#but instead we have an entire chapter to say 'yay you did it! gold star for you'

[tea-and-naps-otome]

Finally caught up in nightbringer. Weird that they chose to literally roll credits on a storyline that didn't end. I know that the og game also rolled credits after lesson 20 as well, but that definitely felt like a full story arc with a resolution. In the same timespan in nightbringer, we had the inciting incident at the beginning, some world building, and then some pats on the head.

I'm guessing that the og game only planned to go twenty chapters so the story followed that. I'm also guessing that based on that popularity, a longer storyline was planned for nightbringer from the beginning which is fine! But still shoving credits in the same place felt jarring

[kimshavacado]

Dead Heat Ch. 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader

Genre: Yet another Arranged Marriage/Mafia AU

Summary: Three extremely powerful families with enough power to bring down entire governments, all with vastly different views on how things should be run. The Min family thinks everything can be solved with money, the Jeon family think everything can be solved with violence, and the Kim family relies more on thought which leads to a lack of action. When Kim Y/N loses her father, she only has one way to save herself and her family. But it involves having to give herself over to a stranger. How the hell is she not supposed to punch him in his stupid rich face?

Dead Heat Masterlist

Warnings: Language

A/N:  Yay we finally have some Yoongi in this chapter, as well as the scene I’ve been looking forward to. Here’s to strong female leads! Enjoy lovelies.

Chapter 2: Just As Much A Queen

Most of the next day is spent with boxes and memories. You are packing up and leaving your home forever. You’d never really lived anywhere else, not even been to many other people’s houses. It was a strange concept to grasp, leaving and not coming back. You aren’t too sad to leave all of the memories, most of them not that fond anyway. But instead of reminiscing on old feelings you keep one goal in your mind: Get what you deserve. After that talk last night with Jimin, you’ve made the decision to play along. It’s really all that you can do for now before you can find a way to take back the family.

After going through the house for the better part of the day, you come up with a lousy two and a half boxes of belongings. It’s kind of sad to realize that the few things you care about in this world can fit into such a small space. But you don’t want to take anything that will bring up any bad memories of your father. Things like that could end up distracting you and you still have to keep your eyes on the prize.

Jimin picks you up in the early evening to take you to the venue of the “event.” To call it a wedding would be comical. The contracts had  already been signed and this party is more of a formality for the family. It’s being held at the Min mansion which you find is undoubtedly, the largest house you’ve ever seen. Jimin gushes at the sight, talk about how great the party will probably be. Unfortunately, you aren’t able to get a good look at the interior when you arrive for the first time before you are ushered away down a long hallway towards the other side of the building. There you are led into a dressing room where some women are waiting.

When you walk in, you pretend not to notice the fact that all the girls stare at Jimin. He is already dressed for the event and honestly, looking fine as hell. This is something he gets a lot of and you’ve gotten used to others gawking in his presence. If only these poor girls knew.

The girls help you into a dark blue dress and help you appear presentable in between fawning over Jimin. Once they’re done, they leave you and Jimin alone in the room. As you look in the mirror you find yourself surprised. A bit of a smile finds its way onto your face as you admire the choice of clothing.

“A bit full of ourselves, are we?” Jimin comments, noticing you admiring yourself.

“It’s not that, it’s just… blue, not white. It makes it seem like less of a wedding.” You’re a bit perplexed as to who had picked it out. You turn back to Jimin. “And you’re one to talk.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault the girls love me. Unlike some people, I don’t need dresses and makeup to look good.”

You’re about to tackle him right there until you hear a knock on the door. It’s time to go.

You’re drunk. Not completely shitfaced but enough. It definitely helps you get through the night, though. Most of the people here, you’ve never met before, only occasionally recognizing some members of your family. There’s no one you’re really close with though, except for Jimin, who you currently find partying hard on the other side of the room probably four or five cocktails in. He’s always the life of the party on nights like this.

The venue is perfect for a party, and you may have enjoyed yourself in a different situation. The hall is large and grand, and could probably fit over a hundred people. Large round tables are scattered across the floor with a main table towards the front where you are sat. From your position, you are able to admire the grandness of the room. At first glance, the ceiling appears overly adorned in gold. There’s classical paintings and strange images that seem entirely too distracting. Then you notice the background, stars. Behind all of the pictures and gold is a night sky that stretches to each end of the room. It’s a shame so much of it is covered by other paintings. You think it’d be poetically beautiful to paint an entire ceiling as a night sky.

Your thoughts are interrupted by congratulations from Jin who has come to your and Yoongi’s table. You smile and thank him and as he turn away and heads towards the other board members, your eyes send daggers at the back of his head.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you if you scowl like that your face will stick?” That’s right, he’s here. It takes every bit of your being to not make a snappy comeback, and all you can do is look away from him. You need him to tolerate you if you’re ever going to get your position back. Who knows, he could probably help you. But you know he won’t because you know exactly the kind of guy he is. He just shrugs off your reaction and goes back to staring straight ahead like you. What a lively couple we are.

This entire party is for everyone but you two, and you get more and more relieved as the guest leave. Jimin is long gone, taken home by the driver after passing out around the desert table an hour ago. You’re about to fall asleep while watching the stragglers when you hear Yoongi’s voice next to you.

“Get up, I’ll show you your room.” He says above you. For a moment you sag lower in your chair. It’s like every time he talks, you remember you’re supposed to be married now and become filled with dread. Still, you silently get up and follow him out of the grand hall down two separate corridors before you find yourself in a section of the house that gives off more homely vibes. He points to the door behind you.

“That is your room. It’s one of the places you’re allowed to go. You’re also allowed to walk back to the main part of the house, but nowhere else. My room and my study are on the other side of the hallway.” He points to a set of doors towards the end of the hall. “Never go in there, do you understand?” You nod. “Don’t leave the house unless you tell me first, I’ll have a guard everywhere with you.” At this your face changes.

“I’m not allowed to leave?” You ask.

“Not unless I say so sweetheart.” Damn he really is a cocky ass. He raises his eyebrows. “Do you understand?” He mockingly asks. The nerve on this guy!

“Yes sir.” You say a little too sarcastically complete with a salute. His eyebrows furrow as his face twists in confusion. You don’t give him the opportunity to question your weird response as you rush past the door behind you, slamming it shut to separate yourself from him.

You hadn’t seen him in the last few days, which isn’t something you’re too torn up about. You did, however, find yourself bored out of your mind. All you’ve done for the last few days is read, watch TV, and sleep. You now wish you had brought more things from home instead of leaving everything that could distract you from your goal. You’re not going anywhere with it now anyway, what were you supposed to do, just go to the Kims and demand that Jin give you your place? It’d be easier if your captor was on your side. But nothing will work anyway if you die of boredom first.

You’ve tried to go find more to do but are always stopped by this guard who seems to pop out of nowhere as soon as you think about breaking the rules by leaving your “designated areas.” Doing nothing productive has left you feeling drained. You want to see Jimin, but you haven’t heard from him since the party. You probably understood why he didn’t contact you the first day, probably too hungover to leave his bed. But after that, you started to get worried. It was unlike Jimin to suddenly stop talking to you, he’d want to know everything about your new life.

After a week, a Netflix binge, and about 40 phone calls that Jimin didn’t pick up, you start to panic on the inside. Surely if something had happened to him, you would know about it right? All you could do for all these days is reassure yourself. But it’s eating you up inside and you have to know. So you leave your room determined to only return with answers.

“Hey there.” The guard says, already standing to hover over you as soon as you’re through the threshold of your doorway. He’s attempting to establish dominance. So you, in turn, fix your posture to mean business

“I need to go see my friend.” You say up to him.

“Sorry,” He says, clearly not meaning it, “no can do.” What? Why not? It’s not like it has anything to do with Yoongi.

“It’s an emergency, and he’s really important to me.”

“Hmm. No.” He says again, almost sing-song. Wow.

“Are you kidding me?” You say, your obedient façade starting to break.

“Look kid, I can’t let you see or contact anyone, at least for now. Boss’s orders.”

Well now you’re upset for even more reasons. If they aren’t letting you contact anyone, maybe the issue is on your end and Jimin isn’t getting any calls from you. This could be bad, what if he thinks you’re dead or something? You two are all each other have, he’d be as broken as you are right now.

“Where is Yoongi?” You aggressively ask the large man in front of you.

“Busy. In a meeting.”

“But he’s here.” The guard seems confused by your statement and before you know it, you’re sweeping your leg under his and pushing his head towards the ground. It hits with a thud and he stays there.

Oops. Well you did say you wouldn’t go back to your room without answers.

