#grand tableau | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dark-and-kawaii · 2 months

Text

A Father's Demise

Raphael x f!Tav/Reader

Haarlep x f!Tav/Reader

⋆˙⟡♡ Summary: Two separate stories. Their daughters come back home, only to be met with a sight that seemed to be plucked from their darkest nightmares...

⋆˙⟡♡ Notes: Happy Endings?!?! Potentially!! Also, Apologies for being quiet the past couple days. I’ve been really sick! This was also something to make me feel better… Enjoy xoxo

⋆˙⟡♡ Character Death | Hurt/Comfort | Fluff At The End | Dadphael | Haarlep As Dad

Prt 1?

Raphael

Raphael's daughter returned to the House of Hope expecting the usual cacophony of the damned and the indebted. Instead, she was greeted by an uncanny silence that hung heavy in the air. A sense of unease prickled at the back of her neck as she called out, "Mother?" Silence was her only answer. "Haarlep?" she tried again, hoping for the usual sardonic reply, yet there was nothing. And finally, with a tremor in her voice, "F-Father?”

Her steps were cautious, timid as she made her way through the dining area, where only the soft crackling of the fireplace dared to disturb the quiet. It was a lonely sound, one that did little to comfort her growing concern.

It wasn't until she ascended the stairs to the grand hall that the silence shattered into a scene of horror. Blood mingled with lifeless bodies, staining the pristine marble with a grotesque tableau. She shrank back, fear gnawing at her insides, “It's okay... it's okay…” She tried to weave excuses, fabricating scenarios where her father's wrath was the culprit, a desperate attempt to shield her mind from the truth.

With each step towards the boudoir, the splashing sound beneath her feet grew louder. She glanced down to see water mixing with the crimson stains on the floor. The door veil that usually keeps strangers out of the room is now gone, revealing the source of the deluge; the healing bath overflowing, its contents spilling out in a ceaseless torrent…

Approaching the bed, her every fear was realized. The blood-soaked sheets were a grim canvas, and atop them lay her father, his once regal appearance now marred by disarray and violence. “F-father?..." Her voice was barely audible, a quiver of hope against the starkness of reality. Her trembling legs carried her closer as she begged him to respond. “P-please, father- say something…”

Her tears flowed freely as she reached his side. There was no rise and fall of his chest, no sign of the life that once filled him… “Father?" she whispered, her nudges growing frantic. “G-get up..." Desperation took hold as she climbed onto the bed, her small hands pushing against him, “p-please…” She tugged at his arm, “You ha-have to get up, mom will- mom will be home soon..."

She couldn't finish; the truth was too much to bear. Curling up next to Raphael, she laid her head against his chest, pulling his arm around her as if to shield herself with his presence, his blood now her own, as her sobs filled the room.

Footsteps approached, and a shard of hope pierced her grief. "Mom!?" But the sound that followed was not the comforting voice she longed for, but a dark, mocking laugh. Haarlep emerged, their expression one of false sympathy, "Fraid not, little one," Haarlep's voice was cool, detached.

Clutching her father, she looked up at Haarlep with eyes that begged for a miracle. "Ha-Haarlep! Help! Please! I don't know what to do- I- I-" Her voice faltered, her world shattering as Haarlep's smirk only twisted further, a silent testament to their betrayal.

And as Haarlep stepped closer, she saw how her fathers crown, the Crown of Karsus rested upon their head. The incubus grinned, her father's blood painting their lips, a sight so vile she felt the warmth drain from her body. Haarlep's tongue flicked out, lasciviously cleaning the blood away. Their command was cold, merciless. "Run from here, and never return."

Frozen by shock and grief, Raphael's daughter felt the very fabric of her world unraveling. The sanctuary of her home, the invincibility of her father, the loyalty she thought unbreakable, all were illusions now shattered. The House of Hope had fallen…

…

“NO!!”

Her eyes flew open, her breath coming in shallow gasps her nightgown clinging to her skin, drenched in the sweat of terror. The nightmare had been so vivid, so visceral, that for a moment she remained still, half expecting to see the blood-soaked sheets and her father's lifeless eyes. But as the fog of fear dissipated, she realized she was in her own room, safe within the walls that had always been her sanctuary.

With a shaky exhale, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet finding the cold floor beneath them. The coolness of the stone was a small comfort, a reminder that this was reality, not the blood-soaked chambers of her nightmares.

Steeling herself, she rose and made her way out of her room. She needed to find her father, to see with her own eyes that he was safe, that the nightmare was just that, a figment of her imagination.

When she reached the boudoir she hesitated. Her hand shaking half expecting to reveal the horrors from her nightmare. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside.

The room was peaceful, bathed in the gentle glow of the candles and avenues. And there, in the large bed lay her father. His chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of deep sleep, his face relaxed, free from the anguish that had twisted it in her nightmare.

She whispered, her voice barely audible, "Father?"

His eyes blinked open, and for a moment, they were clouded with sleep, searching for the source of the disturbance. When his gaze settled on his heir, clarity returned, and his expression softened..

"What troubles you, child?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and a bit of annoyance.

"I had a nightmare… Y-you… " she wipes a tear away as she confesses, the words of a child seeking solace in the presence of her father. "It felt so real."

Raphael lifted the sheets to his bed, "Just this once," inviting her into the sanctuary of his and your embrace. His tail curling around her in a protective gesture, as if to ward off any remnants of the night's horrors before one of his wings enveloped both his daughter and you.

She snuggled in between both you and her father, the steady beat of his heart a lullaby that promised safety.

Haarlep

The stone walls of your home echoed the sounds of urgency as Haarlep's daughter, her heart filled with the thrill of mischief, raced through the corridors. Her arms were laden with loaves of bread, the spoils of her latest foray into manipulation. A grin played upon her lips, eager to share the tale of her conquest with her father, to see that smirk of approval on their face.

"Dad! Dad, you won't believe what I did!" she called out, her voice bouncing off the walls, searching for the familiar presence of Haarlep. But the house was unusually silent. Her steps slowed, a frown creasing her brow. "That's weird…"

She went to the only other spot they’d be. As she approached her parents' chamber, the memory of the last awkward interruption still fresh in her mind. She hesitated, her hand on the large wooden door, whispering a silent prayer to the darkness that she wouldn't find her parents in a compromising embrace… Again.

Gently, she pushed the door open, only to be met with a sight that drained the color from her face.

The loaves of bread tumbled to the floor as the door shut with an ominous thud behind her. Inside, a strange portal shimmered in the air, its edges flickering with otherworldly energy. Next to it lay Haarlep, her parent, once a figure of protection and guile in her eyes, now still and bloodied. Their clothes were tattered, their body marred, an image so shocking that it stilled her for a moment.

…

"Har har, very funny, Dad," she said with a nervous laugh, hoping against hope that this was just another one of their twisted jokes. She approached her parent cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest. As the portal began to close, she saw a figure on the other side, a creature with red skin, dark hair, and a beard who gave her a smug wave before disappearing into the ether.

The sickening realization hit her, and her voice trembled. "D-dad…?" She knelt beside them, her hands shaking as she touched Haarlep’s horns, trying to rouse them.

"Th-this isn’t f-funny…" She shook him gently, then began to push on their bloody chest more urgently, denial lacing her voice. "Dad! This isn't a fun game!!"

With each desperate plea, the truth sank in. The silence that answered her was suffocating… The parent she was closest to, her mentor in mischief, the one who wrapped their tail around her in protection, the one who would lift her up and make her feel invincible, was gone... Her heart, a thing not made for breaking, fractured in her chest.

"D-dad…" She wrapped her arms around their neck, her sobs breaking the haunting silence. "Come back, come back!! Please!!" Her cries were muffled against their chest, her tears mingling with their blood.

Her cries, raw and primal, tore through the silence of the chamber. "Mom!!!" she screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief.

"Mom!!!" Her voice cracked with pain and fear. "Mmmoommm!!"

Time seemed to contort, stretching and bending as you, her mother, drawn by the cries of your child, burst into the room. Your approach was a slow-motion cascade of horror and realization. She watched through tear-blurred eyes as you fell to their sides, your own anguish mirroring your daughter's.

…

“MOM!!”

She bolted upright in bed, her breathing ragged, her body drenched in cold sweat. The nightmare- was all too vivid in her mind. She clutched at her chest, a strangled sob catching in her throat. The images of her father, still and lifeless, clung to her like chains.

The familiar room came into focus, illuminated by the soft glow of a candle that lingered in the corner. She was in her parent’s room. Her gaze first landed on Impsy, the imp lying sprawled with a twitching foot, then shifted to you, her mother, who was slumbering serenely beside her, before finally settling on the one she was most eager to find, Haarlep.

Their chest rising and falling. The sight of them, the undeniable proof of life, sent a sob tearing through her, silent but profound in its relief.

An arm wrapped around her, pulling her gently but firmly back down. Haarlep, having awakened to the sound of their daughter's distress, drew her close, their senses finely attuned to the emotional currents of those around him. “Did my little imp have a bad dream?" Haarlep teased, their voice a perfect combination of concern and their usual playful mockery. Despite the teasing tone, their eyes searched hers for the depth of her fright.

Nodding, she recounted the terrible vision of her father, bloodied and still, the taunting figure in the portal, the overwhelming loss. As she spoke, your hand ran soothing circles against her back, a silent reassurance of safety and love.

Haarlep, ever being themself, made light of the darkness in her tale. "Ah, my tyrant, even in your dreams, I'm the star of the show," they quipped, a playful grin tugging at their lips.

Gradually, her trembling ceased, and her eyelids grew heavy. As she drifted back into sleep, nestled securely between her parents, a silent exchange passed between Haarlep and you.

Your eyes were filled with unspoken worry, the description of the devil too precise, too vivid. It bore the unmistakable signature of Mephistopheles… In that moment, Haarlep's facade slipped, revealing a glint of apprehension.

Mephistopheles, Haarlep knew the description all too well, a master from their past that they had hoped would never cross into their present, especially not into their offspring’s dreams.

As sleep reclaimed the chamber, Haarlep's arm tightened around their daughter, as if it would be the last time…

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #tav #haarlep #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav #haarlep x tav #haarlep x reader #dadphael #Haarlep being a dad

196 notes · View notes

jonathan-pradillon · 1 year

Photo

Grand tableau abstrait : Vaste texture couteau or orange rose iridescente 2.

(Œuvre réalisée sur commande)

Œuvre réalisée au couteau à la peinture acrylique sur châssis en bois entoilé en coton (100% coton, toile cloutée). Couleurs iridescentes. Rebords du châssis peints à la peinture acrylique noire. Protection : œuvre vernie à la bombe aérosol brillante.

Pour voir un aperçu vidéo de cette peinture, rendez-vous sur : https://youtu.be/Kn1jt8u7kgU

Format : 116 cm x 89 cm x 2,5 cm.

Diagonale : 146,2 cm.

Poids approximatif : 3 kg.

Date de réalisation : 03/2023.

Artiste : Jonathan Pradillon

Pièce unique.

œuvre signée. Certificat d’authenticité fourni. Emballage soigné.

Prix : 600 €.

(Œuvre vendue)

Plus d’information sur www.artinsolite.com ou www.jonathan-pradillon.com

youtube

1 note · View note

maybelenormand · 2 years

Text

Le Très Grand Tableau - Septembre

I know it is October but at least I am posting it and commenting on it. I still think Grand Tableau are hard as hell but I still think that if I don't try I'll never learn them and sometimes, they are pack with info ...

Ok, first thing first : looks like I'm in the middle of that month. Which, in retrospect, is absolutely true. I wasn't in charge of much and of what I was, it was only related to me ( Rose + Cupid )

On my mind was Money ( Safe : that's like, immediate money ), Work ( Moon : or reputation or whatever ) and Home ( Flame : wherever I feel comfy )

In the past : I had a social life ( Garden ) and then none ( Anchor + Coffin ) mostly because I was off ( Boat ) In the future : Still no social life ( Cross ) and it was painful ( let me emphasize : CROSS ) then a shift ( Stork ) and a lot of movement - that was in fact a lot of me telling everyone the situation and going back and forth in my head and finally the situation unlocked ( Key ) Since this is a Très Grand Tableau, we'll look at the Heart of the Matter, it's like a mini-tableau. Or a box +1 card :

Cats + Moon + Whip Dog + Safe + Gentleman Coffin + Woman + Cross Rose

The Cats and the Safe cards are not the easiest. I mean, the Cats is about ego and flattery. The Safe is about cash. Rose is about beauty, art. Nothing here is linked. Now you understand why I didn't posted it before. Even afterward, I don't know what to think about it.

In which case, I resort to easy trick. Reading lines and Meeting Points. But since I couldn't understand a thing, I chose Meeting Points.

So, I'd take whatever subject was on my mind and see where it meets. With my wife ( Gentleman ) : Safe + Cross. Money is tight but it won't be a subject - because the cross is on the right side of the Safe. True, we had an unexpected bill and didn't talk about bills the rest of the month. As per usual, I just handled it by myself.

With my Coworker Situation ( Dog ... 'cause I thought the guy a friend ) : Safe + Coffin. No money is involve in our friendship so I'll take the Safe as somewhat literal. To keep oneself guarded. He walled up and I should have trusted the cards, telling me it is not dead ( the Coffin on the right side ) even if it felt like it ( the Safe is ... closed on the Woman side ... sort of ? )

Important : both subject are near the Woman, which means they are important matter at the moment or at least, the biggest to deal with.

