#mandomera fic

[azertyrobaz]

I can't write Comfortember without revisiting my comfort pairing: Mandomera. So here's a little extra moment at the end of Satellites, although you don't need to have read the story to enjoy it: in this modern AU, Din and 12 year old Grogu have recently been reunited and are figuring out how to be a family again. And maybe a trip to Sorgan might help them!

As always, prompts are here if you want to have a look. And the ao3 collections is located there.

Enjoy!

************

The kid had been very insistent. And patient. Well, somewhat patient. As in, he’d given him just enough time to be able to drive for a couple of hours without feeling excruciating pain in his right side. Not that he had shared any of that with him – he didn’t need to know. The sooner Grogu thought he was healed, the better. And Din knew he was almost there. After all, he’d been injured a few times in the past, he knew his own body. And yet he still found himself making excuses. ‘Maybe next weekend’ or ‘You sure you checked they weren’t too busy?’ or even ‘I have to work, sorry’. That last one didn’t go over so well, as the twelve-year-old had been quick to point that if he was well enough to work, he was certainly well enough to drive to Sorgan.

No, there was no point denying it: he was dragging his feet. Truth be told, he was more than a little apprehensive. It was a specific kind of unease that the pain killers he still allowed himself some nights didn’t seem to be able to shift. He wasn’t sure the kid realized how he had left things with Omera eight years back. And he didn’t think he wanted to have that conversation with him. Or anyone, for that matter.

Those two months in Sorgan had meant something. And then it had ended in the blink of an eye. He rarely allowed himself to think about that time, but sometimes his mind wandered. Sometimes he just found himself daydreaming. And it was…nice. It was enough. It had to be enough. There was no point trying to recreate something and risk damaging those precious memories in the process. They belonged in the past. And why would she even still –

“It’s settled – Winta’s off for university in two weeks, so we have to go this weekend. She needs the laptop I promised her. They’re free and happy to see us, and Carson said he didn’t need you on a job, I double-checked.”

Grogu had covered everything. Of course he had. Dammit.

“So…can we go?”

That hopeful look in his eyes. Winta was his friend. And after all the shit he’d put him through recently, he owed him that. A lot more than that, really. His feelings had to come second. That was what being a parent was like. Had to be like. Otherwise why bother?

“Sure,” Din replied.

They drove in silence, for the most part. Which he thought was normal until the boy asked him the one question he didn’t want to answer.

“Does your arm still hurt?”

He’d broken his collarbone and right humerus a month or so back. Keeping his arm in a set position for more than ten seconds sent shooting pain all throughout his side. Driving was therefore not at the top of the list of his favorite activities right now.

“It’s not that bad,” he settled on saying – not an actual lie, he was making progress.

“Are you nervous about seeing Omera again?”

That previous question about his arm hadn’t been the worse he could ask him – this was. He floundered for an answer and missed the tiny smile on Grogu’s face.

“You shouldn’t be,” his son added before he had time to come up with something remotely truthful. “Winta said her mom was looking forward to seeing you, too.”

And?

Silence.

“Oh?” Din attempted a few seconds later, to no avail. He wanted to know what she had said exactly. But he didn’t want to have to ask. Din focused on the road again. Tried to, at least. Let the pain in his side distract him just enough.

“And she’s probably nervous too, you know. It’s been a long time.”

Din greeted his teeth and clasped the steering wheel a little tighter. Was it too late to turn around?

“Yeah,” he breathed. Eight years was an eternity. This was stupid. He couldn’t let himself hope for a happy reunion. She wouldn’t still –

And yet when they finally reached the old house at the end of the long wooded track an hour later, the pain in his side completely eclipsed by an overpowering feeling of doomed anticipation, Din felt his heart settle. When he saw her face he knew.

Yes, she still did.

[thefrogdalorian]

Only The Father You'll Be

Word count: 1,727 Rating: General Content Warnings: Mentioned grief and loss/mourning parents Summary: As he sits on the porch of his new cabin, looking on proudly as Grogu entertains himself with frogs outside their new home on Nevarro, it is a moment that awakens old memories in Din Djarin. Watching his son causes Din to reflect back to a moment when he watched The Child playing with other children in the idyllic village on Sorgan. Back then, Din wanted something very different for him and The Child… it was an occasion when their fates could so easily have diverged from their destiny. But now Din has the one thing that had always eluded him, that he never imagined for himself: a family. Link to read on AO3

Author's Note: I wrote some thoughts about this scene underneath this post yesterday and it just turned into this exploration of Din's contrasting emotions during two moments he spent watching Grogu play with frogs. Truly fulfilling my URL. I made myself emo with this one but I hope you enjoy!

