#a bit sad

[draculasfavoritewife]

No Word For Hero

Summary: You love him and the way he will always be your protector, but sometimes facing the truth is the most terrifying thing of all.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Nightmares and discussions of death. The one-two punch of angst and fluffiness all in one. This one is a fair bit more somber than my other Mando stuff.

Another trope I will never ever get tired of -- the "having a nightmare while sleeping with your partner" routine! 🥳 Gets me in my feels every time, particularly with a character like Din who (to me at least) canonically also has frequent nightmares. I first drafted this one a couple summers ago as a result of all my feelings after that big moment in "The Marshal", as I'm sure will be obvious.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

It's coming, exploding up from beneath the billowing sands, looming over everyone, titanic, monstrous, ravenous....

...He turns to you, ever so briefly, tilts his head in that meaningful look you know all too well...that damn look that means he's going to play hero again.

Damn his altruism.

When is he going to stop?

You already know that answer, too. It lurks forever in the back of your mind, awake or asleep, always whispering there, a constant venom ever deepening its grasp around your heart until one day the cold reality finally breaks it.

He'll stop when he finally doesn't come back to you.

When he's at last granted the warrior's death you know he desires.

Only then.

You can't even scream as he disappears down the dragon's throat, too frozen with horror to make a sound....

You bolt upright, gasping for breath, damp hair clinging to your face and tears running down, their salty tang sharp on your lips.

Stupid nightmares.

"Go away," you mutter, rubbing harshly at your eyes. "Just stop."

The cot is small, realistically much too small for two adults, and your distress is painfully evident to the man sharing it with you, whose arm has just been violently dislodged from its place around your torso.

"Bad dream?"

He sounds tired. He hardly ever sleeps through a full night at the best of times, and even then it's rarely a deep sleep.

If the old saying "sleep with one eye open" were actually true, Din would be its personification.

You curse your overactive mind a second time, for disturbing his precious few moments of rest along with your own.

"I'm fine." You don't lie back down, instead pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms tightly around them. Normally you find his quarters chilly, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins makes the room suddenly feel close and stuffy.

He shifts against you in the dark, no doubt to study your posture. "You don't sound fine."

You sigh. "I will be. You should try and get some sleep, Din."

You hear him lean back into the wall, a long exhale betraying stiffness somewhere in his muscles.

You've offered him the side of the bed that's not right up against the wall, but to your surprise he actually likes to be pressed closely between your body and the solidness of metal at his back.

You suspect it gives him a sense of security in a life that holds so little for him.

"I'm sorry I woke you," you add before he can speak again.

"You didn't." His revelation is cool and distant, as if his lack of rest means nothing to him. "I haven't slept at all tonight."

You turn to stare at him in dismay, only to be met with the void of deep darkness. "Why didn't you --"

"What? Wake you up to tell you I can't sleep?" Somehow you know he's shaking his head at you. "That fixes nothing, Cyar'ika. My sleep was disturbed since long before we met." His voice softens as he reaches for you, his large, comfortingly familiar hand stroking down your side. "But when I have you in my arms, listening to your breathing, I can at least find some peace. And that is often enough."

You let out another shuddering breath and gaze out into the dim compartment, the images from your nightmare replaying over and over behind your eyes like a holovid stuck on loop.

"I think I need some air," you murmur.

"Take my shirt, then." You're grateful he doesn't try to stop you; he knows you were taking care of yourself for a long time before you two struck up your partnership. He trusts you to look out for danger.

"Vor'e, Cyare." You slide from the bed, his fingers trailing away from your hip as you break from his gentle touch. He watches as you blindly take his shirt from the pile of clothes left on the floor and pull it over your head, pausing only to grab a vibroblade before exiting his quarters.

"I'll come back," you promise softly.

And the words sting deep down as they leave your lips, knowing that one day, one of you might not be able to keep that promise.

The night is cool and clear on this planet, and the breeze smells like living growth from the thick woods nearby. It's a far cry from the dust and smoke of so many of the worlds you've stayed on before, and soon you start to calm down, heartbeat returning to normal and perspiration drying at the wind's light touch. Everything is peaceful around you, the night birds calling and water flowing somewhere behind the trees.