With my Weight ( Bear ) : Bear is really far, which means it wouldn't be much on my mind. True, it wasn't really. Moon + Garden. It is about apparences and social pression. About what I think of myself. Both card are passive, they don't say much. What I did : I went for several walks. So the Garden could be that. Moon is also about identity, so yeah, I still think a lot about my weight.

#lenormand #petit lenormand #divination #grand tableau #très grand tableau #maybe lenormand

1 note · View note

nayziiz · 2 months

Text

No Way | LN4

Summary: Lando Norris, an F1 driver for McLaren Racing, faces persistent attention on his single status. In an attempt to appease fans and quell rumours, his management suggests a fake relationship with a popular Portuguese model. However, Lando's PR manager, Natalie, disagrees, believing fans would see through the ploy. As an alternative, Lando's management notices the genuine bond between him and Natalie and proposes they feign a relationship for authenticity. Initially hesitant, they agree, given their existing friendship and professional connection. The fake relationship takes an unexpected turn as Lando and Natalie grapple with burgeoning real feelings, attempting unsuccessfully to conceal their growing emotions.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Original Character (Natalie)

Warnings: Mentions of physical and emotional abuse; SA; fluff

Masterlist

CHAPTER 7

In the weeks following the Miami Grand Prix, the bond between Lando and Natalie deepens as they find themselves drawn to each other's company. The shared experiences of the racing world create a unique connection, and they gradually begin to spend more time together away from the bustling atmosphere of the tracks.

As the Monaco Grand Prix approaches, Lando extends a heartfelt invitation to Natalie to stay with him in his apartment in Monaco. It's not just about the proximity to the upcoming race; it symbolises a growing intimacy and trust between them. Natalie, appreciative of the gesture, accepts the invitation, excited for the chance to spend more time with Lando outside the pressures of the racing circuit.

The week in Monaco becomes a pivotal chapter in their relationship. Lando and Natalie share not only the scenic beauty of the principality but also the quieter, more personal moments. They explore the charming streets of Monaco together, indulging in local cuisine, and taking in the breathtaking views of the Mediterranean. This time away from the track allows them to discover each other beyond the adrenaline-fueled world of Formula 1. Despite the bond between them growing stronger every day, they both use the excuse of their fake romance as a cover to hide their true feelings for one another.

Lando's apartment becomes a haven where they can relax and be themselves. The atmosphere is filled with laughter, shared stories, and a growing sense of connection. Amidst the backdrop of the glamorous Monaco lifestyle, their budding romance flourishes, creating lasting memories that extend beyond the confines of the racing calendar.

During this week, Natalie gets a firsthand look at Lando's off-track passions and interests, and they find common ground in their pursuits outside of racing. This shared experience not only strengthens their emotional connection but also sets the foundation for a more profound understanding of each other's lives. Determined to keep Monaco and his apartment a haven for the two of them, Lando sets up his friends in a hotel as opposed to letting them stay with him and Natalie in his apartment.

As Lando gets ready to head out for a night of drinks with friends, the atmosphere in his apartment is a blend of anticipation and tranquillity. The soft glow of bedside lamps casts a warm ambiance, creating a cosy contrast to the bustling nightlife awaiting him outside.

In the bedroom, Natalie is nestled under the covers, engrossed in the pages of her book. The gentle rustle of the turning pages harmonises with the muted sounds of Lando moving about the apartment. Occasionally, she steals subtle glances at him, her eyes tracing the familiar contours of his movements.

Lando, dressed in casually chic attire, moves back and forth between the bathroom and his bedroom. The faint scent of cologne lingers in the air, leaving a trace of his presence. As he checks himself in the mirror, adjusting a collar or running a hand through his hair, Natalie can't help but smile at the easy confidence he exudes.

Their contrasting activities create a serene tableau—the peaceful reading nook juxtaposed with the energetic anticipation of the night out.

“Have you seen my shark tooth necklace anywhere?” Lando asks as he peers around the corner from the bathroom

“It’s on the vanity.” Natalie nonchalantly responds without lifting her gaze from the book

“It’s not there, I’ve checked.” Lando informs her, a touch of frustration in his voice.

“It was there before you started getting ready.” Natalie counters, her expression a mix of amusement and bemusement. There's a subtle teasing tone in her voice, as if she's unravelling a mystery she finds rather amusing.

Lando, wearing an expression of defeat, returns to the bathroom, his search for the elusive shark tooth necklace proving unsuccessful. Natalie, sensing his frustration, decides to join the quest for the missing accessory. She gracefully gets out of bed, her oversized hoodie cascading over her hips and covering her pyjama shorts.

With a knowing smile, Natalie follows Lando into the bathroom, her gaze scanning the familiar surfaces. As she spots the necklace nestled behind Lando's hair gels and aftershave on the vanity, she can't help but suppress a playful giggle. Reaching for the necklace, Natalie picks it up with a triumphant air and holds it up for Lando to see.

“Looking for this?” She teases, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Lando, turning to face her, is met with a mixture of relief and playful reproach.

“You found it? And here I thought I was going to have to search the entire apartment.” He breathes a sigh of relief. Natalie hands him the necklace with a mischievous grin.

“You might need a treasure map next time.” She quips, enjoying the light-hearted moment. Lando takes the necklace, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation.

“I swear, it grows legs and hides every time I need it.” He jokes, his playful demeanour matching hers. “Sometimes I wonder what I would do without you.”

“You’ll be alright.” Natalie chuckles as she leans against the vanity to watch him struggle to put it on.

As Lando bends down to retrieve the fallen necklace, the delicate piece of jewellery slipping through his fingers and landing just before Natalie's feet, a moment of subtle tension hangs in the air. The room is momentarily hushed as their eyes meet, a shared awareness of the proximity between them.

Lando, rising slowly, inches away from her, locks eyes with Natalie. The atmosphere shifts, and the playful energy from the earlier search transforms into a quiet, charged connection. The air seems to thicken with a mixture of curiosity and unspoken emotions.

Their closeness becomes palpable, the shared space charged with a magnetic pull. Lando, still holding the necklace, allows a brief pause before breaking into a charming smile.

“Looks like it wanted to be closer to you.” He quips, injecting a touch of humour to diffuse the building tension. Natalie chuckles, a hint of blush gracing her cheeks.

“Maybe it just needed a change of scenery.” She replies, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in her eyes.

Lando, with a hint of vulnerability, extends the necklace toward Natalie.

“Will you help me put it on, please?” He requests with a genuine warmth in his eyes. She accepts the necklace with a smile, appreciating the endearing clumsiness in his request.

As she clips the necklace around his muscled neck, their hands briefly linger in the shared moment. The simple act of helping him put on the necklace becomes a quiet exchange of intimacy, reinforcing the connection that has been growing between them. While fastening the clasp, Natalie glances up at Lando, her smile softening.

“Are you sure you don't want to come tonight?” He asks, a note of concern in his voice.

“Yeah.” She replies, her fingers deftly securing the necklace. “I'll order room service and read. Just feeling a bit worn out after the last few days.”

Lando nods, appreciating her honesty. As Natalie fixes the collar of his crisp white cotton shirt, he can't help but watch Natalie's eyes intently. The soft glow of the room accentuates her features, and in that moment, he feels an overwhelming desire to express how beautiful she looks. However, a sense of restraint holds him back, perhaps a combination of the lingering playfulness from the necklace incident and the understanding of the importance of timing.

Natalie, oblivious to the internal struggle within Lando, notices some stray fuzz on his shoulder and chest. Her hands delicately dust off the tiny particles, a gesture that carries both care and familiarity. In this simple act, there's a silent communication between them, an unspoken connection that transcends words.

Lando's gaze remains fixed on Natalie, his eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and affection. He restrains the words that linger on the tip of his tongue, aware that sometimes actions can convey more than words ever could. The room seems to hold a quiet energy, filled with the unspoken sentiments that swirl around them.

“You're looking quite dapper tonight, Mr. Norris.” Natalie comments, a half-smile playing on her lips. Lando, appreciating the compliment, feels a twinge of guilt for leaving her behind.

“I feel bad for leaving you here alone, though.” He mumbles, his concern evident in his voice.

“Please, don't. I think the rest will do me good. Just go have fun.” Natalie reassures him, her tone gentle yet firm,

Lando looks at her, a mixture of gratitude and longing in his eyes. He appreciates her understanding and selflessness. With a final glance and a tender smile, he heads towards the door, leaving Natalie in the cosiness of the room.

As Lando leaves for dinner with his mates, a sense of unease washes over him. The absence of Natalie by his side, a constant presence for weeks, leaves him feeling exposed. Throughout the night, he finds himself glancing at his phone, wondering if she's doing okay without him. The usual banter and shared moments are conspicuously absent.

As the hours pass, the lack of a message from Natalie gnaws at him. Concern grows, and he realises that her absence has created a void that he hadn't fully acknowledged until now. The usual buzz of the night out with friends becomes somewhat muted as thoughts of Natalie occupy his mind. After some contemplation, Lando decides to reach out, his fingers typing a message to her.

L: Wanted to say goodnight in case you're asleep when I get back.

Minutes later, a response appears on his screen, and a sense of relief washes over him.

N: Be safe and have fun ;)

Her simple yet reassuring words alleviate the worry that had been building within him. Lando smiles at the message, grateful for the connection they share even when physically apart. As he continues with the evening, her words linger, providing a comforting reminder that, even in moments of distance, their bond remains strong.

Lando arrives back at the apartment shortly before midnight. He knows Natalie will be fast asleep when he gets back. The travelling this season has been more intense on her than last season and it’s starting to take a toll on her. He knew their fake relationship was only there to get the fans off his back, but he couldn’t help but care about her.

As Lando unlocks the apartment door and steps inside, a hushed atmosphere surrounds him. The night light, left on by Natalie, softly illuminates the room, casting a gentle glow on their surroundings. Appreciating her considerate gesture, he tiptoed through the apartment to his bedroom, avoiding loud creaks that might disturb her peaceful slumber.

Upon entering the room, he notices Natalie, completely enveloped by the covers, lost in the realm of dreams. The rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing indicate a deep sleep. Taking care not to make any noise, Lando quietly changes into a pair of sweatpants, ensuring he won't disturb her with any sudden movements.

Sliding into the bed beside her, Lando's slow but deliberate motions on the mattress catch Natalie's attention. Though initially lost in her dreams, the subtle changes in the bed's weight caused her to stir. She gradually wakes up, turning her head slightly to confirm the presence of the person beside her.

Her eyes, adjusting to the dim light, meet Lando's. A soft smile forms on her lips as she recognises him. The room is filled with a tender ambience as their eyes lock, the unspoken understanding between them bridging the gap between sleep and wakefulness.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Lando whispers apologetically beside Natalie. “Go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?” She asks, groggily, as she turns to him, blinking away the remnants of sleep.

“Just after midnight.” He informs her, settling down under the covers.

“Did you have a good time?” She wonders.

“Not really.” He hesitantly answers.

“How come?” She curiously asks, turning even more so she can see more of his face.

“Just missed you there tonight.” He admits, his voice sincere.

The vulnerability in his words hangs in the air, a testament to the depth of their connection. The subtle admission reveals that, despite the company of friends and the night's activities, Lando's thoughts were consistently drawn back to the absence of the one person who had become an integral part of his everyday life. Natalie, still half-lulled by sleep, smiles at his confession.Her cheeks burn up as she turns back to her original position.

“Get some sleep.” Lando urges, gently redirecting the conversation, perhaps wanting to shift the focus away from his emotions.

After a few minutes, Natalie reaches behind her, searching for Lando's arm. When she finds it, she pulls it over her waist and runs her fingers gently over his forearm.

“Your skin is so cold.” She whispers. In response, she pulls his arm under her hoodie, allowing his arm to rest on the warm skin of her midriff.

“You're so warm.” Lando whispers back, moving closer to her. “You're so good to me.”

Lando, not fully aware that he had spoken his thoughts aloud, senses a shift in the atmosphere as Natalie remains silent in response to his vulnerable admission. Undeterred, she chooses not to address the statement directly, opting instead to continue playing with his fingers under her hoodie.

Feeling her push herself closer against him, sharing their body heat, Lando appreciates the unspoken connection between them. In the quiet of the night, their intertwined fingers become a tangible expression of the emotional bond they've formed during their fake relationship.

For Natalie, the complexity of their situation weighs on her mind. She had agreed to fake date Lando, anticipating the challenges that might arise, but the depth of the connection and the joy of being his "girlfriend" caught her by surprise. The realization that their fake relationship will eventually come to an end looms in the back of her mind, a difficult truth neither of them is ready to confront.

As they share the warmth under the covers, the unspoken acknowledgement of the impending end casts a bittersweet shadow. The joy of their time together is palpable, but the looming conclusion adds a layer of melancholy to the otherwise tender moment.

- THE NEXT MORNING -

While Lando is in the shower to get ready for the day, Natalie seizes the opportunity to make a call to her boss, Charlotte.

“I've been meaning to ask you, uh, has management given you any indication of when they expect this relationship to come to an end?” Natalie inquires, ensuring she can hear the sound of the shower in the background.

“What do you mean? Is something wrong?” Charlotte quickly asks, a note of concern in her voice.

“No, no, everything's fine. It's just, I suppose this can't last forever, and we need to prepare for that if that makes sense.” Natalie explains, choosing her words carefully. There's a moment of silence on the other end of the line as Charlotte processes the information.