The Mandalorian knew that he did not belong here. It was plain to see that in this idyllic fishing village, with its close-knit community of people, he would always be an outsider. How could a Mandalorian who followed the Creed as devoutly as he had from such a young age ever leave that behind? How could he ever get used to the sensation of feeling the sun on his face? Or feel comfortable in the expectation to meet the unrelenting gaze of others? 

It was true that the villager who had made it her duty to take care of The Mandalorian and the kid, a widow named Omera, had given him pause for thought as to whether he should go against his instincts and stay on this planet he had once dismissed as a backwater skughole. Omera was attentive and understanding of him and The Child, though they were so different from anyone that had ever stepped foot within the confines of their community before. There was no doubt, either, that there was something pulling The Mandalorian towards her. Every time they interacted, he felt a warmth; a tickling sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling that Din was unfamiliar with, but he might even describe it as pleasurable.

But The Mandalorian did not belong here. He knew that. And if he stayed, sooner or later, she would realise that, too. That would lead to resentment, distrust and they would end up right back where they had started, with him leaving this planet behind in a cloud of dust. Except he would have forsaken his Creed, everything he had ever known. Better to leave now and spare himself the anguish. The kid could stay, though. Leaving The Child behind here… it would be doing him a favour. 

Yet somehow, leaving without this kid, The Mandalorian felt it was wrong. If the cold, detached bounty hunter that had first encountered the bounty on Arvala-7, had been told that he would have felt sorrow at the prospect of leaving The Child behind, nor the lengths he would go to to ensure his safety, he would have struggled to believe that. The Mandalorian did not form attachments to others. He kept his head down, himself to himself, and carried business out with a ruthless efficiency that had garnered him a formidable reputation as the best bounty hunter in the parsec.

But, unbelievably, The Mandalorian did feel sorrow. The Child that he had risked everything for to rescue from the Empire on Nevarro, had quickly wormed his way into The Mandalorian’s heart. And now, as he stood there, watching The Child play with the village children, who were presently covering their faces in horror as he ate a frog, he knew the kid would be fine here... better yet, he would thrive. Seeing him there holding a frog in his mouth had reminded The Mandalorian of the time he had commanded him to spit it out when they were at the Ugnaught’s abode on the desert planet, where he had first encountered The Child as a bounty. Swallowing the frog had been the first sign of disobediance from The Child. A trend that had continued even when they had first arrived here on Sorgan, when the little womp rat had defied The Mandalorian's authority and followed him out of the ship even after he had made it clear that The Child was to stay put. How could he raise a kid that wouldn’t even listen to him?

The Mandalorian knew as sure as the two suns rose every morning over Tatooine, that he was not father material. He had enough scars from his past. The devastation of losing his parents at a young age had never truly left him. From that moment, The Mandalorian had vowed never to get close enough to be scarred by such loss again. That vow had been easier to stick to after he had, rather fortuitously, found himself adopted by a covert that rarely referred to each other by name and always hid their faces from view. It was impersonal, unfamiliar and yet… somehow intensely familial. The Children of The Watch were the only family The Mandalorian had ever known, certainly the only family he remembered. 

But this little child was not to be his family. He was too special, too different. He was hunted because there was something about him that people wanted, his destiny was something far more momentous than anything that could ever happen in a life with a bounty hunter. The Mandalorian wanted to go through life, blending into the background and doing everything he could to be perceived as infrequently as possible. With that child, that would be impossible... The Mandalorian was under no illusions about that.

The Child would stay here, The Mandalorian would leave. They would go their separate ways. Their song had been written.

As he sat there on the porch of his brand new cabin on Nevarro, Din Djarin thought back to the distinctive sound of The Armorer’s voice booming throughout the Living Waters:

“Let it be written in Song that Din Djarin is accepting this foundling as his son.”

It was the first time Din had a moment and pause to think about the momentous decision he had made on that day in the Mines. To watch his son play in the light and show his abilities with a Force that Din did not understand, but was always proud to witness. The older Mandalorian was reminded of the time on Sorgan when he had watched Grogu playing with frogs, much like he was doing now. It was a bizarre notion to Din, that he had almost left Grogu behind on that backwater skughole. Now, he could not imagine his life without the incredible little boy.

His son.

It was still a fact he was getting used to. Din still struggled to believe that Grogu was back with him, that Grogu had chosen to come back to him. The former Padawan had chosen a life as a Mandalorian foundling – now apprentice – over the path with the Jedi that he had been set on that far predated their encounter on Arvala-7.

Grogu had opened up parts of Din emotionally that he had long since thought closed off. He had shown him the depths of his capacity for love and the aching devastation of loss, when Grogu had firstly been abducted by Gideon and then taken with Skywalker to train. Din had discovered, then, that loss was still as raw as it had been when he had seen his parents murdered by battle droids on his homeworld of Aq Vetina all that time ago. Din barely recalled many details of his parents now, such was the time that separated him from those memories. But he remembered the pain of losing them, still as raw as the day it happened.

