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sleep-i-ness · 4 years

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Did You Miss Me? (Missy x reader)

Blurb: It has been six years since you last saw her. Six long, lonely years since the Doctor had dropped you off at your apartment without so much as a word of goodbye.

Taglist: @kjaneway1

It was pitiful weather, the morning the Doctor came knocking. You remembered it precisely because it had been tipping it down outside, droplets splattering against the pavement and branches of the cherry tapping frantically against the window. Catching sight of the dark, heavy clouds blotting out the sky, you hadn’t been able to keep yourself from groaning at the meagre light illuminating the grey London streets. You were mourning the loss of your favourite umbrella (destroyed by the gale-force winds yesterday) and therefore could predict the inevitable destruction to your hair during your commute to work. You’d been considering calling in sick, musing over whether it was worth it as your hands delved into the suds-filled water, when you were interrupted by a loud rapping at the front door. Who on earth would be calling at 7am?

“I’m coming, I’m coming, give me a second,” you grumbled as you rushed from the kitchen, discarding the tea towel to one side. Wrenching the door open (it had become stiff as the wood had swelled with the cold), you were greeted with a dripping Doctor. You half-contemplated closing the door on him then and there.

“May I come in?” He waltzed in, shaking himself like a wet dog in your hallway and you frowned.

“Make yourself at home,” you murmured dryly, grabbing the spare jumper you kept in the coat cupboard just for him. It had been an old fleece of your dad’s, a remnant of the past that you weren’t quite sure you should hold onto. You’d contemplated chucking it out the last time you’d done a spring clean but some small part of you had hoped the Doctor would return. It seemed your hopes had been realised but you weren’t sure if that was a good thing anymore.

Bustling round the kettle, you filled it up for two, grabbing a couple of mugs from the overhead shelf. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had been sat where he was now, at the island table, flipping through a trashy magazine from last April and simultaneously glancing around at the knick-knacks and post-cards up on the walls. He was silent, a permanent frown etched into his skin, but that, you supposed, was his new face. You still weren’t completely used to it. Although, he did suit grey and Scottish; it gave him the gravity that his last regeneration somewhat lacked.

“You’ve changed the place up a bit.” The Doctor noted, fiddling with the doily covering the sugar bowl before moving on and turning over the small figurine, a memento from your life before her. You glanced over worriedly as he hesitated too long over it, before shaking his head and moving onto the next trinket. “A lot more… stuff.”

“Thank you.”

The hiss of the kettle distracted you, and you were thankful for it, for it broke the awkward need for small talk hanging in the air. You poured the bubbling water over the tea bags, stirring gently, before automatically tipping a spoonful of sugar into his mug.

“Here.” You pushed his across the table, before leaning back against the cupboard. Sipping at your tea, you sighed. “Now what do you want, Doctor?”

His bushy eyebrows shot up in response before he chuckled. “Always straight to the point. I’d forgotten how much I missed that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Enough with the dancing around the topic, Doctor. What are you here for? I haven’t seen you in 6 years, not since you dumped me straight back to my apartment.”

He’d saved you, or at least that’s what you had assured yourself. The cheesy warmth you had felt when looking at her; the soft smile barely twitching at her lips as you waltzed around Louis XIV’s ballroom; the adventures she’d dragged you on despite your various protestations; the night under the stars when she… No. How could you forget the days, weeks, maybe even months trapped under her watch? On display in a cage for her to mock your silly human bravery. The destruction that had ravaged your planet, the one place you’d hoped you’d be safe from the Doctor and anyone else who would have been looking for you. The way she’d laughed at the tears streaming down your face as you surrendered yourself to prevent the slaughter of your people.

If it weren’t for the Doctor, you would never have escaped. You would never have reached this safety, no matter how alone you now were.

“She’s asked after you again.”

You laughed bitterly. Of course, she had. What didn’t she understand about the fact that her joyful revelling in your pain meant that you never wanted to see her again? “No.”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!” He protested,

“I didn’t have to. I’m not going.”