“Ah, I see. Well, there wasn't a set timeline communicated to me, but it's a good point. We should think about how to manage the transition when the time comes.” Charlotte agrees, her tone professional yet understanding. “I think the two of you will need to chat about it and decide for yourselves when the best time would be for that. I can understand that you want to go on with your own life.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes the most sense.” Natalie concedes, pacing the room in front of the bed as the weight of the impending conversation settles on her shoulders.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Charlotte probes, sensing something beneath Natalie's reassurance.

“Yeah, everything's fine.” Natalie responds, not wanting to burden Charlotte with the complexities of her emotions.

“You didn't catch feelings for the boy, did you?” Charlotte questions, a note of concern in her voice. Natalie takes a moment before she answers, contemplating the honesty of her response.

“Possibly, that's why it'll probably be best to kind of nip all of that in the bud before it escalates, you know.” Natalie confesses, running a hand through her dark brown hair. “But, I'll sort that out and let you know if there are any changes.”

“Alright, well good luck, darling. I’ll see you two later today.” Charlotte says, her words carrying a mix of support and understanding before they end the call.

As Natalie hangs up the phone, a sense of responsibility and the weight of her emotions converge, setting the stage for a conversation that could shape the course of her fake relationship with Lando.

Caught up in her thoughts and scrolling through notifications, Natalie suddenly realises the absence of the sound of the shower. Instinctively, she turns around, only to be met with the unexpected sight of Lando leaning against the bathroom door frame. He stands there, with just a towel wrapped around his waist, his body glistening from the water droplets that cling to his skin. Lando's curly hair is soaked, and droplets of water cascade down, creating a mesmerising pattern against his toned physique.

“You're ready for this to end?” He asks, his tone betraying a sense of disbelief. “Did you meet someone?”

“Lan, no...we need to be realistic about the situation. We can't keep up the fake relationship forever.” She explains, choosing her words carefully.

Lando, still processing the conversation, repeats his question: “Did you meet someone?” Natalie, looking directly into his eyes, shakes her head.

“No, that's not why I was asking.” She confirms, emphasising that her inquiry wasn't prompted by the emergence of a romantic interest elsewhere. He runs a hand through his wet hair, his eyes searching hers for some hidden meaning.

“I thought we were doing well. I mean, I've enjoyed having you around, and I thought you felt the same.” Lando admits, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. Natalie sighs, feeling the weight of the conversation.

“It's not about not enjoying our time together, Lando. But we need to consider what happens when this arrangement comes to an end.” She says, her gaze steady.

The room becomes filled with palpable tension as they navigate the complexities of their fake relationship and the looming prospect of its conclusion. The unspoken emotions between them swirl in the air, leaving both Natalie and Lando grappling with the reality of their situation.

“Please, just be honest with me.” He pleads with her.

“Fine. I’m scared. I’m scared we’re going to get too comfortable with this arrangement and we’ll end up getting hurt when management decides to pull the plug.” Natalie admits, her breath shaking as she speaks. “It’ll just be better when we have a day, a date, something so we know. It’s going to be an adjustment going back to normal.”

“Don’t you think we’re past comfortable already? I mean, I am standing in front of you with just a towel in my bedroom. We spend most nights sleeping in the same bed. This is our new normal. It has been for months. What would the old normal even look like?” Lando counters.

Natalie, caught off guard by his perspective and his apparent desire to continue their faux relationship, finds herself at a loss for words. The complexity of their situation, the blurred lines between fiction and reality, leaves her feeling confused and uncertain about the path forward.

“Nattie.” Lando pleads, his voice carrying a mixture of earnestness and confusion. “How could we ever go back to normal?”

“I don’t know, Lando. I just want to be prepared for it when it happens, OK?” Natalie responds, a tinge of frustration evident in her tone.

She's annoyed that he overheard the conversation and finds his teasing demeanour, particularly in just a towel, distracting. “Why would you want this to continue anyway?”

“Because you're incredible!” Lando exclaims, his frustration and genuine feelings coming to the forefront. “Your smile feels like home. Your embraces make me feel secure. You motivate me every day to be the absolute best I can be. When you're not with me, I feel like a deer caught in headlights.”

His heartfelt declaration hangs in the air, a vulnerable admission of the depth of his emotions. The room is filled with the raw honesty of his words, and Natalie, caught off guard by the intensity of his feelings, is left momentarily speechless.

Lando's confession lays bare the genuine connection that has developed between them during their faux relationship. The unexpected turn in the conversation adds a layer of complexity to their situation, forcing them to confront the authenticity of their feelings amid the backdrop of a relationship built on pretence

“You're not doing this. You're not going to confess your feelings for me, Lando. That complicates everything. That's why I'm scared, because how do I listen to this and be happy to end this fake relationship?” Natalie argues, her voice strained with the weight of conflicting emotions, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“Why should we have to end it, then? Why can't we just be this until we don't want to be anymore? You know this hasn't been fake for a while.” Lando, equally determined to express his feelings, counters

Caught in the whirlwind of emotions, Natalie grapples with the revelation that Lando's feelings align with the unspoken desires she buried deep within herself. The unexpected turn of events challenges the carefully constructed barriers she built to maintain the facade of their fake relationship.

In this moment of realisation, Natalie is confronted with the vulnerability of her own emotions, a stark contrast to the pragmatic approach she adopted to shield herself from the impending end. The weight of the truth settles on her shoulders, and the room becomes a silent witness to the uncharted territory they find themselves in, both emotionally exposed and uncertain about what lies ahead.

Natalie, overwhelmed by the surge of emotions and unable to confront Lando's confession, refuses to answer him. Instead, she tosses him a shirt and a pair of shorts, a physical distraction from the emotional turmoil.

“I can't have this conversation with you when you look like that.” She states, her voice steady but her back turned to him. As she wipes away the tears from her cheeks, the room is filled with an unspoken tension.

Lando quickly gets dressed and dries his hair with the towel. He clears his throat, a silent indication that she can turn around.

“Nattie, why are you so scared all of a sudden?” He gently asks, his earlier emotional intensity calming down. Lando, dressed and composed, seeks to understand the source of Natalie's sudden apprehension.

When Natalie turns around, she's a sobbing mess. Lando, seeing her emotional state, hurries over and wraps his arms around her, providing a comforting embrace.

“I'm scared that when things come to an end, you'll stop looking at me like I'm the sun, the moon, and the stars.” Natalie mumbles into his chest, her vulnerability laid bare.

“You are my sun, my moon, and my stars, Nattie.” He assures her, his voice filled with sincerity. “Don't end things before we've had a proper chance to really make it work. Not for the cameras, not for the fans or management, but really make it work because we care deeply for each other. Can we do that?”

Natalie pulls away and studies Lando's face for any doubts, but his expression conveys a mix of hope and desperation. He looks down at her like she's about to rip his heart out of his chest if she answers anything else apart from yes.

“Please.” He whispers, his desperation evident in his plea.

Instead of a verbal answer, Natalie crashes her lips against his, pulling her arms around his neck in a passionate embrace. After a few intense moments, she pulls away and looks at the time on her watch.

“We have to go. Free practice starts soon.” She reminds him, her voice a mix of urgency and a lingering connection.

- LATER THAT DAY -

Lando finds himself distracted by Natalie's movements around the garage as she prepares her media packet. He watches her effortlessly engage with the mechanics and engineers, sharing laughter and exchanging comments. Her brown hair whips from side to side as she moves, an animated presence that captures his attention.

Natalie's focus shifts between assembling her media packet and stealing quick glances at Lando as he prepares to head out for FP1. The top half of his race suit is tied around his hips, revealing the black fire suit underneath that complements his tanned skin perfectly. The casual yet alluring sight of him in the garage momentarily captivates her attention.

“Girl got your brain upside down this morning?” Oscar asks Lando as he stands beside his teammate.

“You have no idea.” Lando simply answers, his eyes not leaving Natalie for a second.

“Lily!” Natalie exclaims when she spots Oscar's girlfriend entering the garage. “It's so nice to see you again.”

Natalie quickly embraces Lily in a tight hug. She loved having Lily in the paddock. Lily's university schedule made it difficult for her to attend race weekends, but whenever she had the chance, she came to support Oscar.

“You didn't say Lily was coming this weekend, shame on you.” Natalie comments as the girls approach Lando and Oscar.

“She surprised me last night by knocking on my hotel room door.” Oscar explains, chuckling at Natalie's overreaction.

“We need to have dinner sometime this weekend.” Natalie insists.

“That'd be lovely, thank you.” Lily agrees.

“Yo, Lando. Time to head out!” Lando's race engineer yells, pointing to the car behind the group.

Lando tears his gaze away from Natalie, Oscar, and Lily, turning his attention to the race engineer's call. The racetrack beckons, and with a nod to the group, Lando heads towards his car, ready to focus on the upcoming practice session.

Natalie hands Lando his helmet and walks with him to the car. She watches with a mix of pride and concern as he gets in and gets strapped in. Lando looks up at Natalie with a sparkle in his eyes.

“Be safe out there.” She breathes.

“Of course.” He assures her as he puts on his gloves.

When he's almost ready to be rolled out, Natalie taps his helmet, making him look up at her.

“Make me proud, Norris.” She warns him.

“Always, baby.” He replies with a sneaky wink.

The endearing term 'baby' effortlessly rolls off Lando's tongue, and Natalie can't help but love hearing it from him. It brings a warmth and sense of adoration that adds a personal touch to their unique dynamic. As the car is rolled out to the track, Natalie watches, a mix of emotions coursing through her.

- THAT NIGHT -

It had been a long day of practice. Lando and Natalie spent minimal time together aside from their usual lunch with his trainer in between sessions. Natalie has been on a high all day from the second she heard the word ‘baby.’ She couldn’t wait to hear him say it again, but he was professional all day, only holding her hand here and there as they walked through the paddock.

“It was a good day, no?” Natalie asks as they arrive back at their hotel room. “The pace looked really good and this isn’t even a track we usually perform too well at.”

“Yeah, I’m actually quite surprised it went as well as it did.” Lando agrees as he collapses on the bed, sprawling out his limbs.

Natalie heads to the bathroom to change out of her uniform and into something more comfortable. She opts for a pair of shorts and an oversized shirt, seeking the ease and relaxation of casual attire after a long day at the track.

“I was thinking of going to dinner with Lily tomorrow after qualifying, that gives her and Oscar time to catch up.” Natalie speaks from the bathroom. Lando is quiet.

As Natalie peers around the corner, she finds Lando fast asleep in the same position he laid down in. A smile crosses her face, and she decides to put on a pair of jeans instead, opting to go for a walk to avoid disturbing his rest. She scribbles a note down on a piece of paper and leaves it next to his phone before quietly exiting the hotel room.

The note reads, "Went for a walk. Back soon. Sleep well, Lando. - Nattie." With that, she steps out into the evening, leaving the sleeping Lando in peace as she takes a moment to herself. The city outside holds a different kind of energy, and Natalie embraces the tranquillity of the night, knowing that the upcoming race weekend holds both challenges and moments of connection.

An hour later, Natalie's phone starts vibrating in her jeans pocket. She pulls it out and answers immediately when she sees it's Lando.

“Hey.” She greets, a soft smile forming on her face.

“Hey.” Lando's voice comes through, filled with a hint of sleepiness. “Where are you?”

"Just went for a walk, needed some fresh air. I’m just down the street, actually.” Natalie replies as the city sounds faintly audible in the background.

“You should've woken me up. I would've joined you.” Lando suggests.

“I didn't want to disturb your sleep.” She chuckles. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, a bit groggy, but good.” He admits. “Want to go for dinner? I just have to change.”

“That sounds lovely. I’ll be up in a few minutes.” She affirms.

“See you soon, love.” He greets her before ending the call.

Natalie can't help but smile at the endearing term. The word 'love' slips from Lando's lips effortlessly, and it warms her heart. She heads back to his apartment, eager for a quiet dinner together after a day filled with the intensity of racing. Upon her return to the apartment, she hears him busy in the bathroom.

“I’m back.” She informs him as she heads to her suitcase to find something else to wear for dinner.

“You don’t perhaps have a little black dress packed in there?” He asks as he leans against the bathroom’s door frame. Natalie turns her head to find him dressed in all black and freshly shaved.

“Not a black one, but a green one?” She answers as she pulls out the silk emerald green dress.

“That’ll work as well. Green looks good on you.” He comments before returning to the bathroom to finish up.

Natalie changes into the emerald green dress, perfecting her look with makeup. She then searches for her black block heels to accompany the outfit. As she finds them and sits at the edge of the bed to put them on, Lando watches her intently from the bathroom's door frame, captivated by every movement.

He loves every second of seeing her cross her smooth, tanned legs over each other to put on her shoes. The quiet and intimate moments shared while getting ready for dinner underscore the depth of their connection.

“You know, when you asked me to go to dinner, I didn’t think it would be this smart.” She comments.

“Felt like treating you.” He responds, his voice carrying a note of sincerity.

As she stands up and straightens her dress that reaches her mid-thigh, the atmosphere takes on a subtly romantic undertone.

“Oh, like a date you mean?” Natalie teases, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Exactly like a date.” Lando agrees, his tone laced with warmth and affection as he takes a step closer to her. The proximity adds an intimate touch to their interaction. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“Stop it.” Natalie says shyly, a blush colouring her cheeks.