Din loved Grogu so much that he had broken his Creed for him, found himself cast out and brandished an apostate by the closest thing to a family he had ever known. All that, for the love of a child. 

And when it had been necessary to make his bond to the child official, so that Grogu could progress to the next stage of his life, Din had not hesitated in uttering those fateful words next to the waters where he had once redeemed himself: “Then I will adopt him as my own.”

Din now knew that he had been saved several times over in those waters, not only when he had sworn the Creed, or shortly thereafter when Bo-Katan Kryze had rescued him from the murky depths… but he had been saved once again from a lifetime of solitude when he had made Grogu his own. 

Even back then on Sorgan, he was kidding himself to ever think that it would be possible for him to let The Child go that easily. From the second Grogu had peeked at him from behind the blanket – his wide brown eyes searching curiously at this rude intrusion into his safe haven – Grogu had taken a piece of Din’s heart forever.

And as Din sat there, he thought again about his parents. They were never far from his mind, but since adopting Grogu, they had increasingly featured in his thoughts. Din wondered whether they had ever sat back and watched him play with the pride he now felt in his chest for Grogu. The boy was doing nothing more than playing with some frogs, but to Din, it was the most wonderful sight in the entire galaxy. There was no one there to laugh at him, for his difference. Din knew now that Grogu would never have fitted in on Sorgan, either. The children had been horrified by him eating frogs, but Din did nothing but love and nurture his talents.

To think that Din had once been so terrified of the protector role he had taken on so suddenly, that went against everything Din had spent his adult life following – a life of solitude. But, sitting there in the Razor Crest, holding that metallic orb and feeling the pang of guilt, it was a rush of blood to the head that sent him storming into the building to rescue Grogu. A momentous decision with such little thought that had terrified him in the early days that they had spent together.

Now, fatherhood felt like the most natural thing in the world. Raising Grogu to be Mandalorian, it was a privilege and an honour. Like his son, Din had not been born into the ancient warrior culture, but he was as devout as any who had Mandalorian blood running through their veins.

As he sat there watching Grogu, Din was reminded of an old Mando’a phrase, one of the few he knew:

Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.

(Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you’ll be.)

Din now knew the type of father he would be to Grogu. Until his dying day, he would protect the boy with every ounce of strength he possessed. Now, they finally had a home together, here on Nevarro.

The Child that he had once been so determined to run from had – just as Kuiil once predicted – brought him a handsome reward. The greatest reward of them all… family.

[newpathwrites]

In honor of pride month and in an effort to promote queer rep in fandom, I'm going to post a few of the queerest excerpts from my fics throughout the month.

Here I give you:

Din coming out to Omera in my mandomera fic A New Creed. Din is also demi in this fic which is hinted at here, as well.

————————————————————

“You’re thinking loudly, love.  Anything you’d like to share?”

He looked at her strangely then, almost like he was nervous - a rare state for him.  “Uhhh… there’s something I’ve always wanted to tell you… but I wasn’t sure if…”  He paused as if gathering his wits and then pressed on with a bit more confidence.  “I told Jai that I’d never had feelings for anyone else before you… but it’s not true.”

Omera wasn’t exactly surprised by this information, though it was unexpected.  Sure, Din had always insinuated that he’d not had any other romantic relationships in his life, but they hadn’t met until they were already middle aged with a lifetime of prior experiences under their belts.  Of course there were probably others.  Omera had a husband in her past who she had loved dearly, and she’d told Din quite a lot about him.  Why would Din be so nervous about sharing this with her?

“He was my best friend… as a child on Aq Vetina…”

If Omera was shocked to learn that Din had once loved a boy, she didn’t show it.  She simply smiled at him warmly as she so often did when he shared something new about himself.  “Tell me about him.”

And so he told her everything he could remember. 

He and the boy next door had become fast friends when their mothers started a communal garden on the patch of land between their two homes, and they quickly grew attached.  And though it was the innocent kind of love typical of youth, it was very much real.  The two boys spoke often of getting married one day and tending a garden of their own.  Had they both survived the attack on their settlement, maybe they would have done just that.  Din would never know.

As Din got older and never developed such feelings for anyone else, he wondered if this Mandalorian version of himself simply wasn’t built for romantic relationships… or if maybe that boy was meant to be the one great love of his life… and that Din’s only chance at happiness died with him on Aq Vetina.

It was cathartic, really, to speak out loud what this boy had meant to him after so many years holding him only in memory - and to know that his wife understood and accepted it so tacitly… that was liberating.  He’d kept this from her for so long.

His fingers slipped through her hair as he spoke, lips brushing the top of her head.  “I never looked at anyone that same way again until you.”  It had happened slowly as they’d become closer, and it had taken him by surprise when it finally manifested itself in his conscious awareness.  He hadn’t thought he was capable of falling in love again. 

