#I’m always here to help out fellow gif makers

[dailydragon08]

Nightmares II

Pairing: Luke Skywalker x F!Jedi!Reader Summary: Aboard the Redeemer, secrets are shared and comfort is given to protect Luke from his demons. Warnings: descriptions of canon-level violence, PTSD, PTSD nightmares. A/N:  "Remnants" is a series of one shots in no particular order about the budding relationship between you and Luke as he trains you in the ways of the Force. This takes place before “The Conflict Within” (before Luke and the reader get together). I do have plans for a Nightmare I fic that will describe events of Luke comforting Reader after a nightmare. That happens before this in the timeline, which is why this is II. Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

*

A strong wave of despair shifted the Force around you, jolting you out of your slumber. Echoes of painful, burning tingles shifted throughout your body and you squirmed slightly on your bunk at the sensation. You looked around Luke’s renovated imperial shuttle, but the Redeemer looked the same as it always did. You quickly jumped out of bed and opened the door to one of two cargo holds that had been converted into bedrooms to see the main hold and cockpit as calm and serene as ever, the stars quickly flying past the windshield. R2 sat dormant and charging in the corner by the refresher.

You scanned the darkness of the ship and felt the tingles again. You held a hand towards your bedroom door and your lightsaber zipped over to you as you waited with bated breath.

A cry from Luke’s room caught your attention and you hurried inside. Your lightsaber bathed the space in a dull, blue glow, revealing your fellow Jedi thrashing in his sheets with a deep frown. His teeth were bared as if in pain as he mumbled, “Father…please, help…help….”

You sheathed your saber and rushed over to him, setting the weapon on the nightstand next to his. You went to grab his bare shoulder, but froze. He hadn’t worn a shirt to bed and while you couldn’t help slightly drooling over his muscled chest and arms, what really caught your attention was the web of red, angry scars. A dark circle sat in the middle of his chest, right below his pecks, with spider-like veining reaching out to cover his stomach, chest, upper arms, and even a little of his neck. You wondered briefly if that’s why he always wore shirts and jackets with such high collars before his swinging fist brought you back to the moment.

You dodged his hand as he violently rolled towards you, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him gently. “Luke!”

“Father!”

You shook him harder. “LUKE!”

As his eyes snapped open, you went flying and hit the back wall hard. You felt the air leave your lungs in a giant woosh as you slid to the ground and gasped for air.

You heard Luke let out a stuttered breath as you leaned forward and pressed a hand to your now aching back. “Kriff,” he muttered before rushing over to you. “Maker, Y/N, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

You met his eyes in the dark. Light from the main hold bled through the doorway and you could see the guilt and worry creating new lines on his handsome face. His hair was mussed from the pillow and the dark circles ringing his deep blue orbs let you know this wasn’t the first night like this—only the first you had caught. “I’m okay,” you breathed, sucking in another deep breath.

“Here, let me see.” He gently pulled you forward and lifted your nightshirt to inspect your back.

You felt your eyes widen and slapped a hand across your chest to prevent anything from showing itself.

He seemed to realize what he’d done at the same moment and pulled back. You could see his face bloom an amusing shade of red even in the dim light. “S-sorry,” he muttered. “There’s some ice in one of the cargo holds. I’ll be right back.”

“Luke, I’m really o—” you broke off with a sigh as he bolted from the room. Slowly standing, wincing all the while, you gingerly followed him. The ship's metal was cold on your bare feet, but the darkness and quiet of the main hold still brought a certain comfort with it. This little ship had become quite the cozy home for you and Luke, but the other person in it was what really sealed the deal for you. Not that he knew it, of course.

Luke quickly emerged from one of the cargo holds, shutting the door behind him and avoiding your eyes. “It’s not in that one. I’m not sure where it could be. I’m sorry, I’ll find it, I promise—”

You grabbed his arm, reveling in the feel of his skin against yours. “Luke, stop. Just sit down for a minute. I’m fine.”

“I threw you against a wall, Y/N. I need to take care of you.” He still wouldn’t look at you as he opened the door to the next room.

“Luke, listen to me. Stop.”

You could hear him gulp in the silence that followed as he stood in the doorway. You reached over and pressed the button to close the door, grabbing his hand and leading him to one of the stools surrounding a large, circular table. “Sit.”

He slumped down, taking an interest in his feet as he twiddled his thumbs.

“Luke, look at me,” you said a bit more gently.

He raised his head and you felt your heart plummet at the anguish in his eyes. “…I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You didn’t mean to. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Remember, I punched you in the face the last time you woke me from a nightmare.”

Relief flooded you at the small chuckle you got. “I remember.”

You reached out to gently rub his arm, taking a step closer so that your knees bumped his as you stood above him. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He was quiet for so long, you thought he’d refuse. But then, in a quiet voice you almost didn’t hear, he began, “…I have that nightmare often. Of the fight in the throne room with the emperor and my father. The emperor…” He shuddered in a breath, closing his eyes. “He used the Force to electrocute me for a long time. My father saved me and died in doing so, but I still have these scars. Sometimes, they…” He looked up at you and you could see his eyes shining with unshed tears before he quickly looked away again. “Sometimes, they itch and tingle and my cybernetic will start acting up at just the memory of it.” He raised his robotic hand and you noticed the fingers subtly twitching.

You frowned. “Luke, I’m so sorry. But…what was your father doing with the emperor? I thought Anakin Skywalker died during the Purge.”

He closed his eyes again and hung his head. “Anakin…became Darth Vader. Vader was my father.”

The silence in the hold was deafening as you processed the information in shock. You moved to lean against the table and Luke’s eyes tracked the fall of your hips before licking his lips. He glanced up at you before looking towards the cockpit shamefully. After several more moments of silence, he said, “Please say something.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just…processing.” Vader had been one of the most hated men in the galaxy and responsible for many of your friends’ deaths. You’d even watched him wreak havoc from a hiding spot once and it was a truly terrible sight to behold—necks were crushed, people were strangled, dismembered with the glow of his red lightsaber, thrown carelessly to the side like rag dolls, and more you didn’t care to remember. To think that one of the most terrifying beings in the entire galaxy had fathered someone so sweet, kind, humble, and purely good almost didn’t make sense. Almost. You’d sensed Luke’s dark side hiding beneath the surface plenty of times. The flip side of his love and care was anger and insecurity, just like it was for you. That was part of the reason you understood and loved him so much—you both made a conscious decision together every day to reject your worst impulses. And to think he looked so ashamed to even be related to Vader in the first place, something he had no control over, and maybe even thought you’d leave him for broke your heart.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more and you had to resist the urge to comb it back into place with your fingers.

“So…” you began, “he came back to the light side?”

Luke nodded, meeting your eyes. He’d turned on a small lamp while searching for the ice pack and it cast his face in a beautiful glow that highlighted his sharp jawline. “I sensed the good in him before and just as I was about to be killed, he stepped in and saved me. He killed the emperor in the process…I got him back just in time to—to lose him.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he turned away from you.

His cybernetic began to twitch more aggressively and you realized he wasn’t wearing his glove. As his hand rotated towards you, you could see a large hole with charred edges and the mechanical workings inside. Careful to avoid the edges, you gently took it in your hand, making Luke look up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” you murmured. Something about the moment felt sacred, heavy, and private. Something for just you and Luke and you cradled it—cradled him like he deserved to be. You turned his cybernetic over in your hand, gently tracing the lines on his palm and the twitching slowly stilled to a halt. “I’m sure he was an amazing person before he fell to the dark side—and he fathered another amazing Jedi. He would be so proud of you.”

A few tears slid down Luke’s cheeks, and you wiped them away with your thumb before realizing you’d moved. He leaned into your touch, putting a tentative hand on your waist to pull you closer. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I—” He suddenly shuddered before his shoulders began to shake and he hung his head again. You could feel fresh tears sliding against the palm that still cupped his cheek and your stomach plummeted.

You stepped between his legs and gathered him in your arms, pulling his head against your shoulder. He went without hesitation, snaking his arms around your middle and pulling you tightly to him. You pressed a cheek against his soft hair, inhaling his scent as you rubbed his shoulders. Despite his scars and decades of sun exposure on Tatooine, his tanned skin was smooth to the touch, and you reveled in his warmth as he burrowed his face into you. The t-shirt you slept in was much too large for you—and with embarrassment, you realized it was Luke’s; he’d lent it to you when you hadn’t packed enough and you’d forgotten to return it—and the collar had slipped down to expose your shoulder. Luke pressed his cheek against your bare skin, nuzzling into you as he cried in your arms.

You rubbed soothing circles into his bare back. Some scarring was visible there as well, but nowhere near as noticeable as the ones on his chest. You could feel fresh tears wet your skin as he continued to tremble, soft gasps and sniffles leaving him every few minutes. The sounds were devastating and drove your fingers to gently run through his hair. Your touch was feather-light, afraid he might find offense in the action, and you began to pull away as he tensed.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice ragged. “Please.”

You let your hand wander into his hair again, a bit bolder this time as you indulged yourself in the feel of him. Your fingers slid effortlessly through his locks and you let the blunt end of your fingernails gently scrape against his scalp. His cries stilled and he sighed, squeezing you tighter and running the tip of his tear-stained nose over your collarbone. You stayed like that for several minutes as you gently massaged the back of his head, neck, and shoulders. You could’ve stayed like that forever and could feel his new sense of serenity through the Force as he melted into you.

He finally broke the silence, still clinging to you like a life preserver. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be much more bored,” you teased into his hair, burying your nose in the golden-brown strands.

He laughed weakly against your skin. “That’s true—but I mean it. Thank you.”

You closed your eyes and sighed, holding him tighter. “Anytime…also, um…do you want your shirt back?”

He pulled back to look at you in surprise. His arms fell from your waist, but his fingers gently brushed against your hip bones. You usually only wore t-shirts and underwear to bed and felt embarrassment flood you as his thumb caught on the hem of your shirt, hiking it up over your hip. Luke let his thumb linger momentarily before remembering himself and turning so red, you almost laughed. He cleared his throat and gently pulled the shirt back down, letting his hands fall into his lap. “No, keep it. It looks better on you anyway.”

You released him and smiled softly, taking a moment to inspect his bare feet where they lay next to yours. “Please don’t ever be ashamed of who your father was. And just know that I’m…” you met his eyes nervously before twiddling your thumbs, “really proud to be your friend.”

His hands gently reached out to take yours and you met his teary gaze. He smiled. “Thank you. It means a lot…And you’re not just a friend. You’re family at this point.”

Your heart swelled and you looked away before he could notice the tears forming in your own eyes. “Do you think you could fall back asleep now? You need your rest.”

He nodded, laughing softly as you yawned. “So do you, starflower.”

You met his eyes in surprise at the nickname and he seemed just as shocked at himself. He quickly dropped your hands and rubbed at the back of his neck. If his face turned any redder, you thought he might explode.

You took a deep breath before grabbing his hand to yank him up. “Come on, farm boy. Gotta put you to bed before you get any sappier on me.”

He laughed, the little spark you loved so much now back in his eyes. He held onto your hand the whole walk back to the bedrooms, hesitating at the door. He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it and closed it again. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night, Luke,” you replied softly, reluctant to let go of him.

He gave your hand a parting squeeze before ducking back into his bedroom. He left the door open and you did the same as you retreated into your own. As you settled down into your sheets and remembered the feel of his skin and hands, you couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to fall asleep holding him.

[lilpunkrock]

where you go (i will go) — part viii

Summary: You find kinship with a fellow immortal, then are presented with a gift...and a threat.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

Word Count: 6.6k+

AN: It's a long one, lovelies! I hope you all enjoy the angst and fun in equal measure. As always, thank you all for your support!

. . .

“I don’t know, I just can feel it in the atmosphere;

And if I’m wandering, I’ve wandered into just the right spot.

You are the fire inside me, you are the reason I dream;

And just for when we’re apart, I’ve got a piece of your heart.”

Piece of Your Heart, Mayday Parade

. . . 

part viii

“You know, you don’t have to check on me as you do.” 

“What, you don’t like my visits? I’m hurt.” 

You roll your eyes at Death’s feigned insult, her mock gasp of hurt. The two of you stand side-by-side amidst rows of tombstones, unseen spectators to the funeral taking place several yards away. A green storge attachment glows brightly between a father and son, rekindled with the passing of their wife and mother. They grieve quietly, the father’s hand clasped around his son’s shoulder, a sign of solidarity, of estrangement forgotten. 

Death is wrong–you’re grateful for these times in which your functions overlap. It is intoxicatingly good to see someone outside your own little world. That only makes it ache more when it’s time for you to part.

“The Fates may call you their ward, but you were mine first,” Death presses on, her eyes wide and earnest. “I welcomed you into this world when you were just a babe, and I intended to follow you through to the end. Sure, things didn’t go as expected, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still be here for you.” 

“I don’t want you to check on me out of obligation,” you admit quietly. 

“I don’t. I care about you, Love. And I know that this transition must be hard.” She pauses, eyes searching yours, imploring. “Now, tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. You’ve been downcast the last several times I’ve seen you.” 

You smile wistfully, your expression tight. It’s amazing how she can read you like a book. You suppose eons spent meeting humans in the biggest highs and lows of their lives would make her adept at doing so. You look inward, searching for the answers she seeks. Being vulnerable is like a muscle, and your ability to do so has atrophied in your self-imposed solitude. “I just don’t understand what’s wrong with me. This work that I’m doing…I love it. I really, really do. The feeling that I get when I fulfill their bonds…words don’t do it justice.” You inhale, growing breathless at the mere thought of it. “It’s extraordinary. Transcendent. And yet, something feels missing. I don’t feel…whole.” You swallow thickly, your mouth dry as cotton. “I can still feel it. What it felt like to love him. I know that it had to be powerful for…for it to linger as it does, even after all that happened. I’m longing for something I don’t even remember.” You purse your lips, images of those final moments flashing in your mind. “Something that, apparently, was never real at all. And yet, it still haunts me.” 

Death is quiet for several long moments. You watch as the father offers his son a handkerchief to dab at his glistening eyes. Their green thread thrums in response. “I know what you’re experiencing,” she finally says. When you turn to look at her, her gaze is knowing. “It’s mourning. For the life you might have led, for what was taken from you. Grief never goes away, but it does get a little easier to bear.” She smiles softly at you. “Trust me, I speak from experience.” 

“I don’t know. I just can’t help but feel that the wrong person was picked for the job. A love goddess who put her heart in the wrong hands.” You offer her a strained, lopsided grin. “Seems a little convoluted, doesn’t it?” 

This time, it’s Death’s turn to roll her eyes. After a playful shake of her head, she gazes at you with conviction. “You said you remember how it felt? The love that you had for him?”

How could you forget? Maker knows you’d tried, to no avail. When you close your eyes, you’re back in the dream meadow, the place where your memory of those final moments begins. You think of the way your skin had sung at his touch, the way your heart had swelled so large, you’d felt it could swallow the world whole. “Yes.” 

Death’s hand is gentle on your arm. “They need that. And if you’re able to hold on to that feeling, to believe in it, even after all that has happened, then you’re the right one for the job. Though what happened to you was a tragedy, one I wish I could take away, one good thing came of it, Love. You.” 

. . . 

Death was right. With time, the grief does become easier to bear. When the bittersweet pangs of yearning and envy pierce your heart, you’re able to forge onward. Where your heart once sang for him, it now sings at the feeling of giving love to others. The feeling of his skin against yours, the sound of his voice, fades from the forefront of your mind, slipping into little more than a distant memory. The feeling of brokenness, though never gone, grows smaller inside you. With time, happiness begins to come more easily. 

Guarding your heart is a small price to pay for keeping it.

. . . 

You shudder against the early-December breeze, tugging your beanie more fully over your ears. The radiant colors and dipping temperatures of fall have long faded, transitioning into shades of blue, foggy breath, and frosted grass. Your fingers curl tightly around the to-go cup in your hand, relishing the warmth of the coffee that seeps through the paper. 

Dream of the Endless, impervious as ever, walks beside you without so much as a shiver. The collar of his black wool coat conceals his sharp jawline, one hand tucked into his pocket. The other caresses a to-go cup of earl grey tea. Steam wafts from the lid’s opening as the Dream Lord brings it to his pursed lips to take a sip. 

The sight makes you smile. Walking down the busy street on a weekday morning, two companions sharing warm beverages on the way to work, you truly feel almost human. The past two months had been imbued with a sense of calm and contentment that you savored. Your partnership with Morpheus had been going swimmingly. Though not all of the attachments you’d fulfilled with Morpheus’s help went according to plan, you had seen a significant and sustained improvement since adding first words into the dreams of lovers and soulmates. When you walked through the Realm of Attachment, fewer and fewer black threads caught your eye. 

Their master was even more elusive to you. You hadn’t seen Desire since the day in the park with Matthew. The thought both thrilled and unnerved you. You had expected their retaliation to be quick and fierce. You weren’t sure what to think of the fact that it hadn’t come at all. 

Still, it was easy to push such thoughts from your mind when your days were as busy as they were. Your daily time spent with Matthew, Lucienne, and the other residents of the Dreaming were some of the brightest hours of your days. You’d found yourself waking earlier and earlier, becoming more efficient with your duties, all in your eagerness to travel to the Dreaming. Your heart, lonely and starved of connection for so long, finally felt fed and full. Between your time spent in the Dreaming and with Theo, you’d barely had time to retreat into yourself for your nightly rest. 

Out of all of it, moments like these were some of your favorites. You were delighted on the occasions when the Dream Lord would accept your invitation to observe your function or walk in the Waking World. You enjoyed showing his curious soul bits and pieces of the mortal world, watching him drink in the human experience. As the Dreaming had introduced you to Fiddler’s Green, the House of Secrets, and the House of Mystery, you had introduced its creator to the simple pleasures of sipping tea as the sun rose, finding the darkest place in the city to glimpse the stars, and the satisfaction of spending an afternoon reading a good book rather than working. Though these breaks in routine were only occasional, you treasured them. These moments almost made you feel…normal. The memory of your anxiety and petrification at your first meeting with the Dream Lord nearly made you laugh now. 

Eyes still trained on Morpheus, the collision takes you by total surprise. Blunt force contacts your front with a start. A splash of heat douses the front of your coat as your coffee cup is crushed against your chest. Startled, you blink rapidly, gathering your bearings. A college-aged boy peels himself from your front, his hair disheveled, earbuds popping out of his ears from the impact. His eyes are wide with mortification as he looks at you, his phone still in his hand. “Oh shit, I– I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” he stammers. 

His guilt is palpable. You smile kindly at him, seeking to assuage his embarrassment. “It’s really okay.” You glance down at the dark brown stain that now adorns the front of your beige coat. “You know, I’m not sure why I thought it was a good idea to buy a light-colored coat anyway. I’m surprised I didn’t spill something on it way sooner.” 

The boy laughs breathlessly, shoulders relaxing slightly as he realizes he’s not about to be cursed out for this incident. Still, his dark brows are furrowed as he begins to dig into his pocket for his wallet. “Here, let me can give you money for a new one–” 

You place a hand on his arm, and his movement stills. You smile again as his hesitant green eyes meet yours. “Really, don’t worry about it,” you say with gentle firmness. “You did me a favor, honestly. You just gave me an excuse to go get a coat I won’t end up ruining with a massive coffee stain. Which is definitely something I would have ended up doing.” You give his arm a soft squeeze of reassurance. “So thank you. Just maybe look up a little more often next time.” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Not everyone’s looking to buy a new coat.” 

The boy stares at you for a moment, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. Then, he smiles tentatively. “Yeah, right. Thanks. Have a great rest of your day.” He tucks his phone into his pocket as he slips back into the crowd. 

As he disappears from sight, you look down at the stain with a soft sigh. As you walk toward the nearest trash bin with your now-sadly-empty coffee cup, Morpheus follows you like a shadow. “It astounds me how seamlessly you intermingle with them,” he murmurs quietly. With a quick toss, your empty cup sails through the mouth of the trash bin, a hole-in-one. “You act like one of them.” 

On instinct, your mind says, I am one of them. You open your mouth to say the words, then quickly bite your tongue. Because even though your sense of self-identify lies somewhere on the muddled plain between mortal and deity, you know that, at the core of it, you’re not one of them. Not anymore. 

Morpheus’s bright, attentive eyes miss nothing. His gaze is curious, his brows lifted as he says, “I’ve noticed a consistent shift in your demeanor when the subject of your past as a human is broached. Why?”

The question catches you off-guard. Pursing your lips in thought, you wave him toward the awning of a boutique a few steps away, slipping away from the throng of people walking down the street. “I don’t know. It’s…hard to explain.” You gnaw at the inside of your cheek in thought, his curious gaze heavy upon you. “I mean, imagine. You’re born mortal, a human, living in the mortal world amongst other humans. Being mortal is your identity–it’s all you know. But then, suddenly, you’re thrust into a world of gods, goddesses, and Endless. Everyone’s telling you that you’re immortal now, that you’re not human anymore, but you don’t look any different. You don’t think or act any differently. Hell, you don’t even really feel any different. Excluding your new magical ability to foster love connections between mortals, of course.” You chuckle softly. “I may not be able to remember my mortal life in its entirety, but I imagine I had loved ones, plans, hopes, dreams. The thought that all that went unfulfilled–I don’t know. It’s just hard to reconcile, in a way. Even after all this time.” You shy away from Morpheus’s blue eyes, the thoughtfulness that lies within them. “Your sister called it ‘mourning’ once. And I agree with her. Though it does get easier, it never goes away. Talking to Matthew has helped. He might be the only other person in the world besides me who understands how it feels.” 

Morpheus is quiet for several long moments, processing your words. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Just as you’re about to ask if he minds walking back to Cliff’s with you for a replacement coffee, he speaks. “I know of someone you should quite like to meet.”

. . . 

The two-story, red-brick building before you is quaint and unassuming. Tucked off a side-street, it’s the type of place you would have never found without prior knowledge or guidance from word of mouth. The chimney breathes a steady stream of smoke into the pale blue sky overhead. The emerald green curtains adorning the bottom floor windows are drawn open, inviting visitors to come in for reprieve from the winter chill. Several tables with green umbrellas surround the outside of the inn, pops of color against the gray of London. You follow Morpheus as he leads you through a patch of grass toward the inn’s front door. “‘The New Inn?’ Whatever brought you to this place?” you ask curiously.

“This inn is owned by an old friend of mine,” Morpheus responds. He reaches the green door first. A small string of bells tied around the handle jingles as he opens it. “A friend I think you might appreciate making an acquaintance of.” 

You blink, surprised. This is the first time you’ve heard the Dream Lord refer to anyone as a “friend,” and your interest is instantly piqued. You follow him through the doorway, relishing the warmth that flushes your cheeks as you step over the threshold. The room has a distinctly vintage personality, complete with brocade-esque cream wallpaper and lit sconces. An elaborate mahogany bar spans one wall with several sets of wooden tables and chairs surrounding it. For the inn being off the beaten path, it’s surprisingly busy at this time of day. Several patrons sit about chatting with partners, friends, and loved ones, sipping a beer, coffee, tea, or all three.

As if he knows precisely where to go, Morpheus skips the bar, walks past an ornately-carved fireplace along the far wall, and dips left into a second room off the main bar. This room is smaller and cozier than the main gathering room. A staircase to your left leads up to what you assume are the guests’ quarters. Only one patron is present in this room–a middle-aged gentleman seated at a small table in the corner opposite the staircase. He nurses a beer slowly, reading a newspaper by the light of the wall sconces above his head. 

Morpheus walks toward him without hesitation. “Hob Gadling,” he calls. At the sound of Morpheus’s voice, the man’s head snaps upward. You watch as his eyes widen in surprise, followed by the slow dawn of joy overtaking his expression. A dazzling smile warms his handsome face, pronouncing his cleft chin and dark eyes. He rises to his feet instantly, flinging the newspaper onto the wooden seat beside him. 