Not for the first time, your thoughts stray towards the impossibility of trying to stay somewhere like this place, to drop everything you know and carve out a life on a frontier planet somewhere. You and Din and Grogu, living modestly and secretly away from the prying eyes of the Imperials or the Jedi, pretending at normalcy....

There's the key word.

Pretending.

You've played many parts since you lost your buir so many years ago. Dancer in the clubs of the Core worlds, thief, animal wrangler, pilot, hired gun. You could adapt, you feel fairly certain. It's the skill that's most reliably kept you alive this long.

But Din....

He's so deeply entrenched in his upbringing. His honor, and the hunt, mean everything to him. Whatever else he tries to be, he will always be the Mandalorian first and foremost. The Way runs through his veins, thicker than blood, and the fierce heart of a warrior beats beneath the beskar.

It's why he will ultimately always make sacrifices to keep those under his protection safe.

It's who he is. His identity.

The reason that one day he might not emerge from the belly of the beast in triumph.

And you love him, exactly the way he is. You'd never ask him to change.

But Maker, sometimes the knowledge of what that means hurts deeper than any physical wound.

So you stand there at the edge of the woods and let the tears come, let the sobs wrack your body as you bury yourself deeper in his comforting shirt, praying that the day never comes that all you have left are memories and clothes that smell like him.

Eventually, your grief runs its course and you can breathe once again. The crunch of footsteps in the damp grass warrants a side glance, but as you thought, it's only your beroya, come to check on you, no doubt.

"You've been out here a long time," he remarks.

"Had a lot on my mind."

He encircles you in his arms from behind, chin resting in the dip of your shoulder. You're surprised that he didn't replace his helmet to come out here, but sunrise is still a long way off.

"I'm usually the one with the nightmares," he teases softly. "This one must have been rough. Want to talk?"

You find his hands at your waist, interlock your fingers with his.

"I lost someone. Someone very important to me."

Turning slightly so you can rest your cheek against his, you kiss the very edge of his lips. "It scares me, Din."

He's quiet for some time, and you try to imagine the expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispers. "I can't give you anything but my word that I will always try my hardest to come back to you. That is what fuels me, ner'kar'ta. The fire in my blood, the strength in my bones, is knowing that I need to make it back for you. But I realize that it is a double-edged blade. Because it also means I would give everything, to keep you safe in the end."

"I know, Din. I remember what my buir used to tell me, you know, how we have no word for 'hero' in our mother tongue, because to be Mando'ade is to risk all for the ones you love. I know I'm so selfish." You turn all the way around at last, hiding your face in his bare chest. "But I accept your vow. And it will have to be enough."

Collecting yourself and finally raising your haunted gaze to his, you manage a small smile. "But I will fight for you, Din Djarin. Death will find one hell of a struggle when it finally comes for you, I can promise you that."

"There's my girl." The fond grin in his voice is audible. "Now, will you come back to bed? It's getting lonesome in there."

You let him lead you back to the ship, and the sigh of the wind now seems to promise to whisk your fears away for the time being.

The door slides shut behind you, and you shiver, realizing all of a sudden just how cold you are. His shirt is a welcome barrier against the biting chill, and you wonder how he was able to get along without it outside.

"Cold?" he asks.

"Yes." You reach out for him, wordlessly begging for his warmth.

He sidesteps you and folds his arms across his chest. "Take it off," he demands, and indicates the shirt with a nod, husky voice brimming with humor and a shade of something hungrier. "Or I will."

You hug the worn fabric closer to your body and shake your head mutinously. "But it's the only thing keeping me warm!"

"So you've chosen the hard way." He crosses the small space in a couple of long strides and starts to tease the garment off of you, bit by agonizing bit. "And how dare you let a piece of clothing do a man's job."

"You're making me cold again," you complain as he pulls you into bed with him, the hunter retreating back to his lair to finish off his fortunate prey.