“Why? What is her obsession with you? And why are you so firmly against seeing her once?”

“Is it not enough that she is a complete and utter psycho? That she massacred millions for sport?” You placed your hands firmly on the countertop, inhaling deeply through your nose. Your voice was low when you spoke again. “Doctor, I don’t care if it’ll help her become a good person. I’m not going. And if that’s all, you know where the door is.”

His eyebrows furrowed, like two great white caterpillars crawling towards each other, and you maintained your hard stare. No matter the face, he’d always managed to tug on your heartstrings and make you change your mind. But not today. This was something you would not budge on.

You weren’t sure what you were doing here, hovering anxiously by the doors. Unwilling to take another step and commit yourself to this. His TARDIS hadn’t changed a day since you last stepped out of it; sure, the company she carried had altered, but, at her very core, you could feel that she was still the same. She hummed at you, an impatient sounding noise and you scowled. You’d forgotten how annoying having a somewhat opinionated ship was when she could read your every thought.

The Doctor had headed on in before you, confirming that you would follow him after collecting your thoughts. The door swung open in front of you, the soft orange glow of the core spilling out. The TARDIS took your breath away every time you stepped into it; your brain had never quite processed the concept of it being bigger on the inside. Circles covered the walls in an ordered pattern, glowing palely and Gallifreyan symbols decorated the console, inscribed onto the concentric rings.

Hesitating, you brushed your fingertips over the TARDIS’ console, feeling the reassuring buzz she sent you. You could see a flicker of purple fabric from where you stood and you made eye contact with him, noting the smug twinkle. Cocky prick.

Heading down the ramp to the lower level to join him – them, each step felt like a chore as if weights had been tied to your legs. You were dreading this, a deep unsettling sensation twisting your guts. The purple jacket came fully into view and you froze.

No.

“I just need to go check on the TARDIS’ engine. The old girl’s been complaining ever since she travelled into the other dimension,” the Doctor spilt out excuses, striding past you with a pat on the back. Forcing you to talk to her. You silently cursed him and sent him your harshest glare.

The familiar Victorian silhouette spun round, eyes following him up the ramp until they fell on you. Her grin faltered. “Well, look who’s turned up. Your punctuality really is shocking, pet.”

You raised a tentative hand in response, crinkling your features into a grimace. “Hey Missy,” Your voice was weak and rough sounding, even to your own ears.

She stalked closer, raising her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your left ear. Your breath caught in your throat, every nerve burning. The rough wool of her blazer gently scratched your skin, her thumb caressing the top of your cheekbone. Pulling away, she stepped back, the sudden distance feeling like you had been doused in icy water.

“A thousand years,” Missy mused, continuing to circle you slowly. Her poison-red lips pursed, eyes narrowing as she took you in. “You really have let yourself go to waste. What happened to those lovely royal robes? The red was very flattering.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, screwing your eyes shut. Why had you expected anything different? She hadn’t changed one bit.

“I don’t even know why I’m here.” Your voice cracked and you willed your eyes to stop watering, swiping at them. “No. I’m not doing this, this is ridiculous.”

You made to turn, so very sick of her. Every breath felt laboured, a stone pressing down onto your chest, compressing your lungs. You couldn’t bear to look at her, to see her smug joy at bringing you down once again. Her hand snapped round your wrist, yanking you close into her chest.

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive,” she murmured, breath fanning your cheeks. Missy pressed a delicate kiss to the tip of your nose, smirking as she leant back. “You missed me, didn’t you?”

You scoffed, trying to tear yourself out of her grip but her fingers were clamped too tightly. Damn Time Lady strength. You chuckled bitterly. “Now, tell me why I would ever miss you.”

At that, Missy wavered, realising, for the first time, that you weren’t going to fall straight back into her arms. Confusion flickered across her features before she smoothed out her brow. “Why wouldn’t you? Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on that teeny-tiny incident on Midanithair.”

