#the dank abides

[thoughts-from-an-emo]

Sometimes you’re having a good day and other times it’s a “wash the ibuprofen down with cold medicine” kinda day

[connorsnothereeither]

I realized I only shared these once, a long time before either SMP actually premiered and people got to meet the characters-

So here are the Leopold and Virgil character playlists :)

[mt-musings]

Inherit the Night - 16

Cecily awoke slowly, her head pounding. She’d rarely ever got hungover in the past—but then again she was usually drinking swill and was smart enough to at least attempt to hydrate. Last night she hadn’t bothered, her only objective to black out as quickly and as absolutely as possible. 

She hesitated before mustering the courage to open her eyes, to turn over to the other side of the bed—it wasn’t that she was uncomfortable with the idea of sharing one. Goddess knew she’d curled up next to Yuri enough nights while holed up in their shitty little hideouts, especially while in Enbarr. 

It was the idea of sharing a marriage bed and whatever might have happened while she’d knocked herself out with drink. 

It was sharing a bed with Hubert.

Her blood still boiled at the mere thought of his name, at the audacity of his latest play—of course he’d never been one to shy away from outlandish schemes at the Academy, his perhaps a bit more subtle than the other noble brats. She understood, could even appreciate the ploy, the clever move to secure the largest unaffiliated spy ring in the midst of this asinine war—could even appreciate the fine tactical move that it was. Hell, she’d have probably made the move sooner than he had, had she been in his position. 

What she couldn’t abide was his insistence that the pact be sealed with their marriage. That it couldn’t be a simple hostage exchange—her for Yuri. There was no benefit to Hubert—she was a commoner of no name, a criminal, and had hardly a handful of silver to her name. Of course there was the Imperial line, that it was the unification of noble and commoner, that it was a tangible testament to Edelgard’s commitment to dismantle the current system that relied on hereditary titles and crests. 

It would have held more weight if it hadn’t been for her blood. 

Despite what she’d prefer, Hubert wasn’t an idiot. They’d spent nearly a year at the Officer’s Academy together, working and fighting in close quarters. She knew there had been moments she had slipped up, knew there where moments in front of Hubert in particular where he’d witnessed a bought of magic or two he shouldn’t have. 

And surely Lord Arundel had filled him in on what he didn’t know.

The marriage clause, then, had to be in place to take use of her blood, to make up for House Vestra’s lack of a crest. 

Whatever Edelgard’s intent in dismantling the old system, there was not denying that it was massively disadvantageous for a noble house to be in complete lack of a crest.

She remembered Margrave Gautier’s callousness in ensuring his heir possessed one, his frigid pragmatism that had left her scarred, hunted, and motherless in the first place. She understood the tactical necessity now, but it didn’t mean she loathed him any less, that she agreed with any of his choices. 

She didn’t know what she had expected to find on the other side of the bed—perhaps Hubert asleep in a set of unnaturally starched night clothes, perhaps him long awake and leering at her. 

She hadn’t expected the other side of the bed to be empty, with no sign that it had been touched. 

She sat up, noting the thick blanket that had been tucked around her—not wool, for the fiber was too fine, too soft. She didn’t have a word for it. Yuri, though, would know if she asked him. He always knew the finest of everything, even if he lived in the same dank tunnels and rundown safe houses she did. 

Yuri. Her heart sank at the thought of his familiar face, his constant flurry of barbs and quips, of the security of his presence. How long would he be allowed to remain at the palace? What would he be forced to do, knowing she had to remain firmly in the Empire’s clutches? That the lives and livelihoods of the remaining denizens of Abyss lay firmly on their ability to keep Hubert and Edelgard happy?

Fucking hell, she was stupid.

She tossed off the blanket, suddenly disgusted by the luxury of it.  It was simply another lovely furnishing to disguise the fact that she was caged, that they’d made such a stupendous tactical blunder.

She’d told Yuri that she should have made the run into Enbarr, that it made the most sense. At least if she’d been outnumbered and cornered by Empire agents, she had more than a hope of tearing through them, of escaping amidst the blood and shattered bone left in the wake of her gift. Yuri was an exceptional fighter and a halfway decent mage but she—

She was a monster.

“Good morning.”

She whipped around at the sound of the familiar voice. Hubert stood in the half-opened door, still in the hopelessly stuffy attire of the night before. Her own lay in a heap on the floor, shed at the first available moment, more than a few of the buttons popped off in the process of its removal. She was suddenly very aware that she wore only the slip from underneath, that the silk was whisper thin and bore more of her body than she’d ever shown at the Academy, or indeed anywhere. 

She pulled the blanket back up around her, all the way to her chin, and narrowed her eyes.

He just stared at her a moment before shaking his head, heaving out a sigh as he crossed without preamble to the wardrobe. She watched him root around for a bit before pulling out mauve riding dress and a pair of thick, practical leggings. He lay both out on the other side of the bed before returning to fetch a matching hat, jacket, riding boots, and set of fine, kidskin gloves. 

“We are leaving for the manor in an hour. Make yourself presentable,” he said stiffly, eyes flicking over her mussed hair, the blanket she’d lowered enough to show the thin straps of her shift. 

The scars that crisscrossed the skin of her chest.

He turned, then, to grab his own clothes, nearly as stiff and pompous as his formalwear the night before, before crossing back to the door and shutting it with a distinct click. 

She swore and dropped the blanket, falling back on the mattress and near-mountain of goose-feather pillows. She’d spent nearly all her life using an old bundle of clothes, if she was lucky enough to have spares, and here he was with six of the softest, fullest pillows she’d ever seen.  

And yet she’d still trade them and everything else in the opulent room for the perpetually rat-infested safe house outside Rowe in an instant if it meant she and Yuri were free of this Goddess-forsaken contract. 

She cursed again, vilely enough that it would have been a fifty-fifty shot whether Yuri would have told her off or laughed. 

It hurt, desperately, to think about him. To think of being unable to see him any longer, at least without Hubert’s whim.

She lay there a long while, staring up at the dark velvet of the canopy, weighing whether or not it was worth ignoring Hubert. On one hand it would please her greatly to annoy him, even more so to make him irate. On the other—he held tremendous power over her, over Yuri, and most importantly over the Abyssians he’d seen settled, as per their agreement. 

She at least still knew how to wring every advantage out of a bad contract. 

She dressed quickly, trying to ignore the softness of the fabrics, the fine, detailed embroidery of roses along the neck and sleeves. Long ago she would have admired such a garment, as a child would have pulled it from the laundry to run her fingers along its threads until the head laundress chided her to get back to work. 

She slipped on the riding boots, stowing the gloves in the left one to make up for the outfit’s irritating lack of pockets and crossed to the adjacent bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror, at the tangled pallor of her hair, at the silver-white scars that carved across her right cheek. She avoided her own gaze, not wanted to see the shadows under her mismatched eyes, one deep and violet, the other a shock of blue-white.  

The color that had ruined her entire life. 

She raked a brush through her hair, not caring if it ripped strands out at the roots, and braided it back, only pausing when she realized she didn’t have her usual ribbon. 

It had been a lovely, dusty purple color, made from real silk—a present from Yuri when she’d turned thirteen. No matter how it had faded or begun to fray she’d always fixed it, always treasured it.

She didn’t even know where it was now.

The handmaidens hadn’t allowed her to take it with her to the ceremony, hadn’t let her weave it through her hair, through the elaborate braids they’d pinned around her head like a crown. They insisted it was dirty and worn and would look out of place next to the glittering, beaded dress they’d buttoned her into. 

She didn’t bother looking for a substitute, instead just throwing the unsecured end of her braid over her shoulder. It would slowly unravel, a small annoyance to inflict on Hubert and his constant sense of propriety. She picked up the hairpin Yuri had given her and slipped it into her hair, glad, at least, to have some small fragment of home. She crossed to the bedroom door, ignoring the hat he’d left on the bed—it was a small, impractical thing anyway, hardly large enough to cover the crown of her head—a purely vain accessory without any practical purpose. 

Hubert was already ready in the drawing room, reclining on the sofa as he read through a stack of reports, his hair immaculately styled, the buttons of his jacket shining. She didn’t say anything as he looked up, as his eyes traced her form, lingering on her bare head, on the white of her hair that was already unraveling from its braid. 

“Was the hat not to your liking?”

She stared at him a moment, formulating her response. She decided to play it safe and simply shook her head, dropping her eyes to the carpet. 

“A shame, I shall take note.”

She couldn’t help the furrowing of her brows at his comment, the momentary flick up of her eyes to catalogue his expression—he didn’t appear angry or even perturbed, but lost in thought. She dropped her gaze once more as he stood and dug into one of his pockets, pockets she eyed with envy, and pulled out a small, folded bundle of faded purple silk.

“I thought it perhaps sentimental to you. I seem to remember it being the same one you wore at the Academy.”

She stared at him then, really stared, as he held the ribbon out for her to take. She’d always known Hubert to be observant, to be calculating and patient. She hadn’t thought he’d catalogued such trivial details, never mind remembered them nearly four years later. 

“Was I mistaken?”

“No,” she said quickly, taking the ribbon from him before he could rescind his generosity, “Thank you.”

Something flickered across his face at those words, but it was gone before she could put a name to it, his face schooled back into his usual neutrality. She pretended she hadn’t noticed, instead focusing on tying back her hair as he packed up his reports.

“Were the gloves also not to your liking?”

“The—oh!” She stooped and pulled the pair from where she’d tucked them in the calf of her boot. “I—I didn’t have a pocket to put them in. They’re for riding, right?”

She’d seen the noble students wear similar ones out in the pastures with their mounts. She’d never bothered with anything of the like, wouldn’t have even if they weren’t more expensive than ninety percent of what she owned combined. Her hands were already calloused and scarred, there would be no point in protecting such course implements. 

Hubert just nodded and strode towards the door without another word. 

She followed a few paces behind, taking note of the route and the other doors, of what the servants wore and how they acted, whether they came to a halt and bowed their heads or scurried away as fast and silently as they were able. She noted the bolts used to secure the windows, the width of the sills, whether they looked out over gardens or faced rows of other identical windows full of watchful eyes. 

It was like second nature and she tucked it all in the back of her mind for the right occasion. Nine left turns, four rights, and three flights of stairs to the stables. Fourteen posted guards, five on rotation spotted in an eight minute window. It’d be nearly impossible to slip away unseen.

Nearly.

She tucked it all in the back of her head as a stablehand brought out a single, enormous black horse, already saddled and ready for a journey. She took a step back instinctually as the horse turned its snout in her direction and huffed. Horses never liked her—most animals didn’t. They could always tell she wasn’t quite as human as she should be, could smell the vestiges of darkness on her. 

It didn’t help that she didn’t much care for them either, not after she’d been thrown off at the Academy in the midst of a disastrous lesson. It was faster, anyway for her to Walk, to slip between the shadows and forgo the practice entirely. 

Hubert didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps he didn’t care. He lifted her up and into the saddle by the waist without so much as a word, even after she stiffened under his touch. She doubted he would heed her complaints, even if she bothered to voice them. There would be no way she’d be able to get him to agree to walk to wherever it was he was dragging her.

Instead she tried to focus on calming her breathing, eyeing the horse with distrust. The last thing she wanted was to end up below a pair of hooves again. Her ribs practically ached at the mere thought.

“There you are! I did tell you they’d try and sneak off without saying goodbye!”

She craned her neck to see a familiar mane of ginger hair, followed by half of the Black Eagles.  Ferdinand beamed at the pair of them, along with Dorothea and Caspar, Petra and Linhart bringing up the rear. She couldn’t help but crane to see behind them, hoping to see a flash of lilac hair, but Yuri was nowhere amongst the group, nor was Lorenz or Ignatz.

She ducked her face to hide her disappointment.

She could almost feel Hubert’s mood sour next to her, something that was sure to make the however-long ride to ‘the manor’ all the more uncomfortable. She did her best to give the lot of them a warm, convincing smile. She didn’t know how many of them knew about the contract, about Yuri and the Abyssians. It was better, then, to play it safe until she had more intel. 

“What on earth are you doing here?” Hubert asked, glowering at Ferdinand in particular. 

“What does it look like? We’re here to give you a proper send off!”

“That’s hardly necessary.”

“Ferdinand is saying it is a Fodlan custom to throw grain at the newly married couple,” Petra said, raising a small satchel with a smile. 

“Not grain, it has to be rice,” Caspar said, peering into her bag and making a face. 

“Why is it needing to be rice?”

“I dunno, it’s just what you throw.”

“It’s supposed to bring prosperity and many children,” Linhart said, sounding like they had just dragged him out of bed. Knowing Linhart it couldn’t be too far from the truth. 

Dorothea darted forward, beaming. “You look absolutely amazing! Oh, look at the little roses! Ferdie, isn’t it just darling? You have to tell me where you found it!”

“Oh, um, I’m not sure. It was a gift.”

“Hubie! Who would have thought you had such impeccable taste!”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence. Now, we really must be off,” Hubert said bruskly, mounting the horse behind her without further preamble.

“Don’t be like that, Hubert! We simply wanted to wish you both well!” Ferdinand said, agilely stepping directly in the path of the steed. 

“Well, now you’ve wished it. May we be off?”

“Are you so impatient for your honeymoon, Hubert?” Dorothea lilted, eyes alight with mischief. The others laughed and whooped, their good cheer standing in stark contrast the the gloom emanating off of Hubert. Cecily would have usually joined in her good natured teasing, had the implication not so intimately involved her. Instead she ducked her head to ensure no one could catch sight of any flash of mortification that slipped past her carefully curated mask. 

“Oh, honestly! Goodbye! I shan’t miss any of you,” he retorted, reaching around her to grab the reigns and urge the horse around Ferdinand and out of the stables, towards the streets of Enbarr. She could hear her former classmates calling after them, their laughter ringing out over the quiet of the morning. She tried to focus on them, for as long as she was able, instead of the feeling of Hubert’s chest pressed into her back, his arms wrapped around her in order to grip the reigns. 

They’d nearly made it out of the city gates before Hubert spoke again, his voice still clipped with irritation.

“I intended to avoid that sort of nonsense. I had assumed they would have taken longer to nurse their hangovers.”

“They meant well,” Cecily replied, trying not to dwell on their words, on prosperity and children and expectation. She could feel a roiling ball of emotion rising in her at the thought, feel the telltale prick of tears welling in her eyes. She blinked them away furiously.

