Chrollo looked up only briefly as you appeared in the doorway. He was sitting upright, a book in his hands, his black hair loosely framing his face. You’d feel better knowing he’d not just gone to sleep during your entire ordeal, but you could tell by how far he was in the book that he’d truly just sat down here and read.

"Welcome back," he said, with no real emotion behind it.

You pushed some wet hair back and walked towards your closet, grabbing some dry clothes. Better to act like nothing was wrong and postpone your own death. You'd rather be throttled in your sleep. "I came back."

The silence stretched.

You hated it, and silently took off your wet clothing, the cold having seeped through to your bones. It didn’t matter. After you’d taken your pants off, you swallowed down some feelings as you placed the garment on the floor, not caring to walk towards the hamper. You were exhausted, cold, but still felt more awake than ever.  Another deep breath, and you broke the silence. "You really weren't going to come after me."

His voice drifted through the darkness, and you could hear the cold amusement layered underneath his voice."You came home, didn’t you?"

You didn’t have to think about your response. "I wanted you to."

The words escaped before you had the chance to reconsider them.

You hated how small they sounded.

"I know," he said quietly. “But I can tell you had fun, didn’t you?”

Your chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt. God, he had to know what you’d done. And if he didn't yet, he would know soon enough.

Something inside your chest twisted painfully.

You fidgeted with the dry shirt you’d grabbed, putting it on so you could avoid looking at him. “I’m not cheating on you.” 

He huffed out a laugh at your attempt to change the subject, closing his book and placing it on the nightstand. “I know.”

Taking a deep breath, you suddenly decided that this was another hell in itself. You’d returned, he probably knew about your misdeeds, there’d be punishment (or not, you still couldn’t figure out how he felt), but this half-and-half treatment walking on eggshells was horrifying. 

You crossed the room before you could think better of it, climbing onto the mattress with movements that felt strangely unfamiliar after spending the entire day convincing yourself you wouldn't return, and for a moment you simply looked at him.

As you climbed on top of him, feeling yourself wear a determined expression, he merely met your gaze with impassive gray eyes.

At least he didn’t push you away.

You leaned forward first.

The kiss was tentative at first, more a question on whether or not he was okay with this, your lips barely brushing his as though expecting him to turn away at the last second simply to prove that he could, but he didn't.

His hand rose slowly to cradle the side of your face, familiar enough to make your throat tighten, and he returned the kiss without any passion from his side, leaving you with the unsettling feeling that he was allowing you to choose every inch of the distance between you.

You kissed him again before the first one had truly ended, harder this time, closing the space between you until your bodies were nearly pressed together. Your fingers slid into his hair almost desperately, curling through the dark strands as you tugged him closer—not enough to hurt, only enough to erase the last few inches separating you, enough that you could convince yourself he was real, that he was here, that he was still yours. 

When you finally drew back, neither of you spoke.

His thumb brushed once across your cheek before his hand fell away again.

You let yourself fall down beside him almost automatically, facing him, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing in the darkness while the events of the day refused to settle into anything that resembled understanding. 

The room was warm, you were holding onto him, he wasn't leaving you or killing you, yet.

It’d have to be enough, for now.

               “Why are you so eager to leave? Can’t this be home, too?”

His words echoed in your mind as you hugged your knees to your chest, staring out the window while you traced aimless patterns into your bland bedsheets, giving them something at least a little more interesting than pure, blank white.

The sun held the same spot it always had; gentle rays hugged the horizon, a never-ending cascade of oranges and reds painting the streets of the city. If you leaned forward a bit more, you’d be able to see the ever-present crowd of androids that hung onto every spare glimpse of you they could get.

Frankly, they were the last thing you wanted to see right now. 

Ever since the meal you ‘shared’ with Nier, you felt less and less flattered by the sheer attention all the androids gave you, and more like a bug pinned on display for them to gawk at. They watched you closer, bored their gazes deeper into your psyche, hung on every word and movement and thought you had. You wouldn’t be surprised if they literally kissed the ground you walked on, if they were allowed within proximity of you.

Nier made sure they weren’t, though. He kept a tight leash on his people, maintaining much needed space between you and them. For that, you were immensely grateful.

And yet, as the clock ticked on, the castle seemed less like a sanctuary and more like a prison. Beyond keeping the androids outside the gate, sending them on missions, he didn’t do much to shoo them away. There was no ‘the show is over’, no ‘move on’, nothing about how you weren’t a prop to be ogled.

Your room felt like the only safe space you had now, and even that was tentative. You only had so much time to yourself before 34DE and 34PO came to start your day for you. Feed you, attempt to bathe you (again), and choose your clothing for you, autonomy stripped from your very fingertips. While it was nice at first, getting the royalty treatment, it became grating and demeaning overtime. Eventually, the excuse of they mean well twisted into something closer to dread whenever that knock sounded on your door.

“The King wants to see you,” 34PO informed you one morning as she combed through your damp locks oh so gently. 

Your stomach twisted. 

You’d been avoiding him as much as you could, asking to stay in your room, or a walk through the garden, needing time to think. Think about everything – the time you spent here, how each day seemed further from home, your real home. Nier told you that Earth wasn’t a priority for the humans on the moon, but it didn’t make sense to you. How could it not be? 

Confrontation was inevitable, you knew this well. You had questions, you needed answers, and Nier was the only one who could give them to you. You just really hated conflict, and hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Just talk to him. It couldn’t be that hard. He was a reasonable man, proved himself to be logical, accommodating, and caring. When you asked to leave after having to eat in front of hundreds of pairs of inhuman eyes, he easily let you escape their piercing eyes without a fight. Ask him. All you had to do was ask him.

All your bravado fled out the window when you saw him sitting at the head of the endlessly long dining table the dining hall hosted. It had only two seating spots, two empty plates – his, and the seat to his left.

Nier stood as you approached, smiling warmly at you, not a worry in the world to be found in his calm disposition. Like the gentleman he was, he pulled out your chair and guided you to sit in it, gently nudging you forward until you were tucked comfortably at the table.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said as he took his spot again, his gaze never once leaving you.

You swallowed dryly, and mourned the lack of a glass of water for you to nervously sip at. “You, too,” you replied stiffly.

“Hungry?”

Flashes of memories resurfaced, the last meal you shared with him coming to mind. You gave him a thin, forced smile. “Uh, yeah, kinda.”

The android grinned wide. “Good. They should be finished preparing breakfast for you soon.”

You didn’t miss how he only mentioned you, as opposed to himself, too. Was his plate just for show, then? To comfort you?

Your mouth opened, thoughts ready to spill out – only for them to get stuck. Your teeth clacked as you shut your mouth and pointedly looked away from him, choosing to clear your throat instead. So much for talking to him.

“Did you sleep well?” He questioned next, never once missing a beat, despite your stiffness.

You didn’t. You tossed and turned all night long, but it would be rude to tell your host that. So, you smiled thinly, and nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

He smiled back, so warm, so polite. Nier had always been so kind to you, so caring. He welcomed you with open arms, promised to help you. Guilt ached in your chest as you reminded yourself that he was a busy man, a king. Of course it was going to take a while to aid you. You were a guest, and all he was asking for from you was your patience. 

Still, you couldn’t fully ignore the discomfort in your gut, the whispers in the back of your mind that something was wrong.

A door in the wall behind him slid open, and a few androids came in, carrying steaming platters of food. Honeyed boar, roasted vegetables, things that resembled a dinner feast more than any sort of breakfast you were used to. Their delicious scents wafted in the air, prompting your mouth to water and your stomach to growl.

Nier chuckled fondly, murmuring about how he found the human body truly fascinating. 

The glint in his eye spoke of something you couldn’t put a finger on.

You barely had any time to process all that was spread out on the table before the androids were piling food into your plate. It was way too much, damn near spilling off the edges, but they didn’t stop until you frantically insisted for them to. They left Nier’s plate alone, exiting as quickly as they arrived.

Your plate was a bit of a mess, but it still looked tasty. It was the thought that counted, right? They were just doing their best. So, ignoring the comfort that being the only one to eat, especially while being observed (again), brought you, you dug in, sating the rumbling in your stomach while you mulled over everything.

The silence unnerved you, his stare even more so, but it didn’t last long.

“The Council of Humanity wants to meet with you,” Nier told you out of nowhere. 

You nearly dropped your fork, food halfway to your mouth as you processed what he said. “The what?”

“The humans on the moon,” he clarified. “They finally got back to me.”

It took a moment, then you lit up with excitement, a bright smile stretching across your face. “Really?” You asked, fingertips buzzing so much that you had to put the utensil down.

You held a flicker of suspicion, wondering if he was pulling your leg. He’d been so edgy about the topic, always avoiding or redirecting when you asked. It was one of the things you wanted to mention, to confront him about, but maybe you wouldn’t have to anymore. 

He nodded, smiling contently. “Really.”

You exhaled in relief, sighing as an invisible weight rose off your shoulders. Your heart fluttered, half in joy, and half in guilt; guilt for doubting Nier and his intentions.

“That’s amazing.” You perked up. “When do they want to meet?”

“As soon as you’re ready.”

Was your chance to go home finally here? Hell, even if not, it’d be amazing to talk to humans again. The androids were kind, yes, but they lacked the innate understanding that being human came with. Ashamed as you were to admit it, you sorely missed having someone to chat with that wouldn’t be trying to pry you apart, asking invasive questions and prodding at your skin the entire time.

“I’m ready now,” you said, pushing your chair back.

He raised a brow at you and motioned toward your still very full plate. “You should finish your food first.”

You glanced down at it, fingers gripping the table to steady yourself. Earlier, you were resistant to eating because of your discomfort. Now, you were too excited, too anxious to meet with the Council to think about finishing the mountain of nutrition you were given.

“I’m full,” you told him, shaking your head.

He exhaled through his nose as if exasperated with you, but didn’t argue further, taking his sweet time rising to his full height. “Let’s not keep them waiting, then.”

A simple tilt of his head, and you were scurrying to follow him, hardly noticing the hand he placed between your shoulder blades as he guided you through winding halls, up spiraling stairs, and through endless doors. You never realized how big the castle truly was until you were struggling to keep track of how many left and right turns you’d taken, all of it culminating into a set of massive double doors. They hid something that had your heart doing flips, nervous and eager all at once.

It was really happening. Whether or not the people on the moon could help you get home, they’d at least have some answers, and… and you’d have someone to talk to. Someone normal – by your human standards.

“Ready?” He questioned. You nodded firmly.

With ease, he pushed open the doors; the material creaked under its own weight, yet he seemed wholly unbothered, easily displaying his strength. Were you not on the tips of your toes, the edge of your seat, you would have found it frightening. Instead, it was mesmerizing.

His hand returned to its spot on your back and he lightly nudged you into a massive, circular auditorium. It was dark inside, and the floor clicked under your feet, the metal of the raised platform a stark contrast to the singular material that the rest of the castle seemed to be made of. You looked around, searching for this ‘Council of Humanity’. Were they here? Or–

You flinched and squeezed your eyes shut when a massive screen ignited, illuminating the space faster than you were prepared for.

It took you a minute to adjust to the brightness, but when you looked towards the screen that spanned almost the entire back wall of the auditorium, expecting a face, all you saw was a strange logo; A full moon with a crescent sliver taken from its top right edge. There was quiet, then a deep, booming voice filled the space.

“The Council of Humanity welcomes you,” the person said, authority heavy in their tone. “We have heard your plight, and wish to aid you.”

Startled, you looked up at Nier, who smiled and nodded at you in approval. Encouragement.

Stepping forward, you gulped and waved, cringing when you realized that whoever was on the other end probably couldn’t see you. “Um, h-hi?” When you got no response, your stomach sank. “You can help me get home?”

“We can,” they responded. “It’s our duty to ensure the survival of humanity continues.”

Relief settled deep in your bones. Home, you can finally go home.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, shoulders dropping, muscles loosening. 

This world was amazing, beautiful, and the people that resided on it were so kind, but… you missed home, as shitty as it was sometimes. You missed your friends, the internet, humans. 

You shifted in place, ready to ask how exactly they were planning to send you home, when the other person beat you to it. “Your presence on Earth has been greatly appreciated,” they said. “Before we send you home, we would like to ask… are you sure you would not like to stay here?”

Brows furrowing, you briefly glanced back at Nier, but his expression – or lack thereof – gave nothing away. Rolling your lips together, you carefully considered your words, your response. Your nerves and paranoia whispered that something wasn’t right, so you wanted to tread carefully.

“...I’m grateful, truly,” you said slowly. “The androids are so nice. Everything is. But I’m sure my family is worried, and I am, too. I miss them.”

“The kingdom has benefitted from being able to see a human in person for the first time in many centuries. Morale has increased, and the tides of our war against the machine lifeforms have turned. You could do so much here.”

Your enthusiasm was starting to dwindle. It felt good to know you’d helped simply by existing, letting the androids see you, but you didn’t want to stay here. Not forever.

You swallowed, wrapping your arms around yourself. “With all due respect, I just want to go home.”

“This could be your home.”

Can’t this be home, too?

“I–”

The voice interrupted you. “All would be taken care of. You wouldn’t need to lift a finger, would want for nothing.” 

Stomach twisting under your ribs, you dug your nails into your arms, confusion ebbing into stress. “Thank you for the offer, but please–”

“Our repopulation efforts could start with you.”

Your eyes widened and you instinctively stepped back, away from the looming screen. “No,” you snapped, then softened your tone, worried about offending them. “Sorry, but I’m not interested. Please, just send me back.”

You had a lovely vacation, but you drew the line at being treated like breeding stock. 

There was a brief respite, the only noise being a distant hum in the walls, then– 

“We’d be happy to send you home, but wouldn’t you like for this to be your home?”

…Didn’t– didn’t they already say that?

“Um,” you hesitated, your paranoia bubbling closer to the edge of the pot. “No, I just told you. I want to go home. My real home.”

“You could do so much here,” the voice continued. “The kingdom has benefitted from being able to see a human in person for the first time in many centuries. Morale has increased, and the tides of our war against the machine lifeforms have turned.” 

You didn’t respond. It kept repeating the same lines over and over. No change in inflection. No drop in tone. 

What you were talking to wasn’t human. 

Something burned inside your chest. Hot enough to scorch at your lungs as you turned to face the King. 

“Are you fucking with me?”

For a moment, you stared at one another. The silence pressed on your eardrums, making them ring. Nier was stock-still, unshifting as stone. Uncanny.

An unexpected noise startled you, and that was when you saw it.

The mask dropped. 

Nier was hunched over, his shoulders shaking. He was laughing at you. 

“Sorry,” he said, but his smile betrayed his truth. “You seemed so excited to talk with other humans. I only wanted to give you a taste. Lift up your spirits.” 

A lie. You knew that now. Every word that fell from his lips was a complete and utter lie. 

He did all of this just to humiliate you. 

“You were never planning on helping me, were you?” More and more pieces clicked together. “You– you kept stringing me along, pretending you actually cared about helping me when all you wanted to do was play these sick fucking mind games.” 

Why did you leave Pascal? Why did you leave the forest? Why couldn’t you have stayed put for Accord to find you instead of trusting these–these monsters? Why did you listen to them? 

You were so, so stupid. 

“The humans up there probably don’t know I exist.” You mumbled to yourself, feeling your eyes sting. You stumbled back, grasping at the rail behind you for support. “You never even contacted them.” 

He approached you, closing in on your space. A hand lifted your chin so he could see you, fingers oh-so gentle. Immediately, you slapped it away, side-stepping him. Neir barely flinched. 

“If humans were on the Moon, I probably wouldn’t have gone this far,” he revealed. 

Your scowl softened, heart dropping to your stomach. 

“What does that mean?” You asked, your voice a crackling whisper.

He smiled. It lacked mirth. 

“Humans have been extinct for millennia,” he told you. “They never made it to the Moon. All of them perished on Earth.”

The world was spiraling around you, but he kept going, tearing down your world more and more–one that he personally contacted with paper mache walls. 

“The aliens invaded after they disappeared. For so many centuries, androids warred against the machine lifeforms for Earth. At one point, aliens had taken over 80% of Earth. Androids were losing the war. We needed to fight for something. We needed to fight for someone.” 

He walked to the control panel and tapped on a key. Instantly, the soulless voice stopped. The room was quiet, humming gone dead, your ears ringing in its absence. 

“My predecessors decided to fabricate a story. Something that could motivate androids to keep fighting.” 

He didn’t need to elaborate. The story of humanity still surviving on the Moon was all a lie. Just like everything else. 

“All that's up there is a bunker.” Neir shrugged, too nonchalant, as if he wasn’t part of a massive cover-up. One he was dragging you into. “Nothing else.” 

He went silent on the matter. So did you. What else was there to say? 

“So now what?” It’s the first time you’ve heard so much venom from your voice. Harsh, angered. 

Terrified. 

“Are you planning on keeping me like a puppet? Force me to perform to the other androids? Was that the plan? To keep me as some sort of freakshow?” 

He laughed again, shaking his head. His features warmed, eyes drawing into crescents under the smile you once found so charming.

“No, I’m afraid I’m not that creative.” He admitted, surveying you. “I’m planning on marrying you.” 

That was the last response you expected from him. 

“Really, you have no idea how grateful I am to you,” Neir confessed. “The idea of humans being up on the Moon was starting to get harder and harder to maintain. My people wanted evidence. Something tangible.” 

His eyes bored into your own. 

“And then you came along.” 

You felt your heart beat. Fast. Your head felt light. You thought you were about to pass out. 

“I always thought of myself as a generous leader,” Neir continued. “If I have just the tiniest confirmation that, yes, the numerous android deaths, the suffering, all of it was worth it, should I not take it?” 

He smiled at you. His tone was frighteningly happy. 

“A human bride who came down to Earth to be with an android. It’s a story that has the potential to bolster our armies for centuries.” 

No. No, you couldn’t. This was all so much. 

“Neir.” You begged. “Please. Don’t do this.” 

You hadn’t realized you were crying until tears dripped down your cheeks. Your legs barely held up your weight, knees close to buckling. You were trembling so badly you thought you’d drop at any moment. 

Neir’s eyes mellowed, cerulean irises melting into puddles of deep blue. He reached for you, stroking your cheek. Unlike before, you don’t have the strength to turn him away. His eyes shifted from amusement to affection. It looked so sincere. 

It made you want to vomit. 

“You’ll want for nothing,” his voice was sickenly genuine, repeating what the AI told you. Soft, sweet. “You’ll be cared for by hundreds– thousands, who want nothing more than to see you smile. You will be the most cherished human in Earth’s history. You’ll be a queen–my Queen.” 

You shook your head, pulling away from Neir’s grasp. “But I don’t want that.” 

“We can’t always get what we want.” 

His patronizing tone struck a chord within you. Your fear burned into something brighter. Violent. 

You didn’t think, you just acted.

Your curled fists slammed against his chest, hands beating at him until they began to hurt. Nier himself didn’t react to the assault, not beyond cocking his head like he was curious about what you were doing. He didn’t defend himself or fight back, no. He sighed, and took your wrists in his light, unbreakable grip.

“I thought we could speak like adult humans,” he murmured, disappointed. Or maybe he was pretending to be. The condescending curl at the corner of his mouth made you feel like the child he was accusing you of being. “I see that’s not the case.”

“Let me go!” You shrieked at him, trying to yank yourself free. His grip didn’t even tighten.

Behind you, the massive doors opened, flooding the auditorium with new light as people rushed in. With dawning horror, you realized you recognized them – 73H, 5G, and 18D, the very same androids that had initially escorted you to the city. To him.

“Your Majesty,” 18D quickly acknowledged him. Stoicism overwrote her features, alongside those of 73H and 5G. None of them spared you a glance, despite the way you squirmed and tried futilely to kick against Nier.

“Take her to the tower,” he said dully, bored, “and give her space. Poor thing is overwhelmed. The Council of Humanity delivered bad news, I’m afraid.”

You hissed like a feral cat. “He’s lying! Let me go already!”