You leave the confinements of the living section of the mansion and look for the place where business is conducted. Let’s just say, if someone were to see you walking through the house, it would look like a wild animal angrily looking for prey. You’re bursting through doors and making a ruckus. Every time you find an empty meeting room, the emotions in you get more intense. You feel the physical and metaphorical separation between you and the one person you care about as well as the person keeping you from him. Who cares about what Yoongi thinks of you anymore, he won’t be of any help anyway. You want some damn answers.

When you reach the far end of the building you come across a large set of double doors. You continue your rampage and burst through only to find a large group of very intimidating looking men standing around a large table in the middle of the room. Definitely giving off evil vibes.

“Y/n!? What- How’d you get here?” Ah there he is, just the person you wanted to see.

“Let me leave.”

“What?”

“I have had enough of this crap, I can’t even contact anyone? What the hell?”

“Y/N we will talk about this later, as you can see, I’m a bit busy.”

“Did you do something to Jimin?” His face changes. Great.

Never once have you felt the way that you feel right now. Even when you think about all the shit you’ve been put through the past 24 years of your life, nothing comes close to the scale of the fire coursing through your vanes in this moment. It’s not just anger, it’s bigger and more complex. Sure, you’re angry. At your father, at yourself, and at the asshole standing in front of you. But there’s something that adds a hollowness to the melting pot of emotions inside of you. Loneliness. Helplessness. That man’s stupid face as it looks at you certainly doesn’t help. He has this confused expression that’s just dying to be wiped off of his face by a sharp cut of your hand. It seems comical how dull someone could be. You feel everything piling up to the point where you’re about to explode. But instead of keeping face as usual you storm toward the man with fire in your eyes.

You stand directly in front of him, probably closer than you should, and steel yourself, looking directly into his eyes.

“I want you to understand something Yoongi.” It’s frightening how quickly you created this aura around yourself that would induce fear in anyone. “I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life, as I’m sure you can imagine. But every time something stands in my way,” You lower your voice. “I move it.”

Yoongi seems to be frozen in awe with his mouth slightly open so you continue. “That being said, I’m not your pet, I’m not your wife, and I’m certainly not your prisoner. You and I are the same.” You jut your finger into his chest when you say this. “I’m just as much a queen as you are a king, only I deserve it more. So I want you to know that if you stand in the way of me and the things I love, I’ll cut you down. I don’t care who the hell you think you are.” When he remains silent you turn to leave and walk past all the men who just overheard your little tantrum. Before you can exit the room, Yoongi finally speaks up.

“Y/N, trust me. You don’t want to see him right now.”

“Did you not listen to anything I just said!?” Seriously, how dull is he?

“Jimin isn’t who you think he is Y/N.”

A/N: I love to finally write Y/N as an angry character. I haven’t seen enough Y/N’s in this genre that are rough around the edges. I can’t wait to see more aggression!

Next Chapter

[1358456]

Dex Holder Team Overhaul

As advertised, it’s time for one that’s apparently been long overdue. White!

So, White’s current team is... Serperior, Duosion, Vullaby, Stunfisk, Alomomola, and Deerling

What a bunch of shit. Not to mention unevolved, but even when evolved... this team is shit. And according to the “lore”, White is a strong trainer! ... Or so says everyone. She talks a lot about things she did that no one saw them because they all happened off screen, but this shit team just doesn’t reflect her supposed skills. So... overhaul.

First things first. The Duosion and Vullaby are going to evolve. Stunfisk, Alomomola, and Deerling are fired. If I recall, Sawsbuck is that Serene Grace Pokemon that gets just Rock Smash to take advantage of that ability, and Stunfisk has Limber to prevent paralysis, except Stunfisk is Electric and thus is now immune to paralysis. So... that’s just sad. And Alomomola is a glorified fish-shield.

So with those three fired, there are now... 3 blank slots! Now... White added in Vullaby for the sole purpose of BW Agency. And it just so happens that in BW2, Pokestar Studios’ Brycenman series has an opposing Vullaby! So it stands to reason that White’s empty slots should be filled by the Pokemon you face in the other Pokestar Studios films!

... Unfortunately, a LOT of the good ones are already taken by existing Dex Holders, or taken by overhauled Dex Holder teams. Such as Brycenman’s final team of Weavile (Silver), Houndoom (Gold - overhaul), Hydreigon (Y - overhaul), etc.

BUT this is White. She’s not fitting a super powerful team.

Now, for White, there is a bit of an odd case here in that... I can overhaul her team by giving her Pokestar Studios Pokemon that the BW2 cast have or will get, because the BW2 cast will not be existing in vast majority of my stories, most notably Legacy where the overhaul will matter the most.

Which means, White’s new team will become...

Serperior, since it’s her technical first Pokemon and starter and all that Mandibuzz, for aerial transport Reuniclus, for a powerhouse Pokemon Golurk, from the Ghost Eraser series, for the physically imposing Pokemon Escavalier, from the Full Metal Cop series, for a much needed anti-Bug... Bug, that will be taken from the BW2 cast Zoroark, from the Brycenman series, that Faitsu might have eventually gotten, but... yoink! White gets it instead. Maybe she can use Zoroark’s Illusion ability and show off that rumored battling skills that we haven’t seen yet.

Team theme: Movie Stars!

Unfortunately, this makes White’s team kind of better than Black’s, but... Black will still be stronger because he has to be. And Black and White do not get a Mega. I know I briefly gave White a Mega Audino, but that was like a... joke by giving her the shittiest Mega that existed.

As for nicknames... White uses actual human names for her Pokemon (not necessarily girls’ names, since her team is not entirely female), so... hmm...

Golurk is genderless, but given its bulk, I don’t think a feminine name would suit it, so... something that has “go” in it... ... Gordon??

Escavalier kind of sounds like a mix of Excalibur and Cavalier, so... make it male, and... Arthur? ... “What do you mean? African or European swallow?!”

And Zoroark... hmm... make it female, and... Zoey?

And befitting White’s current “theme” thus far, she’ll fill up her team with the new additions OFF SCREEN!!

Now, you might be wondering... how am I overhauling Dex Holder teams for usage in Legacy, when Legacy is already under way? Because there will be a time skip in the very near future, so overhaul before that chapter is definitely doable. Afterwards... no. But that time skip hasn’t happened yet so... yay!

[swanslieutenant]

If the Stars Align - Chapter XII

Summary: The Musketeers AU. Danger lurks around every corner in the French court and as a Musketeer in service of the royal family, Killian’s duty is to protect them from any and all threats. As his relationship with Queen Emma develops into something more than just friendship, threats against the queen escalate and put everything they hold dear into jeopardy.

Rating: M

Content warning for the story: violence, mature themes, minor character death.

Chapter warning: this is where we start to hit M territory, in terms of violence and deaths

Art by @hook-and-star-ink​ , @acaptainswaneternity and @seastarved. Follow this to check all the pieces currently published and give them some love!  

Catch Up on tumblr: ch1, ch2, ch3,  ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11

AO3: ch12

Down at La Lune, as the sun sinks behind the horizon, Killian sits at the bar by himself, staring at the bottom of an empty glass. The rest of the bar is loud and raucous, men laughing and playing dice, but Killian doesn’t even hear them.

I was just observing.

The room is swaying around him, any movement making him feel like he could topple over off the stool. He hasn’t drank this much in years, not since Liam’s death when he’d drink himself to unconsciousness nearly ever night. Since joining the Musketeers, he’s managed to restrict his consumption as there’s a stricter code around alcohol within the regiment and he’s been much better for years. A drink here and there, a visit to the local pub for a single drink instead of the whole night, a swig from his flask now and then.

Tonight, all his progress seems to have gone right out the window.

I was just observing.

Those simple words from Cardinal Gold have sent fear shooting straight to his heart, and he’s been unable to focus on anything else since that afternoon. He could be overreacting, it could just be a simple comment that means nothing, but his gut is twisted into knots over it.

If the cardinal suspects anything ...

Ruby, the owner’s granddaughter, stops behind the bar opposite him, startling him out of his thoughts with a wry grin and snort.

“Think you’ve had enough there, Killian?”

He gives her an unimpressed glare as she gestures to the multiple empty glasses around him, and points to the bottle of rum behind her. “Hardly. Don’t be cheap, Ruby.”

She rolls her eyes, but pours him another drink nonetheless. As he takes a swig, the rum burning his throat and warming his belly, she crosses her arms and surveys him with dark eyes.

“Alright. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s goin’ on. Can’t a man drink in peace?”

“Sure,” she says, shrugging, “but I’ve never seen you drink like this before.”

He chuckles darkly, and swigs back a good portion of his drink. “You don’t know me very well.”

Ruby narrows her eyes, leaning across the counter and starting intently at him. “Did you get bad news? Did you get fired?”

He doesn’t answer yay or nay to any of her questions, glaring at her silently instead. That doesn’t deter Ruby in the slightest.