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Omera replied softly.  “Do you think about him a lot?”

Din nodded, a sad smile turning somewhat brighter.  “Winta reminds me of him sometimes… with her well-intentioned schemes… spreading joy and happiness everywhere she goes…. He was like that, too.”

“Thank you for telling me about him, sweetheart.  I know it’s hard for you to talk about your childhood.”  

He kissed the top of her head in response, and she hugged him tighter.   “You make it easier.”

“Can I ask you something personal?”  She lifted herself off his torso and swiveled to face him as he gestured for her to continue with that trademark tilt of his head.  “So have you been intimate with both women and men?”

There it was again - the fear .  She could see it in his face, but he’d already decided to tell her everything it seemed.  “Yes… I don’t have a gender preference… on the very rare occasions I indulged, anyway.”  He met her eyes before adding cautiously, “Does that bother you?”

She reassured him gently with a hand to his heart and a soft smile.  “How could I not love something that’s part of who you are?”

All of his fears dissolved in that moment.  Dank farrik , this woman never ceased to amaze him.  “I’m honestly not sure why you love me in the first place… but I thank the Maker for it daily.”

Omera leaned forward to kiss him softly.  “You don’t ever have to be afraid to talk to me… about anything .”

“I know,” he replied quietly.  “I love you, Omera.  Thank you… for being you.”

“I love you, too, Din - every part.  Don’t ever doubt it.”

————————————————————

[the-kittylorian-writes]

🖌️ Kittylorian's Fanfiction Masterlist 🖌️

(As of 14 March 2024) **underlined words in color are links to the stories**

I. HONOR THY CLAN SERIES - AO3

Fandoms: Star Wars/The Mandalorian/Star Wars Rebels

For Only The Strongest Shall Rule - AO3 Type: Multi-chapter, longfic, part 1 of 2 in main fic Status: Ongoing; 65/77 chapters Brief description: Mand'alor Din Djarin who slowly learns he’s Force-sensitive; Purge survivors are mostly teenagers and little kids; worldbuilding; healing of traumas; facing destiny head-on for many canon characters; leads to the reclaiming of Mandalore

Perfect World - AO3 Type: One-shot Status: Complete (but may potentially continue as a one-shot series) Brief description: A teenage OC's POV before Din Djarin enters his life and becomes his only hope.

Dinui ("Gift") Type: One-shot series Status: On-going *Dinui - AO3 || Tumblr Brief description: A "then vs now" slice of life between Din's childhood with the Tribe vs adult Din as a provider for the Covert post-Purge *No Place Like Home - AO3 || Tumblr Brief description: 17 year-old Din returns to Aq Vetina with his adoptive Mandalorian father and faces a part of his past *A Child Called Din - AO3 || Tumblr Brief description: Teen Din runs into a little big problem. Set immediately after "No Place Like Home" feat. teenage!Paz and friends

II. MANDOMERA WEEK 2022

Fandoms: Star Wars/The Mandalorian (Fanfiction centered on the Din Djarin x Omera pairing; all are rated G or Teen; some fluff and some angst)

The Routine - AO3 || Tumblr Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Omera's POV, set immediately after the events of Mando s01ep04

To The Letter - AO3 || Tumblr Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Omera's POV; Omera thinks of a way to thank the Mandalorian (don't worry, it's wholesome)

Starship Down - AO3 || Tumblr Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Din's POV; Din and Grogu "crash land" on Sorgan, a rescue ensues; set after BoBF s01ep07

Priceless - AO3 || Tumblr Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Shared POV; Din takes Omera to a memorable vacation spot, but a lot of things have changed

Battle Scar - AO3 || Tumblr Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Canon-divergent, shared POV; Din is Mand'alor and Omera is queen; Omera argues with Din and Din tries to set things right

IV. MISCELLANOUS FICS

Fandoms: Star Wars/The Mandalorian/The Book of Boba Fett/The Bad Batch

A Good Night's Sleep For Once - AO3 Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Migs Mayfeld POV, post Mando s02ep07

Double Tap - AO3 Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Din double checks if he really took Moff Gideon down; post Mando s01ep08

Putting the Weep in Sweep - AO3 Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Paz Vizsla is tasked to sweep the Forge because he's a responsible adult

Fatalitea - AO3 Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Fennec Shand and Boba Fett try boba tea

The Test - AO3 Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Din's thoughts as he visits Grogu; during BoBF s01ep06

I'm Just A Kid - AO3 Type: Multi-chapter Status: On-going; 4/7 chapters Brief description: Din and Boba transform into kids and Paz Vizsla babysits

Heart And Mind - AO3 Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Tech's POV when he and Omega have a brief talk during s02ep09

A New Age of Mandalore - AO3 Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Semi-crackfic; an old scientist visits the Covert with a theory, and only Grogu understands. Set after s03ep02

V. FERRIX: A SERIES OF ONE-SHOTS - AO3

Fandoms: Star Wars/Andor

1.A Daughter Of Ferrix - AO3 Type: One-shot Status: Complete: Brief description: Maarva Andor copes with her teenage son Cassian's arrest after he avenges the death of his father, Clem Andor

2. Alone - AO3 Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: B2EMO's POV of the night after Maarva passes away

VI. A CHILD OF THE WATCH - AO3

Fandoms: Star Wars/The Mandalorian

A Future Yet Unknown- AO3 || Tumblr Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Din and Grogu are greeted by an unexpected new member of the Covert. A "missing scene" in s03ep01 "The Apostate."