Hubert didn’t answer, just urged the horse through the reenforced gates and down the winding, Imperial road. 

~~~

The hour and a half it took them to reach the manor was a unique and horrid torture. It took everything in him to focus on the road instead of the scent of her hair, the feeling of her pressed against his chest. It was a sweet relief to finally see the familiar gate of his ancestral home, a feeling that was historically foreign in the context of the place.

He led the horse up the eastern path towards the stables, trying not to note how Cecily kept her head stiffly forward—a trick, he knew, to keep him from knowing what caught her interest on the estate. 

Once Yuri’s little bird, always Yuri’s little bird.

They reached the stables and he swung himself off the mare without preamble. He turned to help Cecily down but she ignored his outstretched hand and slid off the side of the saddle, landing in a slight crouch before straightening up and surveying him with those unblinking, doe-like eyes, her face unreadable. 

It was a skill he greatly appreciated, valued, but he hated to see it leveled towards himself. 

She stepped away from the horse as fast as possible, putting him between her and the creature and he suddenly remembered how frightened she’d been of them at the Academy. He’d forgotten how she’d gotten thrown off the beast when Ferdinand had insisted he could teach her, how she’d been kicked, her arm broken by the blow. 

He should have remembered, he’d chewed Ferdinand out after he’d seen her curled on the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks. He’d been too concerned with escaping the prying eyes of their friends to bother readying a carriage, especially when it would extend the journey by an hour. 

What a fine start to their marriage, his forcing her onto a beast she feared for well over an hour without even asking her. 

She must think he’d done it on purpose. It wasn’t like him to forget such things. 

“Would you prefer I give you the tour now or would you like to freshen up from the journey?”

She furrowed her brows at that and glanced down at her dress as if expecting it to be filthy with mud. There was merely a bit of dust from the road along the hem, dust that she brushed off, but not before carefully removing the white leather gloves she’d finally put on when on the horse. 

She’d taken the idea of riding gloves quite literally. 

He just nodded, not bothering to clarify what he had meant by freshen up—he supposed there was little time for decorum aiding in the running of a criminal spy ring. 

He showed her the gardens first on their way to the house, much less lavish and curated than those of the Imperial palace—the Vestra gardens served a much more practical purpose, growing all sorts of poisonous plants. He wondered if she recognized any of them among the colorful blooms—she'd shown an interest in poisonous plants during their Academy days, though that had been a long time ago. 

Still, perhaps some things didn't change. 

She surveyed the beds with interest, trailing a finger over a few of the blooms’ petals as they walked.. 

He hesitated a moment before leading her up the path towards the main entrance. Like the gardens, the manor house was bleak and practical, nothing like the airy halls of the palace or even the sunny rooms of Garreg Mach. It held few happy memories for him, fewer from the time before his father had been executed for his treachery. He nearly felt guilty for bringing her to such a dour place, for intending to leave her here for the remainder of the war. But it would ensure her safety, ensure that she would stay as far as he could manage from the front lines, from Lord Arundel. 

He pushed into the entrance hall, trying to decide where he should start, how he should keep certain parts of the house off-limits, for her own good at least. She didn’t have to know about the basement laboratories or the interrogation cells or—

“Hello. My name is Cecily, it’s very nice to meet you.”

He turned to see her extending a hand to the elderly butler who looked rather taken aback but shook it nonetheless. 

“My name is Thomas, your Grace. It shall be an honor to serve you.”

Her face fell at that, though she quickly replaced it with a smile. “There’s no need to be so formal with me, Cecily is just fine.”

Thomas, for his part, looked uncomfortable at the thought, though he gave the pair of them a short bow before excusing himself to ensure tea would be prepared. He continued the tour through the house, pointing out the drawing room, the library, the spare bedrooms and studies. Their progress through the house was halting, as she couldn’t move past a servant without greeting them and learning their name and their job, without insisting they simply address her as Cecily. 

It took him a moment to realize why it struck him as odd—in each one of these interactions she treated whoever it happened to be as an equal, couldn’t move past them without acknowledging their presence. His father had rarely addressed any of the servants but Thomas, and only to bark out an order or mete out some punishment. He’d taught Hubert to do the same, to treat them as if they didn’t quite exist, or at least filled the same utilitarian role as furniture. 

He realized, about halfway through their stilted tour, that he knew less than half of the names of the faces he recognized, most of which had been serving his family since at least his childhood. 

He’d forgotten that the reason she had known Sylvain at the Academy, that she’d known Dimitri had been because she’d grown up a servant in the Margrave’s house. Before Yuri, before Those That Slither In The Dark had gotten hold of her she had been just a servant girl who’d made friends with the Lord’s son. 

He wondered if the Margrave’s household had been run in the same manner as his father’s, if the servants were meant to be seen and not heard, if seen at all, if mistakes were met with swift beatings. Somehow he doubted Sylvain would have been allowed to befriend her in the first place if that was the case, though perhaps she had been an exception. Perhaps the Margrave had an inkling of something unusual about the little girl, of some strange power that would cause her to be sought out by the Those That Slither in the Dark. 

Or maybe she’d just been a normal little girl before they’d gotten ahold of her. 

That was his other reason for leaving her at the manor. 

Her stark white hair upon meeting her had first aroused his suspicions—Edelgard had told him that all of the hair of the children they experimented on had turned the same shade. She wasn’t sure if it was the stress of it all or something specific they did, but one by one she’d watched the soft brown hair of her siblings turn to a shock of white. Lysithea, too, shared this experience. 

They didn’t, however, share the same amount of scarring. 

Neither Edelgard or Lysithea had been left with any significant scarring, never mind any so plainly visible. He knew some of it could be chalked up to the hard life of being one of Yuri’s little birds, but that too wouldn’t fully explain it. Not when it was so very clear how protective he was over her. 

There, of course, was one significant difference that separated Edelgard and Lysithea from Cecily—they were both the heirs of powerful noble families who had their own roles yet to play. Cecily had only ever been a servant for a margrave. She was far more expendable.

He glanced at her face, shame burning in his belly at the thought. She met his gaze with furrowed brows, her mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“What?”

“I—Thomas should have tea prepared by now. This way.”

He turned on his heel, taking pains to school his face into its usual expression. He lead her to the parlor where tea had indeed been laid out, along with a pot of black Dagdan coffee. 

He pulled her seat out for her without a word. She hesitated a moment before sitting, dropping her gaze to her lap. He reached for the pot of tea on instinct, so used to pouring for Edelgard, her preferred cup mere muscle memory at this point for him to prepare, but stopped. He had no idea what sort of tea Cecily drank, or if she liked it sweetened or with cream. It struck him that he should know his wife’s preference on something so trivial—

His wife.

He glanced up at her to find her examining one of the small tea spoons, brows furrowed as she traced the tiny stamp denoting its authenticity.

“It’s silver. You’re welcome to keep it if you’d so like.”

She glanced back at him before lifting the lid of the teapot and holding the spoon in the liquid for a few seconds before removing it and examining it once more. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. 

“If I intended to poison you, it would not be with arsenic, I assure you.”

She surveyed him a moment before setting the spoon back on the table without a word. He sighed, shaking his head before he poured himself a mouthful and drained his cup without waiting for it to cool. 

“Would you like a cup now, or would you like to wait fifteen minutes to see if I drop dead?”

He noted the slight up-quirk of her lips, though he wasn’t sure if it was brought on by the idea of him poisoning himself to prove a point or if it was because of how quickly he’d spelled out the game. 

“With sugar, if you have it.”

He bit back his knee-jerk response that of course he did, reminding himself for her it was probably a luxury. He made the cup in silence, with two heaping spoonfuls of sugar, just as the Professor had always preferred. Maybe his wife shared the Professor’s sweet tooth. 

He passed her the cup without looking up, making his own coffee in near-reflex—it was after two, which meant he could indulge in a splash of cream in his cup. In the morning and late at night he took it black, without much thought for its taste, only its function. 

He looked up in time to see Cecily take a wary sip of her tea, brows furrowing just slightly at the taste. Perhaps he hadn’t made it sweet enough, then, though he knew he’d find it almost sickeningly so. 

He took a sip of his own cup, trying to find something neutral enough to make into tea time conversation. He supposed they could just sit in silence, and he could learn to ignore the heaviness it came with, the charge that nearly mimicked the build up in energy of a spell. 

It was Cecily who broke the silence first, though her eyes remained glued to the table.

“Are there books I can read here?”

“You may read anything you like.”

“Truly?”

“I ask only that you are careful with the rarer volumes. If there is something you are looking for and unable to locate, Thomas can have it ordered in for you.”

“Are there local book stores?”

“One, outside of Enbarr. But Thomas will simply have it delivered here for you.”

She looked up at that, eyes searching for something in his face. “So, I’m not allowed to leave.”

She figured it out much faster than he’d intended. He’d hoped for a few days—perhaps a week—before the question was raised, enough time, at least, for him to come up with some sort of satisfactory answer. 

But she didn’t wait for one. She just got up and crossed to the door without another word. She returned a few minutes later with a thick volume on poisonous plants which she sat next to her cup and flipped open, propping her elbow on the table as she leafed through to the introduction. She ignored him completely as she began to read, one finger tracing idly under the lines of text, a habit that he’d forgotten about from their school days. 

He noted how she only drank half her cup before refilling it, how she did the same again with her next cup. Too sweet then, significantly so. He’d remember for next time. After a while he got up and grabbed a sheath of reports to go through himself. Usually he would have enjoyed being able to read together—he had always enjoyed their shared studying time at the Academy, even though some days they’d barely spoke a dozen words to one another. 

That had been a pleasant sort of silence, comfortable. 

This was leaden. 

“Is horticulture a hobby of yours?” he asked, trying to force some conversation. She looked up, brows furrowed. He gestured at the book. She just shrugged, returning to her reading. 

He sighed, turning back to his own work. Perhaps silence was the best he could hope for. 

"I've had the master bedroom prepared for you and your bride, your Grace," Thomas said, bowing as he stepped into the sitting room. Cecily had hardly moved the entire day, except when she'd asked for a quill and paper. Then she'd simply turned back to her book, occasionally scrawling notes. He'd tried to subtly read them over his own reports, but they were written in some strange code. He'd need time to do so, time or he'd have to pawn it off to one of his codebreakers. 

Cecily looked up, though, at Thomas's statement, her mismatched eyes wide before she schooled her expression. 

She was frightened. Frightened of him, of sharing a room, a bed. The woman he loved was frightened of him. 

He couldn't blame her, of course. How could he, when his hands were stained black with the remnants of all the ill he'd done in the name of Edelgard's dream, all the blood he'd spilt?

Or, at least they had been. One remained discolored, spiderwebbed with the remnants of his dark magic, while the other was now entirely unblemished but for a few silvered scars. A fool might think it a portent, a chance to start anew.

He saw only reason for Arundel's interest, reason for others to harm her, to steal her away. She was only safe where he could protect her. He'd already seen to it personally that the bedroom was warded, ridiculously so, so that only he and she could hope to pass over the threshold if they were active. 

There wasn't anything for it--they'd have to share a bed, at least every so often. They were husband and wife now, it wouldn't for the servants to go spreading how they hadn't shared a room, even in their first night together at the manor. 

He sighed, folding up the remainder of his reports. She carefully marked her page, avoiding looking at him. 

"I--I suppose it is time to retire," he said softly. Cecily didn't respond, though she followed him from the drawing room, up the stairs to the bedroom. He pushed inside, waving a hand over the door to redo the arcane lock--he should teach her how to make one herself, along with the wards. It shouldn't be so difficult for her now, considering the level of her skill.

It was odd that it had been faith magic that she'd finally seemed to grasp, though perhaps it was not faith in the goddess that she relied on, but something else. She'd never had much patience for the goddess in school, but then again, maybe things had changed. 

She paused as they entered the room, eyes flicking over the vases of flowers that had been placed on every surface, flowers that didn’t didn’t quite disguise the dark, dreariness of the space. Still, it had to be better than the broom closet she called a room in Abyss, had to be better than whatever safe house she’d been hiding out in out in Rowe. 

He crossed to the wardrobe he’d had Thomas prepare, making a face at the slim offerings—he’d need to send the tailor to make her some new clothes, proper clothes that fit and were worthy of her. Still, he picked out a soft night dress and a long silk robe, grabbing a pair of slippers that should have matched, but didn’t. 

“I—I’ll run you a bath. I have a few things I need to discuss with Thomas,” he said. She didn’t react, instead just standing and staring as if not quite seeing the room around her. He set the clothes neatly on the stool in the bathroom and filled the large, clawfoot tub. He left out an array of scented soaps and oils, whatever she might like—he’d guessed she might prefer something floral or botanical, considering how she’d enjoyed the gardens and the greenhouse at the academy, but in reality, he had no idea.

He knew so little about his wife, and yet—

And yet there was little that he wouldn’t do for her comfort or safety. How could he know so little about the woman he loved?

He crossed back to the bedroom, only to find her standing in the same place, eyes still face away. He crossed to her side, concern creasing his forehead. 

“Cecily?”

She startled, eyes flicking to him, and then nodded. “Yes, sorry. Thank you for running the bath.”

She crossed to the bathroom without another word, the lock clicking into place. Hubert lingered a moment more before setting out to find Thomas. He found him in small office off the kitchen going through the bookkeeping. He stood as he spotted Hubert, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Congratulations, your Grace. The Marquess appears a fine young woman,” Thomas said with a rare smile. “The staff are quite excited to have you both home.”

“It is only for a day or so.”

“I suppose it makes sense you both should stay in Enbarr, close to the Emperor. Still, we shall ensure the manor is ready for you, whenever you and the Marquess wish it.”

“Only I will be returning to Enbarr. The Marquess will remain at the manor. She—she is to stay at the manor, and all guests are to go through my approval.”

“Your Grace—“

“House Vestra has never been well liked, Thomas, and she was not born of noble blood. Many are unhappy about our union and we are still at war. Our enemies will no doubt be even less enthused and she had ties to the Kingdom. Her safety must be paramount.”

“Understood, your Grace,” he said with a nod, though his eyes searched Hubert’s face in a way that made him feel like he was ten years old again. 

“There is also the matter of her allowance—she should have three thousand gold pieces a month for whatever she’d like to do with the house, as well as whatever she needs for a new wardrobe and and books. She’s always been an avid reader.”

“I will make note of it.”

“Any letters she wishes to send should be forwarded to me and I will see them posted.

“Of course, your Grace.”

Hubert nodded to himself before turning and climbing back upstairs to his bedroom. Cecily was sat at the small vanity, ripping a brush through her hair with little regard for either her hair or scalp, buried in a thick tome she’d propped up against the mirror. 

Hubert crossed to her side without thought, pulling the brush from her hand. She jumped, eyes going wide as whipped around to look at him.

“You won’t have any hair left if you keep that up,” he said, digging through one of the vanity drawers to find a small bottle of hair oil. He hesitated a moment before removing his gloves and placing a few drops on his palm, which he then began to work through the ends of her hair.

“What are you doing?” She asked sharply, every muscle tensed as if she were about to run or fight. Hubert just shook his head. 

“The oil helps with the tangles,” he said, ignoring she sharpness of her gaze as he began brushing out her hair properly, working out the knots from the ends before working his way up. Cecily sat stiffly, eyes locked on the surface of the vanity.

He knew he should have called one of the maids in to aid her, as they would be doing moving forward, as was expected of a Marquess, but—this was something small he could do, to take care of her. Some small way to show her she needn’t ever fear his touch. A small way he could reassure himself that she was safe, that she was taken care of. 

That he was taking care of her. 

They didn’t speak as he finished brushing her hair, nor as he braided it, securing it with the familiar faded purple ribbon she’d always worn at school. It was real silk, if a low grade and he’d guess one of the finer things she’d owned in Abyss. She’d always worn it, and he’d seen her more than once repairing it as it began to fray. 

“Hopefully you find that satisfactory,” he said, stepping away to retrieve his own nightclothes. Cecily didn’t say anything, nor did she move, even when he crossed to the bathroom to change and brush his teeth. 

He wished she’d rage at him, fight with him, do something other than sit silently and frightened as a songbird above a cat. If he’d been able to convince her of their plan before, would she have broken like this? Would she have still been the lively, brilliant creature he remembered?

Could he ever hope to put her back together?

Still, he had to remind himself that it was for her benefit, that it was the only way he could ensure Arundel could dare hope to touch her. 

That her hatred was a fair price for her safety. 

He didn’t speak as he returned to the bedroom—their bedroom, now—instead merely grabbing his stack of reports as he crossed to the bed. He wasn’t tired, but he couldn’t lock himself away in his study, as he usually would. He tried to concentrate on his reports, but his eyes kept flicking to where Cecily still sat, as if frozen. 

It was well after midnight before she moved, stiffly rising from the stool and slipping off her robe. She took time to fold it before padding silently to the bed. He watched her hesitate for a moment, though he kept his eyes on his report, before she slipped under the covers.

Her hands were trembling. 

He placed his reports on the nightstand and put out the lights except for the candle on her bedside table with a flick of his hand. He turned to face away from her, pulling the blankets up around him. He knew he’d likely not sleep a moment, but he could at least pretend, if it would put her at ease. 

Next

[grimandgrimmer]

'CRUOR: The ink of malevolence that stains the canvas of existence, embodying the harrowing essence of despair, flowing through veins of forgotten hope'

In depths of dolour and shadows of despair, Crimson echoes linger, luring minds to dare; a word bequeathed from Latin's ancient lore, Cruor, a dirge that souls can scarce ignore. From sacred veins, divine elixir seeped, Filling chalices where grim fates had crept, Life's sanguine essence coursing through the vein, Cruor's embrace, a dance with Life's disdain. In battle's wake, where razed empires lie, Cruor paints the canvas where heroes die, A crimson tide spilt from the fallen's grace, Staining sands with memories none can erase. Beneath the moon's bleak gaze, cruelty resides, Cruor, a hymn of wrath, where darkness abides, Its whispered hiss, like venom, swift and cruel, Slowly corrupting hearts where innocence once grew. Through macabre visions, its influence distorts, Cruor's sharp fangs sinking deep in souls, its courts, Untamed desires breed chaos and despair, As Life's sweet nectar feeds Cruor's twisted lair. But heed this warning, those enticed to its power, For Cruor's embrace, an unrelenting dower, Once tangled in its web, one can't escape, Its grasp, a vice, where sorrow takes its shape. In dank catacombs where secrets hibernate, Cruor's chilling whispers echo, insatiate; within the night's abyss, its cries resound, A dark, edgy lullaby that knows no bound. So let its name reverberate in dread, Cruor, an emblem of darkness, unafraid. Within its letters, a testament to strife; in Latin's cruel embrace, we find Life's knife.

[burnwater13]

