#the impossible man

[chiriwritesstuff]

The Impossible Man ✨ 3. The Storybook Lady ✨

Modern-Day Detective! Din Djarin x Witchy! Reader (Soulmates! AU)

Previous Chapter │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Din (or is it Mando?), Grogu, and Starshine spend a day together.

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Magical Realism, Mentions of (Attempted) Suicide, Mention of (minor) character death, Jealousy between coworkers, not beta-ed

A/N: Hello, I am SO SORRY for the delay of this chapter! I really have no excuse except that I was burnt out, so I took a few weeks to catch up on several fics I've been writing and developing and decided to split the intended last chapter into two parts. I am not sure when the next chapter will be coming out, but it is in the works! Thank you for being patient with me!

Word Count: 3.7K

Dividers by @saradika

Ten years ago.

"So, anyone special in your life, Djarin?" Ben flips through paperwork, feet on the desk, files everywhere.

"No," Din replies calmly.

Ben scoffs, "Oh come on, there's gotta be someone," he pointedly looks at him above the files he's holding, his eyes full of doubt.

Din shrugs. "Not really."

His partner frowns. "Spill it. What's Detective Din Djarin's type?" He air-quotes "type" for emphasis, a teasing look on his partner's face.

"Not talking about it, Solo. It's none of your business."

"Thought we were bonding. You're too serious, Djarin. Wake up, Gym, Work, Eat, Jerk off, Sleep, Repeat. Where's the fun in that?"

"If I had time for someone," Din grumbles, "She wouldn't talk much. She would be someone patient, someone kind. I don't dwell on it much. Our line of work makes relationships tricky, you know that."

"I think that's the most generic answer you can ever give someone," Ben chides, rolling his eyes. "What a fucking cop-out, Djarin. I expected better from you since you got that whole..." he motions his hands in front of him frantically, "... dark and mysterious schtick going on."

Din snorts, shaking his head incredulously. "Please, Solo. Spare me. What do you want me to say? That I want someone who has the brightest eyes, a smile that can knock me off my ass, someone that can charm the living shit out of me with just one look? Someone who can take my breath away? Come on! How is that shit even real? How about this? Maybe I want someone who loves Cinnamon Chai, with a hint of nutmeg. Is that sufficient enough for you?"  

Ben flips him off. "Now that's the fucking spirit, Djarin."

Desperate to change the topic, Din asks, "So when do I get to meet this lucky lady?"

"Who? Starshine?"

"Yes! Your wife, Starshine? The woman you can't stop talking about?! I swear you talk about her so much I know more about her than I do you, and that's fucking saying something, Solo."

"Not sure if I'm up for that," his partner says, pausing with a hint of uncertainty. Ben takes a moment as if thinking carefully. When he looks at Din, there's a quick intense gaze—a curious glare that catches Din's attention. Then, it turns into a friendly smile, as if Ben just noticed they're still facing each other. Din feels a change in the atmosphere, a mysterious vibe in their talk. Weird, Din thinks to himself.

"Why not? She's your wife. Nothing's going to happen. What are you so afraid of?!" He teases, a slight smirk on his face. "What? do you think Starshine would fall for my whole 'dark and mysterious schtick?"

After a moment of awkward silence, Ben snaps back to reality, shaking his head. "That woman you just described? She's my wife, Djarin. Exactly your type. That's what I'm afraid of." Ben frustratedly drops his files, surprising Din as he watches his partner quickly exits the bullpen. Din is left there, bewildered.

What just happened?!

Present Day.

A strange man is staring at you.  

A devastatingly handsome man, but, still. Strange.  

"Oh, Mando!" Vi hands you a cup of cinnamon chai as she greets this intriguing, yet mysterious... person. "...thought I heard Grogu come in! The usual today?"

He looks hesitant. "Uh, sure," he nods, the baritone of his voice sending shivers down your spine. Deep, like Ben, but also distinct. Ben's deep was soft and slow and a bit drawled out, whereas the stranger's voice was deep in a... smooth, bedroom voice kind of way. Did you just say he had a nice, bedroom voice? you think to yourself as you try to play it cool under the scrutiny of his gaze.

Because he's still looking at you, this strange, perplexing, devastatingly handsome man.  Dark and mysterious, just how you like it.

His eyes are intense. Dark - deep brown eyes, pillowy-soft lips, tan skin. His hair is wavy and tousled perfectly, in an 'I woke up like this' kind of way. Tall - not tall in the way that Ben was tall - all 6'-3" of him - but tall in a sense of being just right - just right for me, your traitorous mind thinks. Broad - So very, very broad.  Fuck. You bite your lip, not wanting to be too obvious in your sudden interest. You must look like some desperate, unhinged woman, you muse.

You glance at him again.

It's unnerving, the staring.

But why can't I look away?

"Here we go! A Starshine, just the way you like it," Vi says with a wink as she hands the peculiar stranger a cinnamon chai, the same one that you are drinking, smelling the subtle hint of nutmeg - the way you exactly take it - when the weight of your sister's words finally hit you. The stranger - Mando? - smiles wide, an amused quirk at the corner of his lips as you finally realize it.

You choke on your coffee. "What?!"

"Speaking of," Vi motions to you as if she were giving a sales pitch on QVC. "Mando, meet Starshine, only 10 years late."

You quirk your eyebrows at the stranger as you extend out your hand. "Ten years late? What does that even mean? Did we have an outstanding appointment that I managed to stand you up for ten years ago?" you chide as you observe him, a tell-tell hint of a blush slowly forming on his neck. You frown. "Honestly though - you seem familiar. Have we met before?" you quirk your head in question. "Did I really stand you up for something? Shit," you exclaim to yourself silently, looking up to him somewhat pleadingly - "I'm sorry if I did, just know, it wasn't you."

He looks at you nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing. "No, I don't think so," he replies, slightly shaking his head. "I came in 10 years ago on a friend's recommendation. It's truly a charming place. Vi has spoken a lot about you throughout the years," he glances at Vi, who nods in agreement. 

"All good things, I hope?"

"Well, maybe I keep coming back every Saturday hoping that I'll finally make your acquaintance," he retorts smoothly, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips. "So, you've been in New York all this time? Vi mentioned it to me the first time I visited. You're a writer? I didn't realize it. I tried looking for your stuff, but Vi was sworn by secrecy to not tell anyone your pen name," he replies, an earnest look on his face. It's endearing, you think to yourself.

"... Something like that," you reply, a sad faraway look on your face. "My husband passed away, and I went to Montauk to settle his affairs. One thing led to another, and I ended up staying in the city to write. Only my family and maybe the CIA know my pen name. Are you the CIA?" you tease.

"No. I am... I'm sorry about that," He says, taking a sip of his chai. "I heard about your husband's passing through Vi. It must have been really hard for you, being all alone up there. Ten years is a long time, surely there isn't..."

"There isn't anyone in the picture," you quickly reply. "...not since Ben." You wave your hands in front of you as you try to explain yourself. "I didn't get out much, and didn't feel the need to... meet other people, you know?"

He nods, as if in agreement. "I know exactly what you mean. There's not much room for commitment in my line of work, you know?"

"Oh? What do you do for work? if you're not in the CIA, you must be in the... FBI? Bounty Hunter?"

"I'm a... consultant," he says carefully, "I work with the state," he follows up quickly, clearing his throat.  

"So, Grogu..." you motion to his son, desperately wanting to change the subject, feeling uncomfortable. "It's just the two of you?" you ask nonchalantly, trying to hide the tiny bit of curiosity about whether or not this handsome stranger was single or not.

Mando smiles at that. "Grogu is my adopted son." he replies, "He was in a bad situation, and I decided to adopt him a few years ago. He would have been placed into the system if I hadn't intervened, and it's harder for someone on the spectrum," he gives Grogu a look, sighing, "... to get placed."

"That's pretty amazing, Mando," you say as you place your hand on his shoulder, grasping it slightly, his muscle tensing from your sudden touch. You give him a reassuring smile. "Seriously. Not just anyone would be that selfless."

Suddenly feeling a strong urge to keep his attention, at least for a little bit longer, an idea formulates in your mind. "Since Grogu is so fond of the storybook lady, would you like to help me out with the story today?"