Only One Creed- AO3 || Tumblr Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Paz's son Ragnar has questions, and Paz isn't sure if he can answer them all, not where he stands with Din. Set after s03ep01 "The Apostate"

From The Ashes- AO3 || Tumblr Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Paz begins to teach Ragnar about the legacy of House Vizsla.

All The Little Foundlings- AO3 || Tumblr Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Ragnar copes with fears and loss of self-confidence as he recovers from his harrowing rescue adventure; clan Djarin step in to help. Set after s03ep4 "The Foundling."

We Are Eternal - AO3 || Tumblr Type: One-shot Status: Complete Brief description: Paz Vizsla leaves a holo-recording to his son Ragnar before he accompanies Bo-Katan to scout Mandalore, knowing well that it could be his last mission. Epistle style. (Spoilers for s03ep07 "The Spies")

In Dreams, We Wake - AO3 || Tumblr Type: Multi-chapter (2/?) Status: Ongoing Brief description: Ragnar Vizsla is Axe Woves' apprentice. Two years have passed since Mandalore's reclamation and Paz Vizsla's selfless sacrifice. Ragnar lives a double life for the sake of his father, in life or in death.

***end of list***

[ahaura]

person who left a wonderful thoughtful comment on my mandomera fic i love you forever and ever

[azertyrobaz]

Dank Farrik Drabble #48

Spoilers for the end of Season 3! I want to thank snowtheup on ao3 for giving me this idea. I guess I couldn't resist some Mandomera to kick off a new batch of chapters to celebrate the end of the season. More prompts to come soon! :)

Please enjoy Marketplace/Curious, and here are the rules if you want to participate!

************

It was Grogu who spotted the stall first. Which was no wonder, the little boy’s head always swiveled in every direction when they visited Nevarro’s marketplace, keen to discover if there was any new food he hadn’t tried yet. He thought his son had simply seen Karga at first, and wanted to say hi. Then he started paying attention to what the high magistrate was buying – spotchka, it looked like, which didn’t surprise Din. The saloon might have closed on the main street, but the man still liked his drink.

It said a lot about him that the first thing he noticed was the rifle on the woman’s back before he recognized the woman herself or the teenager next to her. He could give you the exact reference number of the manufacturer’s model. Tell you how precise it was and how long it could be used for before it needed to be recharged. Which parts were required to fix it should it break down. Where to get them for cheap. He used to own that rifle. It was a very good rifle. And he’d given it to someone who’d meant a lot to him.

But this was years ago, so surely –

Grogu jumped directly on the stall as soon as Greef’s back was turned. Din had only frozen for a couple of seconds, but it had been enough for the quick child to take matters into his own, tiny hands. Literally, it turned out, as he was now babbling like crazy and raising said hands over his head towards his old friend. The girl must have been fourteen or fifteen now, but her smile was just as wide as Din remembered, and she squealed in delight when the boy jumped again, this time straight into her arms.

“It’s you!” Winta said.

“It’s you,” Omera copied, more demurely, looking at him instead of his son, with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher.

Din nodded, since this didn’t exactly require a verbal answer, and it had the welcome effect of making her smile. What now? He’d never expected to see her here. She and her daughter should be safe on Sorgan where he’d left them all those years ago. That place he’d often thought about with fondness and longing. That place he’d unwittingly recreated here, in his own way, for him and his son.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

And it was nice. Having a house of his own. A kitchen. A bed. A garden. A pond. Somewhere for Grogu to be a child. A place that they could both call home. A place that they could always return to, no matter what happened.

Din knew one of the reasons why he couldn’t say anything to her right now was because she’d been right all along. It was exactly what he’d always wanted. He just hadn’t been able to see it then. So he mentioned the one thing he could instead.

“How’s that rifle been treating you?” he asked, gesturing for the weapon with his head.

“Very well,” she replied, unfazed. So maybe she didn’t mind his strange ways too much. “It’s brought me luck in the past, so I always take it with me on our travels.”

“You travel much?”

“Now that Winta is older, yes. Our village has grown, our production of spotchka as well.”

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he noted, observing how happy Grogu and the almost grown girl looked together.