Grogu found all taverns, cantinas, cafes, and food shops fascinating. First and foremost, they had food and usually a pretty wide variety of food. Second, because of the wide variety of people who patronized them, they also had tables, seats, benches, and seating surfaces that could accommodate a lot of body types. 

He rarely had to sit in the Mandalorian’s lap, or on the table, or, in at least one case, under the table. That tavern owner thought Grogu was the Mandalorian’s pet, not his protege. It did have one hidden benefit. People dropped food there a lot and the Mandalorian couldn’t stop him from eating it. Heh, heh, heh.

The people who ran those establishments varied pretty widely as well. There was a place on Corellia that served great noodle bowls and the person who ran it had horns that curved down from her head and a voice that sounded like gravel being poured into a mixing bin. She treated Grogu and Din Djarin like they were old friends and gave them their food for free. That had surprised the Mandalorian, but Grogu thought that had more to do with how she kept calling them ‘handsome’, ‘honey’, ‘sweetie’ and similar honorifics. 

That was quite the contrast to the Mon Calamari who ran the tavern on Trask. He seemed kind of put out to have two seats taken up, but only one of them was eating. Grogu wondered why? He looked at what was being served and it’s most redeeming quality was that it was called chowder. Grogu liked that because ‘chow’ was another word for food and eating food. You had chow and it was time for chow. He also giggled to himself as he said the word ‘chow’ one too many times and it seemed to lose all meaning. Chow, chow, chow. 

Of course the Mandalorian wasn’t going to eat someplace like that, but Grogu was glad that his ‘friend’ ordered him some chowder (still funny). Too bad that was a bowl of food that fought back! Some other critter was in it and Grogu wasn’t sure if it had been trying to eat the chowder (giggle) and didn’t want to share or if it was just something other people liked in their chowder (ha) to spice things up a bit. 

It sure spiced his bowl up. It jumped out and grabbed his face! Dank Farrik! The Mandalorian thought Grogu was just playing with his food, but Grogu would like to set the record straight and point out it was clear that the chowder (giggle) was not playing at all. It was attacking him! You’d think a Mandalorian bounty hunter would understand that without being told.

Eventually his dad realized what was going on and zapped the critter with his vibro knife and Grogu, for the first time that he could recall, didn’t want to finish his food. He examined the bowl of chowder (uff) to check and see if the critter was really properly subdued. What if he ate it and it was just knocked out and tried to escape? Yikes. His dad hated when that happened. Grogu suspected that the Mandalorian had a weak stomach and just couldn’t abide the sight of things like that. 

Grogu didn’t eat again until he was with the Frog Lady and her family and she provided him with a lovely little cup of meal worms and a variety of other bugs and small fish to eat. Grogu thought he saw frog eggs in the preserver in their small apartment, but he couldn’t be sure if they were for eating or other purposes. He’d gotten distracted by Tads metamorphosis and forgot to ask his hosts about their eating preferences. 

When they were ready to leave Trask, Grogu had tried to get the Mandalorian to stop at the tavern and get him some food for the trip to their next destination. He just wanted a to-go container of the chowder (giggle), preferably without extra critters, but the Mandalorian shook his head. Grogu guessed that his dad didn’t want to find out that the pot the chowder was in was built better than the Razor Crest. And that wasn’t funny, at all (giggle). 

[elusivecurrent]

(Radio 4am)

Radio 4am riding humid myst windows rolling down tropical fronds the low bass sound slow and gentle heavens tires catch the ground

To roses falling sound petals weep like a high drama

Laugh now cry hater sad now cry later

Bipolar mania soothes the màrijuàna sweet earthy dankness moisture o plant of sacred flower your scent is like a beauties spread eagle folds of divine power

Neon pink haze in myst the lights pass like flooded sexual kissed

"Weed is from the earth!"

Street light looms the dark figures gliding as we roll past bass abiding past a friends apartment phone poles hiding sacred manuscripts of cabals of night choruses presiding

Metal bands punk strands a sharp spike of coca lighting

The mind on fire

"Dude was that a fucking ufo sighting?"

Passed out black leather couches skin on skin death in somnus dont fear the blue reaper in feather light ominous

Liquor bottles an game consoles screen lighting a glow of sticker throttled crts and game fighting buttons smashed but no wrong righting show of thicker blood running dividing

In this sleep we rest the tombs from our infighting

Brother, sister, know me well familiarity hides a locked cell of hearts traumatic tear

running depth of guardian angels near

In this neighborhood we dwell

Were family at least 

As far as we can tell

[catluvus]

[ad_1] Who has a boyfriend/gf and functions like this?• • Observe @memesdailymail ? • #memes #amusing #catmemes #relatable #rest #dankmemes #meme #memesdaily #funnymemes #lol #dank #humor #abide by #likeit #dailymemes #comedy #instagram #fun #tiktok #memer #memez #memepage #memeaccount #instagrammemes [ad_2]

[biblicallyaccuratebeskar]

Metal Home

Read Chapter 19 Here

Also on AO3

Chapter 20/22: ~3.3K words

One

Our first stop during our week off, hilariously, was Nevarro.

When Din first suggested it I laughed in his face, assuming it was one of his dry jokes. When he didn’t respond I realized he was serious.

“You’re kidding. Why do we need to go back to Nevarro?”

“I need to check in with the Tribe.”

“Mandalorian business?”

“Mandalorian business.”

I never pried and he never told me why he always slipped away after our meetings with Karga. That part of him remained mysterious to me, the ins and outs of his Creed. All I knew was that it was important to him. I’d still never seen another Mandalorian.

I didn’t like it, but I didn’t fight it. He knew what he was doing and he felt he needed to go.

That didn’t stop me from following him.

He was shiny as hell and walking right into a bounty hunter nest. Virs was off our ass, but it was still unclear if the bounty was officially off my head. I thought it was reckless, so I slipped out after him as he was unaware of my presence. If he needed backup, I’d be there.

I sped after him as he went down a dark side street, disappearing through an open doorway. When I came to it I realized it was a stairwell, and I made my way down. It led to the walkable sewer system under Nevarro. It was dark and smelled of, well, sewage. Where the fuck was he going?

The more we progressed I began to hear something. A hammering noise, metal on metal. It became louder the farther we progressed down the dank tunnel. I saw him slip around a corner and into a doorway. My back slammed against the outer wall when I heard a voice.

“Ah, Din Djarin. Your presence is welcomed.” It was a woman’s voice, elegant through a modulator. Another Mando.

“Thank you. I have returned to apologize for my absence.” His voice was stiff and formal. She must be some sort of superior.

“There is no need for an apology at this time. You are Mandalorian. Those who abide by the Creed and walk the Path remain one with the Tribe, even with distance.”

“Y-yes.” He faltered. She noticed.

“There is something troubling you. Speak.”

“It is nothing.”

“You have abided by the Creed, have you not?”

“I-...”

The silence was thick and tense. She cut through it, her voice a blade.

“Have you ever removed your helmet?”

That’s what made him pause. He’d broken his Creed...for me.

“I have,” he spoke, voice fragile.

Shit. Just like him to run himself into the ground for the sake of being truthful.

“To whom was your face shown?” the woman asked, voice frigid. “It was me.” I jumped into the doorway, hands up in surrender. I didn’t know what she would do to him if he’d broken the Creed, but she wasn’t going to lay a finger on him if I was there.

Din’s reaction would’ve been the funniest thing I’d ever seen if I wasn’t so tense. He spun around, stiffening like someone had shocked him in the ass.

The other Mandalorian looked taken aback too, but had a far less physical reaction. Her helmet was gold, covered in small spikes. A fur wrapped around her shoulders and she held a massive metal mallet. I would’ve died to be her friend if I didn’t just make the situation dangerously awkward.

I could feel Din‘s fierce exasperation as I slowly approached the Gold Mando.

“I’m the only one who’s seen his face,” I told her.

“Hm,” she hummed out with a hint of dissatisfaction. It was mildly offending, but I shook it off.

“And what is the nature of your relationship with this man?” she asked, voice eerily monotonous.

“I’m uh...I’m his...co-pilot. I’m his co-pilot.”

“Yes. Co-pilot.” Din echoed.

“I see,” she responded, walking towards me. “What is your name?” “Larkin Vega, ma’am.”

“Larkin Vega, do you wear his beskar?”

“Uh...”

I couldn’t tell what that question insinuated, but I gathered that I maybe needed to wear his armor to see his face. The only problem was I didn’t. Panic slowly started creeping in when I remembered. The knife.

I flicked it out of my belt and showed her. “Yes, I do.” I desperately hoped that would do the trick to alleviate whatever her concern was. “Bring it to me,” she said motioning to take it. I hesitantly placed it in her hands. She took it over to her workstation and raised her mallet, bringing it down on the blade. A musical clang rang throughout the room.

“Though...unconventional, this is indeed beskar. Was this your intention, Din Djarin?”

He was quiet for a moment. I was so lost, barely keeping up with what was happening around me.

“Yes. It was.”

“Well, then there is no need to fret. You still abide by the Creed.” “Thank you. We will take our leave now.”

She handed back the blade. “Use it well, Larkin Vega.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

She looked at Din. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

We both turned and left, and as soon as we passed the doorway Din roughly grabbed my arm and nearly started running out.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“We’re going back to the ship now.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

We scrambled back, not wasting any time. As soon as the hull door closed it seemed we were in hyperspace.

Din was quiet, and not the usual good kind. I could tell he wasn’t pleased with me, but I gave him space.

But the quiet just kept going. He was maneuvering around, so tense, it almost made the air in the Crest hard to breathe.

The silence extended through the rest of the night and bled into the following day. It felt like I had to tiptoe to avoid a landmine that I didn’t even know was active or not.

What had I done?

——

“I have a surprise for you.”

That was nearly the last sentence I expected him to use to break his long period of beskar-ridden stoicism, but it admittedly succeeded in perking me up.

“A surprise. Really.” I smirked at him, watching him close the doors to the weapons closet as I sat perched on our bed.

He put a new blaster in his belt and headed up the ladder to the cockpit. “Have your blindfold on for when we descend. We’ll be there in a short while.”

“So the surprise is a place? Wait, my blindfold?” He didn’t respond as he disappeared up the rungs.

I slowly wrapped the piece of cloth around my head, the action familiar as I’d done before dozens on dozens of times. It had been only a few days since I’d stopped wearing it at night and it already felt bizarre to wear it once again.

The ship lurched as we closed in on wherever Din was taking us. When it shuddered, landing on a solid surface, I heard him land in the hull. A gloved hand wrapped around mine and guided me towards the door. I wordlessly let him lead me, nerves suddenly creeping up my stomach.

The door opened and I felt a delicate gust of warmth blow over my arms. My feet left the gangplank and onto something soft. It felt like grass and soft earth, my boots sinking ever so slightly.

I bit my lip. He’d barely spoken to me at all since Nevarro. Whatever I’d done it wasn’t good. I’d never seen him so frazzled, so quiet.

“I’m sorry about Nevarro. I should’ve said something sooner but-“

“You did nothing wrong.” He wasn’t brushing me off, wholly truthful as always.

“Then why…?”

“Take off the blindfold.”

I took in a deep breath. Right. The surprise. My fingers quickly undid the knot and the cloth slid from my eyes.

And oh, Maker.

We were in some sort of forest, but nothing I saw was green. The sky above was dark and endless, but every leaf, every blade of grass was speckled with glowing pigment in rich shades of blue, pink, and purple. Flowers twinkled like stars. Trees blowing in the wind looked like they were dipped in glitter, like those obscene dresses off Coruscant runways.

Directly in front of us was a pool of water, surrounded by rocks. The water was incredibly clear, ripples emanating from a waterfall and glittering with light as the movement danced across the surface.

My hand fluttered to my lips. It was easily the most beautiful planet I’d ever seen. Words couldn’t even form in my mouth.

“I came here on accident years ago, when I was new to the Guild. Punched in the wrong coordinates and landed here. No population, just…this.” Imagining him as a new and (more) shiny hunter made me snicker. Just like him to stumble across the most beautiful place in the galaxy unintentionally.

“I’ve always wanted to come back,” he murmured, turning his helmet to me, “but I’ve never had a good reason.”

A grin broke across my face. “You’ve just been keeping this in your back pocket this whole time?”

He shrugged, walking toward the pool. “We’re on vacation.”

I laughed as I followed him. He stilled on a rock before, achingly slow, beginning to remove his cape. The Rising Phoenix. Every Maker-forsaken blaster, knife, and anything else that could maim from his belt. Finally, his helmet.

He had a breathless look on his face, also in awe of the scene before us. A childlike wonder. It squeezed my heart, seeing the lack of worry lines in his forehead.

I was distracted like a schoolgirl with a crush, doe-eyed staring at his face, when in one fluid motion he pulled off his shirt and dove into the crystal water. His figure floated underneath the surface, black flexing as he sped through the water like a fish.

Din loved to swim, I realized deliriously.

He was graceful, arms navigating the ripples just like he navigating the ship’s console or a pulse rifle. With ease. And also, while looking infuriatingly hot.

I frantically threw off my boots and socks and hiked up the bottoms of my pants, gingerly sitting on the rock and sinking them into the pool, wiggling my toes in the warm water.

He popped above the surface and swam over to me, leaning on the rock, a small smile on his lips as a droplet dripped off the tip of his nose.

“It’s nice…” he said suggestively, offering out his hand. Something in me deflated.

“I- I’m sorry. I don’t know how to swim.”

His eyebrows raised and he floated over, in between my legs, placing his hands on my hips.

“I wouldn’t let go,” he whispered, for the first time I’d ever seen, asking “please” with his eyes.

Slowly, I lifted the seam of my shirt, crossing my arms as I reached up, letting it fall behind me. A gust of warm wind blew across the bareness of my back, under the straps of my undergarment. I laced my arms around his neck and he pushed off the rock, holding onto my waist.

It felt bizarre being buoyant in the water like that, but any nerves melted away with the warmth of his touch, the firmness of his hold. His strength. The look in his eyes that held hunger, confidence, distant sadness. But most of all, wonderfully of all, happiness.

I smiled softly as I reached a hand up to wipe the dripping curls off his forehead, letting my hand linger on his cheek for a moment.

“You big fucking romantic, you,” I said, rubbing over the stubble. There was barely any room between us, body on body, floating in a pool of stars. “Din, this is…”

Words couldn’t do it all justice. I stopped short, just taking in the scenery once more, the dreamworld fantasy he’d stumbled across and brought me to.

But why? Why now? Why, after all this time?

He must have seen the quizzical look on my face.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” Din’s voice was rich and gruff. Sturdy. But his words were fragile, tense eyebrows and wide eyes giving away apprehension.

“What is it?” I whispered, stomach flipping over itself. There was a reason we were here. What could it possibly be?

“Nevarro. The Armourer…she…”

I tensed. “Din, are we in trouble?”

“No. No, it’s just that…” He was avoiding eye contact, jaw clenched. My thumb rubbed over his cheekbone. “Hey, if you don’t want to talk about it right now we don’t have to.”

His eyes snapped onto mine. “I have to,” he bit out. He was nervous, and my mind was spinning in circles trying to discern why. I just nodded to encouraged him along.

“She held witness to you wearing my beskar.”

I stared at him squinting a little, my mind still desperately trying to catch up. And then it all clicked at once and everything in me softened.

“Din. Does that mean what I think it means?”

His eyes were darker than the sky above, reflecting the particles of light like faceted jewels, big and true.

“Larkin, by Creed we are one. But only if you wish. It can be undone.”

My hand fell off his face in shock and into the water with a small splash. It spattered us in drops but neither of us moved at all.

“Please tell me,” he breathed, chest rumbling against mine, “please tell me if you want this.”

I could’ve laughed in his face but I was too delicate to muster it.

“Want this? Din, there’s no one else in this big, stupid galaxy I’d rather live and die with. I want you Din. I- I need you. I always will. So yes,” I inhaled shakily. “Yes.”

I swear I saw a fuse light inside him then, some dormant light blasting through his skin and rendering him incandescent. He kissed me, fierce but soft, lips cool and wet but like a match, lighting a fire deep in my chest and burning out only the word more.

I dove in deep, water rushing around us as we collided.

One in the Creed.

The whole planet was glowing, but Din Djarin was the brightest fucking thing around.

——

That night I was laying on his chest under the canopy of bioluminescence. We’d dragged out the mattresses and made camp, like children playing house. The covers were warm around us and smelled like him now. A flower he’d picked for me was tucked behind my ear, the soft pink petals illuminating us both as we took each other in. We were bleary-eyed and tired, a little drunk on each other, but neither of us wanted to give in to sleep and have the moment end. He was slowly running his fingers through my hair.

If I could go back and tell the Larkin that was so scared to sleep next to him with a blindfold on what was happening now, I think she would’ve gone into catatonic shock.

“I have a question,” I told him, craning my neck to look in his eyes. They sparkled when he was happy.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Did you know about all of this when you gave me the knife?”

He clammed up for a moment, considering what to say.

“I did.”

A grin cut across my mouth. “No fucking way.”

He winced a bit. “Yeah.”

This whole time? My mind reeled.

“You gave me that knife when I pinned you sparring for the first time. Remember?”

He covered his face with his other hand. “I did, didn’t I.”

I cracked up, laughing loudly into his neck.

“You know if you asked me then instead of giving my a knife there was a good chance I would’ve said yes,” I said softly, voice still bright with laughter.

“Really?” His shock was apparent and innocent.

I cupped his face. “Yeah. You had me from the moment you nearly killed yourself with a jet pack.”

“Oh, so that’s how we’re gonna do this,” he smirked, voice low, heaving up to hold himself above me. His curls fell towards me, the muscles in his shoulders and chest flexing, smile positively evil.

I shrieked as he fell towards me, kissing hard, body pressing into mine.

“You had me from the moment I saw you,” he murmured into my neck.

I took his face in my hands and gazed at his features in awe, knowing he told the truth.

After all, Din Djarin wastes none of his words.

——

When I woke up the first thought I had was of my parents.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence. Often first thing my brain would revert to them. Maybe it was a response in confusion as to why I wasn’t in my childhood bed, or maybe it’s because they’d haunted my dreams that night.

Usually these thoughts came on violently, assaulting me with no warning, creating a tear in my chest that I would need to messily patch up throughout the day.

This morning was different. I thought of them fondly as I moved in closer to Din, burying my face into the broadness of his back.

The love my parents had was something out of the books I read. It was real and raw, my mother and father true in their intentions and honest in their thoughts. I was privileged to grow up in a home built on the foundation of their love. It was a privilege to witness them love each other even if it was for a short amount of time.

Mom and Dad knew the stakes of protecting the books. They knew the stakes of raising me as well. I was reared with the expectation to achieve greatness and goodness if I were ever to be without them. And I was, so soon.

For a while, that loneliness was all I felt. I was stuck in limbo, aimless. Constant survival mode, yet constant listlessness.

Then, things happened. Things changed. And somehow I worried that my parents wouldn’t have been happy about that.

I had rediscovered my power, my connection to the Force, and the fear of myself was beginning to turn into a pain of the past.

I had found a purpose, working with the New Republic. Every day I was surrounded by people who understood the fight my family fought long before the Empire’s end was in sight. My parents’ names were echoes on ledgers and data sheets, and I could almost feel them guiding my hands.

And, maybe, most wondrously of all, I’d found love.

Din groaned softly and rolled over, pulling me into his chest. He gently kissed my forehead before drifting back to sleep, snoring lightly.

Maybe for a stint of almost a year I was a prolific bounty hunter. Maybe I’d made reckless decisions left and right. But at the end of the day, I took solace in knowing that none of that would matter if my parents knew I was happy and loved.

And wow, was I in love.

Every part of Din was lovable to me. Every physical inch and every thought that would come into his head. It was all lovable because it was all him.

