#he's a middle age old man contemplating his life choices

[vlerian-root]

He likes to sit like this when he thinks I'm not looking...

[mysafehaneul]

VI. AQUAMARINE

CHAPTER 6: MIDNIGHT RAIN

JEON WONWOO X READER

WORDS: 5k+

GENRE: ARRANGE CONTRACT MARRIAGE AU! ENEMIES TO LOVERS!

Angst, Fluff, Smut

(Wonwoo listening his cousin bullshit his way through with his adopted son)

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Humans are often regarded as one of God's most remarkable creations. Their gift lies in their capacity to feel and, perhaps most importantly, their ability to choose. This choice extends to the depth at which they allow emotions to permeate their existence and whether they will permit these emotions to wield control. Among the plethora of emotions humans grapple with, two stand out as the most transformative: Love and Fear.

Fear can, at times, feel like the venomous bite of a serpent. Its poison infiltrates the body slowly, much like a creeping shadow merging with the blood coursing through the veins. Gradually, your body turns an eerie shade of blue, the coldness seeping into your very core, and then comes the numbing sensation. At this point, it seems as though your soul has departed, leaving behind nothing but an empty vessel.

Jeon Wonwoo, a man of logic and strategy, had experienced this paralyzing fear on just four distinct occasions throughout his life. In his family of Jeon cousins, he had always been seen as the rational and reliable one. Born to Jeon Wooshik and Sunmi, he was their cherished child and the apple of his grandmother's eye. When he was seven years old, his parents had contemplated expanding their business to Japan. However, his grandparents opposed the idea, so he continued his education in his homeland until middle school. At the age of 16, he relocated to London. This was where he first encountered Eleanor, his initial love.

Wonwoo had led a simple, disciplined life. He had a profound understanding of who he was and the influence he held. Yet, he was also acutely aware of the fragility of the intricate game known as life. He understood that the moment one took something for granted, life was apt to roll the dice and reveal its unpredictable hand. Thus, one must continually prove their worthiness. It was his grandfather who had once imparted the wisdom that good things come to those who work diligently for them.

The first of those four chilling episodes transpired when he was 16 years old. At that age, he was the epitome of youthful exuberance, with all the confidence and recklessness that adolescence often entails. He and his middle-school friend, Mingyu, both avid astronomy enthusiasts, set out for a night of stargazing. Mingyu, having recently acquired his driver's license, often drove to a place he discovered in one of his adventures. Mingyu had a dream to build an observatory near the pond in the newly developed section of the jungle, known as Bourbon Street. In one of their ambitious plans, Wonwoo intended to construct a home for himself and Eleanor on the same property. Yet the thing about plans is humor in itself for God.

They were behind the wheel, cruising along the rain-slicked roads. Boys at the age of 16, reckless and unbridled, invincible in their own minds. The night was tranquil, and the promise of adventure hung in the air. Suddenly, as they rounded a corner, a small raccoon darted across the road. Wonwoo's instincts took over; he slammed the brakes. However, the combination of the wet road and the vehicle's speed sent the car skidding out of control. It flipped, the world spinning in disarray.

The experience was an instant awakening. Fear gripped Wonwoo in its cold embrace as he struggled to make sense of the world turned upside down. When he gazed upon his friend, Mingyu, his eyes were lifeless, staring back at him. It was the first time in his young life that he felt the icy fingers of that overpowering fear.

In the days and weeks following the accident, Wonwoo wrestled with a profound sense of survivor's guilt. The memories of the ill-fated night haunted him relentlessly.

He couldn't shake the idea that he should have been the one to die that evening, not Mingyu. Why had the universe chosen to spare him? Why had he survived when his best friend had not? These thoughts tormented him, and he often found himself lost in a whirlpool of sorrow, asking questions that had no answers.

Attending Mingyu's funeral deepened his guilt. As he stood by the gravesite, holding a portion of Mingyu's ashes in his trembling hands, he made a silent promise to his departed friend: he would build that observatory and dedicate it to him, as a way of carrying a piece of Mingyu's dreams and ambitions into the future.

The accident not only left a deep emotional scar but also brought to Wonwoo's attention the stark realities of life. It dawned on him that wealth and privilege could serve as a protective shield against the harshness of the world. The news of the accident had been suppressed, and Wonwoo's influential family had made certain that Mingyu's family was well compensated. Their wealth ensured that they could keep the incident out of the public eye.

Wonwoo's mother, upon hearing the news that her son was safe, clung to him tightly, weeping with gratitude that her precious child had been spared. It was a poignant moment that emphasized how fortunes could dramatically shape the course of life. Wonwoo's grandmother, who had a strong hand in the family, took immediate action. She issued a stern decree that her grandson was not to drive anywhere without a driver, instilling in him a sense of dependency that he had never felt before.

As time passed, The pain soothed and people moved on. After the accident, the municipal held an auction for the land where the accident had happened, and the price had significantly dropped. Wonwoo', well aware of the land's importance, acted quickly to successfully bid for the plot in his name. But he was outbid by someone else named 28. When he turned to look, he saw a lady in uniform and noticed a young girl, not much older than 12, with two neatly braided pigtails and a white frock. She sat prim and proper, yet her gaze seemed fixed on something beyond the scene. The first thought that occurred was 'Isn't she a bit young to be here?'

During the auction's lunch break, Wonwoo strolled near the pond and spotted the same girl. She was assisting a mother duck whose legs had become entangled in plastic and a branch. The duck had pecked at her, but the girl's steady and skilled hands worked swiftly to free the distressed bird. The brood of ducklings stood nearby, watching nervously as the rescue unfolded.

Wonwoo was intrigued and wanted to approach but hesitated, not wanting to disturb the scene. The girl expertly untangled the duck's legs and let her rejoin her ducklings in the pond. Returned with a handkerchief filled with breadcrumbs, and started feeding them.

Wonwoo slowly approached them when her voice cut through,

"You shouldn't walk so loudly; you'll scare them away," she told him gently.

"Sorry," he offered, realizing he had been inattentive. "But didn't they hurt you? Why are you feeding them?"

The girl shrugged and replied, "My mother says that sometimes people who are hurt say harsh things because they don't know how to ask for help."

This response left Wonwoo pondering how a young girl like her displayed more wisdom and sensitivity than most of his friends, peers, and even many adults in his life. As a token of their interaction, she offered him a piece of bread to feed the ducks. Their conversation was interrupted when someone called her

"Miss, Let's go".

She handed Wonwoo the handkerchief, instructing him to feed the ducks well, and then left, heading toward a waiting car where a woman in uniform awaited her. Animatedly, she recounted her rescue mission to the uniformed lady, who listened with a smile.

As the car pulled away, leaving Wonwoo behind, he watched the girl's lively chatter and thought to himself, "Cute kid." He then proceeded to distribute all the bread from the handkerchief to the ducks, tucking the now empty cloth into his pant pockets. It was the first time he had been outbid twice in one day, and it left him pondering how he might acquire the land from the mysterious bidder number 28.

The second time Wonwoo felt that profound fear was during his grandmother's final moments. The room was bathed in a gentle, fading light, and the air was heavy with a sense of solemnity. Wonwoo, his mother, and other family members stood around her bedside, their faces etched with sadness.

His grandmother, a wise and gentle presence throughout his life, lay frail. Her breathing was shallow and labored as she approached the end of her journey. Wonwoo's mother, Sunmi, gently held her mother-in-law's hand. The old woman's eyes, once filled with a lifetime of stories, met Wonwoo's, and in those fading orbs, he saw a mixture of love, wisdom, and sorrow.

With the last of her strength, she whispered words that etched themselves deep into Wonwoo's soul. "Wooshik's father must have been lonely for a long time," she said softly, her voice trembling like a fragile leaf about to fall. Then, with those poignant words, she closed her eyes for the final time.

The third time that chilling fear gripped Wonwoo's heart was on a quiet evening, a month after his grandmother's funeral. He sat alone in his London flat, the room illuminated only by the soft glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains.

His phone lit up with notifications. As he picked it up and swiped through the messages, his world shattered. There, on the screen, were photographs of Eleanor's wedding, a vision of her radiant in her bridal gown, sharing smiles and vows with someone who wasn't him. The images were a bitter testament to the future they would never share.

But it was the text message that accompanied the photos that sent a dagger of fear through him. Eleanor's words were cold and final as if she had made a calculated decision. "I didn't want you to know this from anyone else," the message began, and with those words, a sense of dread intensified. "It is what it is. I gave this a lot of thought, and I don't think the future I envision for myself can be fulfilled with you. The skeletons in your family's closets can easily be discovered if anyone digs enough, and I can't have anyone or anything holding me back. I am sorry, goodbye."

It was the realization that someone he had loved, someone he had envisioned his future with, could cast him aside so easily that brought forth this crippling fear. It wasn't just the loss of love but the revelation that people could be ruthless in the pursuit of their own ambitions, leaving behind a trail of broken promises and broken hearts. It was a fear of vulnerability and the harsh realities of the world, one that came crashing down like a tidal wave on that fateful evening.

The fourth time that fear gripped Wonwoo was on the night before the custody case. He had settled into a fitful slumber on the room couch when the sound of whimpering sliced through the silence of the night.

Groggily, he rose from the couch and followed the plaintive sounds to find you. You were in your bed, yet you were not at peace. The covers were tangled around you, and your body was contorted as if caught in the clutches of a terrible dream.

Tears streamed down your face, and you muttered in your sleep, "Sorry, please, no."

Your forehead glistened with sweat, the beads gathering into small, glistening droplets. It was as if you were caught in a nightmare, a place of torment that he couldn't reach.

Without thinking, he reached out and gently took your hand. He couldn't explain the rush of emotions he felt at that moment—the desire to protect, to comfort, to chase away whatever demons haunted his dreams.

For the first time, he realized that this had become more than just a business deal. In that darkened room, Wonwoo's heart clenched with the understanding that he was now deeply invested in this struggle.

....

For Wonwoo, his pursuit of that particular land had festered for a long time, a clandestine ambition kept secret from even his parents. So, when his father mentioned the L/N family, it felt like the stars were aligning in his favor. It no longer mattered what it took; he wanted it, and he was willing to do whatever it required. Even if that meant getting married. He knew your father was a stubborn man, and how do you tempt someone who seemingly has everything? The answer was simple—by getting to the one for whom he had built that empire.

On a Wednesday morning, Chan presented him with your file. Wonwoo hadn't expected you to be so different from what he had imagined, influenced by popular beliefs and presumptions.

"This is interesting," he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk.

Chan, who stood there holding the file, raised an inquisitive brow. "What is?"

The object of Wonwoo's interest was a photograph. In it, You were sitting in a children's park. Your hair shimmered under the sun; a smile played on your lips as you looked down at your phone. He recalled when you stood, barely reaching his chest in height, feeding ducks in that park.

"She's mostly settled in Switzerland," Chan informed him. "She opened and is running a branch of their family's diamond and stones business there."

"Please turn to the next page," He instructed, Wonwoo's gaze locked on the photograph. He glanced up at Chan as the information continued. "We've gathered that the land was initially solely under her name, but a year ago, an unidentified benefactor was also added."

Wonwoo flipped to the next page and saw a photograph of you pushing a blonde child on a swing. "Her child?"

"Secret child. No one is aware of its existence, not even her parents."

"Secret child, huh?" Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, a sinister smile playing on his lips. The little girl is all grown up now. His fingers traced his jawline.

"What about the father?" He inquired.

"Well, it seems like he's not in the picture," Chan mused, "No pun intended."

Chan caught the fed-up look in Wonwoo's eyes.

"Well, then," Wonwoo said, focusing on the bigger picture, "Burbone doesn't seem that far now, does it, Chan?"

A knowing look passed between them.

....

Late at night, the soft amber glow of a desk lamp illuminated the spacious office of Jeon Wonwoo. A crystal tumbler filled with whiskey stood beside a scattered array of paperwork. The gentle clinking of ice cubes accompanied his contemplative thoughts as he swirled the golden liquid in the glass.

His mind drifted back to the series of events that had led him to this point. Meeting you had been a surprise, to say the least. The sweet and easily chatty girl he remembered from his teenage years had transformed into a rose with thorns, sharp-tongued and unapologetically independent.

When you proposed the marriage, he had seen it as an opportunity to create the conditions and situations that would inevitably lead you to give up the coveted land. There was nothing else about you that interested him, and if he could assist you in gaining custody of a child, there was nothing to lose.

Wonwoo had never been particularly interested in having children, despite his parents' persistent pressure. But as he watched you with Noel for the first time when you both slept in the same bed, cuddled due to the fatigue of the wedding and the flight, something shifted within him. The knots in his heart began to unravel, and gradually, he found himself looking forward to coming home.

Whether you were in your home office or the living area, watching Noel play games or having dinner together, there was an inexplicable warmth in these moments. He had started to make sure that he completed his work by 7 in the evening, eager to be part of these family moments.

He had even stopped smoking at home, convinced by his newfound understanding of the health risks it posed to children. Only two months had passed, but he didn't even realize how much he enjoyed talking to you. It was as if, with each passing day, there was something new and enchanting about your routine, and you were becoming more beautiful by the day.

...

It is widely believed that there's nothing scarier than a man who has nothing to lose. Jeon Wonwoo was widely regarded as someone who had very few things he held dear, making it difficult to get under his skin. Profit always took precedence. So why, when Noel's uncle casually claimed that you both had slept together, did it bother him so much?

The feeling was foreign, something he couldn't quite comprehend. It was none of his business, but still, it gnawed at him. The mere thought of it made him uneasy.

He couldn't explain why your laughter in the field upon his loss resonated within him, why it made his heart pound. He couldn't fathom why he felt pride swell in his chest when he saw you getting along with his family and cousins, especially his parents who hold you in such high regard. Nor he could understand why his heart felt like it was being torn into pieces when you looked at him, your eyes filled with what seemed like a betrayal.

He watched you talking to Eleanor on the balcony, contemplating whether to join you. But before he could decide, you stepped out, looking a little tired. Concerned, he thought about calling you,

As Wonwoo cautiously approached you, he observed your hesitation and stopped in confusion. Just as he was about to reach out and touch your shoulder, he overheard the reason you had paused.

"I mean, what else can I expect? I heard Master Wonwoo’s grandfather used to be a constructor and a loan shark. Poor L/Ns, where they've got themselves, trapped into," one of the maids had said.

"But didn't they build the company?" the other maid asked.

"Well, yes, after getting married, Master Wooshik's grandfather gave his father a handsome dowry on the condition if he leaves—"

Their voices were interrupted by a commanding voice, "What are you two busy chatting about? Come here; dinner time is approaching."

"Yes, ma'am."

Wonwoo's gaze was now fixed upon you, concern etched into his features and lips drawn into a line as he sought to understand how these revelations were affecting you.

The words, "They changed their minds the moment they heard the child's worth," echoed in your mind, like a relentless refrain. The weight of it pressed upon you, causing your heart to ache as your anger grew.

As you contemplated confronting the man who had spoken these words, you realized the futility of such an act. The last thing you wanted was to give them more to gossip about, to become the topic of their shallow conversations. Instead, you decided to remove yourself and Noel from the party, away from these people.

With determined steps, you began walking toward the room where Noel was. He observed your actions, his eyes focused intently on you.

However, as you were about to step into the room, Wonwoo suddenly grabbed your wrist, halting you with a yank. His grip was firm, and his voice carried a sense of urgency.

"Let go of me," you gritted your teeth, your eyes sending a clear warning.

"Where are you going?" Wonwoo asked his tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

"None of your business. Let go of me," you insisted, tugging at your wrist in an attempt to free yourself.

But Wonwoo wouldn't release his hold, and you noticed a waiter emerging from the storeroom under the stairs, looking embarrassed as if caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Wonwoo -" you started, but he didn't let go. Instead, he pulled you closer, his voice a harsh whisper in your ear.

"Y/n, stop giving them something more to talk about."

Feeling your resistance wane, you allowed him to lead you into the room. Once inside, you forcefully yanked your wrist away from his grasp.

"Don't you ever dare to drag me like this," you warned, your eyes blazing with anger.

Wonwoo sighed, clicking the lock on the door. He turned to face you, his hands tucked into his pockets. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single lamp casting a warm aura. The moonlight seeped through the curtains.

"Sorry," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

You glared at him, your frustration and disappointment evident.

"I get it that you're angry," he acknowledged.

"I am not angry at you, Wonwoo," you replied, your voice dripping with exasperation. "I am angry at myself for believing that someone like you could be any different from the others."

Wonwoo furrowed his brow, genuinely puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," you retorted, stepping closer to him. "You're just as shallow as Nikolai."

The mention of Nikolai's name sparked irritation in Wonwoo. He took a step towards you. "Two billion is all it took for you and your family to accept Noel? I mean, what else can I expect from a man who said that I always weigh my gains before making any deal."

Wonwoo stared at you, aghast. "You'll take the words of gossip over the two months that you've known me, Y/n? Is that your opinion of me?"

"Don't you dare turn this on me, Wonwoo!" you shot back. "This has nothing to do with gossip. This is coming from what I have observed. Just a few weeks ago, your parents, who were so set against the very idea of Noel's name being attached to you, which, mind you, I didn't even ask for, are now treating him as if he's their own."

Wonwoo looked at you, bewildered. "People can have a change of heart, Y/n."

"Of course, they can, Wonwoo," you replied, closing the gap between you. "That's the whole point. The moment they realize this is not just some poor orphan but the heir to a two-billion-dollar company, of course, anyone can have a change of heart."

Unknowingly, you walked even closer, until you were face to face.

"Don't you think you're speaking a little out of turn here, baby girl?" Wonwoo gave a mocking chuckle.

You didn't back down when he stepped into your space. "Do you think my family and I even give a flying fuck about two billion?"

"Did you even bother asking me what I talked about with my father? What I say to him for them to accept Noel?" Wonwoo's irritation was palpable. "No, you just assumed and deluded yourself into thinking that your version of things is the truth, and the rest are just out here to fool you."

Wonwoo took a step forward making you take a step back, his frustration evident. "I mean, what can I expect from a woman who was in love with her best friend's husband and raising his child as if it's her own? Now tell me, who is the shallow one? Who is the one who's feeding into her own imagination?"

The room was filled with tension, as both of you locked gazes.

They say that no one knows a person better than themselves, but sometimes, when our fears and doubts about ourselves are voiced by someone else, it feels like a crushing weight on our chest. It's as though they've laid bare our pride in a fragile glass jar and carelessly shattered it, the shards cutting into our very being.

As you stared at the man in front of you, your legs felt weak, unable to bear the emotional weight of his words. The defiance that had initially burned within you had been replaced by a sense of powerlessness. A lump rose in your throat, choking your ability to respond.

"I knew I should've walked out of your office that day," you whispered, your voice trembling with sadness. The room seemed to close in around you, and you found it difficult to maintain eye contact.

Wonwoo, however, realized his mistake a beat too late. He had seen the pain in your eyes, and at that moment, his breath hitched as he comprehended the depth of his error. It was clear to him that he had screwed up.

You moved away from him, your head cast down as you walked toward the door. But before leaving, you turned to face him and said, "I think we're done here, Wonwoo. My lawyer will be contacting you soon."

"Don't be stupid, Y/N. You know you'll be losing Oasis and Burbone Road as a whole if you divorce me, right?" Wonwoo's voice held a trace of warning.

You met his words with a sardonic smile. "Consider it a gift for everything you've done till now. Either way, you were going to work your way to earn full ownership, of your side projects under confidentiality. Isn't that right, Mr. Jeon?"

"Don't call me that," he grumbled.

"I'll take the blame so you don't have to worry—"

But before you could finish, he cut in. "The court will withdraw your adoption application. We're in a 6-month trial period, and the first visit is in 2 weeks from now."

You closed your eyes briefly, collecting your thoughts. "That's for me to think about. As I told you in the office, I know there is always another way, another door."

He turned his body toward you, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What would that be? Another husband, or this time you'll go to that bastard, Nikolai?"

Your patience wavered as his audacity pushed you. You felt the fire that had almost extinguished rekindling. He had the nerve to say this when his flimsy NDA paraded around as if after his mother, she held the first claim over him. "Maybe. Maybe this time I'll just go to Nikolai. What's it to you? Maybe I'll consider his proposal." You stepped into his space, poking your finger into his chest.

Wonwoo could feel a growl rising in his throat, and your next words shattered his control. "I mean, he'll be more than happy to oblige. Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do-"

Before you could finish your sentence, Wonwoo grabbed the back of your head and crashed his lips onto yours.

Wonwoo's breath was heavy as he pulled back slightly, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "Repeat that," he demanded, his voice laced with force and a hint of jealousy.

You, equally breathless, didn't back down. "I said, who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do—"

Before you could finish, he crushed his lips onto yours, his kiss passionate and demanding. You broke for a moment, staring at him with heavy breaths, your gaze shifting to his lips. Without hesitation, you both leaned in, kissing again.

He swiftly picked you up, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. His teeth grazed your lower lip, eliciting a moan from you. Your lips disconnected, and the back of his knees hit the mattress. He sat down with your knees on either side of his thighs. His lips found your neck, and his hand creased your backside, giving it a playful squeeze.

"Wonwoo," you breathed out, your voice filled with desire.

He raised his head from the crook of your neck, his eyes dark with passion. "Yes, Babygirl."

Your chest heaved, your lips swollen from the heated kiss. Wonwoo felt two contradictory emotions coursing through him: anger at the thought of others getting to see you like this, and pity that they weren't able to call you theirs.

Your nails scraped gently across his scalp as you both leaned in for another kiss when a sudden knock at the door interrupted the passionate moment. The voice on the other side called your name, and you stumbled out of Wonwoo's grip, your heart racing.

"Ms. Y/N, are you in there?" The voice persisted.

"Yes," you squeaked, clearing your throat, your cheeks flustered.

"Uhm, Ms. Y/N, Master Jeon is looking for you and Young Master, to join him for dinner. Do you—perhaps know where Young Master is?"

"We'll be right there, Cecilia," Wonwoo answered. You looked at him in shock and mouthed, "Unbelievable."

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair and threw himself back onto the bed. Your heart was still pounding, as if you were a teenager caught doing something you shouldn't be doing.

"Y/N," he began, but you cut him off.

"I'll go first," you said with a hasty glance and fixed your appearance. With rushed steps, you exited the room and made your way to the dining hall, leaving him behind.

Noel was seated next to your father-in-law, and they were engrossed in a discussion about their upcoming fishing trip. You wanted to move him away from that table, but you refrained from creating any scene. Jungkook sat opposite Noel, and you took the seat next to him. Han Joon-hee joined the conversation, Jungkook was telling a tale of the time he had caught a swordfish with his bare hands, and Noel's eyes sparkled with fascination when he heard it. "The swordfish shoved his sword up his ass," Joon-hee added, and everyone at the table burst into laughter.

Eleanor and her husband were conspicuously absent from the dinner table. You and Joon-hee engaged in casual conversation, discussing topics of no particular significance, but your heart felt heavy with the weight of what Wonwoo had said earlier. Throughout the dinner, you intentionally avoided making eye contact with him. The atmosphere remained lively, but there was an underlying tension beneath the laughter.

....

That night, you lay beside Noel in his room, gently running your fingers through his hair as tears welled up in your eyes. As you struggled to hold back the tears, soon sleep engulfed you and a dream began to take shape.

You found yourself sitting in the bedroom of the apartment you used to share with Noella during your college days. Noella appeared, looking just as she did at the age of 22. You bit your tongue to suppress the tears that threatened to fall. She spoke, "The heart is a heavy burden, my love. It's okay to let your eyes shed some of its weight."

Seeing her, you immediately wrapped your arms around her. "I don't know what to do, Ella. I feel like I'm failing. I wish you were here. How could you be so selfish and leave me? How could you leave your son? I'm constantly worried that I'm not doing enough. Whatever I do will never be good enough. How could you be so selfish, Ella? How could you leave your son like this? How could you leave me like this?"

Noella offered an apology with a touch of humor, "I'm sorry, baby. In the next life, I'll send out the memo the night before."

You looked at her, initially offended, but then the two of you broke into laughter.

"You know, Y/n," Noella began, "sometimes the hardest part of letting someone go isn't about filling the voids that formed in their absence. Sometimes, it's about finding the purpose of every piece they've left behind. So let go, Y/n. Let go of the things that are beyond your control. Holding onto the broken shreds will only make you bleed. Your friendship is the best thing that ever happened to me. You were the light that helped me out of the dark, and I am forever grateful that you're here with Noel."

Tears trickled down from both of your eyes.

"I'm sorry that I was too late to realize what Joshua truly meant to you," she confessed.

You shook your head and said, "I'm glad it didn't turn out that way, or else I would've never been able to meet Noel."

"He's a good kid, isn't he?" Noella asked.

"The best," you replied with a fond smile. Then you added, "Good job."

She shook her head, denying the compliment, and said, "No, good job to you. And I'm sorry for looping you into it."

You teased, "You should've thought of that when you were doing it without a condom."

"Touché," she conceded.

You don't remember how long has it been, you rested your head on her shoulder as she caressed your head. She began In a more serious tone, "I've been thinking…"

you raised your head, she continued, "You should name your daughter Iris."

You turned your head toward her, a look of confusion on your face. "Pardon my who?"

You woke up abruptly before you could get your answer as Noel gently shook you, his concerned young eyes filled with worry., you blinked away the remnants of your dream. His small, concerned face hovered over you as he gently said, "You've been crying and calling out Mama's name. Are you having a nightmare, Tante?"

You managed a weak smile and replied, "No, sweetie. It was just a bad dream. I'm okay now."

Still not entirely convinced, Noel added, "Okay, but wake up, Uncle Wonwoo and I have to go fishing with Grandpa and JK."

'Grandpa huh?'

With that, he scampered off to get ready for his little fishing trip with the boys, leaving you to reflect on the bittersweet dream that had given you a chance to converse with the memory of your Ella.

TBC.

A/N: Wonwoo that was a messed up thing to say bruv! But atleast they kissed so welp! When I was writing that scene I just could help but think of that scene from alchemy of soul s2. I think this is the shortest chapter I’ve written of this series. These days I’m feeling as if this work not of people’s liking due to the lack of engagement. Maybe I should put it in a hiatus idk. Let’s see how this chapter does ig.

xx

MSH

[necrosemancy]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Sugar Pot PARTIES:@necrosemancy  SUMMARY: An after hours customer arrives looking for help when Rosemary is the only necromancer around. She is certain she's more than capable of healing a few injuries. What could possibly go wrong? CONTENT WARNINGS: Broken bones tw,

There was nothing quite like a night of quiet studying with an unlimited supply of free coffee. 

Rosemary was tucked away in a back corner of the Sugar Pot, her nose buried deep in a text regarding necromantic rites in the late Middle Ages. She took a sip of her peppermint mocha and hummed in contemplation before scribbling a note in the margins of her book in hot pink ink. 

The shop was all but abandoned, the lone exception being herself. The sign on the door had long since been flipped to closed, and Alistair was off doing gods knew what. The witch was more than happy to have an evening to herself. It was easier than having Alistair study her like she was some shattered teacup that was being held together with duct tape and a prayer. Rosemary was perfectly fine. Mostly. 

Sure, she’d killed a sweet old lady in the process, but she’d done it. She’d made huge strides to the very thing she’d been working towards for over a decade. Control over life and death was nothing to sniff at. It had easily been the most difficult thing Rosemary had ever attempted. It was taxing physically, mentally, emotionally- but somehow, despite the sleepless nights spent thinking of what her choice had cost, it was still worth it. 

Alistair had made it a point to express to her that pursuing this kind of magic for her family wasn’t worth it. But she wasn’t. Not really. If anything, she was doing it to spite her family. And what better motivator was there in the world than to do something for oneself? Rosemary knew she was a talented witch. She knew if she tried, she could accomplish great things. And now, contentedly taking notes on her craft and sipping a festive beverage, she was one step closer to that dream. 

A frantic banging on the door startled her from her reading. Outside, a light flurry of snow had started to descend, and at the door was someone who managed to look both frantic, and royally pissed off. The witch set down her book and walked to the entrance, opening the door a crack. “Can I help you? We’re closed right now.” Rosemary’s pleasant demeanor didn’t seem to matter to the man who was cradling one arm, and seemed to have a rather nasty cut on their forehead. “Alistair McKinley. I need them.”

The witch let out a long slow huff that spiraled out into the icy evening air. “They’re out and they’re busy. Something I can do for you?” She asked, her voice as pleasant as ever. In response, the man at the door let out a very long string of curses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well can you get them back here? It’s urgent.” The stranger glanced back out into the snowy evening, his eyes landing on the trunk of his car for an instant too long before swinging back to meet Rosemary’s. Now that was interesting. The witch’s smile widened. 

“No, sorry, they said they can’t be interrupted.” She gave what she hoped was a knowing look, glancing back in the direction of the man’s car. “But I’m his,” she hesitated to say apprentice. That word made her sound inexperienced. Incapable. She had successfully brought a woman back from the dead, albeit with help. She could likely handle whatever this man wanted. “Colleague. We work together in  regards to after hours matters. Can I help you?” Rosemary asked again. 

The man’s face slackened in relief. “Sorry I’m being so cagey. I just… I got their name from a friend of a friend. Heard they’re the one to go to if you need to get patched up. And the jackass in my trunk will probably wake up and start screaming bloody murder, even though it’s his own fault he’s in there.” The man grumbled. She caught a whiff of whiskey and cigarettes on him. If she had to place an educated guess, a bar fight had broken out, and more likely than not it had been a hunter bar if they had heard about Alistair. “You said you’re his colleague. You do this stuff too?” He asked, raising what appeared to be a very broken arm. Rosemary grimaced at the awkward way the limb bent, but nodded. “Sure do, sweetheart. Bring the car around back, and we’ll get you all patched up, mmkay?”

The witch shut the door in the man’s face and her mask of smooth calm shattered into one of nervous excitement. An opportunity to practice without Alistair’s observation had presented itself, and who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth. She hurried to the back room, flicking on the lights before throwing open the back door. 

The red glow of tail lights filled the dark night in a way that was both ominous and thematically appropriate. The trunk popped open to reveal a man who appeared in slightly better condition than her client, but not by much. It looked like his nose had been broken, and his knuckles were bloodied from a fight, but other than that he seemed fine. Well, apart from being out cold, and his mouth being covered in duct tape, and the zip ties around his wrists and ankles. “Bring him on in. Didn’t catch your name, Mister,” the witch trailed off looking for a name.

“Hannigan. Frank Hannigan. And you are?” He asked. The witch simply laughed and ushered them in, closing the door behind them. “I’m just happy to help.”

She’d always hated the practice of healing with an animal to act as a proxy. But given the appearance of the break, it would have been too complex to use anything other than another human for the spell anyway. The necromancer contentedly hummed to herself as she set to work preparing the space. She gestured for the man to sit down once she’d completed etching out the sigil she needed on the floor. Rosemary held out an expectant hand and stared at Frank Hannigan with a smile. “I take payment up front.” 

The man begrudgingly fished his wallet out and shoved a hundred and a few wrinkled singles toward her. She frowned and raised an eyebrow. “Sweetness, I think you’ve been misled. There’s this price, which is equal to me patching up that gash on your forehead and getting you an uber to the ER to get a nice cast for people to sign, and then there’s my going rate for the whole shebang. You just handed me the former.” After a string of mumbled swears, the man coughed up three more hundreds. “That’s better” 

Between her time spent watching Aleksander perform healing spells and her time studying with Alistair, Rosemary was confident, no, certain that she could pull a healing spell off without so much as a hitch. This wasn’t a full necromantic ritual, per say, but the witch still felt the need to cover her bases. She took a cone of myrrh incense for its association in death rituals and spiritual protection and placed it at the east most point of her sigil, smiling as the smoke drifted up into the air. She lit another one of Alistair’s black candles and set it in the south. In the west she placed a bowl of moon water from the last waning crescent moon, and finally she set down a tigers eye crystal in the north for connection to the earth and for its use in grounding in the physical body. 

For her own focus, she tied a small length of rope from Frank’s unconscious friend and handed the middle length of the cord to the injured man, before wrapping the end of it around her own hand. She found she worked best with tangible reminders of what she was attempting to accomplish. The cord served as a way for her to map where the flow of magic needed to go. 

Steadying herself, she took a deep breath and reached out for the magic as she placed the tip of a knife at the unconscious man’s forehead and dragging it down to match the small gash on Frank’s own face. Rosemary could feel that same cold grasp of the grave as she reached out for the magic but something felt… different. She frowned slightly but glanced to Frank’s forehead. The gash she’d created anew on his friend’s face had disappeared on his own. See Rosemary? Nothing to worry about you’re doing fine. It was probably just the nature of the ritual that made it seem different.

She reached for more of that magic as she placed her hands on the unconscious man’s arm. She reached and reached, knowing it would take more power to heal the messy break than the fragment she’d channeled to heal a little cut. But Rosemary realized with sudden clarity that it felt wrong. Something wasn’t the same as it had been when she’d done the full ritual, and she couldn’t say what it was. Panic began to close around her heart like a fist. She could feel the intangible raw power, still crackling and ready to heal or devastate, but something about it changed. It felt as though it were more difficult for her to fully take hold of the power and channel it into doing her bidding, and she was suddenly terrified that she couldn’t. 

Rosemary’s heart pounded as she struggled to keep her focus and just make it work. She just needed to heal this stupid fractured arm to prove to herself she could do it herself. Her freaking out because the magic seemed more slippery than usual was just her mind working against her.  But the fear that something was wrong outweighed her focus. She couldn’t control the magic, not while she was drowning in a sea of her own distress. The magic crackled and coiled like a viper, poised to strike. “Come on,” the witch pleaded, frantic eyes looking over her work before she moved to break the man’s arm. It was just a break, she could fix a break, she could do-

The magic, impatient and precise, lashed out and struck. 

Two things became immediately apparent. The first and most concerning thing Rosemary noticed was the blinding pain that radiated from her arm, and the disjointed way it bent to match that of the injury she’d thought just inflicted. Instead it appeared that before she could complete her work, the magic had decided for her who the proxy would be, as she’d taken too long. Frank looked on in equal parts horror and gratitude as he looked from his own healed arm to the witch’s mangled one. 

The second thing Rosemary noticed was a sensation on a soul deep level. She wouldn’t have been able to describe it if she could. It was somehow the most excruciating thing she’d ever felt, and the easiest, gentlest numbness that she’d ever found herself in the embrace of. She realized all at once that while a broken arm seemed devastating in the moment, whatever this was would likely end in her demise if she didn’t stop the spell, and fast. 

With great effort, the witch forced herself through the motions of closing out the spell and dismissing the magic back from where it had come. With a gust of icy air from the beyond, the magic dissipated as though it were slamming the door behind it, right in the witch’s face. The cold silence of the aftermath of the spell were broken by a soft “what the fuck” muttered by Frank as he grabbed his still blessedly unconscious friend and dragged him out of the Sugar Pot’s back rooms. Rosemary sat frozen as she heard the sound of a car peeling out of the parking lot at top speed. 

A deep breath rattled into her lungs and she stood up in a jerky motion, cradling her arm. She knew she needed to clean. Rosemary didn’t have long until Alistair returned, and it would be best if she hurried to clean any evidence of the spell away. Even if she knew there would be no hiding it from Alistair, not really. They would know she had gotten in over her head, and the idea of their disappointment hurt almost as much as the idea of their anger.  

Rosemary walked to her car in the same shell shocked way a person would wander out of a car wreck. Her thoughts fragmented, a worry giving way to a wonder before splitting out into an unrelated thought as she tucked herself into the driver's seat. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror and noticed a shock of white that cut through the corn silk yellow of her hair at her temples.

The witch couldn’t stop herself from shaking. The shock was dissipating and the reality of what she’d done settled on her like a death sentence. She didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think how much life that spell had taken from her. Didn’t want to think about how many years would be shaved off the back end of her life because of her own foolish pride. Didn’t want to know the full consequences the loss of control had cost her. Time would only tell just how bad it would be. She swallowed down the panicked sob that ached to claw it’s way from her throat. Rosemary couldn’t drive, not one handed and on the verge of hysterics. She called for a cab to drive her to the hospital, and sat in the quiet of her car as she waited for whatever came next.

[cherryxkoch]

[cis woman she/her] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [CHERISA “CHERRY” KOCH]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [LAURA HARRIER]. You must be the [THIRTY-TWO] year old [ARTIST]. Word is you’re [ADVENTUROUS] but can also be a bit [FLAKY] and your favorite song is [CHERRY BOMB by THE RUNAWAYS]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [SEABROOK QUARTER]. I’m sure you’ll love it! 

INFORMATION:

fullname. cherisa "cherry" koch

nicknames. cherry.

gender. cis woman

pronouns. she / her

d.o.b. october 13th, 1991 | ( 33 years old )

astrology. libra ☀ sagittarius ☾  leo ↑

birth place. santa fe, new mexico.

hometown. santa fe, new mexico.

current residence. aurora bay, california. ( @aurorabayaesthetic​ )

occupation. artist.

religion. spiritual.

tattoos. several ( here, here and here ).

piercings. three holes in ears, helix.

marital status. single.

sexual preference. proud pansexual.

family. antoni koch ( father ), nora koch ( mother ), four brothers, three sisters.

children. none.