"Then honor dictates I repair the damage I've caused," he hums, and you surrender to the bliss of being completely enveloped in his embrace. Din has always run hot, ever since you started sleeping together, and his warmth and familiar weight are so much better than any sweet dream of yours could be.

In the here and now, he's still alive, and he's still yours.

There will be no more tears tonight.

"Better?" he growls into your throat.

You run your fingers through his thick curls, sighing at the way he always manages to banish all of your dark thoughts away. And maybe now there will even be time for him to get some sleep before morning as well.

"I am now."

Vor'e = Thank you

Buir = Parent

Beroya = Bounty Hunter

Ner'kar'ta = My heart

Mando'ade = Child of Mandalore

[shieldofiron]

You and me both, Billy.

[tallulahsoot]

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

Apri 17: Spring

Day 17 of @hinnymicrofic still playing catch up

It’s supposed to be a time of rebirth. Harry remembers the lurid flowers and tacky Easter decorations with which Petunia had adorned the house every spring, representing bloom and birth and growth. 

Now that May rolls around again, all Harry can think of is death.

Fred, and Remus, and Tonks and Collin and…

There’s a memorial service. Kingsley asks him to speak. He doesn’t want to, but he does. Wonders whether he’ll spend the rest of his life being dragged unwillingly back to that day. 

“You did well,” Hermione commends him, afterward. 

Ron claps him on the back. “A bit boring,” he says, and Harry appreciates the opportunity to laugh at something. 

Hermione and Ginny graduate a few days later. Harry supposes they’ll figure it out, eventually, how to juxtapose the mourning and the celebration; this first year after it all was always going to be grim.

He waits at the edge of the lake, as Ginny floats toward him in the little boat they’d all taken to Hogwarts at eleven. A symbolic end; another sort of rebirthing ceremony; going out the way they came in. Only they hadn’t, had they?

“Congratulations,” Harry tells her once she’s clambered out of the boat, pulling her into a firm hug. He knows what a trial it’s been, to return here this year. 

“Let’s go to Grimmauld Place tonight,” she says, pulling back, eyes burning.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, trying to read her expression. “You don’t have to right away. We can –”

“Harry,” she interrupts, placing her small hand on his chest. “Let’s go home.”

He’s quite lost for words at this, that home is a place that will now contain her, that he’ll wake up next to her tomorrow morning and all the ones after. “Okay,” he agrees.

The air is sweet with flowers; the sky above is a deep, vibrant blue. There’s been so much loss, here; it seems to call out to them across the glassy waters. And yet, as Harry walks with the Weasleys and Hermione toward Hogsmeade, he’s thinking of tomorrow morning with Ginny.

[magicspace114]

New faces part 3

So it turns out, Toby needed to be kept warm. Warmer than your apartment's ambient temperature. They were currently curled up on the floor in front of your electric heater and snuggled in a blanket. It looked cute and you had to hold yourself back from awing at them.

Of course, you had questions and you were struggling to find ones that they'd actually answer. "Hey, how old are you?" You decided.

Toby paused and looked up at that. "Um, well I'm not sure if it will translate well. Does a hundred and seventy-one lunar cycles make sense to you?"

Your lips puckered in thought. "Lunar cycle. We have one of those. Is it the same thing?"

"Well, we have two moons. We call them the primary and secondary moons. The secondary one doesn't really change because it's almost always side on from the sun but our primary moon changes every dark cycle. We use it to measure time. You only have one moon, right?"

"Yup," you nodded, "it changes each night depending on how much of the sun's light can hit it. Right?" Toby nodded. "So, going off our moon, that's one cycle per month. A hundred and seventy-one months." You couldn't do the maths in your head and grabbed your phone to calculate it. Toby tilted their head curiously. You stuttered on seeing the number. "Are you really fourteen years old?" You leaned forward now.

"Um, I don't know what years are." Toby shrunk back.

"...Toby? A-are you a child?" You really hoped they weren't. Maybe aliens aged differently and you weren't harbouring a child in your home. Where would you even begin searching for their family?

"I'm not a child," Toby bleated with offence, "I'm an adolescent!"

You sighed, "same thing. Where are your parents?"