It was all so impossible and gut-wrenching that sometimes in the middle of the night I just looked at him, wondering what I’d done right.

When I thought of my parents that morning, I thought of how hard they must have loved each other. They were always under the threat of adversity, but they had each other. I knew what that felt like now. To be each other’s anchor.

As long as we stuck together, there was nothing we couldn’t do.

I’ll be okay, I thought, hoping they’d hear me.

Even if they didn’t, with my Mandalorian, with my Din, I knew it would be true.

[balgallery]

Ohio

I am up thinking about the overreach of government and what is happening in Ohio. Ohio is Insurrectionist Central. Many of the people who forced their way into the Capital were trained by the NRA in our backwoods near Ashtabula and listen to radio broadcaster conspiracy theorists. It is “Gym” Jordan land where sexual abuse of women is a man’s right. It is where Tr-mp hides amongst far right Christian theologians and imports the best looking from Palm Beach.

Ohio traffics people to include youth in the child welfare system and poor elderly who are forced into low wage workforce pool as are prisoners. Recently Tik Tok raised funds for a Walmart employee on oxygen and Tik Tok is on the government chopping block because the Chinese spy on Americans, even as it has been found that Tr-mp has Chinese bank accounts and a Chinese electronics company from Wuhan sits in Lordstown as America’s Chevy gets the boot. Again Republican project whatever they fear! It uses a paranoid prison model on law abiding citizens in hospitals, “You will leave when I tell you to leave” after having been admitted to St E’s hospital after being thrown onto a hard tiled floor to lose my right leg to a partial hip replacement, a victim of a gas pipeline leak or as I was told by a gas employee, a possible bomb. My town is Black. We in the zip code are presumed to be guilty from the get-go. This stems from the history of slavery, an internalized system of owners and owned. There is no free will in Ohio. It is God or the devil heroin.

Ohio needs systemic change. It needs to live elsewhere for a while, see how the other half lives and not deSantis copycat Florida. It needs to respect the Federal government and whatever help it gets from it instead of using Federal funds in whatever way it chooses, passed behind backs to the Energy secto in Michael Jackson’s music video’s seedy back rooms. “Can you hear me”?!

I came “home” to northeastern Ohio to find it deteriorated. My old sorority building dark, dank from flooding , memories of sexual abuse by frat boys behind locked doors and alcohol. A maintenence man tried to rent it to me as he showed foreign students well kept Victorian suites as I watched well aware of young male status in Ohio. Once grand homes formerly used by steel barons and friends of the Audubons lay in waste. Country cars and trucks park on lawns now owned by the invasion of groundhogs and yes Nutria imported from Florida I’ve been told. 200 year old Oaks fall quietly into cars and home windows.

[shingekinodank]

Can you make berserk eren memes

Berserk Eren takes no prisoners!

[renee-writer]

Love is Composed of Two Souls Inhabiting The Same Body Chapter 24

AO3

She holds six month old Jacob close as she talks to his papa. “Just for a day or so, he is sure?”

“He is. Dinna fash, my heart. I can’t be away from you a our bairns for to long.” He kisses her and then Jacob’s head. “He changes daily. I won’t miss more then I have to.”

She sighs. Brian had explained the why’s of it to her also. It still doesn’t make her feel better about her husband leaving. Especially with where and when they are going. “You will stay safe?”

“Aye. I swear it.”

Brian enters the room. He gives his heart daughter and grandson a smile. “You too.” She demands.

“Sorry Claire, what?”

“Swear he will be safe, no, that you both will be.”

“I swear Claire. I know this is frightening, but, we will be saving lives.”

“Yes. Just don’t either of you lose yours in the process.”

Jamie takes Jacob. “Little man. Don’t grow to much in papa’s absence, alright. Don’t learn anything new. Papa will be back soon. He promises.” The last he directs to Claire too. He kisses his child and breaths in his baby smell before handing him back. He has already said goodbye to the other children.

“Hurry back my warrior.” Claire says. He kisses her again and then joins his father. They disappear with nary a sound.

Reappearing In a dank alley. The gas lights and dress, tell them they are in the right time. Jamie checks that his knife had made the trip with him. It had. Brian nods to him.

“Da, are you sure about this? From what the programs on the telly say, no one knows who the fiend is.”

“Just so son. But we know when he did his despicable acts. Catching him before he slays Polly but after he grabs her, we can end his murderous spree.”

Jamie nods. They walk down the sad alley towards where Polly would meet her end, if they didn’t stop the fiend known as Jack the Ripper. Hungry eyed ladies give them looks of desperation as they pass them. It is hard to ignore them. Not because either want what they are selling. No, it is because they know how desperate they are. The East End of London in this time is full of poverty. Deep and abiding.

“There.” Brian nods to a lass, walking down a dark alley. “She will meet him soon.” They watch, both have their hands close to their knifes. To take a life is a serious thing but, they know they will be saving so many more.

He walks over, hat tipped over his face. He approaches Polly. They talk a minute and he leads her into a darker part of the alley. The two men follow. They have to make sure he isn’t just a customer. Then they see his knife.

Moving fast, they approach. Jamie grabs his legs and Brian the hand that was about to slit the lass’ throat. He tries to turn and stab them but, Jamie slices across the back of his legs, dropping him. Brian delivers the fatal blow. He stabs him in the heart.

The man, the field, the nightmare, looks up at him. He lays on the alley as the, very alive Polly, cries out. “Thank you.” He breaths out with the blood, coming up from his lungs. “Thank you. I was in hell.”

“Your welcome. Seek forgiveness so you can wake up in heaven.” Brian softly says. He doesn’t know if he did. He closes his eyes and breaths his last. The men stand, hand Polly ten quid.

“He was going to kill you. The next one may. Change your life lass.” Jamie advises as the stunned lass looks on. They run down the alley and disappear. She hurries off the opposite way.

She is waiting when he returns. Grabbing him, she pulls him into their room without even a word to him or Brian.

“Sassanach, I missed you too.”

“Bloody Jack the Ripper! Fergus found it, or didn’t . You stopped him?” She is pulling his clothes off.

“Aye, we did.”

“Didn’t want to tell me how dangerous it was, did you?” She has him nude and pulls her own gown off. Dressed for bed, it is all she wears.

“Claire, what are you…?”

“He saw as soon as it happened. Had an idea that was what you were about. We knew he was gone but didn’t know if he hurt you.” She explains between kisses across his chest and face.

“Baby,” he captures her lips and kisses her deeply. She was quickly turning him on. “We told you we would be alright.”

“I didn’t know that until I saw you.” He growls as she falls to her knees and finishes preparing him. He jerks her up and presses her against the wall. Lining himself up, he presses into her. “Yes!”

He pulls her arms above her head and slams into her again and again. She screams when she cums. He captures it with his mouth so Jacob won’t be woken. As he kisses her he cums, shooting deep inside her.

“I just had to have you inside me, to know you were truly here and safe.” She explains as they lay across the bed.

“You aren’t hearing me complain.” Jamie replies. She laughs against his chest.

“I should think not.” The both laugh. Jacob wakes and let’s out a small cry.

“Jacob!” Jamie turns and picks him up. The baby stares at his daddy. “I told you I would be back.” He smiles before placing his fist in his mouth and starting to suck. “I see. Mammy time.” He hands the baby over. “I will go check on the others.” He pulls a pair of sleep pants on and heads out.

Fergus is first. He eases his door open. The lad lays on his stomach. His hair is all over the pillow. He needs a cut but his hair is his pride.

He moves to the girls next. Faith is in the top bunk, curled on her side. Her hair is braided to keep it out of her face. Bree lays on the bottom of the bunk bed. On her back, completely spread out, like he lays. He smiles at her, hair coming out of the braid her mama placed it in.

Rory has his own room until Jacob is old enough to join him. He is in a toddler bed, his bum up towards the sky. Jamie chuckles at seeing it. His thumb is in his slack mouth.

All his children are safe and secure. He rejoins Claire and Jacob.

The kisses are growing frantic. Both parties are breathless. They half lay across her couch. She moans as his lips trail down her neck. His facial hair rubs her in a most delicious way.

“Oh. We must stop.” He sits up as Gillian looks at him with lust dazed eyes.

“What?” she asks as her breath comes in gasps.

“It wouldn’t be right. We aren’t married.” Murtagh declares.

“Are you for real?” she shakes her head. “Seriously?”

“Aye and aye. I’m sorry.” He feels her frustration deep in his loins.

“You are telling me that you have never…”

“Och no! I have just not to a woman I care about.” She starts at this.

“You, you care about me?”

“Aye, quite a bit. To much to do this without you being my wife.”

“I think that is the nicest thing a man has ever said to me.” Her eyes sparkle and she returns to kissing him. He returns it until it starts to feel out of control again.

“I mean it lass. It isn’t just a line.” A term Fergus taught him.

“Bloody hell, you do!”

“Aye.”

“Do you think me to old to marry?”

“No. You aren’t to auld a man. “ He studies his Godfather. “You are that serious with Gillian?”

“I am. I love her. It is a surprise to me. I didn’t think I would find love.”

Jamie grins, slapping his Godfather on the back. They are in the stables, making repairs. They will be getting a few horses.

“I am pleased. You will make a fine husband,” he grins before he says the rest, “and father.”

“Father!”

“Come Murtagh. Gillian is young enough to have a bairn or two. You are grand with the children and did an excellent job raising me. You should have the chance to be a papa yourself.”

“A papa. Children.” He says wonderingly as Jamie laughs aloud.

[arduadastra]

Lost Faith - Part One

A/N ITS FINALLY HERE!! Thank you for the support and I can't believe I wrote this, if you want a part two let me know!

FINALLY updated to this gorgeous header by @sirtadcooper (who you definitely need to follow)

This is set right after the season two finale and is kind of what I imagine Din would be feeling right after he’s handed Grogu off and what it would be like to find him.

Also, the crest didn’t explode ok, I refuse to believe that.

- 2.1K - (what happened?!)

/// Din is alone. He’s been alone most of his adult life. Once he left the convent he’s captured quarries solo for years. He’s used to the quiet solace hyperspace provides, the occasional hums and beeps from the crest console and the sounds of starlight rushing past is nothing more than white noise at this point. So why does it feel different this time? He leans over and flips a switch. He likes quiet, he knows quiet. Talking has never been his strong suit - in fact, he actively avoids it if he can but there’s a tightness in his chest he’s trying to ignore and he needs a fucking distraction before he punches something. After he had handed... to the Jedi he doesn’t really remember much else. Bo Katan had said something about needing to discuss his future and the dark sabre but he hadn’t paid her much thought to be honest. He had felt numb and it just didn’t seem important at the time. He remembers looking at them all and how they looked back at him. He didn’t even really realise why they seemed to stare so much until he accidentally kicked the helmet at his feet. He hadn’t bothered to put it back on. What’s the point? He had barely managed to justify putting it back on after revealing himself for that imperial scanner. Every soul that saw his face after that had died, other than Mayfeld that is. Technically no living being had seen his face so his creed remained unbroken. But this time? Din caught himself staring and at a lever with a certain missing sphere on top. He looked away. His creed. The one thing he held above all else. The thing that he had engrained into him since he was a foundling and what made him who he is: a Mandalorian. Yet, he has met Mandalorian's and they did not cover their face. They had called him different. ’A child of the watch’ Bo-Katan had said - was he even Mandalorian then? The thought cast his eye to his helmet lying discarded next to him. He thought he’d feel bare without it and he did back with the IG unit but now he just feels angry. The creed he abided by is broken now, but that doesn’t piss him off nearly as much as the realisation that it might not have even fucking mattered in the first place. He huffs. No, that’s not it. It is but it isn’t. The pressure in his chest returns and he gasps. “Dank Farrik.” Din clenches his eyes shut against the pain, it’s not like any other pain he’s felt before and he has been hurt a lot. He feels a burning sensation behind his eyelids and he shakes his head, opening his eyes and setting his next coordinates before he can think too hard about why his vision is slightly blurred. ///

It was nearing the end of your shift and you took in the sparse patrons left around you. Bar work wasn’t really what you wanted to do with your life but it’s all you had. No siblings and dead parents made for one lonely existence so you needed the company your customers provided. Drunken patrons tend to have the best stories too. You’ve heard it all over the years: divorced from the wife, hiding from the boss, hiding from the police - those were the best kind. Usually, you could guess why each one was there and why but you were stumped by someone. You had noticed the lone Mandalorian in your bar a while ago. You wouldn’t take a second glance usually but what strikes you is the fact he hasn’t moved in twenty minutes and he’s just been sat staring blankly at his own helmet the whole time. The bar is quiet and you’re the only one working so who gives a shit if you’re polishing the same glass over and over, he’s interesting. You haven’t seen a Mandalorian before let alone one as stoic as him. You’d heard the stories, of course, battle-hardened warriors capable of bringing grown men to their knees in a matter of seconds… Now that's an image. You love people-watching, or thing watching this far out in the rim, and it isn’t often you see humans. Especially ones like him. He seems sad, but not in the obvious moping, crying, shoulder shaking sad - more like he’s grieving. He’s been sat staring at the helmet on the table for a while. His hands are balled into a fist in front of it and it’s like he’s looking through it to the wall behind. His dark eyes have barely blinked and his hair is tousled on his head. He’s tanned too and has the most striking lips you’ve ever seen on a guy. You cock your head as you look at him - he’s hot. You feel bad thinking that when the guy is clearly miserable but he’s gorgeous. You have a thing for stubble and you can’t help but think how it would feel against your skin. And strangely you hate to see him so sad. You have an idea so you turn around and start making your favourite drink while you check on him over your shoulder. After a while, pleased with what you’ve concocted you walk to his table and drop the drink in his line of sight. You smile at him. “On the house.” He doesn’t look up, doesn’t seem to even acknowledge you’ve spoken to him let alone standing two feet to his left. You clear your throat. “That means it's free." He looks up at that, seemingly broken out of whatever trance he was in yet his eyes still seem so far away. “I’m not thirsty.” You nod your head to the table. “Well if you want to keep sitting here, you need something in front of you.” The man looks back at the drink, bumping it with his right fist then stares back ahead. “Ok.” He’s a chatty one. You look back at your bar and around at the other tables, no one seems to need assistance and you’re sure as hell not about to go back to standing behind an empty bar so you take in the Mandalorian and decide to sit across from him. You sigh, “Well the least you can do is have a sip, I made it after all.” The Mandalorian meets your eyes silently then glances down at the drink by his hands. He seems to take a few seconds studying the contents before bringing it to his lips for a drink. You watch him, watch as he drinks from the glass and how it travels down his throat. You see the tendons stretch and his adam apple move as he does. God, how can this guy make drinking sexy? You chide yourself on the thought. This guy is clearly going through something and he doesn’t need some random woman objectifying him. He’s finished now and is actively avoiding your eye line as he looks around himself. He seems lost like he doesn’t know how to have company with him. You decide at that moment that you aren’t leaving this guy alone. “My name is y/n by the way. What’s yours?” Nothing. He’s still not looking at you. You try again. “How was the drink?” The guy must have some form of manners because he responds at that with a slight nod. “Good.” Not much but you’ll take it. You’ve gathered from this short conversation that

this guy isn’t much for small talk so you decide to cut straight to the point. “Who did you lose?” He seems surprised by that. He looks at you fully then and you’re startled by his eyes. The rest of him seems so closed off, so shuttered but his eyes are a dead give away. They swim with grief and pain and it takes your breath away. He doesn’t respond but he keeps looking at you so you take it as permission to keep going. “I know sadness when I see it. See it every day here,” you gesture around you, “but yours seems deeper than that.” He turns away from you and you notice his jaw tense slightly, subtle but you caught it. You’re on the right track at least. “Was it your wife...or husband?” “No.”

Very quick you notice, so not a partner then. “Your friend?” He’s still looking away. Not that then. You look at his face again, he seems older than you. “Your kid?” That gets a reaction. His jaw ticks and his hand's clench. You see his bicep flex at the action and your mind wanders again and just what he looks like under that armour. “Leave me alone." You continue, “What were they like?” He frowns, and looks back at you, “You’re very insistent.” You scoff, “And you barely talk but I don’t judge.” You take a pause then lean forward into his space, “I just know it's useless when people say ’sorry’ or ’that's terrible.’ You know that already. I always found talking about them is more helpful, means there’s someone else out there to remember them.” The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything for a long time. He studies your face, eyes scanning over yours before dropping to your hands that have instinctively reached out towards him. Your fingers are grazing ever so slightly and you think he likes the contact. He leans back slightly in his chair and casts his eyes over your shoulder. “He’s not dead.” You hum, “Ok…” You think, “ ...so he’s missing?” The Mandalorian seems frustrated and shakes his head "Not missing, I mean I don’t know where he is but I - “ He casts his gaze back to you, almost as if he didn’t realise he had been talking, “Why are you asking me this?” You shrug, “Dunno, you just seemed like you needed someone to talk to.” He keeps looking at you. You lean forward more and so does he. Your fingers bump more insistently and you struggle to not rest your hands over his. The energy between the two of you changes ever so slightly, and you feel your hair stand up on end as he stares you down. He’s very intimidating. You like that. Neither of you moves away and the silence between you stretches on. You refuse to speak first because you sort of want to see what his next move is. You get the impression no one stands up to this guy and you want to be the first. He narrows his eyes, his jaw tenses when he speaks coldly, “I don’t need to talk. Go away.” Undeterred you smile at him, flashing him your teeth when you say “Oh I disagree.” He scoffs at that and gets up, leaving the drink you made him and walks out the door. You stand to follow him, grabbing his helmet as you go - how did he forget that? "Hey, we were talking!” you call after him, pushing yourself through the few stragglers still around on the street. He keeps walking, ignoring your yells so you shout louder, “you didn't even finish my drink!" Still nothing, "and you forgot your bucket!" That makes him turn and he sees the helmet under your arm. You walk towards him as he crosses his arms and sighs. He reaches out his hand for it but you hold it out of reach, “ah ah ah, I said we weren’t finished.” He scoffs “I say we have. Give it back.” “Nope.” You say popping the ‘p’ and you smile at him, “Not till you tell me what’s wrong.” He stalks forward and attempts to take the helmet but you’re quicker and sidestep him and cross it over into your other hand, leaning it out of reach again. He growls at that, “I’ll just take it from you.” You dance backwards slightly, “Oh I don’t think you will.” He remains where he is and scowls, “Don’t you have work to finish?” You shake your head, “Nah it's quiet and they’ll all leave now I’m gone. Besides, this is much more fun.” He’s getting annoyed now and gestures towards you, “What? Standing there holding my helmet hostage knowing full well I can just come over there and take it?” He walks forward again, anger now very present on his face - you love that you’ve rattled him. You know it must take a lot to get this guy mad but it seems you’ve done it rather easily. You grin at him, “You’ll have to catch me first.” And with that, you turn and run. ///

If you want to be tagged for part 2 let me know!

Tagged: @darlingotaku @theoriquewitherseld @v-mack @soul-of-daisies @bbwithaknife @luciamajer @altarsw @redredchangesintheskys @thatoneidiot16 @24-blackbirds @dindjarin-mandalorian @engineeredfiction

[coffee-with-bucky]

Florescence

Summary: Florescence: the state of flowering. The buds of palomellas and snowblooms is all it takes for your confessions to finally blossom. 

Words: 3.1k

Genre: Fluff

Spoiler Warnings: Mentions of the child’s name

A/N: This is my first Din fic! I’m a very causal fan of Star Wars so my vernacular might not be accurate to the franchise but I tried my best to research, nonetheless. As always, I hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