Lando's genuine compliment evokes a tender response, and the genuine exchange captures a moment suspended in time. Lando frowns at her refusal to accept his compliment and steps even closer, resting his hands on her hips before they travel around to her back.

“Gorgeous.” He whispers in her ear sending shivers down her spine.

“Lando.” She whispers back as she presses her forehead onto his shoulder. His hands keep travelling up and down her back over the silky material covering her body.

“Breathtaking.” He continues before planting a soft kiss on her neck. “Now let’s go to dinner.”

He pulls away from her, grabs her hand and leads her out the door.

Dinner was pleasant. The absence of fans crowding them in the restaurant provided a welcome change. What took Natalie by surprise was the newfound sexual tension between them. Lando had awakened a repressed part of her femininity that she had kept hidden after her last relationship. The intimate atmosphere of the evening seemed to have unlocked a deeper connection between them.

As they walked back to the hotel, the city lights casting a soft glow around them, Natalie couldn't help but lean into him. He wrapped his arm around her, and his jacket covered her exposed shoulders, creating a subtle yet intimate shield against the cool night air. The shared closeness and the unspoken understanding between them added a layer of complexity to their relationship, creating a moment that transcended the boundaries of their initial arrangement. The cityscape witnessed the quiet beauty of their connection as they navigated the streets together, each step echoing the newfound depth in their evolving relationship.

Throughout the night, Lando struggled to keep his hands to himself. Somehow, his hands kept finding parts of her exposed skin. He had always admired and loved every aspect of her body – her curves, her hands – she was, in his mind, perfect. However, it was her kindness and compassion that he cherished the most. He just wanted to show her how special she was to him, to love her in a way she truly deserved.

In Lando's eyes, Natalie was an embodiment of beauty, both inside and out. Her physical features were complemented by the warmth and genuineness that radiated from her. Yet, she couldn't shake the awareness of her insecurities, a lingering effect of her past relationship. He wished she could see herself through his eyes, free from the shadows cast by her ex-boyfriend. The desire to make her feel cherished and adored fueled his restraint throughout the night, as he navigated the delicate balance of expressing his affection while being mindful of her comfort and past experiences.

They stop outside his apartment door and turn to face each other.

“That was lovely, thank you.” She says.

“It’s the least I could do.” He responds.

“What do you mean?” She asks, confused.

“You do so much for me and it never feels like I can give back to you.” He admits.

“I know of one way you can.” She teases.

“Yeah?” He curiously asks.

“Keep calling me baby.” She whispers, sultry and smooth.

“Oh, that’s just too easy.” He teases her. “But I‘m open to suggestions.”

Natalie giggles as Lando unlocks the door, allowing her to enter first and closely following her inside. The apartment, a familiar space, offers a sense of comfort and privacy. Natalie immediately takes off her heels, relishing the feeling of being flat on solid ground once again. Lando watches her with an appreciative gaze as she bends over to pick up her black heels. There's a natural grace to her movements, a fluidity that reveals the ease and comfort she feels in his presence.

Her short dress, a vibrant emerald green, offers just enough glimpses of skin to ignite a spark of desire in Lando. The way she moves around him, carefree and unguarded, captivates him in ways he finds both thrilling and comforting. As she bends over, there's a subtle allure that adds a layer of sensuality to the moment, leaving an indelible impression on Lando.

Aware of the rising tension, Lando turns away and distracts himself by switching on the TV. It's not the first time he's been captivated by her, his primal instincts occasionally surfacing. He's learned when to divert his gaze and clear his mind of those thoughts, maintaining a respectful boundary. However, tonight, the magnetic pull is stronger than usual, and he can't help but keep his eyes on her as she struts down the hallway to the bedroom, the emerald green dress enhancing every step with an irresistible allure.

He mindlessly flicks through the channels, but his eyes keep finding her. The soft glow of the television provides a subtle ambience, but his attention is drawn back to the hallway where Natalie's figure moves gracefully in the emerald green dress. Lando zoned out for a moment, lost in the subtle allure of the scene.

Before he realises, he feels a pair of hands running over his abs from behind. The touch interrupts his thoughts, and he turns around to find Natalie standing close, a playful and alluring smile on her lips.

“You seem a tad distracted.” Natalie mumbles against his back.

“Not more than usual.” He replies. “It’s difficult to focus on anything when you look the way you do.”

The heat rushes to Natalie's cheeks as her hands keep travelling up to his chest. The palpable tension between them intensifies, the warmth of her touch adding to the charged atmosphere.

“And, the way your eyes light up when you smile.” He adds.

One of her hands stays on his chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath her touch, while the other travels underneath his button-down shirt. Her nails trace shapes onto his skin, leaving a trail of sensation that ignites a cascade of shivers down his spine.

“And, the joy that escapes your lips when you laugh at my silly jokes.” Lando continues, his words carrying a fondness that mirrors the affectionate moments they've shared. Natalie, with deliberate slowness, starts unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom, revealing the contours of his chest inch by inch. “Or when you leave sweet kisses on my neck when you think I’ve fallen asleep.”

“I do not.” Natalie lies.

“Oh, but you do.” Lando retorts, his shirt completely unbuttoned now. The air in the room becomes charged with a mix of playfulness and desire. The gradual exposure of his chest accentuates the vulnerability of the moment. “And, when you hum your favourite songs in my ear when I can’t fall asleep.”

Lando turns Natalie around, softly pressing himself against the back of the couch. The air becomes charged with a palpable tension as his fingers gently and meticulously work to unzip the dress she has on. The room is filled with a quiet intensity, a merging of desire and vulnerability.

“And, when you bite your lip when you can’t get what you want.” Lando continues as he turns her to face him once again. The room is filled with a charged atmosphere, their banter seamlessly merging with the growing intensity of their connection. “Kind of like you are now.”

“Who says I can’t get what I want?” Natalie counters, a smirk forming on her pink lips.

“You can have everything you could possibly desire.” He informs her, his voice carrying a sincerity that reflects the depth of his feelings.“What do you want most, right now?”

“For you to shut up and kiss me.” She informs her, his voice carrying a sincerity that reflects the depth of his feelings.

“Of course, baby.” He melts as he presses his lips against hers. The kiss is a culmination of their unspoken desires, a moment that transcends the boundaries of their previous arrangement. He pulls away after a few seconds and just holds her in his arms.

“Be my girlfriend. Like my real girlfriend.” He says, his voice carrying a vulnerable sincerity.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Natalie whispers to him before they continue kissing, sealing the unspoken agreement between them.

At this moment, the transition from a fake relationship to a real one is marked by a shared understanding and a genuine connection that has blossomed.

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

Taglist: @noneofyourfbusinessworld @scopeiguess @tbsloneely

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #mclaren #mclaren f1 #lando norris x oc

72 notes · View notes

downbad4fyodor · 5 months

Text

Pairing: Fyodor Dostoevsky x Fem!reader word count: 363 summary: Fyodor takes you to see the Christmas lights around Moscow warnings: none Tag list: @getousrep

Want more Fics for the Holidays?

The frigid embrace of Moscow's winter air wrapped around you and Fyodor as you embarked on an enchanting adventure through the city adorned in the splendor of Christmas lights. Fyodor had orchestrated a surprise evening to immerse you in the spellbinding beauty of Moscow's festive illumination.

Under the silver glow of the moon, the streets draped in a pristine coat of snow whispered tales of winter magic. Fyodor, with his tall and commanding presence, walked by your side, his violet eyes reflecting the soft radiance of the Christmas lights that adorned the city. The night promised a magical journey, and Fyodor's gaze held a mysterious allure that heightened the sense of anticipation.

The first stop on this captivating expedition was none other than the historic Red Square. As you approached, the iconic St. Basil's Cathedral emerged like a majestic ice palace. Its domes, adorned with a breathtaking array of twinkling lights in hues of red, green, and gold, transformed the architectural marvel into a mesmerizing spectacle that rivaled the stars above. Fyodor, his breath visible in the crisp air, squeezed your hand as you both stood in silent awe, taking in the dazzling display that seemed to defy the winter night.

"It's like something out of a fairytale, isn't it?" Fyodor's voice, a low and melodic timbre, resonated with the joy of the season.

You nodded, captivated by the radiance that enveloped the historical landmark. The lights seemed to pirouette in harmony with the delicate snowflakes that floated gently from the night sky, creating an ethereal dance of winter wonder.

Fyodor, his gloved hand still entwined with yours, led you through the snow-covered cobblestones, each step revealing a new tableau of luminous beauty. The avenues of Moscow glittered with a tapestry of lights, like celestial pathways guiding you through the heart of the city's festive spirit. The meticulous arrangement of lights on trees, lampposts, and buildings painted a landscape that seemed plucked from a dream.

The journey continued to Gorky Park, where the frozen lake reflected the brilliance of the lights like a mirror. The towering trees, now adorned with a kaleidoscope of colors, stood as silent witnesses to the festive transformation. Fyodor guided you towards a charming carousel, its lights casting a warm glow against the snowy canvas. Whimsical music and the laughter of children added to the symphony of the holidays.

As you and Fyodor boarded the carousel, the world around you transformed into a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of lights and laughter. The crisp air, laced with the scents of hot cocoa and roasted chestnuts, heightened the sensory experience. Fyodor's eyes met yours, a silent promise of shared joy and the magic that lingered in the moment.

The night unfolded as a captivating exploration of Moscow's neighborhoods, each one vying to outshine the other in a dazzling display of lights. Fyodor, his arm wrapped around you protectively, shared tales of Moscow's Christmas traditions and folklore, infusing the journey with cultural richness.

The grand finale awaited at the historic Bolshoi Theatre. The monumental building, a symbol of artistic excellence, now stood adorned with a cascade of lights that accentuated its architectural grandeur. Fyodor, a mischievous glint in his eyes, led you towards the entrance. As you ascended the grand staircase, the lights dimmed, and the façade of the theatre became a canvas for an enchanting light show.

Colors danced across the intricate details of the building, synchronized with festive melodies that echoed through the night. Fyodor, his expression a mix of satisfaction and delight, watched your reactions with unabashed joy. The lights, now painting the night sky with vibrant strokes, encapsulated the very essence of the season.

As the light show reached its crescendo, Fyodor turned to you with a tender smile. "Merry Christmas, my love," he whispered, his voice a warm embrace in the winter night.

The evening, a symphony of lights and shared moments, etched itself into the tapestry of your memories. Moscow, draped in its festive best, became the canvas for a magical journey orchestrated by Fyodor, your companion in this winter fairytale. The Christmas lights, now etched in your heart, whispered tales of love and enchantment as you and Fyodor embraced the magic of the season in the heart of Moscow's winter wonderland.

#bungou sd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs manga #bsd anime #bsd x reader #bungo sd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd spoilers #bungo stray dogs season 4 #bsd fyodor #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader

88 notes · View notes

yoonavii · 10 months

Text

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒

Regency Era! Law x Reader

Description: Lady Y/N defies societal norms with her down-to-earth nature, setting her apart from other noble ladies. During her debut, she captures the attention of numerous suitors, but her heart is unexpectedly drawn to Lord Trafalgar Law, a brooding and mysterious Duke known for his coldness towards women. As their relationship develops, they face the challenges of unraveling Lord Trafalgar’s enigmatic nature and navigating their contrasting personalities amidst societal expectations. Will their connection withstand the obstacles they encounter? or will it crumble?

A/N: this is chapter one of the law x reader fic. more chapters will come out in the future! important note that paragraphs that are italic and in third person is narration.

In the heart of London's upscale neighborhood, an estate of remarkable stature commanded attention. This magnificent home, a testament to great wealth and refined taste, stood as a beacon of opulence and grandeur. The exterior showcased high-end architecture, its facade adorned with intricate carvings and decorative elements that spoke to the exquisite craftsmanship of the time.

Stepping through the imposing entrance, one would find themselves immersed in a world of luxury and sophistication. Expensive furniture, meticulously crafted and upholstered in sumptuous fabrics, graced every room. Plush velvet sofas and ornate chaise lounges invited guests to relax in regal comfort, while gilded mirrors and marble-topped tables added an air of elegance to the surroundings.

Amidst the resplendent interior, a large painting adorned one of the walls, becoming a focal point of the estate. The painting depicted a prestigious family, their esteemed lineage evident in their refined fashion and exquisite jewelry. Most of the family members, portrayed with stoic expressions, showcased the composure expected of their social standing.

Yet, amidst this tableau of solemn faces, one figure stood out—-a young lady named Y/n. With her radiant smile and lively countenance, she brought an unexpected burst of joy and vibrancy to the portrait. Her presence in the painting captivated all who gazed upon it, drawing their attention with her captivating charm.

Y/n's image exuded a magnetic energy. Her vibrant dress, adorned with delicate lace and intricate embroidery, mirrored the effervescence that emanated from her every feature. It was as if her smile had the power to breathe life into the static canvas, leaving an indelible impression on all who beheld her likeness.

————-

Momentarily the front door swings open. you step into the grand entrance hall, accompanied by your family, returning from a long and tiring trip in Germany. The housemaids, lined up to greet your arrival, stand there, eager to offer their salutations. Your family members, weary and preoccupied, pass by the maids with indifference, their focus on reaching the comforts of home. But you pause and break away from the crowd.