CHARACTER INSPO:

angela montenegro ( bones ),  mabel mora ( only murders in the building ), gina linetti ( brooklyn nine-nine ), daphne sullivan ( white lotus ), phoebe buffay ( friends ).

PERSONALITY:

+ adventurous, carefree, fun. - flaky, gossipy, insecure.

BIOGRAPHY:

( tw: age difference, abortion mention )

being the youngest in a family with seven siblings meant that the spotlight was rarely on cherisa from an early age and she liked it that way. by the point that she was accidentally conceived, her parents were well and truly over the whole "parenting" thing and she was free to do whatever she pleased. the daughter of a polish history professor and an african-american art teacher, cherry was raised in a house full of love and art. after her father decided to move the whole family west from louisana upon his retirement to follow his dream of owning his own horse ranch. their family bred and broke horses in the middle of the santa fe desert, where there was nothing but empty land for as far as the eye could see but they made the most money with guided tours of the best tourism trails in new mexico. her childhood was filled with tourists, coming and going, taking a break from their lives and she loved it. hearing about all their stories and where they'd come from. personable, bright and cheery, she spent all her life chatting to whoever would listen.

not particularly interested in anything academic beyond devouring a good book, cherry always preferred things more on the creative side of life. she enjoyed painting, sculpting or putting together art constructions with the random pieces of materials laying around the ranch. she decorated most of their land with her art pieces, a particular enjoyment of the guests that stayed with them.

at the age of seventeen, she was matured into a beautiful young woman and with that came wandering eyes and flirtatious glances from the men who frequented. it was one particular gentleman that visited often that cherry fell head over heels for. the small glances across the room, the lightest touches from a hand - but nothing ever came from it. she went away to college, studying art but when he returned for the summer of her junior year, there he was.

she didn't mind that he clearly had taken his wedding ring off for the visit, as evident by the tan lines around his finger. her college girlfriend didn't need to know that she spent the whole summer completely smitten over a man twice her age, but eventually they gave in. they were together just for a week, in secret and away from the prying eyes of her family. but it was enough to completely unravel her.

when he left, cherry realised that she was pregnant. too ashamed to tell him, to ruin his life for whatever small love they'd shared. she contemplated keeping it, but knew that her life was only just beginning and so she made the hard choice on her own. never telling a soul. it bled into her art, this heartbreak was hard on her on so many levels. eventually, she graduated - choosing to continue on with a masters degree at southwestern college in california.

away from school, she was producing art in most mediums. her speciality was large installations that included welding, electrical work and major construction. cherry chose a nomad lifestyle, moving place to place every year or so - never wanting to settle down too long. she was in constant search of inspiration. her latest residence is aurora bay, where she's renting out a studio space where she is creating art and creating trouble.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS:

born and raised in santa fe, new mexico but has moved from place to place after she graduated from college. never known to stay in one place for too long. ( possible connections: old friends, interstate flings, chance encounters )

is currently renting an art studio space in aurora bay where she’s making her art. she specialises in large-scale metalwork sculptures from scrap materials. to get extra money, she also teaches small art classes in her studio. ( possible connections: art buyer, art student, fellow artist )

owns an old vintage 1967 mustang that she got when she was twenty one after selling her first sculpture back when she was living in nevada. she takes great pride in it and knows a little about cars because of it. ( possible connections: motorheads, mechanic )

very much online, posting her art and occasionally some thirst traps. uses online dating apps to find dates or hook ups. ( possible connections: hinge dates, instagram followers, mutuals, art fan. )

above all, cherry loves love. with anyone. she falls head over heels time and time again so her romantic connections would be plentiful. while she’s not necessarily a relationship person, she’d definitely try and make it work with the right person. she’s a proud pansexual as well, so all romantic connections can be any gender. ( possible connections: ex-hook ups, friends with benefits, serious lovers that didn't work out )

her favorite haunts around town are the reef bar as she is a regular for an art work wine, dancing her cares and the night away at oasis nightclub (or crying in the bathroom depending on how the night is going) or at the all-nighter diner eating a vegan burger at 2am. ( possible connections: run-ins, drinking buddies, people she overshares with because she's drunk )

CURRENT CONNECTIONS:

besties with @ponderosus and @lemielewis

is getting married to @ziggykyeons if they're both single at 40

previous hookup and ex-something of @dxnielibxrra

close friends with @lucianaxalvarez, @cricketcampbell and @esmaxdemirci

psychologically damaged by @borawinters

casually hooked up with @xlalitax

is christine daaé to @mackmontgomery's phantom of the opera, also her tattoo artist

roommates with @erickxng in seabrook quarter

close friends with @finn-brooks and @javicastillo

always talking art with @leomlarson

flirts with @pcrdita while he fixes her car

[cinnamonspicewritingroom]

More Than Diamonds

Pairing: Prince Friedrich x Princess! Reader Description: Britain has gained themselves a new royalty nearing the debutante ball of 1813. Princess Amelia of Siam was sent as the new Ambassador of Siam. In Britain Princess Amelia was able to find her family, but will that be all? Tags: Slow burn, Coming of age, Time-Travel, Back to the past, Friends to Lovers, Royalties, Oblivious!FLxObvious!ML, Jealous! Friedrich, Slightly Possessive! Friedrich, Black cat gf, Golden retriever bf Timeline: S1&S2

Chapter 9: Three Is A Party

As promised, Lady Danbury’s ball was the first one to be held during the season and Amelia just received her invitation. She stared at the paper in her hand, contemplating her life choices. Next time, she really should be careful with what she said, promising to vacate a spot in her schedule, but now that she did, her introvertedness is hitting the maximum after back-to-back meetings. 

“Fuck-” One glare from Lynn was all it takes for Amelia to swallow down the curses about to escape her throat. 

“Sorry.” Lynn sighed as Hugo shook his head at the two. 

“The ball is in a week. There is still time. We will make you a new dress for the ball.” Lynn’s word about her wardrobe is absolute, so Amelia just nodded her head. It is no use trying to go against Lynn when she is fully capable of decapitating someone. 

***

She was late, Violet noted as she scanned the room trying to search for her niece. In fact Amelia was late by an hour and a half. Even the Queen arrived half an hour ago. 

“She is late, your niece.” Lady Danbury noted. 

“Just like her mother, that one.” Even her grin is just like her mother. 

“I know, I apologised. She is usually punctual-” Then they heard murmurs coming from guests. My was it a scandalous sight, for someone to wear such a gaudy coloured dress. However, nobody can say the 3 foreigners do not look attractive, because each one is truly an eye candy, together? They are a spectacle. 

(Left: Attire, Middle: Makeup, Right: Hair)

The princess herself was wearing a golden sequin tube dress that formed a straight skirt. To cover her bare shoulder, she wore an emerald coloured silk cape that went all the way to the floor. On the cape, there were markings in colours. She looked regal and expensive.

(Left: Hair, jewelleries and makeup, Right: The Dress and gloves)

The lady-in-waiting went for a more Great Britain style, but with a twist. Instead of the Empire waistline, the cuts were made on her natural waistline. Her hair was twirled and tied in a low ponytail. It was feminine and less extravagant than the Princess, but truly fitting for her. 

Ladies of Great Britain did not know an exotic man could be so attractive. The Princess of Siam’s Lord-in-Waiting is not only wealthy, but also has a great build. They could see the outline of his muscles, all firm underneath the modern suit. He also has great features and his sharp eyes just made him look mischievous and mysterious. 

“My, they made such a ruckus.” Lady Danbury chuckled, watching the Princess of Siam walk confidently despite the amount of whispers coming her way. 

“Lady Danbury,” Both Amelia and Lynn curtsy at the host, while Hugo bowed his head. 

“We apologise for our tardiness. Unfortunately there was an emergency at the embassy that I needed to settle quite urgently.” Lady Danbury frowned a bit.

“Well, I hope nothing bad happened.” Amelia chuckled a bit. 

“Fortunately it was quickly settled.” The old lady nodded with a smile. 

“Well, go around then, maybe you will catch a gentleman.” This made Amelia laugh sincerely. 

“I do not have the time to pursue such a relationship, but maybe you can introduce Hugo to several ladies?” Lady Danbury looked downright predatory while Hugo looked alarmed as Lynn held a laugh. 

“No- Princess, I am fine-” Lynn elbowed his ribs, shutting him up. 

“He will turn 26 years old this year, as a friend I am afraid of him possibly not marrying due to the amount of workload I have,” Amelia and Lynn perfectly played the guilty and caring friends. 

“Well, alright. Come on, boy. I have several ladies in mind.” Amelia and Lynn giggled as Hugo was dragged away by Lady Danbury. 

“Oh my, poor Lord Hugo.” Violet giggled along with the younger women watching Hugo bow his head to several young ladies, his face looking uncomfortable. 

“Yes, well. I am… Quite serious when I say I am worried.” Amelia looked at Hugo as she grabbed 2 champagne from a waiter’s tray, passing one to Lynn. 

“His father is on his deathbed and to succeed in the title he will need to marry. That is written on the will and I want- no I need him to succeed instead of his older brother.” Amelia shuddered as she remembered what kind of person was Hugo’s older brother. 

“Sometimes I wonder, why has he not found anybody… He is not a rake-” Lynn furrowed her brows as she sipped her champagne. 

“He is polite-” Amelia continued as she was judging the lady he was talking with from top to bottom and reversed with a raised eyebrow.

 “Good looking, at least enough to charm whoever that is.” Lynn noted. 

“Smart enough to work for me, and that is saying something” Amelia nodded.

“Rich-” “Then why not one of you marry him,” Benedict interrupted, making both girls turn to him looking all disgusted. 

“No. Aside from that would make a morganatic match, that is like… Marrying my own brother. That is disgusting.” Amelia cringed and took a huge gulp of the champagne, shocking Benedict. 

“I am engaged.” Lynn simply laid her concluding argument. Benedict only shrugged at this before dragging both of them to group with Daphne and Anthony. 

***

Amelia was laughing with Anthony, Daphne and Benedict as they gossiped about the men who were trying to court Daphne. They were truly a hilarious bunch. It was not long when a familiar man in the swarms of young girls caught her eyes, which at first she tried to ignore, but her brain told her it was not a wise decision. 

“Ah,” Amelia said with a bored tone, making all the 3 siblings follow her line of sight. “Damn, I was hoping to not meet him until next week.” Amelia sighed and sipped her 2nd glass of champagne.

“You know him?” Daphne asked Amelia, surprised. 

“Yes, Simon Basset. The new Duke of Hastings. We work together. It was one of Prince Edward’s projects and I hopped in. It was done in his land.” She turned toward Daphne who was staring at the Duke. 

“I better greet him then-” Shocking the Bridgerton siblings, she downed the champagne. 

“Oh, ask him about the last report.” Lynn chirped, making Amelia groan. 

“Right- I forgot about that one. Perfect timing then.” Amelia turned to the Bridgertons. 

“I am off to work then,” She blew them a kiss and with that, she disappeared. 

***

Young girls were being shoved to Simon’s face here and there by their mamas. It was unfortunate no matter how much effort they give, the new Duke of Hastings is not interested in marriage. He was searching for a way to escape the crowd when a voice familiar to him called out. 

“Good evening, ladies. May I borrow the Duke for a while?” Amelia said with a smile, however, to all the ladies present she looked absolutely terrifying, not only was she an Ambassador and guest to their country, she is the Princess of Siam. They have heard that the Queen has taken a liking towards her and if anyone offended the guest from Siam, the Queen will deal with them right away. 

“Good evening, your Royal Highness.” The girls performed curtsies to Amelia and as much as they did not want to let Simon go, there was nothing they could do. 

“Absolutely, Princess Amelia. Shall we further our conversation somewhere else?” Simon quickly took the opportunity and placed a hand on the small of her back, leading her away from the crowds. Hugo and Lynn who saw this quickly break free from their crowds and follow them. 

“Hugo and Lynn are following, let’s go to the balcony.” Simon glanced at her, a joking grin formed on his face. “Please tell me you are not interested in me.” Amelia looked up at him disgusted, before eyeing him from top to bottom judgmentally. 

“I’m tipsy, not blind. Fortunately for you, I am not a debutante nor am I looking for marriage prospects. I truly have something to discuss with you.” Simon smiled and nodded as they entered the balcony, Hugo and Lynn joining them. 

“Good evening, your grace.” Lynn curtsy at Simon and Hugo bowed his head at him. “Lady Lynn, Lord Hugo.” Simon noted with a head bow of his own. 

“What is this, something you need to discuss?” Simon leaned on the railings. 

“Your receding hairline” Simon blinked at Amelia’s serious grave tone before she sighed “Just joking. I will be frank with you. How often do you check the finance report given to you by your accountant?” Ah, so she did not lie. Simon straightens up as he tries to find an answer. 

“I… must admit, not as much…” Amelia and Hugo’s eyes met before they sighed in unison. 

“Not to be rude, but we anticipate that one.” Hugo crossed his arms. 

“We found… Uh- some discrepancies in the report for the fiscal quarters.” Simon started to get serious and focus. Hugo looked at Amelia, urging her to tell the Duke. 

“We found that the quarterly report using the dukedom’s funds and the calculated numbers written in the report to request the donation funds are far-off from each other…” Amelia could see how his jaw tightens. 

“Truthfully… I would even say the content of the report was abysmal.” Amelia clasped both of her arms on the front part of her body, directly on top of her navel.

“And how would you know that the discrepancy is not the real number?” Simon’s hand clenched on the railing. 

“No matter how ridiculous that would be, we considered that… And it is still a possibility until you or the accountant check it. However, from what we found- we even triple checked the numbers, there may be a possible corruption going on.” Simon looked downright murderous. This might be a tough reality to swallow, especially for a new Duke, after all it seemed like it has been going on since the previous Duke’s ruling. 

“Lord Simon, if you are still in London this week, any time you are ready; you can send a letter to the embassy and set up a time for when you are available. Hugo and Princess Amelia will be available to show you their findings.” Lynn suggested with a smile as Simon nodded, rubbing his face with his palm in frustration. 

“I think I need a drink-” “Or three-” Amelia chirped as Simon cleared his throat as the 3 Siamese nodded their heads. 

“Alright. Let’s end the discussion here… As Lynn said, do send a letter to the embassy so we can schedule it if you want us to explain our findings, or we can send you the reports with pointers on the discrepancies.” Simon nodded at Amelia’s words. As the Siamese were about to leave, he stopped them. 

“Princess Amelia.” Amelia turned around to see his crestfallen form. 

“Sincerely, I thank you for telling me about this.” Amelia hummed. 

“You do not have to, I did it for me, not you. The discrepancies shown could be the pitfall of our project after all.” Simon chuckled at Amelia’s haughty look.

Words: 1872 Words

More Than Diamond's Master List

IMPORTANT NOTES A/N: Hello, how are you guys? I hope you are well. Regarding this story that is following Julia Quinn's hit series, Bridgerton, I would start by saying I read the book first before I watch the Netflix series, thus I apologize if there are some differences with the Netflix version, but I will try to make it as similar as possible. I would also ask the readers to be kind when criticizing this story as this is my first time to actually publishing my work in the open. For the story, as you can see there is a time-travel tag. Our reader was sent back to the past with all the knowledge from the future. If you are also confused with Davika's education, I actually based her using Spencer Reid, a character from Criminal Minds. I also made Friedrich to be a year younger than Benedict when in actuality, he was born in 1794, 2 years younger than Daphne. If you are not interested or felt like those 2 themes ruined a historical romance story, then please do not leave any bad comments as you can just stop reading this story. Thank you for waiting this story to update, I am currently busy with work and post-graduate school application, so I am really grateful for waiting. Thank You Very Much! Much Love, Cinnamon Meilleure's Writing Room

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched this week (#185):

2 by French director Christian Vincent:

🍿 Haute Cuisine is a charming drama about a female chef who was appointed as the personal 'cuisinier' to the president of the Republic. Supposedly it is based on the real-live story of François Mitterrand's private cook.

Like many other 'Food Porn' movies, this is a mouth-watering, touristy story where lushly-photographed meals being prepared with love and emotions. I don't understand is why this film is never mentioned with other fancy and feel-good morsels (Like 'Babette's Feast', 'Tampopo', 'Big night', 'Chef', 'Eat drink man woman', 'Jiro dreams of sushi', and dozen others). Maybe because it's not egalitarian enough?

9/10 from me [But then I actually cooked for Mitterrand myself in 1982, when he came to Denmark for a state visit, and I worked as a cook at the restaurant of the Danish Parliament. Nothing as sumptuous though!].

🍿 "You were on morphine. That's why you thought I was beautiful..."

Courted is a light courtroom drama, starring my serious Danish crush Sidse Babett Knudsen in an lovely French role. It tells of a strict and dour judge, ruling over a murder trial, who falls for a woman juror, whom he had met years ago. It's surprisingly endearing, and I don't blame him for being enchanted with her.

🍿

My first 5 films from British poet Terence Davies:

🍿 Children, his sad debut film from 1976, a haunting auto-biographical retelling of (his own) wretched childhood. A lonely, unloved boy, severely bullied at his Catholic school, and suffering quietly at home with a silent mother and an abusive father. All the disclosures are offered piecewise and delicately, that he's gay, that his father is dying, that he never got over any of the abuses. Best discovery of the week!

🍿 "Pray, Father, give me your blessing.."

Madonna and Child (1980) is slow, contemplative and dark painting of a depressed middle age Catholic, deeply religious closeted gay man, who works in the city, takes care of his elderly mother, and cruised at night for sex. Lonely and conflicted, melancholic and unhappy, he goes to mass regularly, and confesses of all his sins, except that he's attempting to get his dick tattooed. The dark night of the soul, indeed. 9/10.

🍿 Death and Transfiguration is the 3rd part of his alter-ego Robert Tucker trilogy. Even though it was made in 1983, the young man is now on his death bed, old, speechless, alone and again in the care of the nuns. It's a devastating conclusion to a life of this unhappy, gentle boy who lived his whole life in pain and concealment, between the church and the flesh. It opens with Doris Day singing 'It all depends on you' as he buries his beloved mother, and it only grows sadder from there. 10/10.

🍿 "...And then the journey home, tired. Cocoa and toast... And happiness unlimited..."

Of Time and the City felt like watching a movie of Lou Reed's 'Perfect Day', like a James Joyce moving poem but for Liverpool, not Dublin. This is Terence Davies only documentary, about the city of his birth during the 20th century. It opened with a moving recitation of 'The land of lost content', and it combined a magnificent collection of archival clips with glorious choices of musical scores. Together they created a very personal and highly emotional masterpiece, one of the best nostalgic documentaries I ever saw. For people who only knew of Liverpool as the home of The Beatles, it was a eye-opener: Their impact and music were featured for a brief moment only. 10/10!

🍿 Passing Time was the last film he completed before his death in 2023. A short poem he wrote and read, a single image of a rural countryside, and a piece of music composed for the occasion.

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The Wild Goose Lake (2019), my first intense neo-noir thriller by Chinese auteur Diao Yinan. Caught in a turf war between gangs of motorcycle thieves, a gangster is running for his life, and has to use an abused "bathing beauty", a hooker who looks similar to Faye Wong from Chungking Express. It's a fresh look at the genre, full of rain-soaked dingy alleys, gritty and un-glamorized parts of Wuhan, slow-burning suspense and nocturnal aesthetics. 8/10.

How I miss wondering aimlessly in those night markets and street dances where hundreds of people are gathered as their Saturday entertainment!

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Swept Away X 2:

🍿 Lina Wertmüller's controversial Swept away, (which obviously was a major inspiration to Ruben Östlund's 'Triangle of Sadness'.)

A political & sexual fantasy of a man and a woman stranded on a Mediterranean desert island. She's rich, spoiled and entitled, he's a simple Sicilian communist. She treats him contemptuously when he's just a deckhand on her yacht, and he turns the tables and abuses her in any way he can, once they find themselves alone in the wilderness. It started raw and didactic, with motifs of class warfare between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat, and then it turned into a whirlwind of sexual violence and misogyny. But it ended tenderly romantic, as they eventually come to love each other in a deep sadomasochistic way. 8/10. [*Female Director*]

🍿 Generally I don't watch re-makes, but the 2002 Madonna/Guy Ritchie remake got 5% score on Rotten Tomatoes, so that was intriguing. It is considered to be 'one of the worst films ever made', and maybe it wasn't exactly that, but like most all remakes, I still couldn't see the point in making it. They flattened the power dynamics, nullified the politics of the original, and drained the sexual heat, so it remained as boring as a music video. The only interesting angle was using Giancarlo Giannini's actual son to play the wild fisherman. But as much as he looked like his father, he wasn't such a captivating actor. 2/10.

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My 5th film by Nicole Holofcener, Friends with Money. Four long-time friends, Catherine Keener (of course), Jennifer Aniston, Joan Cusack and Frances McDormand deal with Santa Monica's lifestyle issues. All are well-to-do except of Jennifer Aniston, who makes poor life choices, and so she has to work as a cleaning lady. But all have marital and upper-middle-class problems. And none of the men in this story are appealing. I watched it because of this screenshot. A pleasant 7/10. [*Female Director*]

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Pee Wee Herman X 2:

🍿 Paul Reubens, The Man Behind the Bowtie is a new mini documentary about Pee Wee Herman (but not the expected Disney job). A thin, adoring 31-min. bio, which is better than no bio.

🍿 "Pete. Take a look at these breasts."

School, Girls and You! is a ridiculous satire of 1950's Public Service Announcements about puritanical sex education. Pre-Pee Wee Paul Reubens plays Bad Boy Pete. It ends with a cartoon penis singing about jerking of.

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The Vulture article with a photo of this beautiful woman, caused me to watch the original Twister for the first time in 30 years. Yes, it had excitable young Philip Seymour Hoffman and Tár director Todd Field, and the Original 'Got Milk' guy [Still the best Michael Bay's film] as storm-chasers. It also re-played Morricone's beautiful 'Love Affair' theme at a crucial moment. But boy! I simply can't stand 'Hollywood blockbusters', spectacularly loud, dumb and over-zealously fast. "Mass" entertainment with lots of action, fake scientific explanations, and dialogue lines like "Watch out! It’s coming straight at us! C’mon! Lets go!" Etc. 2/10. ♻️.

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Another batch of shorts:

🍿 The phone call won the Oscars in 2013. It retold the story of Sydney Pollack's 'The Slender Thread'. A suicide hot line worker is recieving a phone call from a man who had taken a bunch of pills and she tries to talk him into disclosing his address so that he can be saved. Sally Hawkins plays the Sidney Poitier's role, and Jim Broadbent's voice plays the despondent Anne Bancroft. It was perfectly emotional and well done (until the very disappointing final scene!) 7/10.

🍿 The silent child is another British Oscar winner (from 2017). It tells a quietly tragic little story about a 4-year old deaf girl whose well-to-do and busy parents ignore her special needs. (Screenshot Above). Heartbreaking.

🍿 "...Have you not seen 'The city of God', for Christ's sake?!..."

The crush is a cute Irish short, nominated in 2009, about a 8-year-old boy who's infatuated with his teacher, and challenges her fiance to a duel.

🍿 Pentecost, another Irish nomination about a boy, from 2012. He is an alter boy and he's obsessed with football.

🍿 First time that I heard of Gale Henry, a female silent film slapstick comedian of the Chaplin-Keaton mold. She starred in over 230 gag-filled films, but directed only one: The detectress. This "Big trouble in Chinatown" from 1919 involved a search for a secret formula for eyeglasses that will "allow chop suey eaters to see what they're eating". All the racist Chinese stereotypes you can imagine: Opium dens, cat dishes, derogatory names and characters, long braids. Not great. [*Female Director*]

🍿 Olla is a young Eastern European mail-order "bride" who moves to live with a middle age French dude in his boring suburban house, after meeting online. Debut work by a Greek-French woman, it's unexpectedly perplexing. Contains some unusual sexual scenes. 5/10. [*Female Director*]

🍿 Noah, an interesting disjointed short, made by some Canadian students as a class project in 2013. An early entry in the growing 'Screenlife' genre, where the events of the story unfold entirely on screens. Teenagers with short attention span seek love in today's heartless desert. Too young for me to really enjoy, but very well made.

🍿 My first Star Trek node, William Shatner Lent Me His Hairpiece (1996). A cheap fan fiction "un-true" story about Kirk's Love Rug, "baldly" going where no one has gone before. This is exactly how I imagine the real franchise plays, only with much bigger budgets.

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Simone de Beauvoir X 3:

🍿 Slow down (לאט יותר) was an important Israeli short, Based on a short story by Simone de Beauvoir and winner of the 1967 Venice Festival. An old woman argues with her husband, and after a day or two of anger, they reconciles. The whole movie is told in voice-over, as she meditates about their life together, about aging and love.

(It perfectly captured the sounds and looks of my own childhood.)

🍿 Simone de Beauvoir rarely gave interviews, but in 1975 she talked at length in Why I'm a feminist, a terrific conversation with a young journalist, who's as sharp and curious as she was. Highly recommended for people interested in genre issues.

🍿 I didn't realize that while living with J-P Sartre, de Beauvoir had both Claude Lanzmann and Nelson Algren as long-term partners. The man with the golden arm is based on a novel by Algren. My 7th by Otto Preminger, it was the most disappointing of the lot. It was bold of him to tackle the serious and un-cool topic of substance abuse in 1955, but his treatment was as serious as the amateur drummer Frank Sinatra in this role, which means not very good. Best part was Saul Bass's jazzy title sequence. 2/10.

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(My complete movie list is here).

[sexdollmarts-blog]

An Unconventional Love Story: A Man's Lifelong Partners in Sex Dolls

Traditionally, the societal template for love and companionship revolves around the union of a man and a woman, the establishment of a family, and the joy of raising children. But in the evolving landscape of relationships, a new narrative is emerging, one that challenges convention. A group of middle-aged men is opting to share their lives not with flesh-and-blood partners, but with lifeless, yet remarkably lifelike, sex dolls. For these individuals, these sex dolls signify more than mere instruments of physical pleasure; they become lifelong companions, individuals who are loved, cherished, washed, dressed, hugged, and even danced with.

The stories of these aficionados of real love dolls are as diverse as the dolls themselves, but underlying their choices is a shared thread of societal apprehension, as these individuals navigate a world that often misunderstands them. Those who choose to embrace silicone companions may find themselves unjustly stigmatized as "freaks" or "perverts." In the past, a Japanese documentary delved into the lives of men connected to these dolls, revealing a spectrum of motivations - from overcoming social barriers to satisfying unconventional desires or being captivated by the aesthetics of silicone beauty. However, the prevalent theme underlying these relationships is the profound sense of loneliness that drives them. While some film and television programs may portray inflatable and silicone dolls as vehicles for pure emotion, they are, in essence, designed to cater primarily to sexual desire and fantasies.

Every evening, when GIBO, a 45-year-old Chinese engineer, returns home from work, he opens the door of his Shanghai apartment, and there, on the sofa, awaits a line of sex dolls, replacing the typical presence of a wife or girlfriend. Each of GIBO's dolls has a name, and for him, they are far more than inanimate objects. Every night, GIBO shares his life with these dolls; they watch TV together, read together, and engage in a routine shower and dressing procedure. GIBO meticulously cleans their "skin" after bathing, applying talcum powder to make it feel as lifelike as possible. Subsequently, he dresses his adult dolls in carefully selected attire, carries them to the bedroom, and sleeps beside them. "A real girl may betray you or hurt you. Sex dolls never will. They belong to me entirely," he remarks. GIBO possesses a collection of 20 inflatable and silicone dolls, for whom he rents a duplex apartment. Over the past decade, he has invested approximately 160,000 yuan in acquiring a diverse assortment of dolls. "Getting to know someone and building a relationship takes time, but with a sexy real sex doll, the process is entirely different. With a simple click, she can be delivered to your doorstep," GIBO explains. Although he claims to have had sexual experiences with three women, he continues to cherish the unique relationships he shares with his silicone companions.

GIBO's story challenges societal norms, urging us to contemplate the nature of human connections. While his choice to form profound relationships with sex dolls may appear unconventional, it is a path he willingly embraces, finding comfort, companionship, and solace in these silicone and inflatable companions.

The world of passion dolls is a tapestry of diversity, and the motivations behind men like GIBO forming connections with these dolls are as multifaceted as the dolls themselves. Loneliness, a desire for uncomplicated intimacy, or an appreciation for the craftsmanship that goes into creating these dolls can all be contributing factors.

In conclusion, the unconventional relationships that men like GIBO cultivate with their passion dolls offer a unique perspective on the myriad ways people seek solace, companionship, and love. While society may rush to judgment, these individuals have chosen a path that resonates with them, providing a sense of fulfillment and connection that transcends the traditional boundaries of human relationships.

[lonely-lost-soul]

Blood for the Blood God

(Technoblade x Reader)

gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

~~~

A young hybrid stood at the edge of the world, his pink hair tied up in a bun, face free of scars he’d acquired in his later years, and he looked decades younger. A diamond-encrusted dagger rested against his hip in its holder, his feet nervously tapped on the dirt. Silence surrounded him, maybe he should’ve told Phil where he was going, what he was going to do, the deal he was about to make. There were no trees on the cliffside, no signs of life anywhere for miles, in fact, he wasn’t sure if he stepped into another realm altogether. It was just him, the cliff, and of course the ancient scrolls in his bag. Technoblade frowned slightly thinking back on his old friend once more, would Phil’s family and his old friend be disappointed in his choices. Did he even care? He swallowed thickly holding out his hand, he pulled out a dagger from its holder, and drug it across his palm. Blood spilled from the wound, Technoblade let out a hiss of pain watching the blood pool in his palm. He held his hand out over the void and let a few drops of blood seep into space. He had long since memorized the words on the scrolls in his bag, Technoblade chanted the words written in Greek and he felt the wind begin to pick up around him. Goosebumps appeared on his arms, He was grateful his hair was wrapped up in a bun or else it would be tangled and blowing all over the place. At this time in his life, his hair was down to his ankles, getting it calm in any sense of the word was a struggle.

Dust picked up and he covered his eyes, by the time Technoblade opened them a beautiful figure stood in the void, the goddess was giant, towering far above the treelines below the cliff. A crown rested on top of the Goddess’s head, it was golden and formed a halo above her head, stars littered across her face as her eyes opened. Her gaze bore straight into Techno’s soul, her gown was a deep black with red lacing across the neckline, and it flared out at her feet. A corset tight around her waist, intricate gold was embedded into the fabric, her (h/c) hair floating around her head.

“Technoblade,” Her voice sounded like silk in his ears, and he loved the way her voice said his name. Pink blossomed in his cheeks as his eyes widened, he didn’t even comprehend that she knew his name without even asking. “Why have you summoned me here today?” The Goddess hummed softly leaning downwards her giant face in front of Technoblades, he was in awe at her majesty. He gaped like a fish for a few moments and she lightly giggles pulling away from his body, Technoblade swallowed thickly recovering from his shock.

“You’re the Blood God?” He questioned not expecting you to be so womanly, you hummed softly tapping your nails on the ground causing it to rumble under his feet.

“I go by many names young one, but yes that is one of them.” She hummed the clouds began to swirl around her head, “I’m known as the Blood God, Blood Goddess, but if we strike a deal you may refer to me as (Y/n).”

“The scrolls said you’d be a man.”

“Disappointed?”

“No, not at all.” Technoblade hurriedly corrected himself, “Just startled.”

“Men always like to change history,” She clicked her tongue in distaste brow furrowing in frustration. “Changing the great things women do, the fear of powerful women is only felt by weaker and pitiful men.” He watched the Goddess’s eyes turn blood red a smile came across her lips, “They deserve to bleed. Pitiful men don’t deserve to walk the same earth of those worthy.” Technoblade felt himself nodding alongside the Goddess’s words, she had a point. Any man who disrespects or underestimates women deserves the fate she mentioned. “Now Technoblade tell me what you need from me?”

“I wish to never die.” The words hung in the air, he watched the goddess lean back in contemplation.

“I cannot make you immortal, I’m afraid you’ve contacted the wrong God.”

Technoblade shook his head, he knew he contacted the proper God, if he tried to contact the God of Death, Phil would know immediately.

“It’s not necessarily immortality I am after,” You titled your head curiously urging the young man to continue his point. “I just want something to make me never die, whether it’s power or unaging, I need something.”

“Why? Are you aware of the consequences of becoming immoral or like an immortal,” The Goddess gently reached her hand out nudging her giant finger against his cheek, “To see those who love you die around you while you never age? Anyone, you fall in love with won’t grow old with you.”

“I don’t plan on falling in love.” He interrupted the goddess, standing up straighter. He watched her purse her lips, in a blinding flash of light a woman was standing in front of him. Technoblade felt his face heat up, in her mortal form she was much smaller, but her outfit remained the same, the crown still on her head, showing off her power.

“You cannot comprehend the ideas of the goddess of love Technoblade. She has many interesting ideas on who should fall in love.” Technoblade straightened as she leaned in closer to his face,

“I’ll fight them.”

The Goddess blinked a few times as Technoblade looked away awkwardly at what he blurted out, and you burst into hysterical laughter. You covered your hand with your mouth trying to stifle said laughter, he made a small ‘heh?’ like sound as you clutched your abdomen.

“Sorry- Sorry! I just never heard someone so willingly eager to fight the God of Love so they don’t fall in love.” Your eyes lit up with delight as Technoblade visibly relaxed, for the self-proclaimed Blood God you sure were child-like, much like Wilbur, “You’re so cute yet so naive.” He tensed again his teeth grinding together,

“I’m not naive.” He huffed narrowing his eyes not even processing that she had called him cute. You hummed a few more giggles spilling past your lips, before collecting yourself and straightening your dress.

“Technoblade, before we continue forward with our potential deal there are some stipulations.” You hummed softly holding out your hand, “If you wish for my power to never die this is what I can grant you.” You pressed your glowing red finger to his forehead, his pupils shrunk in and he saw himself in the future. Scars littered his face, arms, and back, his hair was tied into a tight braid, gold jewelry coated his ears and fingers. He had a scruff of a beard on his chin, and he overall radiated power. By his side in some form of a Tundra, was Phil, looking a little older, his right-wing shredded beyond repair. On Technoblade’s back were three Wither Skull tattoo’s one in the middle of his back and the other two on his opposite shoulder blades. A netherite sword hung on his hip and it seemed to be coated in dried blood, his arms were crossed in distaste, he caught a glimpse of three lines on his arm.

He never lost a single life. Suddenly he heard thousands of voices echoing in his head, he clutched his ears falling to his knees, all of them were screaming, pleading for blood.

Technoblade breathed heavily snapping back to the current reality, “what was that?” He panted eyes a bit frantic, “the future?”

“One version of it,” You hummed pulling your hand down to your side. “The future can change on such a whim there never may be a true future I can show you, but it was one.” His brow furrowed watching you reach out and trace over the lifelines on his wrist, a pleasant tingle was sent up his spine. “I can assure you the power I can give will not make you immortal, but it will give you the power to slaughter all your enemies on a whim. Reach your goals and make it nearly impossible to die, that is the power I can grant you.” He watched his lives glow a soft gold and he choked on his spit, another tingle shot up his body, “but there are consequences as there is with every deal one makes.”

Technoblade nodded in understanding willing to risk anything to be that powerful, keeping his life and living with Phil. So the older man won’t have to lose anyone else in his life due to his immortality.

“While you’ll be powerful and practically impossible to kill you will still be mortal. You will be able to die and will still be bound to the three life systems my brother has set up. However, you will live forever so long as that does not happen.” He felt your hand move up his arm and he involuntary flexed his muscles. “But, you’ll have to bear the curse of the Blood God,” You whispered eyes flashing in regret, “The voices.”

“Voices?” He questioned with an eyebrow raise watching you nod almost sadly.

“They will be hard to ignore and occur almost instantly once the deal is in place. There will be thousands of them, always talking or screaming begging you to kill and slaughter. Begging you to kill and supply me with the blood I so desperately crave be spilled on the land. They will say other things too, commenting on your thoughts and your life, you’ll eventually learn to live with them. Especially with my help, but they’re hard to deal with, hard to ignore their yearn for the slaughter of anything with a pulse. You’ll have to learn to get along with them, that is your only hope to not lose yourself to them.” He felt your hand up to his cheek, thumb brushing against the apples of them, “It will be painful and you’ll still need to train to gain more muscle and strength, but it will be easier for you to reach that goal. So with that in mind Technoblade, do we have a deal?”

Technoblade locked eyes with the Goddess in front of him, he could deal with a few voices screaming in his ear, after all, you’d be by his side, helping him learn and grow.

“Deal,” Technoblade spoke gruffly, “how do we go about this?” He tensed swallowing thickly watching you cup his cheeks in your hands. “You’re touching my face, that’s fine this is fine, not intimate at all.” He watched you raise an eyebrow,

“It’s about to get a lot more intimate I’m afraid,” You purred as Technoblade flushed red, he felt your one hand remove itself from his cheek. She trailed her hand down his neck and his body, he was a shivering, red mess, she found the dagger at his side. He watched in awe as it floated in front of her, slicing open her palm, blood bubbled from the wound it was laced with golden flecks of ambrosia. Technoblade looked at her nervously, “Drink.”

“Eh?” He made a disgusted face eyeing the blood smearing on your palm, he watched it drip intimately down your wrist. Technoblade swallowed thickly, “why?”

“You have to take a piece of me to grant my power, you’ll grow fond of the taste of blood eventually.” You smiled pityingly, another hand gently squeezing his neck and Technoblade let out a shaky breath. He placed a hand on your wrist looking up into your eyes, you hummed sweetly urging him to continue, “I don’t bite. Hard.” You mused, eyes sparkling, dangerously, the look was verging on flirty, the young man flushed. He leaned forward, hesitantly licking the dripping blood that spilled down your arm up to the cut you made with his dagger. The ambrosia in your blood tingled his tongue tasting sweeter than honey, his pupils blew wide dragging his tongue across your palm. He barely registered your hand in his hair, curling around the loose stands tenderly, and much like a kitten, he began to lap at your palm. Technoblade felt like his entire body was on fire, but the blood you possessed tasted so sweet, he felt as though he’s never tasted anything better. He drank until your body healed and he couldn’t taste any more blood, he felt a whine bubble in his throat desperately trying to get more blood from your healed cut. You shushed him softly poking his nose, which seemingly snapped him back to reality, ears turning red as a small amount of blood stained the corner of his mouth. You leaned forward standing on your tiptoes, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his mouth, tongue lapping at the left-over blood. He let out another whine as you pulled away licking your teeth, humming fondly at the taste. “Such a good boy, listening to your god,” he felt himself pant his vision blurring the praise from you swimming in his head, doing things to him he didn’t quite understand.

Technoblade’s eyes snapped open as the world around him filled with screaming voices, he yelled out in agony as a fire shot through his skull, burning his brain and licking at the top of his spine. Voice pleading and screaming for more blood, to paint the entirety of the cliffside with sweet blood, to grab the nearest thing with a pulse and tear it to pieces. His pupils shrank and his mouth began to water helplessly,

‘Blood for the Blood God! Serve her! We live to serve her, get her blood. Feed us, Feed her. Blood. Blood. Blood. Kill anything that tries to stop us. Blood. Blood. Blood.’

These millions of voices pounded heavily in his ears, he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Suddenly the voices quieted and he was vaguely aware of your hand on his forehead,

‘Goddess, our goddess.’

“Shhhh,” You whispered fondly and Technoblade leaned into your cool touch. “Be kind to this one, he’s special.” He didn’t understand what you meant but heard the voices calm down as you spoke to them. “Play nice,” Techno realized that you weren’t talking to him but the voices in his head.

‘Yes ma’am. We’ll be good. But I want to break this one. Don’t be rude to our goddess! Bark, bark, bark. Don’t bark at her! She’s gorgeous though! Truly a work of art. We just want to provide you with blood! Let us play with him a little!’

“I know my darlings and I appreciate it.” You cooed fondly and Technoblade felt warmth flow through his entire being. “But try to get along with this one, he’s special,” Technoblade watched the goddess wink at him. He found himself asking her if he would see her again and she snickered softly,

“Of course you will. We’re interconnected now,” you took his hand, allowing his bigger one to encompass your own. “I’ll see you again soon, try not to die.” In another flash of light, the goddess was gone, he was left alone with the roaring voices and deep-seated loneliness that he was not accustomed to feeling.

It only took a few weeks for Phil to find out about his meeting with the Blood God herself he was immediately worried for his friend. Scolding him for doing something so stupid and reckless, even if what he was preaching was largely hypocritical. The newly acquired voices seemed to have a different interpretation of his nagging, instead, they urged Technoblade to call the man Dadza. Behind Phil his crows cawed and flocked around the both of them, Phil’s brow furrowed and squeezed Technoblade’s shoulder.

“I hope you know what you’re doing mate. Dealing with gods is a dangerous game,” Phil sighed “I know that better than anybody. You need anything, contact me immediately.”

“I will,” The young man nodded in response to his old friend, “Trust me.”

“You know I do.” Phil responded his wings fluttering anxiously, “Just know how dangerous the Blood God can be, the voices granted to you will be hard to resist.”

“She gave me the spiel Phil, I can handle a few voices.” Technoblade scoffed crossing his arms over his chest, “Have a little faith.” Phil only grew more concerned watching Techno’s hand twitch, he could only hope he knew what he got himself into.