"Help you out? how?" he asks, scratching the back of his neck. "I... don't know about that," he replies, obviously uncomfortable with the prospect of reading in front of a bunch of children. "I don't do well with kids, besides my own, that is."

"Oh come on, it'll be fun," you say. "I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

"How about a deal? I help out today, and in return, you spend the day with Grogu and me," he suggests, a hopeful glint in his eyes. "You can rediscover the city and share some quality time with your biggest little fan," he adds, nodding toward Grogu, who's eagerly waving amidst a group of kids waiting for the Storybook Lady.

"And, well, since you kept me waiting for a good ten years," he playfully admits, lowering his head toward yours. His warm breath grazes your neck as he takes a deliberate breath. "I think it's only fair you grant your most loyal supporter a day to feel appreciated," he whispers in your ear, a sweet mix of sincerity and charm.

You shoot him a satisfied grin and nod in agreement. His eyes casually trace the journey from your eyes to your lips, and you playfully bite your lower lip under the easy yet intense gaze he's giving you.

You slip your hand into his, fingers weaving together effortlessly. "Okay, Prince Charming, time for a grand adventure!" you tease, a playful grin lighting up your face in sync with his. Guiding him to the Storybook Lady's seat, Grogu catches on, his face lighting up with a mix of amusement and anticipation, realizing there's a cute plot twist in the works.

"Daddy's helping the Storybook lady today! That's my daddy!" Grogu excitedly motions towards him, and Mando, clearly embarrassed, grabs the first thing he can find to sit on, not realizing what it was until...

"Daddy's riding the horsey backward!" Grogu suddenly exclaims amid the sea of children. All eyes turn to his father, whose towering figure looms over the pint-sized toy pony. Vi, in the distance, gasps dramatically, shooting you a knowing look and winking, clearly amused by the comical sight. The vision of Mando perched on a toy pony in reverse tugs at your heartstrings a bit. In that moment, the memories of childhood dreams of an unattainable, deep love suddenly feel within reach, as if it has been right in front of you all along.

"So, what's the plan for this afternoon?" you ask Mando, watching as he eases into the driver's seat of his Ford Bronco, Grogu comfortably strapped in the back.

"I'm thinking we grab a bite and head down to Gasworks," he suggests. "It's a gorgeous day, right?" He shoots you a smile as he merges onto the street.

"I wanna see the troll, Daddy!" Grogu pipes up enthusiastically. "Troll first, then food!"

"Troll? Is he talking about the Fremont Troll?" you chuckle, glancing back to see Grogu nodding in agreement. "Troll! Troll first, Daddy!" he exclaims, his arms flailing with excitement.

Mando rolls his eyes. "That's the one. He loves the troll so much that we visit it at least once a month," he mentions, stealing a glance at you as he drives toward Fremont.

"Ad'ika," Mando addresses his son through the rear-view window. "How about this? We'll each pick out one place we want to go today. Sound fun?"

"Yes! Fun! But can we go see the Troll first? Please?"

"... What does ad'ika mean?" you ask.

Mando smiles broadly as if you've uncovered a secret. "Have you ever watched 'Star Wars'?" He nods approvingly when you confirm that you have. "Remember Boba Fett and the Mandalorians? It's kind of nerdy, but it's Mandalorian for 'little one.' I wanted to call him something unique."

"That's... incredibly niche," you laugh. "You might be the least predictable person I've ever met."

"... thank you?"

He finds a good parking spot a few blocks away from the Fremont Troll, Grogu bouncing with excitement as his father unbuckles his car seat. "Starshine," Grogu asks, clinging to his father like a baby koala, "Do you like the troll? I used to think it was scary, but Daddy told me that I'm a big boy now and that nothing should scare me. The troll is my friend now. He can be your friend too!"

"Well, my mommy and daddy used to take Aunt Vi and me to the troll all the time when we were little! We had scavenger hunts and pretended we were princesses running away from the dragon," you share, smiling earnestly. "It was one of my favorite memories growing up."

"Really? If I play the dragon, and you play princess, can Daddy be the prince who saves you?" Grogu asks as you look at Mando from behind, trying to hide a blush. "Grogu..." he stutters, clearly embarrassed.

"Only if the Prince kisses the Princess once he saves her," you reply boldly, winking at him. Mando beams at that, shakily running a hand through his hair. He clears his throat. "I think that can be arranged," winking at you as he suddenly charges towards the both of you, Grogu shrieks in excitement as Mando grabs him from behind, perching his tiny form on his shoulders. "Are you ready, Dragon?" he asks his son, grinning brightly at you, "let's go save us a princess!"

After an hour of playing Princess and the Dragon with the Djarin boys, you spend another 30 minutes trying to convince Grogu to move on to the next item on your agenda for the day. 

"Wait, Daddy!" He whines as his father slings him over his shoulder. "You forgot to kiss the princess after you saved her!"

Mando turns towards you, his eyes darkening as his son wiggles in his grasp. He slowly approaches you, a smirk forming on the corner of his lips. He licks them, causing you to clench your thighs, gasping in surprise at his sudden boldness. His lips hover over yours. "Silly me," he whispers, smiling as he notices your mouth opening slightly in anticipation. "Shame on Daddy, right?" he smiles, his eyes locking you in place.  

"Right," you murmur, trembling. 

"Is this okay?" he asks, suddenly shy.

"More than okay," you beam.  

Without hesitation, his lips gently meet yours. His touch is tender, and you feel yourself becoming enveloped in the warmth of the moment – the softness of his lips, the sincerity of his kiss. In that instance, it's as if the stars themselves have aligned, and the entire universe conspired to bring you both together. If fate or destiny were ever tangible, it would be in this shared space, affirming that you were destined to be right here, in this perfect moment.

"Hey, can you put me down, Daddy? my head's getting all tingly!"

"I don't want this day to end," you say with a hint of sadness, "I haven't felt this alive in the last ten years," grabbing ahold of Mando's hands. He smiles, gently pushing a stray hair behind your ear. "Thank you for this, Mando. I've never felt this happy in such a long time; I didn't think it would ever be possible for me to feel like this again."

"Then let's not end it. Come home with us," he replies. "Let Grogu and me cook you dinner, and we can watch a movie. 'Netflix and Chill'? Is that what they're saying nowadays?"

"I'm pretty sure that's a euphemism for sex?"

A smirk forms on his face. "Is it now?" he replies. "Maybe that's what I meant," he winks, pressing a kiss on your temple.

"Hey Grogu, want to see a magic trick?" you ask him as he helps you set the dining table.

"A magic trick? Yes!" he nods eagerly, handing you a plate. Mando turns his head towards both of you as he continues cooking dinner. He had gently pushed you out of the kitchen earlier after you offered to help him, asking you to keep an eye on Grogu, reminding you that you're his guest and that he will be cooking for you, Mesh'la - Beautiful, you've come to realize - in Mando'a. 

You lean towards the candle set in the middle of the table, gently blowing on it, the flame igniting on the wick. You wink at him as he gasps and claps in excitement. "Wow!" he exclaims. "How did you learn how to do that?"

"My mommy taught me when I was about your age," you reply sweetly, ruffling his wavy hair.

"Can you teach me?" he asks you with a shy smile. "I love magic tricks."

"It's been a long time for me," you whisper, sitting on the sofa, 'Practical Magic' playing on the TV in the background as Mando hands you a glass of wine, Grogu already fast asleep in his room. "I haven't... entertained the possibility of being with someone after Ben died." 

"You must have loved him very much."

You nod. "Honestly, I never meant to get married, let alone fall in love," you sigh as you sip on your wine, smiling to yourself. "My mother... she died because of a broken heart when Vi and I were kids, she couldn't... imagine a life without my father, the loss changed something in her. It broke her. I made a promise to myself all those years ago to not go down that road and..." you gasp, stifling a sob. Mando grabs your hand, his thumb drawing circles on your skin, soothing you. "The night I found out, I ran to the edge of the aunt's property, along Puget Sound. I screamed for the waves to swallow me whole. I was ready, I couldn't... imagine my life without Ben."