18D nodded, completely ignoring your spitting. From her sides, 73H and 5G advanced, replacing Nier in restraining you.

Nier frowned, putting on the perfect performance of distraught caretaker as he bent down to be eye-to-eye with you, hands cupping your cheeks. You jerked your head back, but couldn’t escape far, not like this.

“There, there, it’ll be alright,” he cooed in faux sympathy. “We’ll figure something out, I promise.”

Desperate, you looked to 18D, hoping beyond hope that she’d believe you. “He’s lying to you, he’s been lying to you this whole time! There are no humans on the moon, there’s nobody up there!”

Her features twitched, and your heart skipped a beat–

Then, she looked to her King, who bowed his head as if to appear just as heartbroken as you. “They said they couldn’t help her home. In her distress, she began acting out, claiming they’re all dead to her.”

“Poor thing,” 18D echoed his earlier sentiment, and your lower lip trembled, body slowly going slack in defeat. “Don’t worry, your Majesty. We’ll get her settled.”

“Thank you,” he smiled in mellow gratitude. You wanted to tear it off his face. “Have the girls know I’ll take over tending to her for now, until she’s feeling better.”

“34PO and 34DE, sir?”

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll be beyond worried.”

Her head bobbed in agreement. “I’ll inform them.” With that, she turned, and 73H and 5G followed suit, dragging you along.

Your heels dug into the ground, but your strength was nothing compared to that of androids. 73H talked to you in low tones she probably thought were comforting, but all they did was aggravate you further, her words going in one ear and out the other. On your other side, 5G was completely silent, staring dead ahead.

Down endless hallways and twisting turns, you were dragged kicking and screaming. It didn’t matter, not to them. The winding staircase you were taken up at some point ended in a short hallway that had only one door. Beyond it, your prison.

Surprisingly, it didn’t look like a prison. If anything, it looked like your room, if a bit smaller and more sparse. A bed, a bathroom.

No window.

And in the corner, aimed to see everything, a camera sat attached to the ceiling. The red blinking on its front mocked you. He was watching you, and he wanted you to know he was watching. 

The moment the girls let go, you stumbled towards the bed and collapsed on it, hyperventilating. From your peripheral, you saw 73H reach out towards you, only for 18D to push her arm back down with a shake of the head. The same way you came, they retreated, leaving you alone in a hollow room with a hollow heart. 

The moment the lock clicked, you broke down.

Your sobs bounced off the walls and echoed back into your ears, hysteria twisting your thoughts until, between one blink and the next, you were tearing the sheets off the bed and throwing them across the room. Another blink, and the chair tucked under the desk was thrown into a wall. Nightstand flipped over. Shower curtain ripped from the track.

You blinked again, and found yourself in the tub, holding your head as you cried. When you crawled out, energy nearly fully sapped, you threw yourself at one last thing. The camera.

Dragging the toppled chair over, you climbed onto it and reached up, hands wrapping around the black device to the best of your ability. Using all your strength, you pulled, pushed, and screamed. As immoveable as its owner, though, it remained, a stain of ink on the pure white of everything else.

You lumbered back down, nearly tripping, and threw the chair again.

You weren’t one to pray, but that night, you prayed.

To whomever or whatever would listen, you prayed and begged and pleaded. Any deity, any God that would bother to hear your cries. You wished, both silently and aloud, that Accord would finally show up and save you from this mess. You hoped it was all a dream, and when you passed out from exhaustion and woke to find that it was all too real, you began praying again.

You yelled a lot, too. Screamed. Banged on the door, threw your shoes at the camera, demanding to be released. All you got back was silence.

The space was too still. The only time there was something different, movement not caused by you, was when a hidden slot under the door opened and a tray of food was shoved inside. It always closed too fast for you to catch it, but that didn’t stop you from trying to pry it open, crying into the white blockade, forehead pressed to it. Nobody answered your pleas, nobody was there to let you out. You weren’t even sure if it was an android bringing you food, or one of those pods you’d seen around.

By the third day, you understood that Accord wasn’t coming.

It was long overdue, probably. Delusional, too, for you to have held onto hope for so long. You really should have known and accepted that you were completely on your own the second day you arrived here. Accord’s streak was perfect, she never, never lost anyone. At most, they were gone for a few hours, then found themselves home again, safe and sound with a fun story to tell.

You lost track of time on how long you’d been here. Two months? Three? Or maybe only a few weeks, a couple years. In the endless white of the castle, with a sun that forever clung to the horizon, it was easy for time to lose meaning. And now, in a windowless cube, no access to the outside world, a clock, people, it was impossible to tell.

It didn’t take long for you to crack. Your composure was frayed bit by bit by each day that showed no signs of Accord, no signs of a way home. It wasn’t hard for your will to crumble like dried sand. It all came tumbling down, eventually. 

“I’ll do it, I’ll do whatever you want, just let me out of here,” you caved, voice cracking. You swore you wouldn’t, but you couldn’t take the quiet anymore.

The door slid open soon after, as if he’d been waiting on the other side this entire time, ready to receive your surrender.

Your captor stepped in casually, unphased by the mess between you and him. He stepped over it all, your previous efforts to escape nothing more than discarded junk for him to nudge out of the way with his foot. The distance shrunk, and with it the air you needed. Seeing him again, being reminded of everything he had over you, from height to power to stance, made you regret giving in.

But not enough to take back your words. You’d do anything to be taken out of this godsforsaken room.

Even if it meant marrying the very man who put you in it in the first place.

He knelt down before you, took your face in his hands like he might actually care for you. His thumbs glided over your cheeks, drawing away the tears that carved invisible scars into them.

“You mean it, darling?” He asked, a hush. 

You gazed up at him, peered into his eyes. The world outside ceased to exist, crumbling away until all that remained was the floor underneath, holding the last human on Earth. Your kin, and the one who wished to take said kin for himself, dug his hands under your skin until he could crawl into it. Were you someone else, you might have called it romantic.

You knew better.

But what was left, if not him?

A nod, and your fate was sealed.

His arms enveloped you, cradling you like you were something precious. Fingers tangled in your hair, stroked down your back, and held you as if you meant everything to him.

“Sweet girl,” he cooed. “Knew you were smart enough to make the right decision.”

The illusion of free will.

All paths would inevitably lead back to him.

You wilted into his shoulder.

Through the ceremony preparations, you dissociated. Androids flooded into the castle, and those that couldn’t fit inside the chapel sat on the outside of the arching windows, faces pressed to the glass to watch. Their hyper chattering was deafening, even three rooms down and behind a closed door.

34PO did one final pass over your face with the cotton puff, then stepped back to examine you with a hum. She must have been satisfied with her work, seeing as she stepped back and smiled at you. Similarly, 34DE finished doing up your hair, patting your shoulder to indicate so.

“You’re so pretty,” 34PO sighed dreamily. “His Majesty will absolutely love you.”

Love. What a joke. None of this was being done out of love.

“He’d be crazy not to,” 34DE agreed. 

Her twin model giggled. Your morbid, empty stare mellowed her out. “It’s such a joyous day! You mustn’t let your nerves get to you.” She lightly cupped your cheeks, her hands barely grazing your skin. “The King won’t let anything go wrong. He planned everything thoroughly.”

It wasn’t nerves that had you gripping the fabric of the dress you were stuffed into, though those certainly didn’t help. It was frustration, anger, fear, despondency. When you initially woke up in this world, you never imagined you’d stay past sunset. You’d explore for a while, enjoy a break from the mundane life you led, then Accord would take you home.

But then, the sun never set, never once moved from the sky.

Her words were meant for comfort, but they only made you withdraw into yourself. Fuck, you really were a fool. How long had he been planning this? Since you arrived? Before you ended up in this world?

How could you have been blind to his intentions for all this time?

Oblivious or willfully ignorant, it didn’t matter. The twins merely urged you to your feet, muttering assurances and encouragement. They spent so much time taking care of you, meeting your every need (whether you wanted them to or not), that it shouldn’t have been surprising to see 34PO tearing up. You didn’t know that androids could cry. Or that they would need to.

“You’re crying,” you stated dully.

She sniffled and giggled, swiping at her eyes with her fingers. “I’m just so happy for you.”

You believed her. If nobody else was honest, you knew that at least 34PO and 34DE were true to themselves and you.

You felt like you were in your own bubble. Outside its fragile barrier, the world moved at hyperspeed; faces blurred past, passageways and rooms blended into one, all while you remained as a slow, impassive witness. Each step you took seemed like both an instant in time and a thousand years. You let 34PO and 34DE lead you, knowing it’d be pointless to throw a fit and fight back now. Wedding jitters, cold feet (“are they actually cold?”), nerves. They’d come up with any excuse.

But when those grandiose doors split wide open to reveal an aisle – the aisle you were meant to walk down – you realized that maybe you should have tried to fight.

A long rug, colorless as everything else, spanned out between you and the end of the crowded benches occupied by dozens, hundreds, of androids. And, at the very end, he stood there, waiting patiently as a saint.

Nier. Your groom. 

Your husband.

The twins must have decided that you trying to step back wasn’t reluctance, a useless escape attempt, but stage fright in front of hundreds of eyes. “Just pretend they aren’t there,” one of them whispered. You couldn’t tell who.

Before, you felt suffocated under their care, unable to lift a finger for yourself. Now, you desperately clung to them, wishing they’d just take you far away from here. Anywhere, so long as Nier wasn’t there.

34PO squeezed your hand lightly, then the two nudged you forward, and you were all on your own again.

What other choice do you have? 

Meeting Nier’s gaze, you knew you never had one in the first place.

Heart in your throat, you began walking down the aisle, hands trembling at your sides. If you had a bouquet, all the flower stems would have been crushed beneath your knuckle-thinning grip. You would have killed to have something, someone, to hold onto, but there was nothing. Only you, him, and the infinite eyes that hung onto your every step and word.

The aisle was miles long, seconds dragging eternally until you blinked and found yourself standing across from Nier, trapped under his towering command. He smiled at you, and thankfully made no comment when you didn’t – couldn’t – smile back. His hands slid down your forearms to your fists and he gently lifted them, coaxing them out of the tight balls you wound them up into to intertwine your fingers together.

It wasn’t a surprise to you that very little of human wedding tradition had survived the many thousands of years that they were gone. There was no pastor to officiate your union, no rings to be worn, glass to be broken. 

Just you, and him.

Nothing needed to be said. You both knew what this really was. When he leaned into your space, you only hesitated for a moment, throwing a glance to the end of the aisle. 34PO and 34DE still stood there, holding each other’s hands and looking at you with such pride and joy in their eyes, waiting expectantly.

Your eyes squeezed shut, blocking them and everyone else out. A solitary tear slipped down your cheek, ignored as you stood on your toes and brushed your lips against Nier’s, barely making any contact in favor of keeping it as short as possible. You felt him huff through his nose, breath on your cheek – then a hand was tangling in your hair and pulling you forward. 

Nier kissed you properly, the connection deep and intentful, actions pulling a surprised gasp from you. His lips felt cold, yet soft, plush. They parted to deepen the kiss, and the way your heartbeat pounded in your ears drowned out the uproar of cheers that filled the space all the way up to the chapel’s vaulted ceiling.

He didn’t let you pull away until you were struggling for breath, chest heaving, blood rushing. Androids were celebrating, jumping and cheering, weeping, hugging. You saw none of it, not with the way Nier shifted his hand to cup your cheek and subtly block your vision of all but him.

Only him. It’ll only ever be him.

“We’re bound,” he told you, lips on the shell of your ear, his white hair tickling your cheeks. “Forever.”

Forever.

Your hand was trapped in his, forcing you to take his lead, follow after him like the stray pup he found and put on a leash. Hands reached for you from each side of the aisle, desiring to graze the god they so worshipped. Instinctively, you tucked closer to Nier, and immediately regretted it when you felt his arm curl around your waist and his chest rumble with softened laughter.

“Relax,” he grinned down at you. “Won’t let any of them touch you.”

It wasn’t just them you were worried about, but you couldn’t put your fear, hatred, disdain, defeat, into words. It all got stuck in your throat, tongue sticky from your undoing, from still being able to taste his synthetic flavor left behind by his kiss.

34DE and 34PO were in the hallway, waiting beyond the doors of the chapel for your arrival. They were both teary-eyed, grinning from ear to ear as they rushed to say their congratulations. Nier received them with a serene smile, the one you now recognized as a mask, him pretending to be kind and thankful.

“I’ll be taking her to our chambers,” he told them. “We wish to not be disturbed.”

“Of course!” 34PO nodded obediently. “We won’t let anyone bother you.”

“Glory to mankind,” 34DE declared, fist to her chest, which her sister mimicked. 

You wanted to talk to them, stay with them as long as possible to delay whatever Nier had planned for you, but by the time you opened your mouth, he was already sweeping you away from them. Your last salvation stripped away from you.

You lost track of how many steps you took, needing to lengthen your gait to keep up with Nier’s excitement. There was a click, and you were in a large, dimly-lit room. 

It’d been so long since you’d seen color besides the white of the castle, green of the city, and eternally setting sun, that the burst of red you saw felt oversaturated. It was on the bed’s duvet, the rug underneath the frame, the curtains of the four-poster, the tapestries on the walls. The plush armchairs placed in front of the glowing, crackling fireplace, too. 

It all looked like blood. Freshly spilled, drained, used as divine paint. All for you.

A hand on your lower back startled you, causing you to tear your eyes away from the gory scene. Nier was already smiling at you, like he knew exactly how it looked to you. “Go make yourself comfortable, dear. I’ll be just a moment.”

The kiss he laid to your temple felt more like a threat than reassurance. 

He moved away from you afterwards, stalking over to the low bookshelf set up by one of the walls. Left to your own devices, you turned away from him and took in your surroundings, trying to ground the rising panic trying to bubble free. What was he planning to do to you? He couldn’t possibly want to…

You threw the thought out as soon as it popped up, hoping beyond hope that Nier didn’t have the necessary… equipment to take this whole marriage thing that far. Instead, you chose to walk to the full-length mirror propped up in the corner of the room.

You stared at your reflection. The dress was simple; off-white with ruffled, short sleeves, the hem reaching your knees. Not quite a wedding dress, but the closest they could get to one, you supposed. 34PO did a good job on your makeup, 34DE with your hair. If this had been a day you wanted, a wedding you willingly participated in, you would have appreciated it more. As it stood, you felt like a stranger in your own body.

Soft music began to play, likely what your husband had been messing with.

Fuck. Husband.

It felt surreal. Sure, nothing about the ceremony resembled anything legally binding, but the way he looked at you, held you, kissed you– 

You were never escaping his clutches. 

Nier’s arms looped around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as his chin settled on your crown. In the silvered reflection, his eyes glowed a vibrant cerulean.

“Beautiful,” he breathed reverently. “Absolutely beautiful. My human wife.”

“What do you want?” You asked, voice cracking minutely. “Is this all? Just to marry me?”

The question had swirled in your mind a lot, but no matter which way you sliced it, it didn’t fully add up. Could he want more power? Possible, but he already had a kingdom, hundreds of loyal androids. A chance to feel closer to the humanity they lost so long ago? Seemed closer to the truth, but that couldn’t be all. Not with how insistent he was on keeping you by his side.

You felt his chuckle more than you heard it, a distant rumble of thunder against your fragile spine. “Of course not,” he denied. “I have a responsibility to protect humanity.”

“But they’re gone,” you said. 

“Correct. Which means now, my responsibility is to restore it.”

Your heart sank to your toes. No. No no no. “What do you mean?”

Nier tilted his head to the side, lips grazing your cheek, leaving fluttering kisses in his wake as he drifted down your jaw and to your neck. “See, I can’t do this with the other androids. While they may possess the, ah, anatomy, they do not possess the needed structures to support life.”

“...What do you mean?”

You regretted asking as soon as the words, half-whispered as they were, left your mouth.

His lips stretched into a wide grin, teeth almost sharp enough to bite into you and leave a mark. A permanent scar, one that let everyone know who you belonged to.

“We androids, we’re not meant to make life, no,” he explained. “But we can aid in it. I can aid in it. I can’t create sperm myself, but I can most certainly act as a host. A medium for… transfer, if you will.”

Breath stuttering in your chest, you tensed up, fingers growing cold, adrenaline spiking. “Nier.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. You’ll want for nothing, need nothing, and all you have to do…”

His hand shifted, sliding down your front, over your breast, settling on your stomach to solidify your worst fear. 

“Is carry humanity’s child.”

You tore yourself out of his grip, distinctly aware that he let you. He had more than enough strength to lock you in place if he wanted to.

“No!” You shouted, backing away. He watched with a small smile, and you didn’t know if that unsettled you more than if he had been completely neutral. “I won’t. I don’t want that.”

He took a step forward, and you matched him in reverse, edging further back. Unperturbed by his retreat, he closed in on you until the backs of your knees were bumping into the edge of the plush bed. Balance lost, you tumbled back onto the duvet, heart hammering inside your rib cage.

Judge, jury, executioner. Warden.

There was nowhere you could go to flee from him, a fact he reinforced by planting his hands on either side of your head. 

“It’s your responsibility, too, you know,” Nier murmured, snowy locks falling around the sides of his face. His damned, beautiful face. “As the last human on Earth, it’s up to you, to us, to bring them back.” Then, quieter, he said, “I won’t fail to protect them this time, not again.”

“Nier–”

“Shh,” his thumb rested on your bottom lip, effectively silencing you. “I won’t simply use you. You are my wife, after all. As your husband, I will ensure you feel nothing but pleasure.”

Tears pricked the backs of your eyes, spilling into your waterline. “Please,” you choked. “Please, don’t.”

All he did was kiss your forehead, so tender. You’d almost prefer it if he wasn’t.

A hand slid up your thigh, inching beneath the skirt of your dress. Somewhere in your hindbrain, you knew it was pointless to fight back. A battle already lost, a war that was projected to completely decimate your lands. A plague, famine, devastation. Give in, and he’d water your soils, keep your plains fertile. Just give in.

With nothing and everything left to lose, you gave in.

And your loving husband rewarded you for it; he cooed in your ear, gave you sweet promises of a bright future, one where you would be lauded as a hero, the one that brought back humanity when it was on the brink of complete extinction. As he did, his hand worked its way between your thighs, palm cupping the heat of your sex through your panties. 

Experimentally, his middle finger nudged against the outline of your slit, featherlight tracing making you squirm. It wasn’t a bad feeling, per se. Rather, you can only describe it as faintly ticklish. 

He hooked it around the band of the gusset, and you were mortified to find that you were wet. His skin made contact with your sex, and his digit easily glided between your folds, coasting up and down the length of your vulva. 

“So warm,” he commented idly. “Are all humans this hot?”

You didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t seem to mind. Entranced, he explored, familiarizing your core with touch first. Curious. It’s such a harmless, yet horrifying, thought. 

It didn’t hit you that he’d drawn your panties down until cool air was brushing against your cunt. Startled, you reached down in an attempt to stop him, but it was too late, as he’d already pulled them off from around your ankles. Reverent and careful, he folded them and set them on the foot of the bed beside you, causing you to flush with embarrassment.

You felt painfully exposed, even with the dress still technically covering you. Another barrier, another boundary, scraped from your person.

Nier lowered himself to his knees, hands on your thighs to keep them apart. You writhed in discomfort, white-hot humiliation dancing up your spine. “Don’t– don’t look at me.” 

Blue eyes glanced up at you. “Can a husband not see his wife?”

You tried to swallow around the lump in your throat. “I… please, just… don’t.”

He angled his head to the left. “Ah. I see, now. You’re embarrassed.” The fact that he read through you like thin paper made the heat in your chest and cheeks bloom hotter. Worse, it made the heat in your stomach grow, too. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. There’s no part of you I wouldn’t find beautiful.”

You breathed in to disagree, insist that wasn’t the case, even if it was – but you were cut off by a mouth making contact with your cunt. Your hips jumped, body reacting faster than your mind could. He acted in kind, grabbing your hips to hold you down, unable to escape the tentative tongue that licked you from hole to clit. 