"No!" Toby bleated again, this one in fear, "please. Don't send me back." They pulled the blanket over their head to hide. You reached a hand out but stopped before ever touching them. It would only freak them out more.

"Toby?" You asked with the softest voice you could, "are they the reason you're here?" Toby whimpered. You grimaced, "can I comfort you?"

"W-what?" Toby poked their head out. Their eyes were big and toxic yellow but now that you knew they were a child, all fear of danger was gone. They were just a child to you now.

"I won't hurt you," you said carefully, "I just want to help. I want to comfort you if you'll let me."

"W-why?" Toby asked, eyes seemingly growing bigger and lip trembling.

"Because you don't deserve to be stranded somewhere with no one to comfort you. It's the least I can offer."

"How do you know? You weren't there." Toby bleated.

"Toby, I don't know anything any adults could do to warrant stranding them on an unknown planet with 'the deadliest creatures in the universe'. I don't need to be there to know."

Toby's lip quivered and they let out bleats and sobs. There were no tears but you weren't sure if Toby even cried like that. Supposedly humans were the only ones in the animal kingdom to do that.

You scooted up close to them now and waited as they carefully leaned their head on your shoulder. Slowly, you moved one arm around their shoulders. When they didn't tense up or pull away, you tucked them under your chin.

They pulled the blanket around them more, not moving to hold on to you but not pulling away. You let out a small hum. It was only a simple melody but it was enough that they heard it. They froze mid bleat and listened. You continued the hum. Their breathing was still stuttering and hiccuping but they stopped bleating and whimpering.

Eventually, you felt tension roll off of their shoulders and their breathing calmed down. You rubbed their shoulder and opened your mouth to add lyrics to the song. You've not sung for someone in a long time and though you were out of practise, it did the job.

The next time you looked at Toby's face, they were asleep.

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[aitsuheart]

His Memory & His Life

Soriku Week 2023 Day 4 Sacrifice

Excerpt:

“I love you.” His words quietly reached Sora. His eyes widened after hearing that. Why did he tell me that?

“I'll die a million times for you if I have to.” Riku this time shouted as he held his keyblade, protecting Sora.

[senpa10]

@lolipoptheclown

[acta2sanctorum]

I feel like I will never get better

[ruebi-1]

I don’t even really know, but everything feels different now and I don’t know if it’s me that’s changing or the world that’s changing and I’m just to slow to catch up. Anyways living and thinking about living makes me anxious so I just keep my eyes open until it’s finally time sleep.

[lexaaaxel]

I'm making a visual novel called "Man I just Wanna Go Home", here's the first look so to say.

It's a story about a guy stuck in a storm in an unfamiliar part of a city desperate to just go home.

[draculasfavoritewife]

Was Blind, But Now I See

Summary: An eventful night planetside turns into something far deeper than your usual passionate embrace.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Sexual tension in every direction. Much angst. Possessive! Din. Reader might have a bit of a gambling problem. I use several long paragraphs to describe how beautiful I find Din Djarin. Religious trauma, Din being a bit of a soft dom here and there, implied smut at the end.

Din Djarin is truly at his best when he has someone to claim as HIS, and I really think we need to see more of that *I have spoken* Also, although my fics are not necessarily fully canon-compliant, this piece does take place pre-season-3 because he is still an apostate, for anyone who was wondering :)

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

You idly swirl your half-empty glass and wonder if it would be worth the pointed glare from your partner to ask him again if he wants a taste.

"I know what you're thinking," he grumbles from his seat beside you.

Immediately you affect a pose of dramatic injury. "You can't possibly accuse me of --"

"And no, I don't want a taste of your drink," he steamrolls over your protest. "I'm no closer to betraying my creed than I was an hour ago."

"Lucky guess," you smirk.

He snorts, a faint crackling of his vocal modulator. "Hardly."

You swivel around on the bar stool with a stifled groan, gaze flitting over the diverse crowd in the cantina. "Where's your contact?"