“Old friend!” The man–Hob���exclaims, stepping around the table to meet Morpheus in the middle. Your eyes settle on his dark hair, the crinkles by his eyes, his affectionate grin. His features resonate somewhere in the depths of your mind. You swear you’ve seen him before, and you suppose it’s likely that you have. After all, you meet most everyone at least once. Still, as young as he looks, you would have thought his face would have been more familiar to you. “You’re early, my friend. Very early.” 

Morpheus dips his head slightly, looking at Hob with knowing eyes. Is that the ghost of a smile on his lips? Before you can get a better look, the Endless begins to speak. “Indeed, I am. It is a special occasion that brings me to your establishment today.” Morpheus beckons toward you with one hand. You take a couple steps forward to stand at his side, giving Hob a friendly smile. “I would like to introduce you to my…colleague, Love.”

Hob’s eyes turn from Morpheus to you. He’d been so excited to see the Dream Lord that you’re not sure he’d quite noticed you until this moment. His eyes flicker back and forth between the two of you, his wide grin taking on a cheeky edge. “Colleague, eh? I know what that means.” He raises his eyebrows, his expression now deathly serious. “You two are snogging, aren’t you?” 

Your heart leaps into your throat in an instant. “No,” you say hastily, waving your hands in front of you. You refuse to look at Morpheus’s expression, certain that you’ll find confusion, mortification, or a muddled mix of both. Does he even know what snogging means? “No, really, we’re just–” 

Your denial is interrupted by a snort erupting from Hob. Mouth twisted tightly from holding back a grin, he finally gives in, his deep, throaty laughter filling the small room. “I’m just kidding you, darling. Sorry, I shouldn’t be poking at you when we’ve just met.” He reaches out with a kind smile, taking one of your hands in his. Your heartbeat begins to slow as you meet his warm brown eyes. “My name is Robert Gadling, but you can call me Hob. I’m the owner of this inn and a long-time friend of this one.” He tosses a cheeky look at Morpheus before turning back to you. “So, colleague, eh? Maybe you can finally answer some of my questions about my mysterious old friend.”

You open your mouth, unsure of what to say. Looking to Morpheus with wide, questioning eyes, you find him gazing at Hob with vague amusement. “Hob Gadling, I should think you know better,” Morpheus says lowly. 

“I know, I know. Trade secrets and all.” Hob releases your hand gently, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his brown suede jacket with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve known this man for a long time now, and still know next to nothing about him.” 

“Over six hundred years,” Morpheus says matter-of-factly. 

Both you and Hob fall deathly silent. Over six hundred years. Your lips part slightly in awe and understanding. Suddenly, your vague remembrance of this man makes complete sense. When you look at Hob, you find him staring at Morpheus with a turbulent mix of shock, horror, and confusion. “I– No– Wait–” he stammers. Morpheus inclines his chin slightly, an answer provided in physicality rather than words. Hob’s denials suddenly catch in his throat as understanding dawns on his own face, slow and sweeping. “Wait– She– Really?” An incredulous grin overtakes Hob’s face as he looks at you with new eyes. “Oh, wow. This is fucking mental.” 

And then, a sight you never thought you’d see: The Dream Lord smirks. Only the slightest upturn of the corner of his pink lips, but it’s there. For three months, such a sight had eluded you. You study his face in awe, unsure of how long this break in his stoic exterior will last. It’s incredible how the smallest of gestures seems to soften Morpheus’s sharp jawline, his high cheekbones. The stars in his eyes seem to glimmer with more fervor than usual. 

The low rumble of his voice draws you out of your thoughts. “You two should have much to discuss. I will take my leave.” And with that, he turns and exits the room in a blur of black.

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, watching as he slips away. You’re still stuck on the fact that you just saw the Dream Lord smile. Fates, you’d thought you’d never see the day. After all, he was– “A bit of an uppity prick, isn’t he?” Hob interjects into your thoughts. When you turn to him, you find him watching you with a smirk of his own. “All said in love, of course. I’ve known the man for over six hundred years, and he once gave me the cold shoulder when I implied that he might want a friend, so I think I’ve earned the right to say so.” You hide a snicker behind your hand, and Hob grins wider. He offers you his hand, and you accept it with a firm shake. “Allow me to introduce myself again. I’m Hob Gadling.” 

You smile at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Hob Gadling. You can call me Love.” 

Hob sweeps his hand toward the table he’d been sitting at with a flourish. “Well, Love, please, have a seat. Let’s chat.” A perfect gentleman, he pulls out the chair across from him. You accept it with a smile, sitting down as he finds his own seat. “So, how do you know my old friend?”

“We’re colleagues. Co-workers,” you say truthfully, echoing Morpheus’s statement from before. You’re unsure of exactly what Hob knows about Morpheus’s state of being, and you don’t intend on revealing anything the Endless might wish to hold close to his chest. 

“Co-workers,” Hob echoes. He leans toward you conspiratorially, quirking a curious eyebrow at you. “You know, he’s gone now. If you two really are snogging, you can tell me.” 

You shake your head with a laugh. Maker, you like this Hob Gadling. “No. We really just work together. How does the saying go? ‘Don’t mix business and pleasure?’” 

Hob leans back in his seat with a smile, raising his mug of beer to his lips. “Funny, mixing the two has worked out great for me,” he says as he takes a long drink. He sets the mug back onto the table with a soft thunk. “So…if he’s brought you here to see me, then I assume you are…?” he trails off. 

“Immortal,” you offer. It’s the first time you’ve admitted as much to someone who wasn’t a deity or an Endless. Your heartbeat quickens as the words pass over your lips. 

Hob’s eyebrows jump upward. In spite of the fact that he obviously assumed as much, to hear it spoken aloud still seems to take him by surprise. He quickly regains his composure. “Fucking hell. Me too. Well, then. This is my first time meeting another immortal. Besides our mutual friend, of course.” He pauses, pursing his lips. A question dances in his eyes. After a moment of debating, he asks, “So, how did you…how did it happen?”

You pause. It’s evident that Hob knows Morpheus is immortal, although it doesn’t appear that he knows much else about the Endless. What should you say? How much truth should you tell? Your mind drifts to the past few months, to how your honesty and vulnerability has been rewarded with new friendships in Lucienne and Matthew. How it’s made your partnership with Morpheus stronger. You decide to take a chance, to make the leap. “Oh, you know. Tragic death. Resurrected by Death and the Fates as a goddess.” You speak the words with forced nonchalance, hoping it will help keep from startling him. You offer him a warm smile. “How about you?” 

The innkeeper’s jaw truly drops. You have to bite your bottom lip to keep from laughing at his astonished expression. He quickly tries to save face, smoothing his expression into one of only moderate surprise.  “Well, shit. I just said I refused to die in a bar once with my mates. Next thing you know, I’m a six-hundred-plus-year-old innkeeper.” You chuckle at him, and Hob smiles, clearly pleased. “So, judging by your name, I assume you’re the goddess of love.” You nod. Hob’s eyebrows furrow as he leans across the table toward you. “If you’re a goddess, then what is he?” he asks quietly. 

Oh, how you’d love to satisfy his curiosity. His eagerness to ask questions reminds you of a certain broody Endless, although Hob Gadling seems much less likely to hold his cards close to his chest. You smile kindly at him. “That’s not for me to say. Though I will admit that I understand your curiosity about him. There’s plenty that I’m still learning, myself. Perhaps one day we’ll both get the answers we seek.” You pause, smiling wider. “But I’m not here to talk about him. I’m here to talk about you, Hob Gadling.” 

Hob’s lips downturn ever so slightly, just for a moment. You hate to disappoint him, but you suspect he’s well-accustomed to being denied answers when it comes to Morpheus. He rebounds quickly, leaning back in his chair with a friendly grin. His face is an open book as he takes another drink of his beer. “Well then, Love, let’s talk. If you haven’t noticed already, I’ve got plenty to say.” 

. . . 

Hob’s self-restraint is impressive. He’s divulged the details of his six-hundred-year-long life and learned a little more about your function before he finally asks the question you imagine has been on his mind for the past hour or so. “So, did you ever work on me?” His voice is intrigued, tentative. 

You smile warmly at him. It doesn’t surprise you that he wants to know. After all, if you came face-to-face with the goddess of love, wouldn’t you want to know if she’d played a role in your own relationships? You wished that there had been a deity of love before you’d come along. You would certainly have questions for them. “Yes,” you say softly. 

Hob breathes a long sigh. The smile on his face is part pleased, part wistful. He seems to look at you differently now, as if he’s gazing at someone he’s met before. Just in a way one might not expect. “My Eleanor, my family…they were everything to me,” he says quietly. There is a vague tightness in his voice, a swell of thinly veiled emotion. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “After a while, when the initial brunt of the pain started to become more…bearable, I tried to find it in someone else. That same feeling.” He sighs again, the sound rich with longing. “But I never could. It just wasn’t the same. Eventually, I stopped trying.” 

Your gaze softens with empathy, eyebrows furrowing as his nostalgia settles over the room. You make a mental note to look for his book the next time you’re in your library. To see what the future might hold for him. “Real love is indescribably precious. To revel in it is the highest of highs. To be parted from it is the lowest of lows.” 

Hob chuckles quietly, running a hand through his dark, shoulder-length hair. “Yeah, I suppose you would know all about that.” He sighs once more, the wistful smile slipping from his face. “I don’t know. I’m not sure that kind of life is in the cards for me anymore, being immortal and all. A normal life like that…I’m not sure how it would even work.” 

Your hand slips across the table on instinct, fingers curling over his knuckles gently. You give them a faint squeeze. “You never know, Hob. Who’s to say what the future might hold?” 

Hob’s dark eyes meet yours, holding your gaze. You recognize the spark that alights within them, flickering like a flame. Hope. Yes, you will find his book in your library. Any of the love attachments listed within it–you will ensure them all. 

A slow smile warms his expression. He lifts his free hand, patting yours once. “Yeah. Who’s to say?” he says quietly. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, Hob nursing his beer, your gaze affixed on the tabletop. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, weighing a question of your own in your mind. It burns within you until you simply have to set it free. “Do you ever get sad thinking about what could’ve been?” you ask, lifting your gaze to meet his. 

Now, it’s Hob’s turn to eye you with empathy and understanding. He leans forward in his seat, clasping his hands in front of him. “Sure, sometimes, yeah. I mean, how could you not? You’d be crazy not to,” he says reassuringly. He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts, then presses onward. “When I get that way, though, I try to put things in perspective. In the end, what matters is the here and now. I’ve learned that getting stuck in the past, drowning in ‘would haves’ and ‘could haves,’ only stands to blind you to the happiness that may be around you now.” He pauses, eyes dancing in the golden light of the room. “So, are you happy?” 

His question takes you by surprise. If he had asked you three months ago, before you’d met the Dream Lord, Matthew, and Lucienne, the answer would have been no. Sitting here, reflecting on your life Before, you’re certain of that fact. Sure, you had your work, Theo, and visits from Death on occasion, but something had always been…missing. The contentment was surface level, true happiness eluding the lonely heart at your core. But now…things felt different. “Yeah,” you breathe with a slight nod. The ghost of a smile dances over your lips. “Yeah, I think I am.” 

Hob’s grin is warm and assuring. “Then follow that feeling wherever it takes you. I’ve found it’ll lead you right where you’re supposed to be.” 

. . . 

The string of bells on The New Inn’s door gives a soft jingle as it closes behind you. The darkness of night swaddles the quiet street like a blanket, interrupted only by the golden glow of light streaming through the inn’s windows. You blink, giving your eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. You’d been so engrossed in talking with Hob that you hadn’t even realized how much time had passed. 

The street outside the inn is empty save for one lone form. The Dream Lord waits for you beneath a lampost, his dark figure a stark contrast to the golden glow of the lamplight. It casts his alabaster skin in a warmer tone than usual. You smile, seeking to meet his clear blue eyes. “Thank you for today. That was very thoughtful of you.” 

Morpheus regards you thoughtfully, his hands tucked into the pockets of his wool coat. He raises his eyebrows at you, eyes glistening with stars. “You stated that you felt alone in your experience of being a human thrust into immortality. I only saw it fit to show you that it wasn’t so,” he says matter-of-factly. 

You grin cheekily at him. “You really are heeding Lucienne’s words to become a more adept listener. What’s next? Deep confessionals? Trading our most well-kept secrets?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly, though no smile reaches his lips. Your mind wanders to the smirk that graced his face earlier while talking to Hob. Would you ever be able to draw such a reaction from him? “Do not press your luck,” he says lowly, though there is no bite behind his words. 

You bow swiftly in mock apology. “Of course, your Endless-ness, All-Powerful Dream, I would never.” Having had your fun, you straighten with a smile. “So, work tomorrow. I suppose I’ll see Matthew at our normal time.” 

“Actually, that won’t be necessary.” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion at Morpheus’s words. You watch as he draws one hand out of his coat pocket, revealing a small cloth pouch. He reaches out and places it in your waiting palms. There is a familiar shifting sensation within the pouch as you cradle it in your hands. Sand. 

“This…” you start, the words catching in your throat. You don’t want to speak them if they’re not true. 

Morpheus speaks them for you. “This is a pouch of my sand. The grains are everlasting; each time you use them, the pouch will refill. You have my permission to enter and depart the Dreaming as you please by using them.” Your eyes slowly rise from the gift in your hands to meet his. He raises his eyebrows expectantly at you, his hand retreating back into his pocket. “My trust is not widely given. It is earned. If you intended to disrupt or bring harm to my Realm in some way, I suspect you would have done so by now.” 

There is a shift in your chest at his words, at the implication behind them. You divert your eyes from his, looking instead to the pouch in your hands. A sequence of emotions rushes through you: Awe, denial, hope, acceptance, elation, gratitude, awe again. The onslaught overwhelms you, scrambling your thoughts. Your mouth feels like sandpaper. Working past the lump in your throat, you quietly admit, “I don’t know what to say.” 

Morpheus turns from you to gaze back through the window of The New Inn. His eyes settle on the patrons inside, but you get the feeling that he is not so much looking at them as he is giving you a moment of privacy. “You need not say anything. Matthew has insisted for weeks that I give them to you. As much as I believe he enjoys your morning conversations, I am under the impression he was not privy to early rising in his human life.” The pressure in your throat eases slightly at his words, and you chuckle, a quiet, contented sound. Morpheus’s gaze slides to you, meeting yours from the corner of his eye. “I suppose you could say I finally…listened.” 

You smile warmly now, catching the slight inflection at the end of his sentence. You slip the pouch of sand into the pocket of your coat. “Listening suits you well. Goodnight, Dream Lord.” 

Morpheus backs away from you slowly, retreating from the lamplight. As his dark, slender form slips into the shadows of the night, you catch the familiar glisten of sand spilling from his pocket, whirling around his feet. “Goodnight,” he says, disappearing in a flurry of sand. 

You laugh once, a breathy sound. Leave it to Morpheus to exit in simultaneously the most dramatic and subtle way possible. Your hand finds the cloth pouch in your pocket. You give it a gentle squeeze, relishing the weight of it in your hand. A weight that tells you this is not a dream. 

Alone on the street, a voice abruptly cuts through the darkness, sending your mind lurching. As your stomach drops, you wonder if this is, perhaps, a nightmare instead. “Love, darling. Long time, no see.” 

You spin to the left, eyes frantically searching the darkness. You spot their eyes first–two pools of molten gold glowing from within the darkness. Their lithe form emerges from behind the silhouette of a tree in the grassy patch by the inn, slipping from the shadows with feline fluidity. “Or, should I say, a long time since you’ve seen me. Because I’ve been watching you, darling.” Desire’s eyes are wide as saucers as they stalk toward you. Bone white teeth flash from behind their blood red lips. “Though you’ve been lurking about in my dear big brother’s Realm quite a bit as of late, you’ve certainly given me plenty to see in your own. You didn’t forget that I could travel there, too, now did you?” 

Your heart hammers in your chest, demanding, relentless. Your mind reels back to your last encounter with Desire of the Endless, to the dizzying rush of fear that had overtaken you, the suffocating helplessness that had stolen your breath away. No. You would not allow yourself to feel that way again.  For Desire to be here, to be this angry, could only mean one thing: They’ve noticed your work. That meant you had leverage. “How could I forget? I see traces of your handiwork there every day,” you say lowly, pressing back against the warble that threatens to sneak into your voice. 

Desire raises their eyebrows dramatically. One hand reaches outward to point a red-tipped finger at you, accusing. “And, you see, that’s exactly why I’m here. My handiwork,” they hiss. They take another step toward you; you take one step back. “I’ve been watching you, Love. I am all too aware of what you’re doing. Using my own blood against me? Taking advantage of my brother for your own gain?” Desire’s eyebrows furrow, their face falling in mock disappointment. “I would have thought better of you than that.” 

Anger rears its ugly head within your chest, roaring and defensive. You set your jaw tightly. “I am not taking advantage of anyone. Your brother chose to help me.” You quirk an eyebrow at them, rage blurring your judgment. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have meddled in his affairs. If you hadn’t, maybe he wouldn’t have chosen to help me.”

Desire’s eyes blaze with indignance. They take another step toward you. This time, you don’t step back. “I am Desire of the Endless. I will do as I please, and I always get what I want.” Their fingers curl around your chin, their fingernails sharp against your skin. Despite the pounding of your heart in your ears, you force yourself to hold their gaze, to stand your ground. 

Desire’s eyes scrutinize you, lingering on the defiance in your angry brow, your clenched jaw. After a long, tense moment, their blood red lips curl into a sickeningly sweet smile. The sight startles you, unexpected. “Well, well, well, now there’s something new. Fire. Defiance.” Desire grips your chin a little tighter, fingernails digging painfully into your skin, before releasing you suddenly. “I like it,” they coo, their breath hot against your face. 

You swallow thickly, forcing down the stinging sensation that fights to creep up your throat. Your voice is but a whisper as you say, “It’s time for you to go.”

“Is it now?” Desire whispers in return, their tone taunting. A dark chuckle rumbles through their throat, a menacing cross between a purr and a snarl. When they speak next, it’s with an aloofness that frightens you more than their wrath. “You know, you’re right. I really ought to be running along. I have scales to disrupt, you know.” Another wicked grin, a gleam of teeth in the lamplight. “I just wanted to pop by and let you know that the time for warnings is over, darling. You’ve shown me you want to play dirty, so let’s play dirty. After all, that is my favorite game.” 

Slowly, delicately, five slender fingers come to wrap around your throat. Muscle memory jerks you in the opposite direction as white hot adrenaline surges through you. Your brain screams, AwayAwayAway– but when you move to retreat, Desire’s other hand catches you by the shoulder, holding you in place. “When I find what you love, I will take it…and squeeze.” Fingertips burrow into the soft flesh of your throat. Though your mind demands you flee, your muscles remain locked in place. 

With one final jerk of your chin, Desire releases you. Their face is eerily serious as they step backward, slipping into the darkness. “You’ve been running from me since the day you died, Love. But the time for running is over.” All that remains are two eyes of molten gold, hovering in the shadows. “Everything would have been so much easier if you’d just stayed dead.” 

When Desire’s voice slips away on the December breeze, only the darkness remains.

[ithebookhoarder]

OKOK OK. I need some angsty obi pleeeeeease?! Like, you're captured by sepratists and he comes to save you. Can end either happy or not. I don't mind. I just love your blog and I feel we need some more Obi love.

Safe and Sound (Obi-wan x F!Reader)

A/N: I just want to say I feel this on a spiritual level, so I’m only too happy to oblige... and it gave me an excuse to rewatch some Clone Wars because, why not? Anywho... hope you like it x (Side note, the swagger in this gif ends me)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injury, blood, mentions of death, mentions of violence, semi smut. Let me know if I missed anything.

Masterlist:

You were a bad girlfriend. 

You were a bad friend. 

Maker no, you were a bad Jedi. 

After all, hope was the core principal of the Jedi teachings and here you were, pretty much empty of any kind of hope. Instead, you stared at the cell wall in front of you and tried to calm yourself. 

Breathe, Y/N, breathe, you told yourself as you tried to ignore the agonising pain that seemed to radiate throughout your entire body. It didn’t help that the cuffs on your wrists shocked you every time you tried to use the force to push away your consciousness. Meditating until your rescue was off the cards, apparently. 

Instead, you were being forced to endure every agonising minute as you tried to convince yourself that everything was going to be ok. That Obi-wan would be here any minute to rescue you, just like he’d always promised he would. 

After all, he’d been the one to send you and your squadron off towards the rendezvous point. He would have been waiting for you and noticed when neither you or any of your troops had arrived on time. 

It would take him maybe a few hours to trek the path you’d taken and see the evidence that would tell him everything he needed to know. 

The blood… the bodies… the blaster marks… Even the worst tracker in the world would be able to see there had been an ambush of some kind in the canyon you’d passed through. 

And when you weren’t discovered amongst the wreckage? Well, let’s just say it wouldn’t be long before the entire might of General Kenobi’s fleet was inflicted upon the Separatist forces in the area. 

He was deathly protective of his fellow Jedi at the best of times, often allowing his more rash nature to show when one of their own needed help. But if you were in danger? 

A small smile tugged at your bloodied lips as you tried to imagine poor Anakin and Ahsoka’s faces right about now. Obi was probably driving them nuts, ordering them about as he raced to find you. 

Yeah… it was going to be ok… it was… going … to be… ok…

A single tear escaped your swollen eyelid as you pressed a hand against your side, feeling the warm blood still pouring out of the wound. You tried to fight the darkness for as long as you could possibly stand, forcing yourself to stay awake to wait for your rescuers to come. 

Yet, with every hour that passed, it became harder and harder. It felt like the life was being drained out of you, sucked into the cold empty cell you were destined to die in. 

All you wanted, right then, was simply to be held in your lover’s arms just one more time. Just to have the chance to hear his heart beating beneath your ear as you lay on his chest, the soft scent of his soap and cologne filling your senses. 

Obi was also affectionate when asleep - a secret you rather enjoyed knowing and teasing him about whenever you’d got the chance. His arms were always wrapped around you somehow, his body pressed as tightly against you as he could possibly be. It was as if he sought you out, even in sleep, like some kind of beacon calling him in.  

And when you awoke? Oh, the sight of his beautiful smile as he gazed down at you was the only way you ever wanted to start a morning. 

You’d give anything to see that smile every day for the rest of your lives… however short they may be. 

A soft whimper escaped you as you clung to the memories for all their worth, pretending you were back in the tent you and Obi had shared the night before the ambush.  

“General Kenobi!”

“Y/N.”

“Stop,” you giggled as he mercilessly kissed his way down your neck, peeling away your dusty robes. “One of the clones might hear you!” 

“Then you’d better be quiet,” he’d grinned, seemingly unbothered by the troops surrounding you with their own tents on all sides. If any of them, however, had been suspicious of the fact you and Obi had decided to share a tent, then nobody had said a word. Nor had anyone said anything the following morning, even if you knew they had to have heard your less than subtle activities during the night. 

Probably Cody’s doing, you chuckled softly. That man would never allow a single trooper to be out of line. That, and he clearly had a soft spot for you and the General. It wasn’t like you hadn’t spent months with them both, bouncing from one battle to another. 

He was too clever not to have noticed when things changed between you two, but he was too kind to say anything. Not when he knew the trouble it would bring if you two were discovered breaking the Jedi code. 

That, and he’d been around Anakin and Padme long enough. What was one more secret Jedi love affair? 

But that wasn’t right… you weren’t just a love affair. This? What you and Obi-wan had? It was special. It was years in the making, a bond that had formed and only grown stronger with every year you two knew each other. 