“Did someone die? Is it about a woman?” That question makes him tense, and Ruby’s eyes flash in triumph. “So it is a woman.”

He finishes his drink, glaring at her as he puts the glass down hard on the bar. “I don’t want to talk about it, Ruby.”

“Well I do,” she replies, with a mischievous grin. “You’re the one drinking my entire supply of rum, so start talking or you’re cut off.” She laughs at the expression on his face at that, and shrugs. “Okay, fine, I’ll ask the questions. Who is she? Do I know her? What’s the problem with her?”

Her voice is growing louder, drawing the attention of several other patrons, and Killian interrupts her with a hissed, “Keep your voice down.”

She crosses her arms again, unimpressed, and Killian sighs, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

“It’s not that simply, Ruby.”

She raises an eyebrow, beckoning him to continue, but Killian doesn’t know what to say. How can he explain this to her, when he himself is not even sober enough to sort through his emotions in a productive way?

Oh, Ruby, it’s really not that big of a deal. She’s just the Queen of France, and I think the Cardinal has suspicions about us, and if he finds out what happened between us, we’ll both be killed. 

Instead, he shakes his head, taking another drink of rum and going with the easiest answer he can muster: “She’s married.”

Ruby just snorts. “That’s it? Everyone’s married, Killian. It hasn’t stopped David and Mary Margaret.”  

Killian chokes on the rum. He coughs violently, and splutters, “How – how do you know about that?”

“I know everything,” she says with a cheeky grin. “Also, Will was in here the other day and like you, when he drinks, he talks.”

(Killian is suddenly grateful that of all the Musketeers who had to walk up the stairs to Emma’s rooms that morning at the convent, it wasn’t Will.)

“Well, this is different than David and Mary Margaret,” Killian says. “She’s not just any married woman.”

Ruby raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, and Killian mutters a curse. Fine, if she wants to know ... at least the burden of this secret won’t be entirely on his shoulders anymore.

But saying the words out loud, that’s dangerous. La Lune is crowded, listening ears everywhere, so instead, he tugs out the chain from around his neck and hands it to her.

She just stares at it, turning it over in her fingers, frowning in confusion. Her eyes widen as she sees the engraved swan, and her head snaps up to look at him.

“Oh, Killian.”

He shakes his head wearily. “I told you it was different.”

Ruby pulls down the bottle of rum and pours him a generous portion, and he’d want to laugh at that reaction, if the situation wasn’t making him so anxious that he downs the drink in one go, letting it burn its way down his throat.

“Does anyone know?” she demands.

“Robin,” he admits, reluctantly. “And now you. And ... possibly Cardinal Gold.”

Ruby mutters a curse, and this time, when she turns around to get the rum bottle again, she grabs another glass, pouring both herself and Killian full glasses. She swallows all of hers in a single motion, gritting her teeth at the burn, and shakes her head at him.

“What are you going to do?”

Killian picks up his glass, staring at the amber liquid as it sloshes around as if it holds the answers he so desperately needs.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

A few days later, it’s the king and queen’s twelfth wedding anniversary, and a celebratory mass is planned at the small church they were married at called Saint-Eustache.

Like the coronation parade, security on the way to the church is tight, and since the events at the Bastille and the convent, security has been upped even more. After his furious tirade at them after the convent, Killian was surprised the king let the Musketeers come along. They haven’t been back to the palace since the party for the generals, banished again to the Parisian streets, but there aren’t enough Red Guards to cover the entire church so here they are.

Killian is hyperaware of Cardinal Gold’s presence as they arrive at the church, the swan pendant a heavy weight against his chest. He knows he may be acting paranoid, but he’s careful to keep his distance from Emma anyways, volunteering to watch Henry instead. The king walks ahead with Will and Lancelot flanking him, Emma following after with David and Captain Humbert, and he and Robin come up with Henry.

The church is stuffed full of people, all eager to see the royal family. The Musketeers have to push their way through when they first arrive until the people realize the royal family is here, parting like the Red Sea then to let them all through.

Cardinal Gold is to lead the mass, and he’s already at the altar, kneeling and praying. Killian tenses at the sight of him, but he doesn’t even look at him as he rises, bowing to Neal and Emma.

Henry scampers off to his throne, Killian following him quickly, while his parents drop to their knees at the altar to receive the cardinal’s blessing.

It’s only been a few moments, Gold’s voice ringing out with the blessing and the church falling quiet to hear it, when the calm day is interrupted. Emma has just shifted her weight to the left, tugging at her heavy dress that’s become caught under her knees, when there’s a sudden crunch of splintering wood, something striking the kneeler right in front of her.

Emma flinches away, losing her balance and falling backwards onto her elbows on the hard marble floor. As she does, Killian sees that what struck the kneeler is a bolt from a crossbow, having embedded itself several inches deep, exactly where Emma just was.

For a moment, no one in the church moves, either gaping at Emma or twisting around to see where the bolt came from, and then all hell breaks loose.

People start shouting and screaming, and Killian darts up to Henry. Though Emma is still on the ground and he wants nothing more than to run over to her, his duty is to Henry and he can’t abandon the boy. He grabs Henry by the waist, pulling him upright and dragging him away to the side of the church, hiding him behind one of the pillars.

The other Musketeers have acted too now, Lancelot shoving the king off to the other side of the church, and David and Will are pulling Emma to her feet and directing her to cover behind another pillar.

Robin and Captain Humbert run to the back of the church where there are stairs leading up to the upper level, shoving their way through the panicking crowd. Captain Humbert is yelling for everyone to stay put, but no one is listening, all pushing and shoving each other to get out of the church as quickly as possible.

“What’s going on?” Henry demands, trying to peer out from behind the pillar. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Killian says, pushing Henry back behind the pillar, lest another shot come raining down.

He himself leans out though, trying to see what is going on, and his heart drops into his stomach as he looks up to the upper level of the church. There, running at full speed on the balcony away from the front of the church, crossbow slung over her shoulder, blue skirts flaring out like a roaring river behind her, is the woman from the convent.

Regina.

Emma appears in front of them, making Killian jump and look away from the balcony. She’s somehow broken free of David and Will’s protection, and she grabs Henry from Killian, crushing him into a hug.

“Henry, are you okay?”

He nods, and presses his face into her stomach, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “I’m scared.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Emma whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. She looks to Killian over his head and mouths, ‘What was that?’

‘Regina,’ he mouths back, and Emma’s jaw tightens, a flash of anger across her face.

“Where?” she demands, out loud this time.

“On the balcony. I have to go help the others. Stay here, okay?”

Emma grabs his arm, stopping him and there’s the same emotion he saw in her eyes at the convent, intermingled with the fear, a feeling he knows the name of, but doesn’t dare name.

“Be careful.”

He wishes he could kiss her goodbye, and if Henry wasn’t right there, he probably would. He settles for a smile instead, briefly touching the sword charm at his neck, and caressing her cheek with his other hand.

“Survivor, remember?”

Will and David join them, annoyed that Emma left them, and Will stays with Emma and Henry to keep them safe. David and Killian wind their way through the crowd towards the back of the church, pushing the terrified people out of their way as they go,

In the narthex, on the stairs leading up to the upper level, Robin and Captain Humbert have slowed to a walk now, stepping quietly upwards with their pistols drawn. Killian and David join them, and the four of them spread out across the top of the loft when they reach the top of the stairs, walking in a line towards the other end where Regina had shot from.

She’s nowhere in sight, but like downstairs, there are pillars everywhere and Killian knows she must be hiding somewhere. The hum from the fleeing crowd below dims, his focus lasering in on the pillars before him, straining for any sight of her.

There’s a flash of blue from behind one of the pillars to his left, a darting figure running from one to another, and David follows it with his pistol.

“Hey – stop!”

He fires a shot, barely missing Regina as she ducks behind another pillar. The marble on the pillar explodes as the bullet hits, sending sharp pieces of rock and dust flying through the air, and Killian grabs David’s arm before he can reload.

“Don’t shoot her. We need her alive.”

The screaming down below has intensified with David’s shot, and as the marble dust settles, smoke clearing, the Musketeers approach the pillar carefully. Killian sees another burst of blue and he darts after it.

Regina’s chosen a bad route, heading for a window that, unfortunately for her, is painted shut. She tugs at it angrily, and she’s just turning around to try another way out when Killian slides around a pillar, and raises his pistol.

“Stop!”

She freezes, staring at the pistol in his hand. He takes a step forward, raising the pistol to aim it at her chest and he jerks it towards the crossbow over her shoulders.

“Drop the crossbow, and put your hands up.”

She doesn’t move, and as the others come around the pillar, guns pointed at her, she smirks. Moving slowly and deliberately, she pulls the crossbow down from her shoulders, dropping it on the ground in front of her.

“There. Happy?”

