“Wow, They’re Like Inverted Termites,” — Me, After Watching An Anthill Casting Video And Finding

“I’m the Devil on your shoulder. Or the deviled egg on the window sill. Eat it. Think about it. If it weren’t there for you not to eat it then why would it be there?” — Someone at my art class table.

“You ain’t messin with my bones today, God!”

@l0nesome-dreams

Cyare Darasuum

Pairing: Ghost!Wolffe x fem!reader

Warnings: AU where Wolffe dies during order 66. Grief, blood, fatal injury, reader death, reunions, afterlife.

A/N I can’t seem to write Wolffe without some angst. Divider by @saradika-graphics and rb banners by @dystopicjumpsuit

It definitely took some getting used to when Wolffe appeared as a ghost. Neither of you understood, since Jedi were supposed to be the only beings capable of that; and even they had to train themselves.

Nobody else can see him, which makes you wonder if you might actually be going crazy. He keeps watch over you, his beloved, at all times of the day. You'd rather have him as a ghost instead of not at all, but you find yourself constantly aching for the comfort of his arms. It’s been too long since he held you, and you’re afraid of forgetting the feeling.

His dry, snarky personality hasn’t changed. The two of you still fall into the same banter you always have. That, you’re thankful for.

When you're finally wounded badly in action, rebelling against the Empire that took your husband from you, it's not sadness that fills your heart, but joy. Joy that you'll be with him for eternity.

You hiss in pain as blood seeps into the dirt beneath you. Wolffe's hazy apparition hovers worriedly as tears sting your eyes.

“Ironic,” you laugh bitterly. “Till death do us part, except death is bringing us together.”

Wolffe manages a small grimacing smile, but he knows he won't ever be able to erase the image of your blood pooling on the ground.

“Close your eyes, ner kar'ta. I love you so much.”

You do as he says, focusing on the hope that you'll be with him as darkness creeps from the edges of your consciousness like burning flimsi.

When you open your eyes again, you’re in a lush, vibrant meadow.

A hand—a warm, firm, calloused hand—grasps yours, and you look up to see Wolffe’s mismatched gaze. Not the transparent silver mirage that’s followed you for a year, But the man you fell in love with. The man you married.

“Welcome to forever, Mesh’la.”

A keening cry leaves your throat and you fall into his waiting arms, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he softly shushes you. You feel no pain. You feel no grief. You only feel overwhelming happiness and love as you cry in your husband's embrace.

“Is this real?” You ask, hand tracing his face; his cheekbones, down to his chin, across the scar over his eye, drinking in the sight of him.

Wolffe presses his forehead to yours, as if to answer.

“Yeah, it’s real. We’ll never have to be so far apart again.”

As his nose bumps against yours, a promise echoes in your mind.

Ner Cyare Darasuum.

My Eternal Beloved.

I feel like it would be funny to find out if a RainWing was colorblind because they misinterpreted color matching their buddy.

I need. To know. Those little grey sunglasses orbs fascinate me. Who are they. No one knows. But they have sunglasses so they must be a trustworthy source.

“Let me tell you, being a machine with no limbs is a fascinating experience.”

“I just followed three mosquitos up the stairs and I don’t know how to feel.”

“One of them is currently being rizzed up by an alien.”

“Ok? Been there done that, and?”

“Columbus seems like the kind of guy to break Ohio, so Columbus, Ohio.” — my friend explaining how they remember the Capitol of Ohio.

“My coffee lore knowledge is. Not reliable.”