The gasp you drew in was completely drowned out by the downright euphoric groan he let out. He attacked again, deeper this time, harder, licking at you feverishly to take in every drop of your slick.

“This must be the ambrosia I read in those human books,” he sounded gutted. “Healing nectar from the gods. I thought it must have been their blood, but I was wrong. It’s this.” 

Unfortunately, you were too stunned to correct him.

He dove back in, his method aimless, circuits clearly focused more on drinking you down than pleasuring you. At least, until his teeth barely skimmed against your clit. Your moan was quiet, but you failed to choke it down. And, of course, Nier noticed.

“Oh?” He hummed, the vibrations traveling through your nerves to the swirling, loose mess of tangles in your stomach. Intrigued, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.

You couldn’t hide your whine of pleasure this time, even if you wanted to.

It rattled free from your chest as your hands shot down to dig through his tresses, torn between pushing him away and drawing him closer. Your hips yearned to move, to grind against his face and take what you wanted, what you needed, but the damned android kept them pinned in place. Anything you received was something he gave.

The tip of a finger prodded at the part of your cunt he wasn’t suckling the soul out of, tracing up and down through your wet folds. It encouraged your body to produce more slick, to his great delight. His ministrations gained confidence, interest growing the more you reacted and wriggled. It still surprised you, though, when his finger slid into you without resistance. 

His fingers were slim, but long. It easily reached the back of your pussy, petting around the ring of your cervix. The sensation was odd, albeit not unpleasant. Just weird. 

Nier seemed to like it, like your warmth. He sought more of it, the appendage moving around to map the space within you, learn all he could. There were only so many things you could hide from him, and you were positive he was determined to make sure this wasn’t one of them. 

While the stretch around one finger wasn’t too noticeable, two had your back arching and toes curling. It worked its way in with the first, parting your walls to make room. You’d never admit it, but it felt good.

“Fuck,” you groaned, teeth gritting as he carefully massaged the inside of your pussy. He was methodical, almost clinical, like he was inspecting you. Twist, press, spread, scissoring both your entrance and deep inside. 

Then, his digits crooked up, and you inhaled sharply as he hit your sweet spot dead on. Nier grinned, smug and self-satisfied, a cat that got the cream.

He focused on that spot, repeating the motion and watching your reaction with fascination. Each stroke spur your body into motion against your will, heat building in your center from the rising pleasure. It was slow, a gradual rise, kept on a low simmer. His fingers felt very different, unique, the lack of calluses and fingerprints giving them a smooth texture. It was delicious. They rubbed eagerly, petting until the coil winding inside you creaked and–

Snap.

A startled moan burst out from you as an unexpectedly strong orgasm crashed into your body. It passed through you in waves, the sound of Nier humming in fascination as you clenched around him drowned out by the ringing in your ears.

It didn’t occur to you that he wouldn’t stop until pleasure bled into overstimulation. The heels of your hands shoved against his forehead, sweaty fingers tangling into his pristine hair, but he didn’t budge.

“Nier,” you wheezed, straining against his unbreakable clutch. “Stop, s’too much.”

He gave you mercy, drawing back an inch to give you a crazed, dazed stare. “More. Need you to give me more.”

You celebrated too soon. He sank back down, lapping more urgently. His tongue lacked the texture a human’s did, preventing friction burn, but you were sensitive. Clit swollen, walls still pulsing, nerves on fire. 

For the next two orgasms, Nier’s mouth and fingers were all you knew. They assaulted your leaking, aching pussy, scraping out and swigging down every drop of slick he wanted. Like your body heard his unsaid pleas, you didn’t stop producing the heavenly liquid he became addicted to in mere moments. 

It took you threatening to call for help for him to finally, at long fucking last, release your poor bundle of nerves from his bottomless maw. He released it with a squelching pop, his fingers following shortly after. Where you expected to feel nothing but relief, a hint of sorrow lingered with the sense of emptiness inside you. You smothered it.

His plush lips pressed to your inner thigh, his face absolutely drenched from the chin down. Had you not felt like a wrung out cloth, you would have felt beyond humiliated to see him in that state. 

Compared to you, though, he hardly looked mussed at all. Where you were covered in a sheen of sweat, only his hair was slightly askew, ruffled by your hands that tried to claw him both closer and away from you. Your makeup was undoubtedly smudged, but he looked as put-together as he usually did. He didn’t even have the courtesy to pretend to be out of breath after drowning himself between your thighs for the better part of fifteen or so minutes.

“Sweet girl,” he cooed, crawling over your body. “If you wanted me, you should have just said so.”

You weakly glared at him. “I don’t want–”

Digits slinked into your mouth, and you gagged around the unexpected intrusion. A tangy flavor spread across your tastebuds, and it took you a moment to identify that it was you. 

The very fingers he’d used to finger you raw now massaged the squirming muscle behind your teeth, spreading the slick that had yet to dry onto it. 

“Shh, shh, no need to act shy,” he smiled disarmingly, charmingly, horribly. His hips slotted between your spread thighs, the rough fabric of his pants scraping against the undersides of your legs. Weak and exhausted, you didn’t bother trying to lift your calves from where they were draped by his iliac crests. “I know what you need.”

His free hand worked its way under the waist of your dress, the cloth drawn up, up, up by his arm as he explored your stomach, the bottom of your ribs, over your left tit.

His palm fit so comfortably around your throat.

A collar made just for you.

When your chest was exposed, he freed your neck, the cool touch of synthetic skin around it retreating to instead find home on your breast. He squeezed the flesh, watched it spill through the gaps in between his digits. They spread out, pressed closer, pinched your nipple between them. You hissed, the twinge teetering on painful. 

It wasn’t horrible when the man – android – actually listened to your tells, silent or verbal. His tweaking gentled, curious exploration softened into tender interest. It lulled you into a false sense of security, the sense that he was running out of energy (was that even possible for him?). If you were lucky, his inquisitiveness would burn off soon and he’d leave you alone.

How could you forget that your luck ran out the moment you woke up in this lonely world, where you were surrounded by so many, yet never felt more isolated?

Your eyes shot open at a touch to your core, gaze drawn to the absolute behemoth he’d freed from his pants. 

Fuck. So he did have the needed parts, after all.

Panic resurfaced, surging forth in a tsunami of adrenaline. Any peace you found was stripped away faster than you could wrap around yourself, the lack of its cozy warmth leaving a vicious chill that prickled your skin in goosebumps.

Predicting your escape attempt, his iron vise took your hips and forced them down, keeping you exposed and vulnerable to him and the monster he kept in his pants. Your kicking legs did nothing to aid you, nor harm him. Spread so wide to fit his oversized stature, they could do little more than uselessly kick at the blanket beneath you, ruffling the fabric. You clawed at it, him, anything you could, all fruitless. It wasn’t working, but you had to keep trying, the animal part of your brain screaming to get away, get away, get away.

His position adjusted, the tip of his cock sliding through your folds to notch against your entrance. Your heart beat harder, barely beating at all. Your lungs strained, breath catching at the increasing pressure, your body fighting against letting him in. 

“No, no, get off me, get o–ah!”

Nier pulled a choked yelp from you when he unceremoniously sank two inches into your core, stuck from the lack of slick on his cock. He hadn’t bothered to rub himself against your soaked cunt, and while the thought of him doing so made you blanch, you would have preferred it now if he had.

A pinch formed in his brow, confusion evident as he tried to nudge further forward. You hissed and shoved at his chest, failing to move him at all. Damned android strength.

“Ow, ow, stop, you’re hurting me!” You cried out. Unexpectedly, he listened, stopping what he was doing to look up at you with worried eyes. So much like the sky – colder the deeper you went.

He drew back minutely, a hand leaving your hip to delicately cup your cheek. The pad of his thumb, forever soft by his very nature, smoothed away a tear that slipped free. Maybe, if he hadn’t been so eager to shove his dick into you, you would have believed the concern he wore like a second skin.

“Did I not prepare you enough?” He questioned quietly, lips barely parting to let the words pass. You wondered if he even needed to shape the words, or if he had a voice box that could do it for him.

It was less so the lack of preparation (god knows he gave you a lot of that), and more so his enthusiasm, him forgetting that his size downstairs remained proportional to his freakish height.

You shook your head, eyes squeezed shut. “No, that’s not – fuck – not it. You’re– too big.”

Just like that, he was relaxing, shoulders slumping in relief. “Goodness, dear, you should have said so.”

Like he gave you time to object. Like he gave you a chance to see and decide for yourself.

The stretch burned, discomfort making you twist and struggle pointlessly. It was subconscious more than anything else, a mindless desire to flee the pain.

Nier himself stayed as still as a statue, unsettling eyes locked onto your movement. The chance to become accustomed to his girth, the bizarre sensation of something not human attached to something that looked very human being inside of you, was a small blessing. It took ages, your muscles wound up with stress, but given no other option, you started to settle.

When your breath evened out, pulse steadying, Nier took that as his sign to continue his pursuit. He went much slower this time, afraid of hurting you again, and while a tiny sting remained, the slide was much smoother. He focused on your face, hyperanalyzing your every expression. 

Minutes felt like hours before he finally bottomed out, his pelvis flush with yours. You let out a sharp exhale and slumped against the bed, sweat clinging to every inch of your skin as you tried (and failed) to ignore the fullness in your core. His size stretched you to what felt like your limit, pulled thin around him, forced to accommodate something you were never made to take.

But what he spoke into your hairline in reverence replayed in your mind as his thrusts grew more confident and his circuits shorted.

“Yours, all for you, all for our god. For humanity. Made for you.”

He was made for you.

As man was made in the image of some long lost god, androids were made in the image of man.

Who were you to say you weren’t their god? Nier certainly worshipped you, your body, like you were. He held you as gently as he could without the fear that you’d slip through his fingers, hips canting to find the angle that had you jolting and gasping through your teeth. He kissed and laved at your warm flesh like it was salvation and damnation all in one. 

You melted further into his touch each time, your will chipped away at ‘til he could dip his hands into your pliant chest, spread your ribs, and draw out your still-beating heart.

The twinge in your stomach soon faded into pleasure, eased by his unfaltering, unchanging pace. You didn’t want to fight anymore, worn out by all your earlier struggles. You didn’t want to lie anymore and say you’d rather take the pain over the pleasure, in spite of the guilt that made your gut churn from the admission. You were only human, at the end.

It was because of that fact that you were here, married to an obsessive, doting, man-made creation. 

For the glory of humanity.

You came to that thought, to the knowledge that it was you alone in this world that could do this, that could have this.

Only you.

Your walls bore down on him, spine curving upwards as your orgasm crested. Stars bloomed behind your lids, exploding into beautiful supernovae, each fizzling away in a rain of glitter.

Nier groaned in response, muttering things you couldn’t understand. His voice strained, turning metallic and distorted in some places. Whatever brain cells you had left noted that he could feel pleasure, too. He, too, could be strung thin by bliss to the point that his components had difficulty maintaining normal function.

Through the sensory overload, past the weakness in your arms, your own curiosity led you to cup his cheek, wanting to feel if he would get warm from exertion the same way you would. However, it seemed the touch made his system flow over. He hunched over your body, deathly still as his hips pressed into yours as far as they could go. There was nothing initially, and you worried you accidentally caused him to shut off – then you felt liquid trickle out of your entrance.

A bolt of lightning. Dreaded realization.

He came inside you.

Yet, as much as you wanted to, you no longer had the strength to fight him off.

“Beautiful,” he hailed, thrusts starting anew. “Our savior of humanity.”

All you could do was lay there and take it. Accept this was your fate, what would become of you. Neither servant nor master; an idol placed on a pedestal, sat on the lap of the very one who put you there. Crown adhered to your scalp, glimmering steel locked around your ring finger, and a dress that shimmered and twinkled in gold and silver. 

What more could you do but succumb to the pleasure he so desired to give you, wear the gown and let him call you his queen, and him your king?

What was left for you? What remained in your control?

Did you ever have any to begin with?

You didn’t know what round it happened on, only that it happened.

Between the zero breaks and various position changes, angles he wanted to test out to get the biggest reaction out of you, you reached a breaking point. Your body had been pushed too far, the overwhelming pleasure too much to handle.

Nier had you on his lap, back to his chest with one knee hooked over his arm while his free hand danced over your clit, rubbing precise, unfaltering circles into it, making sure to swipe the underside on every pass. You were too far out of it, mind lost somewhere in the ether, to warn him. Hell, your body didn’t even warn you. All you knew was that one second, there was pressure.

And the next, you were squirting.

Hard.

It splattered onto the bed, soaking into the sheets. It coated both your thighs and his, body trembling from the sheer strength of your release. 

That seemed to be his last straw.

With two more brutal thrusts, he hilted himself inside you and pumped whatever fluid into your cunt, plugging you up to the best of his ability. There was a sputter, a shudder in his body, then nothing.

He was finally empty. Everything he had was given to you, filled beyond full. His mission was complete.

The world was a hazy blur from there. Your aching body was moved around, sore muscles cramping. A cloth to your fragile skin, the cold rim of a glass to your lips, heaven in the form of water on your tongue.

When you came to properly, you were laid on your back, a blanket pulled up to your waist. The fireplace was sparking with dying embers, but the room remained warm. A pleasant sensation buzzed under your skin, keeping you loose and unwilling to move.

Exhausted. You were exhausted, utterly spent, wrung out like an old rag. Beside you, Nier breathed easily, his thumb stroking slowly over your stomach. Not for the first time, you wondered how something so distinctly inhuman could be so human.

You looked up, and found him already peering at you, gazing like he was capable of feeling love.

It hurt too much to wonder if it was possible at all. Burying your face into his collarbone, you chose to fade into your imagination, pretending that everything was normal and okay. You fantasized that this was wanted, that he was truly as loving as he portrayed himself to be, that he wasn’t made of metal and wires.

Maybe, if you pretended hard enough, it would all be okay.

divider by cafekitsune ♥

(reminder to put your age in your bio/pinned before you follow me or I will block you)

[NieR masterlist]

You got up early that morning. At least, you thought you did. It was hard to tell what time it was when the sun never changed its position in the sky.

As promised, Pascal set up a communication line with the androids yesterday. He seemed a hint out of practice; clearly, it had been ages since he’d had a reason to chat with the other beings of this planet.

Eventually, Pascal got them to agree to arrive. The details beyond that were lost to you.

Instead of worrying about it, you sat on the wooden platform of the upper tier of his village, swinging your legs off the edge. You regaled Pascal with stories of your universe, enjoying the last few hours you had left to spend with him. A gentle breeze brushed against you, rustling your clothes and bringing with it the scent of flora, the eternal blooms that thrived under the light. Beyond the forest, you periodically spotted boars and deer roaming about, feasting on never-ending expanses of greenery.

It was while you were telling him about the hell that was navigating subways that the Androids arrived.

A small convoy of people, four from the looks of it, crossed the bridges hung onto the trees, approaching Pascal’s village in a uniform fashion. They marched at a steady pace, one after the other, boots filling the same slot as the person in front of them.

Right off the bat, you clocked something strange about them. 

They all looked completely identical. It wasn’t just in the clothes they were in, but everything, from the way they walked, to the weird masks they wore over their eyes, down to the straightness of their hair. 

Strangest of all, though, was that they all had weapons hovering behind them, held up by a ring of pale yellow light. Mainly swords, though one had a polearm from what you could glean.

The group stopped at what functioned as the entrance to the village, heads tilted up to face you and Pascal, expressions neutral. Their presence caused the hair on your nape to prickle, suddenly nervous. They were (probably) your only way to get home, you couldn’t afford to give a bad first impression.

You trailed after Pascal as went to meet them, clunking down the ladder that creaked precariously under his weight. Resisting the temptation to hide behind him like a child, you stood at his side, waiting for someone to start.

The ‘leader’ of sorts spoke first. “Pascal.”

Pascal’s gears churred, a noise you recognized as him feeling pleased. “It’s good to see you again, 18.”

18? What a weird name, you thought. She was the tallest of the bunch, though the rest weren’t far behind. Her hair draped to her shoulders, bangs cut at an interesting diagonal line, but she pulled it off somehow. Her weapon was bigger than the rest, resembling a heavy greatsword. How a spinning circle of light held it up, you had no idea, and even less idea how the damn thing was used, considering it was as tall as her. 

Maybe it was for aesthetics? 

The android merely nodded, then turned her gaze toward you. “This is the human you told us of?”

“That’s right,” your friend confirmed.

18 examined you for a few seconds, standing unnaturally still. Then, she turned her head over her shoulder, motioning to the girl at her right. The girl took the hint and approached you, closing the distance in two long strides. 

Before you could do anything, her gloved hands clasped your face, tilting your head this way and that, sparing little concern for the comfort of your neck. You opened your mouth to voice your panic, but she took the chance to hook a thumb behind your teeth and pull it open wider, peering into your maw. Reflexively, you tried to jerk back, a garbled complaint bubbling up, but your struggles didn’t move her. Either, she was ignoring the way you were pulling at her arm, or she was entirely oblivious to your discomfort.

It was when she put a palm to your throat, fingers nudging into the underside of your jaw, that she froze. You had no idea what she was searching for, but she seemed to have found it in the way your heart hammered in your chest. As quickly as she had grabbed you, she let go, staggering backwards like you’d burned her.

“It’s true,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. “She– she’s human.”

In an instant, 18 and the other android locked onto you, crowding your space. Touchy hands wandered all over your body, pawing at your flesh, treating you like a novelty. Someone pinched your waist, and you squealed, batting them away.

“Hands off!” You yelped, and they all retracted from you, surprise evident on their faces. 

Chatter burst forth from them, the group babbling to each other rather unsubtly. Their conversation moved too fast for you to follow, only allowing you to catch the occasional word, like human and His Majesty, city. Pascal and you shared a glance; the robot shrugged unhelpfully. 

Then, it stopped altogether. 18 took her spot at the front again and pressed an arm to her chest, elbow raised outward, and bowed to you. “I am 18D, an android that works under His Majesty. My companions maintain similar positions in His employ. We’d be honored to escort you to His Majesty, so he may aid you in returning home.”

As one, they spoke, saying, “Glory to mankind.”

Jesus, okay, you underestimated how much androids loved humans when Pascal told you about them, sort of just assuming they were bodyguards that took their jobs very seriously. But, hey, that meant they’d keep you safe during your journey to meet whoever this ‘Majesty’ guy was, right?

“We should hurry,” the second girl rushed, jittery for some reason.

As you were about to agree, you hesitated. “Wait, I want Pascal to come, too.”

At once, you were denied. “No,” she refused, stern, but not unkind. “Machine lifeforms are not welcome in the city.”

Offense surged through you at Pascal’s behalf. “What? But he’s nice! You know this!”

“It’s a rule. No exceptions.”

“You can make one–”

Pascal called your name, interrupting your bickering. His hand reached out to you, then lowered, as if he thought better of it.

“It’s okay,” he reassured you. “They have these rules for a reason. I will be fine here.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out, stuck in your throat like thick honey. You wanted him to come with you, he’d been the only person you’d known since waking up in this strange place. 

Fuck. Your chest ached with guilt, but if even Pascal insisted on staying behind, what choice did you have? You weren’t going to win this fight.

It was with a heavy sigh and the slump of your back that you conceded. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

The androids didn’t bother providing further conversation or wishing Pascal farewell, but you were not about to leave him without at least telling him goodbye. They were already marching away, but you weren’t ready, not yet.

“Wait, hang on,” you called to them. Not waiting to see if they stopped, you hurried back to Pascal, throwing your arms around the can of gears and bolts. “Thank you for being my friend,” you murmured into his shoulder.

He didn’t move initially, then cautiously encircled his arms around you in a facsimile of a hug, more so imitating you than actually understanding the action. “Of course,” he reassured you. “It was a pleasure to have you. I hope we meet again someday.”

You kept your mouth shut at that, not wanting to let him down and say this would be the last time you’d see each other, hopefully. Instead, you squeezed him tighter, then let go.

“Bye, Pascal,” you expressed, smiling sadly.