“Teeny-tiny incident?” You spluttered, an ever-growing uncomfortable feeling sinking into your stomach. Your mouth tasted bitter, acrid as you swallowed harshly. “God, Missy, get your head out of your arse and actually remember what happened. I had finally escaped from all of... this when you came along, wreaking havoc and destruction and threatening genocide if I didn’t sacrifice myself. And then you mocked me for weeks for my ‘humanity’.”

You exhaled through your nose before breaking free from her grip. “I’m sorry, Miss, I really… just can’t right now.”

You could feel her gaze trailing you as you headed back up the ramp, making eye contact once again with the Doctor, an odd sense of déjà vu passing over you as he raised an eyebrow. You paused at the top of the ramp; eyes firmly fixed on the doors. Part of you wanted her to call you back, show you that she truly had cared. But the rational, logical side of you knew that this was for the best.

You nodded, trying desperately to convince yourself to walk out that door and never look back.

“Wait.”

And with that, you knew you’d be putty in her hands once again.

“What?” Your tone was harsher than you had expected, and Missy genuinely looked upset. The dull stab of guilt was a gentle pang, your heart twinging empathetically.

“I’m sorry. I truly am.”

You started to walk back to her, stopping a metre in front of her. “Why should I believe you?”

“I’ve apologised, is that not enough?” Her accent grew thicker as she grew more flustered. She’d never had to apologise sincerely before. “And… I realised that your presence was not as much of a nuisance as I had previously believed.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, barely louder than a whisper. You stifled a laugh, knowing that was the closest to a sentiment of affection you’d ever receive from her. Brash, arrogant compliments were more her thing, the cockiness hiding any deeper level of emotion.

Almost timidly, she reached out to you and you let her pull you in. Falling limply into her arms, you smiled softly as one of her hands came up to stroke your hair.

“I did miss you, Miss. Promise.”

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thelittlesttimelord · 4 years

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The Littlest Timelord: The Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 30

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The Fall of the Eleventh Chapter 30 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 30/? SUMMARY: Elise Smith is now a teenaged Timelord. In addition to losing the Ponds, the fields of Trenzalore are calling. But first they have to figure out exactly who Clara Oswald is.

[A/N - Wow. Chapter 30. I’m thinking this book might be closer to 40 chapters.]

There was a loud thudding noise as they stepped out into a passageway. The candles on the candelabra were blown out. Ice started gathering on the windows around them. Loud thudding echoed through the house.

“Okay, what is that?” Clara asked.

“It's a very loud noise. It's a very loud, very angry noise,” the Doctor said.

“What's making it?”

“I don't know. Are you making it?” The Doctor yelped and ran back to Clara and Elise as there were more bangs.

“Doctor?” Clara asked.

“Yes?”

“I may be a teeny, tiny bit terrified.”

“Yes?”

“But I'm still a grown-up.”

“Mainly, yes, and?”

“There's no need to actually hold my hand.”

The Doctor looked down at his hands.

“Um, Clara…?” Elise said.

“Yeah?”

“I'm not holding your hand,” the Doctor told her.

Clara and the Doctor screamed, running back into the living room.

Elise rolled her eyes and ran after them.

A black thing appeared, floating in mid-air.

“Has this happened before?” the Doctor asked.

“Never,” Palmer said.

“Camera. Camera!” The Doctor grabbed it from Palmer and he started taking pictures of it.

The black thing started cracking.

Clara turned around and saw what Emma was seeing. Something had appeared in front of her. It was a figure some woods. “Doctor!” Clara yelled.

The Doctor turned and started taking pictures.

“Help me!” the woman screamed.

Emma fell back into Palmer’s arms.

“Doctor.”

The words “Help Me” appeared on the wall by the staircase.

They evaporated as the Doctor approached them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Doctor and Elise followed Major Palmer down to his dark room.The Doctor asked her why she didn’t want to stay with the girls and she answered, “Because this isn’t the 1700’s. Besides, call it creative curiosity.”

Elise had no experience with developing pictures, preferring to stick to paints and charcoals. This body liked reading, but maybe she could get into photography.