Captain Humbert kicks the crossbow off to the side, his pistol still trained on her. Regina watches his movement like a caged animal, her gaze flickering to the other pistols aimed at her.

She frowns, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “I thought you Musketeers were supposed to be an honourable lot. You’d really shoot an unarmed woman?”

“We’re not going to shoot you,” Killian says calmly, though his fingers twitch to the trigger even as he says it. “We want answers.”

She tilts her head at him, something cold runs down Killian’s spine at the expression in her eyes, his grip on the pistol tightening ever so slightly.

“You have an accent, soldier. Where are you from?” 

He narrows his eyes, suspicion raising the hair on the back of his neck, but before he can question her, Robin steps forward, his hands shaking so badly his pistol is wavering in his grip.

“How are you alive? You’re supposed to be dead.”

Regina tears her eyes from Killian, her features darkening as she looks over Robin. She shakes her head with a dark chuckle, a thousand words of hatred and anger in the sound alone.

“Oh, Robin dear, I thought you hadn’t noticed me.”

His eyes flash, and he takes another step towards her. “They told me they executed you. I don’t understand.”

She laughs again, and spreads her arms wide, undisturbed by his pistol in her face. “Well, that’s obviously a lie. Much as you wanted me dead, here I am.”

“You killed Marian.” Robin’s voice is low, just barely shaking, and his grip tightens on the pistol. “I had no choice.”

Fury flashes in her eyes, and her mocking attitude finally snaps. She surges forward, paying no attention to the way the Musketeers all drop a finger to the triggers on the pistol.

“No choice? There’s always a choice, Robin! You could have defended me! You swore to be with me in good times and bad and the moment –”

“I loved her, Regina! I loved her and you killed her!”

Regina recoils as if he slapped her. A crazed edge appears in Robin’s eyes, and he lifts his pistol higher, directing it right at her chest.

Killian panics. He doesn’t want Regina dead – they need her alive to get answers for Gillert’s death and the attacks. If she dies, those answers will die with her and they may never know who has been targeting Emma for months.

(And, if he’s being honest, he knows that somewhere deep down, Robin would never be able to forgive himself if he killed the woman he once loved – Killian can’t let his friend do that to himself.)

“Don’t shoot!”

He grabs Robin’s arm, but he’s too late. The shot is fired off, but with Killian’s grip, Robin’s aim is disrupted and bullet fires up into the ceiling above them instead of into Regina’s heart.

Robin rips himself free of Killian with a roar as plaster and wood splinters drop down upon them. Regina is removing her arms from where she’d covered her face, and she locks gazes with Killian, a look of complete surprise echoing across her face.

It’s gone almost immediately, replaced with cold darkness, and she twists her lips into a pout, a maniacal mockery of concern and worry.

“Oh dear. That was a mistake.”

Everything seems to go in slow motion. Regina reaches behind her and grabs a pistol from the back of her dress, raising it in a fluid motion. Though both Robin and Killian flinch, she doesn’t aim it at them, instead pointing it at Captain Humbert to her left. Before he can react much other than widening his eyes, Regina pulls the trigger.

The shell explodes from the end of the pistol and Captain Humbert is knocked backwards by the force of it, his chest ripped open in a bloody, horrific moment. He stumbles backwards, gasping once, twice, and then he’s falling, crumbling, collapsing onto the ground.

The three Musketeers scream as Captain Humbert falls, the shouts of horror echoing and reverberating through the high ceilings and making it sound like a chorus of screams.

Regina forgotten, Killian leaves Robin’s side and drops onto his knees into the growing pool of blood at Captain Humbert’s side. He pulls away the heavy coat in the way of the wound, the fabric turned heavy and thick with the gushing blood.

“No, no, no.”

There’s nothing to be done. Already, Captain Humbert’s chest is no longer rising with breath, his mouth parted slightly but with no air coming through. His eyes stare up to the decorated ceiling, open and wide and empty, the beautiful artwork created as a testament to faith and trust of the people reflected and unseen.

David and Robin are at his side now too, pulling at the captain’s shirt and shaking him. Killian leans back, shock making hot tears fill his eyes, the fury and grief nearly overwhelming him in an instant.

He looks up, ready to kill Regina, but the upper level is empty, Regina gone as if she was never there at all.

When Killian was younger, there were many nights aboard ships where he lay awake, sleepless as storms ravaged the ship. Thrashing waves, flashing lightening, deafening thunder – all a recipe for terror for a young boy.

But now, as he walks through the garrison, plunged into chaos in the midst of the captain’s death, a literal storm of grief and anger and disbelief around him, he can’t seem to feel anything.

Some of the younger recruits are crying, others staring into space with wide, empty eyes. Lancelot, always the calmest and most level headed of them all, has smashed three wine bottles already, the red merlot staining the stone ground a horrible reminder of bloody church floor.

David, Killian and Will left the church after Regina, determined to track her down and make her pay for what she’d done, but there was no trace of her and they returned empty handed a few hours ago, all red-eyed and furious. Back at the garrison, Robin’s nowhere in sight, and Killian can’t help but feel grateful for that. He disappeared from the church too, but right now Killian can’t find it in himself to care where he is. 

Captain Humbert is dead.

If I had let Robin shoot her, he’d be alive.

It’s my fault.

He drops down at one of the outdoor tables, the very one where he ate breakfast with the captain that morning. He stares at the empty seat across from him, not sure how long he’s there before in the midst of the chaos around him, Mary Margaret arrives in the courtyard.

She takes one look at them all, at the tears and the grief and the broken wine bottles, and takes charge. The younger, crying recruits are sent off on a walk to get some fresh air, as is Lancelot who has to physically turn around and march to the gates. The ones who remain behind are put to work cleaning up the smashed wine bottles, sweeping away the glass and dumping water over the stained rocks.

Distantly, Killian realizes he should get up and help her, he should go comfort the younger recruits and his fellows, but he can’t move, still staring at the empty chair Captain Humbert sat in just this morning.

My fault, my fault, my fault.

Mary Margaret rests a hand on his arm, and he jolts out of the reverie, and she smiles softly at him. “Go get some sleep, Killian. You need it.”

He doesn’t want to do anything, except get back out into the streets and track Regina down, but Mary Margaret raises a stern eyebrow at him, and he gets up without a word, without a thought. Upstairs, he drops into his bunk like a rock, still fully dressed but not caring at all how uncomfortable he is. Like when he was younger, when the storms raged around him with no end in sight, sleep is not coming any time soon. He rolls over, punching the wall behind his bed hard enough to split his knuckles open, barely even feeling the pain of that with all the emotional pain scrawling itself a home in his heart, an etching set in stone.

This is my fault.

In the shadow of the Saint-Pierre de Montmarte, in the small village outside Paris where Regina has lived for the past months, news of the attempted assassination on the queen and the death of the Musketeer captain is still streets away. Here, where calmness remains, where the heat of the day has faded into a cool, breezy summer eve, people are out and about, talking and laughing and celebrating the day off work for the royal couple’s anniversary.

Regina shoves her way through all of them, keeping her head down and eyes to the ground. She had thought that the Musketeers were trailing her after she left the church, a flash of a blue cloak here and there. But that faded after she darted in and out of several streets, ducking behind columns and vendors’ carts, and she knows by now that if they were there at all, she’s lost them for sure.

In her tiny apartment, Regina latches all five locks across the door, and sinks against the door onto the floor. She left the crossbow behind at the church, but it’s as if she can still feel its weight across her back, and she stretches out her legs, twisting her upper body to try and relieve some of the pressure.

It doesn’t help, and she presses her hands into her eyes until she sees stars. When she removes her hands, they’re shaking, and she frowns.

Killing is something she’s done for as long as she can remember, but she can’t remember her hands ever shaking like this after taking someone’s life.

But perhaps it’s not her actions that have made her hands unable to stop shaking tonight.

Robin almost killed her.

And another Musketeer – the queen’s favourite, Jones – saved her.

Moments earlier, he nearly saw the queen die at her hand and he still stopped Robin from killing her.

Regina shakes her head, and scrambles up to her feet, heading to her small kitchen to try calm herself down by brewing herself a cup of tea. Kindness and mercy ... that’s something she’s never understood, but somehow, when faced with having to shoot one of the Musketeers to escape, she knew she couldn’t shoot Jones, not after he saved her.  

As she brews the tea, stoking the fire and warming the water, she thinks more about him. Gold was right; Jones does have an accent, and she frowns, trying to place it. Since her escape from her jail cell years ago in the shithole of a town that tried to hang her, Regina’s done her fair share of travelling around Europe. She’d gone to Spain, to the Netherlands, and to England, where Gold had found her several months ago.

That’s when it clicks – Jones isn’t French at all.

He’s English.

There’s a sharp knock on her door then, so sudden that Regina jumps several feet in the air, her tea cup sent shattering onto the floor and her hand automatically to her dagger at her hip.