“Safe travels,” he responded, giving you a wave that you returned.

You turned around and made your way to the androids. It was obvious that they wanted to say something about your friendship with Pascal, but they thankfully kept their mouths shut. They led you away, further and further from the little village you had come to think of as your home-away-from-home. You peeked over your shoulder to give it one last look.

Pascal continued to wave at you, even after you disappeared behind the trees and descended to ground level.

A short walk away, you noticed a shape that looked distinctly familiar, tucked away under a tree with low-hanging branches. 

It was a car – an off-road land rover of sorts, specifically. Unlike the other vehicle shells you’d seen here and there, rotted frames of crumbling rust and plastic melted under the ever-present sun, this one was in good condition. A range of floodlights were attached right above the windshield, powered off and unneeded in the current daylight. From the looks of it, the roof and windows had been removed, leaving only the frame for easy access. 

You watched as 18D popped open the driver side door and climbed in.. You awkwardly waited outside, unsure where you fit. 

And then, something grabbed you. 

You were lifted like a damn feather, your indignant caterwauling ignored completely as your effective kidnapper jumped in and plopped you right onto her lap, arms looped around your waist.

“Be careful, G!” One of the girls cried out, the one settling into the passenger seat. “She’s fragile.”

Whoever was holding you – G? – cackled. “Relax, 73. She’s fine. Aren’t you, girly?” The girl leaned forward, her lips against the shell of your ear. You fully intended to pretend that you didn’t just experience a wave of shivers at the sound of her voice.

“Well, actually–” you started.

“73H is right, 5G,” 18 interrupted. “Be more careful.”

“Sure, sure,” 5G, G, whoever the fuck she was, answered lackadaisically. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep our little human safe.”

18 grumbled something that you didn’t catch under the roar of the engine turning over. In an attempt to save yourself, you wriggled, but it was useless against the unstoppable force that was this woman’s insane strength. Her arms didn’t so much as budge at your squirming.

“Um,” you spoke up above the rumbling purr emanating from the vehicle. “I can sit on my own just fine!”

5G grinned, propping her chin up on your shoulder. “Don’t be silly! I won’t let you go, you can trust me!”

Yeah, that wasn’t what you were worried about. It didn’t help that she was unfairly pretty. All of them were, really, in that inhuman way that bordered a little too close to uncanny valley, but didn’t quite fall into the steep drop yet.

You chewed the inside of your cheek. You were a novelty, after all; the last human on Earth. Maybe they’d never seen one before? You could hardly blame them for being curious.

Still, no matter how hard you tried to squash the thoughts under your heel, they persisted, whispering in your ear that you should have stayed with Pascal.

----

The entire ride to the city, the androids stared at you.

73H frequently turned around in her seat to chat with you and 5G, and 5G never loosened her hold. The only one that seemed to not be trying to pick you apart with her eyes was 18D, but with the blindfolds they all wore, for all you knew she could have been peering at you through the rearview mirror this whole time.

“What’s it like, being a human?” 73H queried.

“Um, what do you want to know?”

“Do you really produce milk?”

The question was so outrageous, you couldn’t help yourself. You choked on a laugh, then burst out into a fit of giggles. 18D chastised her, prompting 73H to apologize profusely to you, but you found it endearing.

Fanning your face, you answered, “Some people do, yeah. Usually happens after they give birth.”

“What’s it taste like?”

“73H!” 18 shouted.

“Sorry!” She whined.

5G nudged you while 18D chided 73H. “Can humans eat mackerel?”

You nodded. “Yeah, unless they’re allergic.”

“It doesn’t jam up your circuits?”

“No–” you made a face. “Humans don’t have circuits.”

“Really?” Both she and 73H asked.

As you chatted, you observed the changing scenery. The ruined structures of ancient apartments and house foundations fell away, replaced with idyllic landscapes.

It faded away, replaced with the curious chiming of music through old speakers, the sound tinny and popping. You leaned to the side to peek between 18D and 73H, watching as your driver raced towards an… 

Amusement park?

Going straight through the entrance led to a partially destroyed statue, its body cut on a clean diagonal, as if sliced in half. Rainwater collected inside it, causing its protective coating to wear off in some places and allow the bronze to oxidize.

“What’s that?” You pointed it out.

5G shrugged nonchalantly. “Records show it used to be a machine lifeform. Good riddance.”

18D drove around it and further into the park, up a few ramps. They were steep, leaving you to fall back into 5G, but she didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

Past the houses lining the street, the space opened up greatly, a circular plaza with an open gate at the end. It was when 18D drove onto what resembled a highway that you saw it.

A bestial fortress. The vestiges of sunlight bled through the misshapen heart of its core, your desired sunset handed to you on a silver platter. To the right of it, the remnants of a ferris wheel lay collapsed upon its siding, overtaken by nature.

“I bet this place used to be fun,” 73H sighed. “Wish the roller coaster still worked.”

“There’s a roller coaster?” You looked back to spot it.

“Oh, yeah,” 5G crooned, laughing. “Just a mess now. Bet you would have been too chicken to ride it, 73H.”

“I would not have been!”

The two bickered back and forth, with 5G provoking 73H, saying that all healer units were wusses while the other insisting it wasn’t true.

The highway curved, extending parallel to the massive structure, away from the winding pillars and tracks of the doomed roller coaster. 

It was beautiful.

You feared that very beauty would grab hold of you and never let go.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice that your ride had reached its destination until 5G was scooping you up like a soggy, wet cat again, lifting you out of the car. Looking around, you realized that 18D had parked in what seemed to be a garage lot somewhere underground. 

Just as you were beginning to panic, thinking they were about to drag you down to some creepy-ass dungeon, 18D spun around and led your group up a ramp and out into the crimson-gold lambency of the forevermore lowering sun, hanging heavy on the horizon.

The first step you took into the city left you speechless.

All around you, skyscrapers rose to greet the sky, their spires still standing tall, even after all this time. In place of glass windows with mirror-like finishes, overwhelming amounts of bright green foliage sprouted from the sides of the buildings. Trees lined the streets in thriving columns, blooms of white and pink flowering atop the leaves.

Asphalt made way for sprawling ivy and stunning flora, pops of color breathing a sentience yet unknown to you into what was once a metropolis packed full of humans. The tram line that cut through the center of the wide street blended seamlessly with the copsewood, the passenger carriage itself serving as a home for verdure.

A squirrel skittered from bush to bush and raced up the trunk of a nearby tree, chattering with another that hid in the midst of leafage. Flocks of birds circled overhead, searching for places to nest, bugs to feast upon, and treats to stash away.

Androids roamed about in small groups, two or three making their way to wherever it was they were going. Most had white hair, but it was easy to spot those that were brunette or blonde. A few even sported brilliantly red locks, a shock of contrast against a nearly all-green backdrop.

You were so used to streets that were jam packed with people and cars, a constant buzz of sound. Instead of honking vehicles and rumbling engines, there was the swish of gentle wind between buildings. Humans were exchanged with wildlife. Things of scant importance had long since decomposed.

Fresh air flooded your lungs. You could see straight up into a vivid wisteria and bell heather sky, no haze present to block out the lustrous glow of perpetual early sunset. Stars speckled the heavens in dots of cadenced flickers.

The world smelled sweet, faintly of lemongrass and something distinctly wild that you couldn’t put your finger on. For a moment, you forgot everything, captive to the beauty of a planet undesecrated by humanity.

To your surprise, many buildings and streetlights retained electricity, burning strong in the evening hours. They made constellations of one another, their silhouettes blurred into softness by still-surviving lightbulbs and the mellowed sun. When you heard the word ‘cozy’, this is what you imagined. A place of peace, full of nature, gentle on the eyes. 

If only real life was like this. Well, your real life.

The weapons your envoy possessed dissipated into sparkles of light as soon as they entered the official city boundary, embers fizzling away before you could enclose them in your palms and bring them to your heart.

“The King lives not far from the city center, in a castle,” 73H informed you. 

You cocked your head to the side. “Castle?”

A smile curled the corners of her mouth upwards. “Yes! He built it himself.”

“Oh,” you responded, lackluster.

You wondered if this ‘King’ had a proper name amongst the androids, or if he identified himself with weird numbers and letters like everyone else did, as far as you were aware. It would be kind of odd to always refer to him as only ‘the King’ or ‘His Majesty’, wouldn’t it?

It gave you something to ponder about as you followed 18D, absentmindedly taking in the scenery and moping about your universe not having anything remotely like this. Had you not been experiencing it firsthand, you would have dared to call it magical, far beyond the realm of possibility. The entire path you took to the so-called “castle” was like this, the pure essence of creation at the nimble hands of Earth.

And the castle itself – well, it wasn’t quite what you were expecting.

Granted, you didn’t know what to expect in the first place, but it wasn’t so strikingly simple in your mind’s eye.

Sticking out like a sore thumb, a structure of pure, pristine white material occupied a space you imagined might have once belonged to a church, a place of worship. If you paid close enough attention, you swore you could hear the whisper of unanswered prayers.

Compared to the decrepit skyscrapers, it looked brand new, untouched, raised from the ground and kept in a bubble of serenity, away from erosion and time. Your hands itched to dip into paint and press into its sides, leaving a reminder that you were there.

The massive doorway opened at your approach, and you walked through them, down a long path that led to a raised dais. A throne resided atop it, and on it sat a man, chin propped on his fist.

King was right.

The man had an undeniably heavy presence to him, one that had you straightening up.

You were never good with estimating, but you’d place his height around 7 feet, at least. He commanded the very air about him with his presence alone, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. 18D was tall, but the king beat her by a head or two easily.

Like most androids, his hair was a gleaming, cool white, resembling the underbelly of a fawn. It fluffed around his head in mid-length strands, and you bet it was soft as cotton. Part of you wanted to reach out and run your fingers through his wolf cut. 

Instead, you forced yourself to focus on his face. Unlike the other androids, he wasn’t wearing a blindfold, showing his pretty blue eyes; they swept over your escorts with little interest, then they settled on you.

And stayed.

Their striking hue made your breath catch. Stunning was an understatement, and you felt a smidge self conscious with how keenly he looked at you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, glancing away.

“Ladies,” he greeted. His tone was low and smooth. It passed over you, encircled you, and came to rest, a warm blanket made of affection and familiarity.

“Your Majesty,” your android companions all replied simultaneously, leaving you the odd one out once more.

The ‘King’ merely waved his hand. “This her, then?

18D rose first, thumping her fist against her chest before it fell to rest at her side.

“Yes, your Majesty. This is the human Pascal informed you of.”

In all the time that 18D was speaking, he never once looked away from you, wholly captivated by your existence.

His brows creased. “How did you end up here?”

It took you a moment to figure out he was asking you. “Oh, um,” you stammered, not expecting the unceremonious return of your vocal autonomy. “I… woke up here?”

Were you not currently busy getting the shit intimidated out of you, you would have considered a career as a wordsmith. With your talent for crafting intricate, yet easily-understood explanations, you could be a world-renowned author on any topic you craved to cover.

Surprisingly, the man didn’t ask you to restate yourself, moving on to ask, “What is your name?”

Hesitantly, you offered it, and received a dazzling smile in return.

“It’s a beautiful name,” he complimented. “You may call me Nier.”

Nier. 

Why was the king – Nier – the only one with a name? A proper name, one that sounded almost…

Human.

You thought to question it, but the comfort that came with a human name belonging to a man that was the closest to a human you’d seen overrode it.

Nier rose to his feet, coming to stand before you. He wielded power in his stance alone; it drew you to him.

“Come inside, we can talk more there,” he recommended, motioning to an opening off to the side. You nodded and let him guide you away from your escorts.

The door slid shut behind you, giving you privacy. Inside, you found what looked like a completely normal home, although made of the same material as the rest of the castle and his throne.

Where you expected Nier to sit you down on the couch, or at the dinner table, he kept walking until he reached the end of a hallway. He raised a hand and pressed it to the blank wall, and a hidden door parted, revealing another small room. An elevator.

You entered it with him, and soon felt the floor rise beneath you and carry you smoothly upwards. For how long, you had no way of knowing, having no indication of what floor you were on. It could have been seconds or minutes, but by the time the door opened again, you were disoriented and a hint dizzy. Nier, of course, was none the wiser, focused on bringing you into a bedroom, of all things.

Your first instinct was to think it was his bedroom – but the more you took in the details, the less that seemed likely. For one, there was no indication of anyone having lived in it; the sheets on the bed were untouched, not a wrinkle to be seen in the comforter or pillowcase, both as equally white as everything else. There was nothing on the nightstand beside the bed aside from a small lamp. The desk was blank, a chair tucked neatly under it, and if you opened the wardrobe, you’d bet there was nothing inside it.

“What…” you breathed aloud, confused.

Nier finally let go of your hand and stepped further in. “This is for you,” he said, like that gave you any sort of enlightenment on the environment.

“For me?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, laying his hand on your shoulder. Faintly, his finger brushed over your neck, the sensation little more than the lightest trace of a feather. But there was too much else going on for you to notice it properly, your focus drawn every which way. 

At his direction, the subtle persuading, you took a seat on the bed, bewildered to find that it was soft and comfortable, contrary to the blockiness you were expecting. Nier crouched in front of you, coming to rest on one knee, an arm laid lazily across the raised one. Even brought down to this level, he was nearly head-on with you, easily able to maintain eye contact.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said.

“I insist,” he asserted. “I am most happy when I serve.”

Your heart fluttered.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” He suggested. 

So, you did exactly that; you told him how you went to sleep in your world, and woke up in this one. How you met Pascal, and asked him to contact the androids with hopes that they could aid you in returning home. Now, you came to Nier with the hopes that he’ll be able to help you return to where you’re supposed to be.

“Her name is Accord,” you told him. “She’s an android, like you. Can you contact her?”

His head tilted to the side, and he put a hand on your thigh, above your knee. “Don’t worry,” he soothed. “We’ll help you get home. It’s our responsibility as the servants of humanity to serve you, and keep you safe.”

You gave him a thin, watery smile. 

“Thank you, your Majesty–”

“Nier,” he corrected.

You swallowed down the dryness in your throat. “...Nier.”

The delighted expression he gave you caused heat to rise to your cheeks. You looked away, and that’s when you heard it, a distant, muffled noise.

You spotted a nearby window where the noise came from. You turned to peer out of it, where you found dozens upon dozens of androids standing on the street below. They all hollered and flailed their arms about, heads bobbing like little whack-a-moles.

Beside you, Nier grumbled, “News travels so fast… I apologize, I hoped we’d have more time before they learned you were here.”

Leaning closer to the window, you awed at the amount of people gathered. “Are they all… here to see me?”

“Of course, they are,” came his soft reply. “You are a miracle to us.”

You peeked at him, and found him smiling tenderly at you, his expression warm and gentle. He gave you a slight nod, and you took it as permission to interact with the amassed people. Slowly, you raised a hand, and waved it at them.

Your reward was an explosive round of cheers that barely reached you, the androids jumping and waving back at you. Despite yourself, your lips tugged upwards, the tightness in your chest loosening. 

If nothing else, it was nice to know the androids were excited to see you.

Nier rose from his spot. “I’d like to show you the rest of the castle,” he explained. “If that’s alright.”

There was something about him that made you feel safe. He was kind, and you knew he’d protect you. When he extended his hand, you took it, fingers gliding into his palm.

“I’d love to see,” you said.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Come, then. There’s much to show you.”

divider by cafekitsune ♥

(reminder to put your age in your bio/pinned before you follow me or I will block you)

[NieR masterlist]

In your universe, accidentally falling into another is pretty common. 

You never fully understood the science behind it, but in your world, cracks lingered everywhere. An object, an animal, or even a person slipping through was not unheard of. 

It happened often enough that a system was created to retrieve those who slip. Warnings are issued throughout the city whenever there’s a ‘reality tear’ in Central Park. Certain places of the world are permanently closed off from humanity. Schools make drills educating children on what to do if they’re ever trapped in another universe, alone. The world does whatever it can to protect society and the people from slipping into another world, lost forever. 

Slipping isn’t an inevitability, but it’s a possibility. Like getting into a car accident, or getting stuck outside in a hurricane. It’s something to prepare for. 

So when you woke up underneath a bright blue sky, away from your bed, your apartment, your town, your entire universe, you weren’t wholly unprepared. 

It’s not that you weren’t surprised. It took you an hour to finally give up the delusion that you’re dreaming. Another hour later and you were finally starting to realize this new world played a whole lot differently than your old one. 

Firstly, there were no people. 

You walked around for what felt like years now, and yet, there was no hint of humanity. No sign of intelligent life. No roads, no cars, no telephone towers in the far distance. There were just trees and plains and valleys. Back home, this would be a rarity. A place untouched by civilization. 

But there were remnants of it. 

At first you thought it was a piece of furniture–decayed and rotting in the middle of a random clearing. It wasn’t until you took a few trepid steps closer that you realized it was something more intricate. 

Clunky and robust with gray metal that was starting to oxidize. It was some kind of robot. It might have been years since this thing was active. 

You stared at the find for several minutes. Was it man-made? That didn’t really feel right. You didn’t know how to explain it, but this robot looked foreign to any Earthly element. Alien. 

Strangely, you felt as if you were examining a corpse. 

Weird, really really weird. But apart from the strange robot, you couldn’t find anything else off with this world. You mostly recognized the animals, as well as the plants. The most you could conclude was that this was some type of post-apocalyptic Earth where humanity was scarce or just gone entirely. 

That sounded a bit depressing, but you weren’t surprised. You’d heard of others who’d slipped into similar realities where humanity had blown themselves up till extinction. Or a disease wiped them out entirely. They often talked about how nice it was seeing animals that were on the endangered list, just frolicking about in the thousands. You hoped this was one of those realities. Realities without humanity often sounded more peaceful.

The panic hadn’t set in yet. There was no need for it to. You knew people would eventually realize you’re missing and the system would kick in to find you. Accord was really good at her job. It was what she was created for, after all. Since her creation, everyone who slipped was often found by the end of the day, perfectly safe. 

You were in good hands, you assured yourself. Accord would find you. She’s found everyone else, so far. Why would you be an anomaly? 

You ignored the tiny voice of paranoia in your head, distracting yourself by admiring the large trees and other vegetation. One field in particular caught your attention. It was not the beauty that made it pop, rather, the familiarity. 

You bent down, lightly touching the bright red tomato happily growing from its stem. Beside it was a cucumber vine, creeping along the floor with its dark green vegetables. There were a few strawberry shrubs, something that looked vaguely like a pomegranate bush. All of the plants were bunched together, healthy and growing strong. It almost resembled a shabby garden.

“Oh, hello there.” 

You jumped up straight, surprised to hear a voice, and from the sound of their tone, they seemed to share your reaction. 

When you spun around to face the source, you were partially expecting to see that robot you’d seen earlier. 

It wasn’t that robot. It was a different one. 

You stared, the robot stared right back. It was larger than you, bulkier, and a bit more humanoid in shape than the other one. Its metal was old and rusted in some places. What could only resemble eyes were bright green lights on either side of its face. 

Given any other situation, you might have run. Maybe even screamed. But being stuck in a world where you didn’t know the rules of the game was enough to leave you stumped, and so you just echoed what the robot said. 

“Um, hello,” you replied back nervously, raising a hand in greeting.

The thing straightened up at your voice. You could hear the gears and bolts shudder every time it moved. 

“Hello!” It repeated. It almost sounded excited. “How are you, today?” 

“Fine?” You responded before your mind caught up to you, force of habit forcing pleasantry. “I’m sorry, but…what–what are you exactly?” 

You heard the gears again. “I’m Pascal!” The thing chittered, clearly misunderstanding your question. “What’s your name?” 

Not quite what you were looking for, but it seemed friendly, at least? You gave ‘Pascal’ your name with less enthusiasm and more caution. ‘Pascal’ didn’t seem to mind. If anything, the robot strode even closer, clearly not sensing your wariness. If anything, it seemed entirely oblivious to it.