~~~

“Oh, Technoblade what have you done?” Your voice echoed in his head as he snarled loudly, red eyes blazing fire. Corpses littered his feet, blood staining the floor and walls, he was older than the last time she had visited. Hair was tied in a braid, scars littered his face and arms that seemed to only accentuate the blood staining his face. His ax was in the corner of the room blood stained the weapon as well, “You poor man.” He turned towards you and snarled the voices in his head roared needily, his head and heart were pounding, “Use your words.” You commanded hardly red mist swirling around your fingers, it hit him square in the chest sending him flying backward into a wall. Behind you stood a taller figure, in his state Technoblade could only make out a mask with a large ‘X’ carved into it.

“Your little plaything seems to be struggling with your curse dear sister,” XD mused from behind you, “Your supposed prodigy seems to have lost control.” You clicked your tongue in distaste sending your brother a look.

“Technoblade come back to your God.” You commanded your voice harshly seeping into his ears, he only roared in response, steam coming out of his nostrils. “I’m disappointed in you all,” the voices all at once stopped their screaming and Technoblade fell to his knees the sudden shift to silence throwing him off. You walked over to his crumpled body, bare feet stepping on the wooden planks marking the floorboards with your bloodied footprints. You knelt in front of him, the hybrid breathing heavily, his tusks tried to cut your skin and succeeded in pricking your fingers. You grabbed onto his tusks, those were also bigger than the last time you saw them, you tugged them harshly. He grunted in pain, “No.” You snarled looking deep into his eyes, “You slaughtered an entire village of innocent lives! That is not in my plan or my wishes you stupid mortal!” You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, his clarity was slowly coming back to him. “There were children here! Children you tore apart, I trusted you to have some semblance of control, and you!” She pressed a manicured nail to the top of his head speaking directly to the voices, “I asked for one thing from you and you make him do this!”

“Get ‘em, girl. You tell them.” XD mused from behind you, snapping his fingers almost sassily. His robes flowing around his arms, you turned over your shoulder to glare at him.

“Oh, go fuck George Lore.”

“Fuck you.” Lighting cackled from behind the God of the SMP his long nails digging into the flesh on his arms. You huffed glaring at your older brother, from behind you Technoblade tried to lunge at God for disrespecting his Goddess. “Watch your dog,” He scoffed another growl bubbling in Technoblade’s throat.

“Techno.” Your voice filled his ears again and he fell against your shoulder, “I haven’t been a good Goddess to you have I?” You spoke softly, his entire body relaxing into you as he listened to you. “You cannot handle the voices on your own that was my mistake, I will train you so this doesn’t happen again that I can promise you.” Your fingers gently played with the hair on the back of his neck,

“(Y/n)?” He mumbled groggily,

“There he is, welcome back to the real world.” The goddess pulled away from his beaten body, he looked around seeing the blood and the bodies. His ears twitched something akin to guilt curled in his stomach.

Had he done this? To a village of innocent traders?

“Did I..?”

“You lost control I’m afraid.”

“I- that’s impossible, I was doing so well I had control-”

“Technoblade!” A voice called out pushing past XD, an older gentleman with messy blonde hair a bucket hat. “You’re alright!- Who the hell are all of you?” The man seemed to realize they weren’t alone and his eyes locked onto yours. “(Y/n)?”

“Philza Minecraft. Long time no see,” You hummed a smile spreading across your lips, “Kristin says hello.”

Phil’s entire face flushed to the tips of his ears and he coughed nervously, “Er...tell her the same and that I miss her.”

“I will,” You gave a little bow of your head, “Is Technoblade your son?”

“More like an old friend, but I see him as such.”

“Shut up old man,” Technoblade grumbled sitting up on his knees without you to support him.

“I didn’t realize you were the Blood God,” Phil continued dropping by Technoblade’s side the old man was missing a few of his flight feathers. A large cut was gouged into his shoulder, that was it that was the trigger, something must’ve hurt Phil and caused the halfling to snap.

“That seems to be a common theme,” You frowned a little with a gentle sigh, you tried to glance at your brother, but XD had long since disappeared from the doorway. Most likely because he was bored and wanting to go bother Foolish, “Philza.” You declared as Technoblade glanced over at you through hooded eyes, “Will you allow me to train and help your son."

“He’s not my dad-”

“Of course Goddess, whatever will help him stay in control.” You nodded your head at the consent, in a flash of light your entire appearance changed. You looked much more human, with a simple yet sophisticated outfit that fit the period

“Then let’s begin.”

~~~

The sun began to rise above the cliff where Technoblade had first summoned his Goddess. He took in a deep breath inward and then let the breath outwards after a few minutes of holding it. He sat criss-cross on the cliffside letting air into his lungs as he remembered the meditation techniques you had taught him many years ago. The voices were particularly antsy today but he had learned from the best how to control them, to quiet them down, talk, and reason with them.

‘The sun is rising. It’s very pretty, can we please just spill a little bit of blood?’

“No.” He murmured under his breath, “We get to see (Y/n) today. Don’t ruin this for me. We need her help.”

“They bothering you?” Your voice flowed through his head like butter, and warmth engulfed his entire being,

‘We are not! Come on, we love you! E!!!! Don’t be mean to us!’

“They said you’re being mean.”

“Am not,” You snorted wrapping your hands around the back of his neck and fell across his broad shoulders. Surprisingly the goddess’s touch comforted him, while others’ touches felt like fire, yours was pleasant. “Just want to make sure my prodigy is safe and in control,”

“I am thanks to your lessons.”

“Good, now. You said you wanted to talk to me about something important. Do tell, I’m very curious. It’s not like you to keep secrets from me.” A feather-light kiss was placed on his cheek as you moved from behind him to the front, he adored you. The sunlit up your cheeks and framed your head like a halo, it was like everything on earth was made to make you look perfect.

“I have a predicament,” He tapped his nails on his knees as you hummed thoughtfully, “There’s a war brewing between the government of ‘New L’manburg’ and myself. The government killed Wilbur, drove him so mad that Phil had to kill him to stop his nonsense.”

“I remember that,” You said with a stern nod, “there was a lot of blood spilled that day.” The people who fought in the war lost a lot of lives and you remembered it vividly, XD watched the battle with you from above, you wanted to keep an eye on Technoblade. When the battle was over and his allies betrayed him it took all of your willpower to not go down there and kill them all where they stood.

No one touches your prodigy.

XD had to physically hold your powers away from you, it was the closest you’ve come to losing control of since you were a young Goddess.

When Technoblade escaped to the Tundra that’s when you appeared in front of him, giving him a bone-crushing hug. He grunted at the unfamiliar body but there was only one person that he knew of who could appear out of nowhere and that was his Goddess. You remembered him apologizing to you, fearing you’d be mad at him for failing to kill all those who opposed you and him. You shut him up with a searing kiss, he was dizzy as you pulled away,

“Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I won’t,” he murmured still recovering from the shock of the kiss, recovering from how much he enjoyed feeling your lips press against his own. “I won’t disappoint you again,”

“You better not.” You cupped his cold cheek with your hand, he nuzzled into it, “You have so much more to give.” Technoblade gave a stern nod as the voices urge him to kiss your forehead, and he listened. “My strong prodigy,” you recalled how he shivered at your words “Are you mine?”

“Only if you’re mine in return.”

“I can live with that.”

His big hand cupped your cheek and you snapped your attention back to the mortal in front of you, you smiled and kissed one of the scars on his palm. Techno brushed his thumb across your cheek, the stars on your face left his fingers tingling. “I need your help, they tried to execute me and hurt Phil they need to be taught a permanent lesson. Please fight by my side,”

“Love, you know I’m not allowed to interfere with wars of mortals. My brother will demote me.”

“I know that,” Technoblade assured reaching out to squeeze your hand, “that’s not what I mean or what I want for you Goddess.” You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head,

“Explain,” consider your curiosity peaked.

“Grant me more of your power, fight through me, my dear.” Your eyes widened as his eyes flashed red,

“That’ll tear you apart, you will not be able to handle that.”

“I will.”

“Techno-”

“I trust you.”

Your lips dipped into a tight frown, “I don’t trust myself.” You admitted closing your eyes, “I’m called the Blood God for a reason Technoblade.”

“You’ve taught me how to keep control, I know you can as well darling. Please.”

“Fine,” You agreed after a while looking at the ground, “I’ll let my power flow through you on one condition. You only use it once when it’s life or death.”

“I promise you,” he leaned forward and kissed your lips causing you to purr happily. “I’ll only use it once just keep an ear out for when I call for you.”

“I will.”

The battle came much faster than Technoblade would’ve liked, he had Dream, Phil, and the dogs by his side. They would blow the government to smithereens and won’t stop until they hit bedrock. Above the clouds, he knew his Goddess was watching over them, there was no way they wouldn’t succeed. He felt the voices yearn for blood, yearn to serve and please their god, to wreck the entire governmental system. Dream told Technoblade and Phil their duties, which consisted of distracting the government with as many Withers as possible, so Dream could set up the canons. Technoblade could feel the buzzing in his skull knowing the voices were itching to set off the Withers and conquer. They gathered the wolves from underneath L’manburg and Technoblade ruffled their fur and gave them each some last-minute treats, he hated to think of that as a last meal for some of them, but that’s essentially what they were. As he made his way into the country Phil had squeezed his shoulder, a gesture meant to be affectionate in nature.

“Try not to die.”

“You too old man. You still have the totem I gave you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good. Now let’s kick their asses,” Technoblade grinned viciously. He looked up into the swirling clouds in the sky, crows screaming overhead, “Watch over me, my goddess.” His head filled with warmth and he knew you were by his side like you promised you would be, Phil smiled over at Technoblade and looked to the sky as well.

‘Watch over him (y/n), Kristin,’ He thought getting into a position to release his Withers onto the world.

Technoblade followed suit, the citizens caught onto his presence almost immediately, ready to battle him with weapons drawn. Luckily the dogs took care of anyone who dared try to get a hit in, ripping apart any exposed flesh and spilling their blood on the ground. The dogs allowed him to set up two Withers and send them into the battle, exploding and targeting individuals in their line of sight. Technoblade escaped into a small area by a river and was suddenly attacked by Sapnap. The fire demon spawn’s eyes were alight with bloodlust, seemingly from slaughtering half of his pet wolves singlehandedly.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” Sapnap grinned swinging the sword in his hand, fire sparking from the horns on his head. Technoblade had no time for the cocky man’s small talk as he charged at him, he blocked the blow with ease, golden ring glinting in the fleeting light. “Not much of a talker huh? No matter,” Sapnap snickered, “I’ll be the one to take your first life.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Technoblade snorted pulling away to kick Sapnap in the chest, he stumbled back but he was known for his quick recovery time. He grunted a little and sent a trail of fire-spitting towards Technoblade’s feet. Technoblade was distracted by the fire and it allowed the demon to slice a deep cut into Technoblade’s chest, the man didn’t have time to block. He grits his teeth and felt blood seep across his chest, pain ricocheting through his body. The voices roared to kill the idiot, to get up and give him a severe wound back, but before he could he was kicked in the chest by Sapnap and fell to his back. The sword was pointed at his neck and it dug in just deep enough for a droplet of blood to bubble under the sword.

He was fucked.

‘Call her. Call (Y/n). Call the Blood God. Call our Blood God. Blood for the Blood God.’

“Any last words?”

“(Y/n) I need you.”

“Who the fuck-” A blaring light blinded Sapnap as he stumbled back, squinting his eyes he could barely make out Technoblade in front of him. Technoblade’s eyes blazed a scarlet red, the wound on his chest healing over rapidly like he just ate two god apples. That wasn’t the worst of it though, Sapnap stumbled back some more, above Technoblade’s head was a stunningly gorgeous woman. Her hands were cupping his head, red seeping from her fingers and licking at Techno’s head like flames. The Goddess’s eyes were closed as her hair floated around her head, framing her face beautiful, she was terrifying calm,

“What the fuck. Who the fuck?” His voice cracked watching the being open her sharp eyes, a bloodthirsty grin appeared on her lips. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Technoblade. Kill the idiot man, who dared to try and kill you. That is my command. Give Blood to your Blood God.”

Technoblade’s lips curled over his tusks, he was salivating, the voices were roaring. “Blood for the Blood God,”

He spoke and the last thing Sapnap saw was the shine off Technoblade’s blade, and the glowing eyes of the Goddess herself before the world around him went dark.

Technoblade was breathing heavily, the voices wanted more blood, he felt the pull from you as well, you wanted more blood spilled. Steam curled around his nose and he shook his head, ‘no. no more. Thank you.’ He licked the blood off his sword and the voices quieted, satisfied with the taste on his tongue.

“Stay safe,” Your voice echoed around the battlefield, some chose to ignore the booming voice of the female but others turned to look. Staring in awe at the sight of the goddess, many not knowing her origin or what she was but felt her power over the battlefield. “Don’t disappoint me,”

“You know I won’t.” He grinned blood staining his teeth, behind him an explosion rang out, Dream was ready with the TNT cannons. He heard a familiar cry from who he assumed Tommy and when he turned back to face you, you were gone.

They will forever know that Technoblade serves and is dating the Blood God.

~~~

Tag list: @iamsuchasimp, @victory-is-here, @pastelmoonwitche, @ignat1usaquar1us, @boiled-onionrings, @alovestruck-fool, @mack4676

[theageofthemovies]

PORCILE - (Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1969)

I (re)watched yesterday this harsh, uncomfortable, apparently cryptic semi-unknown, if great, philosophic movie and, after the end, I confirmed and heightened the judgment I stated many years ago: "Porcile" is the most sincere (and consequently: the most outrageous) among all the movies (better: artworks) of the great Italian literate and filmmaker."Porcile" is a poor film: it was shot in a month with a ridiculous budget and has been considered by decades a Pasolini's minor movie despite, at a closer look, it appears as one of his richest to the extent that it is capable to dissect at its limits the apparent contradiction of a modern thought (his) that, indeed, cannot actually exist without continuously confronting with an "archaic heritage" that saves that sense of "sacred" (the infinite, the entirety, the inner human nature) that is crucial and essential to the soul of a poet/phylosophe.One initial stone inscription makes clear the theme: "After well questioned our conscience, we have stated to devour you because of your disobedience». that is: we (the public opinion); you( Pasolini himself).The movie is made of two separate (but intersected) narrations; the first story, set in France in the XVIII century, tells of a young man (Jean-Pierre Léaud) who, neglecting the love offering of his promised wife (Anne Wiazemsky), refuses any social behavior and has shameful sexual intercourses with pigs... ; the second story takes place in the Middle Age in a wild, desolate, vulcanic land (actually the Mount Etna) and tells of the chief of a bunch of murderous outlaws (Pierre Clémenti) who kills his father and eats his flesh. Both these transgressive "counter-heroes" will end their life eaten by animals....The meaning of "Porcile" all relies in trasnsgression; it is committed to demonstrate the statement that "the saints, like the different, anticonformist and disobedient people, don't make the history but suffer it" (PPP), they act by and for themselves and, by their diversity, they are doomed to die as victims of their anti-conformism, of their never be lined up with the masses.Pasolini's merit stands in his will to share with his readers and his audience this suffered message, the only irrepressible way that could allow him to bear the weight of the many crusades brought against him without retreating on the easy aristocratic position of "artist disengaged from the world" (and this is a reason for which we should never cease to be grateful to him).Pasolini says; "... the film bears also a political meaning; its esplicit object is Germany (its historical situation) but the target is the ambiguous relation between the new and the old capitalism; Germany has only been chosen as it represents a borderline case. The implicit poliitical content of the movie is a desperate distrust in all historical societies, consequently the genre of it (if there is one) is: apocalyptic anarchy. Being "the sense" of my movie so atrocious and terrible I only could treat it: a) by a quasi-contemplative detachment; b) with humor».The meaning is clear: after the horrors of the recent history (Hitler's Germany) we have the social desolations of the new capitalism. Julian's starvation (Léaud) is the result of this dramatic passage and his sad end (to be eaten by the pigs) blatantly tells of the impossibility of adapting to a reality in which "everything" becomes conformism (to be a revolutionary included, how the last sequence demonstrates).Similarly touching is the end of the "cannibal" Clémenti  who, weaponed by his "apocalyptic anarchy" (and the resulting general contestation on an esistential plan), kicks, bites, beats whoever would submit him to a power that unavoidably would subjugate him. He enacts a man (or an idea), that is without pity just like those who would reduce him to a state of slavery (that he could never accept). His choice is so extreme that he prefers to move freely on the cold slopes of the Etna eating butterflies, snakes and human flesh, pushed from the instinctive pulse to live in contact with a sacred nature that has nothing of "moral".A unique movie, a deep reflection on the various ways to consider the human condition.

R.M.

[stressisakiller]

I'm Glad it's You

Steve Rogers x reader soulmate AU

As you wish part 3

Summary: A difficult conversation and a whole lot of fluff

Warnings: none, couple of curse words, mentions brainwashing

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: I finally got to this chapter!! I am so sorry it took so long life has been hectic. Hope yall like it!

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Blinking your eyes open you are surprised to see that you are still in the living room. You can't remember falling asleep last night. Then you feel the arm that's thrown over your stomach and the breath of the super soldier sleeping beside you. Right you think, Captain America is my soulmate and we fell asleep watching the princess bride. That was a sentence you never thought possible.

You carefully shuffle around for a better angle to see the man next to you. His mouth is slightly open and he had moved from mostly sitting up to lying on his side, one arm under your head the other around your waist. His hair is adorably messy, you wouldn't have thought that his hair could be anything but perfect. It is strangely endearing to see him like this, completely relaxed and looking slightly ruffled. 

Your gaze on his face seems to rouse him from his sleep, eyes slowly blinking open and taking in the world around him. He startles awake when he realizes how close you are and the fact that his arms are wrapped around you.

“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean..” He starts apologizing while trying to untangle himself from you.

You cut him off by snuggling closer to him, your voice is muffled by his chest as you speak. 

“Don’t you dare apologize, that was the best sleep I’ve had in ages, plus you’re my soulmate, I doubt cuddling on the couch all night will be the worst thing we do.” You look up to see a slight blush painting his cheeks at your words.

“I never said it was," he counters, still a little flustered, "but we only just figured this out last night and I didn’t want to assume anything.” He quickly gains his composure back, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of you in his arms. That is until Tony walks in.. 

"Please no sex on the couch, it's a bitch to clean." He states loudly causing you to laugh at his antics. You force yourself to leave the warmth that is Steve's arms and walk over to Tony who is grabbing a cup of coffee.

“I’m still mad at you, you know, for not telling me earlier.” You state matter of factly. "All this time I thought I'd end up dying alone because of one of your experiments gone wrong, and it turns out that you knew who my soulmate is for months."

He looks at you for a moment, contemplating how to respond before softening and giving you a kiss on the forehead,

 “I’m sorry little Buttercup, I should have told you earlier and not just assumed that you already knew.” You smile at this softer side of Tony, the side that he usually only allows you to see. 

You pour yourself and Steve a cup of coffee, asking him how he likes it.

"A good amount of cream and a spoonful of sugar." He states looking a little sheepish. You smile at the fact that Captain America likes a little coffee with his creamer. 

You jump slightly when you feel his arms sliding around your waist and his chin on your shoulder. 

"Thank you, doll, that looks perfect." His voice is soft in your ear. You quickly realize Steve is an affectionate man that likes to cuddle and is quickly warming up to the fact that you enjoy it too. 

You lean back into his embrace, reveling the simple fact that you could. You found your soulmate and you were already head over heels for the man. 

Your mom always loved to cook and she taught you when you were young. So you decide to make up some pancakes and french toast for breakfast, after all, it isn't everyday that you find your other half.

Tony and Steve help set the table and everything while you cook. Steve askes if he can help but Tony knows that you enjoyed taking care of the cooking by yourself. That may partially come from the fact that, for the most part, Tony is a terrible cook and you don't want him anywhere near your food.

Once the table is set and you are well on your way to cooking breakfast, Steve and Tony sit down and start to talk. Steve, always the one to go straight to business, begins to ask about the girl he brought in the day before.

“She’s still unconscious, from the look of her she's been in some terrible fights, she has multiple gun wounds and some scars that look to be from some wicked knife wounds.” Tony answers, feeling a little bit of sympathy for the unconscious girl in the medical wing.

“Well all the same, I need to find out who so is and why she shot me.” Steve answers allowing a little bit of the exasperation he is feeling to slip into his words.

“She shot you?” Your voice is laced with worry and you walk up to him, placing the food in your hand on the table, “are you ok?” Your eyes search his body to see if you could find the wound he spoke of.

“Yes doll, she shot me. I had the bullet removed and the skin is almost completely healed." His voice is gentle, reassuring, letting you know that there is nothing for you to worry about. 

"Anyway, it was like she wasn't shooting to kill. It was like she aimed for the spot that would cause the least amount of damage." His entire face is scrunched up in confusion, before he shakes his head and continues. "But I must speak with her when she wakes. That is the only way we can find out for sure.”

“Well until then, let's eat and then maybe you can come up with me to my lab so I can make you that punching bag.” You say setting the last of the food onto the table and grabbing some orange juice.

“You weren’t kidding about that?” Steve's voice is incredulous, he really didn't think that you would actually make a punching bag for him.

“Of course I was serious, I never kid.” You can’t help the smile that slips through the serious look you are putting on.

The next two days pass with you and Seve spending as much time together as possible. You are quickly able to develop a punching bag for him and even develop a couple of smaller items to help make missions easier as well. You are surprised how happy it makes you to have Steve in the lab with you. You share stories of your childhood and are surprised by the similarities, especially when it comes to your health. He tells you about Brooklyn, and his friend Bucky. About trying to get drafted and the events that lead to him becoming Captain American. You enjoy how willing he is to share his life with you and how easy it is for you to return the favor. You are in the middle of telling him the story of how you met Tony when Jarvis comes over the speaker.

“Mr. Rogers, the woman you brought in has awoken.”

 

You look at each other before rushing down the halfway to the medical wing. Steve steps in first and you quietly follow him, not wanting to get in the way. 

“Oh good you’re awake,” Steve’s voice is harder than you had ever heard before, and you watch as the girl tenses up even more. 

“Now I get to ask you all of the questions that I’ve been waiting to ask you for the past 3 days.” You watch him pull a chair up and sit, his pose meant to intimidate. 

“Who are you? Why did you shoot me? What were you doing in that town and where did you get these?” You flinch slightly at the anger in his voice, glad that it isn’t currently directed at you. 

Steve is holding up a pair of dog tags, and you wonder what they have to do with anything. The girl seems to be reeling from the questions trying to decide how to answer. You are curious as to what she will have to say. Her voice is desperate when she finally speaks.

“My name is Alison, my father is Hydra and forced me to become one of their experiments, a soldier for them. I was planning on escaping but I never could, I couldn’t leave him there.” Leave him? Leave who you wonder, her voice grows more desperate when she speaks of him, he must be important to her. You focus back in on what she is saying. 

“I couldn’t leave him, not when I could do something to save him. I couldn’t leave him there all alone.” You can tell that she is close to tears as she speaks and that there is no lie in her words.

Steve balks, “Wait a minute, you’re Hydra.” He spits the words out at her causing you to look at him in confusion. 

“Not by choice.” Her voice is steel. She holds no love for her father or this Hydra organization.

Steve finally asks the question that is bugging you. “Alright then, who is this “he” you keep mentioning?” He leans back crossing his arms, waiting for her answer.

She stares at him for a moment, as if deciding whether she can trust him or not. She seems to come to a conclusion. Taking a deep breath she answers, 

“My soulmate, the soldier, the man on the dog tags, James Buchanan Barnes.” You can't help but gasp, James was Steve’s best friend, he had told you all about him the last couple of days. Your gaze immediately turns to Steve to see his reaction, his whole body has gone stiff, his eyes narrowed, teeth clenched.

“You’re lying. I watched him fall from the train, I watched him die! There is no way in hell he is your soulmate.” His anger is rolling off of him in waves.

 You however remain strangely calm after the initial shock of her words. What she said makes sense, after all a 95 year old super soldier who was assumed dead for 70 years is your soulmate. Who's to say that James didn’t survive the fall?

 You step up to Steve and softly place your hand on his shoulder.

The girl is still frantically trying to convince him, “I’m not lying! I swear! Hydra got to him. They made him into a weapon, they brainwashed him and put him on ice when they didn’t need him so that they could control him better. I swear, I’m not lying!" Her voice is practically hysterical at the end.

 Leaning in to Steve you murmur to him, 

“Steve, you survived an airplane crash and being frozen in a glacier for decades. Maybe she is telling the truth.” Your voice is soft, placating. 

He turns to you, the hardness of his face softening at the sincerity he can see in your eyes. 

“Fine,” he says turning back to the girl, Alison, “I can’t fully trust you and I can’t let you go, so you will have to live here in the tower, under surveillance. If you want us to trust you, you will have to prove yourself trustworthy.” Steve stands after this declaration, unlocking the cuffs on her wrists. You turn to her, 

“I’ll make sure that they have a room ready for you as soon as you are well enough to leave the hospital.” You give her a soft smile, heaven knows she needs it. You pause a second, alone in the room with her, Steve had walked swiftly out the door as soon as he had undone the cuffs. 

“I just have one last question,” she nods at you when you pause, “I know you shot Steve. But you missed anything important on purpose, didn’t you?"

She just gives you a secret smile and lays back against the pillow, but it is all you need to know the type of woman she is. You can tell already that you like this girl, and that it won’t take you long to trust her. Giving her one last look you step out the door, calling for Jarvis to make sure a room is ready for the new guest. You have a Steve to find. 

 

He is exactly where you expect him to be, punching the shit out of the punching bag you made him. 

“Hey Soldier.” You call to him, as you lean against the doorway. You watch as his body slouches at the sound of your voice, today was a lot.

“She said that Bucky is her soulmate,” his eyes are red as they catch yours, “what if he is alive and I could have saved him. All this time I thought that I watched him die and now there is this chance that he is alive. What if I abandoned him?” 

His voice breaks at the question, he looks so vulnerable. You step quickly towards him, keeping your movements light. When you reach him you take the hand that is hanging limply by his side and place it on your cheek.

“Hey, love, look at me.” His eyes slide up from the floor. “There was no way you could have known and nothing you could have done to help. If he is alive, I will be right there with you and we will do whatever it takes to get him back. He is your family, and that makes him mine, and we don’t leave family behind.” His eyes are full of tears as he leans his head against yours. 

The toll of the day, makes itself apparent in the slouch of his shoulders and the weight of his forehead. You slowly pull yourself out of the embrace, grasping his hand and pulling him with you.

“Come on, we both need sleep and there is no way in hell I’m letting you sleep by yourself after the day we just had.” He nods and follows your gentle pull to your room in the tower. 

Since you have lived here the longest you have one of the nicest rooms, save Tony of course. Entering the room you have Steve sit on the edge of the bed while you start up the shower for him. You place out a couple of towels out on the vanity and step back into your room. 

Steve hasn’t moved since you walked into the bathroom. You step up to him and gently place your hand on his cheek.

“Love, I have the shower running for you, everything is set out and I placed a clean pair of sweatpants and a shirt in there for you, they should fit. Go ahead and get cleaned up and then you can come lay down.”

He stares at you listlessly for a moment before nodding and moving to do exactly as you suggested. As he showers you change into your pjs, you would take your shower in the morning. You grab the book on your bedside table and allow yourself to get lost in the words for a moment. The sound of the shower turning off brings you back to reality, as Steve steps out of the bathroom in just the sweatpants. 

Your first thought is holy shit followed quickly by the thought that whoever decided that you would be the perfect soulmate for this specimen might have been mistaken . 

Steve is having a similar train of thought, looking at you in your too large shirt and messy bun, knowing that behind your beauty is a heart of gold. He can't believe his luck.

He walks to the other side of the bed, drying off his hair and throwing the towel in the hamper. Pausing for a moment at the empty side of the bed, searching your face for any trace of doubt. Instead all he sees is you smiling at him and gesturing for him to take his place beside you.

 Settling into the bed he is surprised when you lean over and place your head in his lap.

“I’m glad it’s you.” He smiles at the soft admission, thankful that he finally found you after all these years.

“I’m glad it’s you too, doll. For the longest time I thought I would never find you, I thought you may not even exist. But I did and you are even more amazing than I could have ever hoped for." He pauses for a moment deciding whether to say what's on his mind or not. He is hesitant as he starts to speak. 

"Thank you for today, for calming me when I needed it and for being there for me. Not many people have seen me cry, but I’m glad that you have and that you aren’t disappointed in me for not staying strong.” At his words you immediately sit up and stare him straight in the eyes.

“You listen here, Steve Rogers." You poke him in the chest as you speak. " I never want you to feel like you have to keep up appearances when you are around me. You may need to be strong for others but not for me. I am here for you, no matter what, and that especially includes the moments where you can no longer be strong. You better remember that, I will never judge you for the way you feel.” Taking in your intense stare, Steve feels warmth spreading through his body. Yes , he thinks, he is very glad that it's you. 

Smiling at you and nodding Steve grasps your arms and pulls you into his chest, savoring the feeling of your head resting over his heart. He can’t remember the last time he felt as content as he does in this moment. The world may feel like it's moments away from crashing down around him, but right now all he can think about is you. 

Tagged users: @writerwrites

[lubdubsworld]

Dangerously Beautiful. (Seokjin x oc)

Kim Seokjin x OC!!

 Genre : Organized Crime AU ! 

Warnings : AU related violence . Explicit Content. Blood , Gore but not too bad. I’ll see how it goes. Extremely Dubious Consent. Abusive relationships. Unhealthy power dynamics. 

Summary : When you’re caught in a war that has no end, the only goal is to survive. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prologue

“Been a while, huh baby? You’re too fucking tight....” Seokjin grunted, fingers crushing my wrists together with a bruising grip , eyes narrowed as he smirked right into my face as he fucked into me, his hips slamming into mine with a force that made my bones rattle and I had to bite my lips to keep from crying out, tears spilling over my eyes and soaking the fabric of his tie , knotted and stuffed in my mouth. 

“But that’s good...at least it tells me you haven’t been spreading your thighs for anyone else, right baby? Not that you would dare....you know you’re mine, don’t you ? Your sexy little body....all mine, huh darling?” He leaned down and made to kiss me and i panicked. I didn’t want him to kiss me. 

I closed my eyes, turning my face away but he brought one hand up to grip my jaw, yanking my face back to stare at him. He tightened the grip on my chin and I whimpered when his thumb dug into my skin . 

“Open your fucking eyes and look at me.” He demanded. “ What are you afraid of huh? Afraid to admit how much you like this? How much you like having my cock in your cunt?”

I glared at him, hoping he could read all the hatred, all the disdain and scorn and fury I felt for him. He merely laughed shaking his head, his movements speeding up. He stared at me like I was the most precious thing in the world and yet he treated me like I was something he wanted to destroy. 

“So you’ve been hanging out with Jihoon again...imagine my surprise doll... Me .... one of the most powerful in the country, “ He punctuated each pause with a thrust that left me wincing in pain, “one of the most feared men in the country and yet....my beautiful wife...out flaunting a relationship with another man.... Don’t make me put a bullet in my own brother’s head, Renae....” He growled, thumb slipping into my mouth, alongside the tie. I closed my eyes, , exhausted as my body went limp to fight the pain.

 I hated him. Hated him . Hated him.  

“Gonna fuck you all night. Gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be sore for days.....Heard you made plans with him? Let’s see how you run around the city with my brother if you can’t fucking walk tomorrow.” he snarled and I choked on my tears.

The knock on the door made him pause and he swore. 

“What the fuck do you want?” He roared and I held my breath. 

 Please... Please leave... Just, Please.

“Wang’s here, hyung.” Jungkook’s voice carried through the thick mahogany door. “ He’s got the Lee kid. “ 

Seokjin groaned . 

He glared at the door for a second , taking deep breaths to calm himself down and I could see the anger swelling inside him. i held my breath because I did not want to be the outlet for all that rage. I stared , watching his eyes shift to mine, cold and unfeeling. 

I winced when he brought his clenched fist down on the sheet with enough force to rattle the whole bed. I exhaled shakily as his fingers came up to brush the sweat slicked bangs off my face, thumb pressing into my lips with force.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to reschedule, princess.” he grunted pulling out, and relief flooded my body so hard, i sagged. He made to move away but stopped when I shuddered.

“What? “ He snapped and I froze. 

His fingers reached for the knot at the back of my head and he yanked on it till the tie came undone. I gasped when he pulled the fabric out of my mouth , swallowing to sooth by bruised throat. 

“You look entirely too glad that I’m leaving.” He tilted his head thoughtfully and my gaze snapped to his. 

“I.. I..” My voice broke, rusty from disuse. 

“On your hands and knees.” 

I sobbed in disbelief, shaking my head and trying to move away but he gripped my waist, turning me over and lifting my hips till I was on all fours.

“Grab the fucking headboard.” He whispered , sounding unnaturally calm and I felt a chill spread all over my skin. 

With Seokjin, the calmer he was, the more reason you had to be afraid. 

“I’m gonna fuck you till I cum and then I’m supposed to go kill Lee Jae Hwan’s son. If you stay quiet , let me do my thing... I may consider letting him live. What say, princess? He’s only twenty three years old....  “ He smiled eerily, the sheer beauty of his face a complete contrast to the things he did. 

I closed my eyes. 