~~~

Serene.

This planet is luxuriant. And from what you could see from the cockpit, it is astonishingly beautiful.

A breather between the days of silent space and long trips through hyperdrive. The previous planet pitstops Din chose to land on were of various terrain – mountains, murky swamps, and sand dunes. But they weren’t saturated with green like this planet.

A fuel leak was notified on the display, to which Din landed on this unknown grassland of a planet as a precautionary measure. He told you and Grogu to stay inside the Razor Crest while he left to do the repairs.

You were confused, insisting that you would take care of the repair, considering it was the reason why you were hired a year ago to join the crew in the first place. You were the mechanic, dank farrick.

When Din was out hunting down quarries, you were there to fix every nook and cranny of the gunship. You love your profession. And having companions on board, whether tiny and green or adorned in beskar, made the hours pleasant with the extra company. But Din let of a huff, a grunt and a small shake of his head. He saw your work ethic differently.

“You’ve been working on the Crest nonstop, cyare. You need a break,” His persistent voice hid the concern he had for you, “I can do this myself. It’s just a leak.” He affirmed.

He ended the discussion then and there.

So here you are, staring at the picturesque nature through the glass windows of the cockpit.

You would have abided by his order but exploring the fields and breathing in fresh air was too much to pass up. Especially when Grogu climbed onto your lap and pointed outside with a coo and a little green finger.

Cradling him in your arm, you stride down the open ramp and let out a gasp.

It is almost overwhelmingly lush, grassy fields stretch the eye can see and woodland off in the horizon. A sea of green where turquoise and white flowers sway gently, dancing with the light breezes that pass. The sun lights up the fields with a mellow glow, adding a hint of warmth to all the green in your vision.