A warm smile graces your face as you approach the housemaids. You understand their tireless efforts and the integral role they play in the functioning of the estate. Despite your high status, you have developed a genuine bond with the maids and staff, treating them with the respect and kindness they deserve. you silently greet the housemaids, your smile a reflection of the camaraderie you share. Your actions speak volumes, conveying your appreciation and gratitude for their hard work. You recognize that no matter their station, every member of the household contributes to its smooth operation. Through such actions, you instill a sense of belonging, making the maids and the rest of the staff feel seen and valued.

“Welcome back Viscountess” a few maids spoke to your mother, their voices brimming with warmth and respect. she completely ignores their well-intentioned greetings. Instead, she launches into a tirade about the bone-chilling coldness she experienced in Germany, directing her complaints toward your father, the Viscount. Her voice carries a tone of dissatisfaction, echoing through the grand entrance hall. “Darling,” she begins, her breath visible in the slightly chilly air, “I can’t believe how frigid it was in Germany. The weather was unbearable, and I simply couldn’t enjoy a single moment!”

Your father, already grumpy from the long journey and his own frustrations, offers a dismissive wave of his hand, clearly uninterested in her grievances. “Oh, stop your complaining,” he retorts, his tone laced with irritation. “We’ve returned now, haven’t we? No need to dwell on it.” Summoning the butler with an impatient snap of his fingers, your father abruptly changes the subject, demanding that the meeting for the town’s gentlemen club be arranged. His voice carries a brusque authority as he addresses the butler. “Smithson, I need you to arrange a meeting for the gentlemen's club. The sooner, the better.” Smithson, the butler, trained to fulfill your father’s every command, quickly approaches, his expression neutral and professional. He acknowledges the order with a deferential nod. “Of course, my Lord. I shall make the necessary arrangements promptly.”

Your younger sister and brother were escorted by their nannies to their rooms, their playful voices echoing through the hallways. However, your governess awaited you by the stairs, a figure you disliked immensely. She was strict and overbearing, making you feel suffocated in her presence. As you approached the stairs, she held out her hand, expecting you to take it and be guided up the staircase as usual.

Summoning your courage, you address the governess with a polite tone. “May I go up the stairs on my own this time?” The governess gazes at you with an unyielding expression, her stern demeanor unaltered. “Absolutely not, Y/n,” she responds firmly, her voice carrying a tone of authority. “As a young lady of your age and high status, it is imperative that you adhere to the rules and traditions that govern your position. You are not to go up or down the stairs without a servant or trusted adult present.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of her words pressing upon you. “But I am capable of managing the stairs on my own!” you assert, your voice laced with determination. “I desire a sense of independence and responsibility.” The governess’s gaze intensifies as she counters your plea. “Independence will come in due time, Y/n.” she insists, her tone unwavering. “For now, it is my duty to ensure your safety and proper conduct. The rules have been set for a reason, and it is my role to enforce them.” Resigned to the reality of the situation, you reluctantly extend your hand toward the governess, a subtle gesture of submission. “Very well,” you concede, your voice tinged with disappointment. “Lead the way.”

As your fingers lay atop with the governess’s, you continue up the stairs together, a blend of frustration and determination swirling within you. While the governess’s presence remains an unwelcome reminder of your restricted autonomy, you quietly resolve to find small ways to assert your individuality and independence within the confines of the estate.

As you finally make it to your room, a surge of frustration and determination courses through you. Standing in the doorway, you block your governess from entering, asserting yourself with a resolute tone. “I require privacy,” you declare, slamming the door shut in her surprised face. To your astonishment, the governess, taken aback by your display of defiance, obeys and leaves you alone.

Sighing with relief, you take a moment to collect yourself. Walking further into your room, you intend to find solace and a moment of peace. However, your tranquility is short-lived as you suddenly hear a rustling sound, causing you to jump back in alarm. To your surprise, a maid emerges from your bathroom, holding a towel and an empty bucket. The maid’s presence startles you momentarily, but she quickly apologizes for the scare.

Taking in the maid’s appearance, you notice that she is fairly young, perhaps around your own age. Despite your initial shock, the maid exudes a sense of politeness and shyness. Curiosity piqued, you addressed her. “Are you my new maid?” you ask, your voice filled with genuine interest. The maid nods shyly in response. “Yes, Miss. I have been assigned as your new maid,” she confirms, her voice soft and respectful. She pauses for a moment before adding, “I apologize for any inconvenience or startle I may have caused you.” You offer her a comforting smile, instantly appreciating the maid’s polite demeanor. “No need to apologize. I understand it’s part of your duties,” you reassure her, wanting to alleviate any discomfort she may be feeling. “What’s your name?”

The maid’s eyes meet yours briefly, her shyness apparent. “My name is Emily, Miss,” she answers, her voice barely above a whisper. Your curiosity deepens, and you feel a connection forming between you. “Well, Emily, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say warmly. “I look forward to working with you and getting to know you better.” Emily’s shy smile brightens her features as she responds, “Thank you, Miss. I too look forward to serving you.”

As your mother sits in her chamber, discontentment permeates the air, her maids carefully changing her into a fresh set of clothes. Grievances escape her lips under her breath, a reflection of the frustrations that weigh upon her. Seeking control and release, she casts a scrutinizing gaze towards her head maid, her voice laced with authority as she issues her command. “Ready a carriage for me tonight,” she demands, her determination evident. Her intentions remain veiled, but her head maid, well aware of her secret desires, nods in understanding. Unbeknownst to your father and the rest of the family, your mother has been entangled in a scandalous affair since the previous autumn. The object of her affections is a married man, adding an element of forbidden allure to her illicit connection. Complicating matters further, he happens to be one of the main founders of your father’s gentlemen club.

This clandestine liaison both thrills and torments your mother. The intoxicating pull of forbidden love clashes with the guilt and uncertainty that come with such entanglements. Yet, she finds herself unable to resist the magnetic allure, drawn deeper into the affair, risking the stability of her own marriage and the tranquility of the household.

As the maids finish their tasks, they exchange knowing glances, their loyalty split between their duty to your mother and the secrecy they guard. Silently, they continue their duties, maintaining a facade of loyalty and discretion.

As someone abruptly opens the door without knocking, anger flares within your mother. She inhales sharply, ready to unleash her frustration in a torrent of words, but her fury swiftly subsides when she sees that it’s your father standing there. The sight of him, though unexpected, immediately stifles any outburst she had prepared, and she quickly composes herself.

Realizing the presence of her maids, who discreetly avert their gazes, she turns to them with a controlled tone and instructs, “Leave us.” The maids, well-trained in their duties, cast quick glances at each other before promptly exiting the room, leaving your parents alone to face the impending conversation. Attempting to change her tone to a more conciliatory one, your mother addresses your father, her voice carrying a hint of apprehension. “My dear, is there something you require?” she asks, her gaze shifting from his face to the room’s elegant decor, momentarily avoiding direct eye contact. However, your father, with a cold demeanor, wastes no time in cutting to the chase. “I have a plan for the gentlemen’s club,” he declares, his words firm and decisive. “I intend to host a grand gala, and I will need your assistance in the arrangements and sending out invitations.”

Your mother’s eyes meet your father’s, a flicker of uncertainty shadowing her expression. She takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to set aside her own desires and reservations for the sake of their shared goals. “I understand,” she replies, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and determination. “Expanding the gentlemen’s club and establishing connections with nobles from other regions is indeed a prudent move. I will assist you in every way I can.”

Your father nods, his stoic demeanor remaining intact. “Good,” he replies curtly. “We must secure the support and patronage of influential figures if we are to successfully expand the club’s reach.” As the weight of your father’s plans settles upon them, your parents exchange a lingering gaze, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Their union, intertwined with societal expectations and shared responsibilities, remains a delicate balance of compromise and ambition, even as personal desires and hidden secrets simmer beneath the surface.

—————

Sitting on the floor of your bedroom, your back resting against the bed, you immerse yourself in the book you managed to acquire through your friendly bonds with the household servants. It's a book on finances and politics, a subject your governess would never approve of, but your curiosity compels you to read it regardless. As you delve into the pages, your mind absorbed in the complexities of the world beyond the estate, a knock on your door interrupts your concentration.

Swiftly, you slide the book under your bed, hiding your forbidden treasure, and invite the person to enter. To your delight, it's your new maid, Emily, bringing tidings of great news. With an animated expression and a hushed tone, she leans closer and shares the exciting revelation. "Y/n, your parents are planning a gala of the season," she whispers, her voice filled with anticipation.

A smile dances across your lips as you lean in, eagerly soaking up Emily's words. The prospect of attending the gala stirs a flutter of excitement within you, and you can't help but imagine the allure of the event, filled with young gentlemen and eligible bachelors vying for attention in a whirlwind of refinement and courtship. Emily continues, her voice barely above a whisper, her excitement palpable. "I hope the Duke attends," she confides, her tone betraying a mix of admiration and hesitation. "Though he can be rather unpleasant, it's a shame because he is quite attractive."

You can't help but chuckle softly, amused by Emily's candid remark. The Duke, an enigmatic figure known for his charm marred by a disagreeable demeanor, holds a certain intrigue for you as well. "Indeed, it would be a shame if his behavior overshadows his overall attractiveness," you agree, sharing in Emily's sentiments. "But perhaps, at the gala, we might witness a different side of him."

In that moment, a shared excitement and anticipation fill the air as you and Emily exchange conspiratorial glances. The possibilities and potential of the upcoming gala ignite your imagination, where love stories may unfold, and connections may be forged in the enchanting ambiance of the event. Together, you revel in the dreams and hopes that the gala of the season holds, savoring the anticipation of what the night may bring.

——-

As the Duke stands in the tailor’s shop, being meticulously fitted for a new outfit, his sharp ears catch snippets of conversation between two gentlemen nearby. Intrigued, he subtly adjusts his position to listen more closely, feigning disinterest while keeping his attention focused on their discussion.

The first gentleman, his voice tinged with excitement, exclaims, “Have you heard? Lady Y/n is finally making her debut this season!”

The second gentleman responds with equal enthusiasm, “Indeed, it’s been long-awaited. I’ve heard she possesses an unparalleled grace and beauty. Many young gentlemen are eagerly anticipating the opportunity to court her.”

The Duke’s interest piques further at the mention of Lady Y/n. Her name carries a certain mystique, whispered through the corridors of high society, and he has caught glimpses of her during previous social events. Her radiant smile and captivating presence have left an impression on him.

The first gentleman chimes in, “I’ve heard she has quite the intellect as well. A rare combination of beauty and intelligence. She’ll surely have no shortage of suitors vying for her hand.”

The Duke, ever the observer, listens intently, allowing the words to sink in. A flicker of curiosity dances in his eyes as he contemplates the allure of Lady Y/n. Inwardly, he wonders what lies beneath her elegant facade and infectious smile. There is something intriguing about her, something that sets her apart from the other debutantes.

With measured steps, the Duke approaches the tailor to finalize his measurements, all the while his thoughts swirl with anticipation of the upcoming season. His mind races with questions: Would Lady Y/n’s presence bring a breath of fresh air to the social gatherings? Would she possess the depth and substance that he seeks in a potential companion?

As he exits the tailor’s shop, the Duke’s mind is filled with thoughts of Lady Y/n. A newfound curiosity blooms within him, kindling a desire to unravel the enigma that surrounds her. He resolves to keep a watchful eye on her debut, intrigued by the prospect of encountering her and discovering the woman behind the captivating smile.

©𝐘𝐀𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

241 notes · View notes

theoperativeif · 7 months

Text

Ari (The Operative short story)

Here is the finish short story! I actually wrote the whole thing with the pronouns switched between Ari and 002, I needed to go back and correct it to make it fit the poll results. But I am so happy to have it finished! Feel free to let me know your thoughts on it.

Enjoy! <3 you all!

(Content warning, all warnings in The Operative demo apply to this as well!)

The specks of far-off stars dotted the viewport, an ethereal canvas of black and purple that seemed to stretch into infinity. No artist, however skilled, could have crafted such a perfect tableau.

"Admiral, the Emperor’s Herald is calling,” First Officer Gallo announced, his large frame eclipsing a swath of console lights. “Should I put it through?”

A hesitant glance swept across Admiral Anderson's crew—faces caught in a blend of darkness and eerie console glow. Custom dictated that a Herald's message be broadcast to the entire ship. But not this time.

“No, this is a private assembly,” Elia instructed, straightening her uniform as a screen unfurled before her, obscuring the cosmic tapestry.

The Imperial Anthem, a bombastic melody woven into the very fiber of her being, filled the ship. As it faded, metal walls isolated Elia from her crew. For a moment, she stood in encompassing darkness before finding herself surrounded by a grand chamber of marble stairs. Virtual figures of obscured Admirals and Generals stood beside her in this ritualistic gathering known as the Emperor's embrace—an event Elia usually avoided.

Slowly, she looked up to the throne above her, where a shadowy figure reclined. A second figure descended the stairs, coming into full view.

“Generals, Admirals, Leaders of the Empire," a voice boomed, blending martial roughness with Capitol sophistication. "The Emperor’s chosen voice, his Herald of guidance, will now address you.”

The Herald appeared—a lithe silhouette veiled in holographic stars and galaxies. As Elia locked eyes with two bright stars, a shiver crawled up her spine. Her own reflection in those stars was a haunting revelation, one that weighed heavily on her conscience.

"Elia," the Herald whispered with unsettling familiarity, "child, what do you wish to ask of the Emperor?”

