THIS!!!!!!!!!! Most Of Us Feel Like We Aren't Doing Enough Because We Can't Physically Stop A Genocide

more domestic!din because im a slut for domesticity

𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 ;; din djarin

Pairing; Din Djarin x gn!Reader

outline —; Peaceful times with Din Djarin were rare. You relish it.

word count —; 1.1k

WARNINGS —; none.

tags / themes —; reader and din are married, grogu (sweetly) interrupting a moment.

A/N —; *comes back with a massive stars wars obsession* hey, i write for them now. it's been a stressful couple months and i wanted to get something out for my birthday. this isn't beta-read, i just wanted to write. please be kind, thanks.

This galaxy raised warriors, heroes, and peace-keepers. Those who fought in the name of their planet, for the safety of the future, and the love they carry for their family. Those who were victims of war survived… or trained to survive, fight, and endure. 

This galaxy isn’t raised for writers, painters, and performers. Those who coped in whomever’s name, for the sanity of themselves, and possibly for the love they carried for their crafts. Of course, artists don’t only do it for themselves. They create in order to escape; and luckily enough, they don’t press themselves into the cruel hands of the galaxy. Because it isn’t built for them. 

For you, the galaxy seemed to test the waters. Warriors and Artists? Maybe those two weren’t so different, after all. Oh, how history would have written it; when the stars collide, an artist with no place in this galaxy meets a warrior who can’t find a home. Those three long years, what an adventure it has been. 

Din Djarin is a victim of war. Like yourself. There truly is a place for people like you. But whilst Din grew up with the Way, you grew up tracing the sky, seeing shapes in every landscape, and memorising the curve of someone’s face. Often asking yourself questions like; Where does the shadow fall? In which direction does the light come from? If you were simplified, which shapes best describe you? 

Din Djarin is a Mandalorian. Not like yourself. A Mandalorian. A warrior. He trained and connived his way till he stood in this solid home. He grew up hidden, so he stayed that way for a while in his life; often a mystery to the Guild. 

“Din Djarin, do not move.” You warned, tilting your head as the heat of Nevarro’s sun hit your face. The chair, in which you sat, rocked back slightly at your movements. With arms outstretched, thumb against the pencil, you held it feebly upwards, trying to calculate the proportions of the Mandalorian’s body. 

If you could see his face out in the open right now, you would’ve caught on with the fact that your husband — your riduur — was smirking. And decided to tilt his head in the opposite direction for the fun of it. You clicked your tongue in annoyance but a smile adorned your face. “I’ve been in this position for fifteen minutes, ner runi.” Din sighed softly, tapping his ungloved fingers against his forearm. 

“Fifteen minutes more.” You looked at him over the rim of your notebook, sketching away. A light fire went on above your head, face lighting up as the same smile adorned your features. “I’ll entertain you, what’s our son doing?” You asked, raising your notebook down to tilt your head at him again. 

Din chuckled at your demeanour or was it your question? You couldn’t tell, though he answered anyway. “Eating frogs.” 

“Again?” You turned to look at the side to see your son doing so; eating frogs. Entirely, it was your fault for looking away. At the time your eyes left your riduur, Din got up, breaking your focus. “Din!” You laughed as you looked back at him.

Your Mandalorian called your name with the same energy. His next words were spoken in a gentle manner, enough to capture your attention. “I’m tired,” He merely said, extending his hand to you. “Let’s be tired together.” 

You let a relieved breath. Has it always been there? You weren’t sure, though, at this moment, you let it go. You released it when settling your supplies down the chair in which you sat. You released it when you found yourself melting into Din’s hands. 

With the armour off, the world is all but noisy. The only sound prominent are frogs croaking and the gentle breeze of Nevarro’s ambience. He pulled you into his chest and laid his back against the frame of the metal door. 

Music. You could hear music, with your cheeks pressed against the warmth of his chest, and with his arms wrapped around you (and yours around Din’s waist). The world stopped, for a few moments it stopped, and you breathed. Inhale and exhale. The exhaustion left your body through that breath, and you could feel that Din breathed too. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. You could hear his gentle heart, if you listen close enough, you could practically hear his soul. What would it sound like? 

Move. Your body screamed to move, but a part of you wanted to stay like this forever. Though, the feeling caved into you, forcing your head to look at your husband’s visor. Your chin rested on his chest as you asked warily. “Can I kiss you?” 

Modulate. The Mandolorian’s helmet modulated his voice, if he answered in a chuckle, the other might receive it the wrong way. He didn’t want to move. The embrace held a significant peace, one that physically pained him when he moved a muscle. But Din didn’t speak with his brain at the moment, so he removed his helmet, and the beskar fell onto the floor beside them. 

They were in the middle of nowhere, what would you say? — All is well. — That sentence proved its point when Din held your cheeks beneath his hands, and his lips were on yours. He could feel you kiss back, he could feel your cheeks against his, he could feel the lazy smile that tugged your lips. Truly, Din wanted to open his eyes, to get a better look of you without his visor, yet somehow, he couldn’t. 

Din is tired. So tired. His shoulder gave in and melted between your arms; he didn’t know how it got there; your elbows above his shoulder, as your fingers explored his hair. But Din didn’t care, he just melted into your kiss, laughing, nearly crying over the unexpected bliss and peacefulness the day had to offer. 