Perhaps the Musketeers did manage to find her after all.

She thinks about just ignoring the door, pretending no one is home, but the smoke from her fire for the tea would have alerted them to someone’s presence here, not to mention the teacup she just broke.

Regina approaches the door slowly, raising her dagger in case the door comes bursting down.

“Who’s there?”

“Red Guards,” a gruff voice answers, and Regina’s stomach turns; it would have been better if it had been Musketeers.

“Go away! You’re not welcome here!”

There’s silence on the other side of the door, and Regina takes a cautious step forwards, straining to hear when the door, five locks and all, comes crashing down right in front of her. She yelps in alarm, scrambling backwards as the heavy oak careens to the floor, raising dust and flooding the room with light.

She glares at the now open doorway, filled with two Red Guards holding a small battering ram. They smirk at her, stepping aside, the door filled instead with something worse than the Red Guards and the Musketeers combined.

Gold.

He steps into the apartment, sniffing as he looks around, distaste curling his lip. “What a hovel you’ve got here, Regina.”

He comes closer, peering disapprovingly at the broken teacup on the floor, and Regina grips the dagger tighter in her hand, so hard her knuckles turn white.

“How did you find me? What do you want?”

Gold glances to her, and frowns at the dagger in her hand. “Put that down, Regina. I didn’t come here to hurt you.”

Regina tightens her grip on it.

His brow furrows, as if he’s offended she doesn’t trust his word, and he holds his hands up in peace. “I came to talk to you.”

“About what?” she spits.

“About our contingency plan, of course.”

The contingency plan – figuring out if there is anything going on between the queen and her Musketeer ... the Musketeer who saved Regina’s life.

“I don’t know anything.”

But she hesitated a moment too long before speaking, and Gold frowns. He steps further into the apartment, stepping purposefully on the broken teacup, the glass crunching under his foot.

“Well, that’s not good.”

He jerks his head, and four Red Guards enter her apartment, heading straight for her. Four to one – not the worst she’s odds she’s ever had. She slashes the nearest with her dagger, cutting his cheek, but two others grab her arms, the final one reaching forward and punching her in the stomach.

The dagger clatters to the ground as she gasps for air, thrashing against the Red Guards holding her arms. Their grip is so tight it’s bruising, and she glares up to Gold.

“You said – you said you wouldn’t hurt me, what –”

Gold chuckles, amusement dancing in his eyes as he watches the scene in front of him. “True, Regina. I said I wouldn’t hurt you.”

The guard who hit her lifts his fist again, winding up for another shot, and Regina makes a split-second decision; self preservation over fair play.  

“He’s English! The Musketeer, Killian Jones. I recognized his accent.”

She squeezes her eyes shut as the Red Guard swings his fist, but the hit never comes. When she opens her eyes again, Gold has laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, staring at her with wide, cold eyes.

“What did you say?”

She doesn’t say anything this time, glaring at him until he waves the Red Guards off. They release her, and she pulls away, her breath heavy as she fights to regain all the air to her lungs.

“I said,” she manages a few moments later, trying not to gasp, “that he’s English. I spent a lot of time with Englishmen who tried to speak French to cozy up with me in England, and I recognize the accent.”

Gold breaks into a smile, the triumphant smile of a man winning a great prize, and Regina thinks that he’s never looked more frightening.

“Thank you, Regina. I knew you’d come in handy one day.” 

He turns on his heel, flicking his hand at the Red Guards who immediately move to his side. They exit the apartment without a word, marching out as a unit, but Gold pauses in the doorway, looking back to her with an unreadable expression.  

“I hope you said goodbye to your Musketeer, milady, because when I’m done, there won’t be any of them left alive.”

Regina stiffens, and Gold’s smile widens. He turns, and with a flick of his red cloak, disappears from her apartment, leaving Regina alone in silence with nothing but her broken teacup and busted door.

She stares at the empty doorway, her heart pounding. She doesn’t know how Gold found out about her past; she didn’t tell him why she was a French assassin living in England, but maybe she was naïve to think he didn’t know. He’s the one to summon her from her hiding place in England, after all – he must have done his research on her.

Regina straightens her back, and picks up the dagger from where it fell, wiping away the Red Guard’s blood on her skirt and tucking it back in its holder at her hip.

Robin may have left her for dead years ago and he may have wanted to kill her this afternoon, but there’s no way she’s going to let Gold hurt him; if anyone is going to kill him, it’s going to be her.

[skywalkerchick1138]

Across the Stars - Chapter 1

AO3

Prologue

Yay! It finally got done! This chapter went through a ridiculous amount of drafts and rewrites because I was so unsure of what would happen to certain characters in the long run. 

Reminder that this whole AU was inspired by the wonderful @kerbabbles and you should definitely check out her art in the The Ford Awakens AU tag! Thanks again to my lovely friend and beta readers @curls-and-cats! Lola, you’re an angel and without you this chapter would’ve been a goddamned mess. 

One last note: just to clear up any confusion beforehand, yes the twins are aged up to 19, but Wendy is also aged up in this fic to about 23 or 24.

Stanley Pines glanced out the viewport at the dusty planet below. All he could see was the entire surface covered in tans and browns, not a smidge of hospitable life visible, and he knew this was the place.

Jakku.

He pitied whoever called the miserable dustball home…

“Yeesh, what a dump,” he muttered.

“Isn’t that the reason we’re here?” a young voice spoke from behind.

He jumped, eyes darting quickly back to the doorway of the cockpit. A brunet of 19 stared back him with hazel eyes, his gaze being uncomfortably familiar as always.

“Kid, what’d I tell ya about sneakin’ up on me?” he asked the young man.

“Sorry, Grunkle Stan.”

Dipper Pines, as the young man was named, might not have been as gifted as a certain other someone he’d known (no, don’t think about that right now) but the kid sure knew how to be quiet when he wanted to be. Nevertheless, he was right.

Jakku was a vast junkyard and they were in need of some spare parts fast. Their cargo for this run had rather nasty tempers and their borrowed freighter could only handle so much. Probably should’ve known better than to buy one so cheap, but he wasn’t made out of credits.

Stan took one last look out at the planet below before rising from the pilot’s seat, his joints popping as he did so, and made his way out of the cockpit.

“Is Soos done warmin’ her up?”

“Yeah, he’s finishing the last pre-flight check now,” Dipper replied, falling into step next to him.

The plan was simple. The kid would take a transport ship down to the planet, find the nearest junk shop and pick up the parts they needed. Normally, Stan or Soos would accompany him, but again, real nasty tempers. It was gonna be at least a two-man job keeping an eye on the cargo, and the few spare crewman they’d hired on were long gone.

Besides, the kid was 19 years old now. It was high time he did a solo run.

Stan fished out his purse of credits and tossed it over to the young man. “You’re gonna need this.”

Dipper was silent for a moment while he checked the contents. “Are you sure this is going to be enough?”

“Yeesh, kid. I taught ya how to barter, didn’t I?”

“Oh, so that’s what you call it when you throw a flash bomb in their faces and run?” Dipper huffed. “Funny, I thought that was called swindling.”

“Thanks for remindin’ me.” Stan smirked and pulled a few flashes out of his pocket. “You’re gonna need these too.”

Dipper groaned but took the small bombs anyway. If only to appease his uncle, Stan would take what he could get.

“Relax, kid. Flash ‘em those pretty-boy eyes of yours and you won’t have a problem. Simple.”

Yeah, too bad ‘simple’ doesn’t always mean ‘easy’, his inner voice sneered. He soundly told his inner voice to shut the hell up.

The kid didn’t look all that convinced either. The sound of a primed engine greeted them when they entered the yawning hangar bay.

“Look, with all the holes they’ve been punchin’ in the walls, this ship ain’t gonna make it back without those parts. Our buyer has us on a tight schedule and we’re wastin’ time yammerin’ about it here.”

“I know that,” Dipper mumbled. His head was ducked down, not meeting Stan’s eyes as he picked imaginary lint from his tunic. “It’s just...”

“Just what?”

The young man continued avoiding his gaze. He mumbled something under his breath about the Kanji Klub and flushed. Stan sighed heavily before resting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. The kid really needed to work on his self-esteem issues. And wasn’t that just the wookiee calling the bantha hairy, He thought to himself.

“Hey, none of that now,” Stan cut him off. “Let me worry about Rico’s goons and just focus on the job, okay? You’re gonna be fine out there.”

The soft growl of their wookiee first mate informed them that the transport was ready to go. Stan clapped his hand on the boy’s shoulder one more time, flashing him an easy smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes, and gently pushed him in the direction of the ship.

“Knock ‘em dead, kiddo,” he said, and that was that.