It wasn’t really a fucking choice was it? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You didn’t come to the cafe.” Jihoon’s voice came from the shadows , just as I left the library on the east wing. I felt my heart race, eyes darting up and down the length of the corridor, anxiety spiking as I tried to listen for footsteps or voices. It was mid afternoon and the sun spilled into the open hallways through the open windows, and there was no one in sight. 

 No one visited the East wing that often especially in the middle of the day but you could never be too careful. The servants , guards and the housekeeper were all loyal to Seokjin. And last night... Seokjin had made it clear that he was watching. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t put handsome, kind Jihoon’s life in danger for my own selfish desires. 

I ignored him, walking a bit faster to get away but he moved faster, stopping in front of me and holding both hands up to stop me. 

“Renae....what’s wrong?” He asked softly , eyes warm and worried and brimming with concern and i wanted to sob.

“We shouldn’t be doing this , “ i whispered, shaking my head. “ I can’t convince Seokjin to let me go if he thinks it is  you  I’m leaving with. Right now I hold no value to him but if you keep following me around..acting like a fool....he will keep me chained to his side.!!!��� 

Jihoon growled , eyes flashing with frustration and anger.

“He doesn’t deserve you!”

“I know.” I whispered, glancing back up and down the corridor. I was so terrified in my own home and it was so unfair. “ I know but you must remember.... he did not force me into anything. I came here of my own volition. I let him court me and marry me and I am his wife now. He owns me. Unless he lets me go, I cannot escape.” 

“Its been five years. How much longer? How much longer must I wait for you to-”

“I never asked you to wait. Your waiting is your own doing. Don’t pin that on my head, Master Kim.” I said coldly. 

He flushed at that. 

“I just.. i love you. I care for you deeply and I want to give you the life you deserve...does that count for nothing?” He asked, desperately and I looked away, laughing at his naivety. 

At twenty five, Jihoon was as naive as they came. He had been raised, sheltered. Away from the family business. He did not know how ruthless his brother was. 

How little Seokjin valued  human life? How fiercely possessive he was of the things he owned. 

How little he cared about what anyone else wanted? 

“No..matter what any of us wants,  because only the king gets to have what he wants “ I said sharply, “ and Kim Seokjin is the King. This is his empire. You and I , we are pawn in his court, only here to serve him as he asks us to....to give him what he wants...... And as long as he wants me , in his house and in his bed, I am bound to him. You’re risking your life , for something that may not even be real” 

“Don’t say that... Don’t you dare say that.. What we have is real... it  is  real.” He said softly. 

I stared at him, shaking my head. 

“After four years with your brother I no longer know what is real and what isn’t. “  

He stared at his feet.

“You love him. “ I said softly.

He didn’t deny it. 

“I love you more.” He said hoarsely.

I laughed a little.

“I’m sure you believe that. But the truth is he  will  kill you. He told me as much. I can’t have that on my head, Jihoon.” 

I turned away, clutching my book to my chest , as I walked away from the only person who had ever shown me any kindness. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She is in love with Jihoon.” Seokjin said casually, taking a sip of his whiskey, eyes trained on the sunset, lavishly beautiful from their position up on one the tallest towers in the estate. 

Yoongi hummed thoughtfully.

“not surprising considering you treat her like dirt.”

Seokjin grimaced.

“I don’t have time to indulge all her fairytale fantasies. She is my wife , she is honor bound to serve me and me alone.” He growled. 

Yoongi laughed.

“This isn’t the dark ages. You married her. You didn’t buy her love....” 

“then why am I still fucking paying for it. “ He snapped. “ Why am I still here, four years later, chained to her but nowhere closer to being what she wants. Why am I here, contemplating killing my own brother....? “

Yoongi shook his head. 

“Because you wasted the years when you should’ve been there for her. You left her alone in a sprawling mansion with no one to lean on and it was your brother who offered her the companionship she craved...” 

“My father had died!” Seokjin shouted, fists clenched in frustration. “ He died and he left me a crumbling, burning mess of an organization filled with traitors and opportunists. None of them were loyal to me , I had an attempt on my life every day of the fucking week...so forgive me if I couldn’t take time off to play house with a nineteen year old girl .......” 

“Its not too late.” Yoongi said softly. 

Seokjin sighed. 

“Yoongi...”

“ You’re not that man anymore, Seokjin.... You’ve done your part. You’ve built an empire even the Romans would envy and you are the one in control. She isn’t nineteen anymore either..... She’s twenty four. She knows the kind of life you lead, She will be more understanding. She hasn’t left yet so there’s no reason you shouldn’t try-” 

“She has been looking for divorce lawyers.” Seokjin whispered. “ She wants me to let her go.”

Yoongi stayed quiet.

Seokjin continued, voice laced with frustration. 

“I can’t do that. I... I don’t know what love is but I feel...something for her. Something that makes it impossible for me to contemplate a life without her.  So I can’t let her go but if I keep her life this, if I chain her to my side , she is only going farther away from me. i don’t.. i don’t know what to do.” he said helplessly. 

Yoongi nodded.

“I think its time to let Jungkook take over as the head of operations.” He said softly.

Seokjin’s eyes snapped to him. 

“What?! He’s not ready -”

“And he’ll never be ready if you don’t give him the chance to prove himself. He is intelligent , sharp and ruthless. He knows the in and out of this business like you do and he has stayed by your side since he was sixteen years old. He loves you like a brother and he is loyal to you in a way that I’ve never witnessed in my life. “

Seokjin sighed running a hand over his face. 

“So, what? I just hand things over to him and go sit in an armchair fiddling my thumbs?”

Yoongi laughed.

“No... you take a step back... see over everything and offer us your advice when we’re stuck. The way bosses all over the world function. The next time there’s an issue that needs to be dealt with, you trust  us  to deal with it, instead of turning up at an abandoned warehouse at two in the morning to break some poor college kid’s arm.” 

Seokjin nodded, taking another sip of his drink.

“And... Renae?”

“You tell her you want to build a relationship with her. Beg her for a chance if you have to and then you fix things  If you want her love, you earn it. “ 

“Is that how you earned your wife’s love?” Seokjin smirked. 

Yoongi grimaced.

“Let’s not talk about that ...’“ He grunted. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I walked into the dining room that evening, the last thing I expected was my husband, dressed to the nines and leaning against the fireplace, staring off into space. 

He straightened when he saw me and i froze in place, fear choking my insides. 

“Hi.” He said softly.

I blinked, confused.

“I was hoping to have dinner with you.”

He what?

I merely stared at him, completely thrown. 

“Unless you have other plans.” 

I pinched myself discreetly. Was I having a fever dream? Had I fallen asleep in the library?

“Say something.” He snapped and I got pulled out of my reverie. 

I swallowed.

“No.. I.. no i don’t have any plans.”

“Good. Come, let’s sit.” 

He pulled a chair out for me and i stared at him in confusion, walking over and carefully lowering myself into the seat. 

“Are you going to kill me?” I blurted out when he took the seat opposite to me. 

He stared at me in shock.

“What?! Of course not..why would you think that?” he demanded. 

I swallowed. 

“What are you doing here then.??? ..you don’t do this. Ever.”

“Maybe I’ve changed.” He said casually and I laughed in disbelief.

“I don’t know what sick game you’re trying to play with me but...”

“I’ve been neglecting you.” he said gently. 

I froze.

:” I’ve not been the kind of husband I could’ve been. And I think, I need to remedy that.”

He stared at me. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” I said shakily.

“I want to make this work. “

“This?” i said, slightly hysterical.

“Our marriage. I want to make it work.”

“I.. no. I don’t want that.. I want a-”

“DON’T!!!” He shouted, fists coming down on the table with a force that made me jump. “ Don’t ask me for a divorce. I’m not giving you one. not now, not ever.” 

I stared down at my knees, tears stinging. 

“I am trying to be more ....gentle. I want to mend things between us so you wouldn’t have to look for comfort or companionship from another man. “ 

“Please stop.” I felt sick. 

“You’re my wife Renae. And i want you to enjoy it. “ 

Nausea. Anger. Disbelief. Despair. 

Everything warred inside me and my head pounded. 

“I ....am not hungry anymore.” I choked out, stumbling to my feet and moving away and for the first time, Seokjin let me leave the room when I wanted to . 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Well.... Feedback is appreciated as always.  leave a reply here if you wanna be on the taglist. 

[what-the--curtains]

In a Week

Part 1/4 - A storm blows into town

(Frankie “catfish” Morales x f!reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: a drive down to a friends wedding gets complicated when you fail to head a warning.

Authors notes: Hello! Another fic cause it keeps snowing here and I’m SICK OF IT but wouldn’t mind it if I was stuck with Frankie💕. Anyways hope you enjoy as always comments are welcome but be nice!

TW: mentions of dead sibling (war related), swearing, mentions of a toxic relationship (based off of personal experience)

Tagged list: @agingerindenial

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~There was nothing worse than a February wedding, well at least one that took place in the frigid northern temperatures you were currently residing in. So you were eternally grateful that your best friend Stella had chosen to have hers down in sunny south Carolina where she had just accepted her first permanent hospital position. She was marrying her first love, a fact you’d usually cringe at but, they were extremely cute together. Stella had met Genevieve through her brothers Will and Benny, well more specifically Will, who had drunkenly run his head through a window one night. This incident resulted in two things, first a nickname that would stick with Will for the rest of his life and a late night call to Stella asking her to come down to the hospital to pick him up. The boys had put Stella down as their emergency contact in an effort to keep their antics hidden from their parents who they knew would only worry. The nurse patching up her idiot brother was none other than Genevieve who was working through her university's clinical course, and the rest? Well, the rest was history

You’d met Genevieve, as well as Will and Benny, sporadically throughout the 8 years you had roomed with Stella, first during your undergraduate degree at Boston University and then again at Stanford while attending medical school. You’d choses Stella as a roommate without much thought, but after just a few weeks together you were inseparable up until the day that you were assigned to your residency. You were slightly jealous when you found out that she would be spending the next four years in the warm embrace of Carolina (and Gen) while you would be living alone throughout the freezing Chicago winters. The pagne of jealousy didn’t last long though, Chicago med was your first choice after all. So here you were, in the last year of residency and in the middle of a brutal -20 degree winter, preparing to drive the 13 hours down to watch Stella get married. You’d considered flying but you knew how fickle airplanes could be in the winter and the last thing you wanted was a delayed flight because a door had frozen shut. Your friends had tried to convince you that driving down alone was far too dangerous a venture and none were more concerned than Santiago Garcia.

You’d known Santiago your whole life. Him being your brother's best friend resulted in him spending a lot of, some may argue too much, time at your house throughout both your childhoods. Your brother, Parker, was 8 years your senior, an age gap that often resulted in an argument over which one of you was the accident. An argument which usually ended with an agreement that in all likelihood you both were. Every summer from before you were born to the time they left for the military the two boys were a constant presence in your life. Hell, even after he left you’d watched him grow as he passed through your household over Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks. One thing was for sure, if Parker was there Satiago Garcia wasn't far behind. He was also there the day you received the news that your brother had gone MIA and he was by your side at the funeral, as you watched the commanding officer hand your mother the flag your brother had died for. After the funeral, life continued to move on around you as did everyone else. You always found it funny how quickly you were supposed to recover from loss, apparently a week was long enough to get over it. At least according to the university and your employers who had started calling with empty condolences that quickly led to the real reason they were calling. Always wanting to know when you’d be coming back. After your brother's passing, Santiago took over his role of big brother to you. He read over your med school applications, scared off potential boyfriends and got all the embarrassing video footage of you at your graduations. He was a permanent fixture in your life, one you hoped you’d never lose. Even now as he continued to blow up your phone in an attempt to sway you from driving up alone, you were thankful for him. Over the past 5 days he sent you lengthy lectures in the form of voice messages and a slew of articles detailing the statistics of winter related accidents. His name pops up on your screen as does a picture you’d taken one night after he'd passed out drunk and you’d stuffed cheetos up his nostrils, an act he has yet to forgive you for. You contemplate ignoring the call, but knowing you were about to go radio silent for the next 8 hours you decide to pick it up.

"Hey Santi what’s up?" you ask, as you half heartedly spread cream cheese onto a poorly toasted bagel.

"Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?” Even over the phone you could hear the layers of charm he was currently plastering on.

"What do you want?" you say, tossing the knife into the sink.

"Hey! Who says..." he starts, but you don't let him finish.

"Santi I've known you long enough to know your ‘please I need something’ tone by heart" you laugh.

"Okay well I still value you, but ya I absolutely need a favour" Santiago admits.

"Shoot." you say taking a bite of the bagel.

"I need you to pick up a friend of mine, his flight got cancelled. He's in Chicago at the moment, can you drive him down to the wedding?"

"Ughhh are you kidding me Santi? I’m just about to leave" you say through a half chewed mouthful.

"Please! He’s a great guy, Gen wants him at the wedding, he was in basic with us, so a frequent visitor to the hospital. He's usually pretty quiet so you won’t have to spend that much time making small talk, which I know you hate." He pleaded. For anyone else a last minute change like this would have gotten a laugh, and nothing more, but this was Garcia, and you knew he’d do anything for you, so you’d do this for him.

“Fine” you begrudgingly agree “text me his number, I'm heading out in 40 minutes so he'll have to wait at the airport for a bit" you say, finishing your breakfast.

"You’re a godsend! Seriously, what would I do without you?" He chuckles.

"Nothing good i'm sure, besides I figure I probably owe you like, 1000 favours after you

know....'' the phone goes quiet. Five years later and it still stung like it was yesterday, for you both. He was your family, but he was Santiago’s best friend, you knew the loss was equally as devastating for him. You also knew he'd been having a particularly hard time recently, after what he termed a mission gone wrong a few years back. Every time you'd ask about it he’d shut you down harshly refusing to share any details with you.

"You don’t owe me anything. We're family. Thank you for driving him. I owe you a drink at the wedding!" He responds, back to his chipper self. If it wasn’t for the silence he may just have convinced you that he really was doing fine. You toss the phone on the counter and rub your temples mentally rearranging your entire itinerary for the day. You'd already rifled through the gym bag that was constraining way more clothes than you’d need for the week. Everything you needed was there from bathing suits to your wedding outfit to the special lingerie you’d packed in case you ran into an old flame. If by in case you meant, for when you ran into him. You don’t know how but he’d gotten invited to the wedding reception. Stella hated the guy, so it must have been through Genevieve who likely would have felt bad excluding him, even if he was only a friend of a friend.

You’d met Jonathan in your undergrad and you had been together throughout various points in your life, though never in any official sense. He’d made that evidently clear to you at any opportunity he got. He kept you on a short leash, a retainer if you will. Only coming to you between relationships with women that he deemed worthy enough to be his girlfriends. You knew it was toxic, and your friends constant reminders of how unhealthy it was didn’t fall on deaf ears. The way he would use you and lose you always ended with you being an unstable and emotional wreck, only solidifying his claims of you being crazy. You hated it, the way he made you feel so small, but he held this strange power over you. A power not even you could explain. His redeeming qualities could only be found in the bedroom, he was the best you’d ever had, so you forgave his shitty personality. Always gravitating back towards him, restarting the cycle. You knew what it meant to do the same activity over and over expecting different results, but this was different. At least that's what you told yourself, as you’d traced your hands over the lingeries lace that morning, knowing it was bought for a man who would never appreciate it.

Brushing all thought of him aside for the time being you grab the duffle off the floor and sling it over your shoulder. Walking out into the cold February air you watch as your breath transforms into a small cloud in front. Your chest hurts and nose hairs freeze as you inhale, tossing your bag into the back seat before leaning into the car and starting it up. The engine sputters for a moment before breaking out into a loud rumble, maybe it was a good thing someone else would be in the car with you after all. You jog back inside to your townhouse and grab the cooler where you’d stored the snacks and sandwiches you’d prepared for the road, now realizing it likely wouldn’t be enough to feed two people. Tossing on your winter jacket you lock the door behind you and slide your sunglasses down over your eyes shielding them from the afternoon sun as you make your way into your car.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You pull up to the departure gate still cursing at the idiot who had almost smashed into you while they were going the wrong way down a one way street. You hated driving in the city and you couldn’t wait to get out on the open road, even if it was going to be with a total stranger. You find yourself second guessing your decision to drive down state with someone you’d never met. In all reality, even if Santi was vouching for him, he could be a serial killer, plenty of people had nice things to say about Ted Bundy before he got caught.

You shake off the nervous feeling taking over your body, deciding to put your faith in your friends judgment, at least for now. Worse comes to worse you had a pocket knife stowed within reach. As long as he didn’t complain about any playlists or podcasts and understood your need for complete silence from time to time, you’d get on just fine. Besides it was only a 13 hour drive, and you could put up with anything for 13 hours.

You open up your phone and pull up the conversation you and Santiago had been having, scrolling up until you see the contact he’d sent you which read “ Catfish”. You click on it hoping to get the guys real name as a result but no luck, you should have asked Garcia for more information about this “Catfish” guy. You click on the number opting to call, not wanting to waste time wondering if he’d gotten the text you’d sent. The phone rings a few times before you hear someone pick up.

"Catfish?" you say, less confident in yourself than you had been dialing.

"In the flesh, who's this?" the deep voice responds.

"Your ride, Santiago’s friend" you offer, hoping that this wasn't some elaborate prank.

"Oh shit ya, Pope told me you’d be later than you said. I'm still downstairs" he says.

"Of course he did the little shit" you mutter, causing Catfish to laugh "Im outside now, departures second floor"

“I'll be out in a second" he says, hanging up the phone before you can say anything else.

You plug your phone back into the aux setting it back to the playlist you’d made last night during another bout of insomnia. You're checking your email to see if anything came up from the hospital when a tap at the window causes you to jump. As you look over you see the man who must be “Catfish” gently tapping on the glass. You unlock the door, popping the trunk as you slide out the driver's seat.

“You can put your bags back here. Fuck!" you exclaim when you trunk won’t open, likely having frozen shut again.

"Here" he says dropping his bag on the salted pavement and heaving up on the trunk freeing it from its icy constraints with a relative ease causing him to smile down at you.

"I loosened it" you say defensively, as he tosses his bag in the back still grinning when he

slams the trunk shut.

"Fransico Morales, though most people just call me Frankie" he says as you sit back down in the driver seat rubbing your hands together to warm them and applying some chapstick.

"Y/N, nice to meet you Frankie, seat warmers are here, use as your leisure. There are snacks in the back, but no touching the phone.” you rattle off.

“Aye aye captain” he responds, saluting you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Santiago was right, Frankie was quiet. He offered you little in conversation or any noise at all really. You’d only heard him laugh maybe twice, once while listening to a podcast episode and then again when Britney Spears made her appearance on your soundtrack. "What? She’s America's sweetheart" you say trying to sound offended, but smiling when you notice his lopsided grin. You’d attempted to open up a dialogue with him a few times, but his one worded responses told you all you needed to know, so you stopped forcing it. It wasn’t a hostile environment, it was more of a comfortable silence one that you usually only found in people you had known for years. The silence gave you an opportunity to study the man’s features, glancing away from the road every now and then to slowly piece together his profile. You had pegged him as attractive the second his face had appeared in your passenger window, but it wasn't until now that the details that made him so could be seen; relatively tall, tanned skin, soft curls, deep brown eyes. Glancing over again you notice a concerned look spread across his face.

"What?" you ask, nervous that you’d creeped him out with your excessive, and not so subtle staring.

"Storms coming our way" he says, nodding up at the darkening sky.

"We’re not supposed to get snow for another week, I checked” you reassure.

"Things change" he says

" Sky’s clear, so we don’t stop for another 3 hours" you say, definitively.

" Your funeral, well mine as well I guess" he chuckles, earning him an icy glare from you.

“It's nothing, trust me” you affirm, confident in your ability to read a weather app.

" No one likes a know-it-all" he mutters still grinning.

"Could you help me with something" you ask smiling sweetly

"Sure" he responds, eager to help.

"Pull up the map and show me when I asked for your opinion"

"Eyes on the road” he says, causing your grip to tighten around the wheel.

Well crow wasn’t your favourite food to eat, but here you were eating it. Turns out Frankie was right. A storm was heading your way and it hit hard and fast. You’d managed to make it to a hotel off the freeway just as it came into full effect. What had started as a very pleasant road trip had quickly soured when you refused to apologize for not heading his warning. This paired with the 6 hours you had already driven had left you both irritable so much so that Frankie was now refusing to be any use in respect to figuring out what your next move was going to be.

"Hi" you say to the equally tired looking receptionist. Apparently, every other person travelling through Illinois had also missed the memo about the storm and were now all stuck at the same hotel.

"Hi, so sorry for the wait" she says, forcing a smile in a way that you recognized from your retail days.

"No need to apologize! What are the odds you have any rooms available?" you ask rubbing your eyes in an attempt to keep them open.

"Let me check, we have one... suite left on the... fourth floor” she says after a few moments of typing away into the computer.

"Perfect we’ll take it." you say, tapping your credit card to the machine. You walk back over to Frankie who was sitting with the bags and hand him a room key. He exhales deeply, not looking up from his phone as he takes it from you.

"There was only one room left so we’ll have to share" you say.

"Fine," he says, standing up, grabbing his bag and heading over to the elevator not bothering to wait for you. You watch as the elevator doors open and close behind him. Sure maybe it was your fault that you were stuck in this situation, but that was pretty rude. You push your way into the room after struggling with the key for a moment. Frankie must have been eager to get to sleep, or at least eager to not converse with you as he’d wasted no time in unpacking his bag and getting ready for bed. Your eyes move from the clothes on the floor, to the suit hung up in the closet, to the closed bathroom door. You hear the toilet flush and watch the door open as you drop your bag down onto the living room floor, grabbing the toiletries out of your bag's side pocket. You were far too tired to wrestle down to your pyjamas so you opted to stay in the leggings and sports bra you’d been wearing all day. Yes it was gross, but you couldn't be bothered to change at this point. Your eyes follow Frankie as he exits the bathroom in a green cotton t-shirt and a pair of plaid boxer shorts. You continue to watch as he plugs his phone in and shifts beneath the covers. Guess you were on the floor then. The couch was far too small, and you really weren't trying to break your neck sleeping on its arm rest.

"Pass me a pillow" you huff, as you grab a glass from the nightstand, turning back around to fill it up with water from the sink.

Why?" he asks, watching you take a sip from the overfilled cup.

"So I can sleep on the floor." you state, as if it was obvious.

“No, I’ll do that, you can have the bed" he says shifting up and pushing the blankets off himself. He hadn’t realized you were so averse to sharing a bed with him, but you had just met so he guessed it was fair enough.

"I’m not the one with the bad back old man" you state, the words sounding a lot harsher than you’d intended, but you were younger and thus more likely to recover.

"Fair point, but you’re not sleeping on the floor. Santi wouldn’t allow it. We can put up a pillow barrier between us if that would make you feel more comfortable" he offers, any hostility you had felt from him earlier now turned to tenderness. In all honesty, you hadn’t realized that sharing the bed was an option.

"I need two to sleep with so no point in making a barrier" you say, begrudgingly placing the glass back down on the nightstand "Shift" you say, fanning your hand.

"No" he says looking you dead in the eye "I got here first" he’s grinning slightly, further indicating he’d gotten over his anger from earlier. You could have just walked around to the other side, but for some unknown reason you don’t. Instead, you swing your leg over him pushing yourself up onto the bed, straddling him for the briefest moment before rolling over to the other side.

"Couldn’t have just walked around?" he chuckles

"Couldn’t have just shifted over?" you parrot back, moving onto your back, closing your eyes and dozing off.

[mistaeq]

Saturday, 26th December

Romeo!Don Giovanna x Juliet!Reader: The Masque

TW // mafia is mentioned, please don't take it lightly. Mista x Trish is implied, but I've aged her up.

Today I offer you this, which I'm proud of, and it doesn't happen often. So I hope you all enjoy this.

A darker point of view on Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Naples, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life

Whose misadventured piteous overthrows

Do with their death bury their ancient strife.

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,

Is now the two hours' traffic of my fic;

The which if you with patient eyes attend,

What here shall miss, my toil shall strive to mend.

"I will be honest to thee, if thou do not mind me saying so, Don Giovanna. But I am still struggling to understand why thou wanted to show up to the event." the golden haired signore slightly chuckled, after his councilor's words, who was now helping him with fixing the bow which perfectly fit his elegant braid. He never gave up on styling his hair the same way, and now that he was showing up to an event out of pure spite, he was not going to change that.

"It is not that I wanted it, my dear Guido." the Don said, fixing his cream colored jacket's sleeves, an amused grin animating his relaxed features. "They don't expect me to show up at all, all they did was inviting me, thinking I would have chosen to not to go. And make fun of thy lord's attitude. It would be rude of mine, to not to let them know how good I am doing, despite their several attempts to push me down."

"Indeed, signore. Thy reasonment sounds just right." the young councilor Guido Mista agreed with the Don, crouching to give a better look at the lord's image in the mirror and nodding in satisfaction when he made sure the bow was symmetrical as he wanted. "In addition to this, I am pleased to inform thee about my choice of asking Lord Diavolo's daughter's hand in marriage, as soon as she will turn eighteen. Lady Trish." Giorno's grin, if possibly, widened. His councilor marrying his worst enemy's daughter? Sounded just perfect, since she was gonna move in their mansion. By her own choice. She hated her father, and had agreed to the marriage. Great to hear.

"Thou spoke music to my ears, Guido. And I thank thee for thou fixed my bow properly." the golden haired Don stood up, and started walking towards the door, eyeing at his councilor's outfit. "Get ready, we are going." Believe me, he was about to touch the door handle, when a rough voice, who always allowed itself to speak too much, interrupted his actions.

"What about thy heart, signore? No love story nor marriage for thee?" The gunslinger dared to say, perfectly knowing his Don thought he had to keep on being focused on his own affairs, rather than have love related ones. He just liked to drop the question every now and then, but started being genuinely worried. Guido know how romantic Don Giovanna could get, and the thought of him getting old without getting married, weirded him out. At first, he used to think Giorno needed time to get used to his role as a boss in the neapolitan mafia - the biggest reason of his strife against Diavolo -, but now, years had passed, and it was getting worse.

"Tender is the way love might make this man change. Thy lord is not ready to face such a thing. Unless it is really worth a try." Don Giovanna's hand lingered around the doorknob, caressing it in an attempt to examinate a thin layer of dust. "Do me the favor to tell Ghirga that cleaning up every little thing, even the most insignificant one, is definitely not optional." the blonde said, finally tightening his grip on the door handle and exiting the room. Left in the whistling silence of the place, the councilor proceeded to get ready for the event himself. He knew his signore didn't like to make someone wait.

As soon as he came in the hall, everyone turned around him and his councilor, Guido Mista, who soon blended into the crowd, for his betrothed Trish Una gripped on his arm and pulled him somewhere else. "Bothering thy councilor is not my intention, Don Giovanna. I am asking for thy permission, to take him for a while." What else could the blonde man even answer, if not agreeing with it happening. Without any doubt, he was left alone so fast, he had now nobody to cover him, as his golden hair didn't blend at all into the crowd.

A pleasant smell of cooked food and wooden furniture penetrated the Don's nose, as he gripped a glass of wine from the servant who was walking around with a tray holding some. The man shook the crystal glass a little, before he smelled the alcoholic liquid, and took a sip from it. Then, he quietly snorted. "And this would be wine. I consider myself lucky, being these people's foe. This truly doth be terrible."

Giorno mentally commented almost everything in the hall, judging the furniture... "Outdated.", the people... "Seeing them stare at me pleases me. If they are willing to criticize my appearance and attitude, I will be even more pleased.", and the service as well. "These servants are just what Lord Diavolo likes. Being so useless, it pains me." he took the last sip from his crystal glass of wine. "Let me see how much will it take for some servant to notice."

No wonder, the signore was really full of himself, and he was right, for all the people's voices murmuring when he passed by, were coming from pure envy. Diavolo staring at him, from the top of a huge flight of stairs. Don Giovanna had not noticed him, for he didn't consider necessary the action of looking above his own head. Giorno knew he was the one to be already at the top. If so, it were others who had too look up to him. He had learnt he had to stand up to ferocious beasts too, and he managed, in his life, to dominate the worst out of all the beasts. Humanity.

Plus, he was extremely focused on what was happening in front of himself, for he could see, in the middle of the hall, several couples dancing. No need to specify, that was the place where Lady Trish had brought the councilor Mista. Don Giovanna couldn't help but slightly smirk. That man had always been so loyal to him, and he was genuinely proud of him for he had found a wife and helped his affairs at the same time. He watched at the curly, dark haired councilor moving his betrother around with grace, until they accidentally bumped into another couple who was dancing beside them. The Don was now elegantly chuckling, he was amused, he was...

...Love-struck. The couple who Mista and Una had bumped into, consisted in a young lord and a beautiful creature who probably came from heavens above. The angel apologized to the pink haired Lady with a laughter, and bowed to Guido in apology. The angel... were you. Diavolo's niece/nephew had made the impenetrable heart of Don Giovanna fall in love. Could he talk about love? He wanted to. All in a matter of two seconds, the golden haired man imagined you dressed up for a luxurious wedding. What he did not know, was that there would have also been Diavolo in the crowd, watching his archenemy marry you. He had no idea you were related to him. As the same servant he had taken a glass from before passed by, Giorno gripped her arm, and pulled her closer.

"What angel is that, which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?" he frantically asked, his tone was serious and imposing, as if he was ready to squeeze the information out of the poor servant. But she knew nothing about you, it was not like she was a family servant. She was just there to serve for the event. "I know not, sir", the poor waitress said, holding the tray on her chest and trying to go back into the kitchen. "I apologize. Uh. More wine?" The girl also asked, as Don Giovanna remembered he had ran out of wine. But he shook his head and left the empty glass in the servant's hand, moving towards you to have a better look, not noticing he was right under the flight of stairs where Diavolo and a follower of his were standing. Then, he started to talk to himself, contemplating you.

"O, they doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems they hangs upon the cheek of night." he moved his hands together, in a similar motion as one of a prayer. "Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear. Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, as yonder angel o'er their fellows shows." Don Giovanna's fingers intertwined with each other as he spoke. "The measure done, I'll watch their place of stand, and, touching theirs, make blessed my rude hand." with his intense gaze, Giorno's left hand moved to slide on the side of his body, as the right hand touched his chest. "Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."

He made the mistake to melt right under the sight of Diavolo, who smirked in seeing him so vulnerable for such a thing. Nobody was there to tell him that falling in love with you would have been his end. The pink haired lord was not irritated, for even if Giorno had tried to humiliate him, the golden haired boss was humiliating himself now, over a fleeting love. The man on the stairs wouldn't even have needed to do anything. Not that he wanted it in the first place. He would have behaved, to show his superiority off.

But Diavolo's loyal servant, lord Cioccolata, had other ideas. "This, by his voice, should be Giovanna. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave come hither, cover'd with an antic face, to fleer and scorn at our solemnity?" the green haired man bent over the banister to take a better look to the supercilious Giorno, who, again, had no clue of what was right above him. "Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, to strike him dead, I hold it not a sin." Cioccolata murmured, but felt his arm get gripped from his boss.

"Why, how now, kinsman. Wherefore storm you so?" the servant's jaw dropped.

"Signore, this is literally Don Giovanna, our foe, a villain that is hither come in spite, to scorn at our solemnity this night." as the same servant who Giorno had talked to approached Diavolo and offered him a glass of wine, the pink haired boss smelled it and took a little sip from it. Then, grinned. He was not in the mood for violence. For now. So he had to keep Cioccolata back from every kind of bad decision. It wasn't easy, to keep such a man from murder. Out of pure honesty.

"Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, Cioccolata. He bears him like a portly gentleman, and, to say truth, Naples brags of him to be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth." Diavolo explained. It would not have been good if something happened to that man in his mansion. He was part of Naples' pride. "I would not for the wealth of all the town, here in my house do him disparagement: therefore be patient, take no note of him. It is my will, the which if thou respect, show a fair presence and put off these frowns, and ill-beseeming semblance for a feast." was he asking his most violent servant to have... patience over his archenemy? Yes, he was, and Cioccolata was speechless.

"It fits, when such a villain is a guest. I'll not endure him." the angered man replied, trying once again to get his signore to reasonate and realize they could get rid of him so easily if they wished so. The councilor Mista was even too distracted by Diavolo's daughter to keep an eye on his boss. It could have been so simple, for Cioccolata, to...

"Am I the master here, or you? You'll not endure him? God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! You'll be the man!" the pink haired man slightly raised his voice - not enough for Giorno to hear - and made himself clear, so that if the green haired made any possible mess during his feast, he would have had to take his own responsibility.

"I will withdraw, then." the servant gave up on his ideas, but rudely. His one almost felt like a poisonous gaze. "But this intrusion shall now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall." he said, indirectly threatening an oblivious Giorno. Talking about him, during their conversation between the two men on the stairs, he turned unnoticed until Cioccolata left. When Diavolo looked down on him again, the golden haired boss was now in the middle of a crowded mess of people who was dancing, people who was eating and conversing. He was with you. Finally.

Giorno Giovanna approached you in a way you couldn't help but notice. He looked like the sun, a golden being, it caught your heart as well. Neverending seconds of staring at each other followed, until... "If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this." he gently took your hand in his. It felt warm. "My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." as the man said so, he leaned in to leave a soft kiss on the back of your hand. His sweet scent overwhelming you as he moved. How gentle.

"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this." you withdrew your hand and slightly chuckled, reassuring him it was fine. Someway, the two of you found yourself moving away from the crowd. In a more intimate spot. Diavolo couldn't even find you. "For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch..." your sweet voice was soothing the man more than you would realize. "...and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

Giorno bit his lip in anticipation, and gently exhaled. "Have not saints lips... and holy palmers too?" he asked, leaning down right towards your soft mouth, before you moved aside and, chuckling like an angel playing in a field, avoided the gentleman's kiss, jokingly scolding his mind with a mischievous smile.

"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer." You provoked him. Where had Giorno Giovanna's temperance gone? He had swore to his councilor, just before leaving his house, that he wouldn't have let love blind his senses. And there he was. Plus, you did not know each other. You did not know who you were. You did not know you should have not been there together. Due to this, he gladly accepted your game, and chuckled back. God, he was so ethereal and he did not even realize it.

"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do." he begged, looking almost afraid of touching you, or your waist, or your own hand. How can someone fall so deep in love after having just met someone? Does love at first sight even exist? "They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." Don Giovanna's tone sounded impatient.

But you had accepted to play his game, and now you would have played it until the very end. You smirked, staring at the blonde man's trembling lips. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake." you said, implying the fact that you wouldn't have made the first step. It made sense, though. It was him, who had compared you to a saint first. Little did you know, you were playing with fire, for that man you felt love at first sight for, was your uncle's archenemy.

Giorno grinned, and hid you more against the wall, as your hands automatically wrapped around his figure. Though you didn't move in for a kiss. Until... "Then move not... while my prayer's effect I take.", said the man, grazing with his lips against yours, and finally pressing. You felt all your senses relieve and relax, as your hands grasped on the fabric of the Don's jacket. You didn't like your uncle's crimes. You wouldn't have liked Giorno's ones too. But you had no clue. And he had no clue you were Diavolo's niece/nephew. And you were in love.

His sugary sweet lips clicked against yours a last, neverending time, when he pulled back and thought staring right in your eyes was a good idea. "Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged." Don Giovanna whispered, breathing hard against your giggling mouth. He hadn't stopped playing, you noticed with a pleasant feeling.

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took...?" you slyly asked him, clearly wanting the kiss to continue, clearly wanting more, having no idea of how wrong it was. Having no idea of how dangerous is was. Though his eyes widened, and got even closer, so close to giving you what you wanted for the second time. You felt yourself growing so enamored.

"Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!" he paused for a second, before he bit his own lower lip. "Give me my sin again." Giorno whispered, grabbing your waist with his hand and kissing you, almost desperately, but romantically, against the wall. He had been so focused on anything else, that he had forgotten the true flavor of love, and living it all again after he had swore he wouldn't have done it, was way too intense. Way too beautiful. Better than the art he'd been collecting the latest years.

When he pulled back, you instictively smiled and raised an eyebrow, silently chuckling a little. "You kiss by the book..." you told him, caressing his neck gently and carefully. If it were for him and you, that beautiful moment could go on for hours, days, even an eternity. But beautiful things never last. The two of you almost had a heart attack, when the arm of a blonde, long haired man grabbed your right wrist, ripping your dream in half.

"Madam/sir, your uncle craves a word with you." he almost managed to get you away from Giorno, when the Don grabbed your left wrist, and pulled you towards him, not letting the man, Tiziano to be precise, bring you away.

"What's their uncle?"

At that question, the almond eyed man smirked, as if he was ready to drop a heavy bomb on the snooty Don. "Marry, bachelor, their uncle is the lord of the house, and a good man, wise and virtuous. I nursed his niece/nephew, that you talk'd withal." as if Tiziano had read into Don Giovanna's mind, he added something else, just for the sake of making it even heavier. "I tell you, he that can lay hold of them, shall have the chinks."

Then the blonde haired Don followed the two of you around the hall, until he saw you get pulled upstairs by Tiziano, and connected his brains to what he saw. Diavolo, waiting for you upstairs, and Tiziano holding your arm so that you wouldn't have been able to run away. Four painful words formed on Giorno's whispering lips. "Are they an enemy...?" he asked to himself, looking at you up there, until Trish didn't appear as well behind you.