"They'll get here when they get here." His voice is even, nearly a drawl. You're not fooled by his apparent relaxed demeanor, though; long hours spent together in silence in the cockpit have clued you in to his minuscule tells. The alert focus of his helmet's visor, the tautness in his spine that means he could spring to his feet in an instant, the way his right hand almost absently brushes past his holster. Tiny things that would escape the eye of most, but you see, and know that he's ready for anything.

He's always ready for anything.

You wish, as you so often do, that there was somewhere he could truly drop his eternal vigilance and be free of his shadows for a time.

"Don't you give me that look."

You shake out of your reverie. "I wasn't even looking at you!"

"You were in your head, and that's worse," he observes matter-of-factly. "This is not the time, nor the place. Go play a round of sabacc if you need a way to pass the time." He jabs a nod in the direction of the corner table, where a motley group is arguing loudly over house rules.

It's very tempting. You haven't hustled a game table in a long time, and you might even come away with a handsome win, if you remember to quit while you're ahead.

"Come watch me?" You lean closer to him. "I promise you a good time, it looks like a real group of nerf herders over there."

"Pass." There's finally a note of something like annoyance in his tone. "We can't both be distracted."

"Alright! I can take a hint." You drain your glass and rise, sauntering away to the table. "I'm not responsible for any brawls, though."

"Sure. Feel like I've heard that one before." The Mandalorian tears his gaze away from your retreating figure and turns his attention back to scanning the crowd. Normally you're as patient as he is, and normally he wouldn't encourage you to indulge your recovering sabacc habit, but whether it's the fault of a recent hunt that ran longer than expected or the rough flight to reach this system, he knows you're both on edge.

After all, whether on the job or with the both of you taking shifts in the pilot's chair through a particularly harrowing debris field, little time has been left for the pair of you to spend together recently.

Though he may not be well-versed in the ways of your adopted culture's kinetic communication, he definitely recognized that look in your eyes. It's the look when you start fantasizing about finally getting him out of all that beskar and into a much more...personal setting.

And he can't have you keep staring at him like that, or he starts thinking about it too.

"It's better this way," he mutters under his breath, consciously avoiding the game table with his searching gaze.

His man had better show up soon.

The group at the card table is finally starting to catch on that you just might know a bit more about sabacc than you said earlier. The heap of credits in front of you has grown substantially in the hour since you joined their circle, and the Nikto across from you is beginning to get agitated.

Still, that's preferable to the Zabrak next to you, who's been making increasingly obvious passes at you with each win you take.

"Come on, Boys, one more round," you urge as you sweep more credits into your pile and begin stacking them neatly. "I swear, it's beginner's luck, I can't possibly keep winning forever."

There's a general grumbling as some leave the table, having had enough for the night.

The Nikto asks in Huttese what could possibly sweeten the deal.

So, high on the rush of winning, you make the ill-advised decision to throw your Corellian Jiang necklace into the pot, and end up somehow losing to the protocol droid.

"That's not possible!" you protest, throwing down your cards. "I had full sabacc! The odds of an Idiot's Array are astronomically low! Something's not adding up."

But the droid adamantly defends itself, so you leave in a huff, more torn up about the loss of the necklace than you'd care to admit. It was the only thing you had left of an old friend during a stint on Corellia a long time ago, and meant a good deal more to you than just its rarity and value.

You find your way back to your seat next to Din and bark at the bartender for a hot caf.

"Kriff. That bad?" he asks, and you could swear you hear the hint of a grin teasing at the edges of his voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You always get a Fire Dancer when you win," he observes. "Caf is your sad drink."

"I've made some bad choices," you lament over the edge of the steaming mug. "But I'll live."

"Glad to hear it." He falls silent again as the Zabrak from the game table approaches to sit on your other side. You strike up a polite conversation, more as something to distract you from your recent losses than anything else. You certainly have no intention of entertaining any extra notions he might have.

Din's already possessive instincts, however, are quickly ratcheting up into overdrive, and it takes you by surprise when his gloved hand suddenly appears on your upper thigh. It's a bold move for him, in public at least, and you can't deny that a slight shiver runs through your entire body at your armored warrior staking his claim in front of another man like this.