“Is this yours?” You tried, gesturing to the garden. God, you hoped it was a nice robot and wasn’t about to kill you. Pascal gave an eager nod. 

“Yes! Yes!” Pascal agreed. “The deer like them, as well as the rabbits. I try my best to keep the plants growing every year.” 

An animal lover. You wondered if it was programmed for that. Your shoulders relaxed a little, relieved that the thing was harmless. Probably.

“Really?” You prompted, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “Do you grow anything else?”

It shook its head. “These were the only plants that sprouted,” it informed you, gears crunching as they got stuck for a second, then continued to operate smoothly. I collected them during my travels and decided to plant them here.”

Pascal’s blabberings simmered. It peered at you with those green lights it called eyes, digging far too deep for your liking.

Robots weren’t supposed to replicate life. Their entire existence stemmed from certainty — a feature of life that often fails to be duplicated. 

But maybe you were wrong because, just for a brief moment, he hesitated. Then, he asked.

“...Are you lost?” 

-

It’s a village, at least you thought it was a village. 

High up in the trees. You weren’t sure if the rickety ladder would’ve held your weight, but you believed the fear was well worth the scenery. 

A treehouse village. Each hut was built into the trunk. There were at least two ‘floors’, with another clearly in the process of being built. There were clothing lines where clothes and rags were hung up to dry, though it looked as if they had been up there for a long time. 

“Welcome to my home,” Pascal chirped while you gazed around in awe. “This is so exciting! It’s been a while since I’ve had someone see it. Would you like a tour?” 

You nodded, finally beginning to feel properly excited about this world you’d fallen into. Pascal clasped his ‘hands’ together, thrilled, as far as you could tell. He led you around the village enthusiastically, pointing out every detail he could find. He talked a lot, enough to fill the space for two people, leaving you to bob your head long to everything he said. It was nice, you were content enough to sit back and let him do the talking. It allowed you to absorb everything just a bit more. 

The chirping of cicadas, the rustle of leaves, being able to weave between the trees and never touch the ground — it all called back to the more childlike side of your being. The desire to have a majestic treehouse from which to rule, that childhood dream almost felt fulfilled as you took in your surroundings, learned where all the ‘houses’ were. 

The more he showed you, however, the more strange this place became. There were hints of life everywhere, clues that somebody should have been actively living there, occupying the huts, greeting you as you passed. There were multiple ladders and bridges, clearly made for more than just one person in mind. There was something that oddly resembled a children’s toy — a shabbily made see-saw. Clearly, it couldn’t have been only Pascal residing here.

Every so often, you expected someone — a robot, maybe one shaped like Pascal — to pop up. Yet, there was nothing; only the eerie silence, save for your footsteps and Pascal’s metal clanking. 

“Where is everyone?” You interrupted Pascal in the midst of his rambling, feeling a spark of guilt at the way he stuttered. 

He looked back at you, and by now you were starting to get the hang of gauging his reactions enough to understand that he looked confused. 

“What do you mean?” He prodded. “It’s only ever been me here.” He paused to think for a moment. “Actually, when I first got here, there was a lot of junk laying around. It took a while to get rid of.” He hummed good-naturedly. “It’s more than likely other machine lifeforms found this place first before moving on.” 

That caught your attention. 

“Machine lifeforms?” You repeated. “Is that what you are?” 

“Machine lifeforms are those brought by aliens to Earth.” Pascal provided, nodding along.

So they weren’t made by humans. You had a feeling, but it was nice to be certain. It was obvious that this world is far into the future compared to your own by decades — perhaps even centuries.

“Pardon me for asking but…” Pascal tilted his head. “You are human, yes?” 

You assented, albeit reluctantly. It sounded more like a yearning for confirmation than actual ignorance. Besides, it might have been pure naivety on your part, but in the short while you’d known Pascal, he’d never once been malicious. A bit weird, but not bad. 

You flinched when he threw his arms up in the air, jolted out of your thoughts. The gears within him whirred in delight at your testimony. 

“Splendid! I had an inkling you were…but I didn’t want to assume!” He gushed, bypassing your personal space once again to analyze you. “I’ve never met a human before. How exciting.” 

You had a feeling you were the only one left, but for your suspicion to be confirmed was a little disappointing. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were holding out a little bit of hope for another human to be around, someone you could relate to more easily. Someone who understood.

“I’m guessing humans here are long gone then.” You murmured, mostly to yourself, but Pascal heard it loud and clear. 

“No?” He told you, confused. “All humans are on the Moon. Isn’t that where you’re from?” 

“The Moon?” You echoed, glancing up at the sky. “All of them? How did they even–” 

You swallowed your voice, perplexed. What kind of world was this? Robots on Earth? Humans on the Moon?

“No, I’m not from the Moon.” You finally told him. “And…I’m not even from this Earth. It’s–it’s hard to explain.” 

Sighing, you took a seat on the wooden floor of the village. Pascal followed, watching as you crossed your legs, and he did the same. It reminded you of a child following the actions of an adult, learning from the people around them. 

You assumed you spent about twenty minutes on the platform, explaining about how you woke up here no more than a few hours ago, Accord, how you were supposed to be in your own bed at home…and now you were somewhere else. 

“I’m still not too sure how it works.” You admitted to him. “But…think of a cup filled with water. Whenever you shake it, the water spills over. That would sort of make me a droplet.” 

Insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. 

“Fascinating.” Pascal swooned before his posture dropped. “My sincerest apologies. I’m sure your friend is very worried.” 

“My friend?” 

“Accord.” Pascal clarified. “You mentioned she was looking for you.” 

You weren’t sure if you could call Accord a friend. You’d never met her before, but every human in your universe knows her name. 

“In my universe, people get into these types of situations all the time.” You motioned to yourself. “Accord is the overseer of my world. She’s a system! Whenever someone goes missing–like I did–she tracks them down and brings them back home.” 

Accord would find you eventually. You were sure of it. Ever since her creation, there hasn’t been a single human that wasn’t recovered in a week. 

“I bet my friends and family are pretty worried.” You acknowledged, realizing how long you’d been gone. “But I’ve heard that time moves slowly in my universe. A few hours here, might only be a few seconds there.” 

A few days here could be a mere few hours there. Weeks and weeks might only be a day or two. Years might be–

“From what you’ve told me, Accord seems very proficient.” Pascal proclaimed, proud for you, somehow. “I’m sure she’ll find you soon.” 

You gave a weak smile, your stomach churning at the unsettling feeling that his words seeded. “Of course she will.” You agreed in spite of the anxiety that licked at the soles of your feet. After all, Accord hadn’t lost anyone before, right? 

Right? 

You just had to stay put, and stay hopeful. You’d be found soon. Someone would notice you’d been gone, or you hadn’t been answering your phone, and you’d be reported. It’d be fine. 

Everything will be fine. 

Speaking of, you weren’t sure how interdimensional travel worked, but you didn’t want to take a chance of straying too far from your original spot. Pascal’s place wasn’t too far from where you originally woke up. Maybe if you lingered around a bit, Accord might have an easier time finding you. 

“Pascal?” You called. 

He tilted his head as an answer. 

“I really don’t mean to be a bother, but.” You glanced away into the trees. Despite the sun hovering strong and still in the sky, the forest looked dark and daunting. You weren’t sure if it was a good idea to be alone anymore. 

“Would you mind if I stayed for a while?” 

You wanted to say more. You wanted to explain yourself. You wanted to promise you wouldn’t take too much of his time, or be too much of a burden, but Pascal didn’t seem to want any of it. The most inhuman thing on this planet was showing you the most humanity you’d ever experienced.

“Of course.” He chirped cheerily. “Stay as long as you would like.” 

True to your word, you made sure you weren’t a burden. You tried your best to help out in the village, folding the rags of cloth he had lying around, brushing off the twigs and leaves that occasionally cluttered the floor. You didn’t think you were doing a lot, but Pascal was very sweet with his assurances. 

“So are there any other machine lifeforms that you’ve seen?” You asked, tucking away another bundle of twigs as per his instructions. 

Pascal sat right next to you, showing you the proper way to store the sticks. You lacked the efficiency and the perfection he had, and your bundles looked like complete messes compared to his. Thankfully, he said nothing about it, placing the stacks you made right next to his own. 

“Yes.” He answered. “Most don’t stay around these parts, however. The android kingdom is very close, though.” 

“Android kingdom.” You quoted, brows furrowing in consideration. Robots like Accord? 

“Oh, yes,” Pascal said, “I  heard they have contact with the humans on the Moon.” 

Okay, so aliens created Machine Lifeforms, and androids were clearly an invention of humanity. What could they possibly have created them for, you sarcastically wondered. You were just glad you came into the aftermath of whatever horrors happened, rather than the midst. You were no fighter, you wouldn’t survive longer than a minute if you were dropped into an all-out war in the middle of who-the-hell-knows-where. Much less one between androids and aliens, of all things.

Still, a kingdom of androids, fully independent from humanity to the point where their creators were up on a satellite doing who knows what. It sounded fascinating, you couldn’t deny that you were immensely curious as to how things turned out this way.

“What are they like?” You prodded, wanting more information out of your walking history book. “The androids, I mean.” 

“I don’t know, these days.” Pascal hummed. “ The Android King doesn’t allow much contact.”

So much for history book.

The androids didn’t seem very friendly, then. Maybe it’d be different for you, considering your humanness, but you weren’t ready to take a chance today. The adventure you were on right now was more than enough excitement for a lifetime, throwing in the risk of hostile entities in a single day was too much.

“I was friends with one.” Pascal suddenly murmured. “I don’t think she’s around anymore.” 

You waited for him to continue. 

He never did. 

-

Pascal didn’t know a thing about humans. 

You thought you could bear it, but after he kept bringing these robot fish and tried convincing you to eat them, you decided to take things into your own hands. 

The fishing pole was basic, but it got the job done. You waded in calf-deep water, your shoes and socks tossed on the shore. The calm river lazily passed you by. You’d never seen water so clear before, rippling around your legs, bouncing off the pebbles and gravel.

“Oh.” You felt a tug on the rod, your heart skipping a beat. “I think I got something.” 

“Really?” Pascal asked in excitement, bounding over. 

“Pascal, wait–” Too late, whatever was on the other end was scared away by his movements. You watched with a frown as a shadow trickled back into the water. There goes lunch. 

You pulled back the empty rod. Pascal stood still next to you in the water. 

“I startled it, didn’t I.” He realized in disappointment. “I’m sorry.” 

You shook your head and offered a placating smile, reaching out to pat his shoulder comfortingly. “There’s plenty of fish in the river.” You told him kindly and held out your rod to him. “Want to try?” 

He grabbed the stick eagerly, mimicking your movements. Pascal didn’t try to hide his curiosity about humans, nor his willingness to learn from you. He was clearly being honest when he claimed he hadn't met one before you. Since the moment you got here, you’d been barreled by questions about humanity and the world you came from. He was floored when you revealed there were billions upon billions of humans in your universe. It must have been an unfathomable number where humanity was scarce. 

“Did you eat fish back home as well?” Pascal questioned, flailing with the rod. At least he was having fun. You sat back on the shore, enjoying the sun beating down on your skin. 

“Hm, sometimes.” You answered lazily, closing your eyes. “But humans eat other things: Other types of meat, fruit, vegetables. We use spices to make them taste even better.” 

“Really?” Pascal asked. You gave him an affirmative, dipping your toes back in the water, feeling the biting chill and the trickle of water weaving past. 

“Humans do a lot to make food taste good.” You admitted. “Regardless of how healthy it is. The most popular foods are sweets; cakes, cupcakes, cookies, brownies.” What you wouldn’t do to have one of those right now. 

“I’m sure we can make those!” Pascal exclaimed, and you realized you muttered that out loud. 

You smiled warmly at him, appreciating his wishes to help bring you joy. “That’s sweet.” You told him, letting him down gently. “But I highly doubt it. Those foods are pretty complicated. We’d need a lot of ingredients like eggs and sugar.” 

“I wonder if the android kingdom has those items.” Pascal pondered. 

“I thought the android kingdom was closed off to outsiders?” 

“Sometimes the Android King allows trading.” Pascal answered back. 

That’s the second time Pascal mentioned him. What kind of person was he to forbid entry to his kingdom, and only occasionally open routes for trading? Was he scary? Cruel and tyrannical, keeping his people clutched in an iron fist?

Or was he simply protecting his citizens? 

“It’s a little funny we went back in history, though.” You said out loud. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Back home, most governments aren’t monarchies anymore. We mainly have democracies.” You enlightened Pascal. “If you asked any modern-day human, they’d have some pretty choice words about royalty in general. So now, centuries later, with even androids adopting monarchy…makes me wonder if there’s a human king up on the Moon now.” 

Pascal’s machinery droned. “Well, on Earth, I think the Human King would be you.” 

You barked a laugh, taken aback by his declaration. “Yeah? Are you the Machine-lifeform King then, Your Majesty?” 

He preened. Something simmered in your chest as you continued to look at him. You were so happy to see your friend so happy. 

“Still, what are humans even doing up there?” You questioned aimlessly, gazing up at the sky. “When I was young, every kid on the block wanted to be an astronaut. And now, apparently, every human is born one.” 

Pascal didn’t answer. He was distracted by something tugging on the fishing pole. 

“Did you get something?” You perked up, jumping to your feet. Please, oh, please be a fish. You were starving. Hell, even those robotic fish were beginning to look appetizing.

“Yes!” He chirped back animatedly. “It’s rather big, I hope the rope holds…” He trailed off as the thrashing got louder and more violent, droplets of water splashing every which way. 

You were both silent when he finally pulled it up, a clump of algae hanging limply from the hook, peering back at you. 

“Yeah.” You said after a pause. “I don’t think fishing is either one of our strengths. Maybe we should try to make a salad instead.” 

“Agreed.” Pascal grumbled. 

-

It was the strangest thing. You'd been here for a couple of days now. You were sure of it. 

And yet, you hadn’t seen the sun move an inch. 

It was still hovering above Pascal’s Village, sunlight filtering through the leaves and branches. You lied flat on the wooden pathway, staring up blankly. Pascal was next to you, fiddling with one of his machines. 

“Pascal?” You summoned his attention. “Do…sunsets not happen here?” 

“Sunsets?” Came his response. “What are those?” 

You sat, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Seriously? The sun just stays up there? There’s no day-and-night?” 

Pascal considered you with what you equated to a frown. “Are you referring to the night kingdom?” 

“Night kingdom?” 

He pointed across the village, far past the trees and plains. 

“It’s on the other side of the world. Sunlight can’t reach there, so they mostly rely on artificial light.” 

You tilted your head. “People actually live there?” 

He nodded. “I believe a small group of androids, also a multitude of machine lifeforms.”

You kept forgetting that humans no longer lived on Earth. It was overrun by androids and machine lifeforms now. 

“I was there a few centuries ago.” Pascal happily continued, oblivious to your disquiet. “I bet a lot has changed since.” 

“Centuries?” You repeated. “Pascal, how long have you been on Earth?” 

He’s not human, and yet you’d learned how to read his emotions. It wasn’t hard; he practically wore everything on his face, in the way he moved, the tone of his voice. 

His arms dropped into his lap. His body language became stiff. He’s hesitating. 

“I can’t remember much from that time, Machine Cores aren’t made to last this long.” Pascal divulged to you. “But I believe I was created between the 7th-8th machine war.” 

You gaped at him, eyes flickering over the dents—battle scars, metal bent by violence and a bloodless war. 

It was like pulling out teeth. Pascal revealed to you the history of the wars that had ravished Earth for centuries upon centuries. Aliens created machine lifeforms to take over the planet. Humans created androids to defend Earth. How overwhelming the machine lifeform army was, to the point where humanity retreated to the Moon, letting androids continue the war. He talked about the brief memories he had of those times, where he was hunting down androids from orders — where he was nothing but a machine. 

“And then, one day, you woke up?” You probed, when he grew silent. 

Pascal confirmed with a droll hum. You leaned back on your hands, thinking on all he told you, processing all the information you’d received.

“Humans and aliens are enemies.” You said out loud, “Does that make us enemies, Pascal?” 

Pascal flinched. “No! Of course not!” He vehemently denied it with so much certainty you had to smile at how seriously he took it. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.” 

“I know, I know.” You assured him. “I’m glad. I consider you my friend. I don’t care about anything else.” 

You didn’t know how you could’ve survived out here, had Pascal not found you. How much did you owe him? Hundreds and hundreds of lifetimes over. He was practically the only thing keeping you afloat. You didn’t care if Pascal was created to end humanity. That wasn’t who he was. He was the kindest, gentlest person you’d ever met. You wouldn’t let his past taint his present. 

“I consider you a friend as well.” Pascal voiced sweetly. You thought, if he could, he’d be smiling right about now. Maybe even blushing. 

You wished you could stay here forever with him. It could be a nice life. You could help Pascal spruce up the village. In the late evenings, the two of you could go fishing. In the mornings, you could tend to the garden. Maybe the two of you could start a new adventure to the night kingdom one day. 

It would be really nice, but you knew you couldn’t.

“It’s been days,” you finally started, “and there’s still no sign of Accord.” 

Pascal’s movements stopped. You knew he was sharing your thoughts. 

Accord should’ve been here days ago. The fact that she hadn’t showed up yet was alarming. Despite enjoying your time here, you missed home, your friends and family, the internet. Your patience was wearing away. Anxiety was starting to grow. You needed to make your own move. 

“Accord is an android,” you spoke, trying to avoid Pascal’s eyes, “I was thinking, maybe if I talked to the android kingdom, I could get closer to going home.” 

You didn’t say it out loud. You’d have to leave Pascal. 

The thought made your stomach twist.

Pascal, who was nothing but kind and gentle to you. Pascal, who had made sure you were safe and protected. Pascal, who was your friend. You were leaving him just for a bleak shot of getting home. 

The machine lifeform said nothing. He just turned away, looking up at the sky. The sun was still up, lingering over the world, you could feel its warm rays on your skin. They almost scorched you now, burning you for scorning your only friend in this world.

“I’ll contact them later today,” he finally said, “they’ll be here tomorrow.” 

His gears and metal felt awkward under your skin as you threw yourself at him, but you didn’t care. You squeezed him into the tightest hug you possibly could, even as his endoskeleton pinched your forearms and hands. Pascal barely seemed to register the hug. He froze for ten whole seconds underneath you. You knew, because you counted each one. 

“Thank you,” you whispered to your friend, “thank you so much.” 

Pascal stayed silent, but when he hugged you back, his hands were warm. 

divider by cafekitsune ♥

(reminder to put your age in your bio/pinned before you follow me or I will block you)

[NieR masterlist]

“You’re glaring, again.” Suguru comments.

Satoru works her jaw, but she can't seem to rip her gaze off you two. You were giggling at something Mei said that could not possibly be that funny. Mei's hand had not left your hip since the beginning of the evening.

“I’m not,” Satoru says.

“You’re glowering, actually.” Shoko corrects and Satoru’s pretty sure she’s only here for the free booze. Shoko could hardly care about the expensive restaurant Satoru rented out for the night or anything else she set up. She came to drink and judge.

“I’m not,” Satoru hisses, but even she can hear the venom in her tone. It’s thick, the kind that sticks to the top of her mouth. She clicks her tongue, like she’s trying to roll back the poison.

“I just don’t get what’s so great about her.” She starts as you laugh at yet another joke Mei made. If she’s so funny, she should consider a career in comedy.

“I do.” Shoko immediately responds. “Big tits. Easy.”

“They’re an incredible set,” Suguru agrees.

“Can you stop thirsting over my enemy’s boobs, please?” Satoru tried not to look down at her nearly non-existent pair.

They weren’t even that big, anyway. Mei probably padded them. Or they were fake. Besides, Satoru was sure you didn’t care about looks or how big her tits were. You go for personality. Satoru has a great personality.

“What are you talking about? Your personality is shit,” Suguru tells her.

“So is Mei’s.” Satoru argues.

“Somehow, she’s slightly less arrogant than you are.” Shoko takes a sip of her drink. “You two would make a perfect couple, honestly.”