Even Qui-Gon had seen it and granted you two his blessing. 

“Love is a strength, especially one as pure as yours,” he’d explained one night. It was before the mission that had cost him his life on Naboo, almost as if he knew it would be the last time he got to speak to you like that. He’d always treated you as much his padawan as he did Obi, noticing the way you were nearly always in sight whenever he went to find him. “Hold on to it as tight as you can, Y/N.”  

So you did. You held on to it now when you needed it most and waited. 

Obi-wan was coming for you. He was. He’d be there before you knew it and you’d both be on your way home before the sun even set. All you had to do was hold on just a little bit longer… you just had to keep on fighting to stay awake. To hope and trust that the man whose soul was connected to your own would make it in time. 

“Hurry my love,” you whispered silently. 

Yet, the steady warm flow of blood beneath your hand reminded you that time wasn’t something you exactly had a lot of. 

Before you knew it, the edges of your vision became blurry and you began to shiver as you slumped to the floor, the world fading to black.  

——

“Y/N?” 

Y/N? 

That was your name, right? That was all you could think as you heard it said over and over again, fading in and out as if whoever was speaking couldn’t decide whether to whisper or scream it. 

Had you been able to open your eyes, or even speak, you’d have told them to be quiet. Their voice was making the pounding in your head worse, as was the way their hands were gripping at your cold body. 

You knew those hands… you’d felt them upon you many times before even if you couldn’t quite remember where or when. 

“Y/N!” the voice repeated forcefully. 

“Master, we need to go. Now!”

“He’s right, General Kenobi.”

More voices echoed around you. 

General Kenobi? Wait… Kenobi? Obi-wan Kenobi? That was his name. Yes. You remembered now as you plummeted back into reality, forcibly torn from the oblivion you’d fallen in to. 

It was like someone had turned on the light in a darkened room, his presence unmissable, calling to you to follow it, to return to the world of the living. It was as if he knew you’d be unable to resist. After all, you’d sworn to follow this man to the edges of the galaxy and beyond if he asked. 

“O… Obi?” you croaked. 

“Yes, darling,” he cooed, his voice soft and tender as he hauled your fragile body into his arms. “I’m here. It’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” 

Safe? 

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of the word, as if desperate to believe it yourself. “I-“ 

“Ssh. Don’t try to talk. You need your strength,” he soothed, as if able to sense the agony that radiated through you as he lifted you up off of the cell floor and into his strong embrace. It felt like every part of you was on fire, even if the cuffs were no longer suffocating your connection to the force. All you could do was bite back your cry of pain, and nestle deeper into his chest. “I’ve got you, Y/N. It’s going to be alright. I promise. Just hold on for me. Just a little longer.” 

“I… I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise, Y/N. Can you hear me? Y/N?” 

You hated how scared he sounded as you began to drift back off into oblivion. All you heard before you went was his desperate pleas and the sound of lightsabers cutting through droids. If you could have, you would have apologised one last time, hoping it might bring him some comfort as you faded away. 

It wasn’t his fault. 

He’d come. 

He’d actually come, keeping his promise to you that he would always come for you when you needed him. That realisation meant everything to you, as did the sense of peace it brought as you surrendered yourself to meet your end. 

At least this way, you could die knowing you’d at least been loved - the greatest gift any one person could have. You only hoped Obi would know how much he’d been loved in return. This wasn’t how you wanted your story to end but you couldn’t fight fate. 

I’m sorry my love… forgive me… you thought, letting the words drift across your bond as you slipped unconscious. 

——

You awoke.

Your mouth was bone dry and your head pounded, but you could move: that was the first thing you realised as your consciousness returned to you, hurtling you out of the oblivion you’d been engulfed by for Maker knew how long. You could wiggle your toes and fingers, and you recognised the smell of the sheets well enough to know that you were in your bed, in your room, and that you were safe.

Safe? Wait… How? What happened? 

Last you could remember, you’d been in that cell, feeling the very life drain out of you as you’d stared into the eyes of Obi-wan, your heart breaking as you resigned yourself to your fate. But that couldn’t be right, could it? Not when you were very much alive, as the sudden wave of panic that shot through you proved. 

You moaned. 

Your eyelids were heavy as you opened them, blinking away the blurriness that still lingered. Yet, you persisted, desperate to confirm that this wasn’t some horrific torturous trick. If it was, then you didn’t know how you’d survive the crushing disappointment of being back in that hell hole. 

But it wasn’t … it was real. Joy and relief washed over you in waves as your eyes opened and turned to the man sat at your bedside. It was as if you had somehow known, even in sleep, where he was.

Obi… 

Indeed, there he was; Obi-wan dozing in the chair, his arms and legs sprawled out, his head tipped back, exposing the unbuttoned collar of his tunic and the strong column of his throat. From the angle of the sunlight, it was probably around dawn.

“Obi-wan,” you rasped. 

He was instantly awake and alert, leaning toward you as if he, too, always knew where you were. When he saw you, the hand that had lurched into a fist relaxed. “You’re awake. Thank the Maker,” he said, his voice a dark rumble, laced with exhaustion. “How are you feeling?”

Wasn’t that the question of the moment. If only you had an answer for him. 

“You… you came for me?”

Obi nodded, linking his hand with yours, squeezing it tight before pulling it to his lips for a soft kiss. “Did you ever doubt I would, my darling? I made you a promise once before and I intend to keep it. I will always be there for you. It’ll take more than some advanced droids and deranged Separatist Generals to keep me from you.”  

He made it sound so simple and to him, it probably was, even if such loyalty terrified you. You felt in no way deserving of the love and dedication such a wondrous being had pledged to you. Not when it had almost cost him his life too, all because you’d been too stupid to notice the trap you’d marched right in to. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“For all of it,” you whispered, trying desperately to prevent tears from gathering in your eyes as you gazed up at him. “It was my fault… I failed the mission and almost… almost got you killed too.”

“Y/N L/N. Stop it. No.” You’d rarely ever heard him sound so forceful, nor saw such pain in his eyes as you did then. “What happened wasn’t your fault. We all were tricked and that was what Greivous wanted. You couldn’t have done anything, other than the one thing you did do. The one thing that was most important of all - you survived.” 

“But I doubted you, Obi. I… I thought for a moment that… that you weren’t coming.”

“We’re all fallible, Y/N. We may be Jedi but we too make mistakes and can’t be brave all of the time. You were hurt and alone and scared. You had every right to feel as you did. I’m only too happy to have been able to put such fears to rest,” Obi-wan soothed, flashing you that oh-so-perfect smile of his, knowing exactly how it made your heart flutter. “And now we’re home. We’re safe, and you’ll soon be up and about, giving Anakin a run for his credits as to which of you will make me prematurely grey first. My bet is on Anakin, but that’s only because you also make me very very happy.” 

It was hard not to let a smile flicker on your face. 

Speaking of Obi-wan’s oh-so-troublesome apprentice, you were a little surprised to find he wasn’t at your side. Then again, who knew how long you’d been out for. You couldn’t have expected him or Ahsoka to simply sit around the entire time, waiting until you woke up. That, and Obi had probably sent him away given how tense he was feeling, his relief and pain rolling off of him in waves. 

Obi-wan was a private person when it came to his feelings, which was why you’d always felt blessed he’d deemed you worthy enough to share them with. To see such a vulnerable side of him was a privilege and one you eagerly returned.

“How long was I out for?”

“Two days,” he answered simply. So short a period of time, yet Obi looked exhausted, as if it had been months. “You lost a lot of blood and needed time to recover.”

“And Greivous?”

“He got away.” 

“Dank Ferrik,” you grumbled bitterly, trying and failing to sit upright. The sharp pain in your side stopped you, as did Obi-wan as he reached for you, gently trying to push you back down against the pillows. 

You weren’t going anywhere, anytime soon. In fact, if Obi’s previous behaviour was anything to go by, it was going to be nigh on impossible to get him to leave your side anytime in the near future. 

And he called you overprotective. 

“You need to lie back down. You’re still weak, but we’ll catch him, darling. Don’t worry,” he soothed, “and in the meantime we have more important matters to be concerned with - your health being the first of them.”

It was testament to your exhaustion that you didn’t protest as he chuckled, suddenly explaining how you’d been officially placed on a week long recuperation period. Apparently the council had been unanimous in deciding you needed some time off to recover, which was frustrating if not a bit of a relief after everything you’d endured recently… Especially when Obi-wan mentioned that he had also been assigned leave, specifically being tasked with observing your progress. 

“Wait, how did you manage that?” 

“With great skill,” Obi teased, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “That, and with everything as it is, we have some time to consider our next move. The Separatists have lost several key bases and will need to regroup so we shouldn’t see much action for a while.” 

“Bet Cody was pleased to hear it.”

“Oh, he looked about as happy as Anakin to hear there was no danger to charge at for the foreseeable future.” 

You both laughed then, knowing the exact unhappy expressions both friends would be sporting as they were forced to resume their more mundane duties until the next time they were summoned for battle. However, a break was gift in your eyes, especially as it gave you time you desperately wanted to spend with Obi-wan.  

Who knew all it took was a near death experience to make things so startlingly clear? You weren’t just in love with him. No, you realised, as you’d lain dying in his arms, that all you ever wanted was to spend the rest of eternity by his side. You’d go anywhere, do anything, give anything, to make him happy. 

Your world began and ended with him, and now that you had a second chance, you weren’t about to waste it. 

“Poor Ani. I almost feel bad for him.” 

“Well, he’ll simply have to find someway to occupy himself,” Obi chuckled, hand linking with yours as he gently brushed his thumb against your knuckles. “As for us, I was thinking we could take some time together, go somewhere like Naboo for the week, so you can recover in peace.” 

“Oh? That’s your plan then? Recovering?”

“Amongst other things,” Obi teased, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I’d say we’ve earned it, don’t you agree? Just you, me, a big empty house, a lake to swim in and no one in the world to interrupt us.” 

Who were you to turn down an offer as wonderful as that? 

You felt better already, your heart racing as you reached over to pull him closer. 

“Why yes, General Kenobi. I believe some time alone, under your care, away from here, is exactly what the doctor ordered.”

Obi hummed, his lips pressing against yours. “My thoughts exactly.” 

[beskarberry]

Star-crossed

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 11

(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)

"His heartbeat picked up to a wicked cantor, echoing in his helmet like a storm of leathery wings. Whispering demons crawled up his brainstem and dragged beloved memories down from his skull and into the light of judgement. Memories of you."

<-Previous Next->

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 9.k oh no

Content warnings: Major angst, nightmares, premonitions, auditory hallucinations, unsavory parental figures, paranoia, domestic disputes, child endangerment, violence. No smut in this one, the only thing getting fucked in this chapter are our feelings.

A/N: This one hurt to write, there were definitely some tears shed while putting this together this so fair warning do not expect this one to end well. :(

High above the metal decking of the engine room, you were elbow deep in an exhaust port, clearing away the slag to replace one of the durasteel plates that had started to warp from the excess heat. You were singing, as you always did when you worked; a vulgar, brassy shanty that was almost louder than the reciprocating scraper in your hands. You spat and wiped a wayward chunk of grease from your mouth, the taste of it oily and burnt. No matter how many times you’d been taught the lesson of ‘keep your mouth closed’ you couldn’t help it. Whenever you worked, you sang.

Raucous as a mudhorn in heat and louder than a full grown krayt, your songs were a favorite of your unit, and the chief of engineering would often come stand a while and listen; though the moment he was caught eavesdropping he would scold you for not working harder. Tough love is what he called it. He was yelling at you now from far below at the base of the hyperdrive engine, and you pushed your goggles up your grime-smeared face to see him.

Bilgerat! Get’cher ass down ‘ere, posthaste!

Yessir!

Now you were standing in front of the chief, though there was another man standing there too. Tall, thin and pale with eyes like a dead fish and a tight, steelset jaw. You didn’t recognize him, but he looked important, his lapel shining with the badge of a high-ranking officer.

You there, girl, sing.

Sir?

Don’t argue with me, child, I heard you from three decks over. Sing.

Being watched made you nervous, but you did as you were ordered. You sang something, maybe everything, either way the stranger watched you, no, judged you, his eyes never leaving your face. The dead-eyed man furrowed his brow and stroked his chin thoughtfully, but you had already stopped watching him, caught in your song, powerless against the siren song that was your own voice.

It always felt so good to let loose, your voice could set your soul free, and yet it also felt like it was pulling something in. Something greater than yourself, flowing through you, connecting you to every living thing that ever was or ever will be. Your boots were firmly stuck aboard the starship called the Wyvern’s Tongue, but your songs carried your heart to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, to worlds beyond your durasteel home.

~

The humming is what woke Din up, though he hadn’t slept much through the night anyway, too suspicious of the artifact he had found aboard his ship. Fully armored, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall of the borrowed quarters he had stood guard over his tiny clan, dozing in and out of restless sleep.

He lifted his helmeted head to zero in on the noise you were making. It was one he was familiar with, you often hummed in your sleep, it was something he loved about you. The warm, wavering sound coming from the floor where you had made a nest of quilts for yourself was comforting, but tonight something about it seemed off.

He watched you sleep, noticing the way that your fingers twitched and your legs kicked behind you slightly. It wasn’t like you to be so energetic, so distressed. Clutched to your chest the foundling purred softly, but you didn’t seem to hear him. Your hums turned to whimpers, making the Mandalorian’s blood run cold.

She’s having a nightmare.

She’s perfect. I’ll take her.

But sir, she’s m’best bilgie. How’ll I-

Is that insubordination I hear, Chief Wellers?

N-no Cap’n Forescythe. She’s all yours.

Good. Come along, little sparrow, your talents are being wasted here.

You remember being so scared, looking to your chief for reassurance, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Though you’d lived aboard the Wyvern’s Tongue since she had left Corellia’s port you’d never actually met the captain. The starcruiser was well over a thousand meters long and home to hundreds of crewmates, putting bilgerats far below the captain’s sphere of influence. What did he want from you?

Each step you took in your dream you got taller, your strides lengthening as you grew from a gangly teenager to a young woman. You were at the bridge now, being sat in a stiff but comfortable chair. You were taught to relay orders, delegate operations, interpret incoming transmissions and their origins. It was a station high above your birthright, but you were never one to turn down a challenge, and you bullied your way to excellence; much to your captain’s pride.

Captain Forescythe was usually described as a cold, unforgiving man, but he treated you remarkably well for a boat-brat dug up from the scuppers, much to the disdain of his fellow officers. He told you that you were a natural talent, gifted by the Maker with a voice so strong, so beautiful, almost like he revered you for it. Much like the ship's namesake, the Wyvern’s captain lorded over you like treasure, jealousy guarding you like a priceless jewel.

The captain’s precious little pet.

Sing, my little Sparrow.

~

Unable to spectate any longer, Din crawled over to you, brushing an armored hand over your sweat-streaked face. “Mesh’la? Are you alright? Wake up cyare, you’re having a nightmare.”

Wake up.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Once where a beautiful, peaceful world had once been there was now only dust. The Death Star your ship was escorting had succeeded in her mission, and you had been graciously allowed to watch as the mechanical moon obliterated a billion lives as one would exterminate a nest of roaches. Around you your crew cheered, hooray for the Empire! Death to the Resistance! But you couldn’t hear them.

You heard screaming.

Clawing at your ears and squeezing your eyes closed did nothing to make it stop. As if millions of voices were funneling directly into your skull.

You ran. Ran through the labyrinthian hallways, ran as fast as you could to your quarters. Even your blankets would not protect you, the wailing only growing louder.

Murderers! Monsters! You killed us! Why? Why why why!

You ran from your tiny room, backpack slung over your shoulder, filled with what few things you owned. Ran all the way to the hangar. You’d worked on interceptors a thousand times before when your hands were still small, when you could weasel your way into the narrowest of spaces and prove yourself worthy of not getting jettisoned. Knife in hand you unlocked the security protocols easier than picking your teeth, and the hangar fell away beneath you.

Turning back one last time to glance at the artificial home you had known for so long you saw a figure standing there. Was it the captain? Had he come to stop you? Stop his precious Sparrow from flying away?

No. They were blue, flickering in and out of corporeality. Their face took up your entire mindscape now, their features ever changing, like you were looking at more than one face at a time. The eldritch being’s eyes bored through yours, shifting rapidly from those of a man to those of a child to those of an elder, a hundred lives all demanding to be seen at once. Their mouth did not move when it spoke.

“i̴͊̎t̴'s̸̉͋ ̵͋c̸͑ȏ̸̕m̸͐͛i̸̽͘n̷̾͂ǵ̵”

You sucked air like your lungs had never known oxygen, nearly launching the foundling into orbit as you bolted upright. Beskar burdened arms coiled around you the next second, and you stung your knuckles on his armor trying to fight him off in your panic.

“Ger’off’a me! It wasn’t my fault! I’m sorry! Please!”

“Cyare! Stop! You’re having a nightmare, it’s ok I’ve got you!” Battleborne muscles held you tight against a cold plate of steel while you thrashed until you were coherent. Husband. You let your body relax against your oathsworn and wept, deep, heaving sobs that tore your throat apart and crackled your ribs. Soft shushing noises came through Din’s modulator next to your ear, but the cold metal of his armor brought you little comfort.

“I-I’m s-s-sor-ry.” You stuttered into the fabric of his cowl, the roughhewn cloth soaked with tears. Strong fingers carded through your dampish hair, still not dried all the way from your shower only a few hours ago. Din pressed his palm against the back of your head, burying you in the crook of his shoulder where he could protect you from whatever had scared you. The yellowed tips of his gloves bumped against your unburdened ear cuffs with each pass of his hand, but the leather scraping the metal couldn’t drown out the whispers that still oozed from your thoughts.

Why why why why why why...

“It’s alright, cyar’ika, I’m here. Grogu’s here.” Without tearing your eyes away from the safe haven of his cloak you groped blindly for the baby, finding the disheveled youngling and pulling him in tight. “Can you tell me what happened?” Din asked, his modulated voice soft with worry. You shook your head against your partner. “Alright, that’s ok.”

-ỉ̶t'̸͑̋́̂s̸ ̵̏̀��̝͕͝c̷̬͙̃̽͌̑̊o̷̅͑̓̈́m̴̧͓͈̭̃͂́̽͌͑ǐ̶̓̕n̷̓̋̚g̵͕͙͎͊̀͊̽!̶̑̀-

You gasped and pulled away from your husband’s comfort, eyes wider than moons, pupils shrunken to pinpoints. Gloved hands found your face, cupping your cheeks and trying to get you to look into his hidden honeywells that were searching your eyes. Unblinking, you looked right through him.

“Can you hear that?” You whispered, your voice far, far away.

“Hear what?”

-I̴̭̊̚͘͘T̷́̽̕S̴̔̅̈́ ̸̋C̸̀͋Ỏ̸̉̄͝M̸̐͂I̶N̷̽͗̈̌G̵͓̎̈̊̀͛͘͠!̶!̷̤̏-

“That!” you shrieked, making both your boys jump. You clawed at your ears, though you knew that wouldn’t help, the voices were coming from inside. “I-I have.. I have to go! I have to go now!” You tried to spring up off the floor, but your arm was caught in the iron grip you knew and trusted, keeping you at your knees. “I have to warn Alewyn!”

“Cyar’ika what are you talking about? Warn her about what?”

The phantom voice wailed again, and you doubled over from the force of it, sending a fresh wave of tears down your face. Din was getting scared now, his eyes wide with worry behind the visor, his throat bobbing around dry swallows. You’d never woken up like this before, so distraught and inconsolable, and it was making him feel helpless. He couldn’t put binders on your emotions, grapple with your fears, slay your inner demons.

“Let go!” You roared and flew from his grasp, tripping over your faceplate and the pile of quilts as you blasted out the door, sprinting down the Sunskate’s curving corridors towards the bridge with your foundling stuffed under your arm. Haunting voices chased you through the halls, making you deaf to the armored thunder that was following dutifully behind.

You charged through the bulkhead to the bridge, nearly busting the durasteel door off its hinges when you flew through it, skittering to a halt in front of the viewport. With wild eyes you searched the void, ignoring the concerned questions that were being asked of you. Where is it where is it where is it?! From corner to corner you scanned, locking your red-rimmed eyes on every flicker, every spark.

Nothing.

Nothing for miles.

Slowly you became aware of those around you, the soft leather gloves of your mate pulling on your face and the warm but worried voice of the Sunskate’s captain.

“Cyare?”

“Tra’laar?”

“Patu?”

Your legs gave out under you and you let yourself be caught in the steelbound arms of your husband, the two of you sinking to the floor with the foundling still locked to your chest. Terror replaced itself with scalding embarrassment, making you bury your unblinking eyes in the foundling’s forgiving tummy. Your eyelids wouldn’t close no matter how hard you willed them to, because they knew that somewhere, out there,

Was a dragon.

“What’s wrong with her? Did you do something to upset her?!” Alewyn hissed, becoming defensive of her ill-begotten rescue.

“No! She had a nightmare, I think. Cyar’ika whatever it is, it’s not real. There’s nothing out there, come back to me, please.” Mando’s loving pleas and careful touches went unrecognized, no matter how diligent they were.

What finally drew you back to reality was the gentle pat pat pat of fat baby paws on your face. You turned your wilted gaze to the foundling, the embarrassment of being seen so vulnerable only growing stronger and more painful. “I-I’m s-sorry, Goober, you s-sh-sh-shouldn’t have to see me like-”

Pap.

Baby beans smacked you softly on your forehead and closed his eyes, making you furrow your brow. “What are you- oh.” Your eyes slid closed, and a warm peacefulness breezed through you, exorcising the whispering voices between your ears. You took a deep, somewhat stuttered breath and let go, feeling whatever weird baby magic the foundling possessed flow through you. The night terror faded to the back of your mind, dissipating like mist until it evaporated entirely from your thoughts.

“Thank you…” You whispered, nuzzling the baby’s chubby belly. Heart rate steady and breath even, you leaned back against the man who was still holding you up. Din rested the edge of his helmet on the top of your head and hummed, a low, brassy tone, sounding relieved. Where his hands were wrapped around your sides you felt the slow roll of his palms, warm and protective. “I’m sorry, Mando, Alewyn, I don’t know what came over me...”

“S’all right, missy, t’ain’t the first time I’ve seen someone go wailin’ through the halls. We all have our burdens to bear.” Alewyn combed a dainty hand through your hair, brushing it out of your face. “Good thing them boys’ve gotcha though.” She glanced between the visor of the Mandalorian that was coiled so defensively around you and the little green baby you held so dearly. “I can tell they love ya.”

You nodded sheepishly and let Din help you to your feet, his hands never leaving you lest you waver. Angrily you wiped at the corners of your eyes, trying to cover your shame as the three of you walked back to your room. When the bedroom door closed behind you, you went straight for the porthole window, cautiously searching the stars again.

“What are you looking for?” Din asked hesitantly, “What… what were you dreaming about?”

“Um. I had a dream we were… under attack.” You lied, your eyes still locked to the void. If you could help it, the secrets of your past would someday die with you, though by the sounds of the whispers you had heard not even death could keep its mouth closed.

“Must have been one hell of a nightmare, I’ve never seen you like this. Is there anything I can do for you?” Din the ever-thoughtful asked, draping a quilt over your shoulders. The fabric was still warm from where you had been sleeping on it, the weight of it reassuring on your back. You shook your head. He glanced at the back of one vambrace, “We’re still another hour from the station, why don’t we get our things packed and back on the Crest? Would that be ok?”

It was better than going back to sleep, you didn’t trust your own thoughts not to terrorize you again, and you nodded enthusiastically. Din didn’t allow you to lift a finger while he zoomed around the little room, collecting your armor and laundry and then you, scooping you and the foundling up in his arms.