“Only to thank him for his leadership and blessings,” Elia replied in a rehearsed tone, hearing echoed affirmations from her obscured colleagues.

“The Emperor is displeased with Vanern. They dishonor the very souls they owe him. Examples must be made,” the Herald intoned.

“We need to withdraw from the planet,” General Parcer interjected, his voice breaking the uneasy silence.

Elia winced. The General's defiance made her uncomfortable, yet also resonated with her own suppressed reservations. The general was an imposing figure, with a thinly trimmed mustache and long blue cloak behind him.

“The Emperor commands you to hold the planet,” the Herald cautioned.

Several other Admirals voiced their concerns, echoing that of Parcer.

“What of you, Admiral Anderson?” The Herald's virtual fingers grazed Elia's cheek, adding an unsettling intimacy to the long look they gave her, “Is there not one soul brave enough to stay?”

General Parcer stepped back, a look of hurt pride on his face as he shook his head. Elia sensed the moment's significance—a junction of personal ambition and collective destiny. Her eyes met the Herald’s stars again, but now they shimmered with resolve.

"The Chemical Core and my Operatives can hold the line. If we win the skies, they can win on the ground. General, do you have the stomach for it?" she challenged.

Parcer hesitated, his eyes darting between the Herald and Elia, before exhaling a defeated sigh. "I pray you're right," he said, his voice tinged with resignation.

“The only power that matters is the Emperor’s,” the Herald declared, turning back to Elia with a nod. “Proceed with your plans.”

Five Months Later

The evening winds screamed over the southern plains just outside the city of Mulhat, like vengeful spirits mourning their losses. Once a site for thousands to enjoy the celestial lights, the plains were now a desolate tableau, inhabited only by the dead—or those resigned to join them soon. Six medium Imperial tanks rumbled down the roads, weaving through abandoned vehicles, shallow graves, and the occasional forsaken pet. Flanking and leading them were the remnants of the 7th, their rifles swinging from point to point as if desperate to find a target.

More than a third of them had unmarked armor, but it was caked with the mud of a long march. They were green. Ari frowned at the sight, his eyes narrowing beneath his helmet.

Perched atop the second tank, Ari wiped the dried blood off his helmet with swift, forceful strokes. Around him, no one spoke. What could they say? By some fluke, another day had passed without casualties. Yet an uneasy air hung thick, as if death had merely postponed its visit.

The lead tank juddered to a stop, and the rest of the column followed in an ordered sequence. Ari rolled off the side of his tank and landed softly on the mud-caked earth, eyes scanning as platoons fanned out in every direction.

From an armored carrier at the rear, Captain Carrington surveyed a map. Tall and bespectacled, his impeccable uniform seemed out of place next to his subordinates, whose attire bore the scars of ongoing conflict. Ari had felt uneasy when he took over the 7th two weeks ago; he was too young, his uniform too clean. The original officers had fallen during the first week of operations, leaving NCOs to improvise.

Carrington finally closed his map and approached Ari, a polished smile contrasting sharply with his mud-splattered armor. "Ahead is a town suspected of harboring a small Commonwealth presence," he said, never quite meeting his eyes. "Command wants it cleared and any arms seized from its citizens."

Ari's eyes flicked to the map Carrington was still clutching.

He continued, "I want you to clear it for us. You leave immediately."

Ari stared at him, his gut tightening before he consciously willed himself to relax. This is what he was engineered for.

"Lieutenant Hammond of the Third Platoon interjected, stepping forward. "Sir, Ari's already cleared four towns this week. Maybe we can—"

Carrington cut him off with a glare, his plastic smile returning. "Nonsense. I have the utmost faith in Operative 005."

Ari winced. Hammond had no reason to draw the ire of their greenhorn commander. He gave him a nod of appreciation. His thoughts retreated to his past, to his "mother's" incessant instruction and the tales from 002 about honorable warriors. Tales that now seemed like childish fantasies. He was a soldier. He would obey.

The town that awaited Ari was a mere ten miles up the road—a modest industrial outpost framed by skeletal factories on either side. Once bustling centers of production, they were now hollowed-out relics, victims of the relentless artillery that rained from above.

Ari peered through his rifle scope, his eyes hardened behind the dark visor. The forest that once provided cover had been reduced to smoldering embers and blackened stumps, leaving an unforgiving mile of barren terrain between the town's outskirts and the nearest semblance of shelter.

He had challenged Captain Carrington on his tactics. "How do you expect me to approach the town without cover?" The Captain's response had been a disconcerting smile and a vague assurance: "I'm confident you'll manage."

Suppressing a sigh, Ari activated his suit's cloaking device. A shimmering ripple enveloped his armor, harmonizing with the charred landscape behind him. As he advanced, his suit's sensors fed him real-time data: the air was thick with smoke, but mercifully free of chemical or biological threats. "Good," he thought, recalling a nightmarish scenario where an entire town's air filtration had failed, asphyxiating its inhabitants. He could have easily been one of those children, had fate dealt him a different hand.

His thoughts wandered, as they often did, to questions of origin. Had he come from a lush, verdant world? Or maybe a frozen wasteland? He smiled beneath his visor, imagining a little 002 thriving in a harsh, unforgiving environment. He had always ensured he would too. He was a warrior Ari could only dream of matching.

But not now. Not when 002 was at the frontlines, and he was stuck under the command of an inexperienced captain, showcased like a trophy weapon. He had obeyed his orders dutifully, wading through skirmishes while he observed from a safe distance, his eyes twinkling in unsettling fascination.

He was an instrument of war, and the Captain was merely using him as intended. Yet, a nagging sensation of being wasted gnawed at him. He imagined his "Mother" laughing at him inner turmoil—a cruel, mirthless laugh that echoed in his mind.

Just as he reached the fringes of the town, his steps faltered. A shallow ditch caught his eye. Inside lay five bodies—two women and three men, faces down, their skulls shattered by bullets.

Death had been quick at least.

Grimacing, Ari skirted past the ditch and crept along the side of a nearby building. Its facade bore signs of conflict, scarred by bullets that may have been fired from makeshift firearms.

Taking cover behind some empty supply crates near the corner of the building Ari turned off the cloaking field, letting it recharge for a few minutes in silence.

The wind blew, howling for a moment before settling into silence without any response.

Then Ari heard it. A boot stepping on metal with a fairly heavy thump. Too heavy, Ari thought, slowly raising his rifle and pointing it against the wall of the building. Turning his cloak back on he let his armor scan the building. Noting the fuzziness of the screen he waited.

Some fireteams would carry a scrambler with them to black out a building from an outside fireteams sensors. It was effective except for one issue. A blacked out building also revealed their location.

Ari guessed there must be at least five inside, if there was more then a fire team others would most likely join in after the fight had started.

Ari waited until he heard the last bootstep, then pulled the trigger. With a loud bang his rifle fired easily through the wall, a loud metal ping sounded as he discharged the large casing as she rolled to the side.

A hail of bullets fired through the walls of the shelter. He could imagine each path as time slowed before he let off two more well placed shots.

In a matter of four seconds it was silent.

Breathing heavily Ari waited. Satisfied at the lack of noise Ari moved around, peeking out towards the road running in front of the building. If there were more soldiers here they were doing a good job of not revealing themselves. If they were there Ari didn’t intend to give them the satisfaction of spotting him.

Placing two breach charges on the wall Ari circled around towards the back door. Keying the keypad he opened it, carefully monitoring his sensors.

Room by room he swept, noting the three bodies, large holes blown threw their personal armor, blood coating the metal fragments. Commonwealth Soldiers, he noted from the insignia’s on their shoulders. Bending down he lightly pushed one, noting the armor had been fused together in a custom repair job.

Interesting. he thought, wondering if the Commonwealth was as low on supplies as their Imperial foes were.

He heard the faintest scuff of a boot on flooring.

Diving to the side he barely missed the sword that embedded itself in the floor, it was large with an ornate looking handle. A tall soldier with a curved armored helmet pulled it out of the floor. Standing nearly as tall as him it looked almost like an Operative. A Commonwealth knight. He thought cautiously. Not enhanced. He noted the more clumsy movements.

It raised the sword, pointing it at him in a challenge as several Commonwealth soldiers filed in behind it.

Not waiting, Ari opened fire, letting off two rounds.

The first slammed into the large soldier's helmet, skimming off of it in a wave of sparks. The second blew through the next soldier before continuing on to blow the leg off of his comrade behind him.

There were shouts as Ari rushed behind a wall, bullets striking the space she had just been in.

Calmly aiming at the front door he fired a single round through it, a cry of pain sounding from outside.

Calmly picking the Commonwealth soldiers off with precise shots he, looked around as the wall behind him exploded. Light pops of gunfire outside sounding.

He ducked under the sword of the imposing knight. The next swing he blocked with his rifle, the blade digging into it. The Knights free gloved hand shot out, gripping Ari’s throat in an iron embrace.

Drawing his knife he plunged it in the small gap in the suit by his abdomen, ripping upwards in an arc, warm blood coating his hand.

His armor growled, reinforcing his strength as he tossed Ari across the room. His Rifle clattered to the floor as he gasped for air.

The Knight stumbled, holding the wound.

Flipping the knife over in his hand Ari circled him, making a feint he got him to raise his sword with one hand. Dodging under it he stabbed two more times, once into his armpit and another into the gap on his other side.

He cried out, his armor unable to make up for his failing limbs as he dropped to his knees. The sword clattering to the ground.

Ari walked over, picking his rifle up and quickly checking it over.

Satisfied he stuck the barrel underneath his helmet and fired a single shot.

Blood splattered his face as the helmet was thrown off the knights head.

He sighed, turning and eventually finding the jamming device in the house.

He would clear four more holdouts in the town. Around fifty soldiers in total when he was finished. He sat near the front of the town, cleaning his wounds as the tanks finally crested one of the hills, the marines slowly making their way over to him.

Fireteams passed him silently, sweeping through the buildings long since cleared.

Captain Carrington sat calmly on the last tank as it rolled into town, stepping off of it his boots sank awkwardly into the muddy ground. Ari gently grabbed his arm, keeping him upright, a thought crossing his mind to let the kid fall.

He looked at Ari with a strange mix of embarrassment and anger before shaking his grip off.

“I see you dealt with things adequately enough,” he said, looking back at the tank commander whose head was silently peering out front the top hatch, “get your tanks under some cover, camouflage the ones you can’t get under the overhangs, the Commonwealth might still be sweeping this area with some ground attack aircraft.”

The tank commander nodded, the tank's engine roaring as it was slowly guided by a marine between two buildings and a large camo net was thrown over it.

“Confiscate any communications devices the locals might be in possession of, can’t have them specifying coordinates.”

Ari looked at some of the townspeople with a critical eye. They wore simple clothes, worn and obviously in need of replacement. He walked over to a graying man who had claimed the role as the town's representative.

“There is a grave towards the front of town, who were they?” Ari asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. The man held his gaze, his eyes worn and haunted before shaking his head.

“A family, they objected when a soldier took their daughter for an,” he hesitated, “interrogation.”

They stood in silent understanding. Such things were common.

“We are here to help,” Ari said finally, looking at the man, “I’m Ari.”

“Antonio,” the man said with a practiced smile, “you will forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. Those soldiers said the same thing when they came.”

“You are Imperial citizens,” Ari objected, “we would never hope to-”

A shot rang out from somewhere towards the edge of town, Ari looked out as birds scattered from where they had been peering atop buildings. When he turned back to Antonio he saw the man's expression had gone dark with a hint of disappointment before passing him and rushing off towards the gunshot.

Captain Carrington meanwhile paid the gunshot no mind, instead choosing some lodging for the night from a selection of still intact shelters. Ari started to head towards the commotion but stopped as he was waived by the Captain to follow.

Staring down the street as a young man was dragged by two soldiers out into the street Ari hesitated before slowly following after the young Captain. Two gunshots followed. Military caliber. Ari noted silently as a woman's screams of grief replaced the silence.

The Captain arranged with an old woman to ‘rent’ one of her guest rooms, with arrangements for breakfast and coffee in the morning. The woman smiled a merchant's smile, practiced and precise, but Ari noticed the daggers glinting in the dim light as she watched the Captain’s men unload his personal effects into the room.

Ari eventually was allowed to leave without so much as a word said between them. He would be told by a sergeant that a young man whose father was in the Commonwealth army had stowed away a small firearm and had shot one of the officers in the neck. The officer had lived, sporting a bandaged neck by the time Ari finally saw him. The boy on the other hand had been dealt with quickly, his mother given a small sum of money to compensate her.

Ari found himself wondering if he should step in, this boy was obviously unfit to command this unit in pitched combat. Let alone his inability to keep control of the green recruits who looked like they had been plucked straight from the street corners of the red light district.

Ari was shown to his own quarters, a tent hastily erected and guarded by two soldiers, each holding a rifle. It was as if he were both a valued asset and a potential threat.

After changing into a simple shirt and pants, Ari reached for his worn sketchbook and pencil. He took a moment to center himself. Closing his eyes, he thought back to a single, beautiful tree they had passed twenty miles back—a stark contrast to the desolation around his. With gentle strokes, he began sketching the tree's every leaf and branch. As he breathed in deeply, he could almost smell the earth and hear the rustle of leaves, a brief refuge from the harsh reality he faced.

He paused and flipped through the sketchbook's filled pages, each a snapshot of a lost moment or a lingering hope. His eyes stopped at one of his earliest drawings. It was a young woman, her face peaceful yet filled with determination. He felt a lump form in his throat and pressed the drawing against his chest as if trying to absorb its essence.