Trish wasn't happy to be there, she loved Guido Mista, but apparently Diavolo had called all his family back. And your presence there, only confirmed his fear. You were about to step back towards him and say something, but Tiziano caught your shoulder just in time, and pulled you close enough to whisper you the words you would have never wanted to hear. "His name is Giorno." he added more details. "Giorno Giovanna. The only appearance you should match to your great enemy."

You stood there. Empty. You and your forbidden lover had understood what was going on. And both your hearts clenched. And both your hearts suffered. How could love be so beautiful yet so evil, to make a man live and die on the same evening. How...

We all know how this story ends, we know about the pain, we know about the sorrow. But what if this time it made sense. One of the lovers is dirty with criminal blood, running through his veins, and you accept him, in the good and in the bad. Is this right...?

Or is death the punishment, for the sin that in reality your lips hadn't purged at all?

[caiuscassiuss]

Birched⎮D. Sicheng (M) P.1

Description: There was something that lurked beneath that pretty boy smile of Dong Sicheng— something dark, something dangerous… something you knew you would get pulled into once you got too curious. (Or, your ill-tempered coworker turns out to be your dominant.)

Sicheng♡Female! Reader

Genre: BDSM/ enemies to lovers winwin! smut | romance | angst WC: 11k+ Warnings: graphic smut (dom! sicheng + sub! reader, BDSM (Bondage, Dominance, Submission, and Masochism) paddling, fellatio, fingering), taboo relationship, blatant sexism, TW: mentions of an abusive relationship

(A/N: Thank you to my amazing beta @won-markiepooh-woo​ for helping me. This story wouldn’t have been possible without you!!!!

Also, this story contains heavy and graphic BDSM with violent contact play and uncomfortable dialogue. You might not like Sicheng very much here. 18+ please.)

Red, red light highlighted the contours of the woman’s back, and threw the rest of the room into dark, dark shadows.

Slap.

A long, drawn-out, strained moan resounded,.

A sinful smile crawled up the tall, slender man’s face as he looked down at her.

January 5th, 2020 

Raesung, Lee

Re: Important Office Notification — 

To: y/nl/n@sinochen.com, dongsicheng@sinochen.com, wangfeihong@sinochen.com… view 389 more

To all whom it may concern,

It is my greatest displeasure to be announcing my resignation and consequent retirement from Sinochen Enterprises. I had been the Head of the Sales Department in this great company for over 10 years and it has been a pleasurable experience to work with all of 500 you, in order to better our enterprise.

Words cannot express how grateful I am to all of you, from the interns to my managers, for working hard and honestly over all these years. We experienced a 468% sales increase over my tenure, and it couldn’t have been possible without any of you.

My resignation will be announced tomorrow at noon, but I thought it would be better to get a heads up from myself. In the meantime, until a new successor is appointed, my vice president, Xiao Daiyu, will step in and act in my place. A new email regarding possible successors will soon circulate shortly, and I advise all of you to keep an eye out for it. 

Once again, I thank all of you deeply for these wonderful 10 years at Sinochen Enterprises, and I wish the utmost success for this company and all of you individually.

Regards,

Raesung Lee

Department Head of Salesforce at Sinochen Enterprises

Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

Office 1876, 18th floor

Phone: +852 XXXX XXXX ext. 1876

On one side of the island, a woman finished reading her work email. She remained calm, scrolled through her other emails, and shut down her laptop after seeing no such material.

She faced her high rise window, contemplating the Hong Kong skyline.

The email was written in the usual arrogant tone that her Korean boss took. Not a surprise, seeing as she worked with him nearly every day as the South Asia Region Sales Manager. She sighed, kicking up her feet on the coffee table.

A new successor? Y/N L/N hoped and prayed that it would be her.

On the other side of the island, a man finished reading his work email. He remained calm, scrolled through his other emails, and shut down his laptop after seeing no such material.

He faced his high rise window, contemplating the Hong Kong skyline.

Of course, the man was anticipating this as his East Asia Regional Sales Manager. The old coot was due for his retirement, so he could spend time with his many mistresses. He sighed and kicked up his feet on the coffee table.

A new successor? Dong Sicheng knew it like the sky was blue that it would be him.

January 6th, 2020 

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong 

7 AM HKT

It was a rather chilly morning, as your assistant knocked softly on the oak door. You finished putting your light coat on the stand. As you hummed for her to come in, she slowly creaked open the door.

She smiled brightly at you. Genuine, to boot. “Morning, Miss L/N. Do you want any pastries, or breakfast goods, to go along with your usual macchiato?”

You considered BeiBei a good secretary—prompt, meticulous, and all what an assistant should be. Sociable, too. However, even with all her amiable requests for lunch or coffee, you couldn’t consider her as a good friend. After all, there was to be a balance of power to be maintained.

“Yes, that would be great.”

Like everything else in your life.

Work went on as usual in the office—you dealt with the clients, you dealt with HR, you dealt with this and that.

BeiBei knocked softly at the door. She peeked in through the door with her sunglasses perched atop her brunette locks and a scarf around her neck.

“Miss L/N? They asked all of the sales department to meet in Ballroom D for an announcement.”

It was noon already? Christ. “Alright, let me get my things and I’ll go along with you.”

You grabbed your cell phone and Dior sunglasses, then quickly headed out with BeiBei. You lagged behind her slightly as she socialized with her other coworkers, laughing uproariously at some inside joke between them.

You wondered what it was like to be able to make real bonds in the office.

Out of your periphery, a large group coming from the other side of the floor was bustling their way through. In the midst, you could see the blonde head of Dong Sicheng, looking down at his friends as if they were his royal subjects.

Psh, you could never see what was the fuss around this boy. To be fair, objectively, he was good-looking... in that pretty boy kind of way. All of his older, middle-aged coworkers looked like pigs next to his lean, pale figure. Yet, all of the sales department, and probably half of the office, thought he was the next best thing since the vibrator.

You thought he seemed too nice, too friendly to be true. Sicheng had the innocent flower boy looks, but you could see the dark edge he kept from everyone. You could see how his smiles never reached his eyes, how his words were always friendly but strained. Dong Sicheng was disingenuous as hell, and it bothered you, but why waste energy over such a matter?

You’d rather focus on other, more productive things.

Namely, the Sales Head promotion.

Your South Asia and his East Asia division converged in the middle of the lobby, forming an even more boisterous crowd. Everyone slowly piled into the elevators to go down.

You were reaching the chokehold of the crowd, but unfortunately you were a bit on the shorter side. It was hard to see where you were going in this crowd, and you wouldn’t dare raise yourself up on your tippy toes, like some fresh intern.

“Ladies first.”

You looked up to see Dong Sicheng smiling at you brightly—his arm extended to herd you into the crowded elevator. You couldn’t help but see a mocking tinge to the curl of his lips.

“Thank you,” you said.

After you had stepped into the elevator, he followed immediately afterwards. You had no choice but to be eye level with Sicheng’s chest. You two were so close that you could smell his cologne, and it briefly think of his cologne all around you—

No. Never. No. No. No. No. No. Nope. 

Dong Sicheng would not tempt you. 

January 6th, 2020 

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong 

9 AM HKT

The department filed out of the ballroom, murmuring amongst themselves about the new development.

“Oh my god, we all know Xiao Daiyu will never be promoted. Yeah, she may be vice president, but Daiyu can’t do shit.”

“Well, who do you think will be promoted?”

“Certainly not you, Lina.”

“Hey, I—”

A new voice enters. “I, for one, think Y/N should be promoted. She’s smart, driven, and you actually get things done when you work with her.”

A hum of agreement went over the little group. Some of them nodded along quietly.

“That’s not a bad idea. She’s cold as hell and kind of intimidating, but I wouldn’t mind working under her.”

You pretended not to hear their conversation, but you felt ecstatic to hear your name in regards to the promotion. It was hard to admit it to anyone other than yourself, but you thrived off of attention and vindication more than what was healthy. The satisfaction of being praised, of getting the answer correct or being complimented was as heady as being drugged.

“Y/N is great and all, but you know who’d I rather have as sales head? Dong Sicheng.”

Your jaw clenched unconciously when you heard that blond asshole’s name.

“Kinda agree. Sicheng’s friendly and it’s easy to talk to him. We also get a lot of work done with him too!”

You could not hear any more of the conversation as they had walked out of earshot, but you felt… sour. You swore to god—if that asshole gets the promotion, you will leave the damn company.

Well, whatever. The likes of Dong Sicheng would be wiped from your mind after the fun you would have tonight with Dolos.

January 6th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

12 PM HKT

“Hey Sicheng, what did you order?” Some coworker of his said to him.

Sicheng felt an inward flush of irritation. Couldn’t people leave him the fuck alone and let him eat his meal in peace? Without interrupting him about how XX from the implementation team did this and YY from IT did that?

“Oh, hey, um—” What the fuck was his name again? Joon? Jin? “Jae, I ordered a teriyaki salad. It’s pretty good, I’d recommend it.” 

There. That answered any potential questions Jae may have and clearly signalled the end of the conversation so he could eat in peace.

“What about the grilled chicken salad? Have you tried it?”

Alas, not all well-thought out plans would be fruitful.

He continued conversation with his inane coworkers around him at the lunch bistro they always frequented. It was tiring, keeping up the facade of a friendly office boy. His impatience wilted slowly as the people tittered and tattered, laughing and gossiping, god—they were so stupid.

“I like your tie, Sicheng. It’s very nice.”

He turned back towards the conversation as soon as he heard his name.

The so-called department hottie was staring at him from her seat a couch away—her eyes slightly widened, in an attempt to be vexing.

“Thank you, Tzuyu. Might I add, you look very nice today,” he said, as he forced a smile on his lips.

The brunette blushed heavily and turned away in bashfulness. Ugh.

Don’t get him wrong.He rather liked blush on a woman. But, Tzuyu was the kind of woman that would not put up any type of fight, if he chose to seduce her. Sicheng liked the thrill of the fight, the thrill of gradually pressing his control into someone until they were submissive to only him.

God, but Y/N was someone he’d like seduce.

Sicheng thought back to the moment when he courteously gave his spot in line to her, yet she only thanked him off-handedly. Y/N was the only one in the whole damn complex that didn’t give a fuck about his amiable facade and treated him as callously as one would beneath them. He clenched his fist, thinking how uppity and standoffish you were to snub him. That was something that couldn’t ever be forgotten.

Luckily, he knew his darling Dove would be there tonight to take the edge off his anger.

Friday January 18th, 2020

A Busy Street

6 PM HKT

You huddled a light coat around yourself as you checked the address on your phone. 

353 Cornerstone Ave.

You looked up at the British colonial-style building, slightly reminiscent of the Ritz-Carlton a few blocks away. The building was probably a remnant of colonization. Nevertheless, it was beautiful.

Your heels clicked against the marble floor, as you dipped into the establishment named Black’s Spa. Swiping off your sunglasses, you beamed at the beautiful lady behind the receptionist desk.

“How may we help you today? Are there any services you would like provided?” she asked.

The corners of your lips turn up. You’ve always liked this part of the game, where you have to gain access into a club. It felt like you were a femme fatale in one of those old Bond movies your father loved.

“Hey, afternoon. I’ve been hearing about this rope treatment. I’ve heard it does wonders for your muscles.”

The girl’s pink tinted-lips twisted into a grin.

“Right this way.”

The zen, stark white corridors of the spa that the dungeon pretended to be eventually led to an innocuous bookshelf. The lady felt around the shelf for the handle underneath the dark wood paneling. A hum of affirmation left her mouth as she closed her well-manicured hands around it.

With a click, the shelf gave way to a dimly lit room that looked like the parlor of a traditional British gentleman’s club. What little light there was was provided by candles and glittering chandeliers, which reflected off of the dark oak paneling of the room. Rich Persian rugs and velvet sofas dotted the room, and the hum and tinkles of conversation meandered around. However, little details quickly ruined the impression that this was a respectable establishment of any sort.

For one, many individuals here were scantily clad. Yes, some were in suits and proper evening wear, but that was contrasted heavily by the diffusion of revealing lingerie sets and sculpted chests. Second, there were casual warning signs posted about the room, asking patrons to practice safe, healthy, and consensual sex, alongside the expensive paintings.

Black’s was the best dungeon in East Asia, no doubt. It was such a bitch to gain access into the club. Yet, what made Black’s so popular was not its top amenities or the luxurious atmosphere—it was the utmost anonymity it provided. 

The depravity that happened in these walls stripped even the most upright individual to their most primal, lustful states. People became lumps of flesh, starving for the next release. The eclectic mix of businessmen, trust-fund kids, and professionals hungered for the anonymity that they would be hard-pressed to find in a regular dungeon (as regular as one could get for being a BDSM dungeon, anyway).

The best way Black’s maintained privacy? 

Masks.

You quickly donned your own dove gray mask, securing the silk ribbons in your hair to prevent it from falling off. Tonight, you were Dove. Tomorrow, you will be Y/N. It was easy to slip into the subspace once you donned your mask, but you couldn’t really immerse yourself into it—not until your master came to you.

A quick glance at your watch told you it was only 10 PM. Dolos had told you in his letter that he would find you at 10:10. He certainly was a curious individual—one with an obsession with symmetry and a penchant for old-fashioned tradition. For fuck’s sake, his letter was sealed by a green wax seal. 

But Dolos was everything you never knew you wanted.

Deciding to amuse yourself with one of the exhibition rooms, you wandered into one that seemed crowded. A girl was strung up on stage, hands bound with chains connected to the ceiling. Her black hair hung around her face and she was as naked as the day she was born. Her voluptuous figure bared to the hungry crowd—a metal table full of paraphernalia was next to the cross.

A brutish man, clad in a wifebeater and tight jeans, walked up to the stage. 

“My slave has been rather naughty,” he announced. “She had the nerve to touch herself without my permission.”

A murmur arose from the crowd, whispering and gasping and giggling heard amongst the shadows. For a slave to pleasure herself, without her master’s permission, was a serious ordeal around these parts. 

The man drew a finger against the side of her breasts, causing her to shiver and a gleam of arousal to run down her leg. “Today, my dear little slave will see what happens when she doesn’t obey her master seriously.”

“Let’s start with something light. Flogging.”

A curl of delight ran through you. You loved flogging; each hit stimulated different parts of your body that ultimately brought you to the brink of an edge. A bit of heat rose in your bosom imaging Dolos, with his Cat O’ Nine Tails, flogging your ass until you were red.

A whimper was heard as he struck her stomach lightly with a cat o’ nine tails. He began alternating strikes against her breasts and inner thighs, as she whimpered and cried, begging for her master to touch her there.

“Oh dear, only good girls get touched in their sweet spot. What’s the magic word?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please, sir! Please!”

“Better.”

A strangled scream echoed throughout the hall, as he struck her repeatedly in between the crux of her legs. After the girl was left shaking, he whipped off the juices she left on the leather strands then threw it behind him. You shifted uncomfortably, crossing your legs tightly to ignore the burst of arousal.

“Bend over!” the man on stage barked, grabbing a paddle from the table.

The slave bent over a table immediately, unwilling to risk the possibility of more punishment.

He inserted a knee between her legs and forced them wide open—her pretty cunt exposed.

You could only see a flash of his swing as his paddle connected with her backside, a thunderous smack resounding. Her gleaming arousal was almost to her knee now, and the poor dear was visibly shaking and could hardly stand.

A high-pitched whimper came out of you and you quickly bit your lips, hoping you weren’t heard. Your panties suddenly rubbed you in the wrong places and your knees knocked together, in an effort to stop the heat emanating from your core.

“I see my little girl has lost herself on her way to the Salon.”

A gasp left your mouth as you stared back into a burgundy mask, burnished with gold.

Dolos.

“M-master, but it’s only 10 PM—”

He chuckled—a dark, delicious sound—and stretched him over the chaise you had settled yourself in. Slim, tapered fingers played with the ends of your hair as his plump lips curved into a dark smirk.

“Wrong, dearest. It’s 10:15. What time did I write in the letter?”

You hung your head, playing with the ribbons on your dress. “10:10, sir.”

He tugged on your hair, forcing a whine from you. He tsked.

“Your master has been waiting patiently for 2 weeks to play with his favorite little girl. And yet, she’s late?” You knew he was teasing you, but a sliver of real anger and irritation slipped into his voice. Immediately, you felt guilty and your bottom lip trembled. You had disappointed your master.

“And what do little girls who are late get?”

“T-they get punished, sir. I’m sorry—”

His lips turned downwards until he was sneering. “An apology isn’t going to cut it, Dove. We’re going to the Salon right now.” He roughly took your wrist and pulled you out of the room. Interested eyes followed his clearly irritated and furious gestures.

“Your safe word, darling?”

“Sappho.”

“Sappho, what?”

“Sir.”

His eyes, through the holes of his mask, darkened. “God, I will never get tired of hearing you say that.” Dolos turned around.

Dolos has been your dominant for the last 5 months, and fuck, he has been the best one you have had. Your participation in a public demonstration had led to him stealing the contract from your previous Dom, who was already supremely possessive at first glance. Your eyes, he had told you, were the most expressive he had ever seen. They were the ones that had convinced him to enter into an exclusive contract.

Your eyes traced his tall stature, the broadness of his back highlighted by his nondescript white shirt. The quote from Julius Caesar came to mind. “Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world/ like a Colossus, and we petty men.” Such power, such arrogance.

The Salon was Dolos’ room of choice, since he was a legacy member of Black’s. Filled with toys hidden behind halcyon scenes of the English or French country sides and tall, imposing dressers, the room merely looked like a noble bedroom but the things that occured in it… not so much.

“Bend over my lap, sweetheart. I’m thinking… hm, 10 slaps? Double the time you made me wait. What do you think?” He mused, throwing himself into an armchair.

You settled onto his lap, lifting your skirt and exposing your pretty, pink panties beneath. A mixture of nerves and arousal made your hands tremble, but the haze and glossiness of subspace settled over you easily, like your favorite blanket.

“Whatever you deem necessary, sir.”

His chest rumbled. “Good answer, little one. Such a good slut for me, huh?” He whispered to himself, running a paddle over your bare ass.

You barely heard his acclamation of “ten it is” before the paddle delivered a stinging slap to your left cheek. You unconsciously jerked up until his arms forced you down.

“Count for me, Dove.”

“One!”

Another one, but to the flesh of your thighs.

“Two!” you bit out.

Dolos’ hit parts that surrounded your core, but never actually reached touching it. Moisture began to dampen your lacy underthing and you had to bite down on your lips to stop from grinding yourself on his thigh like a brazen whore.

After the ninth slap, he palmed your ass carefully. His fingers dipped in between the folds of your pussy and you held your breath.

“Already, so wet? Christ. Clean me up and I’ll hit you the place I know you want me to.”

Swiping your tongue over his digits, you looked back at his mask and saw the tension at the corners of his mouth.

“Good.” Without warning, he shifted aside your panties and struck the paddle against your throbbing pussy.

“TEN!” You sobbed, unable to keep from sagging into his lap. 

He hushed you and ran a comforting hand over your ass, smoothing over the red marks you were sure glowed.

“What a good, good girl you are,” Dolos cooed, caressing your cheek. His thumb wiped away your errant tears and he smirked, patting it.

“On your knees.”

You scrambled out of his lap and onto the carpet, wincing as your heels met your sore ass. You looked at him, wide-eyed, for his instruction.

“Suck my cock.”

A blush spread over your face at his frank wording and your hands moved to unzip his trousers, but Dolos made a noise of disapproval.

“With your mouth only, slut.”

Your hands bunched the fabric of your dress tightly and you squeezed your thighs together.

“Yes, master.”

As you took the button in between your teeth, you used a combination of your lips and tongue to unbutton his trousers. Once opened, you slowly dragged the zipper down all while looking up at him innocently.

His length, girthy and flushed an angry red, sprung out of his trousers. Licking your lips, you looked up to him for permission.

A sly smile came across his face. “Go, darling. This is your reward.”

You took the head of his cock in between your lips and swirled your tongue over the salty precum. He groaned, a gutteral noise from his chest, and his fingers clenched the plush arm rests of the chair tightly.

Gathering some of the precum on your tongue, you released his head and ducked down to take his testes in your mouth. You licked the length of his cock, finishing off with a playful suck to the head.

An angry glint flashed in his eyes. “Stop teasing, slut. Get to it.” 

Dolos clenched some of your hair at the back of your head in his fist, and the pain from the sudden action caused your eyes to water. You’d gotten the message loud and clear.

Spitting on his cock, you took half of him in your throat, bobbing and hollowing your cheeks. Your master made sounds of appreciation, loosening the grip on your just a little bit.

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes, relaxed your throat and went farther down on his thick cock. You were no novice, but you had trouble taking him so deep—even after such a long time together. The tip of your nose touched the base of his cock and you hummed in satisfaction.

The vibrations from your throat seemed to set him off. His previously relaxed grip tightened again and he forced down on his cock until your face was smashed in his crotch.

“Mmph!” You  gagged from his sudden, violent action.

“You’re such a fucking tease, fuck,” Dolos groaned, his head tilted back in pleausure.

Forcefully, he fucked your mouth without mercy. You could barely breathe, and the combination of the pain from your hair being pulled, your throat being abused, and the slick between your thighs caused tears to run down your cheeks.

“You know you like this, whore. You like gagging and choking on your master’s cock. You like being used like a little slut, don’t you?”

Unable to respond, you focused on trying to breath through your nose as he abused your mouth.

“Don’t you?! Answer me!” he shouted, pulling your head back.

More tears dripped out of your eyes at this pain, and you nodded quickly with his cock in his mouth. Dolos narrowed his eyes and forced you further on his length.

He quickly set a cadence and it felt like your mind was filled with cotton. The only sensations was the pain from your throat being stretched, his groans of satisfaction, and the throbbing in between your thighs.

“I bet you’re dripping right now. What a slut, getting off on her throat being fucked,” he sneered. His face was flushed as he neared his peak.

Your knees started to throb in pain, your joints aching at being on the ground for so long. His thrust even harder and faster into your lips, prompting a squeal.

“I’m getting close, slut,” he said between clenched teeth. You could feel the hard muscles in his thighs tensing in anticipation for his orgasm. You sucked even harder on his cock, swirling your tongue in figure eights on his length.

“FUCK!” he shouted, eyes clenched tightly. Both of his hands grasped your head and forced your head onto his cock until your nose touched the base. You gagged and prayed to breathe as warm liquid splashed down your throat. He thrusted his hips harder into your mouth, riding out his orgasm.

Dolos pulled out and left the tip of his cock on your opened mouth, tapping his length on your tongue as cum spurted out erratically as he groaned. You flinched as he slapped his cock along your cheeks for good measure. He slumped back in his chair after he rode out his orgasm, his broad chest breathing heavily. In the low light, he looked like a fallen angel with his head turned up towards the heavens.

I will show you how us mere mortals can reach the gardens of heaven from earth, he had said to you once.

You waited with your mouth open, still painted in his seed, for instruction. A few drops of his seed dripped on your chin and onto your chest.

Dolos took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your head side to side. He paid attention in particular to your smeared lipstick. A beatific smile crossed his lips and he was so beautiful in that moment, so wicked and debauched and depraved it made your heart ache. 

“What a gorgeous mess I’ve made.”

Tuesday January 21st, 2020 

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

8 AM HKT

Raesung, Lee

CC: daiyuxiao@sinochen.com

Re: Important Office Notification — 

To: y/nl/n@sinochen.com

Y/LN,

It is with great pleasure for me to inform you today that you are being considered for the Head Salesforce position at Sinochen Enterprises. Your name has come heavily recommended to me, and your previous boss has given me a glowing review of your performance these past few years. I, myself, have enjoyed your hard-work and impressive work ethic in your year as Head of the South Asia Division. Two other people are being considered for the role, and you will hear more from Daiyu and I about several interviews and necessary materials. I know you will practice the utmost discretion regarding this email.

Regards,

Raesung Lee

Department Head of Salesforce at Sinochen Enterprises

Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

Office 1876, 18th floor

Phone: +852 XXXX XXXX ext. 1876

You squealed but quickly clamped a hand over your math. This was it. This was the culmination of your dreams coming true. Being the Salesforce director for one of the largest companies in Asia… shit. That would prove your mom and everyone in that shitty-ass town of yours wrong.

After quickly shutting the door and the windows, you did an undignified jig around your large office filled with fist pumps and silent screaming.

“Y/N-laoban, I have the files for—”

You froze.

“...For… uh… you know what, I’ll just come back later—”

“No, it’s fine, BeiBei.” You cleared your throat and sat back into the chair. “I just had exciting news, that’s all. Come, please hand me those files.”

Beibei quickly handed them to you and moved to scurry out of the room and back to her desk.

“Wait! Beibei, could you grab me an Iced Americano? I feel like I need a treat today.”

Her young face peered at you curiously and nodded furiously. 

“I-If it isn’t too much to ask, laoban, what’s the good news?”

Uncharacteristically, you beamed at her. She seemed a bit frightened at the sheer excitement you were exuding, so you toned it down a bit.

“Let’s just say I might not be the Head of just South Asia any longer.”

“I hear congratulations are in order?”

You looked up from your double-screens to see the extremely pretty face of Dong Sicheng. His plump lips pulled in a sort of mocking smile.

“For what? I don’t recall getting engaged nor getting pregnant,” you retorted.

“I overheard a little birdie telling her friends that her boss might move up in the world.” Sicheng pushed off the doorway and moved to place a long-fingered hand over the back of one of the couches.

A sigh left your mouth. Oh BeiBei. 

He drummed his fingers against the back of the couch. “Although, I am surprised Raesung is considering someone like you for the promotion.”

Your eyes snapped to his heavily lidded one. “Pardon?”

“You know, someone of your… type.”

“Elaborate.”

He sighed, like he was dealing with an ignorant child, and moved to lean over your desk.

“We all know when push comes to shove, no matter how icy your demeanor may be, individuals like you will eventually succumb to their emotions.” His mocking smile was an attempt at his nice-boy persona around the office— that made you want to throw your paper weight at his face.

Your jaw clenched. “I knew your family was traditional, Sicheng, but I didn’t expect they were this intransigent.”

He moved closer. “The old ways keep our heads at the right place, woman.”

A snort left your lips. “And I suppose customs guide the ignorant?”

His smile grew razor sharp. “Exactly.”

Your teeth clenched around your tongue. “Excuse me, Sicheng, but I’m afraid I have a meeting in a few minutes—not all of us are as lax as a board member's son.”

Ignoring the barb, he watched raptly as you stuck all your files into your purse calmly. As you moved to show him to the door, he stalled.

“I think you’re forgetting something, Y/N.”

“I’m afraid you have me at a loss, Sicheng. Please hurry.” 

“Don’t I get salutations as well? I’m the other person being considered.” He smirked.

Thursday January 23rd, 2020

Your House

9 PM HKT

“Hi, mother. How are you?” you asked.

“Aiyo, my old bones are holding up, but you know what would make me feel more at ease?”

“What, mama?” You kicked off your heels and threw yourself into your lumpy, comfy couch. It was time for that conversation again.

“If you settled down with a nice man and gave your grandfather and I grandkids.”

“I am busy.” 

She continued as if she hadn’t heard you. “I know there are a lot of nice men at that company of yours. Surely there is a rich laoban that you can settle down with? You are not unhandsome, after all.”

“I am my own laoban.”

A moment of silence. “Ah, that’s good I suppose.”

“Thank you, mama,” you replied dryly.

“Aiyo, but you know men won’t like that! The good sort of men want good, obedient wives. How are you going to serve your husband and raise your kids if you are working such a busy job?”

“You say that as if I will marry or have kids.”

A loud gasp came from the other end of the line. “Y/N, you will give me a heart attack early! Husband, Y/N will kill me early!”

You heard a faint grunt and your mother subsequently scolding him.

A migraine started to form. You loved your mother as much as one daughter could, but she was very traditional in the way she looked at things. She had raised you from a young age to be an obedient, well-trained wife of a village man like her. Mother had good intentions of course, because that was all she knew. This was the best way she could prepare you for a good life.

The only reason she let you move to the city was because she thought you would find “good quality” (her words, not yours) men in the city. She only approved of you applying to Sinochen because not only did she see the name emblazoned across her noodle and food packets, she also knew very rich men worked there.

You really had thought that once you had moved to Hong Kong, everyone would be Westernized with more flexibility in their mindsets. But the higher ups in your company diminished those hopes very quickly.

Especially for country-bumpkin you.

You hadn’t known the Hong Kong dialect Mandarin, the new slang and modern mannerisms. Adding onto the fact that you were a woman, Sinochen did not treat you very kindly until you started to learn that being kind would get you nowhere.

And look at what you are now—a highly-paid business woman at one of the largest companies in Asia, living in a luxurious apartment within some of the most exclusive real estate on the island, along with all the pretty handbags and shoes you’ve always wanted. You even knew you were reasonably pretty and attractive, if the way Dolos looked at you was true. You kicked ass.

“Y/N, please visit us! Your father and I miss you terribly.”

You grimaced at the thought of your dirty and dusty hometown in the mainland. But still, you missed your father, who had supported you silently in whatever ways he could, and your mother, who loved you something deep.

“I forgot to mention! Kunhuang has been asking after you. Aiyo, what a good boy. He comes to our house once a month and gives us fruits, you know? Such a kind, kind boy.”

You smiled at the thought of Kunhuang and his childish face streaked in dirt and playing Catch the Dragon’s Tail in the woods near your village.

“Tell him I said hello, mother.”

“That boy— he owns most of the farms around us, wah—he tells us he misses you. Why couldn’t you have married him? You could've been closer to us, you know. Kunhuang and you would have made such cute grandkids—”

You sighed heavily. “I had dreams to chase, mama. I still do.”

Friday, January 24th, 2020

Black’s

9 PM HKT

Sicheng frowned at the vellum letter in his hand. His dearest Dove was unable to make it this week, citing she had work responsibilities she could not miss.

The letter crumpled in his hand. 

He quickly stood up from the armchair near the cozy fireplace at Black’s, dodging various couples or individuals that attempted to coax him into joining them for the night. There was no need for him to be there tonight.

What a pitiful mess he was—over a woman, nonetheless.

When he had first received a recommendation from his uncle to join Black’s, he was ecstatic. Sicheng knew of the rich history and tradition of the club. It was a holdover from colonial times, when bored British aristocrats created a gentleman’s club that quickly turned into a pseudo-bordello as the 19th century chugged on. Legacy and tradition were paramount to the club. 

His father was too fastidious to enter Black’s, even though his own father was a frequent patron of the club. For all his faults, he was a loyal man to his wife. Sicheng, on the other hand, was a randy twenty years old looking to unleash his private fantasies onto the prestigious dungeon.

The mask and name he wore were given to him by his Uncle, who retired from the club as Sicheng entered. Dolos was the other side of his personality that Sicheng hid from the rest of the world.

But never had Dolos been so enraptured by his contracted submissive, Dove.

Dove was… perfect. While other women just laid there and received his attention like a rag doll, she responded in kind. Whether it was an adorable gasp from her lips or precious, minute twitches, Dolos never had a problem ascertaining what Dove was feeling. She was also such a good girl for him, as well. 

So, so good. Incomparable.

No other woman would do it for him. Well...

Sicheng slammed open the door a bit more forcefully than he had intended. Fuck, not her. Anyone but that prissy bitch. Roughly bidding goodbye to the receptionist of the so-called spa, Sicheng quickly slid into the passenger seat of his Maserati and zoomed off into the lights of Hong Kong.

As much as he’d like to put her in her place, Y/N would never do it for him.

Monday January 27th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

10 AM HKT

Your ears perked up to hear the sound of muffled yelling outside your office. Quickly standing, you peeked your head out the doorway to see Sicheng fitfully waving a crumpled paper in his fist at two employees, towering over them with his mouth pulled into a sneer.

“—I do NOT pay your salaries for you to laze around and produce substandard work! If my secretary had not caught this mistake within the analysis, I would’ve been fucking HUMILIATED at the board meeting for faulty figures! My ass would’ve been on the line—”

Glancing over, you saw the other girls in the office whispering behind their hands with shocked eyes. In any other situation, you would’ve done the same. Pretty boy Sicheng? Nice, kind Sicheng who dimpled at everyone each morning? It would’ve been unimaginable for that Sicheng to be putting two of his employees (Tzuyu and Xiaogui, you think, but can’t see past their bowed heads) on blast—but this one stood in the morning light, proudly and harshly, with a terrible mask of rage.

BeiBei, who was standing outside the doorway of your office and head bowed with her friend, giggled softly.

“Wah, Sicheng looks so attractive like that. He’s usually nice but, ugh, what I wouldn’t do to get him,” BeiBei pointed at the now snarling Sicheng,“—bending me over at my desk.”

Her friend squealed and fanned herself. “I may need to change my panties after this, oh my god.”

BeiBei nodded sagely. “I knew he was in a bad mood earlier, when I accidentally bumped into him in the elevator, but my god I didn’t expect for him to blow up like this.”

“I wonder what made him so mad? I remember when Jae accidentally spilled coffee over his phone and Sicheng didn’t even get angry—just smiled and patted him on the back.”

You frowned, remembering that day. While he did pat Jae on the back, Sicheng’s fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were white and the veins on his forearms stood out. There was a hidden layer behind his seemingly placid eyes, and your suspicions were confirmed after you saw the janitor taking out a broken lamp from his office late one night.

It was that incident, along with so many other tiny occurrences, that clued you into Sicheng’s secret side. You distrusted him solely on that basis. Otherwise, what kind of trustworthy man would hide something like that?

From the corner of your eye, you could tell that Sicheng looked dangerously close to punching something. You decided to intervene before HR got called. Even you had a heart, no matter how cold you were. However, you couldn’t look like you were bailing them out...

“Tzuyu! Xiaogui!” you barked, startling the gossiping women next to you.

Everyone’s heads snapped towards you, along with Sicheng.

You pursed your lips and adjusted your stance. “The Yang reports were supposed to be in my hand an hour ago. My hands are currently empty.”

Tzuyu looked close to crying, while Xiaogui shifted his eyes to the side.

“Go. Before I tell the finance department and you won’t get your full bonus for the year.”

They bowed to Sicheng, then to you, and scrambled off.

There was a moment of silence, until Sicheng had turned his angry attention towards you.

“Well? Why are all of you just standing there? We have deliverables to fulfill, people!” You scowled at the crowd, which disbursed from your shout.

Sichend had not taken his eyes off of you, not even when everyone left.

“Y/N, can I see you in my office for a moment?” he asked with his jaw clenched.

You narrowed your eyes, but acquiesced, standing by the window overlooking Kowloon Bay as he shut the door.

Sicheng paused for a moment by the doorway, his broad chest heaving. He let out a strangled breath before standing near his desk.

“You do not encroach on MY authority in this office, woman. I know the old men in other departments let you step all over them because you’re willing to put out—”

Your jaw dropped and motioned to defend yourself, but he rolled right over you.

“—but you do NOT get to do that here. Unlike the other fuckers in this office, I think with my fucking head not my dick. I handle my goddamn subordinates the way I see fit, understand?”

Your hands gripped the plush chair you stood next to.

“Where the hell do you get off talking to me like that? They’re under my supervision as well, have you fucking forgotten that? Criticize me however you want, but I draw the fucking line on attacks on my character!” you hissed, stepping closer to Sicheng.

“I talk to you however the hell I want, woman! This is my office. I’m in charge!”

Scoffing, you sat on the arm of the chair. “I know you’re sour you didn’t get the region you wanted. But that's real life, Sicheng. It must suck getting told no, daddy’s boy? Huh?”

“You shut the fuck up, Y/N. You do not get to talk to me like that,” he growled, towering over your deceptively lax figure.

You examined your nails nonchalantly. “Whatever, Sicheng. Let’s see who gets to talk when I get the promotion.”

“Ha! You wouldn’t last a fucking week in that position. No one can stand your uptight ass.”

Your placid demeanor snapped and you pushed a manicured finger into his (surprisingly) built chest. 

“Fuck off, Sicheng! Some of us worked our ‘uptight’ asses off to get to where we are. You wouldn’t be shit without daddy dearest!”

“You wanna bet on that, woman?!”

Too little, too late—you didn’t notice how close the two of you were. His right arms clenched the back of the seat behind you and your noses were inches apart. If someone walked in right now, it would’ve looked like Sicheng was trying to kiss you.

You both were breathing heavily and, for the first time, you observed him from up close—his frustratingly clear skin, straight nose and slender jaw line, mouth drawn into a snarl looking like he wanted to corner you into your chair.

It was… hot.

Unwittingly, you bit your bottom lip and his intense eyes were drawn to the movement. Your legs shifted to rub together at the crux and his pants tented, while his eyes narrowed. He breathed heavily through his nose and, god, what you wouldn’t give for him to push you up against a wall and—

What the fuck!

You recoiled the same time he did, jumping away from each other like opposite poles repelling. A cold sweat formed on your back as you realized you were fucking attracted to the man that called you a whore all but in name a few moments ago.

The feral desire on his face morphed into disgust and the two of you gazed at each other in shock and revulsion.

Rushing out of his office like a bat out of hell, you slammed the door to your office shut and collapsed into your chair. Here you were, wanting to vomit in disgust but your panties were fucking soaking. You groaned and pulled at your hair. How the fuck were you supposed to last until Friday without Dolos? He would somehow fucking know you got yourself off and he would paddle you black and blue.