Before long, the transport was growing smaller in the distance and Stan could feel a twisting bout of anxiety pooling in his stomach. He’d already lost two from his family already, and he’d almost lost this kid once too, so maybe it was natural for that to settle in his gut, but this still felt different somehow…

He shook his head to clear those thoughts. This was stupid. The kid was going to be just fine. He was worrying over nothing.

The inhabitants of Tuanul were slowly starting to rise and prepare for the day ahead. Daybreak was still about an hour away, but it was prudent to get started now before the oppressive heat of Jakku’s day cycle arrived. The village was comprised of several different species, from humans to twi’leks to ithorians to togrutas. Some were more suited to the desert environment, but nevertheless they managed to thrive.

On the outskirts of the village stood a lone X-Wing class fighter ship. It was heavily modified, the least of which, not being that it was painted a dull black with a single red stripe running along its flank as opposed to most models sporting beige and orange. It was instantly recognizable, nonetheless.

Fiddleford McGucket found it somewhat irritating as that hardly made the Resistance contact’s presence subtle. No matter; time was of the essence and there was no use crying about it now. The hut was mostly silent save for the low hum of the dim lanterns around them.

By most outward appearances, the small maroon-and-gold cube he held in his hands was unassuming. It appeared to serve no functional purpose aside from decoration. It had no seams and no hinges, it held no energy input or output. The only defining feature of it was a six-fingered gold hand with a black number 3 etched into its face. Yes, to many it would appear to be a trinket of a time long past.

Fiddleford knew better though.

“What exactly does it do?”

He glanced back up to the woman sitting across from him. Pale freckled skin, long auburn hair, and a rigid posture trying perhaps a little too hard to disguise itself as relaxed. She was most definitely not from the desert wasteland.

And she was young. Very young. She probably wasn’t much older than 20. He wondered when exactly the Resistance had started sending children to fight their battles.

Perhaps, he mused, it was when old cowards like himself had run away.

“No one knows for certain,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Even I don’t quite know.”

“Weren’t you friends with him, though?” the girl – Wanda? No, Wendy. – responded with a tilting of her head and a skeptical eyebrow cocked.

Fiddleford chuckled, sounding somewhat ruefully.

“Oh, yes,” he said, “we were friends. Don’t mean I know everything about Jedi relics, though. There was a lot even he didn’t know about the Jedi. Y’have to understand, so much of their culture was lost to time, long before the First Order had any say in the matter.”

He paused once more, turning the cube over in his hands before continuing.

“This is a holocron. As I said, no one knows what exactly they used them for. They can only be accessed using the Force. But legends say the Jedi once used these to store ancient records. Histories, sciences, literature…”

He trailed off, reaching out to the girl. Wendy held her hand out and he gently placed the holocron in her palm, curling her fingers around it.

“…or perhaps in our case, a map.”

The ginger woman’s eyes widened fractionally as she met his gaze.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

Fiddleford shrugged his slumped shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But if there was one thing I know for certain about Stanford. It’s that he took note of everyone and everything he encountered. And I can’t blame him none for that. He had a near impossible task on his shoulders.”

Wendy nodded as she studied the holocron in her hands now. “Well, now I understand why the General’s been after this for so-”

The conversation was cut off then, just as an excitable droid burst into the hut and made Fiddleford jump in his seat. It was the droid his young contact had arrived with and it was a curious model. He had to wonder if it was somewhat modified itself. Most astromechs he’d seen only possessed one optic, whereas this one possessed two, as well as some sort of snout-like characteristic on the face of its dome. It rolled its spherical body in place as it warbled anxiously. Wendy’s eyes widened.

“We’ve got company,” the girl announced, grimly.

She swiftly rose to her feet and marched outside with Fiddleford and the droid at her heels. Two pinpricks of artificial light could be seen just above the navy-blue horizon. Wendy pulled out a pair of macrobinoculars and Fiddleford waited silently, anxious to know what she saw. Her shoulders tensed and Fiddleford’s heart sank. He knew what she saw without needing to ask.

“You have to hide,” she said, still facing the horizon.

“You need to leave,” he retorted.

Wendy turned back to face him, a vehement protest on her tongue. He already knew the argument that she would make, and he cut her off before she could even speak.

“Don’t worry about us here,” he said. “We know how to defend ourselves. Go.”

The girl grimaced and for a moment he was sure she was still going to argue with him. Instead, she nodded, gestured for the droid to follow her, and took off as fast as she could for her ship.

Fiddleford heaved a small sigh of relief. He’d been running for so long, but now he could face anything, perhaps, even death. With the knowledge that just once he’d stood up and done the right thing, a loud warning bell began to blare through the village.

The First Order transport ships touched down on the sand and within seconds the village erupted into chaos. Stormtroopers pooled out of the ships by the dozen, the floodlights gleaming off their pristine white armor, followed swiftly by the sounds of multiple blasters firing.

Wendy Corduroy cursed to herself as she saw the high-tech artillery the First Order troops were carrying, in stark contrast to the beaten-up, patched-together blasters the villagers were firing back. The old man had overestimated their chances of survival and it was going to get the whole village killed. That wasn’t something that was going to rest easily on her conscience, but the old man was right; she needed to get out of here as fast as possible.

Just for a moment a lone stormtrooper stepped in her path, attempting to cut her off. He soon found that was a bad decision; almost without thought she unsheathed the vibroblade strapped to her calf and buried it in her opponent’s heart. A blaster bolt went streaking past her head, close enough that she could feel the top of her hair singe a little. Quickly, she fired her own blast back and it hit her mark right through the knee.

Finally, her ship came within reach and Wendy nearly jumped the remaining distance up the ladder and into the cockpit. The instrumentation flared to life and her droid assumed his position in the co-pilot slot behind her.

Suddenly the ship around her gave a mighty shudder and warning alarms began blaring. Someone had hit her rear. She pulled up a rearview display. 3 stormies were behind her and closing in. Flipping a few switches, she flipped one of her cannons around fired. All three of the enemy troops fell to the sands.

Her feet made a gentle whumph! as she landed back in the sand and scrambled her way back to assess the damage on the engines.

Please, please, please, she pleaded silently, just let me get away one more time

She saw the smoking, blackened wreckage of what used to be her engines and cussed. She wasn’t going anywhere with this ship and she needed to get out of here fast.

“Aydee! I need you down here!”

The little droid, named AD-14, quickly complied and rolled up to his mistress. Ducking from a stray blaster bolt, Wendy pulled the holocron out of her pouch and placed in inside one of the droid’s several hidden compartments.

“I need you to take this and get as far away from here as you can! I’ll distract them.”

The droid trilled out a series of terrified arguments in its binary code as she stood back up.

“I promise I’ll come back for you! Now go! Get out of here!”

As the droid began rolling towards the west, a plan started to form in Wendy’s mind as she scanned her surroundings. All she would need… There!

Firing a few shots towards the enemy, she sprinted in the direction of a worn down speeder bike resting miraculously untouched by the carnage around it.

The battle was over before it ever truly began. The village was all but up in flames, their livestock was slaughtered and their precious water supply overturned into the sand. Several of his neighbors and close friends lay dead at his feet.

He had no time to mourn, however, as the stormtroopers flanking him pulled him roughly into the village center. The surviving villagers were gathered into the square and guarded, stripped of their weapons. A massive, jet-black transport ship was setting down in the sand before them. It’s giant, pointed wings made it look like a predatory bird.

The maw of the ship opened and extended its ramp, and Fiddleford saw three things. First, a new platoon of stormtroopers came pouring out and stood to attention in two-single file lines. Next, a massive figure in silver-chrome armor and a blood red cape marched down the ramp and the other troopers stood a little taller as they passed by. This, Fiddleford reasoned, must be their captain.

Finally, a figure clothed head-to-toe in rick black robes emerged, his gait far more fluid and almost predatory. He was tall, hooded, and broad-shouldered. His face was hidden by a skull-like mask decorated around the eye sockets with gold bands, and his gauntlets featured a singular slit-pupiled eye. He came to stand in front of Fiddleford.

“So,” said Fiddleford, “you’re the one they call Cipher.”

The taller man’s stance changed and without even seeing his face, Fiddleford could tell he must have been smirking. Cipher held his hands behind his back as he prowled in a circle around him.

“Well, well, well!” he cackled.

His voice was warbled and deep as if speaking through a vocoder, but at the same time still held something of a nasally quality to it. Fiddleford couldn’t suppress a shudder. He’d never met the mysterious Cipher before now, but he’d heard stories of his insane and erratic temperament. A hand gripped him by the jaw and the mask came uncomfortably close to his own face.

“You’ve gotten old,” he sneered.

Fiddleford just barely managed to keep his expression in a tight glare and said nothing. When exactly had this man known him enough to make remarks about his age?

“You’re aware of why I’m here. Where is it?”