“I had a little peek at your records, back at the Ministry. You've certainly seen a thing or two in your time. Disrupting U-boat operations across the North Sea, sabotaging railway lines across Europe. Operation Gibbon. The one with the carrier pigeons, brilliant. I do love a carrier pigeon,” the Doctor told him.

“I did my duty, but then so did thousands of others. Millions of others. I was just lucky enough to come back.”

“Yes, but how does that man, that war hero, end up here in a lonely old house, looking for ghosts?”

“Because I killed, and I caused to have killed. I sent young men and women to their deaths, but here I am, still alive and it does tend to haunt you. Living, after so much of the other thing.”

The Doctor’s eyes met Elise’s. She offered him a small smile and went back to looking at the pictures.

“You see, I was alone and unmarried and I didn't mind dying. I mean, not for that cause. It was a very, very fine cause, defeating the enemy.”

“And if you could contact them, what would you say?”

“Well, I'd very much like to thank them.”

The Doctor picked up a photograph and hung it up. A screaming face was in the background behind the Doctor’s head.

“Who do you think she is?” Palmer asked.

“Not what I thought she'd be,” the Doctor said.

“What did you think she'd be?”

“Fun. Can I borrow your camera?”

Palmer handed the Doctor his camera and they went back to the living room to pick up Clara.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I've got this weird feeling it's looking at me. It doesn't like me,” Clara said as the approached the TARDIS.

“The TARDIS is like a cat. A bit slow to trust, but you'll get there in the end.”

Elise and the Doctor ran inside, but the door shut behind them. Elise opened the door when Clara knocked.

“Hey. You need a place to keep this,” she said, holding up her dripping wet umbrella.

“I've got one. Or I had one. I think I had one. Look around. See if you find it,” the Doctor told her, “Did I have one? Am I going mad?”

Clara started shaking the water off her umbrella.

“No, not in here. How do you expect her to like you? She's soaking wet. It's a health and safety nightmare.”

“Sexy! Behave!” Elise scolded. The umbrella stand appeared and Elise placed the umbrella in it.

“Thank you,” Clara said, “So, where are we going?”

“Nowhere. We're staying right here. Right here, on this exact spot, if I can work out how to do it,” the Doctor said.

Elise rolled her eyes and walked over to the console, flipping levers and pressing buttons.

“So, when are we going?”

The Doctor laughed and high-fived Clara. “Oh, that is good. That is top-notch.”

“And the answer is?”

“We're going always.”

The Doctor disappeared into an alcove. “Totally.”

“That's not actually a sentence.”

The Doctor came out with a bright orange spacesuit. “Well, it's got a verb in it. What do you think?”

“Color's a bit boisterous.”

“I think it brings out my eyes.”

“Makes my eyes hurt.”

The Doctor pouted, making Elise laugh.

“Still better than that green coat of yours,” Elise said.

“What have you got against that coat?”

Elise shrugged. “Just don’t like it.”

“Better than a fedora,” the Doctor muttered.

“Better than a stupid looking fez!”

The TARDIS took off and they landed far back in the past. Just as the Earth was starting to cool.

The Doctor went outside and came back in after taking a photograph. “Back off. Hot suit. Hot, hot, hot.”

Elise and Clara backed away from him.

“When are we?” Clara asked.

“About six billion years ago. It's a Tuesday, I think.”

Their next stop was a tropical jungle. A giant dragonfly flew past and the Doctor took a picture. Then it was the house in Victorian times, probably shortly after it was built.

Their last stop involved the Doctor putting on the suit again. “Back in a mo. Are you all right?” the Doctor asked Clara.

“Totally. Peachy keen.”

“Okay then. Well, don't press any buttons or pull any levers or make any funny faces. Actually, don't move. Stand completely still. Don't breathe. Well, you can breathe, but shallow breaths.” She gave him a thumbs up.

Clara and Elise watched the Doctor on the scanner.

Earth had been devastated and there was no life to be found.

The Doctor took a photo and came back inside. He noticed the look on Clara’s face. “Oh. What's wrong? Did the TARDIS say something to you?” He turned to the console. “Are you being mean?”