Stepping onto the soft grass, you turn the corner to peek at Din as he crouched on his knees at the fuel tank.

Grogu babbles when he sees his father, to which Din hears and his helmet whips towards the two of you.

“I thought I told you to stay inside, cyar'ika.” Din notes.

Cyar'ika, cyare. You have been meaning to ask him what it meant in Mando’a.

You shrug and reason, “We just wanted to stretch our legs and get some fresh air.”

Grogu tilts his head, gazing at Din with his doe eyes as his large floppy ears perk up.

Din’s filtered sigh reaches your ears, his head lowering for a mere second. He scans the fields for lifeforms, helmet slowly turning from left to right before he walks towards you.

“Okay.. Just don’t go off too far.” He advises softly.

Suddenly, his gloved hand slowly trails up your shoulder, fingers barely grazing and resting on the side of your neck. His thumb brushes your jaw as you gaze into his visor where his eyes would be.

Din gently presses his helmet against your forehead, making heat rise in your cheeks as the beskar cools your skin. A keldabe kiss, you recognized.

Blood rushes to your ears, muffling them like they were stuffed with fluffy cotton. Despite his gloves and helmet acting as a barrier that prevented you from feeling the touch of his skin, it was enough to surge electric sparks to yours. Your heart is thumping so loud that you could feel it pound in your stuffy ears.

You lean into his hand with a bashful smile and you swear you hear the faintest gasp through his vocoder.

The intimate moment is disrupted when Grogu’s tiny hand reaches into the air. He makes grabby hands at Din, making him chuckle as he holds Grogu’s hand with a finger and thumb.

“And you… Behave.” He warns.

Grogu giggles. No promises.

As you leisurely stroll away, you take a few deep breaths to calm your deeply beating heart.

You were supposed to be only known as the mechanic to Din and if anything else, an acquittance. But through the blur of jumping from parsec to parsec, formalities dissolved. And the longer you stayed on the Razor Crest, you eventually got past the wall he built around him, taking down that barrier one brick at a time.

Grogu revealed the soft spot Din had underneath all of his beskar armour, whether it was through his reactions when Din called his name or when the little womp rat climbed on his lap to get a hug from his dad.

You liked to believe that caring and soft nature from Din was always there, it just needed to come out of his shell. When you unofficially became Grogu’s other parent and Din dropped his name after you called him Mando for months on end, you grew a strong liking to the man. And soon that liking evolved to love.

It was naïve to love. And maybe it was naïve of you to fall for a man whose face you have never seen before. However, you kept your hopes up just a tiny bit, as the littlest of things he did that eventually had your heartstrings pulled.

A light pat on your shoulder, his hand lingering just a tad too long when he grasped your arm gently, his gloved fingers brushing against your skin, especially when you had grease streaked on your cheek after fixing a part of the ship. He would wipe the grease away with ease, but his touch would stay, caressing your cheekbone. That is until he realized what he was doing, coughing awkwardly and leaving to go busy himself.

Your label as an acquaintance was far gone now. The line in your relationship with Din was so blurred that you couldn’t tell where the two of you stood. 

Din wasn’t exactly… Skilled with verbalizing what he was feeling. And you on the other hand kept your feelings at bay, mostly for your sake. You didn’t want your focus on ship repairs to falter, especially when it’s needed during multiple travels throughout the galaxy.  

Maybe someday you’ll part through the fog and ask him where to clearly place that line in your relationship.

Taking a seat in the grass, you place Grogu down and watch as he admires the flowers with awe. You smile and observe the turquoise flower he plucks from its stem.

Waddling over to you, he hands it to you.

“Why thank you, Grogu.” You chuckle, heart warming at the cute gesture.

Gazing at the petals, you recognize this type of flower. You had seen these turquoise flowers being sold in a flower vendor on your home planet, but you never knew where they originated from. Palomella flowers, they were called.

A white flower enters your peripheral. You grin as Grogu offers another flower. Taking it between your fingers, you twirl it and spin the graceful white petals around. You assume the white flowers were snowblooms, guessing from the colour and size.

Turning around, you survey Din from afar as he crouched in the same spot from before. A welder grips in his hand and you watch as he slowly moves it across the metal. Sparks fly in the air like the electricity that ignited under your skin when his hand caressed your jaw earlier.

Your hand absentmindedly touches your face and neck where his glove met your skin. You could only imagine what his bare hand could feel like. Would they be rough and calloused from his bounty hunting work? Or would they be soft and warm from the protection of his gloves? Maybe somewhere in between?

A coo brings you out of your state, making you turn back around.

A quiet gasp and a laugh leave your lips when your eyes fall on the pile of white and aquamarine flowers that rest in front of you.

Grogu giggles as he places one final snowbloom on the top.

“I turn my back for one second!” You snicker.

An idea emerges as memories flood your mind from your childhood. The images of flowers resonate vividly and as brightly as the greenish-blue petals before you.

As you take a flower one by one, you tie them together with the blades of grass nearby, gradually weaving the strands of green together.

“You know, when I was about your age, I did all sorts of games and pretend with the other kids in town.” You share with Grogu. His ears twitch up as he sits beside you, intrigued with your crown making. “One game we liked to play was playing castle. We made crowns out of grass and flowers and had long sticks as swords. We made our imaginative kingdoms and pretended that we ruled the galaxy.” You chuckle.

When you finish the small flower crown, you place it on Grogu’s head. You beam a smile. He looks absolutely adorable.

“Don’t you look pretty.” You awe, lightly tapping his nose with your finger.

Grogu grins as you continue to make another flower crown to pass the time. He decides to help you with the process, handing you flowers from the pile.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve made these,” You sigh, “To think everything was so fun and innocent in my eyes when I was young. Nowadays, it’s all about dodging blaster gunfire.” You frown.

Grogu senses your disappointment, mirroring your frown.

You blink, putting a smile back on your face, “It’s just a part of growing up, I suppose. But at least we get a moment of fun on this planet, right? And considering how you’re only fifty years old, you get to play as a child for a while.”

After tying the last piece of grass, you plop the flower crown on your head. Grogu lets out a patu with a smile, eyes gazing at the flowers that sit upon your head.  

Footsteps march through the grass behind you, the rustling making you turn around.

Din stands still, a hand resting on his belt. His head tilts and while you couldn’t tell what the tilt meant, you see his hand fidget, fingers tapping against the material. He’s… anxious?

“Tank’s fixed.” He states. You nod. “We should get moving.”

Wiping your hands on your trousers, Din picks up Grogu and you amble back to the Crest.

“You made this?” Din questions, lightly poking at the flower crown on Grogu’s head then rubbing behind one of his green ears.

You hum as you reach the ramp.

“It’s… Very well made.”

A smile lifts to your cheeks, “Thank you.” Some would say Din’s compliments aren’t the greatest, but you liked them, nonetheless. It was endearing.

As Din went to put Grogu in his pram, your hand freezes over the button that closes the ramp. The nature outside captivates you again. The atmosphere reminds you of Sorgan with its hush and quieter greens. And like Sorgan, this planet was one that you wouldn’t mind settling down at.

The clunk of boots against metal flooring behind you made you shake the thought from your head.

You sense Din beside you as you watch the flowers and grass swing to the right from the wind.

“Mesh’la.” Din whispers.

You raise a brow, “What does that mean?” You ask.

“I-It means beautiful.”

You grin, “It certainly is.”

Moments of silence pass until Din clarifies, “I… I wasn’t talking about the flowers.”

You turn to Din and his helmet is staring straight at you.

“What then?” You ponder, tilting your head.

You glance at his gloved hands, his fingers twisting and playing with each other as he shifts from one foot to the other.

“..You.”

The vocoder buzzes when the whisper barely leaves through his helmet. But you heard it.

Blood rushes to your cheeks as a gasp hitches in your throat.

“Me?”

Din nods, his hand itching beside him.

You eye his hands. He pulls the gloves off from the fingertips, stuffing the leather into the edge of his belt.

His fingers reach up to brush against your cheek, the sparks igniting under your skin from earlier now set ablaze from his touch.

“I’m sorry-“

Din went to pull his hand away when you catch his wrist, gently grasping it and bringing it back to your cheek. You pick up the slight gasp behind the helmet when you lean into his touch, a bashful smile lacing your features. Your guesses were right, his hand is slightly calloused. But Maker, he is so warm.

“I-I’ve wanted to say something for a while now but it’s…. Difficult to explain,” Din’s thumb skims your cheekbone, “But I can show you instead.” Your eyes softly close as he leans his helmet against your forehead. “Can I trust you?”

“Yes, Din.” You utter softly.

“Keep your eyes closed, cyar'ika.” He instructs, helmet leaning away from you.

You muse, wondering what Din is doing as you listen to the rustling. A hiss escapes his helmet. Your heart hammers against your chest, realizing that he is taking off his helmet. You squeeze your eyes tighter as your hand plays with the sleeve hem of your tunic.

“Wait, Din your creed-“

“It’s okay.” He hushes. Your jaw drops upon hearing his voice without the hinder of his helmet. “You can’t see me, right?” His husky voice is wrapped with a softness that made your heartbeat hit rapidly inside your ears.

You shake your head, hearing a plunk beside you. He places his helmet on the floor.

“Then I didn’t break the creed. No living thing has seen my face.” He steps closer to you.

You laugh, “Your creed has a loophole then.”

“It’s not like there was a contract with fine print, cyare.” Din chuckles, his breath fanning against your face.

Heat rises to your face from the close proximity.

You feel his finger hook under your chin, tilting your head up. The light wind outside accompanies the silence that rests around the two of you. A million thoughts run through your head at what is happening when a nose grazes against yours. Then the press of lips.

You freeze. Din is kissing you. He took his helmet off to kiss you.

He barely pulls away when you lean forward and kiss him back, gently moving your lips against his to coax him to do the same. The kiss is slow and slightly clumsy, but you didn’t care. The feeling of his warm lips against yours and his hand cupping the side of your neck permeates every thought you had.

Lips moved in tandem as your hand slowly rests against his cuirass. Din grasps your hand and brings it to the side of his jaw. You cup his cheek, earning a muffled gasp from him as you caress his face. He intuitively leans into your hand and you feel the prickles of stubble.  

Din draws you towards his body with an arm wrapped around your waist. Lightly, he nips at your bottom lip when you are pressed against his armor. Your hand moves further back, fingers running through the soft curls at the back of his neck. A low groan emits from his throat when you cup the back of his head.

You must have been dreaming. You were actually kissing Din, a scenario that slipped into your mind a few times, and now, you were living it.

A giddy feeling thrives through your veins.

A chuckle bubbles from your chest, making you laugh against his lips, which makes him smile against yours.

Din pulls away breathless, leaning his forehead against yours, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s… I finally get to hear the real you, feel the real you. And I can’t believe that I just kissed you.” You laugh.

“Did you… Not like it?” Din asks quietly, his words were unsure and diminutive.

“No, Din. I liked it a lot,” Your fingers play with the ends of his hair as your heart squeezes upon hearing his doubts, “And I like you – so, so, much.”

His lips press to your cheek and what you imagine to be a moustache tickles your skin.

“I take that my actions translated well?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. You chuckle with a nod. “I like you too… Like you a lot.”

The smile on your face shines bright, warmth flourishing across your chest knowing that he reciprocated the same feelings as you.

“As much as I want to keep standing here, we really should get moving.” Din sigh.

You pout, a speck of disappointment sprinkles into your features, but you understand.

You feel Din move away from you fleetingly when his hands find your shoulders, squeezing them.  

“You can open your eyes, cyar'ika.”

Slowly, you lift your eyelids. You blink rapidly, adjusting to the light until your sight softens when your eyes land on the shiny beskar in front of you, particularly the T-shaped visor. You glance at your reflection in the metal, almost forgetting the flower crown still sitting on your head.

You remove the flower crown and glance at the flowers, turning it in your hands.

“I know it’s an optional custom to give a bouquet of flowers to someone you fancy, but I guess this will do,” You chuckle, biting your lower lip, “May I?” You gesture the flower crown to the top of his helmet, asking for permission.

Din nods. Situating the flower crown on his helmet, your eyes lit up at the sight. Din’s armor was always stunning but seeing him with the flowers reflected how you saw him.

He very much is that stoic Mandalorian that many perceive him to be, but underneath that armor was Din and where that spot of benevolence he had for you and Grogu always existed. The kindness and protection he gave peeked here and there and blossomed throughout your time knowing him. And it was today where you experienced his affection in full bloom, along with his flourished confession.

Through the reflection, you notice a small pallomella stuck on your head. Before you could grab it, Din plucks it out, holding it between his thumb and finger.

He tucks it softly behind your ear, fingers lingering by your jaw.

As his hands cup the sides of your cheeks, he pulls you into another keldabe kiss. Your eyes gaze into his visor, smiling at the feeling of his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

Placing your hands tenderly over his, Din hums,

“Ner mesh'la sarad.”

My beautiful flower.

[unsere-zeit-ist-jetzt]

28.03.2020 (2): Gebrochen

(vorheriger Post)

Rollenspielprojekt von @riddikulus und @shakshuka-grandpasweaters

Hier geht's zum allerersten Play

Hier geht's zu unseren Timelines

Hier werden unsere Plays ins Englische übersetzt

Hier wird erklärt, was ein Sekretariatsblick ist

Hier bekommt ihr einen kleinen Einblick von Davenzis Wohnung

Samstag, 20:07 Uhr:

WhatsApp, Beste Crew:

David: Wisst ihr schon was, Carlos?

Hanna: Ja, genau… oder wartet ihr noch?

Abdi: Die beiden sind jetzt vor 5 Minuten endlich aufgerufen worden… ich warte…

Mia: Oh Mann, ich drück die Daumen, dass alles okay ist…

David: Ja, sah echt übel aus…

Amira: Ich hab’s ja gesagt, Leute! Dieser “Sport” ist gefährlich… für mich war’s das jetzt erstmal…

Matteo: Kann ich verstehen. Abdi, sag bitte Bescheid, auch wenn ihr irgendwas braucht.

Alex: Ja, sag Bescheid, ich hab ja ein Auto. Also, ich hätte euch ja auch gefahren, wenn nicht irgendjemand behauptet hätte, man könnte auch mal Bahn fahren.

Mia: Das waren 5 Stationen! Und die Bahn hat direkt bei der Eisbahn gehalten!

Alex: Ich sag ja nur, ich hätte euch zum Krankenhaus fahren können…

Hanna: Wie dem auch sei, bitte grüß sie herzlich.

Abdi: Danke, Leute, ich geb Bescheid.

Carlos: Arm ist gebrochen…:-/

David: Fuck…

Mia: Oh nein… und wie geht’s ihr?

Hanna: Oh Mann, arme Kiki...