His desires of staying like this with you continued to grow within each second— 

“Patu!” And then, the moment was sweetly broken. 

Your lips disconnected with a sound, pulling away the moment the sound was in ear-shot. Din’s eyes landed first on the green baby, doe eyed, ears high, and head tilted innocently. 

You saw him slurp a frog. “Grogu,” A waning smile reached your son’s lips when his name was mentioned, without warning, he jumped into your arms. Thankfully, you caught him. “That’s not nice of you. What if the frogs had parents?” You teased. 

Din chuckled beside you, kissing your temple lightly, before opening the door. “Let’s head inside.” He said while bending to get his fallen helmet. The gesture, so simple, caught you off guard. A soft, green hand held the base of your cheek and Grogu joyfully yelled with ‘‘Iek!’

Stepping inside, you looked around, almost nostalgically. This is your home. Reminded by Grogu and Din’s presence, a smile painted your lips. They are your home. “I’ll kiss you once more when he’s asleep.” He muttered before taking Grogu from your grip. 

Maybe there is a place for artists in this galaxy.

TRANSLATION(S);

riduur; spouse, husband, wife ner runi; my soul (*ner; my) (*runi; soul)

♡ PLEASE LIKE AND REBLOG TO SUPPORT ME.

can we just get a show of the characters behind the scenes? it be a fun romp

this pride, i learnt about the Palestinian trans woman Oscar Al-Halabiye, dancer and resistance fighter against the israeli occupation in Southern Lebanon. she named herself Oscar after Lady Oscar from the "The Rose of Versailles", a Japanese manga series written and illustrated by Riyoko Ikeda.

her story is documented in Cinema Fouad(1993). zionists use pink washing to reinforce their genocidal terrorist narrative when queer Palestinians have been fighting against the occupation since the very beginning. you can watch it here with english subtitles. long live the intifada!

YouTube

Cinema Fouad (1993) with English Subs

Documentary by Mohammed Soueid. Republished here for educational purposes. "Cinema Fouad is a documentary portrait of Khaled El Kurdi, a Syr

the ache of nostalgia

As season two of Percy Jackson is approaching, I just wanna make a PSA to fans:

Avoid shipping the actors with each other, even if their characters are shipped, or at least just don’t ship them to the point of discomfort. Whether it’s Walker and Leah or any other set of actors, please refrain from making the actors uncomfortable.

1. They are not adults

2. They are not their characters, they are their own people with their own choices.

Let’s keep this fandom a safe and fun place for the fans and the actors both!

Also did the show just like forget that when Five saw Diego dead, he kept trying to wake him up in the apocalypse. Did they forget that he sat near his brother’s corpse completely distraught and Diego was the only person that Five actually shook? Five would never do this shit to him man

moodboard for a scene i'm writing later !! (i invite anyone willing to try this out, mainly @qvnthesia, @kesh8 <;3)

percy making a burnt offering for his mother. clarisse screaming in anguish as percy destroys the only thing her father gave her. annabeth putting on her cap, and saying "a gift from my mom." luke having that hateful lilt in his voice when he said that hermes was his father. chris rodriguez's little "they like the smell of begging." when percy asks about the burnt offerings they have to make for the gods. i am unwell.

Rewatching "A New Hope" now and enchanted by many details. I like how slow it feels, compared to the prequels films, how the shots linger where appropriate, so you can appreciate the charming and impressive special effects, and how you're left to figure out a lot about this strange sci-fi universe here as you go.

But most of all, I think I'm enjoying the fact that one of Luke's first few lines is him basically calling Tatooine a shithole. "Well, if there's a bright center of the universe, you're on the planet that it's farthest from." What a snarky bitch. I love him.

It's funny that there's a bit of a fandom perception that Leia is the constantly angry one and Luke is comparably sunny and sweet, but Luke is pissed the fuck off a lot of the time too! He's keeping up a smile here and there, sure, but his life sucks! He just channels that anger into rescuing princesses and blowing up Death Stars, apparently. (And Leia can also be very sweet and friendly and caring!)

Like, Luke and Leia both become more emotionally in-tune with themselves as they grow over the course of this trilogy; they're pretty emotionally intelligent and stable considering everything they've been through. Luke learns to face his fears to better know himself and become a Jedi. But at the same time, I think that Luke has to learn how to do that emotional searching, it's not really natural to him, because this farmboy is at heart partially a "flying off to a nicer planet to get this 'therapy' thing is expensive, getting in your speeder and shooting womp rats until you don't care anymore is cheap" kind of guy.

You are born in Autumn. Somewhere in September, you are alive, in those early years where the world is growing consciousness. And every discovery is new. There are shades of yellow and green blooming everyday: your favorite colors as you grow. You are born with ambition. Raised in soft houses, and gentle words. There are beliefs you deny. You leave people. You are so many things that cannot be described. Yet, you are present in guitar riffs, conch shells, pears, yellow pouring through the window of the train. You are like James: who had an ego the size of a lake but a heart to match it. Your eyes are dipped in minerals from the very core of the earth. You were touched with goodness from your dead father and sister. You are alive. You hurt people. You leave them and you hurt them. You are the reason the air is wide.