“Put me down, tinman, I’m not helpless!” you chided with a weak little laugh.

“There’s my girl. Nope, I’m carrying you. Deal with it.”

You sighed in a heavy, mocking tone, covering your face with your mask like a shy child while he proudly tromped back to the hangar to where your immobile home lay. Once you were all lifted up the half-hanging ramp you dropped graclessly onto a crate with a huff. You were beat, but it felt nice to be back in your ship, the familiarity adding to whatever calming effect the foundling had used. The little green terror was drowsy in your arms, spent from using his wild baby powers to vanquish your demons. You kissed his wrinkly little head and swaddled him in the quilt Din had accidentally stolen for you.

Tinman was digging through the larder, looking for something for breakfast and found a pack of biscuits to give you. Though the suspicious item he still carried in his pocket had kept him sleepless, the need to care for his loved ones overrode every other instinct, making him forget it for the time being. You weren’t hungry, if anything you were nauseous from your night terror, but Din was insistent; and you nibbled on a bright blue macaroon, splitting bites with the sleepy baby.

Eventually a soft beeping chimed from the Mandalorian’s vambrace, stationfall in fifteen minutes. Outside the ship you heard a holler, and you strode to the ramp to find Alewyn and Lilah, ready to bid thee farewell.

”Alright, so!” Alewyn exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Here’s the dealy-o. The Sunskate can’t actually… dock with the station. M’good ole dad’s still got hunters on the loose, never know when they’ll turn up, eh?” She laughed. “Your ship’s gonna have’ta dock on’er own, but Lilah’s patchwork should hold ya together long ‘nough for the service droids’ta pick ya up.”

You ignored the loud, audible groan from behind you. “I think we can manage that.” You started to hop down off the ramp, but the spry Togruta was already climbing up into the Crest, barreling you over. Alewyn the Affectionate squeezed your ribs so hard you felt the air leave your lungs, making you grunt ugly. One of her nimble hands disappeared from you into her many secret pockets, then snuck into one of yours, leaving a sizable weight of credits behind. “Wynnie!” you hissed against her montral, “Not again!”

“S’least I can do, since we nearly ripped that old bucket’a shit in half and you spared another spacer from the slab.” She held you out at arms length, bobbling her montrals at you with an arrogant grin. “Take care’a yerself, missy. And you too, Mando! Be good to this woman��n’er son or so help me!” The princess raised a fist at him that turned into an outstretched hand. He shook it hesitantly, but the lavender lady reeled him in, and you giggled at his hover-hands while she squeezed the life out of him.

Lilah helped her wife down from the ramp, and the two of them waved before hefting the ramp closed, sealing you inside with your crew. You dashed up the ladder to the cockpit, looking for a horn to honk but there wasn’t one, giving you another item to add to your mental grocery list. Din followed you up with Grogu in tow, taking his seat in the captain’s chair.

The Sunskate’s hangar jaws slid open slowly, pulling a blue force field over the stretch of stars. Far ahead you could just barely make out the shiny little dot where the station was, glittering just a little brighter than the stars themselves. With the cockpit door tightly sealed, Din carefully started up the old gunship, and on instinct you covered Grogu’s ears to protect him from the inevitable backfire.

The Razor Crest sputtered to life and slowly floated out of the hangar door, relying more on inertia than propulsion to get her towards the station. Out the window you saw the enormous rayship that had carried you here bank away from you, the starlight glittering briefly on her copper-colored belly before her propulsion engines flared back to life, and soon enough she was nothing more than a comet streaking through the void.

Din fussed with the radio transponder, opening up a hailing frequency that would alert the attention of the station droids, and it wasn’t long before a large transport unit was making its way to you. The automatic taxi magnetized itself to the roof of the Crest, easing the strain off of your damaged engines.

A robotic voice beeped through the comms: “THANK YOU FOR CHOS-ING EL-GON AU-TO-MA-TED SER-VI-CES. SMILE-Y FACE. CO-MEN-CING TRANS-PORT TO HAN-GAR SEV-EN-TEEN FOR EV-AL-U-A-TION AND RE-PAIR. HAVE A NICE DAY. SMILE-Y FACE”

Din groaned, his fists creaking on the steering wheel. “Why’s it gotta be droids…”

You shrugged in your chair. “Elgon’s old as dirt, prob’ly older than the Crest. I’d be surprised if there wasn’t anything on it that wasn’t animatronic.”

“Great.”

Ahead of you, the station dominated your viewport, humming with a myriad of activity. A neutral starport, Elgon boasted service to any and all as long as they had coin in their pockets, regardless of their commendations or crimes. You’d been to the old outpost many a time, both on your own and while you still wore a uniform, and excitedly you remembered a particular sweets shop that used to operate in the center.

Your service droid was nearly at the station now, approaching a large closed hangar with the number seventeen painted on it in orange Basic. You playfully kicked at the side of the pilots’ seat where Din’s butt was unguarded by the arm rests. “You excited to get fixed up, bucket boy?”

He nodded, he was ready to get back on the trail towards the last bounty. The thought of hunting again reminded him of the Imp device in his pocket that still mystified him, reigniting buried suspicions. I should ask her about it, maybe she knows what it is. He hadn’t wanted to disturb you while you were showering, or when you were getting ready to sleep, so being the polite riddur he decided he would bring it up with you in the morning.

Din reached into his pocket, closing his fingers around the mechanical spider, ready to pull it into the light when the hangar doors opened.

Revealing a blizzard of white duraplast.

“Oh fuck.” Your collective hearts went through the decking at the sight before you. There, swarming the station proper were dozens of Imperial stormtroopers, their eggheads covering the hangar like dirty snow. “Get down!” you hissed at Din who was already two steps ahead of you, sliding out of the pilots seat and under the dashboard. You tore the faceplate off of your crown and stuffed it into his hands along with Grogu and caged your two boys in with your knees, determined to keep anything mando-factured out of sight.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Din spat, slamming his fist on the floor. “This station is supposed to be neutral territory! We need to turn around, we can not stay here!”

Under you the Crest swayed gently in the droid’s grasp before being lowered onto a maintenance skiff, the hoversled bouncing slightly from the weight of your ship. Desperately you threw levers and pushed switches, trying to get the Crest to restart, but her engines were long gone, the turbines spinning almost mockingly slow. You weren’t going anywhere.

The comms light lit up on the dashboard with a soft chime, and on reflex you went to answer it when Din grabbed your leg. “Don’t even think about it.”

You made ‘what-choice-do-we-have’ hands at him, “Dude we are fucked unless I answer them, I-I speak their language, I can get us through.”

“Yeah? So do I.” He hissed from the floor, smacking the side of his thigh where his firearm hung.

“-Ksst!- hush! I’m handling this.” You straightened your shoulders and set your jaw straight before flipping on the receiver.

The holoprojector lit up in front of you with a tiny stormtrooper. “Identify yourself.”

“TK number SPW dash seven-zero-four-two, engaged in dogfight planetside and in need of repairs.”

“Why isn’t your ship running a beacon, soldier?”

“It's pre-empire surplus, it doesn’t have one.”

“What are you doing flying around in such a relic?” The stationmaster said with a bite of suspicion.

“...Budget cuts.”

They chuckled. ”No kidding. Alright then, what’s your designation?”

Shit, uh... “Prisoner transport unit.”

“Roger. Stand-by for transportation to engineering bay and prepare for inspection.”

The trooper winked out of existence, and you started to sigh with relief when the hand on your boot yanked you down to the ground.

“Prisoner transport unit?!” He rasped once you were at visor level with him on the floor. “Could you have come up with something else?!”

Unwillingly, your lips curled back and bared your teeth at his hateful tone. “There’s a shitload of guns and a goddamn carbonite freezer down in the hold, we’re not exactly delivering cookies. We need to get you two hidden before we get to the mechanics, come on!”

Din watched you drop through the ladder hatch with his heart in his throat, the fluttering organ violently trying to break out of his ribs. The Maker must think this is hilarious. After everything I’ve done to keep this kid away from the Imps we’re just going to go knocking on their fucking door. Everything was stacked against him. He was tired from lack of sleep, he was scared for the safety of his clan, and to top it all off he was becoming more distrustful of the microchip by the second; the mounting tension he emanated filling the cockpit like carbonite fog.

Maybe it’s a tracking device?

That… might make sense. Elgon station was out in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, why else would a shitload of Imps be here if not to capture him and his crew? To take his son? Through the night he had grown suspicious of the item he had found, and a nagging thought had seeded itself in his frontal lobe, one that he refused to give audience.

What if it came from her?

No, that’s stupid. That’s your riddur, she’s obviously not an Imp. He reasoned, slowly soldier-crawling his way to the hatch with his son and your armor in tow. It must have been in the coral already, or come from one of the pirates, maybe they planted it here. But if that’s the case then we’ve been handed right over into a trap. He lept down the ladder with Grogu squashed under his arm, watching you fly around the cabin looking for an acceptable hiding spot for your foundling and a full grown Mandalorian.

Time started to move in slow motion as it usually did for him when he was sizing up quarry. What did her puck say, before I decided not to turn her in? He ran through his mental rolodex, digging for your file. Ex hunter. Guild dissenter. Bribed out of high-profile bounty. Now that he had met the high-profiler for himself he really couldn’t blame you, though it was suspicious that you had returned from the bridge one bounty short after speaking with Alewyn in private.

Alewyn. Princess-turned-pirate, a renegade royal that had made a name for herself literally ripping ships down from the sky. Hunter ships in particular. Awful convenient for her to be right in our line of travel to a station full of Imps out in the middle of fuckall nowhere. He froze, his visor locked to your frantic form. As if…

As if she was waiting for us.

The corners of his lips bared his teeth to no-one behind his visor as the distrust he had sown in his own heart dug its claws in deep. This has been a trap from the beginning! She’s been playing the long con since Tatooine. In his other hand he held your betrothal gift, the beskar faceplate that he had presented to you when you swore your vows. It reflected his own visor back to him, the hazy lighting of the cabin shimmering on the mudhorn embossed on the brow. No… that’s not it… that’s not true, she loves you…

Right…?

Or… so she says. His heartbeat picked up to a wicked cantor, echoing in his helmet like a storm of leathery wings. Whispering demons crawled up his brainstem and dragged beloved memories down from his skull and into the light of judgement. Memories of you.

He’d caught you so easily on that dirtball of a planet, too easily for a hunter of your stature. You’d practically tossed yourself into the arms of a complete stranger, assumed the role of the child’s caregiver without question. Agreed to marry him after barely a month.

Grogu made a sniffling noise under Din’s arm, gaining both of his buir’s attentions. His nebulous eyes were beginning to moisten, threatening to spill over with tears at any moment. Instantly you ran to your baby’s defense. “Hey buddy boy, what’s wrong?” You carefully took the baby from Din, hugging him to your chest and making the tiniest sob bubble out of his nose. “No no no it’s ok, please don’t cry sweetheart!”

“He’s scared.” Din growled in a manner not at all comforting. You glared at the indomitable mountain of metal, offended that he would use such a tone in front of his own son. “He knows when there’s a threat nearby.” Under you the Crest wobbled slightly, signaling the start of her trek to the engineering bay. Tick tock.

“Fuck! Can you get in a storage crate?” you asked frantically, bouncing Grogu on your hip to get him to quiet down. The baby could sense the mounting anxiety radiating off of his buir, and was getting himself spun up into a fresh panic. His cries devolved into sobs, making the hull echo with despair. “Shh.. it’s ok! Baby boy please, we can’t do this right now!”

“Too obvious.”

“Ok, the sleeping cubby? The lockers? C’mon Mando work with me!”

“They’ll tear this ship apart the second it hits the bay. There’s no hiding. That’s it, we’re done for.” Din tossed up his hands and made some kind of noise in the back of his throat, some kind of strained laugh, the husk of it making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You knew that sound, it was the sound of acceptance, of defeat.

Like fuck you were giving up. You made to retaliate when something past his shoulder caught your eyes. Expecting you to fight with him he stopped his pacing and glared at you, then followed your eyes to the carbonite freezer. He whipped back around, gawking at you like you’d grown a second head. “Oh fuck no.”

“We are out of options!” you nearly screamed, “I can’t just cuff you, there’s no guarantee that they won't take you and Beans hostage, freezing you would be safer. I-it would only be for an hour or two, tops, just to pass inspection! That thing can unfreeze, right?”

“That is not the point!” Din bellowed, “You are suggesting not only to freeze me but to freeze him as well?” Din jabbed a finger at the baby, a rush of emotions threatening to boil his bucket right off his head. He widened his shoulders, broadening himself so large that he seemed to encompass the entire ship, glossy black eye turning dark and hateful on you. He couldn’t keep his suspicions to himself any longer. “You… has this been your plan all along?”

You balked, “Plan? Plan for what? The hell are you-”

He threw your beskar on the floor and grabbed your shoulders, pinning you against the wall opposite the freezer and making Grogu scream out in terror. Mando’s visor took up your entire field of view, reflecting with your own wild eyes. “Your plan to capture us!” He barked, the malice overflowing like an erupting volcano. “You told that Imp that this was a prisoner transport unit. We don’t have any prisoners on this ship unless you’ve had them since the beginning.”

“Are you out of your fucking bucket?!” You spat back at him, “You think I want to put you in carbonite?! Put my son in carbonite?! There’s nowhere else on this ship to hide you!”

“How convenient.” The joints in your shoulders popped from the force he was applying to them, his weight nearly fusing you with the wall.

“You’re hurting me!” Over you the lights began to flicker, though neither of you saw it with your eyes locked on each other; yours filled with pain and anger, his visor pinning you down as if you were quarry.

At the sound of your pain the tension on your shoulder bones eased slightly, but not enough to let you free of the wall. Scalding shame burnt its way across his face, bitter and stinging. He was hurting you, the one thing he swore never to do to you again, the very first oath he had promised.

You chewed the side of your cheek, trying to steady your words. “Din. I love you. I love Grogu! I lied to that Imp to protect you. I don’t want those rotten eggs to have you, how could you even think that of me?”

She lies. One thing that Din knew about you was that you were unquestionably good at was putting on a ruse, able to sweet-talk quarry or lure droids to their deaths. But the way you took to the comms was different, how you were able to use the Imps own terminology against them, even how you spoke to the pirates before you were ‘rescued’ was delivered with flawless diction. It was too perfect, too natural...

As if that was your real voice.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” He growled, digging armored claws into the flesh of your shoulders, making you suck air through your teeth. Defensively you coiled your arms around Grogu, burying his wrinkly little head against your chest where he would be safe from the man you thought you trusted. Fire cascaded out from under Din's helmet, trying to burn you at the stake. “You told me once that I don’t know you.” His helmet tilted like a serpent poising to strike, words dripping with venom. “But I should have known an Imp when I saw one.”

“I am not an Imp!! That’s not who I am any MORE!” Bulbs exploded around you at your words, glass and sparks raining down from above. The strength of your thundering roar broke the delicate machinery in Din’s helmet, causing his audio intake to screech with feedback. Immediately his hands left your shoulders and went to his ears, trying to protect himself from the horrible noise.

The let-up was all the invitation you needed, and you dropped yourself low; catapulting into Din’s chest plate like a linebacker and knocking him into the freezer. You kicked your faceplate between his boots, thrust Grogu into his arms and punched the activator on the wall, tears flowing hotly down your face. As the fog billowed outward Mando wrapped himself around the foundling, as though his impenetrable armor could protect the child from the nightmare of being frozen alive.

Horrified, you watched as the two creatures you loved most were consumed by the mist, leaving a dark block in its wake that bore their likeness. The metal was already ice cold to the touch when you ran your hand over the glaring curve of your husband's visor, and down to the terrified, tear-streaked face of your baby.

Choked sobs tore at the back of your throat, trying to drown you with guilt. I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry my loves, I… I did what I had to do. You weren’t given time to process your grief, nearly jumping out of your skin when plasticast fists rapped on the access door with authoritarian vigor. Composing yourself to the best of your abilities, you stuck your finger down the barrel of your blaster, scraping off the dark residue and smearing it under your eyes to hide your welted cheeks.

Glass crunched under your boots as you made your way through the dismembered cabin to the wall panel, punching the buttons with shaky hands. The ramp chuggered and stopped halfway down, but it was down far enough for you to make visor contact with the platoon of troopers who were demanding your attention. Their armor was clean, freshly moulded and recently polished. These weren’t just the Empire’s soggy leftovers, these were new recruits.

Disgracefully hopping down from the ramp among a scurry of pit droids you puffed up your chest and squared your shoulders as you had seen your partner do whenever he was intimidating quarry. You crossed your arms behind your back in parade rest, watching as a painted trooper strode up to you, his rifle pointed at the floor near your feet.

“Stand aside, we have orders to search this ship.”

“Whose orders?”

“Elgon Station is under the Imperial jurisdiction of Admiral Forescythe, no ships in or out without search.”

You felt all the blood in your body evaporate at the name. Forescythe. Shit balls of hell, that fucking bastard is still alive?!

“Is that really necessary?”

The rifle in his hand rose just slightly. “You got something to hide?”

“No, sir.” you said sweetly, hoping politeness would buy you brownie points.

“Stand aside then.” The trooper barked, gesturing to your ship with the barrel of his rifle. You jumped when the heavy access ramp hit the ground, turning to glare daggers at the droid that had unfastened the damaged hydraulics. The stormtrooper marched past you up the ramp, inspecting the interior of the cabin as he went. As predicted, he nudged the lids of the supply crates open, pointing his gun at any would-be threats. Another pair of eggheads followed inside, rudely stomping through the Crest’s belly like they owned the place.

The painted trooper made loud, gross sniffing noises. “Smells like carbonite in here, your freezer might be leaking, better get that checked out…” He trailed off when he clocked the machine and its contents, taking big strides towards it. “Lookit that, Is that an actual mando? I didn’t even think they were real, I’ve only ever heard stories.” He gestured to you with his gun, “How’d you do it?”

“Do what?” You asked coldly.

“How’d you catch him? And his... weird dog?” The trooper tapped harshly on the solidified metal that covered your foundling's eyeball, making your blood pyroclast through your veins, but you remained composed.

“I’m more dangerous than I look.” You seethed, digging your nails into the skin of your arms behind your back. And you’re about to find out just how fucking dangerous if you don’t back off!

One of the unpainted soldiers piped up. “Do you think this is the one they’ve been looking for? The one the Admiral was talking about?”

“Could be, I’ll radio the Wyvern when it makes stationfall, should be dropping out of hyperspace in a few hours.” Cotton seemed to grow in your mouth at his words, making it impossible to swallow. No, it can't be.

-ī̶̱̩͋t's̴̈̅ ̵̛̂̈̋͋̏͘͝c̷ŏ̷̐̓͑ṁ̸͌̋̾̕in̵̨͎̩̠̼͂͜g̷͑̔.-

Shut up. The commander jabbed his rifle at you. “I heard someone say that mandos never take their helmets off, we should unfreeze it and see what it looks like.”

“No.” You barked, making the soldiers flinch. Haha. “He’s very dangerous, even under the effects of hibernation sickness he can still be quite lethal.”

“There’s three of us and only one of it.” A rifle was pointed your way, “Thaw it out.”

Like hell. “Alright, then I won’t have to be the one to explain to the Admiral why a Mandalorian is loose in the station, or dead. I’ve heard he’s a reasonable man.”

The three troopers looked at each other with questioning glances, suddenly unsure. That seemed enough to deter them, and you waited while the troopers barked orders at the repair droids, ordering them to get your ship fixed up. A battalion of robots swarmed the Razor Crest inside and out, almost making you thankful Mando wasn’t there to blast them full of holes. The greasy robots would make quick work of the damage, and hopefully have you out of the station before the Wyvern arrived.

The Wyvern. You wanted to curl in a ball and die. Of all the bullshit the galaxy had to offer it had decided that you deserved a double helping of unwanted nostalgia. Not only was the Wyvern’s Tongue still operational she would be bringing with her good old Admiral Forscythe, though last time you saw him he was just a captain.

Your captain.

And he was on his way.

To this station.

To your ship.

To you.

Oh fuck.

Immediately you turned to your partner for reassurance, only to meet his frozen stare. You wanted to release him, let him carry you safely away from this place, but you weren’t out of the woods yet; so you were both going to have to wait. You’d never been frozen, thank the Maker, but you’d heard stories. How being frozen is like being trapped alive, trying to breathe but not being able to move your lungs. Still being conscious but feeling your blood stop in your veins. A living death.

A waking nightmare.

Repair droids swarmed your ship’s interior like a hive of bees, but they were making quick work of the damage and would hopefully be gone soon. Shaky legs carried you back over to the carbonite freezer, and you leaned heavily on the block of frozen metal, stretching your arms around it in an attempted hug. I wish you were here, my love, but it will be over soon.

You pressed a kiss to both of your boy’s faces and slumped to the floor, leaning on the bandoliered boots behind you. Between the wide open ramp and the droids working on the stardrive you were too exposed to unfreeze your family, and the thought of having to wait even a minute longer made the edges of your eyes threaten to spill anew.

Stars above you wanted this to be over. The back of your throat tasted like bile, and the plasma residue smeared under your eyes was starting to burn. You needed to get away, to blast off into space with your boys and put your draconian past behind you before the literal beast reared her ugly head.

But… now he knows. You groaned into your knees, digging claws into your own hair. He knows! You fucking asshat now he knows! Your greatest, vilest secret had been spilled, and you were going to have to find a way to live with the consequences. He... he’ll understand. Bilgerats are practically foundlings, I just need to explain myself better. Yeah! That’s it! I didn’t have the chance to explain myself. He’ll forgive me… right?

Time seemed to crawl, languid and slow, forcing you to wallow in your own guilt. You cautiously eyed the platoons of troopers that would often march past, trying to glare daggers through their shiny white buckets, but they paid you no mind. The hours ticked by, making you more and more anxious by the second. You had no way of knowing how soon the Wyvern would arrive, could be hours, could be minutes. Could be seconds.

-į̶̱̩̄͋ͅt'̶̡̳̰̝̇s̴̈̅ ̵̧̛̺̂̈̋͋̏͘͝c̷̄͋͛̚oṁ̸͌̋̾́̈́̕͝i̸̇̏-

I’m aware! You snapped at your thoughts, pissed that they were still present long after Grogu had purged them from your mind. I must be going crazy, it’s the guilt. It has to be the guilt. You rubbed at your temples, trying to dispel the mounting tension in your skull. When you opened your eyes a sweeper droid was clearing away the glass shards from the floor, and you cocked your brows at it as it went by. When did the lights burn out?

Eventually the interior repairs were completed to the fullest, and the moment the ramp hydraulics were functional again you slammed the door shut and booked it back to the freezer controls.You turned a pair of knobs on the side of the carbonite block and took a step back. The metal that covered your beloved crewmates turned red, then bright gold, sloughing off in luminous waves.

You jumped to catch Din and the foundling before they hit the ground, his strength lost from the effects of hibernation sickness, nearly causing him to melt onto the floor along with the aurelius sludge pooling at your feet. In your ear you heard both of your boys taking desperate, broken breaths; and you rubbed at Din’s dorsal plate, encouraging him to fill his lungs.

As a unit you sank down to the floor where the child practically rolled into your lap. His enormous eyes were squinty and blinking, making you think that he may be temporarily blinded. “Hey booger, it’s ok, can you hear me?” Grogu made a sad little noise, but that meant he could at least still hear. “There ya go, that’s it, nice’n slow. Y’ok?” The child looked up at you with a twisted expression, then immediately yarked bright blue all over your shirt. “You know what, I deserved that, thanks.”

Din’s modulated cough grated in your ear. “How… long?”