Carlos: Naja, so semi…

Jonas: Scheiße! Gute Besserung von mir!

David: Ja, von uns auch…

Kiki: Ist ja Gott sei Dank der linke…

Sam: Trotzdem scheiße… oh Mann, Süße, das tut mir leid!

Abid: Kiki ist voll tapfer… wir fahren jetzt erstmal nach Hause…

Alex: Von mir auch gute Besserung! Soll ich euch abholen?

Kiki: Echt lieb, Alex, aber ist ja nicht weit…

Matteo: Ach, shit. Tut mir voll leid!

Kiki: Ist nicht deine Schuld, Matteo.

Matteo: Naja, schon ein bisschen… ich hätte ja nicht um dich rumfahren müssen…

Kiki: Ja, ich war aber eh schon am Wackeln.

Matteo: Und wir können nichts tun?

Carlos: Nee, lasst mal. Wir fahren jetzt erstmal nach Hause und ziehen uns Tiefkühlpizzen rein und dann ab ins Bett und ausruhen.

Hanna: Das klingt gut.

Jonas: Aber wenn ihr was braucht…

Kiki: Melden wir uns. Danke, Leute!

Sam: Wie lange musst du den Gips denn tragen?

Abdi: Vier bis sechs Wochen… Sie hofft, nur vier wegen Uni…

Jonas: Aber ist doch links… da geht Uni doch dann trotzdem…

Hanna: Ja, aber ist ja trotzdem kacke…

Carlos: Ey, ich sag’s euch, Leute… sobald ich mit dem Führerschein durch bin, hol ich mir ein Auto…

Abdi: Yes! Bin ich voll für! Auch für Einkäufe und so…

Sam: Boar, Abdi, bist du faul…

David: Wie lange brauchst du denn noch?

Carlos: Ich mein ja auch eher so für den Notfall… wenn sowas ist wie heute… ich hab nächste Woche Theorieprüfung… Aber Praxis brauch ich sicher noch so 6 bis 10 Fahrstunden oder so…

Jonas: Dann fehlen ja bald nur noch Amira und Luigi…

Matteo: Sobald ich im Lotto gewonnen hab…

Matteo: Damit ich mir auch ein Auto leisten kann...

Carlos: Du kannst mit meinem üben

Jonas: Bist du sicher?

Matteo: PFF!

Amira: In Berlin braucht man doch kein Auto. Ich stress mich da nicht.

Mia: Find ich auch!

Alex: Find ich nicht. Auto ist viel bequemer und an vielen Stellen auch schneller…

Jonas: Naja, in Berlin…

Matteo: Also so oder so: Carlito, ich drück die Daumen für die Theorie!

Carlos: Danke, Brudi!

David: Tun wir alle…

Abdi: Hey, Kiki, aber an meinem Geburtstag bist du trotzdem am Start, oder?

Jonas: Hast du inzwischen eine Location gefunden?

Kiki: Abdi, ich hab nur was am Arm… klar… das lass ich mir doch nicht entgehen…

Abdi: Ja, ich hab nochmal bei dem Raum vom letzten Jahr angefragt… geht klar!

Sam: Joa, geil… der Raum war doch super!

David: Fand den auch ganz nice…

Abdi: Du warst letztes Jahr auf meinem Geburtstag!? :-P

David: Haha… :-P

Hanna: Awww, stimmt… an Abdis Geburtstag vor einem Jahr habt ihr euch ja zum ersten Mal geküsst… <3

Sam: Sweet!

Matteo: David kam mit Leonie, und war für ungefähr zehn Minuten da…

Abdi: Hättest ja wenigstens noch warten können, bis ich da bin

Matteo: Ähm, nee, hätte er nicht…

Jonas: Wir haben uns schon auch Sorgen gemacht…

Mia: Ja ja, bis zum 5. Bier…

Jonas: Gar nicht! Immer!

Carlos: Wir haben unsere Sorge nur ertränkt

Abdi: Aber dieses Jahr haut ihr nicht ab, oder?

Matteo: Mal sehen ;-)

David: Nee, dieses Jahr nicht… wir haben ja dann noch den ganzen Sonntag Zeit zum Feiern…

Mia: Nachdem ihr euren Rausch ausgeschlafen habt…

David: Genau *g*

Amira: Und macht ihr wieder was mit Wasser!?

Hanna: Oder was mit ohne Wasser, wo mal Wasser war!?

David: Eher letzteres…

Hanna: Und wird das Wassergeheimnis jemals gelüftet werden!?

Carlos: Kiki sagt, sie will das Wassergeheimnis auch wissen… sie hat es sich verdient… so Schmerzensbonusmäßig und so….

Matteo: Sorry, Leute, wir teilen ja sonst wirklich immer gern alles mit euch, aber das bleibt unsers.

Hanna: Ich hab es befürchtet

Carlos: Hmpf

Matteo: Ey, ich hab das schon mal gesagt, ihr findet das bestimmt gar nicht so spannend, aber für uns ist es halt was Besonderes

Abdi: Wir finden alles spannend!

Alex: “Wir” ist hier aber sehr frei eingesetzt… ich muss nicht alles wissen.

Mia: Ich auch nicht, ist doch okay, dass sie sich was bewahren wollen.

Carlos: Find ich nicht

Matteo: Okay. Pech gehabt. So, Abdi, was wünscht du dir denn eigentlich?

Abdi: Eine Regenbogenflagge…

Hanna: Nee, komm, ernsthaft jetzt.

Carlos: Yeah! Wir wollten doch sowieso eine haben.

Jonas: Haben sie auf dem Queer Family Day im Lambda beschlossen…

Mia: Ja, aber du kannst dir doch nicht nur eine Regenbogenflagge wünschen…

David: Ich hab noch eine Idee… hat er auch mal erwähnt, dass er das haben will… aber wir brauchen trotzdem noch ein “richtiges” Geschenk. Mach mal ne Ansage, Abdi!

Carlos: Wünsch dir einen Thermomix!

Abdi: Was hab ich denn gesagt, was ich mir wünsche?!

Hanna: Würd mich jetzt auch interessieren…

Kiki: Ich mach mal später eine Gruppe für Abdis Geburtstagsplanung…

Matteo: Ich weiß es!

Carlos: Gruppe ist gut

Alex: NOCH eine Gruppe?

Jonas: Ich hätte auch noch eine Idee…

Abdi: Das ist gemein…

Matteo: Überraschung ist doch viel schöner, Abdi

Abdi: Ja, gut stimmt

Carlos: So, Pizzen sind fertig… wir hauen rein…

Matteo: Guten Hunger und gute Besserung, Kiki!

David: Schönen Abend!

Amira: Erholt euch gut! Ich bin froh, dass nichts Schlimmeres passiert ist…

Mia: Aufgabe für Abdi und Carlos: Kiki bedienen und betüddeln

Abdi: Kriegen wir hin. Tschau, Leute!

Wir freuen uns über Likes, Reblogs, aber am meisten über Kommentare und Feedback! Also immer her damit ;-)

(nächster Post)

[sweet-city-woman]

Take It or Leave It | Eddie Munson

A/N: I’m hyperfixated on Stranger Things Season 4 and Eddie Munson so... this might have multiple parts? I left it on a cliff hanger. This is pure fluff right now.

Summary: You’re home alone for the weekend when you see something suspicious at your neighbor, Reefer Rick’s, house. You go to investigate (against your better judgement) and find someone unexpected. 

Pairing: Eddie x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of murder, violence, alcohol, drugs, drunk reader, divorce, swearing

Word Count: 4.7 k

“Don’t leave this house this weekend, okay? With everything going on and a murderer on the loose, I don’t want you to be sitting outside past dark, either. I’ll call when I get to Milwaukee. There’s pizza money on the counter for tomorrow.” Your dad put his big hand on your shoulder. You rolled your eyes, brushing it off.

               “You don’t have to worry about me going anywhere. I’m a loser, remember? No friends to hang out with.”

               You initially didn’t want to move to Hawkins with your dad. You hated the cold and you hated that there were no beaches in landlocked Indiana. You wanted to stay in Florida with your mom. But then your mom started dating perfect, muscular, fitness instructor Dave and he moved his two kids into your childhood home and suddenly you became obsolete and in the way. When your mom called your dad and asked him to take you off her hands for senior year, you weren’t surprised.

               The summer had been fine, you’d mostly stuck to the lake that sprawled behind your dad’s cabin. You read more romance and horror novels than your brain could comprehend while sitting on the dock. You burned through every book written by Shirley Jackson and Jane Austen. Your dad tried to encourage you to get out and meet the local kids, but you preferred the solitude. Or at least you told yourself that you preferred being alone. When school began in August you blended in so seamlessly that no one even asked if you were new. Being ignored was better than being targeted.  

The only exciting thing that happened during the slow, sticky months was your next door neighbor being hauled off to prison for distributing weed. ‘Reefer Rick,’ as he was known, was a local legend and well-known drug dealer. Your dad practically cheered when the cops pulled up, he was always more strait-laced and law-abiding than you thought necessary. He complained constantly about the weed smell wafting from the house. Now the house sat vacant, growing dusty and dank and dragging down everyone’s property value.

               Your dad sighed and turned his back to you, grabbing his duffel bag by the door. “There’s also TV dinners in the freezer and cereal in the pantry. I’ll be back on Tuesday.”

               “Safe travels,” you said sardonically. As he left you turned the lock and pressed your back to the door. Alone at last. Your blissful long weekend included a horror movie double feature of Halloween and The Shining that you rented earlier in the day from Family Video. The girl who worked the desk at the local video shop, Robin, always tried to make small talk with you when you would ride up on your bike to pick up a new horror flick or romcom. She talked a lot and you didn’t talk enough. Her coworker, Steve, even asked you out to dinner once, but you thought he was pulling your leg so you said no. You didn’t feel like you could befriend cool kids like them.

               You set up the VCR and walked over to the fridge, pulling out one of your dad’s prized cans of PBR. You cracked the can open and plopped down on the beat-up leather sofa in the middle of the room. You clicked on the remote and settled in as young Michael Meyers pulled a kitchen knife out of a drawer.

***

               As the closing credits of The Shining rolled across your screen a few hours later, you felt equal parts scared shitless and hazily drunk. Having three beers on an empty stomach while watching horror films home alone probably wasn’t your best idea. You staggered into the kitchen and pulled a Hungry Man out of the freezer: chicken and gravy edition. As you attempted to pry open the cardboard box, you looked out over the lake behind the house. You could admit that you loved Lovers’ Lake in spite of hating Hawkins, but tonight the shadows seemed longer than normal, and you shivered.

               You couldn’t get the cardboard box to open. You slammed the frozen brick down on the counter and grabbed a pair of scissors out of the drawer beside the sink. As you were about to massacre the packaging you saw something glint out of the corner of your eye. You stopped and pressed your face to the kitchen window. You held your breath, wondering if the flash you saw was in your mind. Until it happened again.

               You saw another flash in the window of Reefer Rick’s boat shed followed by a shadowy figure. You backed away from the window and pressed your free hand to your chest. There was a murderer on the loose in Hawkins and Rick’s property had been empty for months. It would be the perfect hiding spot for a killer! Your imagination ran wild picturing a bloodied man hiding in the shadows looking for his next victim.

               Without thinking, and against your better judgement, you slipped on your beat-up Converse and decided to go investigate. You’d seen more slasher films than anyone you knew, but that didn’t stop you from ignoring the final girl logic and going to see for yourself.

               You clutched the scissors in your hand and staggered onto the back porch of your dad’s house. The night air was stagnant, only the sound of crickets and frogs breaking up the silence. Your vision swam even though buzz was beginning to wane a little as your heart slammed against your ribs. You creeped closer to the shed, coming up to the mildewy window. You peeked inside and saw nothing at all.

               The boat shed held a little boat with an outboard engine and a bunch of old crap piled up around the edges of the room. Reefer Rick was quite the pack rat. You stood on your tip toes, trying to get a better look at the rest of the building. After a few moments you let out a sigh of relief, feeling ridiculous for thinking that the Hawkins murderer would be hiding in your next door neighbor’s shed. The killer was probably halfway to Michigan by now with the insane search happening. You chuckled to yourself nervously.

               You started to turn away from the shed when you heard a bang inside. Your heart leapt into your throat. You tiptoed towards the flimsy metal door and banged it open. 

               “Killer!” You announced loudly, “come out now and I won’t hurt you!” Your hand holding the scissors was suspended in the air. You tried to sound so fierce but then you hiccupped.

               A masculine figure emerged from the boat with hands up. “I can promise I am not the guy you’re looking for.”

               As he stood, the pale light filtering through the windows lining the shed illuminated him. He was average height in a leather jacket with a shaggy haircut.

               “Eddie Munson? Why the fuck are you in Rick’s shed?” You stumbled forward slightly.

               Eddie turned towards you and squinted in the dark, “Who are you? Why are you holding scissors? Are you drunk?”

               You realized you’d never actually had a conversation with the guy you were holding at scissor-point. You knew Eddie because Eddie made himself known to everyone at Hawkins High School. He was the guy who did monologues about society on the cafeteria tables, he was the guy who ran the Hellfire Club, and he was the guy you stole glances at every chance you got. Your brain felt scrambled. You stammered your name and confirmed you’d been drinking a little.

               “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced, why don’t you put down the scissors and we can talk about all this,” Eddie gestured broadly at the room. The rings on his fingers glinted in the moonlight.

               You placed the scissors on the work bench beside you and Eddie released a breath he had been holding.

               “Why are you hiding in Rick’s shed?”

               Eddie cleared his throat, “You know that big investigation happening? Well, some people think I killed Chrissy Cunningham.”

               Your eyes widened and you thought about yelling for help. Eddie closed the gap between you two in three steps and pressed his palm to your mouth.

               “You don’t want to do that, sweetheart. I can assure you that I am no killer. At least not in real life.” He peered at you in the dark and lowered his hand. “Aren’t you that new girl? I think I’ve seen you around. You’re from Florida, right? Like a reverse snowbird.” He smiled at his joke before his dark eyes grew serious again, “Please don’t yell for anyone.”

               You didn’t understand how he was getting off the topic of being a murderer to ask about your background. “Did you kill her?”

               “No!” He shook his shaggy hair, “No, I didn’t. Something did. I’m not sure – but it wasn’t me!”

               Eddie was still too close for comfort, his chest brushing yours every time you inhaled. You stepped back slightly, your senses feeling overwhelmed. You pressed your back against the door.

               You crossed your arms over your chest, “If you didn’t kill her then why are you hiding? Why don’t you just go to the police? People who don’t have anything to hide don’t hide.”

               “Look,” Eddie pressed his palms to his eyes, “just because I say I’m innocent doesn’t mean that everyone in this narrow-minded, stupid, conservative town believes I’m innocent. Half of the basketball team is on the hunt for my ass and-- according to my sources-- they’re armed to the teeth.” His full lips pulled into a line. “I’m a dead man walking, and while I thought I made peace with my mortality, I realize now that I have been lying to myself.”