The Zabrak, to his credit, looks put off for a brief moment and then tries one last tactic. "What do you say to getting out of this place for a bit, huh? I can always bring you back before it gets too late. The city's beautiful this time of evening."

The hand on your thigh tightens its grip, making your own fingers convulsively curl around the edge of the bar as his dig into your soft flesh. His mere touch is driving you wild; it hits with sudden weight just how long it's been since he's touched you like this.

How utterly unfair that gleaming beskar helmet seems now.

At least HE can hide whatever is going on in his head.

When you gather yourself enough to reply, your voice, thank the Maker, is under control if nothing else. "You'd have to ask my escort," you hum, indicating the Mandalorian, whose focus is now trained on the unwelcome interloper with all the disintegrating intensity of his pulse rifle.

"I don't. Share."

It's his "Try me, pal, I know twenty different ways to kill you" voice, and the crazy part of you wants nothing more than for him to throw you down on this counter and --

Well, better stop that thought quick before it leaves your tongue.

The Zabrak gets the message and sulks away, leaving the pair of you in a tense, brittle quiet spell. His hand is still resting on you, fingers thoughtfully rubbing the crease where your thigh joins your hip.

"This is getting old," he mutters.

You roll your eyes. "Guys like him come to the cantinas to pick up ladies, Mando. It's not personal."

"They should know better."

"They're all dumb as shaaks, Cyare." You toss back the rest of your caf, grimacing now that it's gone cold. "It's not like I walk around wearing a sign that says 'Back off, I'm with Shiny'."

He doesn't answer, but is on his feet now, reaching for your hand. "Come on."

You frown. "Your contact?"

"Can wait. They've kept me waiting too long already. Outside. Now."

Dusk has fallen outside the cantina. The suns have disappeared and the breeze is starting to grow chilly. Shadows lay thick and indigo in the narrow alleyways, and you unconsciously rub your arms against the cooling air, wondering what could possibly have driven your partner to drag you out here.

"Can you see?" he questions.

You scoff. "Maybe. If I squint real hard."

"Good." There's a sharp metallic sound in the gloom, and then suddenly his mouth is attacking your neck, right underneath your jaw, and all your breath comes out in a low whine.

He's merciless, and you're defenseless in his grasp, only the fact that you're biting your tongue keeping you from gasping his real name out loud.

Finally he lets you breathe again, resting his forehead against yours so your noses touch.

"Jate, Mesh'la. You've never stayed so quiet before," he teases softly.

"You've never done that just outside a crowded cantina before!" you huff.

He kisses you, far too briefly, and replaces the helmet. "Think that'll do the trick?" he growls, running his thumb over the love bite he left behind.

It must be a good one, for how thorough he was.

"I imagine the message is clear." You lean into him, pretending for a moment that the hard edges of his beskar are gone and all you can feel is him.

"I'll finish the transaction as quickly as possible," he promises in your ear.

"Good. I might do something desperate if we're stuck in this scughole much longer." You pull away from his embrace.

"If you need something to take your mind off of...us, for a bit, go get your necklace back," he suggests. "That piece of scrap and the Nikto hut'uun were cheating. Slipped the droid a card under the table."

You bang your fist into the wall. "I knew it!"

"I know I technically got thrown out on my ass, but you gotta admit, it was a good end to that disaster." You sweep your hair out of the way and fasten your Jiang pendant around your throat again with satisfaction. Smacking the full bag of credits at your belt, you add, "And I brought income! I'm gonna buy some quality seafood at the next market we hit. The Kid will appreciate that, I'm sure."

Aside from noncommittal grunts of acknowledgement, Din is strangely quiet as you board the ship and prepare everything to take off in the morning. You're not sure exactly what's bothering him -- his deal went through and all seemed well, so it must be an internal problem he's solving. Determined not to let his change in attitude get to you, and knowing you'd ask too much of him for now if you hung around him, you escape to the cockpit and lounge in his chair, staring out at the thousands of stars that are beginning to glow in the darkness beyond.

What killed the mood?

You hear him approach eventually, hauling himself up the ladder behind you. Heavy footsteps ring through the small space as he arrives beside the chair, where he pauses.