“Couple hours, but the repairs are finished, we can get the fuck outta here now. Are you alright? You gonna barf?” He started to shake his head no, but the shaking might have been his downfall because you felt him start to heave. “Not in the bucket not in the bucket! Come on, up! Heeere we go…” You gently set Grogu down on the floor and bullied yourself up under Din’s arm, dragging him as fast as you could to the fresher. You barely got the beskar out of the way in time for your partner to empty his stomach. “That’s it, let it all out, I gotcha.”

Din hung on to the sides of the fresher like his life depended on it, shaking violently with every hurl, and there wasn’t much else you could do but hold on. He released one armored claw from the side of the fresher to reach back and find you, but when you tried to hold his hand to comfort him he pulled his fingers from your grasp. Again you tried, but this time he didn’t just let go, he pushed you away, and you heard him mumble something into the fresher bowl.

“-..a...tor-”

“What’d you say?”

“Traitor!!!” Din spat, curling back around at you with viciously bared teeth, eyes wild and bloodshot. You backpedaled away from the fuming warrior that was half crawling half leaping towards you, making weak throws that were slowly gaining in strength. “You fucking traitor! I should have known! I should have known from the very fucking start!” You’d never seen him angry without the helmet, and it terrified you. He terrified you.

You put up your hands defensively, backing away from him. “Please! Let me explain! It wasn’t-”

“I don’t listen to Imps!” He swung at you and missed, but his agility was quickly returning. You wouldn’t be so lucky the second time.

“Damn it Din, fucking listen-” Ignoring you, he groped for the gun on his belt, and you were barely able to grab your armor in time from the freezer to block his reckless shots. You crouched over Grogu, using your body and the face plate as a shield against the assaulting Mandalorian. “Din! Stop! Please! You’re going to hurt our son!”

“Our?!” He hissed, snarling around the word. “That is MY son! Get away from him!” Din grabbed the beskar mask and tried to pull it from you, yanking you up from the floor. “MY son does not belong to you, this does not belong to you! Who do you think you are?!”

“Who am I?! I’m your wife!”

He stopped trying to wrestle the lovingly-chosen armor away from you, meeting your eyes with his own darkened gaze. His earthly irises flickered fast between both of your own pupils, searching your face for something, some kind of reminder. A reminder that he loves you. The muscles on the side of his jaw clenched and rippled, chewing on the words he was looking for.

When he spoke his voice was hoarse, but certain, as if there would never be a greater truth than the one he breathed into being.

“No, you’re not.”

The coldness in his tone stabbed icicles in your veins and froze your mouth closed, rendering you speechless. His hateful gaze looked down to the mask still in your hands, twisting into a pained expression. “Did… did this mean anything to you?”

“Din… please…” you begged, you voice barely above a whisper, “It means everything to me, you mean everything to me!” Behind you Grogu was already starting to cry again, making the situation even worse. “I love you! I did what I did to protect you, to protect Grogu! I didn’t want those Imp bastards to take you. Can’t you see that?”

The Mandalorian laughed, miasmatic and sickly, infected with distrust. “Isn’t that just like an Imp, lying right up til the very end.” He let go of the beskar as if it was unclean, then turned swiftly around on his heel, striding to the fresher to grab his helmet from where it had been discarded on the floor. He picked it up and looked into it’s visor, almost like he was debating whether or not he could put it back on. It sank over his head with a hiss of it’s latches, amplifying his dominating presence tenfold.

You pressed on, balling your fists in determination. “It shouldn’t matter who I used to be, just who I am now. I don’t know anything about your past, all I know is who you are now, I know that you are my… ner rid-oor…”

He was on you in a flash. “Don’t make me cut out your lying tongue as well, Mando’a is sacred, I should have never taught it to you.” In one swift motion he grabbed the offensive beskar from your useless fingers and threw it somewhere behind him, the iron clanging ugly against the durasteel decking. He dug behind his chestplate and found the lucky talismans you had given him as a sign of your affection, a sign that he now decided should have been a big red flag, shoving them into your empty hands.

“You have dishonored me.”

The Mandalorian bent to pick the crying youngling up off the floor, carrying him over to the bed you had all shared. He didn’t turn around to face you when he spoke again. “Get out.”

His frigid words had you frozen in place, frozen in time. He’s leaving you. Your mind was racing, your heart flooding with sadness and grief. Words abandoned you, giving you only a whisper of your silver tongue.

“Din.. I-I didn’t have a choi-”

“GET OUT!!!” He ripped your backpack off the wall and flung it at you, making you reel from the impact. The ramp opened behind you, and you were suddenly being shoved out the door, rolling backwards out of the Crest. You scrambled to your feet, clutching the krayt teeth so hard that the edges cut your palms while you banged on the rising wall of steel.

From behind the closing door you heard a sound, faint but desperate, nearly inaudible over your own pounding heartbeat. It sounded distinctly like a baby’s cry.

“Bubu!”

-SLAM!-

The access ramp sealed shut, and a shiny silver dome appeared in the rounded transparisteel viewport where Mando was taking his seat at the controls. Imps began swarming you while the old gunship’s engines flared to life, burning like a newly risen phoenix. Poorly-aimed blaster fire ricocheted off the ship’s hull while her landing gear tucked itself up, and soon the home you had grown to know and love was blasting towards the hangar exit without you.

The Razor Crest slid through the magcon field, the backs of her engines turning bright blue as her stardrive kicked into gear, rocketing her into warp speed just as an enormous star cruiser dropped out of hyperspace, dwarfing the station with her size. As prideful and arrogant as the Empire she sailed for, she took up the starfield with the domineering presence of a ship that had once served as the Death Star’s loyal guard dog.

It could be no other than the Wyvern’s Tongue.

-ȉ̴͗t̴'̴s̶̛̓͝͠ he̷̍̂r̶̔ë̷́.-

If you had a single coherent thought left to your name you would have made a series of snide remarks to the completely useless voice that whispered in your ears. You would have fought back against the stormtroopers that were roughly grabbing you and forcing you down under the barrels of their guns. You would have ran through the station and commandeered one of the other ships that had come in for repairs and blasted off to somewhere, anywhere else.

If you weren’t so grief-stricken, so heart-broken, so lost, you would have hurled literal dragonfire at the man who was approaching you now.

The troop commander spoke first. “Sir, this one allowed the mando to esca-”

“Get her up. Now.” You were hauled back up to your feet, but your eyes stayed on the forcefield that was draped over the stars, just waiting for the Razor to come back around.

To come back for you.

Your view became blocked by a tall, thin man in an Imperial uniform, his lapel shining with an even bigger emblem of authority than the last time you had seen it. His soulless eyes bored right into yours, and you knew instantly by the look on his face that he hadn’t forgotten his favorite communications officer. “Sparrow? Is that you?”

The long abandoned nickname stung like needles in your ears, reeling you violently into the present. The admiral cupped your chin and brought your eyes up, forcing you to see him and stop pretending that he wasn’t real; that he was an apparition brought to life by your wailing night terrors. “It is. My little Sparrow has flown back to me.”

The stormtrooper braved an interruption, “Sir, the mando-”

Admiral Forescythe silenced him with a wave of his hand, “No matter, the universe has brought me something even better than whatever Moff Gideon had been after.” The glare on the Admirals face turned to a sickly smile “Pray tell, little bird, won’t you sing me a song? I’ve so missed your lovely voice.”

You shook your head from his hand and pointed to the electromagnetic cuffs that still hung from the backs of your ears, the last remainder of the beloved faceplate you had been gifted. “Hull breach, tone deaf.” was all the excuse you could muster. A stiff leather glove rose up to brush over the Mandalorian steel, and you fought every animalistic urge to go batshit ballistic, rip the admiral limb from limb.

“What a pity, but at least you can still speak.” He was standing too close now, and the disgust you felt for the man who practically raised you made your flesh boil under his gaze. His gloved hand slid down from your ear and grabbed at the bottom of your jaw, forcing your head to tilt while he inspected the bitemarks Din had put on your neck when he still loved you. “At least you haven’t been lonely, good thing I had you chipped when I did. Shame on you for letting someone defile you in such a manner, were you still on my ship I would have had them jettisoned.”

The Admiral raked his eyes over your disheveled form, from your marked flesh to your blackened eyes and your blue-stained shirt, his face twisting in disgust. “Whatever life you have been living clearly doesn’t suit you, it’s high time you cease this reckless behavior and come back to where you belong.” He bent down and picked your backpack up off the floor where it had fallen, slinging one ratty strap over his neatly-pressed shoulder; then extended a hand to you. “Are you ready to come home now, my little Sparrow?”

You blinked a few times at the question, your heart becoming as cold as stone. Home? The Wyvern was not your home anymore, and the admiral was not your family. But the home you knew, the family you loved was now lightyears away, far far away from where you were now; and they weren’t coming back.

Din wasn’t coming back.

That left only one place left for you to go.

Back... home.

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[ironmandeficiency]

wolves

pairing: boost / reader

word count: 1597

summary: the wolfpack invites you to 79’s and it seems that other battalions can’t get enough of the 104th’s revered civvie medic. thank the maker you’ve got wolves on your side or else the night would have gone quite differently.

a/n: i love him so much!!! i once again asked my dearest taylor (@xmidnightwritingsx​ )for permission to use her oc 104th boy crash who i absolutely adore. the 25th battalion is one of my oc battalions. i also had a few ppl ask me to tag them so here y’all, enjoy!! @royalhandmaidens @catsnkooks @morganas-pendragons @fractiouskat @valkyriesandbrokenhalos

warnings: an asshole that can’t take a hint, alcohol, a bar fight

you felt several pairs of eyes lingering on you from the moment you walked through the door of 79’s. this wasn’t your first time here, not by a long shot, but it was the first time you went to 79’s clad in the sexiest outfit you owned. normally you would simply wear simple civvies. tonight, however, one of your fellow medics convinced you to wear something a smidge more revealing in celebration of the success of the previous campaign.

the first order of business was to find familiar grey-painted armor amidst the growing masses. boost invited you to come out with the guys tonight, and you would have arrived with the trooper if you weren’t stuck doing inventory minutes before you were off shift. this resulted in a smidge of overtime and rushing to get ready, which didn’t always go as planned.

three outfit changes and thirty minutes later, you were dressed to kill and ready to take on the night. it wasn’t hard at all to catch a speeder, drivers tended to stop quicker for people who looked the part of the partygoer.

so here you were, eyes wandering throughout the bar in vain attempts to find familiar faces in a crowd of people whom half of the people here shared a face with.

a hand traced your shoulder gently as if in familiarity, but the owner was anything but. his armor was painted lavender — you recognized him as a member of the twenty-fifth. which one, you could care less. he threw a line at you, a pretty ridiculous one at that, and you were itching to get out from under his grip.

“i came here to meet someone else, so please move-”

“i’m sure i can show you a better time, doll. gimme a chance to prove it.”

suddenly the hand on your shoulder is ripped away and you jump a little, not even noticing the presence of another person in your discomfort. “she said to move, so move.”

the new voice belonged to, thank the maker, someone you knew. crash was here and would diffuse the situation and you were going to be able to get on with your night without this guy bothering you.

the other man couldn’t have looked less bothered if he tried. “i found her first, but you can wait your turn.” crash didn’t show how bothered he was by the statement and you personally didn’t think he would do anything besides take you to the table where boost was waiting.

tonight, however, crash was not fucking around.

he pushed you away from the other guy fast enough to get you out of range but not hard enough to send you to the ground. his fist flew and landed right on the asshole’s nose and a sickening crack accompanied it. shouting and chaos erupted around the two and you were being jostled by the clones trying to get by you to see the chaos up close.

if it weren’t for the bar being so close by you would’ve fallen on your ass on the grimy floor. it would’ve been another unfortunate event acting in pursuit of ruining your evening and wouldn’t have surprised you in the least. you knew better to try and stop the fight so you elected to ignore it as you took a seat on a stool.

the bartender asks you what you want and you shrug and ask him to surprise you. he nods and begins to concoct something that, judging by the smile on his face, must be his own original creation. he tells you as such as you go to take a drink. one look at him can tell you he’s waiting for you to try it and offer your input on it and you were happy to oblige. after all, it had alcohol in it.

your cup has barely touched your lips, barely a mouthful in your mouth before you’re pushed from your stool and now covered in the drink the bartender worked so hard on. what the kriff was that about? one look around gave you your answer:

the fight got bigger.

flurries of grey and lavender are making chaotic patterns as they fight, each battalion defending their own. most of them don’t even know what started the fight but one thing the clones are is protective over their own.

getting up wasn’t too hard; no one wanted to have more than their feet on the floor of 79’s, and here you were almost doing grime angels in it. two hands gripped your biceps and you, not being able to see faces and already frazzled from the past five minutes, yank your arms away.

“hey hey hey, it’s just us.”

“you’re alright, ner baru’ur, it’s just us.”

you don’t think you’ve ever been happier to hear boost and sinker’s voices. letting them help you from the floor, you were now squished between the two of them as they checked you up and down for any injuries (as if they were the medics here and not you). satisfied that you were okay, sinker picks the stool you previously occupied back up, boost guiding you to sit back down.

another flash of grey passes by the three of you and you recognize it as comet, now sporting a nasty gash on his face that was trickling blood.

you and boost immediately pull him aside when lavender follows behind the younger trooper, clearly aiming to continue something. sinker wasn’t having it and decided to step in for his vod’ika while boost stayed with you, corralling the stranger away from you and back toward the fight that was slowly starting to be broken up.

“do you know what started that?” boost questions comet as the bartender brings you a rag to clean the blood off comet’s face.

“all i know is that we better not be working with the twenty-fifth any time soon, not after this.” he hisses as you get the rest of it off and smile when the bartender brings you a couple glasses of firewhiskey.

putting one of them in comet’s hands, you shuffle around your purse until you find the sterile needle and thread you keep on you for apparently good reason. “that’s gonna need stitches, but i can take care of that right now.”

boost cackles when he sees what you have. “only you would keep medical supplies on you when on leave, uj’ika.” his light teasing and comet’s wound are the only things on your mind as your hands go through the familiar motions of stitching a cut.

“hey, that happened one time! you don’t have to bring it up again!”

“and crappemm said his name once mid-battle, and look what it got him!”

it was a baking incident gone wrong a few weeks ago. the village you were occupying had invited several of you into their homes and made you dinner, and you, of course, offered to help them. they begrudgingly accepted your assistance… until one mistaken soul thought you’d be okay with preparing a cake on your own.

the flour you were trying to pour into the bowl clouded your face and while you were trying to clear the powdered fog, you swatted too far one direction and knocked an already prepped bowl of cake batter out of the hands of one of the villagers. the bowl shot into the air and its contents spilled all over the kitchen, at least half of it getting on you.

boost was one of the many troopers who watched the chaos unfold and after a moment of mortifying silence, the hut erupted into a cacophony of laughter, yours and boost’s being the loudest. he approached you with a wide grin, dragging a finger along your cheek and slipping the digit into his mouth. the villagers weren’t making uj’alayi, but boost called you his uj’ika all the same and began to help you clean up as you were being playfully shooed out of the kitchen.

every time you thought of the way the lieutenant licked the batter off his finger it had you weak. from the way his eyes fluttered shut to how his lips wrapped around it, you were weak. the moment you even think about the gleam in his eyes afterwards and the way he immediately began to help you get the cake off, you know you’re gone.

being so immersed in your memories while giving stitches isn’t the best idea because you almost missed the point where the wound ended. that wouldn’t have been good for anyone. shaking your head to get your focus back onto your work, you tie off the stitches and pat comet’s shoulder softly.

the commotion was dying down, commanding officers on both sides beginning to get a handle on the fight and escorting their men out. “i think it’s best we head back to the barracks. judging by the fight there’s gonna be several visiting the medbay.”

boost was not down for that. “this is your night off, let someone else handle it.”

“yeah, you’ve done enough for tonight,” comet adds, taking another sip of the whiskey, “i’m gonna go get this checked out and see if i can find out what the fight was about, i’ll let you both know what i hear.”

boost nodded at his leaving brother and turned back to you on the stool. “now what can i do to convince you to stay a little while longer, uj’ika?”

“get me enough drinks to make me forget that i’m covered in my last one.”

that’s exactly what he did.

[rpgmgames]

April’s Featured Game: Nobody's Home

DEVELOPER(S): oates ENGINE: RPG Maker MV GENRE: Survival Horror SUMMARY: After a night of extreme drinking and partying, you wake up in stranger's bed to discover... Nobody's Home.

Buy the game here! Our Interview With The Dev Team Below The Cut!

Introduce yourself! *oates: Hi, this is oates! I'm a pixel artist and game developer, I've started making games with rpgmaker in 2016 with VX Ace and now currently using MV for recent projects. Previous projects I've worked on were the FNaF-inspired Souls-like One Night at the Steeze, my first rpgmaker game and it's prequel, the FNaF-inspired roguelike No Delivery. Other games I've worked on include the fangames Day Dreaming Derpy, made in VX Ace and Spike's Day Off, made in MV and the latest in a series of previous fangames previously developed on Adobe Flash.

What is your project about? What inspired you to create this game initially? *oates: Nobody's Home is largely based on my experiments to find and apply horrific elements in modern situations or phenomena. The scenario being explored here in Nobody's Home is the aftermath of some crazy party. Sound design is especially important when crafting a horror scenario, so I often look to music to draw inspiration. Much of the atmosphere and house design was inspired by music and imagery associated with '70s yacht rock (a sub-genre of soft rock). Another important note is a lot of the general mood and 'weirdness' was inspired by a band I listen a lot to, Dance Gavin Dance, specifically their "deathstar" album. However they have a tendency in all their albums to switch genres mid-song, often going from their post-hardcore sound to funk, pop, and even rap; aside from that, some of the subject matter covered can range from disturbing to unpleasant to nonsensical, but combined with the amazing music, it creates an experience that pulls the listener in all different directions. It got to the point that I was naming events in the game after some their tracks so I had to be careful not to inadvertently make a fangame haha But there are some easter eggs in Nobody's Home that were intentionally left in, and I'm fairly certain players have identified it already.

How long did you work on your project? *oates: I used much of the same framework left over from my previous project No Delivery for this development cycle, so the hassle for setting up asset pipelines was very much mitigated. I started in earnest, making assets back in January this year so it took roughly 2+ months to finish development for this project.

Did any other games or media influence aspects of your project? *oates: Aside from the previous music inspirations, I was really intrigued with the way Resident Evil 7's Beginning Hour demo was able to pick up where Konami's cancelled PT left off in terms of survival horror games to look forward to back in 2017. Prior to later updates, the initial demo really only included a few set pieces, basic item interaction, and almost no puzzles from the full game. It was largely able to pull off scaring players from almost atmosphere alone (if you exclude the Jack Baker and ghost encounters). It was later in the full game that it was able to show off it's metroidvania-esque design to its fullest. After my previous project, I wanted to step away from roguelike design for a bit and focus a little more on an exploration-based experience, so I took a few notes from the way RE7 and RE2: Remake handled map design and progression.

Did you come across any challenges during development? How did you overcome or work around them? *oates: I was coming off a severe cold last year and it took most of January for me to recover, so it was a little hard to start full-on development immediately like I normally would on top of other career matters. And looking at events today, it's even more imperative that developers practice healthy habits during development.

Did any aspects of your project change over time? How does your current project differ from your initial concept? *oates: I've had the idea for Nobody's Home as a concept for a while, but filling in those gaps with actual gameplay between centerpieces was a big variable. I went back and forth between the turn-based item combat from the previous project to cutting out combat entirely. While I didn't implement it, I also brainstormed a few concepts for overworld action and combat ala Zelda, but it seemed too complex given the time frame I set for myself. Eventually I settled on a middle ground between full combat and separate encounters, with "enemies" acting as essentially a toll gate. The rest of the game followed suit with various tolls and "mouse traps" for the player to trigger at their own behest. This wasn't necessarily the design I had in mind at first, but it helped to concisely fill a relatively small location with specifically "deadly" content.

What was your team like at the beginning? How did people join the team? If you don’t have a team, do you wish you had one or do you prefer working alone? *oates: I largely work solo for both development and art, but I do regularly work with a few musicians for an original soundtrack. I first started working with other composers for the fangame Day Dreaming Derpy, where after the initial demo was released, I received emails from a few musicians volunteering to contribute some tracks for the game. In all, the original soundtrack contained 9 tracks in total, with 3 tracks from each composer; each of them doing an amazing job and, in my opinion brought the project back then to a higher degree of quality. This was how I met some of the composers I still work with today and they all have some really great work! TheNGVirus @NGVirusNG1 Kaminakat @thekaminakat dRedder @HornyGremlin

What is the best part of developing a game? *oates: It's a toss up between the initial brainstorming/research and the first run-through when you have your desired maps linked together. For the brainstorming, it's pretty fun to learn about subject matter you want to do justice to as well as stretching your creative muscles for the first time in service to a certain concept. However this obviously wears off when you devote too much time to a particular concept, but it's still enjoyable nevertheless. For making that run-through, it doesn't necessarily mean to have all the events implemented, but to experience your game the way players will experience it for the first time does give a sense of completion/cohesion to what you, as a developer, are trying to accomplish. It essentially puts what you're working on into a different perspective for you.

Do you find yourself playing other RPG Maker games to see what you can do with the engine, or do you prefer to do your own thing? *oates: I do keep an eye out for what other rpgmaker projects are doing, and to see what others can do with the engine helps get the creative juices flowing; it's also fun to try to mentally reverse engineer how certain mechanics or effects were made. And it's always great to see fellow devs showcase what's possible with the engine.

Which character in your game do you relate to the most and why? (Alternatively: Who is your favorite character and why?) *oates: Nobody's Home has a relatively small cast of characters, whom you do interact with but never see, this is largely to done to create a sense of "un-relatability", but if I had to pick a character, it'd be "car guy", the guy you find stuck in the car. They have a good line, " ...there'd be a good reason for this, but there isn't..." Story of my life.

Looking back now, is there anything that regret/wish you had done differently? *oates: There were a few areas I would have liked to expand on or add, specifically- the attic + roof, the front lawn, behind the walls, and an entire second floor. Unfortunately that meant potentially adding more questlines and NPCs while the first set of questlines were pretty interwoven so it would have been way more complex, also again, given the time frame I set, it would have extended the development cycle way beyond what I had time for. But if I had implemented those extra areas, the game's length would also go way beyond the 30 min - 1 hr it takes to complete the game as it is now.

Do you plan to explore the game’s universe and characters further in subsequent projects, or leave it as-is? *oates: I'd like to do both really, each installment of the VCRPG line of games is definitely a stand-alone story, or an isolated incident, but I would love to explore the aftermath of the game's events and how the passage of time ravages and twists the story into urban legend. I like to treat places and environments like characters as well, capable of making memories, being misunderstood, preserved, destroyed, and ultimately capable of change.

What do you most look forward to upon finishing the game? *oates: Both the fan reaction and free time honestly speaking. Once the development cycle finishes and the game is published, your work isn't really finished as there's always a chance someone's feedback can apply to immediate changes or patches you can implement, even during the release period. Marketing is also another large step to take into consideration after release, this includes tweeting, sending keys for lets plays, etc. Watching playthroughs is also a really good way to collect data on what parts of your design fall through and what fail to land. But after all that is said and done, some free time really helps the brain recuperate.

Was there something you were afraid of concerning the development or the release of your game? *oates: Just whether or not I handled the game's subject matter tastefully. Like horror cinema, everything done is in service the the themes and message of the piece as a whole.

Do you have any advice for upcoming devs? *oates: The game engine is essentially a tool, and like any tool you can find plenty of creative ways to get the same result. And don't be afraid to research whatever it is you need help with, it also helps to be specific with what you want.