Satoru wrinkles her nose. “Eugh, don’t even joke about that. I’m pretty sure she’s like…a distant cousin, or something.”

Maybe a family friend, she isn’t sure. She’s known Mei Mei since she was a kid. Her family was on the outskirts of the Gojo’s for as long as she can remember. She used to call those types of people leeches, the kind that try to mooch off of her family and wealth and status, eager for a morsel of what she is.

“If you hate her so much, then why did you invite her?” Suguru asks.

“I didn’t.” Satoru groans.

She invited you and then you invited your girlfriend because, of course you did. It’s not like Satoru could say no, either. Technically she knew Mei longer than she knew you. It’d be weird if she invited her acquaintance’s girlfriend and not the acquaintance.

“I’m just saying I could be…” Toru trails off.

“Better?” Suguru finishes her sentence.

Satoru gives a helpless shrug, but yeah, she did think she was better than Mei. She’d never ask directly, but she’s heard rumors of your relationship. Apparently Mei insisted on you paying, even though she came from old money herself. Satoru also heard that Mei forced you into an open relationship where she gets to go out on weekends while you have to stay home alone.

If you’d chosen her, Satoru would never dare make you take out your wallet. She would never leave you alone at night. Satoru may have been a pretty shit girlfriend in her previous relationships, but she knows with you she’d be different. Being with you would change her. You’d make her softer and less guarded. You might even convince her to get the therapy she and the rest of the Gojo family line desperately needed. You’d fix whatever was wrong with her. She knows it.

If only you’d chosen her.

Shoko steps on her foot. Satoru hisses.

“Your ‘one and only’ is headed our way,” Shoko tells her.

Sure enough, you’d slipped out of Mei’s grasp, walking up to them with a large smile on your lips. When your eyes meet hers, you give an excited wave. Satoru returns it.

Satoru tries not to fix her hair. She looks amazing. She always looks amazing. People have told her she looks like a model when she’s practically rolled out of bed. Hell, agencies have practically begged her to model for them. She gets confession letters from strangers every week. She always looks effortlessly amazing. You just have a bad habit of making her want to double check.

“Don’t say that.” Satoru mumbles as her eyes cling to your form. “You act like I’m obsessed or something.”

“You are, though.” Suguru reminds her. “To the point where you ignore every red flag waving in your face.”

Satoru fights the urge to grimace. You have no red flags. You’re just caught in a really bad relationship right now. Before she can defend you, you’ve reached their table.

You greet Shoko and Suguru first. They return your hug just as enthusiastically. Your eyes glimmer when you turn to Satoru. She feels a lump form in the back of her throat.

“There’s our birthday girl! Toru!” You cheer, swathing Satoru in the tightest hug. She gets a whiff of your perfume. It’s something light but expensive. She memorizes the scent, breathing you in. She hopes you can’t hear the thudding of her heartbeat. It’s loud in her ears. Almost painful. Being around you is painful.

“Hey.” Satoru says, returning your hug. “I’m really glad you made it.”

You lean back, meeting her eyes. Your eyes crinkle in warm affection. The music switches to something a little more upbeat on the dance floor.

“Of course, Toru.” You tell her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Satoru’s stomach flip flops and she tries not to think too much about your words.

“So.” You lean on her table, tilting your head in her direction. “What’s it like finally being 21?”

You reach into your bag, grabbing your over priced lip oil that might be cherry or strawberry flavored. She’s always wanted to know, but she can’t bring herself to ask. Instead, she watches as you smear it all over your lips. It’s not even meant to be seductive. You just have that effect on her, sometimes–all the time.

She glances over at her watered down drink. She hates alcohol. She’s stuck to soda all night.

“Drinking legally isn’t as fun.”

To be honest, she only says that to hear your sweet laugh. It works. You sound like bells in the wind or whatever romantics are supposed to think when they’re in love. She's not the best with words. You sound beautiful. She loves your laugh.

“That’s what everyone says.” You tell her like you’re decades apart and not just a couple years older than her.

You act like a mother sometimes. A part of her hates it when you do that. She wishes you could see her as the woman she is instead of the stupid pudgy kid you met all those years ago. She wishes you wouldn’t be as coddling or borderline-condescending with your voice and tone.

Another part of her wonders how you’d react if she called you mommy.

“Girls.” On cue, your voice is low and strict. Satoru squeezes her thighs together.

You look at the three disapprovingly.

“Why are we sitting here instead of the dance floor? Up up up! Let’s go dance!” You urge.

Shoko shrugs and gets to her feet. Suguru follows, but Satoru knows she’s only going to piss her off. As if to prove that, Suguru lingers by your side, like she’s trying to get a whiff of your perfume. She gives Satoru a smug look. Satoru tries not to react.

As much as she wants to grind on you, Satoru doesn’t move as you drag her friends to the dance floor. Shoko downs the last of her drink. Suguru carries her cup with her.

“I’ll be there in a bit.” Satoru gestures to her drink. “Lemme finish up.”

You wave her off as you continue tugging on her friends. You had your nails done—a light pastel pink. It’s her favorite color. She loves pink. It looks incredible on you.

Your dress is short, ending just below your thigh. If you bent over, she would probably see your ass. The dress hugs your curves so nicely. It’s a shade of blue. Her shade of blue.

It means nothing. She knows nothing you did tonight meant anything. Your words, your voice, your clothes were all just coincidences she was seeing because she was an idiot who was head over heels in love with someone she couldn’t have.

Suguru was right. She was obsessed with you. She thought about you every day. Sometimes she even dreams about you and your smile and she swears she wants to keep her dreams family-friendly but she can’t help fantasizing about you in even less clothes.

She can’t help but wonder how you’d sound in bed. What sort of noises would you make? Are you loud or are you quiet? She really hoped you were the latter. She really hoped you played hard to get, the type who’d have to make her work for your moans and whimpers. She wanted to earn pleasure from you.

This isn’t healthy. She’s not delusional enough to think it is. Her friends are right. She needs to move on, find someone else. Clearly, you’re happy with Mei, you won’t be leaving her anytime soon. She lost hope in that a long time ago. No matter how many times you two broke up and spent time apart, you always ended up finding each other. From the outside, it’s borderline painful to watch.

It would be nice to have a bit of closure, though. Maybe she should tell you about her feelings so she can completely move on? Then she could cut contact and never think about you again.

It would be nice to have closure. A drop. Barely a crumb.

“Drooling over my girlfriend while I’m right here? That’s bold of you.”

Immediately, Satoru wipes her mouth. Shit, she was drooling.

She doesn’t turn in Mei’s direction. She already knows her face would be smug and detestable and punchable.

“I was just thinking.”

Mei hums, sliding into Shoko’s seat despite being uninvited. Satoru’s forced to sit in an uncomfortable silence for eons. After a while, she starts to squirm off her seat, eager to join you and her friends. You three seemed to be having way more fun than she was on her birthday. Shoko’s already drunk and laughing, tripping in her heels as you try to hold her up. You’re laughing too. You’re so pretty underneath the lights. The shade of the dress really brings out your eyes.

“I’m surprised you’re still carrying a torch. Thought you would’ve given up by now.”

She knows she should walk away, Mei is always looking to antagonize. Still, she keeps herself planted in her seat.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for your girlfriend to realize how shitty you are and finally dump you.”

Mei nods along, barely reacting to the bait. It makes Satoru even angrier. She can never get this woman to go lower. It’s aggravating that she always appears to take the ‘high road’ even when they both know that’s not true.

“That might not happen for a while.” She muses. “We’re more alike than you think.” She sends Satoru a coy smile through pointed lips, like she is laughing at a joke and Satoru’s the punchline.

Satoru averts her gaze.

“Why do you care about me anyway?” She prods. “Afraid I’ll steal your girl right under your nose?”

That’d probably never happen, not when Toru can see with her own eyes how much you adore Mei and treat her like a little sister. At this point, she’s saying words for the hell of it.

Mei laughs. It makes Satoru bristle.

“Steal? You’re a funny one.” Mei assures before contemplating something a bit more.

“Hm, maybe for the night. For a hefty sum, of course.”

It took Satoru a minute to understand what Mei insinuated.

Satoru’s face screws up in disgust.

“Don’t fucking joke about pimping out your girlfriend.” Satoru hisses as she swallows down the lurch of excitement. She squashes it down, pretending disgust was the only thing she felt at Mei’s words.

She laughs again.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it that,” she corrects.

“It’s something a bit tamer.”

“I’m leaving,” Satoru says.

She doesn’t move from her seat, as much as she knows she should. She should run and forget about Mei and how creepy she is. She should go to you and tell you how gross your girlfriend is.

Satoru doesn’t.

“I’m sure you always wished for closure as you pinned away,” Mei wonders, “wouldn’t it be nice to finally get that closure? For just one night?”

What she’s proposing isn’t closure. Closure is something Satoru gets herself. That was the only right answer.

Satoru opens her mouth. Nothing comes out.

Her gaze drifts over to where you were— smiling and happy. You look beautiful tonight. She never got the chance to tell you.

“Anything has a price, if you’re desperate enough,” Mei says.

Satoru’s eyes cling to your hips and the way you sway to the music. Her throat feels dry. She can feel her heart right in her mouth. She shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t.

“How much?” She finally brings herself to ask.

~

Even now, Satoru knows she could walk away.

Sitting here in Mei’s penthouse, twiddling her thumbs as she waits. The home the two of you shared was nice. Clearly, you decorated most of the living room. The glass coffee table held a tiny porcelain elephant. Soft washes of pastels filled the surrounding paintings. She could sniff out the lingering scent of linen in the air. She can’t imagine Mei doing a chore so domestic like laundry. The trace of you is everywhere. It makes her dizzy.

It’s so…couple-eque. Double. Complete. Every detail screams that she does not belong.

She could walk away. She should walk away. She still can.

Yet, she waits until Mei Mei comes back with a coy smile. Toru tries not to jump up when Mei points to the room sitting innocently behind her.

“All yours.” She trills sweetly.

Toru watches with a rabbit heartbeat as Mei starts putting on her jacket.

“Where are you going?” She calls.

“Giving the two of you some alone time.” Mei responds. “So you can go all out. No need to feel shy.”

Toru’s about to bristle, argue she isn’t shy, or maybe she’s about to leave herself. She doesn’t know what she’s about to do, because Mei’s already gone and the apartment is quiet all over again.

She could still walk away.

That’s what Toru repeats to herself over and over again as she slowly makes her way to the bedroom. She hasn’t gone too far, yet. She could turn back, forget about whatever she was about to do. Everything would be fine if she turned back right now.

Her hands shake as she turns the golden knob.

Satoru’s heart drops into her stomach the moment she sees you.

You’re gorgeous, as you always are. In public, you never show that much skin, leaving everything up to the imagination. In your private sanctuary, she can see every curve and roll of soft skin she fantasized about for years. The frilly babydoll you wear perfectly accentuates your tits. Your thighs are open and casually laid out, giving her a hint of lacy blue panties–her color. You’re splayed out on your velvety soft bed, ripe for the taking.

It’d be perfect, if not for one thing.

You were blindfolded.

“Where did you go off to?” You ask in a tone Toru’d never heard before, blindly reaching for her.

You thought she was Mei–your girlfriend.

Satoru wondered how Mei convinced you into playing along. Toru hadn’t realized Mei just hadn’t. That was just like her to take the easier option in the name of profit. Like she has this entire night, Satoru curses out Mei’s name.

She could still turn back. She hasn’t gone too far, yet. Nothing’s been ruined. If she walked out now, everything would be just as it were.

“Come here.” You coo, grabbing onto air again. “I’m getting cold.” Your voice sinks into a sultry whisper.

She follows your voice, helpless to your pleas. When she barely touches the bed, you reach for her, tugging on her hand, bringing her close to you.

She can feel you as she slowly crawls into the bed. Every inch of your shape and form. Toru traces shaky fingers across your neck. You sigh in delight as she touches you, letting her map out every trace of your skin.

“You feel so nice,” you purr as she cups your face. She wants to say something too, but she’s too scared of breaking this fantasy she’s dreamed of for so long. She wants to keep it for just a bit longer.

Your lips are wet with desire. It’s clearly a trap. Once she does this, there’s no going back.

She falls for it: hook, line, and sinker.

The kiss is slow and tentative, like she’s trying not to break you. You kiss her back, melding your lips back into her own. It’s sweet. She tastes a bit of that cherry lip oil you were teasing her with earlier that night. It’s just as addicting as your perfume.

Eventually, she can’t help herself. Neither can you, from the way you grab her hips, allowing her to straddle you. The kiss turns ravenous–like you want to devour her just as desperately she wants to devour you.

When you pull away, there’s a trail of blood on your lips. It’s not yours.

“Someone’s excited.” You giggle before she really needs you to stop talking and make her forget she’s doing something terrible. She kisses you again, pushing you down into the bed.

You collide into a pile of pillows. She follows. It’s so easy–you make things so easy. When you silently tug off her clothes, she can’t help but blindly follow. She shrugs off her dress, letting it fumble onto a heap on the floor as she gets back on top of you. At this point, she’s more naked than you–barely clothed in her bra and panties. She’s more than happy to level the playing field.

She’s more eager to tear off your own clothes. You giggle again as she shrugs off the straps of your dress, revealing your perfect tits. The way they bounce is almost pornographic. She freezes as she stares.

As if to guide her, you reach for her, grabbing her by the back of the neck to coax her down. She follows, instinctively opening her mouth just as she meets your plush tits.

Once she starts, it’s like she can’t stop. You’re intoxicating as she latches onto your nipples, feeling at your skin. Her other hand reaches for your other one, not wanting to abandon any part of you as she continues to worship your breasts. Above her, you’re moaning like you’re being paid for it, your sighs and hitches turning into whines and meaningless words.

You encourage her with your hand on the back of her head, delicately carding through her hair as she continues to take your fill. Only when she snaps out of her euphoria and lifts herself up, does she realize her panties have severely dampened.

She’s never been this wet in her life.

And apparently, you’re just as greedy.

“Hurry up,” you whisper, tugging on her again.

“Need you.”

‘Gimme a second, pretty girl,’ she desperately wants to say but she keeps quiet because this fantasy is hers and hers only, ‘so needy.’ Not that she’s complaining.

You’ve already spread your legs by the time she’s gotten her panties off. She receives a good look at your pussy, barely covered by your thin panties. Her heart is going a mile a minute. She doesn’t know if it’s hotter to keep your panties on or if she should just rip them off right now. She doesn’t know what she wants to do with you first. Eat you out? Ride you until you’re both screaming?

You make the decision for her.

Firm hands grab her hips, hoisting her down as you straddle her. Your skin is sheen with sweat as you lower your hips onto hers, slightly pushing her back. She can barely compute what you’re doing until your clit kisses hers.

A small ‘oh fuck’ leaves her lips, before she’s slapping a hand over her mouth. You barely even registered it, practically mewling as you grind on her pussy. You’re insatiable, riding her like your life depended on it.

Sex crazed. Needy. Craving everything she could possibly give you and more.

Satoru has to bite her tongue so she doesn’t accidentally yell ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’ in the middle of the greatest fuck of her life.

A terrible thought crosses Satoru’s mind that has her rolling her eyes to the back of her head as yet another bolt of pleasure goes through her.

Is she fucking you better than your girlfriend?

It’s a terrible thought. A horrible one. But your breathless moans are making her pussy tighten and spasm in ways she’s never felt before.

You yelp when she grabs your hips, forcing you to go faster than before as you sink into her. Her grip is so tight she knows she’ll leave marks on you tomorrow. Mei Mei might even be the one who finds them.

Mei, you basically pimped you out the moment she knew she had something to gain. Mei, who only cares about money, not the beautiful girlfriend she has at home, who’s currently making Satoru see stars.

Satoru wants to fuck you better than Mei. She wants you to scream louder than you ever have with her. She wants you to have the best sex of your life before she has to let you go, back to your poor excuse of a girlfriend.

Satoru can treat you better, and she can fuck you better.

If she were Mei, she’d never even dream of sharing you, no matter how many millions anyone threw at her.

You’d be hers, until your bodies crumbled into ash and dust, and even in the afterlife she’d still be fucking you. She’d fuck you until the end of time and even then some. No one would be able to pull her away, not even the devil himself. There’s no place she’d rather be than grinding on top of you, feeling your pussy clench against hers. She reaches out to rub at your clit. You whine and you shake above her as you grow closer and closer to the edge.

She comes at the same time as you do. You slump onto her shoulder, too weak to do anything as you both ride out your orgasms in a silent scream. She clings onto you after the last wave has passed and her pussy is still clenching at nothing. You pepper her neck with chaste kisses. She closes her eyes in the aftercare, laying you on the bed right next to her.

She fits against you perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle. Your head settles in the crook of her neck, leaving love bites on her collarbone. Satoru lets you snake your arms around her waist. She brings you closer to her side, wanting to inhale your comforting scent.

You’re an addiction. She already knew that. There was no way she could stop at just once. She needed this fix for the rest of her life.

She had to do something about Mei. She knows a few people who could get things done. She’d just need an excuse to get it done. An alibi. Then she could pathetically worm her way into your heart when it’s all said and done. You’d need a shoulder to cry on, right? She could be that shoulder for as long as you need her to be. She could be anything you wanted–

“Oh, and Toru?”

Satoru goes cold. Out of panic, she lifts herself up. Your grip tightens around her waist, keeping her there. Your blindfold is still on. She wonders if it’s all that opaque as she initially thought.

“Yes?” she finally squeaks out.

You laugh, giving her a chaste kiss on her cheek.

She can’t be any more than twelve or so. She approaches you with tentative steps. Her voice is small, filled with childlike wonder as she peers up at you. She’s speaking a language that’s foreign to you. You tilt your head when she repeats herself. 

Eventually, she seems to give up on communication entirely. Instead, she reaches out, grasping your hand with her smaller one. You blindly follow as she leads you through the forest, through the trees, the dewy grass,  all the way until you reach a small village. There, she leads you into a hut with no door. A woman is sitting on the hut floor with a stone grinder. You can smell the fragrant spices. 

She looks to be in her late fifties. She and the little girl look similar; the only difference is age. You watch as the girl excitedly tells her something. The woman eyes you. She has the same smile as her granddaughter. 

She takes you with calloused hands, bringing you to sit. Hands run over your face, your clothes. Both marvel at your shirt and jeans, as though they’d never seen denim. The little girl plays with your shoelaces. You realize then that they wear free-flowing tunics and open sandals. When the girl lightly tugs on your hair, the woman slaps her hands away with a chiding scowl. 

You learn their names eventually. The woman is Patroseis. The girl is named Desmache. They take you into their home. They feed you with cooked mutton and gravy. At night, you sleep with them on the floor of the hut. In the morning, your bones are achy, but it’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in years. 

In the mornings, you go outside and help Patroseis with berry picking. She teaches you which ones are poisonous and which are edible. In the evenings, she smushes them together with a pestle, molding them into balls to dry. Desmache swipes a few before they can harden, always making sure you can share the stolen treats with her. 

But despite the short time you spend in the village, you become close to Desmache. She has this natural charm. Lively, fun, her giggles are the most beautiful thing. She feels like a younger sister, and you care for her like one, even though she seems to do most of the caring. Patroseis is too busy to tend to you, so Desmache does it. She teaches you the beginning techniques to loom. She brings you clay and teaches you pottery. You don’t quite get the hang of it, your meager bowls and cups are leagues below hers. She kilns them regardless, she even uses some of your poorly made dishware. She’s a sweet kid. 

Desmache is enamored by your hair. You realize it’s because of the pink dye, a bright splash of color against the natural landscape. The thing she adores the most is washing it with gentle, eager hands. You wonder if she’s trying to wash it out. 

“It won’t go away.” You tell her even though you know she won’t understand. “It’s permanent dye.” 

She speaks back in her tongue. You can understand a few words of her language now. Mainly ‘no’, ‘yes’, ‘hello’. The very basics.