"What made you stop yourself from doing... that?" he wipes your tears, grabbing your glass and setting it on the coffee table, grabbing ahold of both of your hands, giving you his undivided attention.

"I heard his voice in my head."

"His voice?"

"I know how crazy this might sound," you chuckle, shaking your head. "I've just met you, and here I am, pouring my heart out to the first person I've allowed myself to open up to in the last ten years."

"Don't worry, I feel it too," he says, looking at you earnestly. "It's like... I've always put up a wall between my desires and what I thought was the right thing to do, you know? I lost my parents at a young age, too. They were... killed," he confesses, a lone tear running down his face. "... and I became so consumed with seeking justice, you know? I worked my ass off to put their killer behind bars. I denied myself the chance to be loved because I didn't want to be the cause of someone else's pain, no matter how damn lonely it got. I get it, you know? I understand where you're coming from." Now, he's crying, the tears he tried so hard to hold back now flowing like rivers down his face. "I used to let myself believe, there is someone out there who knows, who understands the kind of pain that I've been through. I would wish..."

"What did you wish for?"

"I wished for someone like you," he softly confesses, his hand tenderly caressing your cheek. "I wished for you; I swear I dreamed you up. No one has ever made me feel the way I do when I'm with you. I know this sounds crazy, and it doesn't make any sense, but from the moment I laid eyes on you, Starshine, it was like everything aligned for me. Grogu, who also lost his family, and you—after everything, I told myself that if fate ever threw me a bone, I would take it. I have with my son, who adores you, but with you, it feels like you were meant for me and me alone. Everything that has happened, it all leads me to you."

"Mando, you don't mean that. You barely even know me."

"But it feels like I do know you, baby. I know... I know that you feel this, too."

It's as if a bucket of cold water has been poured over you, the enchantment of the day shattering with the sudden weight of reality. It all feels overwhelming, you realize in an instant. Your thoughts rush to Ben, the curse, and the consequences of letting go, which resulted in losing your husband and suddenly becoming a widow. For the past decade, you've carried the weight of guilt, hesitant to let someone else bear the burden of your twisted destiny. I can't let history repeat itself, not with Mando, no matter how much my heart longs for him.

"I... I feel it too," you admit quietly, "but I can't, not again."

"Why, why can't you see what's in front of you? Wouldn't you think that Ben would want you to be happy? To find love again? What's stopping you?" he pleads, taking you into his arms, resting his head on your shoulder as he holds you tight, as if he thinks you're ready to run away.  

"Mando..." you quietly sob, "It's me, I'm the reason why Ben is dead."

Series Taglist: @strawberri-blonde @survivingandenduring

[mr3radio]

I haven't read any The Impossible Man comics in a long while, so I'm 99.9% sure that I got them way out of character. With that said, I had a lot of fun drawing this.

[thathoudinisimp]

YES!! YEEEEES! THE IMPOSSIBLE MAN IS GOING TO BE ON BROADWAY! YES!

This was canceled when Covid hit but now we can see it! OMG!! I am so excited!! AAAAAH!!

I actually freaking got emotional when I heard the news. I’m so excited!!

Coming 2025 first premiering in Italy. Fingers crossed it’ll hit Broadway

https://www.theimpossiblemanmusical.com/

Already following them on YouTube and Instagram!

It’s gonna be AWESOME!

[makeminebronze]

February commemorates 60 years of Stan Lee's least favorite FF character, The Impossible Man! (Well, according to a few interviews. I think Impy grew on him over the years...)

[pierre-reads-comics]

Fantastic Four (1961) #11 — Stan Lee, Jack Kirby

[inkforhumanhands]

May I introduce you to...the Impossible Man?

I've been silent on this issue for too long. There is a Marvel menace the likes of which should be publicly enshrined for being just too awesome. He is the Impossible Man, and he's a Poppupian alien straight out of the NYC drag ball scene. He made his debut in Fantastic Four (1961) #11 and has sadly not seen many repeat appearances, but he must be lauded all the same.

Look at that hip pop. Also if you're wondering, yes he does go rob a bank immediately after this. But it's not his fault he doesn't know the ways of our land!

So what makes the Impossible Man so...impossible? Well, he can turn himself into literally anything. See below as he turns himself into some flower petals.

He can be soft, but he can also be sharp. Look as he turns himself into an asbestos-bladed buzz saw!

I mean, he wins points just for being probably the most over-powered villain to ever grace a Marvel comic. After all, he's got something for literally anything you could throw at him. But it's not only that that makes him one of the greats. The dude just exudes effortless cool.

He could give a runway model a run for their money.

And he's relatable when it comes to his food consumption.

I wouldn't want to share my cake either.

I think I've made some good points here. But mostly? How could you say no to this face?

In conclusion, this blorbo is up for adoption from as many people as possible. Just don't let him out of your sight for too long!

[beif0ngs]

THE BOY SAVIOR ⏱️ THE BOY WHO SHATTERED TIME

[cryptocism]

"just as I did, in 1983."

you'd never know my favourite parts of the show are the fucked up insane bits when my first instinct is to draw the cheesiest thing imaginable

[cheriafreya]

Dr Ratio and Aventurine in Rota Fortunae, by Megane98, Unnämed/Lucien

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.

[chiriwritesstuff]

The Impossible Man ✨ 2. A Case of You ✨

Modern-Day Detective! Din Djarin x Witchy! Reader (Soulmates! AU)

Previous Chapter ✨ Series Masterlist

Summary: For someone being born into a magical family, a curse placed on the women of your bloodline means you have mostly avoided witchcraft and its calling for the majority of your life. After a life-altering tragedy, you turn your back on your family and your gift and seek out a more normal, boring existence, devoid of magic, and mostly, of love. What happens when the ghosts of your past threaten your peaceful existence and you are forced to reconcile all that you have lost? Will you let the people you have abandoned in your past life back into your heart? Will the appearance of an impossible man you have unknowingly cursed yourself break the chains of love? Will you let him?

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Magical Realism, Mentions of (Attempted Suicide), Implied Violence, Domestic Violence, Improper Usage of Belladonna (use a measuring device!), Mentions of minor character death, (Some) Men are the absolute worst, Petty theft (by Din), Meddling Vi and Omera (the dream team), This is severely un-beta-ed (I will fix this! don't worry!), someone dies multiple times in one night and I am not sad about it ONE BIT.

A/N: Detective Din Djarin enters the chat.

Banner by @chiriwritesstuff ✨ Dividers by @saradika

Word Count: 8.7 K (WHOOPS)

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have begun our descent into Seattle, Washington. Please turn off all portable electronic devices and stow them until we have arrived at the gate. In preparation for our descent, be certain your seat is upright and your seatbelt is fastened. Thank you for flying with Delta Airlines, and we hope you have a good afternoon.

Ten years. 

It's been ten years since that awful, god-forsaken, terrible night.  

Ten years since you turned your back on it all. Your family - on Fennic, on Omera, on Vi. Ten years since you picked up the little urn of Ben’s remains at the crematory. Ten years since you packed up the entirety of your life in that little apartment in Queen Anne - your dream home - closing the door one last time, entombing all of the laughter, the late nights in bed holding each other, all of the love you made, never to be opened ever again. Ten years that you swore that you would never come back. Ten years since you flew yourself down to Montauk, Ben in that little urn, in tow - to where he was born and raised - scattering his remains at the edge of the ocean -  like how he would have wanted. He loved Montauk - its beaches, its little seaside villages along the coast. You didn't want to bury him - here, in Washington, in Seattle, far away from home, rotting until his body dissolved into worms and merged with the Earth, ceasing to exist. He promised you, that you would go back once this was all over - he just didn’t say that it would be like this. That it would end, like this. 

You ran. Your feet bare, running on the cool wet dew of the grass as you flee the only place you ever felt was home, your heart still raw and broken and cracked from the devastation and betrayal by the people you thought you loved the most. You found yourself at the edge of your aunt's property, along the vastness and depth of Puget Sound - screaming for the crashing of the waves to consume you whole.  Take me, take me, take me instead, you begged to the universe, to god, to whoever could be possibly listening.  