Question from last month's featured dev @moca-pz: If you can collaborate with any game developer in the world, who would it be? What would be their role(s) and what would be your role(s)? *oates: Game developer I'd like to work with: Hidetaka Miyazaki His role: Story Lead and Director My role: Drinking buddy Game we're working on: SciFi Souls

We mods would like to thank oates for agreeing to our interview! We believe that featuring the developer and their creative process is just as important as featuring the final product. Hopefully this Q&A segment has been an entertaining and insightful experience for everyone involved!

Remember to check out Nobody's Home if you haven’t already! See you next month! 

- Mods Gold & Platinum

[wonkasmissstarshine]

The Chocolatier’s Rose {Willy Wonka x OC} Ch.14

GIFs not mine. Credit go to owners.

Summary: Things are turning out better for the Bucket family, but Rose is still heartbroken. So, she makes a decision.

Tagging: @holdmeicant​ @willymywonkers​ @sleepiesapphicxoxo​

Within the week, life had improved greatly for the Buckets. They had fixed the hole in the roof. Grandpa Joe was up and about, helping with chores. Mr Bucket had also started his new job at toothpaste factory, fixing the machine that replaced him. The pay was a lot better, and now the Buckets could afford more food, other than cabbage soup.

Rose had also gone back to work at Mrs Mason's Magical Pies. She worked alongside the older woman, baking pies in the kitchen. Rose had also made other friends with the newly hired employees. There was Priscilla and Eleanor, the two new waitresses, Danny who worked the front counter, and Felix who was the new dishwasher.

Mrs Mason's shop has been much busier, meaning she was making more money, which meant Rose was getting a better pay check.

However, not everything in Rose's life was positive. She was supposed to get married the day after the visit to the chocolate factory, but she had feigned sickness in hopes of avoiding the wedding. She was pretending that she had a flu, that way the wedding would be delayed for a week or two. At least she worked in the kitchen full time now, that way Harry couldn't see her if he came snooping around.

"My dear, that boy is eventually going to find out that you're not really sick" Mrs Mason told Rose. Rose was rolling out dough with a rolling pin, while Mrs Mason moulded the dough and put in the fillings. "Just tell him you don't need to marry him anymore"

"I... I think..." Rose hesitated to answer Mrs Mason. She knew that the older woman wasn't going to like the answer that was going to come out of her mouth. "Maybe I would be better off marrying Harry"

Mrs Mason sighed, putting her hand on her hip and leaning against the counter. "Why on Earth would you think that?"

"Because, I'm never going to love anyone the way that I loved..." Rose paused, not wanting to say his name. It broke her heart to even think of Willy Wonka. Rose swallowed a lump in her throat as she continued. "The way that I loved him ever again. I might as well save myself a life of loneliness and marry that monster"

"But that's no excuse to marry someone you don't love. Hell, I don't even think that boy really loves you. He just wants power over you, dear. And if you marry Harry, you're giving that to him" Mrs Mason's tone was harsh, but it needed to be if she wanted to get through to Rose. "At least with Mr Wonka, from everything you told me about him, he seemed to truly care for you. Even if you two did only know each other for a day"

"If he really did love me, then he would have let us all move into the factory" Rose spat out, aggressively rolling the dough for the pie crust. "He would have let Charlie bring us with him"

"Dear, I know you're angry but don't take it out on the dough" Mrs Mason said. Rose suddenly stopped rolling the dough. A tear then slipped from her eye and it splattered on the flattened dough. "Why don't you take a couple days off? Clear your head?"

"Mrs Mason, you don't need to—"

"Yes, I do my dear" Mrs Mason said. She took the rolling pin from Rose. "Take the time you need to clear your head. I'll still pay you for your scheduled days"

Rose sighed and nodded. "Thank you, Mrs Mason" She hugged the woman.

"Please, take care of yourself. And when you come back, and I find a ring on your finger, I'm going to be very disappointed, do you understand?"

Rose hesitated. "Yes" And with that, she left the shop, saying her goodbye to her friends as she walked past them. Priscilla came into the kitchen, with a newspaper in hand.

"Is everything alright with Ro?" Priscilla asked.

Mrs Mason sighed and continued on with making a coconut cream pie. "The poor girl is suffering terribly from a broken heart"

Priscilla frowned, feeling very worried for her friend. "She's not going to marry that ghastly Harry boy, is she?"

"Despite everything I told her, I fear she may still be considering going through with it"

"Well, it turns out that Rose isn't the only one suffering from a broken heart" Priscilla dropped the newspaper beside Mrs Mason. The older woman went wide eyed as she read the headline.

Wonka Bars dropping in sales. The once sweet and delicious chocolates, have now turned terribly bitter. Is this the end for the famed chocolatier? What has happened to make his chocolate and candy not so sweet?

"Do you think Rose had anything to do with this?" Priscilla wondered curiously.

"Maybe. I know from experience that a broken heart can affect the things you're most passionate about" Mrs Mason explained. "When my beloved husband died, my pies were absolutely terrible. It took me about a year before my pies were magical again"

******

Rose had cried all the way home. She was about to make a regretful decision, but she didn't see any other choice. Everything Mrs Mason has told her went right out the window.

Rose had run into Harry on her way home. Harry was angry at her for pretending to have the flu. But when Rose had said that she was ready to marry him, today to be exact, his mood had changed to a pleased one.

They were to be wed in two hours. That's why Rose went home. She needed to pick up the wedding dress.

Mr and Mrs Bucket weren't home when she got there. Rose presumed they were out at the market. Grandpa Joe was outside working in their new garden where they grew a new assortment of fresh vegetables. The other grandparents were fast asleep for theirs naps. And she didn't see Charlie anywhere. He must be out at his new job of shining shoes.

Rose opened a cupboard where the wedding dress was being kept. She grabbed the dress and was about to walk out the door when she heard Charlie's voice.

"Rosie? What are you doing?" He asked. His eyes trailed over to the wedding dress in her arm. "You're getting married today?" Charlie sounded disappointed, but at the same time, he knew that this was her decision and he would support it.

"Yes, Charlie. In two hours to be exact" Rose confessed. "Believe me, I've really thought this through, and as much as I'm going to regret it, this is the best thing I can do right now"

Charlie nodded. "Is there anything that can be done to change your mind?"

"Unless Mr Wonka magically crashes the wedding to apologize, then no" Rose pulled Charlie into a hug and kissed him on the top of his head. "I love you, Charlie. You're the best little brother any girl could ever ask for"

"I love you too, Rosie" Charlie said. "You're an amazing sister"

And with that, Rose was out the door and on her way to the church. Where in a matter of two hours, a surprising twist of fate would be taking place.

******

Charlie settled himself in front of another client reading the newspaper. Charlie scrubbed the brush in the polish, and then got to work on the client's shoes.

"Pity about that chocolate fellow, Wendell, er, Walter" the client broke the silence. Charlie thought there was something very familiar about the man's voice.

"Willy Wonka" Charlie corrected.

"That's the one. Says here in the paper his new candies aren't selling very well. But I suppose he's just a rotten egg who deserves it"

"Yep"

"Oh, really? You ever met him, the chocolate maker?"

"I did. I thought he was great at first, but then he didn't turn out so nice" Then Charlie added. "He also has a funny haircut"

The man lowered the paper, revealing himself to be Willy Wonka. "I do not!"

"Why are you here?" Charlie asked him.

"I don't feel so hot" Willy explained. "What makes you feel better when you feel terrible?"

Charlie answered. "My family"

"Ew" Willy cringed, leaning back in his chair.

Charlie stood up. "What do you have against my family?"

"It's not just your family. It's the whole idea of..." Willy swallowed down the word 'family' like it was a lump in his throat. He continued. "You know, they're always telling you what to do, what not to do, and it's not conducive to a creative atmosphere"

"Usually they're just trying to protect you because they love you" Charlie explained. Willy made a disgusted face. "If you don't believe me, you should ask"

"Ask who?" Willy scoffed. "My father?" He let out a sarcastic laugh. "No way" Willy took a moment to think the idea over. "At least, not by myself"

"You want me to go with you?" Charlie suggested.

Willy smiled for the first time in two weeks. "Hey, what a good idea! Yeah!" Willy got out of the seat.

Charlie then suddenly remembered his sister. The wedding ceremony would be happening very shortly, and it needed to be stopped before she made the biggest mistake of her life. "But we need to stop somewhere first. We need to get Rose"

Willy's stomach fluttered at the mention of her name. Oh, how he's missed her. He would give anything to see her again and apologize to her. "Where is she?"

"At the church. She's about to get married"

Willy's smile dropped, as did his heart. "She's getting...?" He trailed off, not wanting to say the word. Only because he couldn't think of Rose marrying anyone but him.

"Yes, to a man that she doesn't even love. And I'm scared that if she marries him, he won't ever let us see her again" Charlie's voice shook with fear.

Willy couldn't let that happen. He saw how close Charlie and Rose were. She would be miserable if she was to never see her family again. He can't believe he made that mistake himself.

"Well then, we have no time to lose!" Willy said, walking towards the glass elevator. "And you know what? I've got trans—" Willy yet again walked into the elevator and fell to the ground. He quickly got up and collected himself. "I have to be more careful where I park this thing"

Willy and Charlie went into the elevator. Willy pressed a button and the elevator moved. First stop, the church to save Rose.

[allforhader]

New Perspective

Bill Hader x (F) Reader

Warnings: Langauge

Y/N has been childhood friends with Bill and she has always been supportive of what he wants to pursue in life. She’s watched him evolve into one of the greatest in her opinion and she’s been there for almost every major moment. Perks of being a fellow actor. You see a lot.

But with personal things. She was at his wedding, was in the chain of messages when it came to his girls coming to the world, and when he had his lowest moments...Y/N dropped everything to be by his side.

“You always have my back Y/N, how can I ever repay you”

“You don’t have to Bill. What are friends for?”

Apart of her never wanted to tell him that she had feelings. It felt and from the looks on how life played out, it was one-sided. Partners never came easy when her mind is obviously tied to something else. She knew that holding on was only going to hurt her, and it did. It did on most days but of course he always made them 100% better.

Y/N was there for him when he went through his divorce and not much was said. All he wanted was her to be there and that’s exactly what she did.

Now the two were given a movie opportunity and it’s been some time since they’ve worked together. This’ll be fun.

For the most part.

“Ms. Y/L/N” Bill smiles knocking on her open trailer door.

“Mr. Hader” Y/N smiles setting her highlighter down as Bill sits across from her in the booth. “Thought you were talking to the other star in this film”

“I was, she’s nice. But shouldn’t I be getting to know the main love interest for my character instead?” Bill smiles resting his head in his hands on the table.

“You’ve known me all your life Bill”

“Okay touché but I prefer hanging with my best friend on set any chance I get”

Y/N smiles hearing that as it also chipped at her for a moment.

“Are you staying at the hotel near by?”

“Yeah, ain’t gonna live in a trailer” Bill laughs a bit. “Have you checked in yet?”

“I just got in, so not yet”

“You can stay with me, my room got another bed”

“Y’know the film company got me a room to myself right?”

“Yeah but come on, it’s better being with someone than alone”

“Okay...” Y/N smiles seeing how excited he got hearing her agree.

Filming scenes out of order is very common and the two are used to it. Neither of them had an opinion of which to do first since their schedules were changed in order to film without interruptions. Only time something may happen is something with Bill’s girls. Other than that, they took things slow and did the easiest scenes to begin with.

“Oregon is a beautiful setting to film at”

“It beats the normal New York setting like a lot of films”

“True, do you want to get drinks next night out?”

“If you’re paying” Y/N smiles making Bill laugh as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

The director a moment after had Y/N sit with him as they go over scenes with just Bill and the other interest. He wanted her to watch so that she can get a feel for her character but her character felt more real.

The main female lead, who’s love of their life is their best friend and he doesn’t know that she loves him until it’s too late.

At least the ending is happy. Sad to a degree but—yknow. Rooting for the main lead is the way to go for the most part.

“Be prepared to cry Y/N”

“That’s very unsettling director”

“Well you know your scenes”

“I do”

“You’ll do great” He smiles as Y/N continued to watch the two before getting up and leaving to go over her lines with herself.

Bill turns his attention to Y/N as the director stands up.

“BILL YOU RUINED THE TAKE”

“Sorry”

“TAKE THREE PEOPLE!”

A few months went by in filming as Y/N lays in the bed beside Bill’s thinking about the fact that they are doing one of her heartbreaking scenes. She didn’t want to do it but has to at the same time.

Y/N now in the makeup department scrolling through her phone as the crew worked on her makeup.

“Have you worked in a rainy state before?”

“Hm?” Y/N looks up from her phone catching a smile from the lovely woman doing her makeup. “Oh, yeah. But most of the time we are filming inside”

“True true...but it’s beautiful when it rains here in Oregon. Knock on wood that it doesn’t rain when we film but reading a few scenes with you in it. It’ll be beautiful if it did” She smiles touching up on her blush as Y/N was flattered but nervous.

After getting dressed in the causal outfit her character demands for, Y/N walks into set seeing the tents over the equipment just in case it does rain. She bumped into Bill adjusting herself once she caught her balance.

“Sorry Y/N”

“No I am, wasn’t looking”

“Well. It’s nice running into you than a stranger” Bill smiles fixing his blazer as Y/N wanted to say something then and there but

“Places please!” The director states as Y/N retracts herself walking over to her marker as Bill locks arms with the other love interest.

Bill stood at his placement seeing Y/N starting to count with her fingers. A habit from when they were younger, she did it when she got anxious. He never forgot the little things. He wanted to check up on her but the moment he heard action, he couldn’t.

Script Characters - Bill is Ethan, Y/N is Amelia, other love interest is Evelyn

“Love, you know how to make a girl’s night” The interest steals a kiss as Y/N’s chest started hurting.

“Evelyn, you are worth every moment. Which...is why I want to make it worth it” Bill smiles glancing around them and back to his interest. “The love of my life stands in front of me and it always feels like I’ve known you for all the years I’ve been on this earth. You...make it worth living every day in this chaotic world and I want to fight every day with you right beside me”

“Ethan...are you saying what I think your saying?”

“Every word”

Every word, stated for the wrong person. But Y/N didn’t know that. The director gestures for Y/N to start approaching and the scene and she drops her phone to her side.

“Hey Et—-“ Y/N steps forward before turning her body toward the camera retracting herself back when she saw Bill get down on one knee.

It’s a movie. Y/N, remember it’s a movie...

“Will you marry me Evelyn?”

“Yes! A thousand times yes!” She laughs as Bill picks the interest up spinning her in his arms before stealing a kiss.

The director looks at the shot on Y/N making them zoom in the moment the tears formed and rolled down her cheeks. He didn’t expect that, but it made it ten times better. He was about to yell cut to take another shot when the rain started.

Knock on wood my ass...

Y/N steps back not having anymore words from the scene as her body shifted quickly going behind the prop building but she slipped on her way. Bill quickly looked over after setting his interest down. A great shot. The director had them follow Y/N for the rest of the shot as the rain poured on them. She held her head down letting everything hit her.

This is fake

It’s a movie

These aren’t real characters

But this story feels too familiar...

Fuck.

Y/N brought her head up wiping away her tears as they came down but the rain made it difficult to differentiate. Perfect.

“Cut! THAT WAS FLAWLESS Y/N, SAME GOES TO YOU TWO! Flawless! Now get the hell out of the rain, we don’t want our stars getting sick” The director states helping his crew get the cameras and personnel out.

Bill took his blazer off as the interest’s assistant ran over with an umbrella for her, helping her off set as he makes his way to Y/N who hasn’t move from her spot. He covered her with the jacket not giving a damn if it was for his character. He didn’t want Y/N to get sick.

“Come on...” He held his hand out as Y/N took it carefully being brought up from the wet ground. “It’ll be hell if you got sick” he wrapped his arm around her hurrying her out of there.

After a while the two were in their hotel room, and as Bill got dressed in the bathroom, Y/N sat on her bed already out of the wet clothes and into something comfy as she dries her hair with a towel while the feelings lingered.

“That was an intense scene, one of the electrical people said the director wanted to get another shot until he saw how you were performing. Kept the scene going” Bill walks in sitting across from her on her bed. “You’re amazing you know that?”

“Haven’t heard it enough honestly” Y/N laughs a bit hugging herself as she rubs her arms to warm her.

“You sat in the rain for a while, why don’t take a hot bath. Maybe that’ll warm you up” Bill suggest watching her shake her head before trapping the pillow she wasn’t leaning against hugging it close.

“I’m okay Bill, I’ll be fine” Y/N smiles watching Bill move himself to be beside her. Keeping close brings warmth in ways.

“Come on. I don’t bite” Bill laughs as Y/N rolls her eyes before leaning against him feeling his arm wrap around her shoulders brining her close.

Warmth huh...

A few more months, a couple hundred shots, and more intense emotions that Y/N thought she could handle for the most part. Filming the wedding was killer when her character was best man and now was the money maker scene.

Confessing.

“Looking beautiful like always Y/N” The director smiles helping Y/N step down from the box after getting her dressed hemmed.

“I know it’s for the scene and the movie, I really hate pink” Y/N fixes her dress sighing.

“Well, it suits you. Don’t have to wear it long. One more scene where Amelia grows fed up over the reality and storms out of the reception catching Ethan’s attention. Then the confession” He smiles going to his crew and talking about the trolly shots as Y/N sighs going to her marker.

“Wow”

Y/N turns around catching Bill’s attention making her smile with a tint of pink growing.

“You look beautiful”

“You saw me in this dress yesterday”

“Well, I’m simply stating facts and I like complimenting you” Bill says with a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I uh. Well! Time to get in position. Right?”

“Right...”

Once the cameras were in place with the wall separating the scene in two shots. The trolly camera being set on the one outside and the other having two cameras set on both main characters. Y/N stood in her spot hearing action as she leans against the wall watching Bill enjoy himself in his own little world. She took a deep breath resting her hand on her chest before stepping out.

“Why did I do this? Why did I sign onto this...I shouldn’t have. Shouldn’t have stayed. I should’ve left a long time ago...”

“Amelia—“

Y/N froze along with the camera as it planned to Bill but he didn’t care for that.

“Where...where are you going? The reception barely even started”

“I know...I just...”

“Just what?” Bill rests a hand on her shoulder getting pushed off but it felt personal. “Amelia...”

“Sorry. I can’t stay”

“What do you mean?!”

“I CANT STAY” Y/N shot back snapping as Bill took a step back. “I can’t stay and watch this go on”

“What does that mean? You’re not...You’re not acting like yourself Amelia”

“Ethan...I-...” Y/N felt her face heat up staring at Bill as she suddenly started crying. “I love you...I have always loved you...a-and I can’t stand there and watch you move onto the next chapter of your life...without me”

“Amelia...why didn’t—-“

“BECAUSE I WAS AFRAID”

The director read the script knowing this isn’t what he written and Bill knew instantly.

“I was afraid to ever say anything because you...you were all I cared about. I cared about every single thing you did and everything that happened to you. Because...it either hurt you or put you in a state of mind that i couldn’t always help you out of” Y/N felt her body shake as she clenched her fists. “Every chance I got...you were always with someone. Always in love with somebody and I knew it was never going to be me. Because I’m not...I’m not the love of your life. I never was...”

“A-Amelia please don’t go—“ Bill grabbed her wrist the moment she stepped away and Y/N ripped her hand away not looking at him.

“I love you...I always will....and the only thing that’ll help me get over you...is never being around you ever again” Y/N states as that last part was scripted but the first two lines were all her in the voice of her character.

Y/N stormed off as Bill stood there feeling his anxiety course through his body watching her go.

“Ethan?” The interest interrupts as the scene was continuing. But he didn’t want to continue filming.

Bill looks at the director hearing him say cut as he instantly ran after Y/N.

Y/N had no more scenes that day and Bill searched for her all over set and even went to her trailer before being called back. The director told him to give her space since he didn’t know what went on there and as stupid as some directors are. He’s going to use that shot but of course he himself was going to check up on her actress when they got Bill back in makeup.

“Y/N” He knocked on her hotel room door, this time in hers and not in the one she shared.

“Please. Give me a minute”

“I’m not asking you back to set. The shot was fine. If you don’t mind me using it of course”

“God I don’t care if you use it or not. I just...I full on confessed how I felt all of these years of being friends with Bill and...it just. Blew up in my face”

“Bill left set looking for you. He’s back because it’s your guys job not to leave unless it was an emergency. But you have no more filming and...he was upset that he didn’t find you before we brought him back to set”

“Sir, you don’t know the personal stuff about this”

“I know you two have been friends for years, and you have chemistry. Chemistry that would work amazingly playing as friends or lovers. I also know this is your first film as a major love interest and what you told me, it would’ve gone differently if the partner wasn’t Hader”

“God...”

“Get dressed out of that dress and come back on set. If I can guess how he’s feeling. He won’t work like this”

“Isn’t that the point of Ethan’s character? To be emotionally bombarded by what Amelia said?”

“I love that you know every minor detail in my story, but Y/N. His character’s reality. Became his. Knowing that you’re not okay...he won’t work properly even for the character” the director left going back to continue hoping Y/N would come onto set.

A few shots went by and they were re-taken two or three times do to Bill not being in the right headspace. He looks over to the crew watching them discuss what they just shot and before the director asked for places again, Bill saw Y/N stand beside him looking at him for a moment then to the screens.

“Bill, are you okay?” His other co star asks as Bill was in his own world.

“I’m going through it...”

When the work day was over, Y/N knocked on Bill’s trailer watching it instantly open as Bill steps out looking at her. The silence was killer and Y/N didn’t really know what to say since she has already said it.

“I’m so—“

“Don’t.”

“Bill—“

“Don’t apologize for something you kept to yourself for years...I wish you didn’t keep it to yourself for years”

“Your life moves faster than mine Bill. I’m...just. Behind”

“You’re not. You just...why did you put me before you always? You would’ve said something sooner if—“

“Bill just shut up” Y/N frowns. “You’re my best friends. That’s why I did it. But the confessing? I didn’t tell you how I felt because...because life got in the way. You fell in love on a few occasions and I watched. I couldn’t butt in every time! You wouldn’t have the life you have if I did!”

“Y/N, I do love the life I have. I can’t lie about that even if I tried. But...you can’t just stand there and assume I never felt the same way” Bill frowns as Y/N felt her face heat up when he said that.

“I-....For fuck sake Hader”

“Y/L/N. You assume a lot. But for my sake. Can you tell me how you feel without having to do it in a scene to do so?”

“Well. Spit it out then”

“I love you too, and I’m sorry it took you this long to say anything. But I’m also sorry...that I didn’t do it first” Bill instantly presses his lips against hers maneuvering his arm around her waist bringing her close to his chest.

Y/N grabbed his shirt keeping him close to her and taking in the moment as she continues to kiss him. The moment air was needed, Bill didn’t wait long to kiss her again.

They both had enough of waiting, for this new perspective.

[helaintoloki]

Ghost

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: light nsfw content, physical violence, angst, themes of insecurity and self-hatred

notes: not sure what this is but it popped up in my head one night and out came this

summary: Bucky is y/n’s protector, a fellow runaway much like himself. She loves him, but to her dismay Bucky does his best to keep her at arm’s length for he thinks she deserves a better man then he could ever be.

based on the song ghost by Halsey

“You say that you’re no good for me cause I’m always tugging at your sleeve”

“Where are we going?” She asks, fingers clutching at the rough material of his jacket sleeve as he weaves her along through the city. It isn’t safe out in the open, too many prying eyes and lingering gazes follow their path as the pair attempts to enjoy a normal outing. Guilt weighs heavy on his shoulders as he’s reminded of his constant failure to provide her with an ordinary, comfortable life. Always on the run, always hiding from something, always afraid- that was no life for someone like her. Maybe he deserved it after all the destruction and agony he’d brought to those around him, but she deserved better.

