Http://chng.it/2TrMRPgFjS

aggressive appreciation sounds

oh my god OP

OP

You can’t just give me this opportunity and expect me to let it be 

oh my god

mind if I switch it up slightly? yeah? okay great anyway-

There’s a man that stands in the alleyway.

He stands with his blaster out. His grip is relaxed - experienced. His shoulders are tense and his stance ready - also experienced. 

Grogu, hidden in an alcove of the wall and staring down, should’ve expected this. This man wore Mandalorian armour. Whether or not he earned it or stole it, he would need the skills to even get a hand on the beskar.

(Other Mandalorians might not have the skill to get the Beskar)

And certainly not so much of it. The armour is silver and unpainted. Grogu has half a mind to try and shoot him in the leg guards just to see if those were beskar too.

But he’s not a fool. Mostly.

Grogu wears beskar too. He has had it reforged to fit him; the armour of his late father. He wears it with pride and guards it with ferocity, like how his father had done before him, and how every Mandalorian has done, had done, and will do.

He walks the way of Mandalore. Not many do.

Grogu’s job is to make sure this man does.

He whistles a long, low tune.

The man jolts subtly - surprised. He whistles back.

Grogu finds a tug of a smile on his face. It would be good to have another addition to the covert, to the people. Mandalorians were strong alone, but they were stronger together.

His helmet whirrs softly. A signal that it’s efforts of connecting to the man’s helmet were successful. Good; Grogu needs the privacy of the comm channel for this next bit.

“Su cuy’gar (Hello; You’re still alive),” Grogu says into the link. He snorts, amused as the man jolts again. “Relax, I’m just in your helmet.”

The man does not relax, but Grogu didn’t expect him too. The phrase ‘I’m in your helmet,’ is not meant to be calming.

“I didn’t...know there were other Mandalorians here,” the man replies.

Grogu frowns. His voice. His voice is familiar - it tugs at him, it hurts. Grogu blinks slowly; now taking in that armour slowly. With every second that passes, Grogu finds it harder to breathe.

His gaze finally falls onto the man’s pauldron, and his signet.

“You’re not from here...” he breathes.

The man tenses further. “No...I just landed on this planet-”

“You’re not from here,” Grogu interrupts him, drawling his voice out. His mind is whirling. He chances a glance into the Force and is nearly knocked over by the sheer intensity of wrong.

The man is not from here - and more importantly, he’s not supposed to be here.

“Take off your helmet.”

The words are out of his mouth before Grogu even registers he opened it. He winced in the dark shadows of the alcove. If he said it to any other Mandalorian, he would’ve gotten a blaster shot right in the beskar and would’ve deserved it.

Understandably, the man tenses. His grip on his blaster tightens. Grogu remembers the skill the man has-

Grogu remembers.

Grogu remembers this man.

The man with the mudhorn signet.

Grogu steps out of the alcove. The man instantly shifts his Visor to stare at him - and Grogu can see him physically recoil in shock.

Wordless and swift - then Grogu stands on the floor of the alleyway. The man is taller than him (everyone is taller than him) but Grogu’s own Visor meets the man’s unflinchingly.

That’s a lie. Grogu is shaking. His breaths sound too loud and instinct calls for him to calm down.

The man is silent as he stares down at him. Grogu can see his blaster shake.

Grogu expels a sharp breath of air. He reaches up to his own head and takes off his helmet in one clean swoop.

His ears twitch - uneasy and unused to being out in the open like this after so long. His being screams at him to put it back on, but he grips the side of his helmet and forces it to be quiet.

The man. The man doesn’t speak. Grogu doesn’t even know if he breathes.

“...Grogu?”

Grogu’s helmet falls from his hands as Buir (father) takes off his own.

“Buir-”

Grogu’s father - Din Djarin - a man who died when he was a child, rushes forward to catch his son as Grogu falls to his knees.

Din: Who are you and where did you get that pendant?

Grogu(Teen): *takes his hood down* My name is Grogu and I am from the future.

Time travel AU

fucking,,,i would love grandma’s fur coat, give it here

articles written by people that have never faced a real problem in their entire life

me: ‘hey uh, we’re a writing blog- do you wanna maybe like?? i dunno write sumn??’

my brain: “i need to watch this man clean a rusted cleaver that he got from a flea market for $2 or i will die”

GREEN FLAGS

GREEN FLAGS

GREEN FLAGS

GREEN FLAGS

comparable should NOT be pronounced like that

this. this this THIS.

I cannot stress how much it makes writers feel GOOD when we see our work validated. Please, just a simple ‘good’ makes our entire day worthwhile. Please, please-

You read a fanfic? Leave a comment. You read some original fics? Leave a comment. You read a short snippet of something? Leave a comment.

Please, please it makes us so happy.

if you read a fic, please just. leave a comment. any comment. you can copy-paste comments if you have to. literally any variation “i read this, i enjoyed this, thank you for writing it.” 

the basic acknowledgement that their work has been read makes a huge difference to a writer’s motivation.