“No, it's not that. Have we just watched the entire life cycle of Earth, birth to death?”

“Yes.”

“And you're okay with that?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be?”

“The TARDIS, she's time. We… Wibbly vortex and so on.”

“That's not what I mean.”

“Okay, some help. Context?”

Clara shook her head.

“Cheat sheet? Something?”

“I mean, one minute you're in 1974 looking for ghosts, but all you have to do is open your eyes and talk to whoever's standing there. To you, I haven't been born yet, and to you I've been dead one hundred billion years. Is my body out there somewhere, in the ground?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

The Doctor started to make his way back to the alcove to take off the suit. “But here we are, talking. So I am a ghost. To you, I'm a ghost. We're all ghosts to you. We must be nothing.”

“No. No. You're not that.”

“Then what are we? What can we possibly be?”

“You are the only mystery worth solving.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They went back inside the house and the Doctor handed his roll of film to Major Palmer to develop. They turned the negatives into slides.

“Right, done. That's it. Gather round, gather round. Roll up, roll up.” The Doctor soniced the projector. “The Ghast of Caliburn House. Never changing, trapped in a moment of fear and torment. But, what if she's not? What if she's just trapped somewhere time runs more slowly than it does here? What if a second to her was a hundred thousand years to us? And what if somebody has a magic box. A blue box, probably. What if said somebody could take a snapshot of her, say, every few million years?”

It cycled through a few slides before it stopped on a black woman in a white coverall, running.

“She's not a ghost. But she's definitely a lost soul. Her name is Hila Tacorian. She's a pioneer, a time traveler, or at least she will be in a few hundred years.”

“Time travel's not possible. The paradoxes...” Palmer said.

“Resolve themselves, by and large,” the Doctor finished.

“How long has she been alone?” Emma asked.

“Well, time travel's a funny old thing. I mean, from her perspective, she crash landed well…” The Doctor checked his watch, “…three minutes ago.”

“Crash landed? Where?”

“She's in a pocket universe. A distorted echo of our own. They happen sometimes but never last for long.”

The Doctor blew up a blue balloon and a red one. “Our universe.” The Doctor gestured to the blue balloon. “Hila Tacorian's here, in a pocket universe.” The Doctor held up the red one. “You're a lantern, shining across the dimensions, guiding her home, back to the land of the living.” He brought the two balloons together and then deflated them.

“But what's she running from?” Clara asked.

The Doctor snapped his fingers. “Well, that's the best bit. We don't know yet. Shall we see?” He soniced to the next slide. “Oh…”

There was a large creature behind a tree.

“What is that?” Clara asked.

“I don't know. Still, not to worry,” the Doctor told her.

“So, what do we do?” Emma asked.

“Not we, you. You save Hila Tacorian because you are Emma Grayling. You are the lantern. The rest of us are just along for the ride, I'm afraid. We need some sturdy rope and a blue crystal from Metebelis Three. Plus some Kendal Mint Cake.”

Clara, the Doctor, and Elise ran back to the TARDIS.

#eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor fanfiction #eleventh doctor imagine #doctor who #Doctor Who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #clara oswald #clara oswald imagine #the littlest timelord #the littlest timelord: the fall of the eleventh #hide

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viktor-noctis · 4 years

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Harvest Moon

Anakin Skywalker wanted to kill everyone in the room. And then himself.

Even if they didn’t know who he was, because the chance they might find out was too terrifying to consider.

But they hadn’t. He knew they hadn’t. Because if they had, they would all have died of laughter before he could slice them into little pieces with his lightsaber. Which he didn’t have.

This night just keeps getting better and better.

He had completed well over two-hundred missions since he joined the Jedi Order, from escorting diplomats, brokering peace between nations, and fighting on battlefields the galaxy over. He had traversed forests full of dangerous, man-eating flora, ice cloaked mountains with beasts that could rip one apart in seconds, and even desserts. Full of sand. Which he believed was far eviler than the worms waiting beneath the surface of the dunes, ready to swallow one whole, or any of the previous threats combined. He would take any of them, all of them, even a dustbowl, over his current assignment.