You didn't know what hurt more, the fact that you allowed yourself to bring an unsuspecting soul to be dammed by your selfishness, or the fact that it was your flesh and blood that led you down this path in the first place - forcing you to question every interaction, every poignant moment in your relationship - if it was real, and genuine, without the magical push or influence of a spell. You were okay before, before the possibility and eventuality of Ben - You resigned yourself to be alone, to be kind to whoever would bring the prospect of companionship by sacrificing your heart, your desires, your childish hopes and dreams. Being with Ben was to appease the little girl who believed in the notion of being loved, or allowing that little part of you - that tiny bit of delusion that lay dormant in you for the first twenty or so years of your existence - to doubt something so monumental as being cursed, with a possibility of love and a connection, a devotion - that was so deep, so meaningful that you dared to be happy, to be blissfully in love, knowing that in the back of your mind, where reason actually existed - that it had an expiration date. That it was always there, chained by fate, bound by magic, written in blood. 

Who were you to think that you were the exemption?

It was a setup - the precinct, the press, the official report written by Detective Djarin, said. 

You never did end up going to the station that night - to meet your husband's - Ben's- faceless partner who messaged him in the early morning with the promise of a lead, a promise of this hell to be finally over with.  We got him, the text read. Yes, you got him, Detective Djarin - but at what cost? One soulless bastard for the life of another? Hell, you blamed him - Din Djarin - a rookie recruit from New Mexico - you blamed him the most, and you've never even met the guy.  

Ben was always careful. He was never brash, or cavalier - he was meticulous - he planned everything to a T, didn't burst through the doors guns a-blazing, always upheld the statures of the law. He never put himself in a position on the grounds of a hunch, no - he had too much self-preservation, he had too much to lose. Perhaps it was in his carefulness that they partnered him up with Din in the first place. Ben was a good detective - but he had no backbone. No edge. Too soft in a job where you needed to be hard. Too compassionate, too fair. It was all that he was lacking - that his younger new partner embodied. Ben was in awe of him. Wanted to prove himself in the eyes of the rookie detective that he could be all of these things, that he could - and would - do the things necessary to get the bad guy, no matter the cost. To lead by example.

But where did that get him? 

Shot in cold blood, left to die. 

Sure, we didn’t forget about the curse. But if we were completely honest, if Detective Din Djarin didn’t light that fire up his ass in the first place, he would have stayed, with you, that morning.

No. You’re both complicit. 

Din Djarin may have made him more bold, more brash, and maybe even a little more brave. But it was you, and your childish hopes, and dreams, and your need for this insignificant thing that you call love - it was you that signed off on his eventual demise the moment you let him in, the moment you selfishly brought him into your orbit. 

Starshine.

Your eyes open, your head pressed onto your keyboard as your eyes adjust to the lack of light in your apartment. You glance at the bright white glare of your computer monitor, 12:14 a.m. at the corner of the screen. Groaning, you force yourself to sit upright at your desk chair, flexing your toes and stretching your back from all the stiffness you would feel after sleeping at your desk.  

"Starshine," you hear in your mind, your sister's pained voice reverberating through your bones. Your eyes scan through the mess of your tabletop, looking for your phone among the chaos.

15 missed calls.

35 text messages

1 voicemail, 10m 

Vi.  

Fuck, when was the last time I checked my notifications?

You call her back.  

We're sorry, but your call cannot be connected as dialed.

*Hi Starshine, I know it's been a while...*

*Are you there?*

*I miss you*

*There was a strange man that came in looking for you, he was kind of cute, in a weird, kinda intense way!*

*I met someone! His name is Geoff!*

*Are you busy? I need to hear your voice*

*Please talk to me, I miss you*

*I'm in trouble, Starshine, I'm so scared...*

Your eyes scan through the texts, the urgency and pain of your sister's plight being frantically sent out - in secret - you deduce, her feeling of duress flowing through you as if you were in there in real-time, ducking against the corner of the room, behind her bed, trembling in fear in complete darkness, the heavy pacing and the silhouette of a man's feet behind her bedroom door. You can feel the moisture of her tears, the white salty streaks staining her face.

"Fuck!" you whisper as you pace around your apartment, the skyscrapers of New York City illuminating your windows.  

Oh god, what's happening, Vi?

The phone in your hands starts to vibrate, Vi's face illuminating on the screen.  

"Vi? Where are you?" you whisper.

"Come home, Starshine... I'm scared. I need you.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. 

Next stop, Westlake Station.

You rest against the window of the rail car, holding up your right hand as you delicately touch the healed-over scar. You think back on the last night you were in Seattle, knocking on Vi's door, your bags packed for Montauk.  

"I feel like I'm not going to see you again, Starshine. You don't have to do this!" she says tearily. 

You smile at your sister sadly, considering your next words, hopefully enough to placate her nerves.  "Don't worry, Vi. We'll grow old together. It's going to be you and me living in a big house... these two old biddies with all these cats. I bet we even die on the same day." 

"Come here," you pull Vi towards you, grabbing your Swiss army knife out of your pocket. You cut your palm diagonally, wincing.  

"My Blood," you whisper, grabbing ahold of her hand as you do the same to her palm.  

"Your Blood," you smile at her as you grasp your bloody hand with hers.  

"Our Blood." you both say, embracing your sister for the last time, the tears falling on your face, smiling sadly at your sister as you press a kiss on her forehead.  

"Be good, Vi Vi. I'll see you soon."

You gather your overnight bag and sling your backpack on as you stand to exit off of the link light railcar onto the platform. It's early evening on a balmy October day - Not quite cold enough for a scarf, but enough to warrant a coat - Ben's coat, the only item of clothing of his you allowed yourself to keep, its edges starting to show signs of wear. You shove your hands into its pockets, and fiddle for the Orca card to check out of the station.  

With muscle memory you exit out of the station to head out into the bus stop for the #3, heading towards Queen Anne. You adjust your overnight bag strap on your shoulders, brushing a stray hair behind your ears as you take in the cold fall night, the familiarity of your youth washing over you in nostalgia. As charming as New York City is in the fall, there's something about the charm of the Pacific Northwest - the slow swaying of the trees, the falling leaves, the crisp, clean air. The hustle and bustle of NYC was nowhere to be found - no disgruntled yelling or heckling, no sea of yellow cabs honking in the distance.  

Vi is already waiting as you walk up to the duplex from the bus stop, standing on the porch, leaning on the front door. She’s dressed in a silk nightgown and thin, long cardigan, the cherry tip of her cigarette in one hand, the other hugging her waist. She's different - the ten years of time and distance taking a toll on her once bright, delicate features. She's thinner now, more frail - you can see the hollowness of her cheeks, the sallow beneath her eyes. 

"Geoff isn't home," she greets as she fidgets with the cigarette, biting the bottom of her lip as she nervously glances at you - skittish, apprehensive. "It's Freaky Fridays at the bar - he won't be home until at least midnight."

"Vi -"

She crushes you in an embrace as she sobs, completely falling apart in your arms. Her tears soak into your coat and she's wailing, wailing, wailing - a bevy of "I missed you so much" and "thank god" repeated, like a mantra.  

You shimmy out of the embrace and grab both of her arms to inspect her - raising your hand to graze the purple bruise that had bloomed on her cheek. She flinches, her mouth flinching in pain as you gently palm over her face. She smiles sadly back at you, her hand covering your own on her face, closing her eyes as you wipe away her tears. You press your forehead onto hers, breathing her in.  

"He's been really crazy, you know? today he says he wants a jelly donut, and he says to the kid, 'Jelly donut, with cream' and the kid looks confused! and I said 'Geoff, Jelly is not a cream' - and the kid, he laughed and I laughed, and he punched me! he punched me real hard! Bastard!"

"Does he know where the aunts live?"

"No, but they're at the solstice celebration-"

"Pack a bag, Vi, we're leaving."