You let her braid your hair in whatever way she wishes. She seems to enjoy that the most, laughing in delight as she touches the pink locks, and you wonder if she’s ever seen dyed hair before. 

They both seem so curious about your clothes, your shoes, even your gel nails. Patroseis even attempts to scrape the color off your nails, tilting her head when it doesn’t budge. 

But they’re both so kind, taking you in, feeding you, housing you. All of the villagers are kind. It’s a close-knit family, clearly a place where everyone knows everyone. You slowly learn the names of all of them. Neara with the shy smiles, Pales, who is so tall that not even the sun can reach him, and Isadora with the long blonde hair. A quaint, friendly village. 

Your brain is lagging, mush behind your eyes. You haven’t comprehended that you aren’t where you’re supposed to be; you don’t even know where you are. You just know that you’re content. You spend a few days like this, lazing in this village, being out of place out of time. 

And then the men come. 

Desmache is asleep in your arms. You’re lightly brushing her hair when you smell smoke. There’s yelling, the distant sounds of screams, and you’re instantly alert. 

You shake the child awake. She blinks, slowly drifting into consciousness. When you hear the sound of thunderous hoof steps, you start to panic. 

Immediately, you pull her up, urging her to her feet. You don’t know where Patroseis went. She had errands to run in the village. You don’t have time to look for her. You just know you need to run. Now. 

“τι συμβαίνει?” She asks, voice wavering and unsure. You wished more than anything you could speak her language, but the smell of smoke is getting stronger, so you’re taking her by the arm and dragging her out of the hut. 

The village is unrecognizable. 

 Fire. It’s everywhere. On the roof, on the stone floors. The screaming is so loud, almost ringing in your ears. People, the villagers are being run down, trampled on by horses, the largest you’ve ever seen. It’s a bloodbath, the ground is dyed in, bathed in remnants of the dying. 

But the soldiers. The barbarians. 

They were everywhere. Like rats. They use their spears to shoot through anything that moves. In the distance, you see Pales. He’s using a wooden stick, desperately trying to batter away the soldiers. His fight only lasts for a moment. Someone comes behind him, a spear in his hand. 

He’s gone before he even hits the floor.

Desmache shrinks into you. You suddenly remember where you are. 

“Into the woods.” You tell her desperately, pulling her stunned forest away from the bloodshed. “Go. Now.” 

She whimpers, and you know she’s asking for Patroseis. You shake your head, hoping she doesn’t figure out the answer herself. All that you know now is that you need to get into the forest. The horses won’t be able to catch up to you if the two of you disappear into the thick foliage. The soldiers might be slowed down by their armor. 

The two of you take off running. Your legs are longer, faster, you’re practically dragging Desmache through the crumbling village, but you don’t bother with any gentleness. You know you’re bruising her tender skin, but it will be worth it the second you escape. The soldiers sound so far away. Grass was brushing at your ankles. You can hear Desmache’s small breaths. Your hand wraps tightly around hers. 

And then, you don’t feel her anymore. 

She’s collapsing into the Earth. At first, you think she just fell; her gait wasn’t fast enough to keep up with yours. You turn around, keen on ushering her back on her feet. 

The spear makes you freeze. 

She’s so tiny on the ground. Jerking around, getting dirt on her clean tunics. Patroseis would be upset if she got her clothes dirty so early in the morning. It’s such an odd thought as you collapse on the ground next to her, grasping her body with trembling fingers. Desmache is starting to lose color. Her once healthy skin is fading. She’s taking large, wavering breaths like there’s not enough oxygen in the world for her tiny body. She stares at you with wide eyes, and the last of her voice is a whisper. 

“τρέξιμο.” You can’t even hear her. Her face contorts in pain when you kneel beside her. Hurried footsteps are getting closer. You shake your head. A sob wracks her body as she continues to shudder out her last breaths. 

Her hand turns limp in yours by the time the soldiers grab you. 

You’re too numb to even scream. It’s pathetic. You’re hauled to your feet, and someone grasps you by the elbows, keeping you in place. Another soldier is assessing Desmache’s fallen body. He tuts when she makes no sound, reaching down and pulling his spear from her body. 

That’s when you start to scream. 

You scream, you kick, you wail. Everything flows out like vomit into the smoky air. The soldier behind you is quick to aggravate. He clamps a hand on your mouth, muffling your sobs as you shiver and shudder in his grasp. The soldier who killed Desmache is less than impressed with your actions. He frowns, speaking with a clipped tongue. You wonder what it would feel like to rip that tongue out. 

They start to argue about something. You couldn’t care less about what. There’s so much, too much at once. 

You pass out. 

~

You wake up to gentle rocking. 

It‘s rhythmic. Like a gentle lullaby, rocking you out of your forced slumber. You slowly open your eyes, your vision blurry. A woman is sitting in front of you. She looks a couple of years younger than you. Her tunic is ripped, she has her arms wrapped around her shoulders, looking at nowhere but the ground. The woman beside her has the same expression, so does the other one, and the other one: fear. 

You’re about to ask, but then the rocking starts up again, and your back hits the cage. 

Oh no. 

It’s wood, primitive. The unfinished wood leaves splinters in your hands, but you can hardly care about that. You’re trapped in a box with seven other women, all huddled together with dirt and ripped tunics. 

When you look around wildly, you see soldiers with the same glistening armor. The cage you’re in is dragged by horses, trotting ahead, steered by a man with a whip. The rest of the soldiers walk along beside you. Some are also on horseback. One man makes eye contact. You instantly look away. 

“Where are they taking us?” You whisper to the woman beside you. She stares at you with a bleary expression before putting her head back down. You don’t ask again. 

You slowly reach out, grasping her hand. 

She squeezes back. It’s the only comfort you have. 

Eventually, the horses trot into a clearing. A camp, equipped with tents of various sizes. There are multiple campfires, some are cooking meat. More soldiers, as if you weren’t already outnumbered, sit around on wooden logs. Some sharpened glinting swords. Others just watch the crate. 

You watch as the men untie the horses from the cart. The cage opens. The first girl is pulled out by the elbow. Then another. Then the one holding your hand is ripped away. And then you. 

He’s rough, not bothering to coddle. His rough armor cuts into your side as he drags you next to the other women. You barely catch your balance, almost stumbling into the other girls. You don’t need a translator to know why you’re here. 

Spoils of war. The best warrior will get to claim their prize. 

As hard as you try to swallow, your throat remains painfully dry. There’s no escape. No place to run. You can hear your heartbeat in your mouth. When you look down, your knees are shaking. 

You’ve never felt this much fear before. 

If you were lucky, you’d be a kitchen servant, forced to prepare meals for barbarians. If you were less unfortunate, you’d be a cattle servant, tending to the sheep. And if fate truly hated you…

For the second time today, you felt like throwing up. 

Through the crowd, a man walks up. He wears no suit of armor. He’s dressed simply, hunched over, needing a cane to walk. He’s significantly older than the rest. You don’t even think he’s a soldier, but his casual demeanor oozes authority. The others are quiet when he approaches. 

His gaze shifts from one woman to another, down the row, until he reaches you. 

The man stares, and then his blank hardens into pure fury. 

He’s yelling, his gravely voice growing higher in clear rage. You shrink, afraid, but then you realize he isn’t yelling at you. He’s yelling at the soldiers, lifting his cane in a way that seems to make them even uncomfortable. Finally, one meekly creeps forward. The old man is quick to direct his anger at him. 

There’s more squabbling. It’s a one-sided argument, as the old man wildly gestures his cane in your direction. You don’t know whether to feel confused or even more fearful at your directed fate. Both bubbles in your stomach. 

He leaves, abandons the crowd of soldiers, and makes his way into one of the tents. You don’t know what you did, but even your mere presence was enough to cause a ruckus within the camp. 

You don’t know how long you'll stand there. In the end, the old man returns. He wears a broad smile on his face, no longer as angry. He holds his hand out to you, leaning heavily on his cane. 

“Έλα, κόρη των λουλουδιών. Σας καλωσορίζω.” You stare at his extended hand, then at him. Did he…choose you? 

Strange, you don’t see any malice on his face. If anything, he seems to be the fearful one here. You can see a sliver of it in his wavering eyes. Nervousness. You’re reluctant to take his hand, but you do so anyway. You have no choice. Submission seems to be the only card you can play in this scenario. You follow as he leads you through the crowd. His gait is slow, which only makes the suspense stronger. You can feel the soldiers glare daggers into your soul, tearing you apart with their gazes. It’s almost a relief to enter the tent, the flap closing to hide you away from the gazes. 

And then, it isn’t. 

He’s tall. It’s the first thing you notice, his height. A young man stands there, perhaps just a couple of years younger than you, fully swathed in glistening armor. He looks angry, no, enraged. Silent fury as he regards both you and the old man who guided you. You shift within your place. That seems to piss him off even more. 

There’s another man who sits on the piles of pelts. Softer features, slightly older than the other one. His gaze is serene as he looks at you. You glance away. 

The old man says something too fast for you to catch. The one in glistening armor frowns even deeper, but he reaches out. His fingers curl in a lazy attempt to beckon you over. When you don’t immediately follow, the old man is quick to push you along. 

He reaches up, the hand that’s not on the spear tugs on your hair. The lack of structure causes the braid to falter, collapsing down your shoulders in spirals. Desmache had worked on your braids just this morning. She’d spent hours on them. 

Dead Desmache. Her once smiling face was now blank and on the ground. The Earth dirtied her tunic. You failed to protect her. Patroseis is gone too. Everyone in the village was gone, burned in fire by these fucking monsters. 

The tears start up again. This displeases the soldier even more. He grabs a lock of your hair, the pink glistens in the light, and examines it beneath his fingers. 

“μην τρομάζεις το παιδί Αχιλλέας,” The old man protests, though his voice is softer compared to his earlier anger. 

Achilles. It’s the one thing you catch onto. It rattles in your head. 

“μπορεί να είναι ψεύτικο. Χρώμα. Απάτη. Τι νομίζεις Πάτροκλε?” 

Patroclus. Again. You know these words. Your ears strain to listen.

The man resting on the pelt sits up, gazing at the lock beneath the soldier’s fingers. He tilts his head in thought. 

“Αν τα μαλλιά είναι ψεύτικα τότε θα ξεπλυθούν, ναι Αχιλλέας του Πηλέα?” 

The soldier pulls back, satisfied. You’re just grateful he stops touching you. But dread returns when he yells, and more people enter the tent. Women, all dressed in white silk tunics. Achilles’ kept women. They listen silently as the soldier makes a demand here and there. When he waves them off, they’re quick to lead you away. 

You flinch, a second of struggle, but the women are rather insistent that you follow. There are three of them, each whispering to you in hushed voices. They sound cautious, and you hear words like ‘Achilles’ and ‘Peleus’ again. You don’t know their language, but you still know these words. But how? Where? 

You’re dragged out of the tent, back into the trees, away from the camp. After ten minutes of walking, your reluctant new group falls upon a stream of crystal-clear water. It’s cool, a deep contrast to the hot, sweltering heat of the camp. You’re made to sit, one woman on either side as another starts to undress you. 

She barely touches your shirt when you snap, lurching backward, immediately starting to struggle. All three immediately grab your arms, your waist. One attempts to soothe you in her language, speaking with a worried voice. 

“Παρακαλώ ηρεμήστε. Ο πανικός θα αποδυναμώσει την καρδιά σας.” She urges. 

“Οχι.” No. “Οχι…Stop touching me!” 

You hate the soldiers, the ones who wrecked the village, the killers of Desmache, who carted you away like you were cattle. But you also hate these women. Cowards. All of them. They were away from the camp, and they could help you escape, but they didn’t. No, they’re far too insistent on keeping you trapped with them. 

The woman speaking traps your face with her hands. You’re forced to stare at her; her pale face, pink lips. Utterly breathtaking. The prettiest woman you’ve ever seen. 

She speaks again. Voice softer, quieter. Soothing, like a mother cradling an infant. You don’t know what she says, but your movements slow. You stop being so violent, settling down in her palms. She nods. You nod back. She smiles and then pats your cheek. 

Though uncomfortable, you don’t fight when the women start undressing you again. They take damp washcloths, rubbing at the dirt on your skin. One takes a bucket, slowly soaking your hair with a mixture of water and something that smells vaguely of roses. The scent lingers on your hair and your skin. 

One of them gasps, watching as your pink hair slides into the water and then comes out just the same. They murmur to each other, and you’re starting to get sick of the constant awe. Have they never seen dyed hair before? Why were they acting like it was some type of miracle? Moreover, these women weren’t careful with it. You paid a hefty sum at the salon to get your locks done, and the water could ruin it. 

Wait, salon? Where did that word come from? 

It hits you like a train right then and there. Years of repressed memories enter your brain all at once. Your entire life, birthdays, bruised knees, first days of school, your first car, broken dolls, your parents, your friends. 

You double over, clutching your head at the searing pain. The girls clamor around you, voices clear with worry, but you don’t bother assuaging them. The fog was lifted from your mind, and for the first time in days, you’re able to think clearly. What the hell happened? How did you momentarily forget years of your life? 

It must have been because of this world–the world you woke up in because you know for damn sure this wasn’t your Earth. The pieces were starting to fit together. It took time, but at least you got it in the end. 

Achilles, Patroclus, Peleus. You knew these words. Rather, you knew these names. They were all characters, belonging to the greatest epic ever told on Earth. 

You were trapped in the Iliad. 

~

You’ve read the Iliad more times than you can count. Each reading never failed to enchant you. The story lived up to its hype. Amazing characters, resilient warriors prevailing over the fickleness of the Gods who rule them. The storyline was so beautifully put, something you enjoyed even when you were a child.

Which made this situation impossible. 

The Iliad wasn’t real. It was a story. It was a poem crafted together by bards and poets! How could you be sucked into one of the bloodiest stories ever told in history? 

But too much made sense. The soldiers you saw were dressed just like ancient Greek warriors: Bronze chest plates, helmets tapered with bold red plumes, spears, and shields. The tunics the women wore. And the names: Achilles of  Phthia, Patroclus of Opus, Peleus of Phthia. 

Nothing made sense. Too much made sense. 

Only you would have enough misfortune to be isekaid into the Ilaid. 

There’s a tap on your shoulders. You look up to see the girls staring at you. They must think you’re crazy. And you just might be. 

You give them a timid smile, easing yourself back into their arms. They’re quick to resume their earlier task, diligent as they were silent. 

At least now you are not so in the dark. You had an inkling of where you were. 

But what does that mean for you? Were you dead in your world? Quieting your thoughts, you try your best to think about your memories. 

It was the one day of the week that you were off work. You think you were with someone. No, you know you were with your friend. The two of you were shopping together. You had bought some floral perfume that was too expensive in hindsight. And then you were here. 

Calloused hands rub water on your neck. You close your eyes. 

You knew two things. 

Somehow, you were trapped in the story of the Iliad. 

Somehow, you were going to get back home. 

Those were the only true truths you had. 

Their coddling ends eventually. The hands pull away, and you’re swathed in a cloak to dry. The women must have realized you don’t know any Greek because they’re now mostly conversing with you with hand signs and gestures. One mentions lifting your arms so she can dress you in the tunic. You follow, ever obedient. 

It’s soft on your skin. The silk lies on your body like a feather. Despite resembling a bedsheet, you’re a little surprised at how intricate the design is. There was gold lace lining the end of the fabric. If it weren’t for the minute inconsistencies, you would have assumed this was made by a machine. 

One of the ladies is picking up your clothes. Your shirt and denim jeans. You’re quick to argue, moving to stop her. You’re grateful she gives it back without a fuss when you mention your clothes. There’s a look of sympathy in her eyes. 

Of course, these women aren’t your enemies. You didn’t know why you ever thought of them as such. You were scared and confused, but none of that was their fault. They were just as captive as you. 

As they lead you back to camp, you still have one more piece of evidence, just to cement your new reality in your reluctant brain. 

She was said to be beautiful, with looks second to none other than Helen herself. You look at the woman who helped calm you down: milky skin and pink lips. 

“Briseis?” You call. 

When Briseis turns to look at you, your heart sinks to your stomach. 

They’re still in the tent when you return. Not much has changed. 

The old man has disappeared, however. Nestor, you now recognize him. The advisor of the Greeks. The oldest and wisest of the army. His authority is the only reason Achilles ever bothered to listen to him. 

God-like Achilles. 

He sits in front of you, posture relaxed, lying against the bed of pelts like a King. You suppose he is one. The King of Phthia, to be exact. 

You’ve seen him in paintings, but those never did him justice. His skin is smooth and fair. By then, his armor was off, and you could see his broad chest, the lining of scars. A golden mane of hair. He’s a work of art, despite his glare and heavy expression. 

When he beckons you closer, you know better than to disobey. Achilles was always so quick to anger in the book, you know what his fury can do to you. He casually reaches up, tugging on your wet locks. They must have been checking to see if the color was fake. Well, it was, but a single wash by the creek wouldn’t do anything. 

You wonder what they must think of you. Do they think you were blessed by the Gods? Or maybe they’re assuming you’re the child of a God. Which one? Aphrodite, considering the pink in your hair. 

Achilles speaks then. When you don’t answer, his voice grows annoyed. One of the women steps in for you, and then he stops speaking to you entirely. 

Instead, he directs his tone to his second-in-command. You’ve never gotten a clear visual of Patroclus. All of the paintings you’ve seen of him only illustrate his death. However, there’s no misunderstanding of who this is. He’s tall and well-built, the same as his lover. His skin is tanner, and you wonder if Opus was more south than you were initially led to believe. Dark curly hair reaches the tips of his ears. His strong jawline is a complete contrast to his soft features. 

They’re arguing, at least from Achilles’ side, it seems so. Patroclus’ voice is soft and steady. He was always the more level-headed one, at least the book always made him feel that way. The conversation ends when Achilles scoffs. He gives a curt order, and the women make their way out of the tent. You follow, but a tight grip on your wrist makes you freeze. 

Achilles stares, his eyes are darker than his hair. Golden honey. There’s no warmth from his eyes. Only ice. 

He wants you to stay. 

Your stomach twists beneath your skin. As much as you want to break away, you know you can’t. You know what you are now: a bride prize, a trophy. Property of the man before you. 

He could do whatever he wanted, and you were expected to follow without question. 

Achilles pulls you closer until you’re forced to climb on top of the pelts next to him. Your tunic is too thin. You’re wearing nothing underneath, as a meek defense, you bunch your modern clothes tight to your chest. Achilles seems to notice them too. He’s quick to snatch them away. You almost fight for them back before stopping yourself and reminding yourself who you’re dealing with. 

Achilles examines your pants, then your shirt. 

“Άσχημος.” He tosses them to Patroclus, who catches them with a slight laugh. 

Patroclus is nicer to your clothes. He sets them beside the bed, far away from Achilles’ hands, you’re grateful for that. 

Still, without the barrier of your clothes, the gown you wear feels like petals, too thin to provide any actual comfort. When Achilles’ hand moves to your waist, keeping you in place, you feel it. When it drifts to your hip, you feel that too. 

And when his fingers trail to your thigh, combing right underneath the slit of the fabric, you lash out. 

It’s instinctual, an animal desperate to defend itself. 

Your palm stings. His head is tilted to the left. You watch with horror as his pale cheek slowly turns pink.

What had you done?

You know Achilles. You know his anger. You’ve read pages and pages of what he’s done to enemies, what happens when his pride is tarnished. He is a Demigod. He is nothing but power. He could kill you with just the tips of his fingers. He could destroy you with his foot. Nothing nothing in the world would keep him from completely ripping you apart–

He’s laughing. 

You don’t register it at first. Your heart is beating too loudly between your ears, until his voice shatters through. You stare as he starts laughing so hard his shoulders shake with utter glee. Even Patroclus is surprised by his giddiness. 

His laughs die down eventually. He presses his palm against his cheek. There’s still a smile on his face as he continues to stare at you. It looks dangerous. 

“μου αρέσει αυτή η γυναίκα,” he says. Patroclus only sighs in response. 