"You should have at least turned around to check that it was me." Even the stern reproach sounds halfhearted. Something's eating at him.

"Who else would it have been, Din? The Kid wearing your armor?"

You take his silence as a concession of your point.

When it stretches on, however, you decide to try and make some conversation. Maker knows how long he'll just stand there staring out at the view otherwise. "She look good for takeoff tomorrow? Or do I need to give anything a once-over?" Maybe he's just waiting for his chair back and being too polite about it.

You rise and make to slip past him.

"How long have we been doing this?" he suddenly asks, a solid wall of beskar preventing you from getting anywhere.

"Hell, Din, I don't know. What even is 'this'?" You don't know where the sudden impatience has come from, aren't even sure if you and he are referring to the same thing.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum," he murmurs, one of those multi-talented hands rising to tip your chin up towards his helmet. "That's all I know, ner'kar'ta. Whatever we are...I know that I love you. And have for however long we've been traveling this lonely way together."

You soften, letting him pull you to his chest, wrapping your arms around him. "I love you, Din Djarin. Have for a very long time. And will continue to do so for however long we are given."

There's a slight quiver to his hand now, betrayed as he presses his palm flat against your back. "I was...thinking, tonight."

You remain silent, waiting for him to go on.

"You know most of the story, Cyar'ika. How the Armorer told me I am dar'manda. Grogu has seen...has looked upon my face. Because I wanted him to know that we are...aliit."

"I know." Those had been long nights, the first few after your reunion, when the pain of excommunication was still a freshly bleeding wound. Those nights, kisses tasted like the salt of his silent tears, and more often than not he simply desired to be held by you, for someone who understood to remind him that all was not over. You will always remember those nights, when you wondered in terror if he would finally, truly fall apart if you ever let go.

"I am not bound by the creed until I am redeemed," he muses softly. "And I realized tonight...we are committed to each other. There is no reason for me to wonder if you will leave anymore, is there?"

You shake your head. "I've told you, my love. Even the stars themselves couldn't keep me from finding my way back to you."

He releases a long breath.

"Would you want to see me, if I were to show you?"

Your own breath seems to have met a hitch.

"Din...it's a dream of mine. I've always wanted to see all of you." You tentatively rest your fingertips against the cool surface of the helmet. "But only if you truly want to show me."

"I do, Mesh'la. I want us to finally see each other eye-to-eye. Even for just a moment."

You can only nod in answer. This moment is all at once too sacred and too sacrilegious for anything you could possibly think to say. So instead you draw back, waiting for him to move when he's ready.

His hand slowly pushes the helmet up and back, and for the very first time, you are actually gazing into the face of the man who captured your heart.

Finally, all of the small details you have discovered over time in the dark tie together. The rugged facial hair framing a broad jawline, the slope of his regal nose and the artful curves of his full lips. His hair, thick and tousled by the helmet, is a rich brown, streaked here and there with a strand of silver.

He's beautiful.

But those eyes.

His eyes are the one feature you've never been able to guess at. You have imagined them sparking with anger or softening with affection, but nothing could have prepared you for what lovely eyes they are. Darkest brown, endlessly deep, the eyes of a world-weary and yet somehow still hopeful man. Eyes that overflow with sensitivity and uncertainty, eyes that have unerringly marked a thousand targets for death.

Sharp, sad eyes, that now stare into yours as if seeking out a hidden truth that only you can give him.

He's beautiful.

"You're...crying," he notes with curiosity, a gentle gloved hand brushing the tears from your cheek.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Din Djarin," you whisper, unable to look away from those spellbinding eyes. "Thank you, for letting me finally see you. I love you."

He kisses you, first your lips, then the shining tracks of your tears, ending on the same dark smudge where he marked you as his earlier.

"I've been wanting to, for a long time," he confesses quietly. "You have no idea how much I've struggled with it."

You stretch up to kiss his forehead, reveling in the fact that you have finally done so in the light. "I don't think I've ever loved you more."

He reaches around you, dims the lights in the cockpit until you're both shrouded in shadows again. "Well, I have an idea of how I can make it even better."

You smirk, pushing him down into the pilot's seat. "Oh? Do tell."