You stand guard by the door as Vi hurriedly shoves things in her bag, running throughout her side of the duplex as she seemingly grabs things at random.  "Have you been in it yet?" she asks as she shoves a box of granola into her weekender - "I haven't... no one's been in it, not since... and Geoff thinks we should rent it out, you know, make some money out of it, but, I told him we couldn't - it's not mine, it's yours -" she speaks a mile a minute - not unlike how you remember all those years ago - as she shoves what seems like 20 pairs of underwear, zipping up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

You hurriedly push her out of the door, fumbling with the keys as you lock it, guiding her down the steps - Damn these shoes! she exclaims - making your way down the street, towards the bus stop.  

"Oh!" Vi suddenly stops in her tracks. "Blood on the moon!" she whispers, pointing to the sky.

"I know" you reply.

She’s clutching her chest, pulling at the nightgown as she pats down her threadbare coat, pulling out the cheap polyester pocket lining, stopping in place as she looks back up the street.  "Where's my tiger's eye? it brings me luck, I left it, I need to get it back!"  she breaks out of your hold and breaks out into a sprint towards the house, pulling her shoes off, running up the pavement, not once caring if her feet are bare.  

"It's probably in the bag, Vi, come on!" you run after her, up the porch stairs. "Vi -" you say as you stumble back into the apartment, stopping in your tracks as you are suddenly gazing at a man - Geoff, you presume - struggling with Vi, pointing - is that a gun? - at you. Geoff - his commanding presence heightened by his striking, dark features. His tousled hair, as black as midnight, framed a face chiseled with sharp, defined angles, giving him an air of both ruggedness and refinement. Deep-set, intense eyes, the color of smoldering coals, held a hint of mystery, their gaze both penetrating and enigmatic. He smiles.

"Ah. Starshine! The prodigal sister finally makes an appearance!" he belts out as he motions the barrel of the gun towards the couch.  "Okay, Okay," you say meekly as you slowly make your way to it, your hands in the air as you refuse to break eye contact, your sister shaking uncontrollably in his grasp.

He wedges the gun in the waist of his pants - between fabric and skin. He's still clutching onto Vi - grabbing the bottle of tequila that's on the coffee table. He sloppily thrusts it towards you in a - would you like some? - demeanor as you turn your head away from him. He sits on the chair across from you, perching Vi on top of his lap, licking her neck as she squirms.  “Shhh. Let the adults talk, okay?” he whispers as he brings a finger to her lips. 

"Hey, Starshine, you know all about books, right? Have you ever read any books by Louis L'Amour?"  You shake your head, refusing to meet his eyes as he shakes his head in disappointment.

"Okay, well - Louis L'Amour is a foreigner and he loved all things cowboy. Just like me, Geoffy-boy. So Louis would write stories about rustlers. Rustlers who were really bad guys."

You glance at Vi's direction. She twitches - slightly, if you had blinked, you would have missed it, motioning to her bag next to you on the couch.  "The belladonna is in my bag" you hear Vi's voice clearly in your mind. You nod, looking at Geoff as he babbles on, lighting a cigarette and perching it on the corner of his lips. You slowly edge your pinky towards Vi's purse.

He flicks the lighter back on as he starts to wave it over his ring - a bulbous silver skull - "They would try to steal the cattle. But before they could sell them they would try to take away the brand of the owner with an acid, or by - He suddenly rubs the ring furiously on the chair cushion - "...scrubbing. Unfortunately, they could never get rid of it. So they would be caught and get hanged."

"What are you doing?" you nervously ask as he brings the flame of the lighter back onto the skull of his ring, waving it back and forth, heating it as he takes another drag of his cigarette. He grabs the meat of Vi's thighs.  "Come on! You can't hide the brand. It's just you and me."  he tells her as he attempts to brand her with the skull, Vi thrashing in his grasp as you take advantage of the distraction, clutching onto the glass vial of the belladonna. "Let her go!" you cry out, jumping onto your feet into a semblance of a fighting stance, not caring one bit about the ridiculousness of it.

He laughs at you as he raises his hands in mock surrender.  "Relax, Starshine, live a little! Have a drink with me!" he motions towards the tequila bottle on the table.  

"Shut up! Louis L'Amour by the way - is not a foreigner! He's from North Dakota, you asshole!" you mouthed angrily while you snatch the bottle, taking a sip while Vi suddenly grabs his face, crushing her mouth towards his. You quickly pour the entire vial of the belladonna down the tequila bottle, shaking it as you hand it back to Geoff. He takes a long drink, winking as he places it on the table. He looks at you with a tinge of satisfaction.  

Two hours later, Vi is beside herself as Geoff is taking a - rather long - piss. 

"It should have worked by now," she nervously paces the living room, biting her nails. "I don't think you gave him enough."

"I gave him plenty!" 

Just as you are about to throw the bottle of Belladonna at Vi in frustration, Geoff slithers back into the room, a sinister look on his face. He smirks at you as he approaches Vi.

"You know, girls. I'm feeling very into sisters right now."

He suddenly grabs Vi by the throat, throwing her on the ground as he straddles her.  "I LOVE YOU, VI! WHY DON'T YOU WANT TO BE MY WIFE?!"  You immediately launch on him, pounding your fists on his back "Get the fuck off of her!"

"Starshine! Starshine stop! he's out!" Vi says as she pushes him off.  

"OH MY GOD!" She shouts, scrambling onto her feet as she looks at him dead on the floor, his vacant eyes staring back at her, his skin sickly pale. "How much did you give him?" she looks at you frantically.

"I don't know, Vi, he was threatening to kill us, it's not like I had a measuring cup!" you retort as you kneel next to him, slapping his face, willing him to wake up. You grab onto his shoulders, shaking him with as much force as you can muster.  "Wake up, asshole!" you angrily mutter as you slap his face again.  

"What are we going to do?" Vi cries out in a panic.  "We can't go to the police, they're never going to believe us!"

"It was in self-defense!" you shoot her a questioning look.  "Wait. What do you mean that they wouldn't believe us?"  

"Well, I doubt the whole slowly-poisoning-your-lover defense would win over the Seattle PD" she snarks as she rolls her eyes, pinching her nose as she paces around the room. You eye her waringly.

"What are you thinking, Vi?"

"When Ben died, you asked the aunts to bring him back," she states, matter-of-factly.

"They wouldn't," you answer bitterly, kicking Geoff as you collapse onto the chair beside him.  "Get to the point, Vi."  

"They wouldn't, not couldn't" she replies simply.

You shake your head.  "No, the aunts were right. He would have come back dark and unnatural."

"Geoff's already dark and unnatural! I don't care what he comes back as, just as long as he comes back!"

"No, Vi, that is not an option. That isn't even a choice!" You head into the kitchen, filling up a glass of water and drinking it, shaking your head in disbelief.  This is not happening, you think.  

"We don't have a choice, Starshine! This is our ONLY choice!" Vi throws up her hands in frustration.  "Do you want to go to jail, or do you want to help me fix this? Because I'm sure Ben is rolling in his grave right now!"

"He was cremated, Vi."

"You owe me big time" you mutter to Vi as you help her carry Geoff out of the back seat of his car, having been forced to drive from Queen Anne to Tacoma to access Bainbridge Island from Narrows Bridge. 

"Watch his balls!" Vi exclaims, leading you into the kitchen as they half drag, half carry Geoff's stiffening body to the dining room table.  "Okay Geoff, I will get you out of this but after that, we are over!" she declares, slapping his face.

"What are you doing?" 

"Nothing!" she retorts, running past you as she grabs the Spellbook from the other room, placing it near Geoff's head. You push her aside, flipping through the weathered pages.  "Are you sure you want to do this? He's still fresh, we could still convince the police that it was in self-defense!"

Vi gives you a satisfied smirk as she nods. "Absolutely."

You take a deep breath.  "Okay. Lips pursed, emit wind over tongue in motion, teeth on edge." you purse your lips, executing the needed motion with practiced precision as Vi tries to mimic you.  "Good enough, good enough."  You cut open his shirt, "Touch bounded smudge of blue sage with braided wheat straw." 

"Okay, repeat after me. 'Black as night, erase death from our sight. White as light, Mighty Hectate make it right."  you nod to Vi.  "Black as night, erase death from our sight. White as light, Mighty Hectate make it right."  You hand Vi a needle, positioning yours to one of Geoff's eyes.  "insert needles through the eyes of the corpse."