If anything, Fiddleford clamped his lips shut a little tighter.

“Going to play the silent game, are we?”

The hand released him and Cipher resumed his pacing. A sort of tension was building in his shoulders, indicating he was becoming agitated. Fiddleford couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like a mocking, thoughtful hum escaped his mask.

“Perhaps you’ll loosen your lips if we -”

Whatever the man had been about to say, it was drowned out by the sound of a speederbike’s engine roaring to life. A series of blaster shots tore through the air, a few stormtroopers fell to the ground, and Fiddleford’s heart sank when he saw a flash of auburn hair. What in the blazes did she think she was doing?!

“HEY BUCKETHEADS!” Wendy called out. “THIS WAY!”

Wth that, she sped off to the east, and Cipher glanced back at his silver-plated captain but for a moment with a single nod. The captain turned to the squad of troopers that had accompanied them in the command ship.

“Squad 618, send a team after her.” As the troopers hustled to obey their commands, the captain turned back. “TK-938, FN-823, escort the prisoner onboard.”

His two stormtrooper escorts gripped his biceps tighter and began herding him roughly towards the ramp. As he passed by, he heard the captain speak once more with their commander.

“And the villagers?”

“Kill them all.”

NO! Fiddleford began struggling violently in his captors’ grip, fighting desperately for one last view of his home. The sound of screams graced the dawn-light air as the numerous blaster bolts found their marks.

“What’s the codeword I’m supposed to shout when I see a Star Destroyer again?”

Stan wasn’t always the best at translating wookiee-speak, but he was pretty sure that’s what Soos had said. His head snapped up and he shut off the small blowtorch in his hands.

“What?!”

He immediately dropped his tools, ripped the protective goggles away from his face, and ran for the nearest planet-side viewport. His eyes widened in horror. A massive, triangular navy ship was emerging from the far side of the planet.

No no no no NO! Not again!

His aging knees creaked as he sprinted for the cockpit.

“Soos!” he barked into the commlink at his wrist. “Patch me into the kid’s frequency!”

“You got it, boss!”

Stan felt like punching something when he deemed his first mate’s tone far too cheerful. He only just managed to avoid crashing into the pilot’s seat as the two ship’s commlinks made a connection.

“Kid! Get out of there now!” Stan yelled before Dipper had a chance to greet him.

“Grunkle Stan? But I haven’t even -”

“I SAID NOW!!” The Star Destroyer was getting closer and it wouldn’t be long at all before they picked him up on their scanners. “There’s a Star Destroyer in orbit, we can’t stick around!”

“What?! But what about our -” Dipper’s voice was cut off with a crackle and a buzz.

“Kid?! KID!!” Stan swore up a storm and punched the console. The Destroyer was jamming their signals.

“Boss, we gotta go. They’re firing up their cannons.”

Stan’s breath hitched. Whatever the First Order was here for, they clearly didn’t want anyone knowing they were here at all. His hands flew over the controls, preparing the ship for hyperspace. He knew it was unlikely Dipper would hear him at all by now, but he still had to try.

“Dipper, we gotta go,” he echoed. “We’re gonna jump to the next system over, but I swear we’ll come back for you. Do you copy?”

Nothing but static.

“I swear we’ll come back.”

He pulled the lever and felt the familiar tug as the ship entered hyperspace and left the dusty planet behind.

[reedusdixonfictionaddiction]

The Summer in Georgia

Chapter 19. Tell Me All Your Secrets and I’ll Tell  You Most of Mine, Part 1

 After two hours in the pool, Isabella finally mastered the doggy paddle and she could almost float on her back. Daryl told her this was important because if she ever got tired and couldn’t swim anymore, she could always flip over and float for a while, until she got her energy back. They had a good time and both were water logged. Daryl brought up the kiss and told her he thought they should slow down a little. She didn’t want to, she wanted to speed things up, but she kept that to herself. She agreed and things were fine.

They dried off and changed, Isabella asked Daryl if he was hungry and he was, so she made them some sandwiches. After they’d eaten, Isabella asked him if he could look at the television in her bedroom, because she couldn’t get it to turn on. Isabella sat on the bed and watched Daryl work. He finally got it to work after cursing at it for 15 minutes. Isabella laughed at him and that frustrated him. When he was done, he took a seat beside her on the bed.

“What’s this?” Daryl asked picking up her raggedy stuffed monkey.

“That’s George. I think I wanted a Curious George doll and that’s what I got instead, so I just named him George. I’ve had him since before my parents died. He’s the only thing I have that’s been with me that long. He’s gotten me through some pretty tough times, so be careful with him.” Isabella said watching Daryl toss it around.

“I ain’t got nothin’ from when I was a kid. I remember I had this little pink pig with a curly tail. Merle kept rippin’ off the tail and my mom had to keep sewin’ it back on. I don’t know whatever happened to it. One day it was just gone.” Daryl said sadly. Isabella gently brushed the hair back from his face. He turned and smiled sweetly at her.

It was getting dark outside and Daryl asked Isabella what she wanted to do. She shrugged her shoulders. Then Daryl had an idea.

“Go get some shoes on. I’m gonna’ take ya’ somewhere. I want ya’ ta’ see somethin’.” He said “Come on rabbit, let’s go.”

Isabella got her shoes on and they were out the door. He stopped at a gas station and bought a six pack of beer and then drove off in the direction of his house, about a mile before, he turned on to a road that went up the side of a small mountain. It wound around for a few miles, steadily going uphill. Finally, Daryl came to a small dirt pull out area on the side of the road, he stopped and backed up into the dirt area. He told her to get out of the truck. They walked to the back of the truck and Daryl pointed. Isabella’s mouth fell open. You could see the entire town and then some. Everything was lit up. You could see the lake, the town park, everything. It was beautiful. Daryl put the tailgate down and lifted Isabella up onto it. He got the six pack out of the front seat and hopped up beside her. He opened them both a beer and they just sat there staring at the lights. The air was cooling down and there was a nice breeze blowing, the moon was full and everything was perfect. Daryl glanced over at Isabella, she looked beautiful in the moonlight, you could see the stars in her eyes and moonbeams made her long hair shine. She looked purely happy.

She told Daryl that she’d never been out like this before, in the country on the side of a mountain. She said, she couldn’t see the stars and the moon in New York. Daryl said that it was one of his favorite places. He said he liked to come up there when he wanted to be alone. Nobody came up the road because of rockslides, so no one ever bothered him. He said he’d even slept in the back of his truck up there a few times. Isabella told him that she’d never slept outside before. He asked her if she’d ever been camping. She rolled her eyes and reminded him where she was from.

“Maybe I’ll take ya’ camping. There’s a clearing, surrounded by a bunch of pines on the back of my land. It’s right by a stream and it’s got a swimmin’ hole, with a little waterfall and everything. I swim butt naked out there.” He said, winking at her.

“Reeeallly!” She said in a sultry voice. “Then count me in.” And they both laughed. “No, really. I would love to go camping. We can really swim there and everything? Would we sleep in a tent? Would we cook over a campfire? Ohhh, ohhh. Can we roast marshmallows?”

Daryl laughed. “Yeah, course. I ain’t never done that before, but I guess we can. Ya’ ever eat rabbit, rabbit?” He asked.

She giggled at his play on words and told him ‘no.’ He told her he’d take his bow and they could hunt rabbits and he’d cook one up on their campfire. He also said, he’d teach her how to fish. She was thrilled.

“I’ll talk ta’ Rick about takin’ a few days off. It ain’t gonna’ be a problem, I ain’t never took a day off or a vacation. I got like 10 weeks’ vacation time saved up.” He told her.

“Yay, I’m going camping.” She cheered, pumping her fists in the air. Daryl laughed. This was going to great, he thought. A few days alone in the forest with her, swimming and fishing and sleeping in a tent together. Yep, this was going to be great.

“How come you ain’t gotta’ boyfriend.” Daryl asked out of the blue. Isabella was caught off guard.

“Because I’ve never found anyone I was interested in that way and guys don’t really pay attention to me all that much. I mean they check out my butt, but most everybody thinks I’m weird because I’m so young and smart. People just ignore me.”

“So, you never had a boyfriend? Ever?” Daryl asked surprised.

“No, never. When you kissed me this afternoon, that was my first kiss.” She said shyly.

Daryl was floored. He figured she’d at least had one boyfriend, let alone being kissed before. He couldn’t understand who in their right minds would not want to be with her and then it dawned on him. She was a virgin.

“You ain’t never been with a guy before?” He asked carefully.

Isabella was embarrassed. She thought maybe he was turned off by this, but it was the truth and there was no getting around that.

“No. Is that bad?” She answered unsure of herself.

“Nah, that’s good. I just can’t believe it. I never known a virgin before. Whatta’ ya’ waitin’ till ya’ get married or somethin’?” He questioned.