               You reeled at the thought of people starting a witch hunt for Eddie. He was branded as the town freak, a satanist, a cult leader, and more because of his music taste and extracurricular activities. He liked smoking weed, he liked metal and he played D&D. That was about as far as his alleged delinquency went, according to school gossip. The Satanic Panic turned every God-fearing conformist’s brain into mush. Your dad, despite being a relatively progressive guy, even raised his eyebrows at your copy of The Exorcist. 

               You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought, and you pretended not to notice Eddie’s eyes looking at your mouth.

               “If people are looking for you, don’t you think they’d check your drug dealer’s house? Doesn’t this kind of make you a sitting duck.”

               “Hence my current predicament,” Eddie shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m, pardon my French, royally and severely fucked. Thank you for pointing it out.”

               You looked around the room once more and at the guy in front of you. He looked tired and worse for wear. His clothes were rumpled, and his hair could stand a brush. There were no lights in the shed so you doubted there was electricity.

               “My dad is out of town for the weekend if you’d rather stay somewhere with a shower and food.” You couldn’t believe the words were tumbling out of your mouth. “I, uh, live next door. I saw the flashlight from my kitchen and that’s why I came over.”

               Eddie’s smirked, “A pretty girl who is home alone for the weekend came over to investigate what she thought was a murderer in a boat shed? Don’t you have a reputation at school for being smart? You must be hammered.”

                You were glad that it was so dark in the room or Eddie would surely see the blush on your cheeks. You’d never been accused of being pretty before. You also had no idea that you had any reputation at school.

               “The offer stands, take it or leave it. I’m starving so I’m going to go heat up my dinner now.” You grabbed your scissors and turned to leave.

               “Oh, I’m definitely taking you up on this offer,” Eddie wandered over to the boat and reached inside to pull out his cassette player. “Lead the way, M’lady.”

               You pushed the door open and looked both ways before letting Eddie follow behind you. Your neighbors were exceedingly nosy. Your neighbor on the other side of your dad’s home had come over a few weeks ago to complain that she could hear you having yelling matches on the phone with your mom about moving back to Florida. You didn’t realize how thin the walls were or how loud you could be when you were angry.

               You walked back into the kitchen where your thawing dinner sat on the counter. Your belly churned at the thought of eating anything at this point. Your brain felt foggy and your stomach was beginning to hurt from the beer.

               Eddie blinked hard in the bright room. He looked exhausted with dark rings around his eyes and a grey pallor to his face. You couldn’t believe that Eddie Munson was standing in your house. Never in a million years would you have thought anyone from school would be in your house, let alone Eddie.

               “You probably want a shower, right? I’ll go grab something of my dad’s for you to wear and I’ll toss your stuff in the wash. We don’t have a dryer though so I’ll have to hang the laundry up, if that’s okay? Oh –” You were speaking so fast.

               Eddie leaned his hip against the counter and took you in, his head cocked in amusement. “Are you blushing? Am I making you nervous?”

               “No. Do you want chicken and gravy or would you prefer meatloaf for dinner?” You lied about not blushing. All of the alcohol and endorphins were running wild in your body. Your face was a deep pink.

               “Whichever is easiest. I haven’t had anything but Chef Boyardee in days, my standards are abysmally low.”

               You nervously smoothed your hair down and nodded. You pulled another chicken and gravy meal out of the freezer and turned on the oven to preheat. You left Eddie standing in the kitchen and walked back to your dad’s room. You dug through his closet for an old shirt and pajama pants. Unfortunately, the only pants you could find were Christmas themed and across the butt they said: “You Can Jingle My Bells.” You wanted to die at the thought of giving them to Eddie, but you realized that nothing else your dad owned would fit his thin frame. Your head began to throb.

               When you walked back into the living room you saw Eddie staring at the framed school photos of you that your dad kept hung on the wall above the couch.

               “These are cute,” Eddie said without turning towards you, “I like the pigtails, they’re a real statement.” He pointed to your kindergarten photo.

               You pressed your cool hand to your warm cheeks and tried to quiet the butterflies in your churning stomach. You really needed to drink something. “Here’s some PJs, I’m sorry they’re awful.”

               Eddie turned towards you and could hardly contain his laughter at the 1975 Family Reunion shirt and Christmas pants you handed to him. “This will be one of my more eclectic looks.” You wanted to die on the spot, but instead you tried to remain solemn as you showed him to the bathroom and shoved a towel at him.

               “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” Eddie said playfully, leaning in the doorframe.

               “Can’t, the oven is on,” You replied without thinking before realizing how mortifying it was that you just implied that you’d join Eddie in the shower if the oven wasn’t on. You turned even more red and pulled the door closed on him.

               You walked back into the kitchen and poured yourself the world’s largest glass of water and slammed two pain relievers back. You needed to flush your system of any trace of alcohol so you could be in control of yourself. You didn’t behave irrationally, and you didn’t say weird things like ‘can’t, the oven is on’. That wasn’t you. You felt ridiculous. You couldn’t believe you invited Eddie to stay the weekend with you.

               As you prepped the TV dinners and slid them into the oven you recalled the first time you had seen Eddie. It was your second or third day of school that year and you were walking in the hallway. You saw Jason, school king and jock extraordinaire, cornering Eddie by the bathroom.

               Eddie had his hands up in that noncommittal way he usually played, “Look, man, I don’t have anything to do with your teammate being dropped from the team. Terry wanted to smoke, I wanted to make money. Not my fault he got caught.”

               Jason puffed his chest up at Eddie, “You need to stay away from my team. Stay away from everyone I know. You’re a freak! You do nothing but make things worse around here.”

               Eddie chuckled, “Mission accomplished, then.”

               Jason raised a fist towards Eddie and Eddie scurried under his arm and into the hallway. He briefly made eye contact with you and winked. You felt your stomach flip. You knew exactly why you were attracted to Eddie. He had that bad boy thing going on but with a side serving of softie. You saw the way he adopted the younger students who didn’t have anyone into his group. You also saw the way he tried to break people of their narrowmindedness with little success. His methodology wasn’t the best and he had a flair for the dramatic, but he wasn’t all hard edges and biting comments.

               You poked holes in the tops of the TV dinners and returned them to the oven.

               “How do I look?” Eddie’s voice made you jump and pulled you from your daydream.

               You turned towards him and took in the very colorfully dressed guy in front of you. The screaming neon green shirt coupled with the red and yellow pants made your eyes cross.

               “You make Cyndi Lauper jealous, I think,” you covered your mouth with your hand.

               Eddie shook his damp hair like a dog and laughed, “Cyndi Lauper wishes she could look this good.”

               Eddie slid into the chair at the small table in your kitchen. You and your dad never ate meals together so there was tons of junk mail and your old homework scattered across the top. Eddie started straightening the papers into a pile so you’d have room to eat. He pulled a sheet of paper from the stack and flicked it with his fingernail. “I knew you were smart. Book smart and not street smart since you let me in your house.”

               “I make okay grades, nothing special.”

               He rolls his eyes, “A-, A, B-, A, and a whopping A+ in English. Please spare me your efforts at downplaying your intelligence. You should see my report cards. There’s a reason I am a super senior.”

               Your timer went off and you slipped a pair of oven mitts with small fish all over them onto your hands. You didn’t know how to reply to his self-deprecation. Your parents sucked but they never put down your intelligence. You wondered if Eddie’s parents had been less supportive. If he had parents at all.

               You slid the plastic tray across the table to Eddie and took a spot beside him. You watched as Eddie inhaled the frozen food as if it were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. You picked at your food, feeling anxious around the boy beside you. Your head was beginning to clear up.

               Halfway through your meal the phone rang. You leapt up from your seat and rushed over to the phone attached to the wall.

               “Hey, Dad. How’s Wisconsin?” You said into the receiver.

               The voice on the phone was not your dad. “Um no… This is Jason, from math class?”

               “Oh, hey… Jason,” You felt your heartrate climbing. “What’s up?”

               Eddie’s head snapped towards you and his eyes widened. He mouthed fuck over and over.

               “You live next door to Reefer Rick’s place, right?”

               “Yep. He doesn’t live there right now, though. He went to prison this summer. I think for a while, drug stuff.”

               “Look, this is going to sound really weird, but have you seen anybody over at Rick’s place? Or have you seen anything suspicious?”

               You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, “No, not at all. Why? Did something happen?” You tried to keep your voice even. Your hands were shaking.

               “There’s this murderer on the loose, Eddie Munson. Do you know him? He killed my girlfriend, Chrissy Cunningham. My boys and I think he might be hiding out at Rick’s, but I thought I would call you and check before we drive all the way out there. Have you seen Eddie?” He sounded choked up and angry.

               You swallowed hard, “I heard about Chrissy, I’m really sorry. I don’t really know Eddie. Isn’t he that D&D guy? Anyways, I haven’t seen him. I can give you a call if I do see something?”

               Jason paused and you heard muffled voices as if he pressed his palm to the receiver.

               “Can we pay you a visit? We just want to check things out. He’s a dangerous person.”

               “My dad’s out of town and he doesn’t like me to have people over if he’s not here. Sorry. I wish I could help more. If you give me your number, though, I can call… like I said…”

               Jason mumbled to people in the background again. “Are you sure you haven’t seen anyone?”

               “Jason, maybe you should report what you know to the cops. If Eddie really is… dangerous, then shouldn’t the police be the ones looking for him? I’d hate for you to get hurt.”

               “The cops don’t believe us, they’re covering for that freak. Thanks for your help.”

               “Have a good night.” The receiver died before you finished your sentence.

               “Well that was terrifying,” you turned to face Eddie. His face was as pale as a sheet and he looked as if he might run away any second. He put the fork he was holding down and put his head in his hands.

               “Hey,” you walked over to him and pressed a hand to his shoulder. “I think they believed me. I don’t think those meat heads are going to come sniffing around here anytime soon. Besides, they won’t come poking around my house, they have no reason to.”

               Eddie shook his head, “They’re not going to stop until I’m dead. Eye for an eye, they don’t care whose eye it is. Everybody thinks I’ve murdered Chrissy except you.” He sounded like a little boy.

               You rubbed small circles in his shoulder, “Look at me.”

               Eddie looked up at you, his eyes rimmed in red.

               “I’m not going to let some jerks come and hurt you. I’m sure this is all one big misunderstanding and once the cops get the real killer, you’ll be free and they’ll feel like jackasses for coming after you.”

               He swallowed hard, “What if I told you that whoever, whatever killed Chrissy wasn’t human?”

               “When we see something traumatic sometimes our brains think that things are… less easily explained than they are. After all this is over maybe you should talk to Ms. Kelly.” You’d been seeing Ms. Kelly about the divorce and perfect Dave. She was really good at her job and you were sure she could help Eddie too.

               Eddie reached up and grabbed your hand, “I’m serious. An invisible monster killed Chrissy. It’s been haunting my nightmares and all I can see is Chrissy floating in the air and being snapped up like a twig.”

               You furrowed your brow and looked down at Eddie. He looked frightened, his cocky demeanor shifting to fear. You reached out and pressed your other hand to his face, “I’m sorry you had to see that.” Your skin tingled at the contact with his skin and you felt ridiculous, yet again.

               “You believe me, right?”

               You cocked your head to the side, “I believe that you’re scared and whoever killed Chrissy must have been awful.”

               He looked disappointed but relieved. He could tell you didn’t believe that an invisible monster killed Chrissy, but he appreciated that you didn’t think he did it.

               You moved away from Eddie and took your seat at the table again, eating a few more bites of lukewarm food. You felt unsettled by everything that had been revealed so far that evening. Most things weren’t lining up, but you were certain that Eddie Munson wasn’t responsible for any of it.

***

               “Ready for bed?” You asked Eddie. Reruns of Cheers filled the background as you and Eddie sat a few feet apart on the couch. Eddie clutched the solitary fish shaped throw pillow to his chest. He looked like he was elsewhere ever since Jason called.

               Notably, your father never called when he got to Milwaukee. You figured that whatever conference he was at took precedence over checking in with his teen daughter. It made you irritable even though you wanted to pretend you didn’t care what your dad did or thought.

               Eddie didn’t respond to you. He stared blankly at the television, his breathing shallow.

               “Eddie? You ready for bed?” You reached over and touched his tattooed arm.

               He flinched and looked at you, panic in his eyes. After a few seconds he realized where he was and what he was doing.

“Oh, yeah. Sounds good.”

               You stood from the couch and went to the linen closet, pulling out a big ugly fishing themed blanket that your dad stuffed away. It probably belonged to the previous owners. You brought the blanket to Eddie and then walked into your room, grabbing one of the many pillows from your bed.

               “My room is the one across from the bathroom if you need anything. If you wake up before me, you can go ahead and make whatever you want from the fridge or freezer. I think we have Frosted Flakes too, but I’d smell the milk before you use it.”

               Eddie smiled up at you from where he sat on the couch, “Thanks for letting me stay. This beats sleeping on a boat.” Your heart skips a beat in your chest as he looks up at you.

               “No problem.” You smiled back at him. On your way to your room you shoved his dirty laundry into the washer and turned the machine on. The washer roared to life and you kicked yourself for not starting the load earlier.

               You shut your bedroom door behind you and pressed your hand to your forehead. You replayed the way Jason sounded in your mind. He was so determined to find Eddie, you were sure that Eddie was in serious trouble.

               You slipped into a big t-shirt and shorts, climbing into your bed. You had no idea what to do with Eddie once your dad came back. You wondered if you could let him stay somehow, hide under your bed. You knew your dad would kill you if he knew you had a boy staying over. Especially a wanted man.

               You pulled your pillow over your face and groaned. As sleep started to come over you, you heard a soft knock at your door.

               “Yeah?” You mumbled sleepily.

               Eddie cracked open the door and peeked his head in, “I know this is going to sound like I’m trying to pull something on you… but I can’t sleep. I was wondering if I could, um, sleep on your floor?”

               You sat up and rubbed your eye, “are you okay?”

               “When I close my eyes I see Chrissy,” he swallowed hard. “Sorry, this is stupid. I’ll go lay down. I’m sure I’ll get tired enough that I’ll just fall asleep. Sorry.”

               You reached out to grab the edge of the door before it closed, “No, it’s totally understandable. You can sleep here. Don’t sleep on the floor though, that’s not comfortable. There’s room for two.” You slid over closer to the wall that your bed pressed up against and lifted the edge of the covers. You weren’t thinking clearly and Eddie looked at you skeptically. “Take it or leave it, Eddie. Either way.”

               You rolled over and tried to still your pounding heart. What were you thinking? Inviting Eddie Munson to share your bed.

               The edge of the bed dipped, and Eddie’s leg brushed yours under the covers as he situated himself. “Thanks.” 

[catluvus]

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