Vi looks at you with disgust.  "Through his eye? Maybe we should wait for the aunts"  You roll your eyes.  "It's not like he's going to stay fresh forever! Stop being a baby and let's finish this!"

You chant the incantation repeatedly, angling the needle at Geoff's eyes as they suddenly focus on you. You drop the needle in bewilderment, your hand covering your mouth as Vi gasps in shock.

"Geoff?" she asks timidly, circling the table. He suddenly shoots up from where he lay, his hand reaching out to Vi's throat as he shrieks.  

"WHY WON'T YOU BE MY WIFE?" he wails unnaturally as he strangles her, pinning her to the wall as she claws at him. You grab the first heavy thing you can find around you - a cast iron skillet? and BAM! swing at Geoff, the impact so strong he drops like a sad sack of potatoes.  

You're breathing heavily as you drop the skillet, glancing over to Vi as she clutches her heaving chest.  

"Please god, if you get us out of this, I'll be good! I'll settle down and be normal for once! No more one-night stands!" Vi pleads to the sky as she helps you dig a shallow grave near the rose bushes.  

It's the middle of the night, and in typical Bainbridge Island fashion, the heavens decide to throw a torrential downpour into the mix. After killing Geoff - for the second time that night - the both of you decide to cut your losses and bury him in the aunt's backyard, all semblance of reason out the window. What's one less asshole walking on this earth? If you think about it, in the grand scheme of things, you actually did humanity a favor. Bye bye Geoff, don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out. 

"Normal? Really Vi? I had normal! For ten years, I had my quiet boring non-magical life! and it was fucking amazing!" you sharply retort as you carve out the earth, the heavy downpour soaking you to the bone.  "I worked really hard for that normal, thank you very much!"

One Geoff-sized shallow grave dug later, you both unceremoniously dump his twice-deceased body into it, spitting in it for good measure.  

"I hate to be the one to say this," you say to Vi as you start to shovel "but you need better taste in men."

She rolls her eyes at you, her wet hair sticking to her face as she pushes it back behind her ears.  

"Yeah, no kidding." she laughs, rolling her eyes.  

"Not a word to the Aunts," you stomp on the grave to flatten it out.  "Not one."

You wake up to Vi puttering around the room the next morning. You groan as your eyes register the sudden influx of light streaming out of the windows through the blinds, you yank a pillow and cover your head with it, groaning.  "It's too early, Vi."

"I need to open the store today," Vi is puttering around your old bedroom, walking into the closet as she shuffles through clothes.  "We have to 'maintain normalcy', right?"  she pulls out a dress, inspecting it, while looking at you hesitantly.  "... do you want to come with me? I bet you miss it, the aunts kept it the same..." she continues as she slips on the dress. She smiles.  "Come on. I can work the cafe and you can work the register... it'll be like old times. The store misses you too. Misses its rightful owner, you know. Mom left it to you, not to me." she pointedly adds, pleading her case.  

You sigh as you sit on the edge of the bed.  "... I don't know, Vi. The last time I was here..." You take a deep breath, a flash of Ben's smile cycling through your mind.  "It's been too long, and I don't know if I can... exist here, you know?" 

“…but you love the store,” Vi says as she holds up another dress, a blue long sundress with moons and suns printed on it - tossing it in your direction. “… and Ben knew you loved it too. I think that if there was anything you could do for him, especially in death, it would be to be happy, you know? Maria’s was your dream, and it still can be only if you just let yourself try.” She smiles as she picks up her tote bag, slinging it onto her shoulder as she kisses the top of your head. “Just one day, please? For me? For old time's sake?”

Vi gives you her best puppy-eyed look and pouts her lips.  

You groan and cover yourself with the covers.  "Fine. One day, and then I'm flying my ass back to New York!"

She smirks, covertly looking at your burrowed form.  "That's all I ask."

Maria's Curiosities and Books is still the same.  

The bookstore slash cafe, opened 30 years ago by your mother, remains pleasantly intact in the heart of Capitol Hill. You remember running through the racks and stacks of secondhand books, mostly about all things magical and occult, piled haphazardly throughout the store. You used to spend hours tucked away in the corner of it, the old leather loveseat tucked away amongst the sea of books and knickknacks and the random bits and bobs. You remember running your fingers through the cracks of the worn leather of the couch cushions, the wafting of the freshly ground coffee beans permeating throughout the nooks and crannies of the store, your mother's beautiful smile looking back at you from behind the register as you would tuck yourself in, deeper into the love seat, making yourself right at home.

Vi hands you your shop keys, giving you a small nod as she guides you to the entrance, the door already decorated for Halloween.  

"The aunts did it before they left," Vi says, grabbing her phone out of her tote bag - I want to commemorate Starshine's big return, ten years in the making! - her camera app at the ready as you push the store key into the lock.  

You slowly turn the key in the lock, gingerly swinging the door open as you flick on the lights like you have hundreds of times before. You gasp at the familiarity of it all - as you realize that Vi was right - they haven't changed a thing, not one thing at all.  

Everything is still how you left it, ten years later. 

You make your way to the register, the vintage incorruptible cash register you found - like happenstance! - at the Goodwill, one day - still on the weathered countertops but with the addition of an iPad beside it, bringing this store up with the times - Vi's idea, surely.  

Vi holds out your mother's hat - a pointed velvet blue hat with silver stars running along throughout - the Storybook lady's hat - out to you.  "I figure since Omera isn't here... if you would do the honors today." You slowly place the hat atop your head as Vi grins.  "Right back where it belongs," she says with a satisfied look.  

You blink away the tears.  "Thank you, Vi, for watching over the store for so long," you pull her into a hug, the feeling of being home finally coursing through your veins, the gentle warmth spreading through the coldness of your bones.  "... I mean it."

"You promised me, you know," she says through her tears.  "...that you would come back."

You remember when you finally took rightful ownership of the store after you graduated from the University of Washington, waking up at the buttcrack of dawn, shuffling behind the register with bright-eyed wonder as you would look at the picture frame - the one with the photo of your mother, Fennic, and Omera clutching each other, smiling brightly as your mother held up the keys in triumph.  

This was her dream.  

... and then it became yours.  

“Daddy, can we go see the storybook wady this weekend?”

Din looks at his five-year-old son as he sits on the dining room table, pushing around the cereal in his bowl. His hair is in disarray from sleep, still in his Star Wars pajamas as he watches cartoons from his iPad.  

“If you can be good with Aunt Peli today, maybe we can go see the storybook lady tomorrow, adika,” he replies, mussing his son's hair as he sits across from him, blowing on his coffee. He gives his son a knowing look.  "... that means no jumping into her pond grabbing frogs, okay? you almost gave her a heart attack the last time, baby."

Grogu smiles at that, his front tooth missing as he happily scoops out his cereal.  

Din doesn’t know why he started to frequent Maria’s Curiosities and Books all those years ago. He knew of its owner - hell, you were all his partner would talk about, if he wasn't talking about work. He knew that you had inherited it from your mother, taking it over from your aunts the moment you graduated from college. He also knew that that's where the both of you had met - you and Ben, that is, a chance meeting that seemed so serendipitous, it must have been written in the stars. A perfect "meet cute", Ben would say dreamily, a fond smile creeping on his lips as he recalled that day to him. You managed to bewitch him, body and soul, he claims, from the moment you wiped the spilled coffee you accidentally poured on him, your firey eyes locking on to his as you profusely apologized for your clumsiness. Ben knew that he was a goner.  

Naturally, Din was curious - no, he was intrigued - by the bewitching woman who managed to render his normally stoic partner into complete devotion. The notion of love, and happiness, and all the bells and whistles that came with it - was such a foreign concept to him. It was a distraction, a distraction he would never think he would ever allow himself - no, he was so against the thought of bringing someone - someone innocent, someone trusting, and devoted - into the fold of the chaotic nature of his life, knowing that any moment, any day, any second would be his last. It came with the territory, this profession. He knew what he signed up for the moment he stepped into the police academy that first day. The academy warns you about that shit, that your days are counted the moment you accept that badge. He was ready for it, hell, it's all he's ever wanted - the badge, the honor, the brotherhood. He lived and breathed the creed of justice - ever since his parents were taken from him - all those years ago, back in his home in New Mexico, in front of his eight-year-old eyes, in cold blood. 