“No. I’m just waiting for the right guy.” Isabella answered.

“How do ya’ know if it’s the right guy? I mean how will ya’ know?” Daryl asked.

“I’ll just know. There’ll be a connection from the very beginning. We’ll be drawn to each other, like a gravitational pull. He’ll get me and I’ll get him. I’ll know from the very first minute I look into his eyes.” She explained, then she remembered him sliding into the booth at the restaurant that first day. Their eyes met and she knew.

“Huh!” Daryl said, pondering what she said. He wondered if she was talking about him. They had been drawn to each other from the very start. They had a connection. She got him and he got her and he loved that. “Ya’ believe in all that soulmate bullshit?” He asked.

“Yes. Don’t you?” She asked back.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and said, “I dunno?”

“How come you don’t have a girlfriend? Charlie said you hadn’t been out with a girl in 5 years.”

“Oh, Charlie said that, did he? What else did ol’ Charlie say?” He asked angrily.

Isabella could tell she’d hit a nerve, but it was out now, so she was going for the gold. “He said you’d been with a lot of girls, more than your fare share. But you’d never been in a relationship.”

“What the fuck? Charlie ain’t got no business talkin’ shit behind my back. Mother fucker. Is that all he told you?”

She lied and said, “Yes. Is it true? Have you been with a lot of girls?”

“I dunno’, I guess I been with a few. But nothin’ serious. I didn’t want no girlfriend.” He answered.

“How many are a few? You just had sex with them and that’s it?” Isabella asked.

“A few, I don’t know. A lot I guess, but I ain’t like that now. I didn’t wanna’ do that shit no more. That’s why I quit messin’ with ‘em.” He said, defensively.

Isabella knew he was upset, so she made sure he knew she understood. She brushed the hair out of his eyes and smiled sweetly at him. He immediately calmed down. He smiled back and then he sat back against the wall of the truck bed and told her to scoot toward him. She did and he turned her around and pulled her up between his legs. She laid back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. Daryl thought about how good it felt. He’d never been a hugger or touchy feely with anyone and he didn’t like for anyone to touch him or even enter his personal space, but this was different. This felt good, it felt right. He squeezed her gently and she snuggled into his chest. He couldn’t help but put his nose down into her hair.

“Ya’ smell good. What’s that perfume yer wearin’?” He asked.

“Thank you. It’s Shalimar. It’s my favorite. It was Lori’s, she hadn’t even opened the box yet.” She answered.

“Shalimar.” He said, “I like it, it suits ya’. Did ya’ put it in yer hair?”

“I sprayed it on my brush and ran it through my hair. I’ve seen that done in the movies and I always wanted to try it. This is the first time I’ve ever had perfume before, I feel fancy.” She giggled. Daryl thought that was cute and laughed quietly into her hair.

“I’ve had a lot of firsts since I’ve been here. My first perfume, my first time in a pool, my first flowers…” Daryl cringed at that one. “my first kiss and my first gift ever.” Isabella told him.

“Yer first gift?” He said confused.

“The phone, that was my very first present.” Isabella answered.

“Ya’ ain’t never got a present before? Whatta’ bout Christmas and yer birthday? Didn’t ya’ get nothin’ for them, not even from yer brother?”

She told him that she’d never gotten a birthday present before, she explained that her brother never gave her anything because he was already giving her $200.00 a month and he felt that was gift enough. She told him that all the foster homes she’d lived in were poor and overcrowded. There were so many kids and the foster parents didn’t get enough money from the state to celebrate Christmas or birthdays and stuff like that. She said she’d never had a Christmas tree or stocking and that each year they’d write Santa a letter in school, but he never visited. Isabella told him that one Christmas, her foster parents took all the kids to a church Christmas party and they gave every child a coloring book and crayons. She’d never had one before, so she was thrilled beyond belief and to top that off, it was a Barbie coloring book. She had always wanted a Barbie and getting a coloring book was as close as she’d been. One of her foster brothers, who was a troubled kid was upset because he didn’t like his coloring book. He saw how happy Isabella was with hers and he was jealous, so when she went to sleep that night he got her book and tore all the pages out of it and broke all her crayons. Daryl told her that was a fucked-up story and if he’d known that kid, he would’ve kicked his ass. Isabella acted like it didn’t bother her, but Daryl knew better. It hurt him to think of her so young and innocent, loving that coloring book and then that asshole tore it up. It made him sad.

Daryl said that he’d never gotten anything from Santa either. He said, they never had a Christmas tree or stockings and that his dad sometimes wouldn’t even come home. He told her that one year, his mother saved up a few dollars and bought him the Hulk arms at a Goodwill store. He thought he’d hit the lottery. He loved those arms more than anything, but when his dad found out his mom had spent money on something so stupid, he took the arms and threw them in the fireplace and burned them. Daryl said he didn’t care, but Isabella knew it wasn’t true. He said, he’d never had a birthday party, but a couple times his mom made cupcakes and she’d always let him lick the bowl and spoon. He told her that was one of the best memories he had of his mom. He got kind of quiet for a while after that, so Isabella carried on the conversation.

“When I have a family, I’m going all out. I’m going to spoil them rotten. I’ll make the same holiday treats every year and it’ll become a family tradition. Each one of my children will have a homemade stocking with their names on them. We’ll have a big tree with lots of lights and a beautiful angel on the top. We’ll buy the angel our first Christmas together and then we’ll have the same one our whole lives, even when we have grandchildren. The outside of the house will be decorated in twinkle lights and it’ll have one of those big plastic Santa’s’ on the roof. You know, the ones with the reindeers?”

“Sounds like ya’ got it all figured out.” Daryl said.

“We’ll throw big birthday parties in the back yard and all our friends will come. My kids will have a ton of presents and a big piñata full of candy. On Halloween, they’ll always have the best costumes, because I’ll make them myself. They’ll make jack o lanterns and we’ll decorate the yard really scary. It’s going to be great. I can’t wait.” Isabella said enthusiastically.

Daryl thought about all this for a moment. It was a life that he’d only dreamt about as a child, something that was never attainable. He had friends and went to school with kids that these kinds of lives and he’d always been envious of them. He longed for a little normality in his life as a child. When he grew up, he let go of all those fantasies, but now hearing all of Isabella’s plans that yearning came back.

“If I ever had a kid, he’d have a bike. Not just any bike, but a BMX bike. I never had a bike when I was a kid, everyone had one except me.” Daryl told her. She agreed.

“What’s your favorite thing to do?” Isabella asked.

“Anything outside. Huntin’, shootin’, trackin’, shit like that. I gotta’ be outside everyday. I like to walk around on my land, through the trees, just lookin’ at shit. I like the way the dirt smells when it rains or the sounds the trees make when the winds blowin’. You probably think that’s stupid, but I gotta’ be outside, free, ya’ know?”

“I think that’s wonderful. I like that you can do all those things. I like that you know so much about nature. I’ll bet you’re really good at your job. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. It’s better when I get to go in the field, ya’ know? Outside. I mean when I’m doin’ that is when I feel the best. The office crap and paperwork and shit’s a pain in the ass, but bein’ in the field makes it worth it. What’s your favorite thing to do?” Daryl asked.

“I like watching people. Sometimes I go downtown to a deli or something and sit in the window and just study people. I try to figure out what they’re thinking or feeling. I can observe there body language and interactions with other people and kind of get a sense of who they are. There so many different types of people in New York, so many different cultures, races and classes and everybody has a story. Each one is significant in their own little world, yet they’re all together, interacting out there in the streets and buildings, subways, buses, everywhere with the rest of the world. They all touch other’s lives in some way and they may not even know it. It’s fascinating. Now you probably think I’m stupid, huh?”

“Nope! I get it. I like lookin’ at people too. You can learn a lot about a person by watching them when they think no ones watchin’. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I’ve seen.” Daryl told her.

“I’ll bet. That’s cool we both like doing that. Okay, tell me something personal.” She said.

“Like what. Whatta’ ya’ mean personal.” He asked her.

“Something you do, when no ones looking.” She explained.

“Hmm? I dunno. Like somethin’ I do by myself, like at home?” Daryl questioned.

“Yes, like that.” Isabella answered.

“I dunno. Oh, okay, here’s one. I like chocolate. I eat a chocolate bar almost every night before bed. Don’t think nobody know that, at least they ain’t said nothin. Like that? Is that what you mean?”

“Yes, exactly. I think that’s adorable!! What’s your favorite?” She asked.

“Hershey with almonds. I like dove milk chocolate too and Hershey Kisses with almonds. Those are my favorites. It’s gotta’ be milk chocolate though. I hate that dark shit.” He said, shaking his head. “Now I want a chocolate bar.”

Isabella laughed. “Well, we’ll get you one on the way home.”