On paper, it looked standard: use secured invitation to get inside of a party of ambassadors, senators, and potential members of the Separatists. Easy. Sneak past heavily armored centurion guards wielding plasma canons and ion missiles that may or may not have heat seeker technology embedded in them. Interesting, without a weapon, but not impossible. Find information regarding the movements of enemy shipments, containing stolen kyber crystals, and potential hostages of their side. Somewhat difficult… If one didn’t possess an encrypted pass code, capable of rapid copying the necessary data in record time. All-in-all, the usual kind of Jedi mission that included a bit of espionage on the side.

Except the teeny, tiny, minute detail of the invitation being formatted for a Lady Skylar Erie.

A woman from a small, noble house on Naboo. She was twenty-two years old, six feet tall exactly, and didn’t speak due to a childhood incident. Her hair was a light brown with touches of golden blond, possessing eyes the color of dark turquoise gems, and skin bronzed by the sun. Lady Skyler had full, dark lips, now shaded to a deep crimson, and high cheekbones. Her shoulders were broad, her legs long, and –

“Luckily,” the stylist had smiled at him in the mirror, “handsome young men make beautiful women.” Obi-Wan didn’t look like he agreed with that statement. His arms were crossed, eyes wide beneath his furrowed brow, and lips pursed within his beard… which he was stroking. Which meant he was looking for something comforting to say. Anakin was almost curious what sort of backwards, reorganized Yoda-phrase he would use, no doubt intended to distract him from that fact that he made a passable woman in a pinch. His former master opened and closed his mouth several times, forming nothing, and eventually just let a burst of air out behind his sealed lips. Which was probably the wisest thing he could have done.

The dress was another monstrous affair. The fact that Padma had been the one to gift the pattern to the tailor made him want to jump off the nearest bridge. Because that meant it was from Naboo, which was notorious for having so many hard to navigate layers, it was like trying to solve a puzzle maze. He’d overheat and die. Either that, or it would be a flowing slip of silk that would immediately give away the fact he was a man, and he could already see the billboard tagline all over the tabloid side of the holonet.

A form fitted, off the shoulder, obsidian gown arrived. There was a deep cerulean, satin sash that wrapped around the top, no doubt to hide his lack of cleavage, and draped down to curl over the low arches of his hips, falling down his buttocks like a tail. The entire thing was accented with ivory stones across the top, coiling in abstract patterns down his ribs, growing smaller till they faded at his thighs. Made from the finest silks, the whole thing had been custom fitted for him a week before.

“It’s a shame you want to destroy it.” Obi-Wan’s voice held six feet worth of lamentation that Anakin was ready to bury him in. “It’s rather beautiful.” One look from Anakin had shut him up for the entire evening. He had his word that when they made it back to the Temple, he was allowed to slice it to pieces with his saber until it was nothing but a smoldering, crumpled ruin of unidentifiable cloth and cracked stones. He was also not to take a single holo of him in it, no matter how much Senator Amidala plead or bargained.

However, he had quickly realized that the most dangerous part of his mission didn’t entail trying not to fall flat on his face while wearing three inch heels (how Padme managed the ‘dagger stilettoes’ that were over five he would never know, but he was going to bow down on his knees the next time he saw her), nor glaring at the men who gave his backside leering glances (he just about managed not to Force push that last one’s face straight into the buffet table), or even punching the last piece of kriffing, snorg-birthed, moose-goose snot brained –

I hate this, I hate this, I hatethis, IhatethisIhatethisIhatethis –

He almost tore his dress. Again.

No, the most dangerous part of his mission was none of the above. It was navigating the toxic snake pit filled with people he knew almost nothing about. Oh, some of them he had seen, certainly: thieves, murderers, drug dealers, and slave traders. They were up to their ears in nothing but filth and injustice, the lowest of the low, scum that he had to smile and play nice with like a mute, pretty girl with only three brain cells to her name would.