You dialed the private line for Black’s. 

Your last resort...

Monday January 27th, 2020

Black’s

7:55 PM HKT

Sicheng drummed his finger restlessly against the leather couch, glancing at the clock. His knee bounced in anticipation and he was unaware of the dark energy he exuded.

The man felt like he could explode right now—no thanks to Y/N in his office earlier. Sicheng couldn’t believe he was reduced to a pathetic bundle of nerves all over Y/N and her red lipstick and fuck me! Eyes.

He wanted to crack open that ice-cold facade that you hid behind. He wanted to pick apart every aspect of your being, from your veiled eyes to your restless hands and—

He rubbed a hand over his face. Fuck, not Y/N again. Where the hell was his Dove? Although, he supposed he couldn’t ask for anymore than her now. He was about to break their schedule of Friday nights only, but, by some saving grace, the manager of Black’s called to notify him of Dove’s request to meet here tonight at 8 PM.

Sicheng couldn’t get out of the office fast enough. He usually worked late, but as soon as the clock turned six, he revved his Audi to get home and shower. Now he was here, looking groomed as hell for his favorite little girl.

“Master?”

There she were—standing off to the side, wearing a simple skirt and blouse, yet looking like sex personified.

He was so relieved that he didn’t even check the clock to check if his darling girl was late.

“Sit on my lap, sweetheart. Master has missed you.”

She straddled his lap and he buried his nose into her neck, inhaling deeply. He could feel the tension melting away in his muscles as she sat in his lap.

“Are you stressed, sir?” she asked innocuously, stroking his chest.

He hummed affirmative, tracing his nose over her collarbones. “Master’s had a rough day, baby. Why don’t you be a good girl and help me out, hm?”

Dove grinned, and Sicheng could see her twinkling eyes under the grey mask. “Anything for you sir.”

Sicheng heaved her over his shoulder, a squeal to coming out of her mouth unbidden. He smirked. She was lucky he hadn’t stopped her from making noise.

As soon as he got to the room, he made her strip as he pulled down a silk tie from the ceiling. Sicheng roughly forced her hands up, exposing her breasts to the cold air. As he finished binding Dove’s wrists together, he smirked and flicked a finger over her hard peaks.

A small mewl came out of the girl’s mouth, but Sicheng heard it clear as day. A smirk crawled over his plump lips.

“What was that, little girl? You want me to use a riding crop on your ass? Huh?”

Her eyes widened, she held still.

Sicheng languorously looked her over, eyes tracing the dips and curves of her body. “That’s what I thought.”

From a wooden panel, he produced a riding crop, setting aside on a side table as he rolled up his sleeves and loosened the collar on his button-up. Brandishing the crop again, he placed it on her collarbone, the cold leather a stark contrast to Dove’s heated skin.

“Safeword?”

“Sappho, sir.”

The tip of the crop forced her chin up, his intense eyes meeting hers. “Good girl.”

She preened.

He traced it down her chest, circling her sensitive breasts. He chuckled. They were so perfect for him, begging for his attention. She clenched her eyes shut.

Out of nowhere, he sides of both her breasts in two quick snaps of the wrist. Her eyes flew open and she gasped.

“Eyes on me, girl.”

Down and down he went, tracing over her stomach and waist. Sicheng skipped over her mons and started at her feet. He tapped the crop softly against her calves and thighs; he smiled, seeing her keep her stance. Sicheng would delay her orgasm if she so much as bent her legs. The irritating tapping continued until he got to her ass, where he delivered two sharp blows.

He could see her swallow down a moan, her eyes begging him to touch her there. Push and pull, Sicheng reminded himself. Push and fucking pull.

The man looked her dead in the eyes as he snapped the crop all over her ass and waist. Sicheng was unsatisfied. She could withstand the sharp, short pain of the crop and Dove wouldn’t act out.

Throwing the crop to the ground, Sicheng grabbed a ball-gag and paddle from the wall and stalked towards her.

Stuffing the ball-gag into her mouth, he smirked. “Keep your fucking legs straight.”

With that, he wasted no time and swung the paddle straight over her ass. her moan, muffled yet a masterful concerto to his ears, filled the room. Again and again, he paddled her ass until it was hot to touch, taking out his anger at Y/N on her poor ass. She couldn’t think—a buzz filled her ears and a subspace settled over her mind as he kept delivering.

Sicheng smirked as he saw the clear, viscous fluid of her pussy tread down the inside of her thighs. Unable to help himself, he swiped a finger through it and sucked on it.

However, the paddle had hit right next to her throbbing pussy and she cried out, pushing her legs together to relieve the tension.

His slim fingers grabbed her chin. His eyes were wild and his lips were drawn into a familiar snarl. The thought left her head as he hissed. “What the fuck did I just say about keeping your legs straight? You wanna be bad? Disobey my order? I’ll show you bad.”

Uncharacteristically, he threw away the paddle and wrapped a strong arm around her chest. She felt the rough, calloused skin of his palm smack her ass and she couldn’t take it.

 Moans and whines forced themselves past her lips as he kept on going, smacking her ass in quick succession with his bare palms. It was a useless mission trying to keep her legs together but he kept going until she was trembling. The only thing keeping her up was his arm around her waist.

“What a naughty, naughty girl,” he whispered into her ear. “You deliberately disobeyed my fucking orders, huh? Fucking put your legs together because you were too impatient for master to touch you.”

“Sir, please,” she sobbed through the gag, saliva dripping down her chin.

Sicheng thrust two fingers into her mouth and she rushed to spit and lube them up. He quickly spread the lips of her labia apart with his finger, and his thumb brushed slightly over her little pearl. The ‘accidental’ move nearly made her pass out, a loud scream echoing along the walls.

“What sweet, sweet screams are elicited from that throat of yours,” he murmured.

Suddenly, he roughly stuffed two fingers into her dripping wet pussy making her scream even louder from the sudden intrusion. Pumping harshly, in and out, an undulating rhythm that made her legs collapse and lean on him totally for support. She cried into his shoulder as he just kept on going, feeling the lush walls of her pussy pulsate against his fingers. Once again, his thumb brushed over her clit and her throat felt raw from her shouting. He rubbed her little pearl viciously while two fingers were still deep in her pussy. Her muffled screaming echoed through out the room and he quickly unbuckled the gag from her mouth.

“Master, sir—please, let me come! I’ll be your good girl, I’ll doing anything you want, I’ll keep my legs apart, I’ll—”

“Come, sweetheart. Come for your master,” he said, his breathing finally a bit labored.

She let out a keening wail and her nails dug into his broad shoulders, shaking uncontrollably against him. He held her close.

Monday January 27th, 2020

Black’s

9 PM HKT

All that could be heard was the crackling fire in the corner of the room. You slumped bonelessly against Dolos on the leather couch, head on his chest, knees pulled up to rest on his lap. As you drifted in and out of consciousness, you could feel his fingers stroke your hair and the comforting sound of his heartbeat thrumming steadily. 

“Sir, I… I missed you,” you whispered.

He said nothing. But, as you turned your head up to his, he gazed at you with an unreadable gleam in his eye.

You blushed, and buried your head in his chest. God, that was too sincere. It actually sounded like you needed him outside the walls of this playroom. You knew what happened when you mixed feelings with sex. Trouble.

Trouble was Minghao. Trouble was dark and mysterious—the kind of boy that made girls go starry-eyed and ga-ga over him. The girls would constantly daydream Minghao “fixing” himself for them, “piecing” himself back together in order to be with the girl of his dreams.

Except they were wrong. So, so wrong.

Minghao wasn’t like that. He was cool, he was cruel, and he was mean. He was the first to initiate your eager eyes into BDSM. He was the one that discovered how good of a submissive you were. He was your first in everything.

In the end, he was too much for you. Minghao would’ve destroyed you had you stayed for any longer—would’ve ruined your already fraying self-esteem and confidence. Yet, when the two of you parted ways, it felt like something had been torn out of your chest. You had dedicated yourself to serving this man, thrown your confidence and dignity on an altar and sacrificed it to him, but he had deigned to not even treat you with a modicum of respect outside of playtime.

Never again.

“Never mind, sir. My mouth ran away from me for a moment.”

His right hand rose to cup your jaw, and his fathomless eyes searched yours.

“You are the only thing real in this world, you know that?”

Your thumb stroked his sharp cheekbones and Dolos sighed. He quickly gathered you up in his arms and crushed you into his chest. You froze, unsure what he planned to do. 

“Fuck,” he said. “What are you doing to me?”

You gazed into the fire lapping at the stone of the fireplace, snapping and crackling. What the hell was he doing to you? Dolos was the first dom in years to make so weak—so attached.

He gave a bitter laugh.

“I came here for control.”

Burying his face into your hair, he inhaled deeply like you would disappear in thin air.

“So why are you taking it away from me?”

Wednesday January 29th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

3 PM HKT

You sighed and played mindlessly with your pen as the clock ticked forward. Sicheng had gone to the bathroom before your quick progress check with him which left you to scrutinize his office.

If there was one word to describe his office, it would be monotonous. White, black, and red with no personal effects in sight. The only thing that made the space not some page from a design catalogue was the simple calligraphy painting bearing a proverb in harsh, strong strokes.

人算不如天算.

Man proposes and god disposes.

Huh. Funny, for a man whom you thought was fettered by nothing but himself.

The scroll painting was also dead set in the middle of room, with two dark bookshelves flanking it. In fact, everything in the room was perfectly symmetrical. The two chairs faced the desk straight on. There were two pens that stood side by side, unnaturally neat at the center of his desk. Even his recycling bin was perfectly in the center of two tables—

A ball of paper, different from the other stark white sheets in the bin, caught your eye. Weirdly enough, the paper broke the bizarre, polished neatness of the room by laying on the floor adjacent to the bin.

Insatiable curiosity gripped you in its clutches, and you bent down to pick up the odd bit of parchment.

Immediately, you felt the quality of the paper. It was heavy and smooth like silk, not something an individual wrote on casually. Hell, it was aged as well. What was Dong Sicheng doing with this?

Opening the crumpled paper (which had felt like it had been crumpled and straightened many times), you took a look at the contents of the paper.

Your own handwriting stared up at you mockingly.

Dropping the paper like it was a burning ember, you fell gracelessly to the carpeted floor. Your eyes widened and your hand clamped over your mouth to prevent you from gasping.

No. That could not be Dove’s letter. It couldn’t. It couldn’t because—

You heard muffled footsteps echoing coming down the hallway outside the office, and you scrambled off the floor and into your chair. Having no time to think, you stuffed the letter into your coat pocket.

“Y/N, thank you for waiting,” Sicheng greeted, striding confidently into his office.

His casual oxford and black trousers were a slap in the face. How could you not notice the similarities between Dolos and Sicheng? The way they walked, the way they talked, the way they looked at you.

With Sicheng, looking into his eyes was like gazing through a veil. Silhouettes and hints of something indiscernible danced in his eyes, alien to his warm demeanor. Looking into Dolos’ eyes was as if the veil had been lifted, naked and hungry desire running rampant and burning with its ferocity. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide underneath his stare.

Even his forearms. The way they flexed as he lowered himself into his office chair and took one of the freakishly aligned pens in his sinuous fingers. You could see them twisting and rippling as he paddled your—

“Y/N?”

Your eyes refocused on Sicheng watching you intently, concern written on his face.

“N-no problem, really.”

You wanted to facepalm yourself. Your voice almost fucking cracked and sounded shy, like the twittering of the office girls around him. Fuck, where was your ice queen when you needed her?

A slight smile played upon his pink lips, and hell if you couldn’t imagine him calling you a little slut.

The informal progress meeting continued on in the same vein, you acting uncharacteristically bashful and him hiding his befuddled amusement badly.

The paper felt like it was a brand burning through your blazer pocket the rest of the day.

Love, your Darling Dove.

Friday January 31st, 2020

Black’s

9 PM HKT

Friday night once again found him at Black’s, awaiting his weekly tête-á-tête with his darling Dove. But this time, he planned to make it different.

He restlessly toyed with the red, signature box embossed with gold etching. He had never spent this much money on something for someone other than his mother and older sister, but Dove once again compelled him. The necklace with gold filigree had a simple pendant of a blossom, its leaves done in malachite and its petals in iridescent opal. Sicheng imagined Dove in nothing but his necklace, her pretty lips contorted in a moan, and he instantly got hard again.

Fuck. He could not wait to get her to the Salon and kiss every inch of her skin, worshipping her with his mouth and his hands. And after, when she was sated and curled contentedly in his arms, he would ask to remove her mask.

And hopefully, she would say yes.

Then she would be his.

His mouth salivated at the thought, his heart beating just a tiny bit faster at the thought of untying the ribbon of her grey mask and the stupid lace falling down so he could bask in her features. A thousand different features flashed before his eyes, each one as perfect than the next.

Y/N’s cold gaze flashed unbidden before his eyes.

Sicheng’s teeth clenched until he couldn't feel his tongue. As much as he’d like to put her in her rightful place, why was she in his thoughts? Dove was perfect and submissive to his whims, and he was about to make her his. Y/N had no business being even a passing thought.

Although, she acted quite off this week. She was her normal, bitchy self around the office, ruthlessly demanding results while everyone obeyed in a mixture of fear and awe, but Y/N was almost… shy.

She refused to look him straight in the eye, even if, in the past, she had no problem getting all up in his face. Her posture was slumped and hesitant, her hands twiddled and twitched in his presence.

While he liked it a bit more than he should, this was not the Y/N he knew. He had no idea what made her like this and it made him... uncomfortable. Did he do something?

“Dolos, sir.”

He looked up from his broody contemplation into the fire and to the distinguished, older man’s face. This was not some errand boy, this was the owner of the damn establishment. Sir Theodore Lau himself.

“Mr. Lau, nice to see you,” he said, rising up to greet him properly.

“Quite well, and you?”

“In good spirits.”

Mr. Lau’s face took on a pained expression.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Lau?”

The usually unflappable gentleman looked discomfited. “You… I have received this. For you.”

Sicheng cautiously took the letter from Lau’s hands, and broke the wax seal to the aged vellum inside

    Dear Dolos,

   I am sorry you could not receive the contents of this letter in person, but circumstances have not allowed for it.

   Dolos, I’m sorry to inform you I am no longer a patron of Black’s and consequently not your submissive anymore. No, it is not an issue of money. Neither have I been treated untowardly in this establishment. No, I have had to leave because of some personal conflicts.

   I have had the best six months of my life with you. You have made me feel comfortable in my submission, with no shame or judgement in those eyes of ours. I looked forward to our Friday rendezvous, embarrassingly eager for when I could be in your arms again. But that shall sadly never happen again.

   Please do not get angry, but if our six months together meant anything to you, please do not seek me out. It’s best for the both of us.

   Thank you master,

   Dove

Sicheng could only gape at the paper, the letters rerunning and jumbling in his mind until they were all a blur. He could literally feel the blood freezing in his veins and the unnatural stillness he was stuck in.

“She… she said she was sorry. Very sorry.”

Mr. Lau could have been speaking gibberish for all he cared, because Sicheng could not hear anything other than the pounding of his blood.

“What the fuck,” Sicheng hissed after a long time of not speaking.

Mr. Lau could only look on piteously. Sicheng’s face was grotesquely beautiful in the firelight, highlighting his angelic features contorted tortuously. The owner had never seen such raw, unfiltered emotion from Sicheng— from anyone in his life, really. This was the face of a man who had the rug taken out from beneath his feet.

He put a fatherly hand on Sicheng’s shoulder. Lau had known the boy since the boy was an adolescent and a submissive had never left him in such a state.

“We have other girls—men as well—who would be more than happy to serve you tonight—”

“I don’t want to fuck tonight,” Sicheng seethed, brushing the older man’s hand off roughly. “I don’t want any of them. I want Dove.”

How could she do this? Just leave him high and dry with just a letter and unforgettable memories? He thought they were more.

Evidently not, Sicheng thought bitterly.

However, something was off in the letter. There were blotches of water around the page and even in the handwriting, as if a droplet had smeared the page. Of perhaps, a tear.

“Can I meet with you privately in your office?” Sicheng said lowly after he got his rage under control.

Mr. Lau sighed. “Of course. Come along.”

Sicheng refused his invitation to sit, but did accept a finger of bourbon. He took a sip, contemplated the glass in his hand, and hurled it at the wall.

Mr. Lau jumped out of his chair, shocked. “Sicheng, those glasses were from my grandfather!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Like air suddenly leaving a balloon, Sicheng deflated and collapsed into the armchair. The blond youth rubbed a hand over his tired face.

“May I ask you for a favor, Mr. Lau?”

The man, inspecting the now ruined silk wallpaper, snorted. “Unless you replace my decanter set, no.”

Sicheng waved a careless hand. “Consider it done. 1890s, correct? I’ll even pay for the cleaning service.”

Harrumphing, the owner sat in his office chair and steepled his fingers. “So, what may I do for you?”

Sicheng’s burning eyes turned towards him.

“Tell me who Dove is.”

Mr. Lau winced. “Anything but that Sicheng, anything. Not her identity.”

“Well, say goodbye to your father’s decanter set, then,” Sicheng murmured petulantly.

“I can live with that. However, I will never disclose her identity— or anyone’s, for that matter.”

“Please, you don’t understand. I need her.”

Oh, how beautiful he looked like this. A tortured angel materialized from a Michaelangelo painting.

Mr. Lau felt all his years weighing him all at once, and two sides of him warred.

“I’m sorry, but no matter how good your intentions are, I personally and legally cannot do that.”

“Even though my family and I have been patrons of the club for decades?”

“Even then. You know this.”

The blond man’s eyes shifted to the side, and his jaw tightened. His knuckles grew white clutching the wood armrests of the chair he sat in.

“Fuck this!” he shouted, suddenly throwing the chair back with a resounding clash. He motioned to stomp his way out of the room, but Mr. Lau’s voice stopped him.

“She’s a good girl, Sicheng. If she wanted to be found by you, she would’ve.”

Sicheng grasped the door and said ominously, “I will not accept this. Never.”

The older gentleman sighed, and took in the destruction a man’s broken heart had left in its wake.

*cackles evilly* to be continued...

[wallwriterstuff]

S’Language Lessons || Alec Volturi x Reader ||

This is just a fun little thing based off of this post ----> Reckless <---- by the wonderful @cullens-stuff

Words: 1584

Warnings: None! 

Summary: You meet your mate Alec on a dark night where he’s forced to save your life, but the age gap seems to be creating a communication barrier between you. 

You really shouldn’t have been on the street that night.

The reports of mysterious deaths in your neighbourhood had skyrocketed recently and the news was full of grim articles about exsanguinated corpses and bodies with missing limbs. There was no pattern, no connection between the people that had died; in short, everybody was a target, and everyone was a suspect. The people in your apartment block now bowed their heads and hurried on by instead of waving or nodding in greeting. People on the street stared holes in your head if you lingered too long on street corners or outside store fronts. You really shouldn’t have been out that night but you didn’t have a choice, not once your electricity went kerplunk. You were right in the middle of a paper, due tomorrow of course, with your laptop ready to die in the next hour and your meter needing a top up you had no choice but to venture out.

Getting dragged into a dark alley hadn’t been the plan, and you knew you were very fortunate that they’d come along when they had. Whoever had you moved too fast to see, their grip on you harsh and cold. You were covered in bruises and a few scrapes by the time you were flung to the ground, screaming bloody murder and seeing two of everything till your vision cleared. Your attacker had turned out to be a red headed male wearing grungy clothing with vibrant red eyes, but he looked far less threatening writhing on the floor in agony. You’d been absolutely frozen, too afraid to move when you saw the bright, crimson eyes pinning him to the floor, a sadistic smile on the little blonde’s face as she asked someone called Felix to take care of ‘that’. Since you assumed ‘that’ was you, a burst of adrenaline got you running. How he’d gotten around you to hem you back into the alleyway you weren’t sure but Felix’s giant frame was very much blocking your exit.

“You aren’t the BFG, are you?” you’d stammered, brain short circuiting. It had made the big guy tilt his head as he prowled closer, and you’d whined softly in terror. “Come on man, truce?” you pleaded. There was a cold touch on your arm, the tickle of soft hair against your temple and something cool and slender skimming your throat.

“Enough. She’s coming with us.” The voice was almost as cool as the breath that brushed your cheek, and everything had gone black pretty quickly after that. Your paper suddenly seemed very…inconsequential. Who cared about tectonic theory when you had discovered vampires existed? Actually…you did. You wanted to finish your degree, so with a bit of begging on your part and some organisational skill from the secretary, you had special circumstances and your course was to be complete online. Come the spring you’d have your degree in hand and be a college graduate, then you’d have absolutely no unfinished business with your professors and tutors, you could vanish without a trace and start living out eternity in Italy with Alec.

Your current research wasn’t going too well though. What you had thought was good information had turned out to be utterly irrelevant - unless you wanted to rewrite a whole chunk of your paper that was - so you scrunched the paper you’d been scribbling your notes on in one hand and lined up your shot with the wastepaper basket. You never kept it near your desk, it was way more fun to keep it across the room to launch your paper into it like the next big NBA start whenever you got the chance. You reared your arm back, eyes narrowed on your target, and when you were sure your shot lined up, you threw it.

“Yeet!” you crowed, eyes wide as you watched your paper ball sail through the air. Alec knocked and entered at exactly the same time, his eyes tracking the scrunched up ball as it smacked the wall and fell into the basket below. Arms lifting, you grinned and span your chair around with a cheer. “And Y/N sinks it like the mvp I am!” you stopped spinning to face Alec smugly, one ankle crossed over your knee and your hands linking behind your head. “Here for an autograph?” you asked with a wink. Alec’s eyes rolled as he crossed to sit on the edge of your desk.

“I see the studying is going well.” He observed, eyes tracking over your pages of notes and the twenty plus open tabs on your laptop. You heaved a sigh.

“It’s…going.” You answered evasively. Alec didn’t comment, his eyes drifting back towards the wastepaper basket target you’d set up for yourself. He was very quiet, the expression on his face contemplative. Your eyebrows rose a bit and you settled back in your seat to watch him. His side profile was glorious, you had to admit. His jawline was a little rounded, soft with his perpetual youth, but his cheek bones were high and his lashes long and dark around those deep burgundy eyes. The light coming in from your bedroom window was shattering against his skin, refracting off of him like he was a human disco ball. He looked absolutely ethereal like this, an inhuman, impossible being on the edge of your desk that for whatever reason, wanted crazy little you.

“Y/N, you recall we discussed my age once, yes?” he asked finally, turning his eyes back to yours. Your heart skittered since he’d caught you so openly staring at him, and the small twitch of his lips made you certain he’d heard it.

“Yeah, I remember you’re an old fogey.” You teased, trying to play it cool. Alec’s nose wrinkled briefly.

“Perhaps it is my age, but I do not understand your language.” He admitted. You pursed your lips, trying hard to fight the smile threatening to break out. You failed epically, a slight giggle escaping you.

“Sorry, I just…you all speak so formally around here, it’s no surprise you don’t know slang.” You said. Alec sighed.

“Humans have become so lazy with language, even the words they do use correctly are rarely fully enunciated,” He retorted wryly, “Though I suppose it is what happens when time passes. Things evolve. Will you teach me?” You blinked in surprise. Alec wanted to learn slang? Oh…oh. He waited patiently for you to answer him while your mind reeled with all the possibilities, a wicked smile spreading across your face.

“Where do you want to start? Slang or text speak?” you questioned. Alec actually squinted.

“Is there a difference?” he asked, sounding more wary now. You all but cackled in delight and sensing the sudden shift in your mood, he held his hands up to placate you. “Perhaps we can start with the words you used earlier. What is yeet?” You pushed to your feet and shook your head vehemently.

“It’s not yeet, it’s yeet!” you threw an added emphasis on the ye part and pretended to throw another ball into the wastepaper basket. Alec frowned.

“Ye-e-et?” he tried. Your head tilted.

“Okay we’ll work on pronunciation later. Definition of the word…erm, well, it’s just something you yell when you throw something like I did earlier, you know? So, here-“ you scrunched up some more paper from your notebook and handed him the ball, “-you can yeet it into the waste basket.” You demonstrated for added effect, and after taking a moment to scrunch up the paper a little more, he reared his arm back.

“Yeet!” he sounded a little vicious, enough to make you shudder, but his expression was expectant when he turned to look at you, like a puppy wanting praise. You had to introduce him to a high five then, and you had no idea what sort of a monster you’d made until you had settled in the common room a little over a week later, snuggled in a blanket so you could curl up against Alec without fear of catching pneumonia anytime soon.

“It’s a classic Felix! Of course we should watch it.” Demetri sounded exasperated, no doubt bored of the argument the pair had been having since early afternoon about what movie to watch tonight on a rare night off. Jane sat primly in her favourite armchair across from them, looking thoroughly bored with their dramatics. Alec sighed, tightening his grip on you.

“Demetri don’t be such an old fogey.” He chipped in. The room fell utterly silent, your own head swivelling to look up at your mate. You were shocked he’d used it so causally, and given the look on his face it had surprised Alec too.

“I beg your pardon? I am a what now?” Demetri questioned, looking confused as to whether or not he should be offended. Alec opened and closed his mouth slightly, looking to you for help getting out of this one. You bit your lip, hand moving up to smother your smile.

“Chillax D, it’s a compliment.” You grinned. Demetri frowned, eyes searching your face suspiciously for a moment before he sat a little straighter, chest puffing slightly.

“Hear that Felix. I’m a fogey. You should listen to me more often.” He chastised. You barely contained your laughter, Alec’s own frame shaking silently. His lips brushed your ear as he leaned down to whisper a single word in your ear.

“Lol.”

You burst out laughing. Maybe teaching Alec slang hadn’t been such a bad idea after all?

[siennahrobek]

Warning - This is long

Chapter 11 – Saudade

Future Past

18 BBY

Luke is One year old

“Well, this is it. This is now my life,” Obi-Wan said, standing in the middle of his little hut, in the middle of the desert. There was nothing here, just sand and rock and bones. It would have been nice, a quiet place to meditate, if there wasn’t the looming threat of the empire, or the grief of losing the entirety of his people or the oppressive twin suns of the planet.

Perhaps if he left now, he could catch up with the resident herd of banthas. The nomadic life sounded fairly appealing at the moment.

“You know, when I said I wanted to just spend some time meditating in a cave, this is not what I meant,” he pointed out to the air. He wasn’t actually talking to anyone, he didn’t think anyone had even been listening. After all, he really was by himself.

“I’d say it is nicer than a cave.”

Until now, Obi-Wan’s old master didn’t really make casual conversation so his appearance, or rather, voice coming from thin air was a bit on the unexpected side. Their talks were mostly of the teaching variety.

He wondered what changed.

Perhaps it was him.

Maybe he was going crazy, and Master Jinn had to do something rather desperate so Obi-Wan wouldn’t lost his mind completely. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

“I think I need a hobby,” the new hermit said with a nod. Yes, that seemed right.

“Do you really think you are going insane?”

Obi-Wan scowled, glancing around as if the speaking person would appear. Qui-Gon didn’t really appear, at least not in a way that Obi-Wan could see. He just heard his voice, clear as day. Or rather, clear as crystal or water or clear things. He didn’t know. Sometimes it felt hard to think. “Don’t read my mind,” he grumbled.

“I am apparition of the Force,” the voice was flat and steady, nearly laced intricately with sarcasm. Of course. “I couldn’t read minds when I was alive, what makes you think I can do it dead?”

The physically living master huffed, loud and dramatic, waving his arms as if that would make his point. “I don’t know what ghosts can do!” he nearly shouted. It wasn’t like anyone else could hear him. Even the closest person was many, many miles away.

Obi-Wan could almost hear his former master roll his eyes and feel his sarcasm and mock distain rise. “I’m not reading your mind. I can’t do that. I just know you.”

“I have changed a lot in the past fifteen years,” he shot out.

“Not as much as you think,” Qui-Gon hummed, a bit vaguely amused. His voice had quieted, softened but it still, as always, seemed so confident, so sure of himself. Obi-Wan wondered if he naturally had that type of pride and ego or if he had gotten it somewhere. Obi-Wan could probably use some of that, he mused as Qui-Gon continued to speak. “At your core, you are still the same. A jedi. Stubborn, protective, determined, persistent, good, kind, selfless. Just as you were as a padawan.” By the end of the list, Qui-Gon had almost, perhaps, sounded a bit even fond. Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely sure if he was a good judge of what it was.

“You did not see me that way.” The words were coming out when his brain had not given permission. It hardly mattered. Talking with ghosts.

“Now look who thinks he can read minds,” Qui-Gon contemplated, unperturbed and not so offended. He sounded a bit amused, like this was so ironic. He could find humor in anything, apparently, a skill Obi-Wan thought he once had. “I was very proud of you. I am still, exceedingly, proud of you.”

“Now I know I’m hallucinating,” he scoffed.

“Is it so hard to believe, of my pride? In you of all people?”

Yes, Obi-Wan thought. Of course, it is. How can anyone be proud of what he had done, of what had happened, what he had let happen? “You told me to train the boy,” he said, his voice strained and uneasy. He shook his head and fought back tears that threatened to leap forth from his eyes. “And look how that turned out? I did, I tried, I loved him. And now all the jedi are dead. The Sith have won and the galaxy has been left in oppressing darkness.”

There was a brief silence, a contemplation of words. “That is not your fault, Obi-Wan. You are not the one to blame. His choices were his own.” Qui-Gon’s voice was kind and soft, and Obi-Wan could just barely remember the few times, even early in his apprenticeship where Qui-Gon hadn’t been completely upset and regretful with him where he used that tone. When Obi-wan had a vision, or a dream, as Qui-Gon liked to call him. When Obi-Wan was scared and there was no immediate danger to Qui-Gon’s other loved ones. The beginning of their relationship had been more than just a little rocky but that just meant their bond had grown strong through those trials. It had taken long, and it had taken work, but eventually, they made it. And they had been amazing.

“I loved him,” Obi-Wan groaned. “I did not see what he had become.”

“No one had,” Qui-Gon replied, his voice lowering. “You did so well, Obi-Wan. You tried so hard. Better than I. You praised him when called for and treated him as a person, not just a vessel for a prophecy of old. You are not perfect, padawan mine, no one is. But this is not your fault.”

“I do not know why he did it,” Obi-Wan confessed, shaking his head at the truth. He didn’t know and he wondered why every day. Was his love not enough? “I continue to be blind when it comes to him.”

“The dark ide obscures so much, even of which is nearest to us,” Qui-Gon continued, in that teaching voice where Obi-Wan understood and didn’t understand at all. It was an odd thing to miss, he knew, but he did, all the same. “How can one see when something so beyond your control blocks it so thoroughly?”

The younger and not so dead master buried his face in his hands. “It is all gone now.”

“You aren’t. Hope isn’t.”

“Luke is alive,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Leia is alive. They…they are…”

“Hope,” Qui-Gon finished. “Not just for the galaxy either. They are hope for you.”

11 BBY

Luke is eight/nine years old

“Ben?”

He was sleeping on the floor again, Luke thought to himself as he padded out of his room and into the main part of the ship. The boy wasn’t entirely sure why. There was plenty of room with him in the little area Ben had designated for him. For Luke. He had his own room back on Tatooine with Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru and it had been a lot bigger than this, but he didn’t mind. He found the smaller areas kind of cozy actually.

He had not slept well since Ben had come to take him away, after Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru went cold. At first, he had even tried to stay up, like Ben. But Ben must have some kind of superpower or something because no matter what he did, Luke could not stay up. He could not stay awake. Nightmares often plagued his sleeping times. And hyperspace was cold.

Ben looked up, his bleary gaze softening upon spotting Luke, and he moved himself into a seated position. “Are you alright?”

The child hugged himself, wrapping his arms around his torso in some kind of substitute for Ben’s cloak. He didn’t really want to admit to bad dreams. Surely almost being nine, was an age where he could deal with them. He shouldn’t be scared.

Ben, of course, knew anyways.

It was so wizard, the way he just knew things. Biggs was probably right; he must actuallybe a wizard.

“Nightmares?” Ben mused when Luke didn’t answer. “Dreams pass in time.”

Luke just nodded even though he didn’t really understand.

“But, I suppose, that is not so comforting in the moment, is it?” he hummed and stood up, his joints making gross cracking noises as he did. “Come, I will make you some tea. I have a blend that might help.”

Luke perked but tried to temper his excitement and interest. It had only been a week since Ben introduced him to the wonder and ability of tea. It’s warmth and ability to fight the cold of hyperspace. A week since Luke declared he wanted to try all of them.

It was a start.

The tea Ben gave him tasted different than the first one. Physically even warmer, something more soothing. It was calming and it felt like his heart and head were slowing down. It was not long until his eyes started to droop. And then, suddenly, it was like sleep felt like a good idea. He didn’t fear it as much or the nightmares.

He trusted Ben.

And if Ben said the tea would help, Luke would believe him.

Ben didn’t lie to him.

Afterwards, he led Luke back to his bunk and started to tuck him in, bringing blankets up his torso to his neck. Luke just tugged at the billowing sleeve of his robe, attempting to pull him down with him. Ben thought he was trying to get his attention. “Yes, Luke?”

“Stay with me?” he pleaded.

The older man hesitated but exhaled and nodded. “Okay, beacon. Okay.”

6 BBY

Luke is eleven years old.

“Alright Luke,” Ben smiled warmly, filling his presence with kindness and love, as much as he could imbue. The boy next to him, barely a mop of blonde hair visible, grinned and snuggled close to his side, curling even more under his large robe. He would have to get another one, Ben mused to himself. Luke was growing bigger every day and he seemed to really like hiding underneath there. Ben would have to compensate in the size of his robes as he grew.

They were on planet side and even spending a few nights there as of the moment. Stopping for supplies was often frequent and short. Usually if Ben was lucky, he could get a small job or do some things for people that would help him get resources, food or fuel. This planet, however, it had turned out, it was monsoon season and for the next few days, no one could even manage to get to or off the ground.

Ben had scrounged up enough credits to pay for a decent – but quite small – room, to wait out the worst of the storm. It was loud and the harsh semi-solid rain pounded against the roof and walls, wailing in some sort of sad and grieving song. It was a bit frightening to the youngster, but Ben was a bit amazed on the comfort Luke could find within Ben’s presence and at his side.

“We have quite some time to burn, and not a lot to do,” he offered, lightly, curling the blankets around them further and making sure the pillows were stacked up enough to support their weight on the bed. There was only one, but Luke was still rather small, and Ben wasn’t an overly large being, they could fit. Would you like to play Obnoxiously Long Explanations?”

Luke laughed, as he always did when he suggested that. The title was something that Luke himself had suggested after he asked a question and Ben had gone on a rather long tirade explanation on the subject. The boy’s attention had barely faltered, as the topic was rather of interest to him, but the next time it happened, Luke had used the term and it kind of stuck for those types of talks.

“Yes please!” he cheered, wriggling under his cloak and peering through, his blue eyes shining in excitement. He practically begged in that moment, squirming even further until Ben felt he could take no more. “Can I go first? Please? Please?”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, the lines around his eyes wrinkling in a true, genuine smile. Luke always wanted to go first, which Ben could understand. He was young, with many questions. Many questions, especially, since he knew what Ben was and that was a topic, he would constantly have questions for. “What would you like to know?”

“The Jedi!” Luke nearly screeched, his voice rising.

“Your father?” Ben asked, expectantly.

Vehemently, Luke shook his head. “No. Yours.”

That surprised Ben and for a moment, he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond; he did not know how. He was fairly certain that he had told Luke about the type of bonds and child rearing of the jedi. It was a bit more communal than most places, as force sensitives more often than not, faired better with their own, together in groups. “I have no father,” he decided on.

Luke was not deterred, and his tone just grew in excitement and impatience. He was trying to get his point across, surely. “Your jedi master! Tell me about your master. And hismaster! And HIS master!” As he went on, his voice got louder and happier. His enthusiasm was heartwarming and hilarious. Ben loved it and he was more than happy to oblige him. It had been some time since Luke’s encounter with Master Jinn as a Force apparition and his curiosity was overflowing.

“Why,” Ben gaped in mock surprise. “That would take all night.”

Ah, rarely did Ben get his own question in, anyways.

“YAAASSSS!” Luke nearly jumped up with his happy shout, bumping into Ben’s side and arm rather forcefully. There would certainly be a bruise there tomorrow. There was a slam as the headboard of the bed hit the wall behind them, echoing a loud noise through the room. Both of them exchanged surprised and vaguely entertained looks and suppressing giggles.

“Quite little beacon,” Ben hushed him, bringing up his hand with a smile. He couldn’t help himself; the boy was right adorable. “We must be courteous to our neighbors.”

The young boy quieted himself and shrunk in just a bit of shame, he turned towards the headboard and kneeled up from underneath the cloak, nearly bringing his forehead to the wall in some kind of quiet, solemn pledge. “My apologies, gentle beings. I vow to be better,” he whispered to the wall.

Ben could only watch in amusement. Luke looked back up at him, waiting and trying to be patient. But then he sat back down and carefully wrapped part of Ben’s cloak around himself again, curling his legs under his body. He was so eager, the want so great. Ben tried not to see Anakin in his eyes. But Anakin many times wanted to know about Qui-Gon. His hero worship for a dead man he knew for a handful of days was rather astounding.