002, the second Operative created by Mother, had always been his sanctuary in the labyrinth of darkness they called home. He remembered their stolen moments, sitting side by side, staring up at the artificial stars above the lab. While 002 was a girl of few words, her smiles spoke volumes. They were like tiny rebellions, showing a sense of wonder and inner freedom. Ari dared to hope—still hoped—that he occupied some corner of her dreams as well.

She had always been in mine, he thought, his finger tracing the contours of the drawing. Last he heard, she had been deployed somewhere on this war-ravaged planet. A bittersweet hope clung to him; perhaps fate would cross their paths once more.

Just then, one of the guards interrupted his reverie. "Visitor for you, Lieutenant Hammond."

Snapping back to reality, Ari quickly hid the sketchbook under his pillow. "Come in," he called.

Lieutenant Hammond entered, his burly frame barely fitting through the tent flap. His face was etched with a mixture of concern and internal conflict. "What he's doing isn't fair to you," he blurted out, almost as if he couldn't hold it in any longer.

Ari's eyes shifted nervously to the tent flap. "Is this the time or place for this conversation?"

"They agree with me," Hammond reassured, his voice tinged with urgency. "Those of us who've seen enough know this is wrong. You're more than just a weapon—you're one of the Emperor's Chosen Children."

Ari's lips quivered for a moment before he steeled himself. "I am just a weapon," he replied, echoing the cold words that Mother had etched into his very soul. "I exist to die for the Empire, in any way my superiors see fit."

"That's no way to live," Hammond argued, his eyes softening, revealing a paternal concern.

"Operatives don't live; we merely exist between missions," Ari retorted, bitterness lacing his words.

"Don't say that," Hammond insisted, his eyes imploring. "You deserve more, so much more."

Tears welled up in Ari's eyes, but he blinked them back. I am the Emperor's weapon; that's all I will ever be, he reminded himself, fighting back his emotions.

"I'll report the Captain to high command," Hammond declared, getting up from his chair with a newfound resolve.

"No," Ari said softly but firmly, stopping him in his tracks.

Hammond turned, an incredulous look on his face. "No?"

"Do it if you must, but not for me," Ari clarified, his voice tinged with resignation. "If you believe he's a danger to you and your men, report him. But he's just using the resources given to him. I am that resource." As he spoke, he wished he could make himself believe his own words; perhaps then the weight he carried would be a little lighter.

Hammond stared at him, bewildered and heartbroken. He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head, and exited the tent, leaving Ari alone with his thoughts.

Retreating to his cot, Ari took a deep, shuddering breath. He lay there in the suffocating silence until sleep finally claimed him, bringing with it the haunting dreams that were his constant companions.

Ari opened his eyes to find himself atop a haunting hill, overlooking a forest that seemed almost alive in its dark expanse. The twisted carcasses of tanks and spaceships lay strewn about the hillside like the skeletal remains of fallen giants. Piles of bodies marked the midpoint of the hill, their positions suggesting they'd collapsed against an invisible force field. Ancient ruins clawed their way up from the base of the hill, their tendrils of stone and metal as if reaching for something lost.

Further up the hill, a sparse selection of bodies lay in disarray. He didn't recognize any of them; they were all strangers, perhaps souls who'd been pulled into this morbid tableau against their will.

"Just us, it seems, hmm?" A voice whispered from behind him, chilling him to the bone.

He pivoted, his breath catching in his throat. An enormous, ethereal beam of light shot upwards, splattering the sky in a surreal blend of purple and green. Between him and this spectacle stood a lone figure.

001—the original Operative. It was a monstrous vision, devoid of any shred of humanity, encased in an unholy fusion of bone and silver-colored armor. Its helmet wrapped around his head, with two jagged armor plates that met in a mesh, pulsating like some insectoid maw. Two malevolent, glowing green eyes bored into his very soul.

"Disappointed?" 001 sneered, as if savoring his reaction. "You wouldn't think something like that of 002."

"She is nothing like you," Ari managed, his voice quivering as he took a step back.

"She is exactly like me," 001 cackled, a malevolent sound that made the hill beneath them tremble. "I paved the way for all that is to come. Don't delude yourself. She's walking the same path, right behind me. And so are you."

Ari's breath hitched. No, they were wrong; 002 was nothing like this abomination. She was kind, she was heroic, and above all, she cared about him.

"I cared about someone, too, once," 001 said, its voice suddenly hollow, almost wistful. In a blinding flash, it closed the gap between them, gripping him by the neck and hoisting him into the air like a ragdoll. "Want to know what became of that love? What he will one day do to you?"

Ari's eyes snapped open. He was back in his cot, drenched in cold sweat. His hands shot to his throat; it was untouched, yet the sensation of that iron grip remained. He sank back into his cot, his eyes clenched shut, his heart pounding in his chest. It had felt unbearably, terrifyingly real.

Then again, it always did.

Ari wiped away tears that he hadn't realized he'd shed, and reached for his sketchbook lying next to him. Could his longing for decency be just a child's fantasy? No, it couldn't be.

There was a commotion outside, shouts of anger and one of terror. Ari jumped from his cot, snatching his rifle easily off its rack and rushing outside. His two guards had their rifles at the ready and quickly fell into step with his. Captain Carrington exited his own quarters, a look of bewilderment on his face as he wrapped a brown cloak around his sleep attire.

Several marines were aiming their weapons at a group of townspeople who held a marine with a knife to his throat. On the ground was a woman, her face bruised, crying and shaking, beside her was a marine, a gunshot wound through his chest.

“Lower your weapons god damn it!” Carrington ordered, his voice not carrying the order properly over the chaos.

“Lower your weapons now!” Ari ordered, his voice carrying easily as the marines obeyed, shouldering their firearms.

Carrington cast an unreadable look towards him before focusing back on the marines and townspeople.

“What's the meaning of this?” He asked, looking expectantly at his marines.

“Your man drunkenly attacked one of our women,” Antonio said, a dark look on his face as he glared at the young Captain, “when his comrade intervened he shot him!”

Ari’s fingers tapped his combat knife, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it.

“Is this true?” Carrington looked at the sergeant who looked down before nodding his head.

“Seems to be Captain, luckily people intervened,” the Sergeant looked down shamefully, two other veterans nodded their heads, though several objections were raised by several of the younger marines.

Captain Carrington seemed lost for a moment, looking between the townspeople, their faces filled with a mixture of anger and expectation and his marines who seemed disappointed he would even consider taking the townsfolk side.

“Take him in front of my quarters,” Carrington said quietly, waving for the marines to take him, “whats, whats his name?”

“Private Summers Sir,” the Sergeant replied simply.

The man holding the marine at knife point lowered the blade, allowing the two closest marines to grab both of his arms.

The two groups followed the Captain back to his quarters. Ari followed him inside quietly. He watched as he suddenly started shaking as he searched through his makeshift work desk, scattering papers and data pads across it. He seemed to be searching for something specific.

He eventually found it, reading over something on his datapad. He read some parts out loud, but only in pieces.

“If a soldier in his service should…”

“Discretion of commanding officer…”

“Carried out by company…”

Afterwards he pulled up the accused man's military record, he tapped on several other incidents reported.

He shakily put the pad down, hanging his head with a loud sigh before straightening himself and walking back outside.

He walked over to the Sergeant, speaking quietly so the townspeople could not hear him.

“Sergeant, tie him to that post over there,” Captain Carrington said, drawing his pistol and examining it carefully, he was pale now. His hand barely able to properly secure the weapon, he looked at his marines doing his best to make his voice strong, “we are the Emperor’s marines, we conduct ourselves according to the Imperial Codex of War, and any breaking of that should result in a tribunal of the accused. However when one commits such an act in a warzone and may endanger the lives of others the commanding officer may carry out an execution.”

The townspeople had gone silent, meanwhile whispers and grumbling broke out among the marines. Lieutenant Hammond and the Sergeant quickly quelled the murmurs, their own opinions hidden behind serious faces.

Private Summers struggled against the two marines dragging him, “fuck you Captain, you spineless piece of shit!”

The Captain had gone silent, pistol gripped in his hand. Once the man was tied to the post the Captain raised his pistol, and nothing. The Captain’s hand was shaking as he gripped the pistol. Silence had fallen over the area.

The private, perhaps sensing the Captain’s weakness, began to silently sneer in contempt.

Ari flexed his hands, looking at the Captain before slowly looking over the crowd. If he didn’t carry out his declared sentence now not only would the town scorn them but the marines under his command would be even more likely to commit acts against the populace.

His mothers voice popped into his head. One of the instructions given to an Operative was to be the weapon at their betters disposal. Perhaps the Captain was overlooking him as an option.

He took several steps forward to be beside the Captain before leaning over, “I would be honored to carry out the sentence.”

The Captain spun on him, eyes flashing anger before he noticed the doubting faces of the crowd around them. Something else flashed in his eyes as he looked between Ari and the private. Ari blinked in surprise, was that hatred he saw?

“Yes, I think that would be better,” the Captain said, raising his head in a failed attempt at maintaining dignity as he handed the pistol to Ari, “once in the head please.”

Ari turned, squeezing the trigger and firing a single round straight through the mans skull. He slumped instantly, with Ari nodding in satisfaction at the shot. He handed the pistol back to the Captain who merely stared at him.

“Everyone disperse!” Lieutenant Hammond bellowed as he turned to the crowd.

After that fateful evening, an eerie silence settled over the town for the next few days. However, on the fourth day, the tranquility was shattered when a sealed communique arrived for the Captain. Ari and Hammond received orders to report to the Captain's quarters immediately. As they approached the worn wooden door, Ari thanked the elderly homeowner who greeted them with a resigned smile before opening the door.

Stepping inside, they found themselves in a room heavy with the scent of tobacco and aged leather. The Captain sat at his worn desk, the dim glow from a desk lamp illuminating his pale face as he fixated on a datapad.

Ari felt a knot tighten in his stomach, and he exchanged a puzzled look with Hammond before the Captain looked up and acknowledged their presence.

"The 14th and 9th have been annihilated in a counteroffensive. We're being rotated to the front lines to support the 22nd," he disclosed, his voice tinged with an anguish that he couldn't hide. "New officers are coming in to take the 7th from me."

A mix of dread and anticipation filled the room. Hammond, trying to cut through the tension, chimed in. "Well, at least our boys will finally see some heavy combat. I'll get the officers assembled."

With a curt nod, Hammond exited, leaving Ari alone in the stifling atmosphere of the room. The Captain leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long, shaky breath before breaking into an unsettling laugh.

"You planned this somehow," he slurred, pulling out a bottle of clear liquid from under the table and taking a defiant swig. "Your kind always finds a way to win, don't they?"

"Sir, I don't understand," Ari said cautiously, flinching as the bottle flew past his face, shattering against the dark wooden wall and leaving a wet stain.

"Don't feign innocence. From day one, you've played the role of the shining warrior, haven't you?" His eyes narrowed, and he staggered to his feet, gripping the edge of the table for support. "All along, you've been subtly undermining me. Turning my men and this town against me. Your entire kind is just twisted, isn't it?"

Ari felt his pulse quicken, his mouth going dry. In a moment of candid emotion, he retorted, "You've done that yourself."

As the words escaped his lips, Ari froze. Why had he said that? What would happen now?

The Captain stared at him, and for a fleeting moment, Ari thought he saw a glimmer of realization cross his eyes—but then it was gone, replaced by an even deeper darkness.

“You,” he snarled uselessly as he sat back in his chair, “get out of my sight monster.”

Several hours later they had set off, leaving the town behind them.

Ari reclined in his seat as the armored transport rumbled inexorably toward the frontline. Streams of civilians—the collateral damage of war—fled in the opposite direction. Their faces were etched with haunted expressions that Ari knew he'd remember for a lifetime. A few children, perhaps too young to grasp the gravity of their situation, waved at the passing soldiers. Ari mustered a smile and waved back, but his eyes couldn't help but shift to the metamorphosing landscape outside.

Once verdant fields and dense, peaceful forests were now marred by the scars of war. What had once resembled a pastoral painting was now more akin to a nightmarish hellscape. The earth was gouged open, as if it too had suffered wounds, with mud oozing out like brown, coagulated blood. Deep trenches dissected the land, and the carcasses of tanks and even entire aircraft lay sunken in the mire, forgotten monuments to failed human endeavor.

The landscape brought an unbidden thought to the forefront of his mind: What hell had 002 been enduring out here? A wave of guilt washed over him, complicating his earlier feelings of dissatisfaction with his assignment. He had been pouting about his orders, resenting his inexperienced Captain, and feeling underutilized. But was he not, at that very moment, headed toward the place he felt he should be? A place where he could be of real use? And yet, even that idea felt tinged with a selfish desire—to find 002, to ensure he was alright, to fight by his side just like they had in what felt like another lifetime.

Ari closed his eyes briefly, wrestling with the confusing medley of emotions that churned within him. He felt a strange amalgam of guilt for wanting more action, worry for the woman who had always stood by him, and a newfound, unsettling empathy for the people whose lives had been upturned by this war.

His eyes widened further as they drove past the artillery units. Mammoth cannons, engineering marvels that belied their grim purpose, launched rocket-assisted shells that could traverse several hundreds of miles. The ground itself seemed to tremble with the concussive force of each shot, sending a primal shiver down Ari's spine.