Anakin’s face hadn’t stopped burning the whole evening. He only prayed his embarrassment couldn’t melt away the layers of foundation and contour applied to his features. She’d even combed and fixed his hair, plating the strands into a short braid with ribbon that matched his dress, and flowers that curled into the elaborate cuffs around his ears. He hated the jewelry almost as much as the gown… the dainty chains in his lobes had snow drops on the ends, bearing sapphires so deep they appeared onyx. The choker around his neck was emblazoned with them as well, with diamonds that offset the ones on the dress.

He had to wear gloves. To cover up his mechanical arm, as if it were something to be ashamed of. Anakin managed to contain a growl, keeping his fan close to the lower portion of his face. He didn’t dare lower it, least someone find his jaw too strong, his neck too thick.

How can anyone believe this? Maybe everyone around him thought it was just as ludicrous, just as impossible that Anakin Skywalker liked to spend his Tuesday evenings dressed as a woman, strutting around some of the worst moss-pit vipers in the galaxy. He swallowed what remained of his pride.

Get the information. Get out. You’ve done this a thousand times before. Never like this he hadn’t.

He had the advantage of his height at least, his gaze straying over the facades in attendance, knowing his mark would favor a more private location. The mask they had given him was just insult to injury… It covered everything above his cheekbones, wrapping over the bridge of his nose. Carved from delicate ivory, with swirls and coils painted on in black at the top, fading to midnight blue around his eyes, and then a rich silver at the edges. The top of the brow split in a mane of feathers, mimicking the shades already present. According to Obi-Wan, it was meant to represent a delicate, blue bird found on a planet covered mostly in water in the furthermost reaches.

Anakin almost felt relieved when he saw his target in the throng of dignitaries. His mask wasn’t strapped on like his own was, dangling from his right hand, while his left arm remained occupied by a Togruta girl with red skin and yellow horns. He really did not need to be thinking of Ahsoka right now. What would she say if she could see him? She’d never stop talking about it. She’d probably sneak a holo or two just to save for future blackmailing purposes, because what sane Padawan would pass up the opportunity to have a picture of their Master all dressed up for the ball?

The man in question, with more gold than white or black in his mouth, was one Fren Pollock. After obtaining a hard-won pardon from the Republic – something that made Anakin’s teeth grind – he had somehow acquired a governorship on a small lunar colony. Drugs, munitions, and people, nothing was beneath him. Anakin found himself reveling in the notion of bringing him down, of dismantling his little empire into the dust, and taking all of his accomplices with him.

“Woah there, blondie.” A bodyguard. One of four. No armor, no weapons, as was the standard, per the request of the hosts.

[ I’m really terrible at writing scum bags, but Fren allows Anakin closer, only to drug him. Someone intervenes, of course, but after unmasking Anakin things go from bad to worse. Also, Dooku wears a Loth-wolf mask. - ]

“I believe the young Lady has had enough.” Anakin’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t breathe. His next whimper was stifled against a hard chest. Hands, warm and solid, one on his wrist, and the other on his back. Protective, almost tender, they held him steady against the taller man.

The chuckle that emanated from the Count tightened around his chest. The air left him, slipping free in a low, hoarse whimper. Dooku just laughed harder. Anakin didn’t dare raise his head to see the slice of his grin through his cheeks.

“My, my, this evening is just full of surprises.” Dooku’s sneer rippled through his already weak knees. They shuddered beneath him, leaving him to sway dangerously. “I didn’t expect to find you here, Skywalker, but considering this turn of events, I’m rather glad I did.” Red and blue. Anakin’s teeth clenched, jaw ringing with the pain, straight into his temples. He should jerk forward, smash his head into Dooku’s nose. Crimson and azure. Their sabers should clash, they always had, easy and familiar. Darkness and light, trading breath and edge, till one consumed the other. Mars and Venus. Planetoids too far to know, yet the tales of them were wreathed in the fantastical. The coin flipped, came down in a shower of sparks that were the shades of stars.