He pulls you forward so you're suddenly in his lap. "I haven't forgotten the way you were devouring me with your eyes back there, Mesh'la. I think you and I are long overdue for this."

"So long," you agree, settling into a comfortable position on top of him so you can begin the lengthy process of lovingly divesting him of his armor. Your yearning from earlier has returned in full force, coupled with the glowing intimacy of finally having set eyes on your lover's face.

"I need you, Din. And I'm going to make you pay for not letting me reciprocate in the alley."

"You still mad at me over that?" His raspy chuckle sounds close to your ear as his deft fingers undo the fastenings of your jacket.

"You know me, my hunter." You work his undershirt off, letting your hands trail down his chest and grinning at the startled catch in his throat. "I hold a grudge."

His hand snakes around to rest at the back of your neck, a tender gesture that also swiftly reminds you of his possessiveness and makes your heart skip.

"Well, then," and his voice goes smooth, "allow me to amend for my earlier actions."

You can almost imagine his eyes -- those dark, dark eyes -- sparkling with heated mischief.

"After all, you did behave so nicely for me. I think someone deserves a reward."

Jate = Good

Hut'uun = Coward

Ner'kar'ta = My heart

Dar'manda = Not Mandalorian

Aliit = Family/Clan

[samjesswinchester]

NEW CHAPTER IS OUT AND SUPER LONG (For me, at least)! I’d love to hear from you if you drop by :)

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Characters: Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer (Supernatural), John Winchester, Real Tyson Brady, Luis (Supernatural: Pilot), Original Supernatural (TV) Character(s) Additional Tags: Complicated Relationships, Love at First Sight, Established Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore Lives (Supernatural), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, emotional af, Season/Series 02 Series: Part 3 of What Never Was But Should Have Been Summary:

Despite knowing about the Family Business, Jessica Moore has committed to being with Sam Winchester. Medical School, Law school, the Supernatural, and other secrets make balancing their two realities feel nearly impossible. And it may prove to be the most difficult challenge they've faced yet.

[legendl0re]

Human lifespans vs. Elf Lifespans :)

[diplo-matic2]

Alguien despierto para poder charlar?

[class1akids]

I’m a bit bummed that we got kind of unlucky and got no sketch for Dabi vs Shouto, nor for Vol 36 promo and now for the Todo-fam episode either. 

I understand HK is probably still hurting, exhausted and super-busy with Vol 37. But still, it just feels like we are a bit cursed in S6, when it comes to the Shouto-content 😭

[lyricreed]

Dude having an abusive older brother you used to admire and love and look up to is so weird cause like

I love you so much for raising me but that’s also the exact reason I resent you so much. You still brag about me being your best friend to your friends. All my friends hate you for everything you’ve done to me.

I cry at night remembering you screaming at me throughout my childhood. You’re the only person who can make me really, truly laugh. Nothing you say is funny anymore.

Every time you leave the house I hope you die and never come back. When you moved out to live with your now-ex-girlfriend I sobbed myself to sleep every night because I missed you so much. When you came to me to vent about your fears of parenthood I told you you’d be a good father and even though I didn’t believe it, I actually meant it.

I’ll never feel safe until you’re out of my life or out of yours. I had a dream about you dying the other night and cried so hard I couldn’t go back to sleep.

I still comfort you whenever you air your troubles and frustrations out to me, even though I was a child when you first started and I’m still so young now and I shouldn’t know how to help you. And I don’t. And you never listened to me like I always do for you.

You’re the reason I flinch so hard whenever my friends try to touch me. All I’ve ever wanted was a hug from you. Your touch makes me feel so unsafe and afraid it makes me sick.

I’ve been working my whole life to make you not mad anymore. Now I’m mad at you instead and I never want to feel angry again because of you.

I’m not a child anymore but thanks to you I’ll never grow up. I can’t tell if that’s what you wanted.

And without you I wouldn’t be who I am today and I’m still puzzling out if that’s a bad thing or not. You have dad’s eyes and I have grandma’s. We both have mom’s face.

And yet I only see you when I look in the mirror.