You’re pulled onto the pelt without much of a fight after that; you’re too terrified to rebel, not after the stunt you pulled. He may have taken it as a jest for the moment, but you know that you shouldn’t push him. You would not survive his fire. 

Still, you can’t help but ball your fists so hard that your nails dig into soft flesh. You’re scared. You’re so scared as you’re forced to lie beside him. Patroclus takes his place on your other side. He gives you a sympathetic smile, gives a few words you’re sure are meant to comfort you. He isn’t Briseis, it doesn’t do a thing. 

Achilles lies at your back, hand on your waist as he settles into the bed of pelts. You squeeze your eyes shut when someone blows out the candle flickering overhead, and then it’s dark. 

You wait. You wait for the hand to move up. You wait for something you’d be helpless to stop. 

One minute. Two minutes. 

Five minutes. You open your eyes. 

The tent is slightly open. The sparse moonlight gives enough light for you to see Patroclus’s face, right next to yours. He’s already asleep. His eyes are shut. You notice a faint scar on his lip. 

When you look behind you, Achilles is in the same state. Completely asleep. Up close, you can see his long lashes. Untouched beauty. Gifts given by the nymph mother.

They…were really asleep. Just like that? You don’t know if you should be impressed. 

Your heartbeat slows down. Fear wanes from your blood. Nothing would happen tonight. You were safe. 

For now. 

You can’t relax. You know what these men are like. You know what they’ve done, what they will do. Even the soft-spoken Patroclus is a murderer. No one in this camp can be trusted. 

But what can you do? You’re helpless, a weakling compared to these people. You don’t have bronze armour, a spear, or a shield to protect yourself. The only thing you can do is survive. Survive until you get home. It’s the last thing you think of before sleep claims you. 

And thus ended your first night as the captive of King Achilles. 

~

As all humanity does in the most perilous scenarios, you adjust. Life goes on. Roughly a week has passed since your capture. And as terrifying as the situation was, it was also extremely fascinating. 

The camp isn’t as unorganized as you initially believed. A few days in, and you can see the system of the Greeks. Mornings were the busiest. Wood would be chopped and placed in the corners of the camps. At least three fires would already be burning. You would always smell sizzling meat in the air. Afternoons would be when most of the warriors would be out, either to hunt or gather supplies. In the evenings, they would gather around fires, eating meat and drinking strong-smelling wine. You would watch as they sang unfamiliar songs, playing on instruments you don’t recognize. 

The camp was larger than you initially imagined. In each section, there were at least three to ten tents, you supposed size was often related to the warrior's ranking. On the outskirts of camp, floating right on the water was the infamous fleet of Achilles. He had fifty of them, or so the story told. They were large enough to carry a small army, which they did. They’d bob upon the surface like sleeping giants, letting Greek warriors enter their bellies and decks.

Those were the warrior’s rituals. The women attended to other tasks. The group you were with worked mainly with looms, making textiles and other such things. 

You were never good with your hands. Your days in the village taught you that much. Meager pottery was one thing, but working the loom was another. Pysus, the most talented weaver among Achilles’ women, tried her best to teach you, but often had to shoo you away from the contraption to correct your mistakes. 

And you didn’t get any better at pottery either. Your cups were cracked and the vase you attempted at was too long and thin. Pysus gave you a sympathizing grin before she mashed your pieces back into a clay ball, so it could be used properly. 

“Sorry.” You mutter as you watch her work. She smiles again, expertly melding the clay into the shape she wants with red-stained hands. A strand of curly dark hair falls behind her ear. Since your hands are clean, you tuck it back so it won’t bother her. 

In the week, you managed to befriend your fellow maiden woman. It wasn’t as though you had any other kind of company. Pysus was extremely good as pottery, you’re positive she could make a business out of it. Naarya was the youngest of the three and had the least amount of work. She helped you learn Greek, though you’ve not had much of a breakthrough regarding the language. 

You know certain words now, more than ‘no’ or ‘yes’. You still can’t understand them without the ladies using wild gestures. Communication remains a difficult mountain. 

Sweet faced-Briseis. The woman who’s beauty is akin to Goddesses. She’s gentle, with a soft spoken voice. The book never went into much of her character, but you often remembered feeling bad for her. A queen that was stolen away and forced to become the concubine of the same man who burned down her city wasn’t an easy fate to swallow. You felt the most at eased with her. It must be due to her past status, but she was the caretaker of all the other ladies, like a big sister, a mother, a Queen. 

All in all, these three made your current life much more bearable. You don’t know what you’d do if you were the only person here. 

Though you are technically a prisoner, you aren’t tied down by chains and metal. You’re actually pretty free, enough to even take laps around the camp if you wanted to. You were still trapped. Greek warriors were everywhere. Any escape attempt you tried was thwarted by a soldier being inconveniently placed at the exact place you needed him to not be. For now, escape was futile. 

This just made you even more sympathetic to your fellow women, and you were deeply ashamed of how you thought of them in the beginning. You stupidly called them weak, not knowing that being able to smile and help their fellow ladies was a sign of true strength, rivaling even a demigod. 

Speaking of Achilles, he did not like you. 

Every single thing you did seemed to only disgust him. Your crude weaving, your shaky pottery, even your silence when he spoke to you in pure Greek was enough to make disdain show on his face. His handsome features would twist like he smelled something rotten, and he always looked angry. 

Despite his clear disdain, he’d still force you to lie with him, every night. 

It’s a ritual you hate, even a week later. It took a few nights for you to finally stop crying yourself to sleep, even though you’d hush any time Achilles snapped at you.

Most nights, it would be you and him among the bed of pelts and furs. Sometimes, Patroclus would join. Once, even Briseis was ordered to stay, but Achilles quickly sent her away when you instantly welded yourself to her side. He clearly can’t stand not being the center of attention.

Despite the sleeping arrangements, Achilles never once went any further. Every so often, his hands would linger, his fingers would trail over your tunic, but he never pushed. You weren’t complaining, but you found it offputting that he never did anything. You knew it wasn’t because he wanted to be a gentleman. The Iliad, the Odyssey, the PostHomeric Hym are all very quick to show how monstrous he can be. He’s the proper Greek warrior, the only empathy he shows are to his comrades and even then he’s fickle with it. 

Currently, the proper Greek warrior stands in the center of the crowd, armed with his sword and out of his armor crafted by the Gods.

You sit next to Briseis, watching the dual. Another soldier stands at the ready, sword ready and glinting. He must have been a war prisoner, because unlike the other warriors, he’s dressed in rags, a haggard look on his face. They had just tossed him a sword before tossing him into the ring with Achilles. 

It’s not even a fight. Blood splatters across dirt. His body slumps and you close your eyes when the crowd erupts into cheers. 

His sword is wet with blood when Achilles shunts his sword back from the soldier’s body. He roars, the crowd roars back. It’s a barbaric display of power. 

Briseis nudges your shoulder. “κοιτάς ψηλά.” She urges. 

Achilles walks with broad shoulders. A lock of the fallen warrior’s is clenched within his fist. When he stops in front of you, he extends his fist. 

You eye the lock with disgust. You don’t move.

Achilles’ lip curls, and then he angrily tosses the hair onto the body. The crowd screams their disappointment. 

It’s terrifying. Slitting a man’s throat and offering hair to you as some kind of war prize? You don’t know what he expects you to do with it. 

They clearly think you are some demigod of some kind. That’s why they’re so insistent on sacrifices. Maybe they think with enough blood you’d magically gift them a hundred horses. 

How laughable. If you had that kind of power you’d burn down the camp, not try to help them. 

Still, if the Achaeans assumed you were related to Aphrodite, why would they commit a bloody offering? Aphrodite is the Goddess of beauty. You don’t think she’d consider this very pretty, besides, the Achaeans should despise her considering she started the entire war. Even other Gods hated her: Athena goaded Diomedes to lodge a spear at her Great Aunt.

You watch as they drag the body away, possibly to throw his corpse into the fire. Even dead enemies get tossed in flames. Hades must accept all of his possessions equally. 

They probably would have killed him regardless but the fact he died because of you sits with you long after the body is gone and Briseis ushers you back into the tent. If that event was supposed to be a sacrifice, you clearly rejected it. You pray that your refusal would discourage any further offerings but the Achaeans are anything but stubborn. 

They’re all crazy—crazy barbaric psychos. Achilles is the worst of them. 

The funniest part is that you were a huge fan of Achilles’ character when you read the epic. From a reader’s perspective, he was interesting. You found his rage a fascinating part of his character, and his cruel and vindictive nature, entertaining. 

Now as a captive, your admiration for him was watered down by immense fear. He’s nothing but haunting brutality. More terrifying than your darkest nightmares. 

Like everyday, you watch as the pissed-off Achilles stomps inside the tent, straight to you. He’s always mad at you, but today, at least you know the reason. He grunts in your direction, and you catch words he always liked to use when his ire was directed at you. They might be related to ‘Useless’ or ‘Pathetic’. 

Despite his childlike tantrum, you still shrink against Briseis. If he believes you’re a demigod, then he has no qualms about yelling at you. Though, he himself is a Demigod. 

Patroclus arrives just when Achilles’ voice raises an octave. He calms his commander with a gentle hand on his back, urging his lover with a low voice. After a minute or two, it seems to work. Achilles simmers, no longer a thundering storm, but a cloudy sky. He picks up his sword, and leaves the tent. 

Patroclus lets out a tired sigh, running hands through his short hair. He walks up to Briseis, who in turn, holds you securely in her arms, letting you settle in her grip. 

You liked Patroclus, at the very least, you preferred him over Achilles. True to the books, he was slightly older than his friend, a broader stature, but a more soft expression. He was far more kinder than the King. Achilles has no problems with dragging servants around like ragdolls; Patroclus was nicer to the girls, and from the way he speaks, he definitely seems to carry some kind of sympathy for them. He’s kinder to you; and far more willing to ignore your slights and mistakes than his companion.

Still, he may be the lesser evil, but that isn’t saying much. Like all the Achaeans, he’s a proper Greek warrior. A perfect killer in every single way. A killer who’d fly too close to the sun. Son of Icarus. 

He dies, you think to yourself as Patroclus converses with Briseis. He’s killed by Hector, wearing Achilles’ armor, while his own lover is by the ships, waiting for him to come back. It’s a heartbreaking book. Achilles’ anger and grief is full display. The catalyst he needed to get back into the fight. 

If anything, Patroclus is the start of the end of it all. 

A large hand lifting your chin up breaks you out of your thoughts. Patroclus stares at you with a smile. He’s analyzing you, mulling over your features, every imperfection you ever suffered. He smiles; a gentle curve of his lips, the slightest hint of teeth. 

You wonder if he gives the same smile after gutting his enemies. 

“Η δόξα μπορεί να έρθει σύντομα,” He tells and when you glance over at Briseis, she’s staring back. 

He leaves then, possibly to follow Achilles. The tents flap back into place and you finally stop clinging onto Briseis. 

She may not have the same temper as Achilles, nevertheless, you’re surprised she hasn’t snapped at you, not even once. She remains as patient and kind as she was on the first day. It’s quite a feat, considering you’re pretty much useless. 

The girls mostly overtake your work for you. Looming and weaving is a skill you barely do considering you are hardly any good. The only thing you’re good for is cleaning and meager cooking of meats. Even then, in this era, you are hardly anything exemplary. You would have expected violence by now, it’s clear women aren’t treated as anything more than mere appliances. Sure, the modern era wasn’t perfect for women, but it was a lot better than this. 

Outside the tent, you hear a wail. Another sob. Through the flaps you spot a women being carted away as she kicked and screamed and wailed. You find yourself staring, even when Briseis gives you another task. 

That could have been you. It’s the only thought in your mind as you brush the bloodied armor. You could have been dragged across the dirt like an animal. Beaten, diminished, raped. Though, still a prisoner, you got off easy. 

And it’s all because of your hair. 

You grab a strand of pink, looking it over. You remembered the day you impulsively decided to get it bleached, feeling inspired to live your life to the fullest. So many people tried to talk you out of it, but now it’s the one thing that saved your life. 

The child of Aphrodite. That’s what people thought of you, right? The reactions of some of the soldiers was telling. Some refused to look you right in the eye, while others, like Achilles, would stare at you in contempt. You knew Aphrodite was many things for the Achaeans, but the drastic reactions were odd. You didn’t think a Goddess like her would be feared and hated. Though, you supposed it worked in your favor. 

Still, in this world, if legends like Achilles and Patroclus existed, it isn’t a stretch to assume the Gods existed as well. From what you’ve read, at least from the interpretation Homer gave, Aphrodite is vindictive and childish. She doesn’t take slights well. If she finds out you’re being paraded around as her child, it could end very badly for you. 

This makes you nervous, but you can’t really worry about it. It’s not like you can do anything about the wrath of a Goddess. It’s best to focus on what you can do. 

Briseis taps you on the shoulder. 

You look up. Her hair is braided into an elegant coil. She smiles sweetly at you. 

“Πάρτε το γιλέκο στο ποτάμι Για ένα καθαρό.” She urges and you’re able to pick out enough words. She wants you to finish cleaning the vest down at the river. 

You nod, obediently gathering the armor in your hands before trekking out the tent. The woman you saw earlier was gone. You try searching for her with your eyes, but you see nothing. Abandoning your search, you trek over to the edge of the camp. As usual, the warriors are crawling around in droves, but none try to stop you as you drift further away. It’s not like you’re planning on escaping. 

There’s no point. Running is a meaningless endeavor. 

It’s not like you haven’t tried, but every time you do, you’re stopped. Soldiers are everywhere. It’s like trying to crawl out of a beehive. Enemies are at every corner. 

When you get to the river, you are finally able to drop the heavy armor on the ground. Dripping water over the fabric, you take your time, diligently wiping at every mark, every bloodstain. 

Bloodstains of a person. That should unnerve you, but you’d gotten so used to this that you hardly even blink. 

That isn’t good, you can’t be too complacent. Escape might not be your top priority right now, but you haven’t given up on it completely. 

But, let’s say you did escape…what then? 

That stumped you. You move on autopilot, washing away the armor as your mind starts to race. 

The village is gone, so you can’t go there. And you have no idea how to get back to your own world. Is there a way you can go back? What was even the time? You reach into your pocket for your phone. 

You don’t have pockets. You no longer have your phone. Fuck, you needed to stop doing that. 

It stings your eyes. When you try to blink your tears away, it doesn’t help. You miss your bed. You miss the people, your family, your friends. You miss the comforts of modern life: access to the internet, the air conditioner, your phone, and the countless apps you’d use to distract yourself. 

You miss coffee—the most simple thing in the world. 

You miss everything. 

You need to get back to your world. You already made yourself that promise even though you had no idea how, yet. 

From what you’ve seen from isekais, the protagonist dies before being tossed into the other world, but you don’t remember dying. The last thing you remembered before ending up here was running out for errands. 

Your best bet is that you need to die in order to escape, but you’re too much of a coward to go that far. It’d be a last resort. All what you knew is that you being summoned and getting out of this story was linked. 

This was so frustrating you were about to cry again. Why you of all people? What did you do to deserve this?

The river was cool against your fingers. You soaked the hide into the stream, watching the rivets of blood disappear into the water. Human blood. You were essentially cleaning off the evidence of a crime. 

You shouldn’t be so used to this, but humans adapt. You are only human. Moreover, you should be glad this is the only thing they ask of you. You aren’t good for much else. 

Once the armor is no longer bloody and your fingers are pruny, you pack up. You fold the thick fabric with unsure fingers, pulling and prodding. The leather bends underneath your hands as you gather it up. You’re taking your time. Stalling. Anything to stay out of that tent just a bit longer. 

The white flowers catch your eye. 

They’re the same height as shrubs, you have to kneel down to take a closer look. You’ve never seen flowers like these before, they almost resemble tiny lilies. 

You think of Naarya and her sweet smile. The youngest of the girls. You think of how pretty these would look braided in her hair. 

After plucking as much as you can from the grass, your legs feel a bit lighter as you head back to the tent. 

Briseis is carefully organising the pottery. When you ask for Naarya, she wordlessly points to the back of the tent, right back outside. Sure enough, the youngest of the girls is sitting next to the loom. Patroclus is next to her, talking about something as she listens intently. 

When she catches your figure, her eyes brighten. Your heart melts. 

You’re quick to show her the flowers. She squeals, clapping with delight as you maneuver behind her. You tuck the flowers in her hands, smiling when she excitedly talks in a language you can’t understand. Out of the three of the girls, she’s your favorite. 

She reminds you of Desmache. 

Patroclus is still there, he watches the sight, leaned up against the tent. Out of courtesy, you present a flower to him too. He takes it, thanking you in his own language. 

The peace doesn’t last forever. 

He barrels through eventually, steamrolling through the quaint scene like a train. You sigh, pulling down the urge to roll your eyes as he starts complaining again. You’re still too scared of him to show your resentment of him. 

You’re still in the process of braiding Naarya’s hair. From your position, you point to the armour you laid to dry on the rack. Achilles huffs, barely sparing it a glance. You follow his gaze: the flowers still gripped in your hand. 

Hold on, does he want one? 

You can’t imagine him wanting something that isn’t bloody and screaming. At the same time, you did give one to Patroclus, and you’re currently putting them in Naarya’s hair. Maybe he thinks he’s owed them, just like he thinks he owns you. 

You ignore his look, concentrating on your task. Like every other action you do, this pisses him off and like always, he starts ranting to Patroclus all over again. At this point, you’re starting to feel bad for his lover more than the captured women. How could he willingly stand to be around a guy like that? 

Still, it’d be best to at least try to get into Achilles’ good graces. 

He’s still complaining when you tuck a flower behind his ear. 

“Happy?” You mutter before you pull away. “Now, please stop bitching.” 

It shuts him right up. You go back to braiding Naarya’s hair, listening to her hum a song in her sweet voice. 

Sometime later, you find yourself sparing a glance at the Demigod. 

He’d taken the flower out, studying it as it lay loosely in his hand. 

It’s the first time you’d seen him handle something so delicately before. 

~

Your act pays off in the evening. 

You and Pysus were getting the pelts ready for Achilles to slumber. It was the same routine as always. This is typically around the time she’d start continuing her Greek lessons. You clumsily follow her voice, repeating words that she said so casually. She often laughed at your attempts, but you never took it to heart. 

When Achilles arrives, she usually has to take her leave. You hear the tents flap and you feel your heart sink in disappointment. Achilles sinks into the pelts with a sigh, running a hand through golden locks. He smelled of sweat and blood. He must have come back from another hunt. You can already hear the whoops of the other men right out, full of excitement. 

Pysus takes her leave, you almost want to ask her to stay, but you don’t. You just watch as she makes her way out of the tent. 

He gives a grunt. You glance back at Achilles. 

He’s leaned against the pelts, elbows propped up against the furs. His hand raises as he lazily waves you off. 

You don’t need a translator to know what that means. 

You try not to look too happy, but you doubt you’re succeeding. You’re gripping Pysus’ hand, practically dragging her out of the tent in your excitement. 

The other girls look just as elated. They’re ushering you in their tent. There’s giggling and laughing as they clamour around you. For the rest of the evening, you help them get ready for sleep. You take out their braids so it won’t tangle, you snuggle up next to Pysus and Naarya, listening to Briseis sing a sweet lullaby. 

The tent is warm, their soft breaths make yours slower too. It reminds you of slumber parties when you were younger. It reminds you of burying yourself between your parents when you had a nightmare. 

It reminds you of the warm nights on the floor of Desmache’s and Patroseis’ hut. 

It’s the most peaceful you’ve ever slept in days. 

Your brain was in so much stress that you hadn’t been able to properly think for weeks. Evidence piles up throughout your slumber. Blood, the lock of hair, corpses, fire—

The revelation startles you straight out of sleep. 

Naarya groans, scrunching her face in her sleep. Somehow, she managed to climb on top of you, laying her head on your chest. 

“Sorry.” You whisper, gently petting her hair, watching as her face relaxes. 

You figured it out, you know how to escape. 

You need to summon a God.