“First time in Nevarro,” Omera explained. “We’ve only tried a few small marketplaces in trade ports on the Hydian Way, and we heard the town was safe again.”

“It is,” Din confirmed immediately.

“Good,” she nodded. They did seem busy enough Din thought, with prospective clients lining up behind him already. They should really be on their way, and he urged Grogu to let Winta be, but this wasn’t proving very successful as neither child was paying attention to the adults.

“Are you planning on coming back then?” he found himself asking her after he’d extracted the kid from Winta’s arms – he hadn’t even told her that they lived on Nevarro, maybe he should have started there. But again, she didn’t show any surprise at his unconnected questions.

“Next month,” she said, handing change to a woman who’d just bought several bottles and was now eyeing some of the clothes they were also selling with interest.

“So see you next month then?” Winta asked hopefully, the little boy cooing against his side.

And Din nodded, because all things considered, this was a pleasant thought. And something to look forward to. Maybe it would even give him enough time to figure out what to say to her.

[starkskypines]

Star Wars Masterlist

Key: 

🟢-gen fics

💗-my favorite fics

🟣-WIP

Multi-chapter fics:

the price we paid left a mark that stains: au canon divergence from TCW episode Shadow Warrior. Features much Anakin angst, Fives being a heroic detective, and a surprising amount of Asajj Ventress 

august grit: Mandomera fic set after the events of Season 2 of the Mandalorian. Features badass Omera, the best father of the year: Din Djarin, and Mandalorian politics. (wip, but no longer being updated)

shining just for you: Senator Riyo Chuchi's diplomatic ship goes down because of a Separatist attack. Riyo and Commander Fox are the only survivors. Survival has a way of bringing people together.

and i was catching my breath: Obitine Tangled au

hold on hope: rots au

One-shots: 

mace windu trains anakin au: Mace takes Anakin as his padawan and everything changes from there

survivor’s path: Ahsoka is sent to rescue Poe Dameron but turns out Kix has been kidnapped as well. 

the sauce that binds us: There's a spider in the kitchen; Anakin's screaming; Ahsoka knows Obi-Wan has a secret; Obi-Wan just wants Ahsoka to leave him alone.

could’ve given you something, you my everything: Obi-Wan decides singing is a good idea. Anakin gets drunk. Ahsoka finds a tooka. Satine invites them to mandalore. 10x more angst than it sounds like. (obitine)

i’ll build a glass home from the sandy ruins: obitine post-rots au that started as a prompt fill

it’s a winterful life: 212th experiences snow for the first time; snowball fight ensues

don’t carry it alone: Din Djarin can’t stop thinking about the Jedi who took Grogu away to be trained. He seeks him out and finds the Jedi to be nothing like he imagined.

Prompt fills: 

anakin & ahsoka feels

commander cody & thinking about the war

captain rex x reader domestic fluff

dinluke angst and fluff

padmé & obi-wan friendship post-deception arc

obi-wan and satine post-rots au (i’ll build a glass home from the sandy ruins)

Reader fics:

Little Corner of the Galaxy: Commander Cody x Reader oneshot featuring major amounts of fluff

lonely desert figure: tbobf era din x reader fic

[newpathwrites]

20 Questions of Writers 📑

Thank you so much for the tag @djarinmuse !

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Technically 19, but several of those are Mandomera week drabbles that I posted separately.

2. What is your total AO3 word count?

140,976

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Mandalorian only

4. Top Five fics by kudos:

A Marriage of Convenience

Linked

A Marriage of Convenience Ending #2

A New Creed

A Marriage of Convenience Ending #3

A bit repetitive...

5. Do you respond to comments?

Always.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have no angsty endings. Either it ends happy, or it doesn't end at all (like I will simply never write an ending, it goes on and on...).

7. What is the fic you wrote that has the happiest ending?

All happy endings. Happiest? Probably a 3-way tie between A Marriage of Convenience, A New Creed, and Arms Wide Open.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, I've been fortunate so far.

9. Do you write smut?

Rarely, pretty non-descriptive and minimally explicit. It almost always has some sort of asexual spectrum undertones to it, too. See question #16.

10. Craziest crossover?

I haven't done any crossovers.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not. If so, I remain blissfully unaware.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, and honestly, I don't think I'm capable of doing such a thing.

14. All time favorite ship?

My first and favorite ship ever is obscure - Colleen and Andrew from Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. I think I enjoyed that Andrew supported Colleen's plans to become a doctor and appreciated her skills in a time when women were not respected in medicine. Guess what I do for a living...

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The only one I may not ever find the motivation to finish is Trusted Friend which I started for a DinBo challenge - it's a stretch for me because it's planned to be a very smutty, friends-with-benefits kind of thing. It's just not quite as personal to me as my other fics which are more based in my own experiences.