“Safe house,” Bucky grumbles under his breath, pace increasing and steps hastening in an attempt to shorten the mileage of their journey. If they hurried now they could make it before sundown. He notices her gaze lingering towards a mother and baby sitting on the street corner begging for food, steps slowing as she reaches for spare change in her puse, and the soldier tugs her forward. A small, warning grunt escapes him. His tone is firm with an underlying sense of urgency as he calls her name. “Y/N.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, but she isn’t really. Not for wanting to help someone. It irked the man at times; she could hardly save herself let alone ever save anybody else. Trouble maker. Stubborn. Strong headed. All words said with an annoyed fondness for the girl. She was a fighter, that was for sure, and she reminded him of a muddled face from a foggy past he couldn’t quite remember.

“Next time,” he promises like he has every instance before. A promise of normalcy and another chance that will soon be broken by his paranoia and his requisite to run. Y/N knows this but says nothing, only nods in acknowledgement as she scrambles to match his pace.

“Next time,” y/n repeats. Bucky’s grayish blue eyes are clouded with anxiety, lips set in a firm line, brows creased with calculation, and metal arm whirring soothingly under his clothing as he clenches and unclenches his fists. Her pinky finds its way around his own, and this time the man only flinches slightly at the skin to skin contact. Progress. She’s worming her way into his heart and he’s letting her. Because he is her protector. Her savior. Her guardian. Because he cares about her.

Because he loves her.

~~~

“And I swear I hate you when you leave, but I like it anyway”

Y/N observed the outside world from the safety of her seat by the window. Coffee mug in hand, she sipped the hot liquid and watched the fog pass through the trees. It was a quiet afternoon in the woods much like it always was whenever they took refuge there, but it was a peaceful type of silence that made all her troubles and fears go away. Safe house was a good term for their little cottage.

Bucky had found the home long before he had found y/n. It had been a rundown, gloomy, old little thing that was sufficient enough to provide shelter but lacking in warmth. Y/N had changed that. With new pieces of furniture and a newfound love for the cottage, the girl had made it seem like a regular home for a regular couple rather than a hideout for two runaways.

He had never really told her exactly what he was running from, but he had explained that he was soldier, and there were bad men- and good men too- looking for him. He could protect her, but there would always be a lingering sense of danger hovering over them no matter where they went. And she trusted him blindly, desperate at first then understanding with time. James was not a bad man, he had so far kept his promise of keeping her safe, had always made her comfort come first even if it meant bringing about his own suffering, and had been more gentler with her than he had ever been with anything in his whole entire life. Bucky was her friend, her protector, and she loved him.

“Fire’s ready,” he announces from his spot by the fireplace. The gentle flames that lick at the fresh pieces of wood cast the tired man in a warm glow that makes him look a lot younger than he is, like a peaceful woodsman enjoying his creation after a long day’s work. Y/N wonders what life would be like if he was just that. Not a soldier, not a man on the run, not a man terrified of his own shadow, but a regular man with a simple life. Would she fit into that equation? Would he still be with her if that had been the case? She decides she doesn’t want to think of it anymore and instead joins him in front of the fire.

“You look tired,” y/n comments, handing her mug to the man and watching with a discrete fondness as he downs the rest of the lukewarm liquid.

“No time for sleep,” Bucky responds quietly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his flesh hand. “Perimeter check. Keep watch so you can sleep.”

“James, it’s okay. No one’s out there, you don’t have to kill yourself with worry. Stay here. Sleep. Don’t leave me alone,” y/n pleads, fingers grasping at the sleeve of his maroon colored Henley in an attempt to anchor him down to his spot on the ground. His eyes glance at her fingers, the way her trimmed nails dig into the fabric and fingers clutch at him. Her touch is gentle but desperate, longing and fretful, and Bucky knows he does not deserve to have her. How could someone so soft, so kind, so compassionate ever bother with a monster like him?

“Only for a little bit,” Bucky consoles, metal fingers delicately prying her fingers away before holding her hand up to his face. A cool digit traces the lines of her fingers and palms, maps out her life line so that even if Hydra does return again, they won’t be able to erase the significance her life holds in his heart. He handles her with care, with love, and y/n sits back in silence and watches his therapeutic trance.

Stubble tickles her skin as he brings her hand to his mouth, chapped lips pressed against her palm in the ghost of a kiss. Stormy eyes flutter shut as he keeps her there, savoring the warmth of her presence and her touch. He needs her, he loves her, he aches for her. He would die for her.

“Stay,” y/n repeats again in a hushed whisper, free hand coming to rest against his cheek as a nervous breath leaves her lips. His eyes flutter open to find her own filled with so much emotion it makes him dizzy, and he does not protest when she moves to straddle his lap. “Stay.”

Hot mouths mesh together in a sloppy kiss, stray hands desperately grabbing at one another to feel something, to confirm that this is real and that they are real. His left arm lingers stiffly at his side until she’s guiding it to grope her breast underneath her shirt. A soft sigh leaves her swollen lips at the feeling of the cool metal against her hot skin, hips rocking back and forth slowly on his strong thigh.

This must be heaven, Bucky thinks as he lies her back on the fur throw rug beside the fire, and as he gets a taste of her between her legs he wonders how a sinner like him could ever be gifted with such an angel.

~~~

“My ghost, where’d you go? I can’t find you in the body sleeping next to me.”

Staring up at the wooden ceiling, y/n finds that she cannot sleep. Her body is full of physical bliss, but her heart weighs heavy as she glances over at the man sleeping beside her. He is peaceful, all previous worries melted away from his features as he dreams of freedom and the future. She reaches out to trace a gentle line along his cheek with her index and he does not stir like he once would have before.

It had been five days since they had arrived at the cottage, each night filled with soft passion and loving touches. Bucky was evolving emotionally, slowly opening up to the woman he’d spent months protecting as he came to realize that it was okay to confide in others, confide in her. He talked more, hesitated less, stopped hiding his biggest insecurity from her. But there was still a sense of lingering fear, as if he was anticipating his next mistake. Waiting for his next slip up. But what accident could he cause?

Y/N did not know of the blood spilled by his hands or the red in his ledger, but she wondered if he was afraid to hurt her like she’d been hurt in the past. If he’d become the very thing she was running from.

His name was Thomas, a Hydra agent disguised as Shield- y/n was unaware of both- who had knocked her around and threatened her with everything under the sun. He had almost killed her once, and that was when she had decided to run. She hadn’t the faintest idea of where she was going at first, only concerned with getting as far away from the man as possible until she had gotten lost. Bucky had found her, cold and tired and hungry and struggling to continue running. Like a stray dog, he took her in and nursed her back to health. And much like a stray dog, she stuck around even when he tried to shoo her away until finally he couldn’t bare to part with her.

Her counterpart begins to stir beside her, murmured words escaping past his lips in a language she can’t quite understand. But she can sense his distress and turns to look at him in worry.

“Bucky,” she whispers, fingers gently brushing against his cheek. “Bucky, are you-“

Metal fingers wrap around her throat and squeeze the words out of her mouth as Bucky, still half asleep, straddles her body and begins to choke her. Wide eyed and frightened, y/n begins to beat at his chest and struggles under his iron grip.

“James,” she wheezes, gasping for air as she desperately tries to pry his fingers away. Her vision begins to blur and lashes begin to flutter as the lack of oxygen begins to kick in. “James!”

Reality punches the soldier in the gut as he stares down at his girl in horror. Now wide awake and aware of his actions, Bucky is quick to yank his hands away and scramble out of the bed. His eyes are full of tears as he watches her cough and splutter, chest heaving as she sucks in air. Y/N’s neck is red and purple, the imprints of his fingers on her skin confirmation of his presence there.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“James,” y/n calls softly, afraid to scare him as if he wasn’t the one who had just almost killed her. “Honey, it’s okay. Baby, come here.”

“I’m a monster,” Bucky whispers, and y/n’s heart breaks in two at his words.

He stays huddled in the corner of the room for the remainder of the night, ignoring y/n’s calming whispers and gentle pleas for his return. Her Bucky is gone, and it’s back to square one.

~~~

“My ghost, where’d you go? What happened to the soul that you used to be?”

On day seven Bucky deems it safe enough to continue their travels. He secures their bags to the back of his motorcycle, ignoring her lingering gaze. He has not uttered more than two words to her so far, has kept his distance at all times, has shied away from her touch, and refuses to look at her. Y/N aches for him, longs for his companionship, misses his warmth.

Ugly blotches of blue and yellow stain her neck, but y/n is smart enough to hide the reminder of Bucky’s mistakes with a scarf. Seeing his physical marks on her skin is just another reminder of his irredeemable qualities, of the fact that he is and always will be the Winter Soldier. He could have killed her, would have killed her if not for the gasping breath of his name that barely managed to tumble out of her lips. She is no longer safe with him, never was safe, and now Bucky must decide how to protect her from himself.

“Here,” he says, handing her the helmet. He pulls away before her fingers can so much as brush up against his skin, ignoring her defeated gaze and heartbroken face.

He is not her Bucky. Not anymore. He is once again the man afraid of his own shadow, afraid of his past, the closed off man who realizes he cannot love for he was made to destroy. He tells himself he is a monster, and so he shuts her out to protect her.

Bucky sucks in a breath as her arms wrap around his torso, revs up the engine, then drives down the open road. He cannot hear her cries or feel the way her arms wrap tighter around his figure, afraid to let go and savoring the long awaited contact.

You are a monster, he tells himself.

“I love you,” she tries to say, but the engine drowns out her sentiments so that he can only hear the voices inside his own head.

[s-k-y-w-a-l-k-e-r]

Tagged by @jimmytfallon for this gif meme. I’m not really sure how the meme started so I may be missing the point, but I think it’s to show overall skill with coloring and whatnot? Also this project presents a minor challenge for me, in that all my .psds and previous gifs are almost all full-width. So it was fun practicing with half-width!

Anyway, I have three different methods I use, depending on the source material, for getting videos to work with. 

For YouTube/Instagram videos of 720p or lower, I screencap the video, load files into stack, and use the basic method outlined here. I think it’s the best way to handle smaller gifs.

For YouTube/Vimeo videos of 1080p or higher, I directly load the video file itself into Photoshop and work off of that.

For screen recordings (most of the Pacific, BoRhap, and Robot gifsets I do are like this), I simply don’t have the option of screencapping—my computer records at almost 3000px width and the screencaps fill up my hard drive in a matter of minutes. So I open the screen recording in Photoshop, and after I’ve slowed the clip (in all three cases, it’s usually around 81% speed for it to be somewhat normal speed), I resize to the desired width immediately. This has to be done or my computer will crash and this thing is not exactly bottom of the line.

From there, I do my adjustment layers and then I sharpen. It doesn’t matter what order you sharpen in if you’re doing this as a smart object. You can turn on and off these sharpening effects—and if you’re feeling fancy like I have lately, you can do the same with the artistic effects like oil paint or half-tone.

Adjustment layers in order of preference/use:

Curves. You can literally do everything in curves if you’re really willing to learn how they work. Initially, you might think they effect lighting. The bottom left corner turns up and down blacks. Left of center, you’re changing how light or dark the shadows are. Right of center, you’re changing the highlights, and to the top right, you’re changing the whites and how bright they are. But you can also change colors within the different toggles of Curves. I don’t always do this because to do an effective job, you still have to create multiple curves layers—and why do that when you can just do...

Color balance! This is the absolute most important coloring tool that I’ve found to deal with Mr. Robot’s pallor. It’s so green-yellow that I find myself turning things back to red and magenta and blue to try and give Elliot a little bit of life back. In the gif above, you can see that it was almost a pea green tone over the whole thing, so I gave it back some peachiness (and don’t get me started on how dark all of Mr. Robot is).

Brightness/Contrast. I try to use this sparingly, but sometimes it’s just the simplest tool to get things done.

Selective Color! I didn’t know about this for a long time and once I figured it out, it was a game changer. When you just want a yellow robe to be a warm yellow without green undertones and you want high contrast in the rest of the image but not in the yellow robe—Selective Color is where you need to go. Hue/Saturation can only do so much for you here.

Solid Color. Lately I’ve been trying to vignette some gifs using this. And it can be really helpful to do so because it cuts down on flashing pixels that will add to your overall gif megabyte-age. So I’ll load one up in a dark color (if not completely black) and then use a layer mask to get rid of a lot of the solid color. This is not shown anywhere above, but you can see it in action here. It’s more valuable in extra-big gifs.

And then Smart Object effects

Plain old Sharpen. I always do this before the other. And sometimes I turn it back off after I’ve gotten the next step down. In the yellow robe gif above, I wound up turning off this sharpen layer because it introduced too much edge noise.

Smart Sharpen. Learning how to hone this is absolutely vital. 500, .3, 20, Gaussian is always a good place to start—and if that doesn’t mean anything to you, just try opening the Smart Sharpen tool and putting those four things in. Of course, once you get a handle on Smart Sharpen, you can go wild trying to get things just right. Layering it with other Smart Sharpen layers can sometimes help create a balance, too.

Oil Paint. I’ve been screwing around with this a lot lately and haven’t quite got it nailed down, but I’m having fun with it!

Other Useful Layers

Overlays. I love to layer up two separate video files! So much so that I now have a drop-down menu for them on my full browser layout. The YSL/Rami modeling overlay above is the perfect example. Want to see how I do it? Ask for a tutorial. I don’t want to give everything away in one post!

Layer Masks. For mostly-still scenes, especially in cinematography where the camera doesn’t move a lot (like Mr. Robot, or in an interview), you can take a picture basically of your gif, super-impose it, and then make a layer mask to make it smooth. Works really well in many of my Mr. Robot Rewatch sets, like this one. Again, willing to give a tutorial if you ask.

Captions. All of mine come out looking fuzzy and I’m not good at them so I don’t do them much. If you’re a gif maker reading this and have a method you like, please share because I cannot figure out why I can’t make this look good.

So anyway, as you can see, it’s a lot to work with. So many options! There’s so much that can go into a single gifset, and though I have a system down to where I can make certain gifs really quickly, it’s still usually an hour or two on even the simplest gifs. I like to think it doesn’t take as much brain power as a fic writer, but it does take a certain intuition and know-how that takes years to hone.

I love my fellow gif makers and would love to see how they do. Tagging @gwil-lee, @ewan-mcgrxgor, @ilygwilym, and @warmommy because I want to learn your secrets see your process if you’re willing to share!

[zaraquinn]

Late Night Moments

Shane Madej - “I’m not lazy, I’m on energy saving mode.”

Word count: 874

Pairing: Shane Madej x Reader (Buzzfeed Unsolved)

Prompt Post: (#5)

Requested: Nope

Because I was finding less and less of general fics about the two ghoul boys, I thought I would contribute to society, ya know. I’ll also link Ryan’s fic here when I upload it (which will be soon!). Also this is a non-binary POV so literally anyone can insert themselves in this POV.

Y/N - Your Name

——

——

Tapping away on your computer, the sounds of the keyboard clicking was the only sound that surrounds the empty room. You and Shane were one of the only people left in the office. You agreed to stay overtime with Shane to help him edit somethings for Ruining History. Your neck suddenly started to ache as your body quickly became surrounded with discomfort, forcing you to stop. You groaned tiredly as you glanced up from your laptop screen to see Shane, with a laser-like focus on editing. You can tell how tired he felt as he yawned and kept typing.

You really didn’t prefer working overtime and almost till the next day, but you had to confess; the only reason you did it was because of Shane. Staying overtime with him really bonded your friendship with him and even sparked a little crush on the tall fellow. Okay, maybe a big crush, but you managed to keep it cool, almost surprising yourself.

You smirked to yourself as you planned to make Shane take a break. His workaholic needs can give a little time to rest right? “Shane?” You called out to him. No answer. “Shane?” You tried again. But still, nothing. Waving your hand in front of his face, calling out to him. “Earth to Shane Alexander Madej?” He finally snapped out of his workaholic trance as he removed his earphones around his neck. “You wanna take a break? It’s...” you trailed off, looking at your watch. “1:30 in the morning. How about some coffee?” You asked. He stretched in his chair, lazily star-fishing it with his long limbs. “Yeah, a coffee break sounds, splendid.” He said with a smile. Getting up from your seat you walked around the desk beside his sitting figure. “C’mon, let us go.” You said as you tapped his chair from behind. He tiredly sighed, and didn’t get up from his chair but just let his head fall back. “Yeah, I’ll wait here Y/N.” he said. You smiled and shook your head. He always had a way to make you laugh and smile. Walking towards the back of his chair, you gently lifted his head in your hands and looked down at him. “C’mon Madej! You need a rest! And you need to stretch those long limbs of yours. Don’t be lazy!” You said humorously. He looked up at you and booped your nose.

“I’m not lazy, I’m just on energy saving mode.” He said casually. You laughed at his attempt for you to get the coffee. Although it made him smile thinking about you being happy, it didn’t work. “That was good. But, you're coming with me to get that coffee and a well-rewarded break.” You said, lowering your face to his before booping his nose with your finger, returning the boop.

He sighed tiredly, but with a smile. “Alright then.” He said as he sat up from his chair and followed you to the canteen. Upon arriving at the canteen, you and Shane see some familiar faces. Freddie, Andrew and Garrett. Exchanging some small chat with the three before they separated ways. Freddie was just about to leave and was talking to Andrew. Andrew was just having a coffee break as he waited for Steven to come back with some takeout, and Garrett also getting ready to leave as he saw Freddie and Andrew. As they departed, it left Shane and Y/N alone in the canteen. Your heart pounded so loud, you swore Shane could’ve even heard it. But, you kept your cool. Making a bunch of coffee and waiting for the machine to pull through, you couldn’t reach the cabinet above you for the sugar. Suddenly, Shane took it upon himself to get it for you. “Don’t need to stress yourself to get it Y/N,” he said with a small laugh. You shook your head in disbelief. “I was... stretching.” You gave a fake excuse as you both laughed tiredly.

The coffee maker finally finished as the two of you got into some small talk. As you listened to Shane you found yourself thinking about him in awe; his tall figure, daring smile and that sense of humour that always found a way to make you happy, even on the darkest of days. You loved that about him. Taking a few sips of your coffee, his voice took you back to reality. “Y/N?” he asked, waving a hand in front of your face. Blinking a few times you came back to the present and nodded. Your mug meeting your lips again. ”Y/N, I was thinking, maybe if we aren't sleep deprived and it’s not 2:00 in the morning, how about we, go and uh, get some lunch together?” he asked and casually took a sip of his coffee. In shock and excitement, you spilled your coffee on the floor, the light brown liquid making splashes on the black floors and on your brown boots.

He quickly made his way to help you clean up until you gently settled your hand on his arm. ”Yeah, I’d like that.” you say with a smile. He returned with another joke, as you shook your head again as you both cleaned up the mess on the floor, before getting back to work.

~~~~

Ryan Bergara x Reader (Office Help)

[ryik-the-writer]

CHAPTER 4: Turbulence

A03

-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-

Belle watched in memorization as the creature—Rumple—swam around in the shallow waters. She swayed her feet in the salty water, causing small waves to lap over his tail.

She adjusted the towel around her shoulders before reaching behind and pulling her bag forward, pulling out one of her journals so she could finally interview him. Her scientific side wanted to question him on the boat attacks, find out his motive and convince him to stop or at least let her help him find a solution. Her more imaginative side, the part of her that was giddy to have a creature of legend swimming laps at her feet and watching her with awe and openness, wanted to learn everything possible about him.

“So,” she began her interview, “I was wondering if you could tell me about the boats.”

Rumple paused his waddling, swimming up to the shore and spreading out on his stomach in the sand. “Boats?”

“The things you’ve been attacking.” Belle specified like a firm school teacher. And like a school boy, Rumple ducked his head in shame at being caught.

Belle smiled comfortingly. “I just want to know why you’re doing it. I can help you if I know your reason. That’s my job.”

“The ink.” He growled lowly.

“Ink?” Belle inquired. “Like, from squids or octopuses?”

Rumple shook his head. “The…boats? They drop it in the water. It hurts my eyes and gets on my tail. It hurts the turtles and birds.”

“Oil.” Belle clarified, scribbling in her journal. “Is that why you attack the boats?”

Rumple nodded. “When they stop, the ink…oil…stops.”

“So you destroy them so that they don’t come back.” Belle mused, closing her journal. “I know someone who can help.” She said. “I’ll go talk to him, but you have to promise me you won’t attack any more boats.

“But…”

“I know you’re not trying to hurt anyone, but each time you destroy one of those boats, a lot of people go hungry.”

Rumple felt anger tense inside him, not at Belle, but at what she was asking. Each time those boats dumped their black death in the waters, a lot of his fellow sea life went hungry or died before hunger could get to them. Didn’t Belle realize that?

Belle sighed when he shifted away, defiance in his eyes.

“Fine.” She began to pack up and Rumple felt the familiar loneliness seep in.

“Will you come back?” he asked quietly.

“I’ll try to get back tomorrow.” She stated, rolling up her blanket and putting her journal and other gear back in her bag.

“Bye.” He said lowly as she trekked up the sand dune. He didn’t want to fight with Belle, didn’t want her look at him as a monster and felt the need to please her. But he also had a fierce loyalty towards his fellow ocean life, creatures who couldn’t fight for their selves from the wicked scum that was man.

Belle wasn’t like them though. She couldn’t be.

He’d tell her that when she came back tomorrow.

-,-,-,-

Belle didn’t give Merlin and Ariel the complete details of her adventure, simply told them that she found the reason for the attacks and that they needed to work quickly to prevent another. They worked through the night, throwing together the evidence they had collected the last few weeks as well as a fabricated report Belle typed together.

They presented their findings to the mayor, all on edge for her response.

The mayor read over the report quietly, one of her well-maintained eye brows arched in emotionless discontent.

"I must say," the mayor stated when she closed the folder. "I had my doubts Dr. French, but I'm glad to see you found the problem. I would have never guessed mating eels would be attacking boats out of hormone disruption. Excellent work.”

Belle released a breath of relief. She also felt a bit of pride that the mayor finally called her by her professional title.

“Thank you, Madame Mayor.”                                                                                                

“But,” the mayor prompted, causing the group to tense again, “I don’t see a solution to the problem mentioned.”

"I've concluded that if the boats seize their activities around the area of the attack that the eels will eventually tether off. Or better yet, that the owners of the boats need to install a filter into their tanks to better prevent the oil leakage that’s bothering the eels. I have friend in Australia who can help with that."

The mayor frowned at this. "That area of the bay is highly profitable with catch. The boats will have to venture further out into the seas to make up for what they would lose."

"But they'd come home with an abundant haul and their ships fully intact, Madame Mayor." Ariel perked in. "It's a smaller price to pay for the safety of your fishermen."

The mayor looked to two scientists over, and Belle prayed to all higher powers that she would buy the explanation and let Belle move on.

"This isn't their first rodeo, Regina." Merlin chimed in. "If they say this is what you need to do, then you need to do it."

"I wasn't talking to you." The mayor hissed. Merlin simply smirked.

The mayor sighed and gathered her things. "Very well, I will allow this notion on one condition.”

Belle eyed the mayor with distrust and uncertainty. “And that would be what, Madame Mayor.”

The mayor smirked in secret enjoyment for the young biologist’s discomfort. “You have to bring your findings and solution before the town at the next meeting, which is tonight.”

Belle’s stomach dropped. Her public speaking skills were decent at best, but it would be nearly impossible to keep the details of her fake story in order if she had to answer questions from a town of angry fishermen.

Just as she was about to protest, Merlin placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

“She can do it Regina. We’ll see you tonight.”

“Just her and Miss Benson will be enough company, thank you.” Regina turned on her heel after the snarl, leaving behind the smirking journalist and two equally anxious biologists.