... and then it happened. 

It was an anonymous tip, sent to his work phone in the middle of the night.

Bleary-eyed, he swiped to the unread message, sent 1:13 am, one sentence. An address, "Gideon spotted" accompanied by it. He shot out of bed immediately, eyes wide, his bare chest heaving, his grey sweatpants slung low on his hips suddenly hot and restricting.  

He would be lying if he said that Gideon wasn't the reason that he pushed for the transfer to Seattle PD in the first place - hell, he's been on his trail since he got his promotion to detective a year ago back in New Mexico. He had hunted him - his parent's killer - his mortal enemy number one - with the determination of a bounty hunter for as long as he can remember. No one would make the connection - He was thrust into the foster care system back then, assigned to a spitfire of a woman - Peli - who gave him his name - Din Djarin - the moment she decided that she wanted to adopt him. He's been lying in wait, in anticipation - for a long time. This was his life's mission, the promise that he made to himself all those years ago, that it would be his hands that dealt the final blow. It would be his hands that Gideon's blood would stain, and he would enjoy every fucking moment of it. 

He considered the gift that had been handed to him at that moment. Pacing through his bedroom, he weighed out his options. This was his case, his one loose end that he had to tie up. He had the skill, the strength, and the willpower to see it though. He didn't necessarily have to bring anyone else into the fold of it - he didn't have to involve his unsuspecting partner - Ben - with his penchant for following the rules and meticulous planning, who didn't just burst through the door, guns a-blazing - his partner who had everything to lose. Din didn't have that, didn't understand the feeling of having people being left behind on his behalf. Ben understood the need for justice, he just wasn't aware of the emotional weight this person - this scum of the fucking earth - had on him. He wouldn't understand the obsession that he had with Gideon. Ben had questioned it - once, why finding Gideon was so important to him.  He's a bad man, who has done many bad things to innocent people - he’d replied cryptically.  Why wouldn't we pull out all of our resources to see this though?

Against his better judgment, after hours of deliberation pacing through his apartment in the cold early morning, he makes his choice.

Meet me here, he types, attaching the address to Gideon's last known location.  We got him.  

This is a bad idea, he thinks to himself as he stands outside the bookstore. 

He sighs, groaning in frustration as he makes his way inside Maria's Curiosity and Books a few weeks later after that pivotal day, the tinkle of the bell announcing his presence to its occupants.

He had tried to get into contact with you, sending hundreds of text messages, voicemails, and after-work visits to your apartment that you shared with Ben - all of his feeble attempts - all unanswered.  

He had hoped, that even though he was the harbinger of bad news, you would show up at the station that night. He understood why you didn't - instead being met with a steely woman - your Aunt - Fennic, was it? - who came on your behalf. She identified the body with an uncompromising gaze, nodding once as she immediately walked away, a fragment of emotion breaking through her impassive face as she pushed past him, out the door, as soon as she had walked in. He felt the levity of the pain that this woman carried, the sorrow she tried so hard to contain - that he couldn't even fathom the weight of the pain that you must have been experiencing, if not hearing your broken sobs through the phone wasn't enough. If heartbreak had a sound, he reckons, it would be the sheer devastation that he heard from your cries that night, becoming the soundtrack to his regret and nightmares - to follow him for years to come... and it was all his fault. All of it.

He approaches the woman behind the counter, her smile bright as she reads a letter - do people still write those? - a cup of coffee on the counter, stirring it with a spoon. At least he thought she was because he swears he sees the spoon stirring on its own - am I hallucinating? He thinks to himself. Spoons don’t do that.  

As if the woman senses his presence, she quickly grabs the spoon, stirring it once more before placing it on the saucer beneath the coffee cup. She places the letter she was reading next to it, cracking a smile. 

“How can I help you today, sir?”

He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I don’t mean to be forward, but are you the owner?” The woman suddenly looks surprised, covering the letter with her hand. 

“Uh… I’m not. That would be my sister, and… she doesn’t live here anymore. Not for the last few weeks, at least” she says sadly.  “May I ask why you’re looking for her?” 

“An old friend told me about her and this store. I’m a… big fan of secondhand books and I heard that this is the best place for it” he lies. 

“Well, it certainly is” She smiles as she holds out her hand. “I’m Violet, Vi for short. It’s funny that you bring Starshine up, she just sent me a letter, all the way from Montauk!” She motions to the letter. 

Montauk? New York? Is that where you ran off to?  "I didn't realize that people still corresponded that way."  He motions to the letter.

"Ah, well, Starshine is a writer and a bit of a romantic." she retorts, "I don't mind it one bit, at least she reaches out, right?"

“Vi!” A woman’s voice yells from behind the cafe area, “Can I bother you a bit?” 

She flashes you a contrite smile. “Sorry about that, duty calls. I’ll be just a minute.” She says apologetically as she hurriedly makes her way to the other side of the counter. She appears a moment later, a take-out cup of coffee in her hands.  "Omera was testing out a new recipe that Starshine was conceptualizing a bit before she left. She figured that a new face should test our wares out" she says, handing him the cup.  "I hope you like cinnamon chai, it's Starshine's favorite."

“Thank you” he gingerly takes the cup, taking a sip. “Wow, it’s good. Really good. Starshine thought this up?” Vi nods, her eyes quirking as if she notices something peculiar.  

He takes another sip. Her eyes follow the motion of his hand, eyeing it waringly. 

“Huh.” She says. “Is that…” she motions to his hand, “a bullseye tattoo?” 

He looks down at his right hand, at the junction of space between his thumb and his pointer finger, frowning. “Oh, yeah. I used to doodle this on my hand at school randomly, I thought I would immortalize it, I guess,”  he replies sheepishly. 

"How interesting," Vi responds cryptically.  "How very interesting."

"Perhaps you felt compelled to draw it," another voice cuts in, an older woman with ethereal features approaches Vi from behind the counter. She nods to the cup. “I’m Omera. Enjoying the chai?”

“Oh, yes. I love cinnamon. Reminds me of the churros my mother used to make back home.” 

Vi chuckles.  “It’s funny, Ben - her husband - was allergic to it, so Starshine could only drink them here.” Din coughs at that.  

"Would you like to see her?" The older woman asks. "Starshine?"  She hands him a framed photo of you, at your college graduation. “That’s her Aunt Fennic, my sister” she points to the poised-looking woman beside you. The woman from the precinct.  "... and Vi and I. It’s my favorite photo of all of us." She says fondly.

“She’s beautiful,” Din finds himself saying aloud before he can stop himself. Cut the shit, Djarin, her husband just died - in your arms - for fucks sake. He internally grimaces at the thought, especially in the company of your family.  

He clears his throat.  “So Montauk. New York. That’s where she’s been? seems far from home, don't you think?”

Vi looks at him suspiciously.  "What are you, a cop?" she says jokingly, folding up your letter and placing it neatly atop a pile of books. He notices now that there are many photos of you - with Vi, with your parents, with the Aunts, with... Ben. There's a wedding photo, your face in the crook of his neck, as Ben beams into the camera. There's another one, of you kissing Ben - the sudden stab of jealousy notwithstanding - an errant thought in the back of his mind screaming mine, mine, mine - on his cheek. All of these photos, a chronolized timeline of your life, framed in mismatched picture frames, lining the countertops of the bookstore - your bookstore. He swallows, fiddling with the collar of his button-down.    

Vi motions to the wedding photo.  “Her husband - he grew up in New York. He was a detective. He... died in the line of duty. A setup, gone wrong. They managed to get the guy, but Ben was caught in the crossfire. After what had happened - she... went up there to settle his affairs."

Din tries hard to portray his ignorance.  “… yeah, I read about it, in the paper. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Vi nods, wrapping her arms around her small frame as she looks at Omera.  "She took it pretty hard. She - she doesn't let many people in, and Ben..." she stops as she considers how to approach her thoughts.  "... it devastated her. She wasn't the same after that."

He nods solemnly. Blinks furiously to mask away the tears.  "So, she uprooted herself there? What about the bookstore?"