16. What are your writing strengths?

For sure nonsexual and nonromantic intimacy. I started writing to represent the diversity of asexual and aromantic experiences which I don't see in this fandom, and I think I do it pretty well. My fics run the gamut from conventional romantic/sexual relationship to QPR to platonic partnership, and they all have some basis in my own life (or my own fantasy scenarios).

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I definitely rush to get it out once I start writing, and I feel some of my fics read a bit choppy. I also tend to go too heavy on dialogue.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I personally find it a little distracting, so I don't do it. Just an occasional Mando'a endearment.

19. First fandom you wrote in?

The Mandalorian

20. Favorite fic you've written?

This is hard, but I have to say A Marriage of Convenience which depicts a non-sexual, intimate QPR. This was my first fic which I literally wrote during a time of crisis IRL to portray the kind of marriage I wish I could have had (if I'd understood my aroace identity). I've explored so many aspects of asexuality in particular in that fic, especially relating to physical intimacy, and I've gotten amazingly satisfying feedback on it. I even wrote two alternate endings to explore how sex might fit into that relationship structure which was a really fun exercise, too.

That was fun!

Low pressure tags - sorry if you've already been tagged on this! @the-kittylorian-writes @sytortuga @grogusmum @aithnesroses @court-jobi

[poetryinmotion-author]

Oh my goodness! Thank you so much @razorcrestpitdroid​ for recommending The Clan Djarin series! And I hope you like it @wild-karrde​, because there’s a lot more to come :)

#fandomfriday The Clan Djarin series by @poetryinmotion-author. It’s an AU where Mando came to his senses and went back to Sorgan so that he can have a family with Omera, Winta, and the Child after season 1 ends. It’s a superb blend of family drama and action story. The series consist of two stories: “In the Aftermath” and the recently concluded “Sanctuary”. She has a fantastic group of OCs who support the clan of four, but I love how she developed Omera further. You can go to her A03 page (link below) or go to her Tumblr page.

Clan Djarin on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetryInMotion/pseuds/PoetryInMotion

OOOOOOH! I have to say I loved Omera and did wish we got more of her (regardless of if it was in a romantic capacity or not), so this series sounds like it absolutely scratches that itch. I'm a sucker for found family and am ready to collect some more OCs like Pokemon cards, so THANK YOU SO MUCH for submitting this rec!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

[sheena-is-a-punk-rocker]

Get To Know Me

Thanks for the tag, @oh-great-authoress

Currently Reading:

Book? Technically the last Trials of Apollo book by Rick Riordan but I haven’t had the motivation or spoons to finish it since it came out really. I’m maybe one third of the way through. Fanfiction? Nothing but hellcheer (and the occasional Steve/Eddie/Chrissy fic because fuck the ship war. Just ship em all together! Eddie has two hands!)

Favorite Color:

Purple and red

Last Song:

Tiny Voices by Bad Religion. I’ve kinda just been listening to the whole Stranger Than Fiction album but that happens to be the last song on it I listened to

Last Movie:

The Batman!

Sweet/Savory/Spicy

Savory, definitely. I can’t handle too sweet and the whitest thing about me is the fact that I can’t handle spice

Currently Working On:

*sigh* I’m trying to finish a Mandomera ficlet I started back in like beginning of last year but the motivation/inspiration just hasn’t been there. I don’t even have the motivation to write any new quinnflag ficlets

Tagging:

Let’s go with @foxlace and @amariemelody

[ahaura]

also im thinking about starting on the mandomera fic again...

[azertyrobaz]

Valentine’s Brew Chapter 1 / 2

It was Winta in the end who had to spell it out for them when she told her they would be out with Din this particular evening.

“Well, yeah, I figured, it’s Valentine’s day.”

Omera had looked up towards Din who was in the process of cutting Hadi’s food at the time, and the blank expression he gave her told her everything she needed to know. He’d forgotten. They’d both completely forgotten.

************

Fourth part in the Coffee Shop AU series! It's Valentine's day, they have all planned to go out at this fancy new restaurant, what could possibly go wrong?

Read below or on ao3.

Chapter 2

************

Din was running late.

It wasn’t like him, and Omera exhaled slowly as she looked at her phone once more to see if he had tried to text or call her – he hadn’t.

She couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. She’d been the one insisting they should go out more, and it had taken weeks to arrange this double-date. Well, triple-date. He’d managed to convince her that if she wanted them to socialize, it could at least be with people he knew and liked. To be honest, it hadn’t taken much to sway her – she might have been the one who decided they should make an effort to get to know the Sheriff in another capacity (that is, as Peli’s boyfriend), but Omera had similarly dreaded the prospect.

Not to see Peli, obviously – she loved Peli. They worked together and got on very well. But the Sheriff – Cobb, she had to call him Cobb, he’d insisted when he arrived, scrupulously on time – was a different matter entirely. And so the idea to ask Paz and Bo-Katan to join them had been a welcome one.