If he only knew.

He wondered if Luke felt the same. It was interesting he thought. Perhaps all Skywalkers had an interest and love for the maverick jedi, despite both of them had barely known the man.

What did that say?

“Well,” Ben started, slowly, trying to figure out a good place to start. The training lineage itself seemed to be what Luke was after. He wondered how far it would go, how far Luke wanted it. “Master Jinn master was a man from Serenno named Count Dooku. Dooku, in turn, was trained by Master Yoda.”

Luke glanced at him as if he thought he was being tricked, his eyes narrowing in serious suspicion. Ben bit back a laugh, it was amusing to see. “Doesn’t Master Yoda train everyone?” he asked, his voice drawing out in a slow drawl.

Ben nodded. “Yes. But Dooku was Master Yoda’s padawan.”

“Padawan,” Luke tested the word on his tongue, and took care doing it, like it was something he should be respectful of. Like it was important. It should have been, Ben thought bitterly. Luke should have been a jedi, able to find a master he would connect with in a way where that relationship was beloved. Ben knew Anakin probably wouldn’t have wanted Luke to be a Jedi, but Ben couldn’t quite imagine him not. The boy, even at nine years old, had wanted it so badly. “What does that mean?”

“It is the jedi term for apprentice,” Ben started to explain, trying to keep things easy for Luke to understand. The boy was smart for his age but even he knew that Ben had a tendency to go a little overboard at times, “but… it is a little more than that. It is a personal relationship, you learn from your master, spend much time with them and go on missions together.”

Luke considered this and beamed, so bright and happy and beautiful. The thought on his mind was something he was so proud of. “Like us!”

Ben tried not to falter. How could he tell Luke that he could never take him on as a padawan? If he hadn’t completely failed Anakin, hadn’t lost everything. The word was dangerous. Even a mere mention of it was something he had to be careful of. The Empire was extremely prejudice about it, about even thinking that someone may be a jedi or a jedi Padawan. He did not answer. “So,” he continued on their original topic instead. “Count Dooku learned more closely from Master Yoda. Master Yoda has had many padawans. Count Dooku, once upon a time, was my grandmaster, which meant he trained my master, who trained me. He was from a planet called Serenno and was a royal, making him a count.”

“Count Dooku….” Luke tried, narrowing his eyes as he thought about the name and the man behind it. “What was he like?”

“I did not know him as a padawan,” Ben confessed, which was true. He wasn’t entirely sure if Dooku just had not wanted to see him, if he wasn’t living up to the Count’s standards or if Qui-Gon just had not wanted Ben to meet him. Or both, he supposed it could have been both. “I didn’t meet him until much later.”

“Is that strange?”

Ben hummed as he thought about this. “Sometimes, I suppose,” he replied. It had been quite some time before he realized what lineage lines more often than not, were. All jedi, padawans, initiates, even knights, had been trained and taught by many others, even those outside of the lineage. Ben had spent quite some time with several others when he was a young knight. Master Drallig had been one, when he had decided to change his primary form. Eventually he had gone to Master Billaba, a known and excellent practitioner of Soresu for guidance. Ben had not seen or met much of his lineage and those he had, were often evil or dead. Xanatos was not someone he wanted to be associated with, as he had gone dark. As well as Dooku’s last padawan, Vosa and then Dooku himself. His teaching lineage was rather a mess.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been so surprising that another had fallen so far.

“Many grand masters are often around, some even help teach their padawan’s padawan,” he added, cautiously.

“But he didn’t,” Luke replied, a bit slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he should be saying it.

“No,” Ben shook his head. He wasn’t entirely sure why. He would never really know and his old master, even as a ghost, was not exactly forthcoming with answers, especially when it came to Count Dooku. “He and Qui-Gon had a bit of falling out and often did not see eye to eye.”

“Did you get to meet him?” Luke asked.

“Ah…yes,” he nodded again, although he bit his lip. That was rather complex. Ben hadn’t met him as a jedi but rather, once the older man had fallen to the dark side and had become a sith apprentice. He imagined Dooku became quite different through the transition. “He had become a different person by then and had left the jedi.”

“He became bad.”

“He did bad things, yes,” Ben agreed, careful with his words and his tone. Count Dooku was both an interesting and uneasy topic, but he still had to be cautious with how he said things to an easily impressionable child. “But he wasn’t bad for leaving the jedi. Leaving the jedi isn’t always a bad thing.”

“Why would anyone want to leave the jedi?”

Ben nearly wanted to laugh. Luke said it in such a way that it seemed ridiculous, leaving the jedi. He probably should not have told him all the times he had left or had threatened or thought about leaving. Sometimes the cause was different. “Sometimes, things change. Some people discover it is not the type of life they want to live. There is not shame in it,” he reminded, gentle and patient.

“I want to be a jedi.”

Oh, he sounded so sure. Once upon a time, Anakin had sounded sure.

“I know,” he replied, sensible and slow. He would not berate Luke for wanting this, after all, he could sense it. “But it is okay if you end up changing your mind too.”

“I won’t,” Luke affirmed with a light shrug. “Why did Count Dooku leave?”

“He did not agree with some of the jedi leaders,” Ben explained. It was a bit vague but understandable for the youngster. In all honesty, Ben himself wasn’t entirely sure of all the intricacies behind Dooku leaving and his fall. The two were connected, no doubt. But not everyone who left the jedi became like him. Became like Xanatos or Anakin. “And a man, he told Dooku things, some lies, some things true, from a point of view.”

“But he did bad things anyways,” Luke said, curious but adamant.

“Yes. He hurt people.”

“Did you fight him?”

“Yes. Many times.”

“I wish I could have seen it,” Luke said, wistfully, his eyes glimmering into something of desire. He huffed lightly at the thought. Skywalkers are their obsession with lightsaber fighting. “I bet you fight amazing.”

Ben smiled, a bit uneasily. “I was…an adequate warrior. Count Dooku was a legendary swordsman. One of the best. It took a long time before anyone defeated him.”

“Who beat him?”

“Your father, actually.”

“What?! Really?! That’s so cool! Were you there?”

Ben hummed and nodded. “Yes, Count Dooku was not so easily beaten but your father did it. Dooku, aside from his lightsaber skills was a ruler of a planet and had something of a silver tongue.”

“What is that?”

“He’s very good at talking. Very calm and collected, rarely could one say things that surprised him of caught him off guard,” he explained.

“Kinda like you?”

“Pardon?”

“You are really good at taking,” Luke said seriously, looking up at him.

“I am…alright,” Ben replied, nearly choking on the words. It had been quite some time since someone noticed that. It had been a long time since he had been considered a diplomat, an advisor, a negotiator.

“Can you teach me? To talk like you?”

“Uh…we will see,” Ben chuckled, trying to keep the unease out of his voice. He had once tried to teach Anakin the nuances of speech, especially when it came to speaking with politicians and other scum of the galaxy, but he was more intent on learning about aggressive negotiations. Or at least, that with a lightsaber. Then again, he had never really asked, never really found interest in learning that of the sort. Luke was not Anakin and Ben just had to remind himself of that. Some days were easier than others.

“How many… pada…padawans did Dooku have before he left?” Luke stumbled on the unfamiliar word.

“His first was Rael Aveross, second my master, Qui-Gon Jinn and third, Komari Vosa.”

“Tell me about Master Jinn!”

Of course. Of course. “Are you sure? We can’t go back…”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“Alright, alright,” Ben laughed, keeping his tone light and a bit quiet, trying not to disturb the neighbors. It was getting rather dark and late out and no doubt some beings were, in fact, trying to sleep. He started to explain some things that he remembered about his old master, starting with the big things and swirling down to the more minute details. It was a bit fascinating how much Ben remembered, even after over twenty-five years. It was hard to imagine it had been so long. It was hard to imagine that so little time had passed. “Master Jinn was known to be a bit of a maverick. He just… kind of did what he wanted.”

Luke sighed, overly dramatic, throwing his hands up in the air.

That garnered Ben’s curiosity. “What is it?”

“Does no one follow the rules?”

Ben laughed, a bit loud and hearty. He would have never expected something like that to come from a Skywalker’s mouth. “Yes. Master Jinn wasn’t known for following rules. Sometimes this worked in his favor, other times it did not. He was quite the character.”

“He told me something about the Living Force,” Luke asked, uncertainly.

“Did he visit you?”

Luke nodded.

Ben rolled his eyes. “No regard for rules,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’ll tell him,” Luke said, seriously and Ben absolutely believed him. The boy didn’t go around making promises he did not intend to keep. It was something he rather admired about the boy, even already at his age. “If he does it again.”

“What did he try to tell you?”

“Well, he talked about the Living Force…”

Ben explained what he meant by that, as well as the difference between the living and cosmic/unifying force in a way that he hoped was easy to understand for Luke. It was a bit of a tangent, and he thought the lesson was good and Luke just rolled his eyes at the descripted antics of Ben’s old master. Ben was secretly glad he wasn’t the only one. “Master Jinn…he liked plants and animals, generally things that could and would easily kill a person,” Ben grumbled, but his tone was quite fond. Of course at the time, when Master Jinn was alive, it had been annoying, but over time, Ben had even come to appreciate other lifeforms in the way of faun and flora. “I had to take care of many of his pathetic lifeforms.”

“Pathetic lifeforms,” Luke giggled, trying to keep quiet. “That’s funny. Can we get a pathetic lifeform?”

Ben chuckled; a bit nervous. Oh no, he could not go through that again. “Uh no. I don’t think that would be wise…but maybe, perhaps, we can see about getting a plant.”

“Let me guess, one that doesn’t eat people?”

“I think that would be best, don’t you?” Ben smiled, a bit mischievous. This was progress. He can work with a plant, sure. Perhaps it would help teach Luke responsibility as well.

Luke shrugged. “Maybe. But I want a cool one though.”

Present Past

Anakin

“Angel,” Anakin smiled warmly as Padme’s visage popped up over the table. Even through the holocall, she looked as radiant as ever. Obi-Wan was asleep and Anakin just needed to talk to someone. If it wasn’t Obi-Wan, who he knew he had to speak to, he was lucky it was her. He had thought about the Chancellor, but he imagined the man was rather busy at the moment.

Padme just smiled back and shook her head, mockingly hopeless in her expression. She quicky frowned a little bit, as though she remembered something, and her eyes went worried. “Ani. I heard Obi-Wan crashed. Is he okay?”

He wilted at the change of topic, immediately.

“You won’t believe what has happened,” he sighed, running his flesh hand through his hair. He supposed he did want to talk about Obi-Wan. It was unusual affair when it came to her; as he usually didn’t want to talk about him unless he was letting off steam, but Anakin was confused, he didn’t know what was going on or how to proceed. Perhaps Padme could help. She helped with everything else, so why not this. “Obi-Wan…isn’t Obi-Wan.”

Her expression turned flat, and he could see she did not appreciate what she thought must have been a joke. “What does that mean?”

“This is going to sound crazy, he admitted. And it really was.

“Crazier than Mortis?”

He winced as he remembered that absolutely horrible mission. Where Ahoksa had died. Where he had apparently been turned to the dark side. Where his memories were fuzzy and cold and dark. He only remembered parts of that mission and honestly, he didn’t care too much of trying to regain the memories. “Just about.”

“What happened?”

“It appears….it appears, Obi-Wan has time traveled.” Oh, that coming out of his mouth sounded so weird, so wrong.

She laughed, hollowly, but quicky realized he was genuine and stared at him, wide eyed and surprised. “You cannot be serious.”

He nodded, feeling a bit mute. “Master Vos confirmed it. It’s so messed up.”

“Do we win the war?”

He was a little surprised that it was the first thing she thought of the first thing she asked, especially considering her previous concern about Obi-Wan specifically but then again, she was a senator. She had a stake and claim in the outcome of this war. She wanted it over. She wanted to win.

“It doesn’t sound like it,” he grumbled, still bitter. He didn’t know much about anything when it came to the future. Sure, Obi-Wan hadn’t yet much time to talk since he just woke up, but he still hadn’t said much of anything about it. He certainly didn’t talk to Anakin personally. “I don’t know much at this point. Obi-Wan is not a jedi, he’s on the run and I’m dead. You should have seen him, Padme. I don’t even know where to begin! When he saw me, he pulled a saber on me. A lightsaber! He was going to kill me but then he just…. dropped and hugged me instead! He knows who the Sith Master is but he’s acting so strange…” his ramble finally started to slow down as his mouth just kind of ran out of words to spout out.

Padme stared at him through his rant and then the holo call began to move as she sat down. Probably a good idea, he thought. This was a lot to take in. “This…this is a lot to take in,” she admitted, mirroring his thoughts. “He didn’t tell you who it was?”

He shook his head. “He said its…it’s complicated. He’s paranoid about giving information. He doesn’t trust me! I knew it!” his voice became louder and angrier as he went on, the feeling billowing in his chest.

She just sighed and shook her head, as if she was exasperated with him. He hated it when she looked and felt like that, especially with him. “Did he tell anyone else about the identity?”

“Well, no,” he grumbled.

“Then it’s not you, Ani,” she pointed out, her voice calm and patient and kind. With his mind on Obi-Wan, it seemed somehow reminiscent of how his old master used to speak with him when he was a child. A child to be calmed and pacified. He was not entirely sure how he felt about that. “He’s scared and he doesn’t seem to understand what is going on.”

“He doesn’t even think this is real.”

“What do you mean?”

“He thinks the Sith caught up with him and is manipulating his mind,” he huffed, rubbing his temples, as if that would just take everything away. He had a persistent headache. From what, he wasn’t entirely sure. “We haven’t been able to convince him otherwise yet.”

“It’s pretty clear that he has been through a lot,” Padme replied, a bit slowly and Anakin’s chest grumbled in that continued tone. He was not a child to be placated. “Paranoia probably kept him alive. Try to be patient with him. This has to be very scary and strange to him.”

Anakin groaned and nearly flopped over. She wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t even imagine how he would react in Obi-Wan’s shoes. Probably better, or worse, he grimaced. It was difficult to think about. “I knowwwww…. I just. Augh. He’s taking a nap and then he wants to meditate.”

“Maybe that will help him accept this,” she offered. “You know he always feels better after meditation, even if you don’t.”

He sighed. “I guess.”

“Do you know anything else about the future?”

“Not much. I can’t imagine it’s good, if Obi-Wan of all people is on the run.”

“And you are dead,” she pointed out worriedly. “I might be too.”

That got his attention. “What do you mean?”

“Ani…” she started, keeping her voice slow still. “He’s by himself. He’s your friend, your family. He’s my friend. I’m sure he knows we care about each other. I cannot imagine I would not help him if I had been able. Don’t you think he would try to help me if something happened?”

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“Something did,” she pointed out. She wasn’t wrong but the thought was much too horrible to even consider. He would never let anything happen to her. He didn’t think he would let anything happen to Obi-Wan either, some dark part of him realized, but something had. He had allowed that to happen by dying. “Something so horrible, Obi-Wan is all alone. No friends, no family, no jedi.”

“Not completely alone,” Anakin realized. He hadn’t thought about Luke much in the past couple of hours and the thought was actually kind of shaking his core. Perhaps Padme could shed some light on his thoughts and theories.

“Pardon?”

“Someone came back with him, someone who isn’t even born yet in this time,” he said, trying to find the right words to describe him. He probably should not be talking about this whole-time travel thing with others; Master Windu and the Council seemed to want to keep it under wraps – like so many other things, he thought cynically. But Padme could be trusted. He could trust her. After all, if he couldn’t trust his wife, who would he trust? Some tiny voice deep inside him echoed his master’s name. “His name is Luke and he’s…. crazy protective. Wouldn’t even leave Obi-Wan’s side for a while.”

Padme just smiled, knowingly. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“That’s different,” he insisted, and it nearly stunned him how quickly he realized what she was talking about. Who, she was talking about. Him. “He’s, my master. We are a team. The best team.”

“And who is Luke?”

Anakin hesitated and glanced away. The idea had been vaguely bouncing around his head, but he hadn’t voiced it yet. “I think…. I think he might be Obi-Wan’s son.”

“No way.”

“I don’t know for sure,” he added, quickly, almost like he was trying to back track. The thought of Obi-Wan having a child at all was rather mind-boggling. Hypocritical maybe, because that meant he had an attachment, at least of some kind. “It’s just…he told Ahsoka his mother died in childbirth and his father…that it was complicated,” he wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Why do you think he’s Obi-Wan’s son?”

“He’s force sensitive.”

“So are you and he’s not your son,” she pointed out, teasingly.

He snorted again; wasn’t that a thought. “He talks like Obi-Wan, you know, all posh and stuff. Was raised by him. And…do you remember the Duchess of Mandalore.”

“Satine Kryze?”

He nodded. Her eyes widened in understanding. If he recalled, he was pretty sure the Duchess and Padme were friends. She’d probably know, perhaps. “When we rooted out the traitor on her ship, she confessed her feelings and he told her he would have left the order if she asked.”

“Do you think she asked?”

“It seems likely, although I have a hard time imagining he would have done it before the war ended,” he admitted. “Honestly, it’s hard to imagine at all. He’s just…he’s got that perfect jedi thing going on.”

Even he knew that Padme was fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She generally didn’t always completely agree on some of the things Anakin thought about his former master. “If the war ends and Obi-Wan is on the run, as you say,” she realized, thinking about this train of thought. “He may have fled to Mandalore.”

“Then she died in childbirth,” Anakin frowned. “It would have been…really quickly, right after the war. Luke is, like, fifteen, sixteen max.”

“Does he look like Obi-Wan?”

Anakin shook his head but then hesitated. “I don’t think so, but I haven’t really looked you know? I only spent a couple of hours with him and even then, I wasn’t really looking. He’s blonde, like the Duchess, so maybe he looks more like her?”

“We will have to check it out when you get back to Coruscant. Perhaps do a DNA test or something. That would certainly confirm things. You are coming back, right?”

Anakin hesitated. “Not…yet.”

She sighed.

“The colony of Kiros was taken by slavers,” he explained with a snarl at the word, his anger growing more profound as he realized what was happening, what type of mission they were taking on. Slavers. “Captain Rex and Luke were taken by Dooku.”

Padme looked worried but it was washed away with her expression of compete determination. “Then the Republic’s greatest hero has to go and save them.”

Anakin grinned at the praise. “Not to worry, milady, it shall be done.”

“And milady has work to do,” she laughed.

“Awww. Can’t you stay on longer?”

Something in her eyes glimmered. She was up to something, he knew it. “I do believe I have to do my own part,” she said, vaguely. “And you should probably be around Obi-Wan when he wakes up. He’s going to need you. We are going to win this war this time.”

“This time,” Anakin echoed.

Cody

Quinlan Vos was not exactly the kind of person Commander Cody would have expected General Kenobi to be friends with. He has heard a little of General Kenobi’s friends and life, pre-war, but he had heard things, gleaned from snippets from both General Kenobi, General Skywalker and other still. General Vos was someone General Kenobi complained about, but he did it the same way he complained about Skywalker, which made it clear that they were close.

They were friends. Close friends. Perhaps best friends, although from what Cody could tell, several beings like to try and claim that title. He was a bit curious on General Kenobi’s own thoughts on the matter.

Cody had been trying to keep himself busy while his general slept to prepare for the conflict that was undoubtedly in front of them. Boil and his group had been replaced for clean up on the planet. The trooper had already been ready for another fight when Cody explained what had happened to like and Waxer. Waxer was his best friend and Luke…no one was entirely sure what Luke was to them at this stage, but he was something. Something their troops cared about. Their trusted little fellowship was already fond of the boy, nearly as much as they were to Luke.

Needless to say, no one was happy upon discovering Luke and Waxer’s dilemma and situation. All of them prepared for the next assignment and then milled around the overall area where their general slept. Cody didn’t stop them. They knew about the future and even beside that, there was something else. A change they could feel.

Cody was talking to Barlex and Threepwood, quietly discussing next moves involving the chips. Commander Colt and Alpha-17 were already starting research and had discovered the location of the chip in their heads. It could be found by a level five atomic scan, something few ships had access to. Although, with the right equipment, the surgery did not appear too difficult.

“We need to talk to the jedi about this,” Threepwood said quietly. “You know what Luke did. He can help the droids scan and find the chips.”

“They probably also have access to the necessary scanners and droids,” Barlex added, his voice gruff as per usual.

“We have to be very careful,” Cody warned. “This information could cause widespread panic, or worse, word getting out to the Sith and the chips could be activated early.” It was a terrible thing to think about, much less consider. Even though he technically knew it had happened, happened to his general, it was hard to wrap his head around. He could not even imagine doing such a thing.

“We need help,” Threepwood insisted.

“We do not have the resources to de-chip the entire GAR while we fight this war,” Barlex agreed, although rather grudgingly. He didn’t always seem to like agreeing with other people. “Or the equipment, the time, the excuses.”

“I know,” Cody hissed.

“If you need boys de-chipped fast, contacting jedi healers and perhaps jedi with smaller clone attachments might be a good start.”

The three of them shut up quicky and spun around, lining up in front of the jedi general in perfect formation to salute in practiced smooth movements. “Sir!” one of them near shouted. Cody didn’t know who it was. He didn’t dare look.

“We didn’t…”

General Vos raised a hand, smirking subtly and casually. Cody wanted to feel relaxed, he really did. This was General Kenobi’s friend; couldn’t they trust him? He truly hoped so. “Don’t worry, I’m no snitch. Well, actually I am, but not in this case,” he smiled at his own joke, although it was a bit weak. “I know about the chips and what happened in Obi-Wan’s future.”

That helped ease the tension a bit. General Vos gave them a rundown on his specific abilities to give them a rational explanation to his access of knowledge. And then he continued to explain his suggestion. “There are healers stationed everywhere and if there is one thing they know, aside from healing, it is digression. They have any and all excuses, especially as jedi, to see troopers.”

“The surgery is apparently pretty easy,” Barlex also noted. “Luke did several with the help of a basic med droid, quickly.”

An eyebrow rose curiously. “Then it should definitely be faster and easier with actual healers. I can contact Master Healer Che and start proceedings in that area.”

“She’s your top coordinator?” Cody asked. He nodded. “Maybe start with the other healers, away from Coruscant.”

“What are you afraid of?”

Was he that obvious?

“The danger is centered there,” Cody replied, vaguely. The others glanced at him, but he didn’t meet their gaze. The speculation was just that…speculation but even if it was confirmed, if the chips didn’t spread mass panic, the acknowledgment and identity of the man behind all of this, would.

“I wanted to talk to you,” General Vos dropped it for now. “About Obi-Wan, Luke, steps going forward to prevent that future.”

“Barlex and Threepwood know,” Cody stated firmly, as General Vos glanced between the three of them warily. Cody answered his silent question immediately. “Luke asked me to gather some of the boys and he explained what he knew. They are de-chipped. Waxer knows.”

“He’s with Luke,” General Vos realized, after a moment. General Kenobi must have told him about Waxer, Cody thought. He couldn’t really believe that General Vos knew any of them by name. Before this, he hadn’t really spent much time with the 212thbattalion and the only one he ever really interacted with to some degree was Cody himself. “I am not certain of that will end up being a good or a bad thing.”

“He will do his duty.”

“I have little doubt,” General Vos agreed, a bit readily, to their surprise. “Who else knows?”

Cody didn’t think the names or even numbers would mean anything to the jedi, but he listed them off anyways. “The Medic,” General Vos realized as Cody went over Helix’s name and gestured for them to follow. They ended up in General Kenobi’s office which Barlex pointed out as they got in, his voice just flat enough not to sound too insubordinate or disrespectful.

“It’s easier to get into his mindset here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mentioned my psychometry. It’s linked to that. I got a lot from Luke before the battle,” he said, as they settled in. Everyone was still rather uneasy. “And even more from Obi-Wan. It’s…it is really bad.”

“We are forced to kill the jedi,” Barlex noted.

“Even the little ones,” Threepwood finished, quiet and pained at the thought. No one knew exactly who had marched on the Temple in General Kenobi’s past and their possible future. For all they knew it could have been them. Maybe it had been. Maybe not. It didn’t matter so much at this point; they still felt it rather keenly, almost as though they had personally done it. It was a horrible thought.

General Vos nodded. “Obi-Wan was unconscious when I got the information from him so… so I didn’t feel that in the way he felt it. I didn’t feel his pain and grief in the full force that I would have if he had been awake; just the…remnants of it.”

“You know who did it,” Barlex voiced something they had all realized.

“Pardon?”

“You know who attacked the Temple,” Cody answered for him, quietly. “You know who killed and massacred the children, the elderly, the sick and injured. You know who led them.”

General Vos didn’t let his face show anything. Cody wondered if that was a skill all Jedi knew because General Kenobi was good at that as well. It didn’t matter what he showed on his face and what he did not. His pause spoke volumes.

“Who was it?” Barlex nearly demanded.

Threepwood just froze. He didn’t want to know.

“Was it us?”

Vos’s response was immediately. “No. No, it wasn’t you.”

No one dared to let out the large breath they were all holding. It was uncomfortable, they were uncomfortable, and they knew it, even if it was not them, it had been someone.

Cody had a theory, a feeling.

He did not like it.

He wanted it verified, a desperate plea for himself to be wrong, but he did not voice it. He could not bring himself to. General Vos caught his eye. Cody just wilted.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, instead. “As long as we move quickly and quietly, it won’t happen at all. Obi-Wan is awake, as I’m sure you are all aware. At this point in time, he does not believe this to be real. He thinks that this is a complex Sith mind trick. This will be a lot more difficult if we cannot convince Obi-Wan of otherwise.”

“He will come to the right conclusion,” Cody affirmed. “He’s practical and smart. He will figure it out.”

“I imagine time travel is pretty difficult to wrap one’s head around,” Threepwood grimaced. “We were lucky, I think, having Luke around. He’s not born yet, and he knows things he couldn’t have known unless General Kenobi had told him.”

“We are heading to Zygerria,” General Vos continued. “General Koon and the 104thare going to Kadavo to retrieve the Kiros colonists, on Obi-Wan’s intelligence. We, in the meantime, are headed to the planet to get their governor and make some noise to attract Dooku,” he explained.

“Why?”

“We are fairly certain he has Luke and the missing troopers.”

The boys bristled. “They are dead, aren’t they?”

“We don’t think so,” he disagreed.

“Why? Count Dooku does not take trooper hostages,” Barlex pointed out.

“Usually, yes,” General Vos nodded. “But he thinks Luke is Obi-Wan’s padawan and, especially due to his very…sudden…disappearance, Dooku’s interest is undoubtedly high with him and the situation surrounding him.”

“And?”

“He will probably use the troopers as leverage, hostages,” General Vos confessed with a frown. “If Count Dooku wanted those troopers dead, I imagine we would have just found their bodies in the air base on Umbara. Luke is young and he is rather fond of you, it appears. They will make decent leverage.”

“He is,” Threepwood sighed.

“But what Luke knows about the future…could it be that valuable to Dooku?” Barlex asked. “Luke was born after the war.”

“I doubt Dooku, at this point, knows about the time travel and we think Dooku’s interest is in Luke’s relation to Obi-Wan. As most of you probably know… Count Dooku…he’s a bit fond of him.”

“He shows it in very strange ways,” Threepwood muttered.

“He is Obi’s grand master.”

Threepwood and Barlex sputtered.

“Count Dooku is General Kenobi’s grandfather?”

General Vos looked vaguely uncomfortable with the phrase but shook his head lightly, like that wasn’t exactly it. It wasn’t, Cody knew the jedi didn’t have grandfathers in the way that many other cultures did but that didn’t make those relationships any less personal. “Err…. not exactly but sort of? He trained Obi-Wan’s master, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“That is…. messed up,” Threepwood sighed.

“We want him to come to Zygerria. He’s in league with the slaver queen there, no doubt working some angle. According to Obi-Wan, he had gone to the planet last time when she didn’t quite…listen to the Count.”

“So, we are kind of doing the same thing?”

General Vos just smiled. “More like we are going to make a bit of a mess and kark some things up to get Dooku to come. Just a small team for now, lure him in and then attack with the 501st and 212th.”

“I can put together a task force, sir,” Cody said. He knew exactly who to bring.

“I would say you should probably stay on the ship, but I don’t think you will,” he cracked a sly grin.

“Barlex can cover,” Cody replied, readily, glancing at his brother. His gaze hardened in determination, and he nodded. “Besides, I think me being there, with Boil, might help.”

“How do you mean?”

“Both Boil and I were in the future, we lived…longer than most,” Cody explained but it was difficult to get through. He didn’t know much about the future and he didn’t particularly like talking about the fates of his brothers, as horrible as they were. As little as he knew, with only speculation and hypothesis to guide him through. “He’s a bit more comfortable around those people, especially Boil. He’s got a bit of a soft spot for him and he’s still alive in General Kenobi’s future.”

“He did mention him before,” General Vos noted.

“I brought him back from cleanup. He’s probably already talking with the General now,” Cody added. “General Kenobi prefers short power naps more than anything. The more comfortable he is with the squad, the more information we will get and the more likely he may be more inclined to believe.”

“And they won’t let anything happen to him,” Barlex vowed, darkly.

“Finally!” a new voice grumbled as the door was forced open. Helix burst in with a long sigh and a huff. “General, commander. I guess I should have known. I thought you would want to know. General Kenobi is awake.”

Ben

“Obi-Wan! Please!”

“It was only a dream, dear one. Dreams pass in time.”

“He will never want me.”

“You will never remind me.”

“Ben!”

“Obi-Wan!”

“I love you.”

“And you, you’ve grown sadder.”

“Trust in the Force.”

“I will not abandon you.”

“I would have chosen you over and over given the chance.”

“I foresee you becoming a greater jedi than I.”

“He was my best friend, my brother.”

“You can see that?”

“It’s just you and me, old man.”

“Is it true?”

“Yes.”

“I am so proud of you.”

“We were waiting.”

“I’m waiting.”

“You have become a far greater jedi than I could ever hope to be.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“If In die here, it’s going to be your fault.”

“If I die here, it’s going to be with you.”

“Forgive me if I still think I know you better than anyone else.”

“I know what you wanted. I’m not leaving him.”

“You do.”

“We meet again.”

“It is all your fault.”

“LIES!”

“It’s over Anakin.”

“It hate you.”

“I love you.”

Ben’s inhale back into consciousness, coming from his slumber, was quick and deep, accompanied by a dry throat and wet cheeks.

“Welcome back, general.”

It took a rather embarrassingly long moment for Ben to put a finger on the name. It had been a very long time. He racked his brain, but eventually, the short-term memories came back forward. The star destroyer. Quinlan. Umbara 2.0. What did the Sith Lord want with staging this specific campaign? Surely, he would be smart enough to know Ben wouldn’t do the same things as last time; that surely, he would try to be better, do better, save more lives. No matter how hard he tried, Ben just couldn’t quite stop being a jedi. He wondered how the casualty counts compared to the first time around.

“Helix,” Ben murmured, a bit fondly. “It has been a while.”

“So, you have said,” Helix hummed, and Ben could feel him going over him, checking for anything and everything, going through his vitals while the jedi regained himself. “Longer for you than me, as your padawan says it.”

“My padawan?” Ben mused.

“Luke,” Helix supplied.

“Is that what he calls himself?”

“No,” Helix shrugged. “But it seems kind of obvious to us. Good kid, though. Kind, generous. Protective of you…and us, it appears.”

“He has always wanted to meet the people of my past.”

“Well, if you tell him a bunch of glory stories, that does not seem too surprising.”

“They were flattering ones, I assure you.”

“Not the ones where we kill all of you, I imagine.”

The plain facts and rational tone of Helix’s voice caught Ben off guard. He turned to stare at him in surprise, a little wide eyed. Oh, the man hadn’t changed a bit. He was just like how Ben remembered him over sixteen years ago. “You…how… I don’t know what you are talking about,” he settled on.

Look at that, he could be at a loss for words.

“Luke told us,” Helix confessed. “Got the chips out and everything. Just a few of the boys to start. I think he wanted some allies. The Commander, Gearshift, Trapper, Longshot, Threepwood, Barlex, Wooley, Crys, your favorites,” he smirked at the end.

Ben sputtered. “What…I do not-.”

“Don’t worry, general,” he just chuckled. “Everyone has favorites, and we get it. Care isn’t finite or whatever; jedi-way. We all know. Can’t say we completely blame ya, those two are surprisingly good with you. However, speaking of which, Commander Cody did pull some strings, so Boil came with us instead of staying on Umbara for cleanup.”

“He can to Kiros with us last time,” Ben mused, quiet and mostly to himself. “He wanted to get his mind off of…off of Waxer.”

“Waxer died on Umbara the first time, didn’t he?”

It wasn’t much to jump to that conclusion, apparently. He wondered what Luke had told them. Ben swallowed and nodded. “Friendly fire.”

“Commander Cody told me. He said Luke put a stop to it. As far as we know, currently, they are both still alive.”

“Things have already changed,” Ben mumbled. “Luke wasn’t here last time…could it…”

“Boil is coming up,” Helix said quietly. “It may be a few minutes. Would you like to talk to him? I know he isn’t your future version but perhaps a friendly and known presence might help ground you.”

“Ground me?”

“You confessed earlier that you believed this was a Sith trick; a mental manipulation orchestrated by the Sith,” Helix began to explain, only a bit hesitant.

Ben nodded.

“Maybe he could help,” he shrugged. “It’s a little difficult to see Boil as a grounding influence but well, who knows?”

“Alright,” Ben conceded. He rather thought he would like to see the trooper again anyways. Even if he may have just been a figment of this trick, Helix was not wrong, a friendly face would always be a blessing.

“It’ll be a couple of minutes. I have some boys to look over, can you handle a bit by yourself?”

He just laughed, lightly. “Of course, Helix. Go on.”

*

Arfour was not having a good time.

Her pathetic lifeform had finally awoken but he was just all over the place. Running around like a maniac, his vitals all over the place and nothing that came out of his person that made any sense. Not real? What was not real?

He looked at her as if he had not seen her in a very long time.

It had been not even a singular day.

She let the two humanoids speak and she waited for her turn quietly. [pathetic lifeform] was tired and confused but seeing [know-it-all] appeared to make him a bit more at ease. Some residents of the ship made him more at ease than others.

She took note of that.

[pathetic lifeform] smiled kindly at her as she rolled into his room beeping indignantly. Looking down at her, there was something, an expression, on his face that her current data banks just could not quite identify. “Ah, Arfour. I think we have some work to do.”

*

Boil’s face appeared in the doorway and all Ben could think was how young he looked. Last time he had seen Boil, he had much more scruff on his face, more wrinkles, grey hair. But he carried himself the same.

Ben wasn’t sure if even the Sith could duplicate that.

His expression instinctively softened at the sight of him. “Hello, Boil.”

The trooper shifted; a bit uncomfortable. Things were not the same as they were in the future; Ben had to be careful. “General. It’s good to see you awake. We…I mean some of the boys were worried.”

Ben nodded. “My apologies. That was not my intention.”

The trooper was fighting back his reactions, probably that of a disbelieving snort. He was trying so hard, Ben mused. He wondered if Boil was a figment of his imagination, the last throws to preserve what was left of his sanity.

Losing it to a Sith Lord wasn’t exactly the way he wanted to go.

Embarrassing.

He was closer now.

“My apologies, sergeant,” he repeated.

“For what, sir?”

“When Luke…helped you off of Vader’s ship, you wanted to stay with us. He loved you. I think you may have been Luke’s only real friend at that point.”

Boil swallowed. Ben didn’t know if he understood.

“I couldn’t let you. I couldn’t let you stay with us. Sometimes I regret it but…that’s not the jedi way.”

“Why did you not want me to stay?”

“I could not give Vader another loved one to be targeted,” Ben rasped. It was too late, the Sith already knew. So much in Ben’s head…sometimes he wished he was a droid, able to just wipe it all away.

Boil just stared at him and Ben wanted to reach out in the force with his feelings and projections. It had been a long time since he had done that amongst troopers.

He didn’t dare.

“Why…” Boil hesitated and glanced away. “Why does Vader hate you so much? Who is he?”

Ben’s breath caught. He had never actually confessed it to anyone, who Vader was.

Boil seemed to sense Ben’s panic and quickly tried to backtrack. The tone of his voice sounded strange paired with Boil’s gruff voice and his usual attempt to be calm and surly and brusque. “I am so sorry, sir. You do not have to tell me. It is completely fine. It doesn’t even matter really. He’s not here and you are not there.”

“I used to,” Ben struggled to speak. “I know him. Vader he…”

Ben stopped and stiffened. Boil followed his snap quick gaze to where Skywalker was standing in the doorway.

“Sergeant, would you mind leaving us for a bit?” Ben asked, not unkindly. He would not let a Sith near the trooper if he could help it. If Vader had donned Anakin’s visage. He wasn’t sure who this was, if it was Vader or someone else playing him or even yet, Anakin himself. Quinlan and several others had tried to convince him that he was in the past. For one of the first times ever, Boil hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure he should actually do as he had been asked. But after a moment, he walked out with a touch of bristle on his shoulders.

It did not escape Anakin’s attention but he, surprisingly, did not say a word.

Instead, he walked over to Ben and carefully sat next to him.

He felt so real, Ben mused. Like he could reach out and touch him, a familiar warm body under his fingers that wouldn’t burn at the contact.

Anakin always burned in his dreams.