Omera gives him a sympathetic look. "We'll carry on until she's ready to come home. That's all we can hope for, right?"  She appraises you as if deciding something.  "What's your name?"

Din considers this.  "Uh, Mando. Call me Mando," he says as he holds his hand out to Omera. She shakes it, her eyes with a hint of questioning, like she can't quite believe him.  

"Hey! Vi! Omera! Can I get some help here?! Sometime within this century?!" a voice calls out from the back, alerting the two women to look towards the back of the store. Vi gives him one last look as they leave him be.  "Excuse us, Fennic is on the warpath this morning. It was nice to meet you, Mando."

As they retreated towards the rear of the store, his gaze fell upon your abandoned letter resting on the countertop. With a quickening pulse, he scanned the area, ensuring that no prying eyes were upon him. Stealthily, he slipped the letter into the recesses of his coat, hastening his exit from the store.

It's not until he's in the safety of his car that he unearths the folded piece of paper in the confines of his coat pocket, the paper radiating warmth as he finds himself compelled to smell it, the paper sweet and spicy and musky all at the same time. Cinnamon. He imagines that it smells exactly like how you would smell, imagines the way your hand held the pen as you wrote exactly what your heart was feeling. He pushes the nagging guilt of intruding on your privacy - He just... needs... something, anything to placate his interest. To see what Ben saw, to understand his partner's last words that he said to him, begging, in desperation, in resignation.  "Promise me you'll take care of her, please, promise me. Tell her that I love her and that I'm sorry... that we couldn't go back."  Ben gurgles, his body convulsing in pain as Din pressed down on the gunshot wound, frantically calling for backup. "Tell her yourself," he tells his partner for the last time.  "Just hold on, you're going to tell her yourself."

He was cold, dead in his arms by the time emergency services reached them at the pier.  

"I promise."  He whispers, staring out into the void.

He turns his car on, the reverberating hum of his car coursing through his body. Joni Mitchell's 'A Case of You' starts to play as he gently holds the letter - your letter - in his hands.  

Just before our love got lost you said

"I am as constant as a northern star"

And I said, "Constantly in the darkness

Where's that at?

If you want me I'll be in the bar"

He takes a deep breath.  

He gently unfolds the letter and begins to read.  

Dearest Violet -

Sometimes I feel like there's a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn. I think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. The moon tonight, there's a circle around it. Sign of trouble not far behind. I have this dream of being whole, of not wanting to sleep each night, wanting. But still, sometimes, when the wind is warm or the crickets sing... I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I had my happiness. I don't want to believe it but, there is no man, Vi. Only that moon. 

I miss you, 

Starshine

He doesn't register the tears that are flowing out of him until the first teardrop falls onto the paper, the wet ink streaking down the page upon impact.

Din and Grogu make their way down 10th Avenue, his adopted son humming happily along as they make their way to Maria's Curiosities and Books - as promised for Grogu's good behavior - Oh, he was just an angel! not one frog didn't even go to the pond! - Peli exclaims - the Storybook Lady's - Omera, he found out - wooden sign out near the entrance.

It feels different, today. There's something in the air, there's a pep to his step as he walks down the street, Grogu in hand.  

It started when he woke up in the morning. He normally groans at the weight and reality of a new day, the looming reminder of his age and his knees and his back screaming out to him in silent agony. Din normally likes to relish in the calm of the coldness of fall, the little bit of peace before Grogu makes his presence known by jumping onto his bed, willing for his father to wake up already - we have to go see the Storybook Wady! - his lisp not quite pronouncing the words as he stifles a laugh.  

Din takes his time to get ready in the morning today as if compelled by an unknown force - a feeling in his bones - that shaving his usual unruly scruff is going to be so, so, worth it. He silently whistles along to Joni Mitchell's 'A Case of You' softly playing throughout through the Bluetooth of his speakers - his favorite song. He's still whistling along as he walks into his closet, freshly shaven and showered, his long wet curls slicked back into submission, as he takes an extra minute to actually be aware of what he's going to wear today.  

I feel like such a schoolboy, caring like this, he chuckles as he throws on a deep grey cable-knit sweater, settling on a pair of dark jeans that don't have any holes in the knees.  

I remember that time you told me

You said, "Love is touching souls"

Surely you touched mine

'Cause part of you pours out of me

In these lines from time to time...

He's still humming along to the song as he drives down 10th Avenue, Grogu beaming with untamable energy, bouncing in his car seat in anticipation of the day. Does he feel it too? the magic that's in the air this morning? he thinks to himself as he gently tells his son to settle down.  

It must be happenstance, he thinks, as he manages to find a parking stall along the normally busy street - already packed with locals and tourists alike - in a stall where he doesn't have to pay for metered parking or grimace at the prospect of having to carry his son - his too-big baby boy - for blocks to Maria's.

For once, everything seems to be going right. It must be my lucky day, he smiles to himself as he ushers Grogu to the entrance of the store. 

He's still whistling to Joni Mitchell as he opens the door - Grogu already letting go of his father's grasp - shrieking as he makes his way inside, running towards the other children sitting in the middle of the room, near the paper mache castle near the back, the storybook lady hat resting on its stool.  

"Hey, Vi -" he begins, his voice getting caught in his throat all of a sudden because there you were, behind the counter, dressed in a blue sundress and an oatmeal oversized chunky cardigan, your eyes bright and your lips - god, your lips - forming into a smile, smiling at him. It's as if time and space and the universe ceased to exist... 

"Starshine." He breathes, his feet frozen in place. 

Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine

You taste so bitter and so sweet

Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling

Still I'd be on my feet

I would still be on my feet

I met a woman

She had a mouth like yours

She knew your life

She knew your devils and your deeds

And she said, "Go to him, stay with him if you can

But be prepared to bleed"

Oh, but you are in my blood

You're my holy wine

You're so bitter

Bitter and so sweet

Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling

Still I'd be on my feet

I would still be on my feet

Taglist: @strawberri-blonde

[thesunoficaruss]

to add on to my last post

[twingeof-cosmic-angst]

Rose: do you actually get paid? Do they give you money?

The Ood: The Beast and his armies shall rise from the pit to make war against God :)

Rose: weird thing to call your union leader but fuck yeah man power to the people

[vaguely-concerned]

rook falling asleep on the red couch in the lighthouse dining room while lucanis is making dinner....... they were helping out by keeping him company and peeling and chopping potatoes for a while there but then the potatoes are done and the room is so safe and warm and smells like coffee and good food and lucanis is trying to explain something to spite and his voice is low and soft and good to listen to and rook's eyes only slip closed for a moment. they'll get up to save the world again or whatever in a second just. one moment. while the world is warm and kind. and then they're being shaken gently awake an hour later because it's time to eat and everyone's starting to drift hopefully dinner-wards

[pierre-reads-comics]

Fantastic Four (1961) #11 — Stan Lee, Jack Kirby

[aethersea]

I do think Blazing Saddles handled its one depiction of native americans very poorly, and the full extent of its representation of chinese workers on the railroad is they were literally just there. not even one single speaking line. unclear if this is worse or better than the redface.

it's fucking phenomenal at lampooning antiblack racism though. extremely blatant, extremely funny satire, which is constantly and loudly saying "racism is the philosophy of the terminally stupid at best and morally depraved at worst, and we should all be pointing and laughing at them 24/7"

plus the main character is a heroic black man who has to navigate a whole lot of bullshit but is constantly smirking at the extraordinarily stupid racists and inviting the audience into the joke. the one heroic white character is a guy who was suicidally depressed until he met the protagonist and they just instantly became buds, and he's firmly in a supporting role the whole time and happy to be there. the protagonist saves the day with the help of his black friends from the railroad, and uses the position of power he was given to uplift not only those friends, but all the railroad workers of other minorities too, in an explicit show of solidarity.

anyone saying "Blazing Saddles is racist" had better be talking about its treatment of non-black minorities. it had better not be such superficial takes as "oh but they say the n-word all the time" or "they have nazis and the kkk in there!" because goddamn if that's the full extent of your critique I very seriously suggest you read up on media analysis. there is too much going over your head, you need to learn to recognize satire.