Adjacent to the artillery were the repair units, swarming with engineers and technicians. They buzzed around damaged fighter craft, each a casualty of the dangerous aerial ballet occurring far above them. Sparks flew, welding torches flared, and the scent of hot metal filled the air as these units labored to return their birds to the sky, and into the maw of the ongoing conflict.

Inside the transport, the atmosphere had become thick with tension. Ari looked around and noticed the stark transformation in his comrades. The new recruits, previously flushed with the naïve excitement of youth, had turned ashen. Their eyes darted nervously, and their faces held a greenish tint, as if the reality of war had settled in their stomachs and was threatening to come back up.

As if on cue, their own artillery began its relentless cacophony. The initial hiss of rockets and shells slicing through the air resonated in the confined space, cutting through the tension like a knife. Several marines flinched visibly, their eyes widening and jaws tightening.

For a split second, the sounds vanished, swallowed by the void before them, leaving an eerie silence. Then, the far-off booms reached their ears, each explosion a ghostly echo that seemed to reverberate in the very marrow of their bones.

Ari remained silent as the transport finally crossed the final miles to arrive at the front.

Hopping out, Ari turned, pausing to look above. Hundreds of ships, small shapes far above were visible, dashes of light flashing as the two fleets far above battled. Hundreds of streaks of light were across the sky, rockets striking all parts of the battlefield around him.

And what a horrible sight it was, miles of mud, pockets of water and black dirt kicked up at random without the faintest hint of green to be seen. In between the dark mud, smaller pockets of light lit up as gunfire and laserfire intermixed, smoke constantly rolling over the entire area as far as Ari’s eyes could see.

Ari and the 7th crossed even more miles only just beginning to approach the front. A constant stream of dead or dying soldiers were carried past them on stretchers, the cries and explosions intermixing into a chorus rising up all around them. The sound felt suffocating, as if it was closing around Ari’s throat. Overhead fighters flew past, firing into positions they couldn’t see. Some were hit by flak, rolling over and hitting the ground in a faint explosion.

Somewhere far off something exploded, shaking the very ground so much so that soldiers lost their footing, collapsing to the floor.

Miles off to their right Ari could see the glowing green wave of chemical smoke crashed over a Commonwealth position. Ari fiddled with his mask, making sure its filtration was functioning correctly.

Marines marched back past them with cracked armor, missing limbs and some missing most of their armor entirely. The looks on their faces were haunted, young men and women with lines now aging their faces beyond recognition.

The Imperial defensive positions were layered in four overlapping lines. Two lines carefully positioned in the center had a shock group backed by two battalions of marines positioned seventy yards behind them. Behind that reserve was an enormous trench nearly fifty yards wide and several miles long. Smaller transports could reposition behind the lines without exposing themselves to fire.

To the right and left were the other two lines of troops, these dug in defensive positions with multiple overlapping fields of fire nearly across the entire line. Some positions even had tanks sunk up to their turrets to provide a sort of pillbox support. Further past the lines were hundreds of scattered foxholes serving as forward posts to delay enemy advances.

In front of all of them was the target the generals coveted. The city of Proko. Its ruins were barely visible in the distance through the haze.

Imperial bombardment had long since brought the once towering skyscrapers down.

Ari ducked as a violent explosion shattered the air, hurling a forty-foot-wide wave of mud skyward before it came crashing down like a filthy rain. Amid the chaos, Ari could hear the grotesque sound of mud mixed with human remains slapping back onto the earth—punctuated by the grinding of armored vehicles repositioning. Shouts of agony and confusion erupted all around him.

Nearby, an officer stumbled through the mire, his eyes glazed over with shock, his arm missing from the elbow down. He frantically dug through the mud, sifting through an indistinguishable blend of earth and human remains.

"I lost my ring," he mumbled, his eyes unfocused as though seeing through time itself. "Can't lose that. Can't lose that."

The words struck Ari like a bullet.

With a wave of his hand, Ari signaled a corpsman. "Stay with me," he said softly, placing a gentle hand on the disoriented soldier's shoulder. "We'll take care of you first, then we'll find your ring."

A glimmer of relief passed through the soldier's eyes as the corpsman arrived, directing them toward the medical tent. Ari's armor made light work of the injured man's weight. As he carried him, his eyes remained peeled on the churned earth they traversed.

After laying him carefully on a cot in the medical tent, Ari turned away, his chest heavy with a sense of inadequacy. He was trained to be an Operative—to fight, to survive, but moments like these reminded him of the limitations of his role.

Unable to let go of the soldier's distress, Ari decided to make one more sweep of the battlefield, assisting medics in carrying another wounded soldier back to the tent. Each face he encountered was a blur, but his mission was clear. Amidst the rubble and remains, his eyes caught a glint of metal. Bending down, he unearthed a mud-caked ring.

Ari returned to the medical tent, hope welling up in him as he approached the soldier, who was now being attended to by medics. He placed the ring into his remaining hand, closing his fingers around it.

His eyes met Ari’s, filled with a complex mix of relief, sorrow, and something indescribable. For the first time that day, Ari felt a tiny fracture in the wall of helplessness that had encased him.

"Thank you," he whispered, clutching the ring as if it were his very soul.

Ari nodded, swallowing hard against the emotional lump in his throat. "Hang on to it.”

Eventually, Ari caught up with the 7th, a battalion now rotated up to occupy the first line of defense—or offense, depending on the ever-shifting tides of battle. The 7th was the vanguard, the first to either storm enemy lines or hold their ground against an incoming assault. Even in the cloak of night, squads from the 7th began to disperse, their forms almost spectral as they waded through the mud-cloaked nightmare, reinforcing the foxholes that served as crucial early-warning posts.

But the night was deceptive, never truly dark. It was a canvas incessantly invaded by artificial light, robbing soldiers of the cover darkness might have provided. Flares arced into the sky at irregular intervals, their fizzling ascents followed by an eruption of glaring light that rendered the landscape in sharp, ominous relief. Star shells burst overhead, showering the earth in iridescent hues of blue and white, turning mud puddles into tiny, reflective lakes and casting eerie, elongated shadows on the faces of the troops. Explosions from artillery and grenades added their own erratic lighting, a pyrotechnic display that would have been mesmerizing if not for its blinding effects. These detonations painted the scene in flashes of orange, imbuing everything and everyone with a surreal, otherworldly glow. The intermittent lighting made the mud seem like a flowing river of lava one moment and a desolate lunar landscape the next.

During one of those blinding bursts of light from overhead flares, a piercing alarm cut through the cacophony. Soldiers jolted from their positions, their faces twisted with a blend of readiness and terror. Ari snatched up his rifle, his senses sharpening as he took his position behind an armored shield that topped the trench.

Through the slotted visor, he saw it—something monstrous darting between the foxholes. It was immense, nearly as long as two tanks laid end-to-end, its long tail shimmering in silver and blue light. An advanced Commonwealth warbot, its body like that of a dragon. His gut clenched as bullets pinged off its metallic hide. In retaliation, the warbot whirled, letting loose a barrage of mini-rockets that silenced the foxholes in a spectacle of fire and gore. The screams that followed were guttural, filled with a primal fear that rattled even the most hardened soldiers around him.

But what sent shivers down Ari's spine was the figure mounted atop the warbot. Clad in shining armor of silver and blue that matched its monstrous steed, the knight-like figure sported a single twisted metal horn on his helmet. He brandished a spear, its shaft alive with undulating lights of green, blue, and red. It looked as though it were forged from nightmares and technology, giving it an ethereal yet sinister aura.

The 7th and 22nd opened fire alongside others, tracer rounds arcing through the night, illuminated by the perpetual light show. But they might as well have been firing pebbles. Ari watched as the bullets merely bounced off, as harmless as raindrops. He took aim at the rider, his sights focused on a vulnerable spot between the arm and breastplate. He pulled the trigger.

A brilliant flash erupted, and the rider was hurled from the warbot, tumbling through the air before landing in the mud with a sickening thud.

For a moment, Ari allowed himself a brief grin. But it was short-lived. With a mechanical roar that seemed to shake the very earth, the warbot surged forward, its limbs churning the mud as if it were water. Soldiers screamed, scrambling in a panic, some trapped in the slick mire as the monstrous machine lunged into the trench.

Ari threw himself back just in time, the beast landing where he had stood just moments before. Its mechanical eyes glowed a menacing red, scanning for its next target. Around him, soldiers from the 7th froze, the horror of what they faced rendering them momentarily paralyzed.

A deafening burst of gunfire erupted from the 22nd Marines, snapping the immobilized soldiers out of their trance. The warbot spun on its axis, extending long blades from its chassis. In an instant, the trench transformed into a grisly blender, whirling metal through air and flesh.

Ari executed a rapid roll, squeezing the trigger to fire rounds into the beast's exposed joints. A nearby flak gun swiveled, its operator focusing on the warbot. With thunderous thunks, the gun spat flak rounds into the behemoth's side.

For a split second, the warbot wavered under the relentless barrage. But then the flak gun fell silent. Whirling around, Ari cursed—he saw the knight, now on foot, finishing off the last member of the flak crew. He vaulted into the trench beside him.

Darting backward, Ari dodged his whirling spear. Then he switched tactics, drawing a pistol and snapping off two shots. His armor absorbed the bullets, but he felt the impact like a sledgehammer to his chest.

Behind him, the warbot's roars resounded, mingling with the screams of dying soldiers. Firing his rifle, Ari targeted the knight's leg, bringing him to one knee. With a quick lunge, he overpowered him, forcing the spear against his throat. Metal shrieked against metal; his suit whined, struggling to compensate for his superior strength.

Suddenly, a searing pain erupted in his shoulder. Metallic jaws clamped down, wrenching him away. Ari unleashed a furious scream, his hands clawing at the warbot's maw.

The knight rose, his spear poised for the kill. But then he froze. Ari, too, heard it—the ground-shaking rumble, like a tank but deeper, angrier. The warbot released him, turning to face the new threat.

Ari scrambled aside just as a brilliant flash rocketed past him. It struck the knight, hurling him through the air before he crashed into the muck. His heart leapt—standing there was 002, encased in hulking battle armor, the gauntlets of her suit still smoking.

Cheers erupted from the soldiers. Their elation, however, was cut short. The warbot lunged at 002, its gaping maw aiming to devour her. But it was halted mid-air, its jaws pried open by 002's immense strength.

Marines of the 22nd wheeled the flak gun back into position, aiming directly into the warbot's vulnerable spots as 002 held it in place and firing at point-blank range. The knight had regained his footing and hurled his spear, skewering two marines. Unfazed by their losses, the crew kept firing. Seizing the moment, Ari lunged at the knight, tackling him into the slippery mud.

With a feral snarl, Ari unleashed a punch that shattered the knight's visor. Staggering, he tried to regain his stance. But before he could move, his own spear flew through the air, sticking him to the ground like a gruesome butterfly pinned to a board.

Silence fell over the trench, periodically interrupted by cries from the wounded. Soldiers from the reserve trench behind them quickly poured into the area, preparing for a possible follow up attack.

Ari stood silently over the Knight body. He had been stronger than any knight he had fought before. He heard 002 approaching behind him and shivered, 001’s words echoing in his mind.

She is exactly like me. They had said.

No, Ari thought, feeling his heart tighten in both anticipation and fear as 002 stopped right behind him.

For a few seconds, neither spoke.

"You did well," she finally said, her voice tinged with a metallic resonance from her helmet.

Ari almost laughed as he turned around. "Well? Two minutes later, and the whole trench would've been a graveyard."

002 removed her helmet, revealing a face that was as stoic as her armor. Her eyes met his. "But it isn't. That's what matters."

She reached out, her gauntleted hand heavy on his shoulder where the warbot had clamped its jaws. The touch was surprisingly gentle for such a massive suit of armor. "You're hurt."

Ari shrugged, trying to downplay the soreness that was now settling in. "We’ve been through worse."

For a brief moment, he thought he saw a flicker of something in her eyes—relief, maybe, or concern. But it was gone almost as soon as it appeared. Instead she gestured with her head for him to follow.

The medic wrapped up Ari's wound and declared him fit to continue, 002 watched him, her face unreadable. The fluorescent lights in the medical tent seemed to bathe everything in a cold, sterile glow, but the atmosphere changed perceptibly when she led him outside.

The officers' quarters were a far cry from luxury, dug directly into the muddy earth and consisting of little more than a cot and a small desk. The walls were reinforced with corrugated metal, lending a harsh industrial feel to the space. Yet, when Ari turned around, he was surprised to find 002 still standing at the entrance.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, an unusual display for someone who usually radiated certainty. Then she placed her helmet on a makeshift shelf by the door. For the first time that evening, her eyes met his and softened.

"Good to see you," she began, her voice catching just a little, "I was worried that..." She trailed off, shaking her head as if unable to find the words.

Ari felt a warmth bloom in his chest at his unspoken sentiment. "Yeah," he replied, his own voice softer than he'd intended, "me too."

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. Then, as if guided by some mutual understanding, 002 stepped forward and pulled him gently into her arms. Even through the fabric of his uniform and his armor, he could feel the heat of her body.

Their foreheads touched, the simple point of contact sending a shiver down his spine.

Ari closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the embrace. And for a moment, surrounded by mud, metal, and the remnants of war, he found a pocket of peace.

And it was enough.

#if: the operative #the operative #the operative short story #lore

85 notes · View notes