It was a horrible think, to wish he had made sure he had killed Anakin on Mustafar well over a decade ago. So much pain could have been avoided. All it would have cost was Ben himself, leaving all the hurt and pain and horribleness for his mind and shoulders.

He was rather good at that.

He thinks perhaps killing Anakin on Mustafar would have broken him, most times. As much sadness as he could bear, he wasn’t sure if he could survive that.

But then again, Obi-Wan Kenobi had died alongside Anakin Skywalker that day.

If Quinlan and Helix and everyone else was right, if this was real and he was somehow back in his own history, able to make choices and change anything, that meant… did that mean Anakin Skywalker lived once more?

And if he did, did that mean Obi-Wan Kenobi was revived as well?

Could it be possible?

Everything had felt so real, although Ben hadn’t dared to reach out too much to others in the Force. He hadn’t even touched any bonds. If the old ones were still there and not ravaged…he did not know what he’d do.

“I had so much to say,” Anakin started, his voice uncharacteristically subdued and muted, fighting so hard to remain and relaxed and patient. “But I don’t know anymore. I’ve been thinking about things for hours and hours. Everything is going to be so different now.”

“What do you mean?”

“For me, it has only been a day. A day since it was you and me, like always. A day ago, I thought everything was fine. I thought we were okay. For me, the things that you have gone through have not happened yet. I’m alive and healthy, early twenties with a young padawan, fighting in a galaxy-wide war,” he tried to explain but Ben could tell, he was certainly struggling. “But for you, for you, it has been over fifteen years. You saw the end of the war, and something so terrible happened, you left the jedi and are on the run.”

“I did not leave,” he mumbled, absentmindedly. He hadn’t even been aware that he had spoken it until moments after, when Anakin’s head jerked, eyes meeting his in some form of terrified confusion. It looked so real, his uncertainty, and Ben wanted so desperately to believe it. Because if Anakin was befuddled and perplexed, then perhaps he didn’t know, perhaps Quinlan was right and this was actually his padawan. Not the monster that was using his body.

“Huh?”

“I did not leave,” he repeated, a bit louder.

“Did they…kick you out?” Anakin asked, skeptical and unconvinced.

Ben shook his head. “No. Everyone is dead and gone. I’m the last of the jedi.”

*

Anakin

Anakin just choked. That was not what he was expecting. Not that he had many expectations at this point. It was still painful to think about, however, and anything Anakin had expected, they both knew, this was not it.

Ten thousand jedi.

One survivor.

“That’s impossible,” he whispered. He hadn’t even realized he had said it. His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in years or if he had spoken too much in that time. It was an odd contradiction, but all Anakin could feel was like he was choking on nothing at all. Because that could not have happened.

“Unfortunately, it very much is possible,” Ben hummed. “I have seen the Temple bathed in blood, bodies thrown carelessly across the halls, shot in the back. I have seen younglings murdered in their beds. They never stood a chance.”

Rage was swelling in Anakin’s chest and Ben studied him curiously. He didn’t seem entirely sure about the validity of his reaction just yet, which just didn’t make any sense. His wariness and paranoia would normally hurt and anger Anakin but right now, he was barely paying attention. It was the overwhelming and heartbreaking feelings that dominated absolutely everything at this point, because there was so many. So many jedi, ten thousand. And they were all just…gone?

Who could have possibly done such a thing?

“How are you not furious?”

“It happened over fifteen years ago,” Ben rasped, and his voice was hoarse and pained. It was like he hadn’t spoken in a long time. Anakin wondered if that actually was the case. “I doubt the horror and grief I felt then will ever truly fade but I cannot…I could not do anything about it.”

“You can now,” Anakin insisted. “We can. It hasn’t happened yet. We can fix this.”

Ben was humming, non-committedly. “Interesting,” he murmured.

Anakin’s brain kept buzzing. This wasn’t happening, was he different and nothing could change it? Was it so bad that Anakin would never have his best friend back? He couldn’t imagine a life now without Obi-Wan being right there, at his side. And he didn’t want to. “What is happening to you?”

He just sighed, long suffering and tired. Obi-Wan was always tired these days but there was something in his expression that was just a little more. “A lot has happened and I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“I want my master back.”

“What does that entail, exactly?”

How to answer that. With everything that was happening and everything that had happened. All of their lives and things they had done and said and not done and said. That was a question he didn’t think he could truly answer, not in its entity. Because this was Obi-Wan and that is all Anakin wanted. “I didn’t realize things had changed so much with us until…until this whole time travel thing. Things have changed so drastically but it is like I don’t know us anymore. We are a tram, the team. We are the best, I can’t even imagine my life without you. But I’ve realized…. it’s like… I don’t know what we are anymore. It’s not the same.”

Much of that may be my fault, I suppose.”

Anakin was so startled by his instinctive desire to agree to such a prospect. When had he turned into the default for blaming Obi-Wan? When had it become so easy? But before Anakin could gather himself again and his thoughts to speak, the older jedi continued. What he said next didn’t seem at all in direct relation to his previous statement.

He was practically choking on the words. “If this is a dream, I do not want it to end.”

Anakin didn’t think he meant to say that out loud. “This is real, master, I swear.”

“I never truly knew why you did it,” he replied, instead. A lump formed in Anakin’s throat. What had he done? “I knew you had resentment, some notion that I had been holding you back. You have said it. If I had, it was never intentional. I’m not exactly the best jedi or teacher, and I know you deserved better, someone who actually knew what they were doing. I know you wanted Qui-Gon and I…don’t blame you. I just didn’t realize I had done so poorly and failed you so much. I did not realize how far you had fallen or when it started.”

Anakin froze. That was much to unravel at the moment. He ended up focusing on the end of the speech.

Fallen? As in…?

It couldn’t be possible.

“What did I become?”

Ben did not want to answer, which just worried Anakin more. He must have been so truly terrible for him to withhold this.

Quinlan Vos appearing was annoying, to put it mildly, as Anakin seemed to believe they were making progress. For answers. But Ben, although subtly, looked visibly relieved. “Hey, Obes,” Master Vos greeted with a smooth smile and a comforted expression, as he carefully entered. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit confused,” Ben admitted, truthfully. “None of this makes sense. I don’t know what Sidious wants from me.”

“Perhaps we are telling the truth, maybe this is time travel,” Master Vos suggested.

“Time travel. An interesting notion,” Ben mused. “Not impossible, however rather unlikely.”

“Why is that?”

“Anakin is acting rather strange.”

“How?”

Obi-Wan exhaled and closed his eyes. Upon opening them, he stared at Anakin as if he thought he would disappear. Anakin stared back at him. This didn’t make any sense Then Obi-Wan turned to look back at Quinlan. “Worried, concerned. Not nearly as angry and resentful as the last time I saw him. I wish this cruel trick would end. But, at the same time, I feel as though this could be a wonderful dream.”

Anakin’s breath caught and emotions, feelings, everything just came rushing in all at once. It was nearly unbearable. “How could you?” his voice stuttered in something of vibration, of hurt and pain. “How could you think that I don’t care?!” he cried.

“Skywalker,” Quinlan warned.

“After-.”

Anakin,” Quinlan snapped, a little louder.

His jaw snapped shut. He was trying, he was trying, he was trying; they could give him back. He had to be careful, they all did. Anakin hated being so worried and concerned about what he said or felt. But he just wanted Obi-Wan back. And he would do anything. “I would rather like to meditate, if you would allow,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, unable to meet Anakin’s eyes.

“This isn’t a Sith trick; you are allowed to do as you please.”

“I’m not sure if I want to believe you. The implications of this…. of this not being a trick or a hallucination or a dream…I do not know what I would do with it. It has been fifteen years, in such a dark galaxy, hunted relentlessly for so long.”

“We are going to fix it, master,” Anakin assured, as he tried to calm himself; trying to breathe. He still sounded determined, dangerous. “I won’t let it happen again. I won’t let it.”

“You keep saying such things as that,” Obi-Wan hummed, his brow furrowing. “As though you think you can control it all.”

Quinlan interrupted before Anakin could say something stupid. Which, in all honesty, Anakin knew most would have probably found anything he would say next rather dumb. “Would meditation help you?”

“I haven’t…reached in the Force that way yet,” he admitted. “Since I woke up.”

“Maybe it is time,” Quinlan offered. “Perhaps it will help you determine your reality.”

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Would you like to join me?”

“Sure. Do you want to go somewhere else?”

Obi-Wan just shrugged. “Surprisingly, here is fine.”

“Do you intend to join us?” Quinlan asked Anakin.

“Yes,” he nearly growled.

“Then can you at least quiet your mind? Your chaotic way of doing things is doubtfully going to be much help with Obi-Wan,” Master Vos replied, flatly.

“It’s alright,” the older master assured, almost sounding even fond of the way that Anakin does things, even something as an attempt at meditation. “Even after all this time, I know Anakin Skywalker. I’d be interested how things end up. With the Sith, with all of their resources, I find it doubtful they could be able to reproduce it.”

Anakin shot Quinlan a smug grin.

They settled down on the floor and Anakin commed Ahsoka. She had gotten there in record time and was invited to join them as well. Obi-Wan’s gaze was soft at the sight of her, something nostalgic and pained. Anakin wondered if she survived, but then he remembered what Obi-Wan had said about survivors. Or lack thereof.

Anakin had never tried quite so hard at the typical form of meditation than he did just then. All the worry, all the fear; he tried so hard. But every time he opened his eyes, every time he reached out, he could see Obi-Wan smirk, subtly. Like he knew something.

Like Anakin’s meditation habits were familiar and amusing.

Was this progress? Was it possible that Anakin could get Obi-Wan back?

At the very least, most of him?

More beings approached, tentative and hesitant as Anakin sunk into the Force again. The 212th, no doubt, and at least six of them. He tried not to pay attention, but he didn’t recognize any of them off hand. Obi-Wan certainly did.

He continued to relax.

Anakin bit back a scowl. Obi-Wan was more comfortable with the troops than Anakin himself at this point. He didn’t really know any of them. Obi-Wan knew several of Anakin’s own 501st by name…perhaps, Anakin should get to know of some of Obi-Wan’s 212th.

He made a note to himself.

“Is there something you need, commander?” Obi-Wan asked, suddenly.

Anakin startled out of the meditation. He hadn’t even noticed the officer approach. Cody stood in the doorway, patient and dutiful as always.

“You have a call, sir,” Cody responded, a bit quiet.

Obi-Wan silently untangled himself from his position on the floor and stood. “Of course, Commander. Ahsoka, Quinlan…Anakin. I will take my leave. I hope you found this meditation as enlightening as I.”

Quinlan and Anakin perked. Perhaps…?

He and Anakin just glanced at one another. Progress, they both thought. Perhaps they were making progress.

*

Cody

“Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” Ben shrugged as he and Commander Cody made their ways through the halls, away from the medical bay. “I do believe I will feel better when I find Luke. Who is requesting my presence?”

“General Windu, sir,” Cody responded easily.

The general let out a little tension in his shoulders while Cody just watched. He had been expecting someone else, he noted, someone worse. Someone he was fearing to speak to. The commander was grateful he could give him someone to speak with that the general actually cared for. Perhaps he could prevent Obi-Wan from talking with that person, the person he dreaded. The room they entered already had the call going, with a shimmering blue visage in the middle.

“Hello Mace,” General Kenobi greeted, fondly.

“Obi-Wan,” Genera Windu softened in such a way that Cody had only heard from Ponds before. Sometimes he had thought that the general hadn’t even been capable of it. It was a rude thought, he knew, but General Windu wasn’t often one to show such sentiment. Then again, this was General Kenobi. From what Cody knew, they had known each other for a very long time and were friends. “How are you feeling?

“I have been asked that quite a bit,” General Kenobi admitted. “I have gotten some sleep and was able to do some meditating. I will concede there is a possibility this is…this is real. Time travel is not exactly impossible,” he continued, a bit quiet, tentative, as if gauging reactions. “I just…I am unsure how to accept it as a possibility, after everything that has happened.”

I don’t know what happened in your past,” General Windu confessed, and he did not look happy about it. Cody had heard about General Windu’s abilities with something called shatter points. He wondered if he could see or feel them through holo calls and if anything changed with them the first time this had happened. “But I know it must have been truly devastating. And those things that happened to you, I…we cannot take those experiences away. But you, us, we have a unique chance to change the horrors of what you have witnessed for others.”

“I will,” General Kenobi vowed, strong and resolute. “I will do what I must. I will not let you down.”

General Windu just looked a little sad, like he knew something that no one else did about him. Cody found it hard to imagine that someone would be a bit upset by General Kenobi’s drive and declaration of persistence. Usually, it was a good trait to have, as far as Cody knew. “I know you won’t. There is a reason I called. We have an intelligence officer that was around Zygerria; the one that gave us the information on the Kiros colonists.”

General Kenobi hummed. “Did this person give you more information?”

He nodded. “Dooku is already heading to Zygerria. His little detour to Umbara has made the Queen send a ship and some of her workers to escort him to her. Basic contact has been made with your missing troopers.”

Both he and General Kenobi perked. “Luke?”

“He has been confirmed aboard but no contact yet.”

“That is something at least.”

“Caution is key, especially with Dooku aboard the ship as well.”

General Kenobi seemed to understand and agreed. “Do not attract attention, I understand. Luke can take care of himself.”

“Even against Dooku?”

“He has been trained and prepared to deal with much worse.”

“Who is he?”

“I’m not sure you would believe me if I tried,” General Kenobi replied, a faintly amused smile quirking from his lips. General Windu mirrored his expression and shook his head, exasperated and fond. “Have you met him?”

“I have not talked to him or seen him, yet no,” General Windu replied, now a bit curious and even a tad more suspicious, although it seemed mocking rather than actually serious. “Why?”

This just made General Kenobi’s smile grow as something twinkled in his eye. “I think, if this is real, I might just love it when you do.”

“Now I’m concerned,” General Windu replied, eyes furrowing.

To Cody’s absolute pleasure and the other High General’s surprise, General Kenobi burst into a light fit of mellow and gentle laughter, authentic and genuine. “Don’t be too worried, dear. Luke meeting you will most likely be the least of your problems.”

Cody didn’t think that made General Windu feel much better, but the mood was lightened just a bit and Cody felt he had some hope. Their conversation lasted a while longer, and while they spoke, they included Cody within their ideas and thoughts on what to do next. Their plan shifting into something a bit less noisy and a bit more subtle. Cody thought with General Skywalker around, it would dive right back into crazy.

He was pretty sure General Kenobi agreed.

*

Their approach to Zygerria space was upcoming and everyone was feeling the anxiety. It spread over most of the ship but centered around the jedi and those closest to them. Everyone knew about what had happened to Captain Rex and Lieutenant Waxer and the other boys and with the hope that they may still be alive, there was concern and optimism with the chance. The closer they got, the angrier Skywalker got, and General Kenobi avoided talking to him by busying himself with relaying orders and going over plans with the others.

“Boil, Trapper, Wooley, Longshot,” Cody ordered, listing off the names rather easily. There were so few of them that he could keep the circle too. He wondered if Luke would be against him widening their circle. There were several other troopers he knew he could trust, and he felt as he could use the help. “You’re with the general and me. Barlex, Threepwood, Crys, Gearshift, I need you to hold down the fort.”

None of them appeared very pleased with being away from the action.

“I need people who know about Luke and the general’s situation, in case something happens,” Cody continued, trying to calm their nerves. “Because whatever happens, we need to prevent the genocide of the jedi and continue to de-chip the GAR so we cannot be used in such a way,” he said, sternly.

It was then agreed rather readily.

*

Anakin

There were many ships going to and from Zygerria as of late and Skywalker just kept growling at the options before them, as each and every one was passed for any number of reasons. He hated that they were just letting them go, one by one, just waiting and trying to find the right one, the one that would suit their needs. They were going to board and take over a ship that was headed to the planet, the home planet of one of the most notorious former slave empires, one that already had access for easy passage to the ground. There were many to choose from and apparently, they had to be careful with their choice.

He hated it.

But they found one. They found one and were simply waiting for it to fall into their grasp. It would be rather easy enough, he imagined. They were standing on the bridge, patiently waiting. Or at least, most of them were patient. Anakin just kept scowling as his hate and anger rose higher and higher. Obi-Wan had hesitated and Anakin saw it, but he put a hand on the young knight’s shoulder, squeezing just gently, like he wasn’t entirely sure if his hand would go through him or not. Like he wasn’t certain Anakin was solid. Whoever had done this to him, whoever had made Obi-Wan doubt himself so much like this, Anakin would make them pay. And then Obi-Wan would never have to feel that way again. “Their empire will not rise again,” he assured, his voice quiet but certain in his words.

Anakin clenched his fist and tried to release it. His voice was rising, only kept low and down by the growl of his chest space in his tone, grumbling up through his throat. It didn’t really matter how loud or quiet he was, however, and although he didn’t really notice it at first, the other officers on the bridge were rather uneasy with his feelings. “Those slaver scum think they are better than everyone else, that they can just bend everyone to their sick will.”

“Be mindful of your feelings,” the statement was almost oddly comforting, it was rather a staple of Obi-Wan’s teachings, as much as Anakin got irritated with it on a constant basis. He hated it, normally, Obi-Wan telling him this. But it was such a normal statement in their dealings, in their life, the one with Obi-Wan, it was also a comfort. At least something was normal. “You cannot let them control you.”

He bit back a scowl. His feelings were what made him powerful, special, but he tried to appease his master. He would do anything right now just to get a little piece of him back. “I know. I know.”

“Breathe with me.”

“What?”

“Breathe with me,” Obi-Wan repeated and for once, Anakin could understand why people thought Obi-Wan so patient. Anakin actually heard him, actually looked into his tone and his voice and him in the Force. He wasn’t judging him, he wasn’t angry or upset, or anything of the sort. He just wanted to help. He just wanted to help Anakin, even if Anakin didn’t think that his feelings were something that he needed help with. “We have a few minutes before we intercept our desired vessel.”

Tentatively, as if it would burn, Obi-Wan took both of Anakin’s hands. The young knight gently squeezed back. Obi-Wan’s gaze was on them for a long moment, rubbing a thumb in tight, light circles on the, studying the flesh hand as if he hadn’t really expected to see it.

“In four beats, through your diaphragm,” Obi-Wan instructed as he inhaled, expecting Anakin to follow. “Hold…. And out for eight.”

Anakin remembered this exercise. It had been years since he had done it, but he remembered it. He remembered the way Obi-Wan would breathe with him when he felt panicked or stressed. Most negative emotions really. He would go on and on, never stopping until Anakin told him and truly felt better. It never mattered how long it took, Obi-Wan had always been there with him, breathing in time with him.

Once upon a time, it had helped.

When had it stopped helping? When had he stopped doing it?

Did it at all? Or did Anakin just stop seeing the use, when he started using his negative emotions, when he saw them as useful and powerful. Had he started to see it as childish or another way Obi-Wan could control him?

Control him, Anakin nearly scoffed. As if he could. As if he wanted to.

Why were his emotions so heightened and negative when it came to Obi-Wan as of late? It had been like that for quite some time, he realized. He was constantly getting upset and angry with his former master and at this particular moment, Anakin could not recall in the foggiest why.

“In four beats,” Obi-Wan repeated and continued to rub circles on the top of Anakin’s hand delicately with his thumb. He focused on the touch, his gaze growing a bit bleary and hazy as he just watched Obi-Wan’s gloved hand move, his tough gentle and light. “Hold four, five, seven….and out one two three.”

They repeated several more times until they were completely in sync, breathing in time with one another, and Obi-Wan was no longer guiding the session. It was just them. As one. Two halves of the same whole.

Two halves of the same whole.

Kind of like the open circle fleet’s symbol.

Obi-Wan’s fleet.

Their fleet.

“It is time,” Obi-Wan said, breaking out of his train of thought. Anakin wished he had more time. He felt like he was getting somewhere. Not just with Obi-Wan, but with himself as well. He was supposed to realize something, he knew it. Something important. It would have to wait. “Do you feel better?” Obi-Wan asked.

It felt nice to be honest about it, and he nodded. “Yes, master.” He hadn’t remembered the last time something like this had helped. Really, he hadn’t remembered the last time he had even done something like this. Who told him that it wouldn’t help? Who told him that this was no longer a good thing? If someone like Obi-Wan was one to do it on a basis, someone as wise and good as him, would it not be good for Anakin as well?

He had so much more to think about.

“Then come, dear one,” Obi-Wan replied, gently. But there was a bit of an edge to it, something Anakin couldn’t quite identify. Perhaps it was just preparation on what was to come. Anakin didn’t really know if Obi-Wan felt something strong like he did about slavery, he doubted it. Obi-Wan hadn’t been a slave for any length of time, but that didn’t mean he had to like it either. The Jedi in general, were doing their best, even before the war, but it just wasn’t enough. With the restrictions in the senate, the illegal activities and simply their lack of numbers, there was only so much the jedi could do. Sometimes Anakin forgot that. “Go fetch your apprentice and meet me in the docking bay. We have a lot to do and an uncertain timetable,” he added. It was technically an order, but it hadn’t felt like it.

Resolute. Anakin nodded.

Ahsoka was raring to go, and they gathered a few soldiers to accompany them. No doubt Obi-Wan and Commander Cody were doing the same. Kix was anxious with the disappearance of Jesse and his other brothers and declared it would be best, in case either someone got hurt or they came across someone who was hurt. He was a good soldier and warrior anyways, even if he wasn’t a medic, Anakin probably would have brought him along. Appo was always a great addition. He was calm and smart, and he was good at keeping people together, although at the moment, they were all a little confused. Perhaps Obi-Wan had promoted him and didn’t tell him? He kept calling the sergeant, commander. It wasn’t completely out of character for Obi-Wan to promote someone and not tell them immediately. And then Dogma was with them as well. In their kerfuffle, he had just slid back into the 501st, looking over what had happened with Krell, keeping rather close to his commanders. Anakin wouldn’t hold it against him; he was trying to be loyal. He just had some bugs to work out, no big deal.

Several 212th boys were waiting with them, armed to the teeth and ready to fight. They had the same calm air that Obi-Wan usually carried around them with something else, as if they were chomping at the bit. Their eyes would darken into something violent and dangerous. This mission was personal. He could understand that. Anakin did realize most of them had been around their meditation study not a few hours prior. He remembered the way Obi-Wan had relaxed in their presence. He still hated that Obi-Wan had relaxed more with them than with Anakin himself, they were his troops, Anakin was his padawan, but he did comprehend something at least. Anakin had his go to’s and favorites, he supposed Obi-Wan did too.

It was an odd thing to think about.

Boarding the upcoming slave ship was rather easy. A single slave ship was no match for even one of the venator ships, much less two. The Negotiator and the Resolute boxed them quite easily and the gunships were off. And any crew of slavers was no match for a single squad of troopers, much less a squad led by a jedi.

Led by several jedi.

It didn’t mean the slaver did not try, however, because they did. Their efforts were a strange mix of amusing and annoying. They tried to shoot at them, threw smoke bombs and other small explosives. Closed normal and blast doors, others reinforced but no matter what, it wasn’t a match for the power and heat of their lightsabers. They could just burn through.

Anakin kept breathing.

He wouldn’t let his anger control him, not with Obi-Wan watching. He had so much to prove. He stayed rather close to his former master and Ahsoka ended up veering off with Master Vos. It wasn’t something that was particularly on his mind. He and Master Vos didn’t always get along but there was something he could trust him with, it was Ahsoka. After all, Master Vos had somehow raised someone as good as Aalya Secura, he must be somewhat decent.

Obi-Wan was…fighting different.

Anakin, he knew how Obi-Wan fought. They had sparred frequently, fought alongside one another constantly, Obi-Wan taught him and Anakin dared to think he had taught Obi-Wan a thing or two as well. They had always been well synced with one another, fighting together like one entity. Mostly because they had been fighting with other another for so long. And it wasn’t just in his padawanship, they were matched together often times during his knighthood too, during the war. Sure, Anakin was technically under Obi-Wan’s command, as the older jedi was a high general, but still, their groups meshed together well. The 501stand 212th worked seamlessly together, just like their generals did. At their best, together, they were an opponent to not be underestimated. One to be feared.

But here, now, it was different. He was different. It was not the same really, they weren’t quite as good. He shouldn’t say that. They were still fantastic, a foe and duo to be feared, undoubtedly, even with their step away from one another. But it wasn’t quite as right as Anakin knew it normally was. Not quite as in sync with each other’s moves as they were before. Oh, how things could change. In a day. Fifteen years. He didn’t like it.

Had it changed so suddenly? Or had this been a slow change? One that had been coming around?

Anakin had known Obi-Wan since he started seriously started practicing Soresu. It was a form he had mastered well. He knew that the older jedi had started off with Aratu, a form he had used against the Sith during the blockade of Naboo. Anakin had watched the security tapes over and over and over again. Many times. He had quickly after that switched over to another form. Anakin had watched as he weighed the pros and cons of each one before finally settling on Soresu, the defensive form. Anakin had asked him why once. He was so good at Aratu, even others had told him that. Obi-Wan had always just looked sad when it was brought up.

“There are so many holes in Aratu, nothing for defense,” he had said.

Anakin hadn’t completely understood it at the time. Of course, he had been ten at the time, so he didn’t really understand much but over time, he did sort of get it. Obi-Wan was haunted by the death of his master, his inability to protect him, although, looking over so many of the tapes so many times, Anakin knew there was nothing he could have done, even if Obi-Wan had been using Soresu during that period. He was trapped behind a barrier, alone.

Sometimes he wondered who was left alone. Had Obi-Wan just not been fast enough? Or had Qui-Gon just ran ahead, recklessly without heed?

Obi-Wan, turned out, was amazing at Soresu, and his demeanor shifted to accommodate that. He was patient and enduring. A good defensive form in contrast to Anakin’s own, more aggressive Shien form.

Soresu was built on defensive blocks and impenetrable shields, which Obi-Wan used to the fullest. It was possibly the most perfect fit for wartime, this wartime, especially against the blaster bolts they were constantly up against, as it was used to deflect and redirect attacks. It didn’t rely on raw power like some of the other forms, raw power that Anakin knew he himself had and Obi-Wan rather lacked.

But that did not make Obi-Wan any less dangerous.

But this…it was still Soresu, the one he was using now, was still identifiable, still the form, still a dance, still an impenetrable shield of defensive blocks…but there was something different about the way he moved. Technical. Mechanical. Something Anakin had never seen before

Soresu often times was criticized because of its lack of offensive attacks and strokes. What good was a defense if you could not defeat your enemy, only block them?

Anakin had thought that once. But he had seen Obi-Wan use that defense to defeat many enemies, including himself.

But this, what Obi-Wan was doing now, even though it was still Soresu, as Anakin could tell, but something was added. Something more raw and powerful, a bit more force behind actual blows that could take instead of just defend. It was Soresu but something was added, something Anakin had not really seen.

What had Obi-Wan done in the future?

He was further, just slightly out of sync with Anakin, a step forward. Was this a sign? Was he being left in the past? Had he lost Obi-Wan forever?

Obi-Wan had never been particularly cruel, sometimes even lacking efficiency in exchange for chance, for mercy and compassion. It had paid off on more than one occasion, even Anakin could admit that, as much as he wanted to just take people down. But that was not the case here. The Soresu master was a whirlwind – giving each of the slaver crew one chance and one chance only – if even that – to surrender and lay down arms. Of course, more often than not, they didn’t. Obi-Wan did not keep giving chances. He did not go out to kill either, Anakin could not imagine his old master doing that, but several slavers lost appendages and others incapacitated by other means. Some would not survive their wounds. Anakin found he didn’t mind.

Obi-Wan hadn’t even paused as he went through the halls, making a straight path to the bridge, where certainly the captain and his closest crew were holed up. They didn’t stand a chance. He barely gave Anakin time to redirect the power in the door to make it open before he went to strike his saber right through it. But when the door did open, he strode in, completely in charge, with a posture to match. There was an air of unyielding, of no chance at all. He did not care what they wanted, and he was not here to negotiate. He was here to take.

“Hello there,” he greeted, although his voice was hard and his tone rather bored with the entire scenario. The captain and a few others just stared, their hands on their weapons, pointed at them. Anakin smirked. “I am General Kenobi, and I am here to take over your ship and relieve you. You of the slaves.”

The captain tried to fight him. He charged and Anakin was all ready to fight back; with his saber at the ready to defend Obi-Wan and take the being down. But Obi-Wan put a gentle hand on his arm before spinning his saber, almost lazily. Anakin barely even saw it move. The captain was on the ground then, crumpled on the floor. Unconscious or dead, Anakin didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

“We must move quickly if we are to keep with the ship’s schedule,” he said and stepped over the slaver, away from him. The rest of the crew had surrendered, staring at their employer with such wide eyes, one might have thought they were no longer inhabiting their bodies. Anakin snarled at the slaver on the ground but bounced after his former master with renewed interest.

The cargo bay had quite a number of slaves in it, spreading several species and people. It was not a large ship by any means. It wasn’t as though Anakin had seen many ships, particularly, that were crowded with slaves, but there was a good dozen or two huddled together. They were cowering and kept to the walls, away from them, many chained to the walls. Obi-Wan just glanced at him, eyes soft and sympathetic and dragging him out to walk into the middle, with a translator droid hot on their heels, before tugging down for him to sit down with him. Anakin followed what he was doing.

Their level. Smaller, less threat. Taking off weapons and setting them away. Within sight of them so they could see. Everything laid bare, just like them.

“Frightened and scared beings act fairly universal,” Obi-Wan hummed under his breath, sad and tired.

He took a breath and told the droid to translate for any of the slaves who did not speak basic.

“My name is jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi and we are here to help you,” he started, his voice gentle and kind, but loud enough for those who knew the language to hear it. Beside him, the droid called out in another language that Anakin wasn’t entirely sure he knew. “In a few minutes, you can be taken aboard a Republic cruiser, where your chips and collars will be deactivated and removed. You may eat and rest and will be given clothes. Troopers will come around to ask what you would like to do moving forward,” he gave a pause, allowing the droid to translate the passage. The slaves look tentative. “You may accompany my troopers to Coruscant where you will stay at the Jedi Temple until you can start new lives where you would like, contact families and home worlds if you have them or find a new place to settle.”

Anakin just stared at his master, silently. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting really. Was this it? Was this not? His head was swimming.

“Over there is Sergeant Barlex,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing beside him as he continued and the droid relayed the words, even pointing over to the clone as well. Anakin looked up and sure enough, several clone troopers stood by him, none of which had their weapons on them at the moment. He made a gesture, and the troopers removed their helmets, revealing their generally identical faces. Anakin stared at them, reaching out, as if he could just memorize them right here and right now. These were some of the troopers that Obi-Wan cared for, that he trusted and loved. Anakin should trust them too, at the very least. Because he did, to some extent, have to. Trust them with Obi-Wan’s life, especially when he was not around. “He and troopers Gearshift, Crys and Threepwood will be assisting you.”

Carefully and slowly, Anakin stood up and he walked over to one of the slaves, kneeling down in front of them, keeping his hands where they could see him and telegraphed his movements. He gave them some bread that he tucked away in his robe and handed out pieces for them to share. “There is plenty more where that came from,” he promised. He wasn’t entirely sure if they could understand his words, but they seemed to get his meaning.

“Please do be kind to them, Sergeant,” he heard Obi-Wan’s voice behind him.

“Of course, sir,” the trooper replied, curtly, but his voice was surprisingly understanding, and kind, despite the gruffness of it. “Keep yourself alive. And bring our kid back home, would you?”

Our kid? Anakin hadn’t known that some of the 212th troopers already knew Luke. Already knew him enough to like him, to be a bit rather protective. Was it that easy and simple to bond with them? Could Anakin have that with even Obi-Wan’s troops so effortlessly?

Obi-Wan nearly laughed. “Of course, sergeant. You quite like him, don’t you?”

Barlex shrugged as Anakin made his way back over to them, upon giving several slaves a few things of bread. He had kind of stuffed his pockets and robes and sleeves with them. Water wouldn’t have kept in the battle or a fight, but food was the next best thing. “He’s a good kid. Strong head on his shoulders. Calm, determined. Not a great listened, sneaking off with Lieutenant Waxer’s platoon but, well, it seems to run in the family.” He almost even sounded amused. That didn’t seem normal for the trooper from what he could tell.

Anakin’s former master snorted. “Ah, you have no idea, Sergeant,” he chuckled.

“We’ve got this, sir,” another trooped nodded next to him. “We will get all the people off the ship pronto so you and the others can move on schedule.”

Another nod. “Thank you, Threepwood.”

“Gearshift is rounding up the crew, preparing for departure.”

“Departure?” Anakin asked, curiously.

“Since we cannot technically free slaves and take down slavers due to the Chancellor’s emergency powers,” Obi-Wan growled, more than just a bit bitter. Anakin continued to be mildly surprised. He wondered why that was. “We will…ahem…convince and persuade them to abandon the people and scatter.”

“We cannot arrest them?” Anakin hissed.

“The Chancellor says he does not want to strain relationships with the Hutts and other powerful entities,” Quinlan Vos snorted as he and Anakin’s padawan walked up and united with them. She was practically bouncing, her eyes fiery with justice and a readiness to battle. “So, he’s been easy on their…employees and their occupation of choice.”

Anakin swallowed. That…could not be right.

That could not be right. No way that…

His thoughts were interrupted by Obi-Wan’s next words, his voice growing loud, as if he was trying to drown out Anakin’s thoughts. “Are there any other beings or things aboard that need to be moved?”

Anakin was technically paying attention, but his eyes were on the slaves that were gently being led by the troopers, sans their weapons, off the ship and towards the larger vessels. Someone had landed the Negotiator already, so the people were being led straight into the docking bay, away from the horrid place that was once a slave ship.

One of the troopers did have his weapon, but he was rounding up those that were obviously slavers and masters. Anakin stared at him for a long moment. The gear tattoo on him was interesting in some mundane, distracting way. It almost looked like was moving, like real gears.

“A few animals,” Ahsoka replied, easily. “Not any big ones, but a few small ones. Generally friendly.”

“Probably used as pets,” Obi-Wan mused. “Commander, can you get one of the boys to start hauling any living thing off as well? I don’t want to have to worry about any of them when we move on.”

Anakin imagined the trooper nodded but he was watching everything else instead.

“Anakin?”

He startled and turned around. Everyone was staring at him. “Huh?”

“I called your name a couple of times. Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asked, still hesitant, but no less worried.

He frowned. “I can handle myself.”

“That is not in question,” his former master cleared his throat as he spoke carefully, like he wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it. It almost made Anakin scowl because Obi-Wan had never been this uncertain about and around him before. It was incredibly frustrating. “But I know this situation is difficult for you and that is completely understandable. It is not a question of your ability, dear one.”

Anakin nearly melted right then and there. Obi-Wan froze, only for a brief second, as though he hadn’t realized he had said the sweet endearment. Had it been such a while since Obi-Wan had called him that? For him, he supposed, it had been fifteen years. For Anakin…had it been long? Why did he stop? Did he stop at all or did Anakin just stop paying attention?

“Anakin?”

He blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“Are you sure you want to go to Zygerria?”

“I went the last time, didn’t I?”

Obi-Wan hesitated and glanced away briefly before looking back straight at him. He looked so concerned. Was he worried that Anakin would fall apart right then and there? When Obi-Wan needed him in the heat of the middle of the mission? He wouldn’t, of course, and Obi-wan’s lack of faith disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Anakin wondered what had happened last time; if he had let Obi-Wan down in such a way. “Yes,” he replied, cautious and slow. “And suffice to say, it did not particularly end well on any notion of the time.”

“What happened?”

The older man swallowed and glanced at Master Vos. Anakin huffed. Of course, he knew. “Did you tell Master Vos?”

“No,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “He just knows me. We have been friends for quite some time, if you recall.” Oh, he could. “And aside from rescuing the colonists of Kiros, the mission before did not go particularly well. It was different than what we are doing now of course, but no one was put in a good position, least of all you.”

He wanted to bristle. He really did, but the look on Obi-Wan’s face made him stop. Something had changed. Maybe it was the look on his face or maybe it was the way Anakin was seeing that look on his face. Like, something he hadn’t quite noticed before. It was as if he could see what Luke was talking about. The grief, the infinite sadness. Had Anakin put that on him? It wasn’t pity, but rather empathy, of kindness and just wanting better for him, not about him.

Obi-Wan didn’t mean anything poorly by it, Anakin thought to himself and for some reason, that realization just floored him. He was just trying to protect him. Even if he didn’t want him to, even if Anakin could protect himself, Obi-Wan continued to do so. Was it really because Obi-Wan didn’t think he could do it himself, that he didn’t have the faith in Anakin’s abilities? Or was he just so used to it that it was just second nature. Obi-Wan had spent over ten years protecting him, teaching him. He supposed that wasn’t something he could just turn off. But then again, after all, wasn’t Anakin trying to do the same thing, all the time.

“I’ll be okay,” he vowed, walking back over to them and taking his place at Obi-Wan’s side before anyone else could snatch it from him, shooting a bit of a glare at Master Vos and the other troopers, pointedly trying to avoid Ahsoka so she would not see it. “And if I’m not, I will tell you.”

That surprised his former master, but his expression was quickly washed away by calm and pleasant gratitude. “Alright, I believe you.”

Anakin swallowed. He would not lie to Obi-Wan.