Dooku tasted like something bitter and yet sweet. It reminded Anakin of the grapes Padme had given him while they were visiting Alderaan, off a vine five years old. She said they were native to the planet, that they would keep the same fruits without dropping them for hundreds of years, but when they were plucked clean… they died. Those same plants were the reason the planet was known for its wine. She had challenged him to taste as many as he could, all the way up to the first century. They made his nose wrinkle, his vision darkening as his eyes squinted, then misted with tears he blinked away. He didn’t even get to twenty.

He still had the gift… the one Bail Organa had given him. He had winked at him, saying something about how even Jedi needed to have fun every once in a while. The crystal, ruby embossed bottle was hidden somewhere under his bunk, protected by his worn, old Padawan robes. He still didn’t know how a beverage made from fruit as old as Yoda was supposed to be a good.

“What are you doing?!” His head throbbed. His parted lips trembled, prickling with something he couldn’t name. Anakin’s cheeks were still burning, but a new heat had been added from the friction of the Count’s beard. Dooku’s hand gripped his bicep, the muscle throbbing beneath his hard palm. Anakin could feel the bruises forming, the pulse of blood beneath the surface. He’d torn away, smashing him into the wall, and he had… he had kissed Count Dooku, a known Sith Lord, and leader of the Separatist Systems Alliance. A tremble lanced through him, clinging to his muscles, till he felt as if he were going to shake straight out of his skin.

Anakin’s head twisted, turning away from Dooku, but his body wouldn’t follow as easily. His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth, thick with the ichor of whatever had been in his drink. He swallowed it back, trying to free himself of the Count’s hand with a sluggish, surly throw of his shoulder. He stumbled instead, pivoting dangerously close to the wall, but durasteel bands took hold of his waist. His body jerked, a whimper exiting his lungs as they compressed. The darkness crept into his vision, stifling him in the heat and musk of whoever held him.

“What have you done?” Far away, harsh and whispered. The syllables grated against his scorching ears. His throat ached with the sound that left him, high-pitched and terrible. His mouth contacted something solid and warm and smooth. He couldn’t help but rub his face into the warmth of that broad shoulder. Whoever held him smelled like heat and spice.

Padme and Obi-Wan sat across from him, laughing as his face twisted. He had grown up a poor boy on Tatooine, you didn’t just waste food, no matter how much you didn’t like it. Which meant swallowing down whatever you were given, which meant he was willing to try anything once. Even the boiled bark of a strange planet. It was not the taste, but the brittle texture on his tongue. Citrus and tang, almost metallic in its bite, sliding down his throat with the same viscosity of honey, and the viciousness of alcohol.

That was the smell that surrounded him now, sharp and distinct. There was something overtop, layered on to smooth the undercurrent of that wild, intoxicating aroma. Anakin almost thought it was… roses. Yes, roses. Extravagant and sweet, enough to hide the Loth-wolf’s true scent.

[ Dooku makes a strategic retreat, taking Anakin with him back to his room… Mistake. The drug is in him now, and inhibition is taking a nosedive straight into hell. He puts Anakin in his room, where he struggles out of the dress, tearing off the jewelry, and rubs at his face. The Count returns after a thunderous crash, effectively shattering every bottle in his private bar. Not good… He returns to the room, submerged in darkness, standing at the end of the bed… ]

Anakin trembled beneath his own pride.

The moonlight splayed over his shoulders, weaving through his white hair, curving over the hard edges of the right side of his face. His eyes, cheeks, lips, chin, his entire face lost to the shadows. Anakin could see nothing of him, but he could imagine the furrow of his brow, the pull of his mouth into that familiar sneer. Or would his cheeks ripple with a snarl? He almost wished he could see him, the revulsion of his features, the cruel amusement preferable to the void that stared back at him.

He could feel something though, intangible as the Force, but as palpable as its presence. Dooku’s gaze. Those hard, dark orbs, piercing his bunched shoulders, his heaving chest, the tremble of his stomach.

He lost.

“Please…”

[ And this is as far as I got because I’m terrible. I’m not tagging this much either, because its a WIP. ]

#WIP

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