As soon as the door closed, Ariel slapped Merlin on the shoulder. “What was that!”

“That,” Merlin defended, rubbing his shoulder, “was showing her majesty that you’re not one of her subjects.”

“That’s a very odd analogy.”

“But accurate.” Belle chimed in, pacing. “She already thinks we’re incompetent, we can’t have the entire town thinking that too. They’ll never stop.” She paused her pacing and turned to her comrades. Ariel was staring at her with uncertainty and concern.

“What is it?”

“I was just wondering if you think we’re incompetent too.”

Belle felt a burst of hurt and panic implode in her head. “What are you talking about?”

Ariel grabbed the report folder and held it out to Ariel. “Mating eels? Belle, you and I know that if eels were the culprit for this there would not be nearly the amount of damage there is. Not to mention eels don’t mate outside of warm waters; it’s April in Maine, Belle!”

“What is going on with you lately? You’ve been going to the beach by yourself, staying there all day, and now you’re throwing some bullshit report out there.”

“I know it seems crazy Ariel-”

“It seems lazy, Belle.”

Belle flinched at the remark but held her tongue.

“Are you just bored with this assignment or is there something in those waters that you’re not telling me about?”

Belle’s tongue was heavy with the truth, but she couldn’t let the words fall just yet. She had to secure Rumple’s safety first.

“Ariel, Merlin, I promise if I survive tonight, I will show you everything.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?” Ariel miffed.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Ariel shook her head. “If that’s what you think, fine.” With that, the redhead turned and stalked out of the basement, slamming the door behind her.

Belle felt tears sting her eyes. She and Ariel had never fought before.

Merlin cleared his throat and Belle wiped her eyes.

“Don’t take it too hard. You know how she is.” He said comfortingly. “Just focus on what you have to do and the rest will sort itself out.”

Belle smiled at him, thankful he was always the level head among them.

“How did you become such a peace-maker?”

Merlin smirked, but there was an intense sadness dragging down the corners of his mouth.

“Let’s just say this isn’t the first time I’ve had to play mediator between two feuding women.”

Belle sensed a story there, but judging by the pain in his eyes, it was not the time nor the place to ask questions.

“I… think I’ll go lie down, piece together what I’m going to say.”

Merlin nodded. “Meeting’s at 8, so don’t be late. I’ll be covering it, you know.”

“Yeah, okay.” she promised as she headed up the stairs. She paused at the kitchen door and briefly considered going back to the docks. She didn’t like how she had left things with her new friend. Belle would be the first to admit that her patience was one of the first things to go when she was frustrated. And really, she had been asking a lot from Rumple after knowing him for a few hours.

Belle sighed exhaustedly and continued up the stairs. She’d apologize to him in the morning, and maybe even take him a pudding cup or two. For now, she had a much-dreaded speech to plan.

-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-

Several hours later Belle sat between Merlin and Ariel in the crowd of bored citizens and waited for the mayor to introduce her.

She started playing with her folder of evidence, not even understanding what the mayor was saying now. If this went southside, Rumple’s life could be in danger. There was too much to lose for her to mess up.

Suddenly, Merlin’s hand slid over one of hers, giving it a firm squeeze.

“You have nothing to be nervous about.” He whispered, leaning closer so that they wouldn’t be heard.

“I really don’t want to be verbally thrown off stage if I say the wrong thing.” She confided, trying not to think about how warm his hand was.

“The people here may be aggravated, but they’ll listen to reason if it means feeding their families.”

“I hope so.” Belle sighed.

The mayor cleared her throat, glaring at the whisperers.

“Dr. French?” she barked. “If you and Mr. Knight are done, the town would like to hear your proposal now.”

Belle blushed and released Merlin’s hands, hurrying to the podium as the mayor stepped down, Ariel just behind her. She took a moment to breathe and let the dizziness that overtook her head to clear.

“Good evening.” Belle greeted, her eyes not quite meeting the crowd. “My name is Belle French of the APRF, Aquatic Protection and Research Facility. As most of you know, my partner and I have been stationed here for roughly three weeks to investigate the boat attacks on the harbor.

“Our research concludes that the attacker is actually mating saltwater eels, who attack the boats out of hormone aggravation.”

She paused as the room erupted in hushed astonishment, allowing Belle a moment to compose herself.

“Ma’am,” a thick man in fisherman’s gear stood. “I’ve been fishing these waters for 25 years, and I ain’t ever hear of no eel attack.”

Belle felt a wave of panic at the accusation, but she had prepared for such a remark.

“Our research suggests that because of the early summer, the waters are warm enough to induce early mating. And since eels are not used to the boats during their mating season, their instincts are triggered to attack.”

As the room conversed on this new information, Belle turned to Merlin who gave her a thumbs-up. Despite the encouragement, Belle still felt her palms sweat.

“How do we stop them?” another fisherman asked.

Belle rifled through her papers and held up one with a picture of a filter device on it. “I have a colleague in Australia who has an invention for just this problem. It’s a small filter that catches spilling oil from the boats and-”

“How much does it cost?” someone from the crowd shouted out.

Belle twitched at the interruption. “With the cost of materials and labor, each filter will be roughly $400 but-”

The room erupted with discontent. Belle gripped the podium, holding on to her patience for as long a she could.

Ariel grabbed the gavel off the stand and banged it until the room settled.

“People of Storybrooke,” Ariel boomed, “while this might seem like a steep price to pay, there’s a huge payoff in the long run.”

With room quieted, Belle stepped aside to allow Ariel full access to the podium.

“When I was a kid, my dad worked so much that my family only got a week of vacation time a year. He always chose Storybrooke because it was so homey and beautiful. We used to go down to the beach and the little fish would swim right up to us. It was magical, and I always said I would live here when I grew up.”

Belle couldn’t help but smile at Ariel’s nostalgia. It was refreshing to see her so animated

“That didn’t quite happen, but when I found out about the issues going on in the harbor, I knew I had to help. Because I love this town and it’s uniqueness. And I want to preserve it anyway I can.”

Ariel turned back to Belle and nodded her back in.

Belle took her spot by Ariel, feeling more confident than she had all night.

“My colleague is a brilliant inventor, and I’m sure with some negotiation we can talk him down in his price.”

She watched as the towns folks mumbled amongst their selves, some of them shaking their heads in agreement for the proposition.

“You’ve all been so patient with us, so I promise you,” Belle finished, “my team and I will not leave until the problem is solved.” She turned to the smiling Ariel and saw raw passion in her eyes. “We’ll do whatever we can to help preserve this town, for everyone here and for the future. Thank you.”

Belle closed her notes as the crowd applauded. She could feel her cheeks heating and dared to look up. Merlin had shot from his seat and whistled with his applause, leaving his notepad in his chair. From the other side of the room, the mayor glared at his loud, unprofessional salute. Still, she rose from her chair with the grace of a queen and applauded with the rest of the group, waiting until Belle and Ariel left the stage before she retook her place at the podium.

Ariel pulled Belle behind the stage until they could just barely hear the mayor making her closing speech.

“You really are a horrible speaker.” Ariel teased, pulling her friend into a hug.

Belle returned the affection. “Ariel, listen. About earlier…”

“Say no more.” The redhead insisted. “I trust you Belle. No matter what’s really out there, you found a solution. That’s the reason we’re here.”

Belle nodded, the guilt in her stomach still heavy but not nearly as dense as before. She would tell her friend the whole truth eventually, but only when Rumple and the rest of the aquatic life was safe.

“But,” Ariel continued. “You do owe me for all the headaches.”

Belle groaned. “Don’t tell me…”

“Girls day!” Ariel shrilled. “We’ve been here for an over a week and haven’t been into town yet.”

“Yeah but our work-”

“Will continue once your guy gets here.” Ariel promised. “We deserve a break. You deserve a break.”

Belle chewed her lip nervously. Spending the day with Ariel would mean that she wouldn’t see Rumple tomorrow.

“It’ll fun! Shopping, a good lunch. Maybe we can go sailing?”

Belle craved to reject Ariel’s offer, but her eyes looked desperate. She needed time away from their make-shift lab in Merlin’s basement, needed time with her friend.

“Okay.” Belle agreed reluctantly.

Ariel shrilled, gripping Belle’s hands until they stung.

“Great! I’m going to tell Merlin!”

Belle watched her friend leave and wish she could do the same. Was Rumple even waiting for her or was he too perturbed with her from earlier? She wanted to apologize at least, but now with Ariel mapping out their day, that would be near-impossible.

She chewed on her lip and followed Ariel to the concession.

I’m sorry Rumple.

[rpgmgames]

October’s Featured Game: Dead Dreams

DEVELOPER(S): Aiaz Marx ENGINE: RPG Maker MV GENRE: Adventure, Horror, Narrative WARNINGS: Body horror, Flashing images, Sudden sounds, Mild Violence, Blood, Gore SUMMARY: A school game dev club of four friends breaks up after the tragic death of one of their members. Until... a sinister ‘V’ would force them back to the memories of those events, what lead to that loss and how it changed their lives.

Download the game here! Our Interview With The Dev Team Below The Cut!

Introduce yourself! Hi, my name is Aiaz Marx. I'm the main developer of "Dead Dream" which is my first serious project! More facts about me: I'm from Russia, but I've been living in Spain for 4 years now! I love videogames, cinematography, and languages!

What is your project about? What inspired you to create this game initially? *Aiaz Marx: Dead Dreams is all about character development and overcoming your fears. Some of the central in-game themes are loneliness, coming of age and family. Inspirations? Seriously, there are so many of them but the main inspiration for me was the Silent Hill series (particularly SH2 and SH4).

How long have you been working on your project? *Aiaz Marx: Nine long months :)

Did any other games or media influence aspects of your project? *Aiaz Marx: Other games that influenced certain elements of Dead Dreams are Yume Nikki, Ib, OFF and Doki Doki Literature Club! Story-wise it was hugely inspired by Anohana anime series and Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki (H.Murakami's book). The theme of colors will actually play a very important role later in the game :) There are more significant influences that unfortunately I can't mention without spoiling the game :)

Have you come across any challenges during development? How have you overcome or worked around them? *Aiaz Marx: I think for me the main challenge was to put my creation out for the public eyes and accept the criticism. Failing the Kickstarter was truly a lifechanging experience and I even wrote an article about it. The only way to overcome it was to admit it and find good reasons to keep working. I could also count on the support of some of my fellow developers and community.

Have any aspects of your project changed over time? How does your current project differ from your initial concept? *Aiaz Marx: Initially, I was planning to make a lighthearted adventure game with knights and magic corporations, haha! :D As you can see, now it's a horror game! :)

What was your team like at the beginning? How did people join the team? If you don’t have a team, do you wish you had one or do you prefer working alone? *Aiaz Marx: I wouldn't say that I have a team but there are few people that I need to mention: Aiden/kanteramcneil was helping me out with the English translation, play-testing and was extremely supportive throughout these nine months! Matt Reeves is a very talented and amicable guy who composed four songs for me including the amazing Silent Dreams OST you could hear at the end of the Still Water demo. cherry-shot is helping me with the Spanish translation, and Gavren voiced the Radio in the second demo. I never had an experience of working in a team, but I wish I had an artist who could help me out with the character portraits and cutscenes :D

What is the best part of developing a game? *Aiaz Marx: Personally, I love to structure the story, create puzzles and levels layouts. In each new chapter, I'm trying to bring some new mechanics, types of enemies and visuals\locations which will reflect my character's fears and unique qualities. Another thing I really enjoy is adding some extra details, absurd descriptions, and easter eggs :D

Do you find yourself playing other RPG Maker games to see what you can do with the engine, or do you prefer to do your own thing? *Aiaz Marx: Certainly! As I mentioned, a lot of game's elements were inspired by RPG Maker games like Yume Nikki, Ib, OFF and even Lisa. But still, I'm trying really hard to make something unique and memorable.

Which character in your game do you relate to the most and why? (Alternatively: Who is your favorite character and why?) *Aiaz Marx: It has to be Thomas, a character inspired by Henry from SH4, Madotsuki, Lone Survivor and H.Murakami's protagonists. He's a lonely hikikomori who avoids any real social interactions. I'm sure that every passioned solo dev at some point felt him(her)self lonely :) I just always find this type of characters very relatable.

Looking back now, is there anything that regret/wish you had done differently? *Aiaz Marx: Maybe the game's title? I feel like it's not memorable enough. Do you know that initially it was called PlayerBetweenUs? Well, DD isn't finished yet, so I may change some things along the way.

Do you plan to explore the game’s universe and characters further in subsequent projects, or leave it as-is? *Aiaz Marx: I think DD doesn't need any prequels or sequels :)

What do you most look forward to now that you have finished the game? *Aiaz Marx: I can't wait to start working on new shorter projects and try out new genres (3D games/visual novels) and engines!

Is there something you’re afraid of concerning the development or the release of your game? *Aiaz Marx: Not really. I just want people to enjoy playing Dead Dream :)

Do you have any advice for upcoming devs? *Aiaz Marx: The first step is just to start with something. For your first projects try to keep it short, experiment with ideas and find the type of game you wanna make. Don't forget to ask for help and feedback. Honestly, there are so many great advices provided by others GOTM's featured developers so go check them out! :)

Question from last month's featured dev @Turoveroofficial: Have you ever had a meme made of your game? If so, what was your favorite? If not, have you made your own? *Aiaz Marx: There was only one meme, so I guess it's my favorite :)

We mods would like to thank Aiaz Marx for agreeing to our interview! We believe that featuring the developer and their creative process is just as important as featuring the final product. Hopefully this Q&A segment has been an entertaining and insightful experience for everyone involved!

Remember to check out Dead Dreams if you haven’t already! See you next month! 

- Mods Gold & Platinum

[rpgmgames]

May’s Featured Game: Cadeau

DEVELOPER(S): HALFWORLDstudios ENGINE: RPG Maker VX Ace GENRE: Horror, Fantasy, Puzzle WARNINGS: Blood, Mild Gore, Suicide Mentions, Death SUMMARY: Cadeau is an RPG Horror game about a lonely, yet stubborn, young woman named Charlotte-- who finds herself in a world unknown to man, wearing clothes that do not belong to her. Wonderful and tragic events are to follow suit, as all of her greatest wishes come true. However, as these things often go, her happiness does not come without consequence...

Play the beta here!

Our Interview With The Dev Team Below The Cut!

Introduce yourself! Macdev: Greetings and salutations. I'm Mac, writer, artist, and programmer for Cadeau, as well as the founder of Halfworld. I've loved Rpg games since I was about 10, and have been creating them since! Bruno: My name is Bruno and I'm the music composer. I got into game music approx 2 years ago and I've currently made music for a couple of games and other projects, and Cadeau was the first one of them. Aidan: I'm Aidan/kanteramcneil on Tumblr! I'm one of the voice actors, and I'm super excited to be able to follow Cadeau's progress! I've been in the RpgMaker community for a few years now and I adore being able to watch all the devs progress and grow Rindre: Hi I'm Rin! Currently, I'm on an indefinite hiatus, but Big Mac managed to catch me, chain me up to a chair, and make me say stuff about myself against my will. So... I make games, I guess. - Note from macdev: Erm, not true? These accusations are SLANDER and I will not stand for it. WariA: Hello! I’m WaraiA, one of the voice actors of Cadeau — A pleasure to meet you! I will be voicing the oh so mysterious ‘Your Admirer’, so please look forward to listening to my antics ☆〜（ゝ。∂） I am a Japanese/Chinese Australian born citizen, with a tendency to speak in an American accent. Any pronouns are fine for me My most notable role so far has been Harpae from Pocket Mirror, so some of you may be familiar with my voice already! Nothing much has changed — I enjoy cosplaying, role playing, drawing every once in a blue moon, Final Fantasy XIV, and most importantly, catboys (Nael, I’m coming for you, boy) As ‘Your Admirer’ is a rather elusive character, I cannot disclose much. But I do suggest always keeping one eye open throughout your journey

What is your project about? What inspired you to create your game initially? *Macdev: Cadeau is a game about a troubled young woman named Charlotte Émile-- who is a "tomboyish" and bold individual who has been unfortunately presented loneliness by a series of disastrous events. After giving up on companionship, she miraculously receives an affectionate letter from a mysterious person aliased as her "Admirer". This "Admirer" character beckons poor Charlotte to visit them at a mysterious well in the woods, and to come armed with nothing but a strange golden coin. From there, madness ensues. Our protagonist must learn of her past and the events that lead to her misfortune, all while becoming entangled in a family drama rooted in witchcraft, raging years before her unexpected arrival. It is a story about self-love, friendship, acceptance, magic, and all that corny-ness. Sounds fun, right? My initial inspiration was The Witches House. The game was originally meant to be simple, and maybe an hour or 45 minutes long. A simple story, and a straightforward 2-ending path.... How have we managed to get here from that?

How long did you work on your project? *Macdev: Two years, I believe! Its anniversary is April 8th. In the beginning, it was very off and on-- because I was having a difficult time with school and-- as I mention-- organization. So not a whole lot of progress was made then. I'm proud to say I've been chugging quite a bit faster than my previous pace!

Did any other games or media influence aspects of your project? *Macdev: My inspiration would probably lie in Harry Potter/Fantastic Beasts, and Alice returns to madness. As for RPG games? The Witch's House, Havenfell, and Pocket Mirror. As well as many other beautiful artists and creators in the video game community. Overall, my biggest inspiration for this game has got to be the stop-motion movie: Coraline. I even reference the movie once or twice in Cadeau. The tone of Coraline, and the whimsical yet eerie people and creatures within it give me inspiration for this game. It was very much a favorite of mine when I was younger, and that still applies today!

Have you come across any challenges during development? How have you overcome or worked around them? *Macdev: The biggest problem I've run into has been a lack of structure. In the beginning, I hadn't even written out the story halfway. I was just pulling ideas from thin air, going back and forth, and deleting entire concepts-- only to bring them back and re-arrange them as I went. Characters weren't fully dished out; the game didn't even have an ending. This state of creating is fine, but not when you have other people expecting things from you. Thankfully, things are sailing much MUCH smoother than before.

Did any aspects of your project change over time? How does your current project differ from your initial concept? *Macdev: It's absolutely taken a turn from what it was originally! As I say, it was meant to be an extremely short game in the beginning, and now obviously that’s not the case. The goal for Cadeau now is: around 2-3 hours long in playtime, and full of many diverse character types! As well as a storyline that extends far more than face value. Which is in high contrast to the basic, short, immemorable experience that it was going to be.

What was your team like at the beginning? How did people join the team? If you don’t have a team, do you wish you had one or do you prefer working alone? *Macdev: I do have a wonderful, beautiful, talented team working with me on Cadeau. - A composer! (Bruno Buglisi), - As well as voice actors! (WariA as Allete, Aiden/kanteramcneil as The Botanist, and Rindre (who I have definitely not kidnapped...) as The Maiden) I met everyone in the team through volunteer posts-- and I had never done that before-- but it worked very surprisingly well! We worked very quickly together, and we had a very mutual understanding of what each other wanted. It feels good to know I have such talented people helping this game come to fruition. I owe a whole lot to them for helping the game become what it is now.

What was the best part of developing the game? Macdev: Being able to make the world in your head interactable, for sure. Since I was 8, maybe even younger, I have loved writing stories and making art. Webcomics were my main thing as a kid, so story-telling is something I’ve always loved. So, the fact that I can turn my ideas into something someone can experience and interact with is a wonderful feeling. There's nothing more fulfilling, honestly!

Do you find yourself playing other RPG Maker games to see what you can do with the engine, or do you prefer to do your own thing? *Macdev: Very often, actually! I try not to ride too close to the material I see in other games, but I do gain lots of inspiration from my fellow creators! One thing I am laser-focused on, though, is making Cadeau quite unique content-wise. I want it to have very interesting, uncommon puzzles and mechanics that you may not expect from this type of game-- or one of this engine. So far, I think I've achieved this-- so look out for that!

Which character in your game do you relate to the most and why? (Alternatively: Who is your favorite character and why?) *Macdev: My favorite character has got to be The Botanist. At the beginning of the game he has no dialogue, yet still presents such a strong personality. They are kind, thoughtful, and absolutely adorable. Look at that foofy hair! I'm a sucker for it. Their character arc is something I'm excited for. It's been a blast writing it so far-- and I won’t spoil anything-- but you guys will love him. I'm sure of it. Now if we're talking character design, Naël has got to be my favorite. He recently received a “tune-up,” as I would like to call it, and I think everything works together very cohesively in his design now. It's probably one of my favorites out of all of them, at this point.

Looking back now, is there anything that regret/wish you had done differently? *Macdev: Thankfully, things worked out perfectly-- and the universe blessed me with a wonderful team in the end-- but it was very stressful once I realized I had asked for help way too early. I essentially made a single map, and a little character sheet-- then asked for a whole team to help me out. As I said, it luckily worked out in the end. Now we have so many amazing people helping us-- but we also lost a few in the madness-- and that's a mistake on my part, 100%. If you don't know what you want, it's hard to ask for help. It will lead to confusion, lots of back and forth, frustration, etc... Just wait until your way further in development. Trust me. I know it’s easy to jump the gun and shoot for the stars, but sometimes it won’t work out as well as it has for the Cadeau team!

Do you plan to explore the game’s universe and characters further in subsequent projects, or leave it as-is? *Macdev: I won't say as of now! The idea of a sequel/prequel has floated around, but if it does come to fruition, it won't be until way after the release of Cadeau. We'll just have to see. (This isn’t to say I’m not hopeful!)

With your current project, what do you look most forward to upon/after release? *Macdev: I have so many amazing project ideas lined up for after the release of Cadeau. I won’t spill too much, so they'll be more of a surprise-- but they range from classic, adventure-themed true RPG's-- to 3D teenage-thrillers. I'm honestly stoked, there's so much in store for Halfworld.

Is there something you’re afraid of concerning the development or the release of your game? *Macdev: I think my biggest fear is letting people down. Also, I worry about losing interest or having people form the idea that the game is never going to be completed. It’s just going to take some time, is all, and that’s okay!

Do you have any advice for upcoming devs? *Macdev: I already mentioned above not to jump the gun and ask for help too early, so some more advice I'll give: is to keep all your material, all your ideas, and all your concepts in one concise place. I would say do it digitally from the get-go, but if you would prefer to write it down physically that's fine! Just make sure it's only one or 2 notebooks, and not 13. The information for Cadeau is spread throughout my hideous mound of notebooks, as I get up during ungodly hours of the night to scrawl a sudden idea down. So, I'm currently in the process of moving them to one digital spot-- and while it's generally easy-- I would have been able to avoid it if I had just put everything in one spot in the beginning. Oh, and back up your progress regularly! I have separate backups of Cadeau from months in 2 different years, and in 4 different places. So, I take backups very seriously—and so should you!

Question from last month's featured dev @atlasatrium: What's your favorite RPG Maker game and why? *Aidan: I love End roll, Ib, OFF, Prom Dreams, From Next Door, and Aria's Story! Bruno: Mm, definitely Long Gone Days (though it’s not being made on rpgmaker now) Midnight Train, Heartbeat and Glitched! WariA: I don't really have any :0 the devs I've worked with so far have all been really sweet (´꒳`);; Macdev: This is a tough question! I have a lot of favorites. Probably Stray Cat Crossing overall, but I also love Home and Starboy. Starboy brings a lot of memories, and Stray Cat Crossing was what inspired me to start making games! Oh, and Home is just very cute.

We mods would like to thank HALFWORLDstudios for agreeing to our interview! We believe that featuring the developer and their creative process is just as important as featuring the final product. Hopefully this Q&A segment has been an entertaining and insightful experience for everyone involved!

Remember to check out Cadeau if you haven’t already! See you next month! 

- Mods Gold & Platinum