They’d started off on the wrong foot, that was all. Cobb was perfectly amicable when he showed up in Sorgan for his daily americano. If not for the fact that he had almost killed her boyfriend last Thanksgiving during a disastrous game of touch football, they would surely be friends already. Maybe.

“Is he ever gonna show up? I’m starving,” Paz complained loudly.

Yes, she was still a little bitter. And yes, probably exaggerating – Din had only suffered a mild concussion at the time.

“He’s only ten minutes late,” Omera pointed out unhelpfully, then tried to refocus on the menu. The place was packed, and their table had already been approached twice by an overeager waiter who only just about managed not to show exasperation when they told him they were still waiting for someone to order. But that was fair enough, as today was no regular Tuesday and he was probably hoping to free up their table for waiting guests.

The idea to try the new Italian restaurant dated back to Christmas. It had been her suggestion to mend bridges with the Sheriff – Cobb – and hopefully have a nice evening with her friend Peli in the process. But they all led busy lives and had kept on pushing the date. Their most recent attempt had been last Saturday, but since it was Super Bowl weekend it had been deemed “out of the fucking question” by Paz (and Din, and Winta, though they had been more polite about it).

Which led them to today. A Tuesday. Which was a good day for her and Peli because Sorgan was closed on Wednesdays. She should have realized that something was off when she made the reservation and the lady on the phone told her she was very lucky because someone had just cancelled and they could now accommodate a table of six.

It was Winta in the end who had to spell it out for them when she told her they would be out with Din this particular evening.

“Well, yeah, I figured, it’s Valentine’s day.”

Omera had looked up towards Din who was in the process of cutting Hadi’s food at the time, and the blank expression he gave her told her everything she needed to know. He’d forgotten. They’d both completely forgotten.

Tuesday, 14th of February, aka Valentine’s day.

“Let’s order some wine,” Bo-Katan suggested, bringing Omera back to the present. Peli and her nodded immediately and Paz stopped fidgeting.

Wine was an excellent idea.

“Who’s babysitting Hadi?” Peli asked when five more minutes had passed.

“Ahsoka offered to do it,” Omera replied. It wasn’t often that they had to find someone, but with the boy’s regular caretakers all being present that evening, it had taken some figuring out. In the end, the daycare manager had suggested it directly, claiming she would soon not see the child much since he would be starting pre-k next September. Omera thought that had also been her looking for an excuse to be out of the house for the evening, since she knew that her girlfriend Trace was currently driving her up the wall.

Winta had even insisted she could look after the three-year old on her own, and her daughter had certainly proved many times over she was responsible and trustworthy, especially when it concerned Hadi, but Omera and Din had both felt it wasn’t fair to rely on her so much. Maybe in a year or two. Although by then, she might be the one who wanted to go out on Valentine’s day. And not forget about the silly date.

The bottle of wine they ordered had just turned up when Din finally arrived, and Paz remarked his timing was suspiciously perfect.

“Sorry,” he rushed in to say as he slid in next to Omera. “Basketball coach held me back and I was late to pick up Hadi.”

“Woves is a pain in the – ”

“Nice of you to take the time to shower,” Bo swiftly interrupted Paz. Omera had also noted his still wet hair and the fact that he had missed a button on his shirt. “Unlike other people.”

“I showered,” Paz huffed.

“Yes, this morning, not after work.”

“At least I was on time!”

“Let’s order?” Peli reminded them, and soon enough their extra keen waiter showed up at their table again.

“What did I miss?” Din asked, his question mostly directed at Cobb. He really was making an effort, Omera thought, especially since the Sheriff had barely said anything yet. “Did you watch the game on Sunday?”

Omera bit back a groan. Football was the last subject they should mention given their catastrophic game on Thanksgiving day, but then it was a decent enough ice breaker. And one he knew he wouldn’t have to participate in much since Paz would be able to do all the talking if required. Because upon closer inspection, Omera had realized something else – Din was utterly exhausted. The fact that he’d arrived late should have told her as much – the man was punctual to a fault.

The mention of the basketball coach delaying him was only the tip of the iceberg, she knew that. When he’d taken on the job of athletic trainer at the high school, Omera had thought it would be a nice break for him after the army and the perfect segue into working as a teacher once he got his degree. But she should have known that he would take it extremely seriously, and feel responsible for each and every kid he trained and treated. That on top of the grueling schedule he’d given himself to be able to pass his exams in June and start teaching next September. She’d already tried to suggest to him that maybe he should give himself another year, but he was set on starting his new career as the same time as Hadi started preschool.

Din could be very stubborn.

But she had to admit that it would be a relief to see him focus on just one thing next year. Even if he’d probably accept Paz’s offer to stay on as assistant coach for the football team. This would only be for a few months a year, after all. And he was pretty much doing all the work already, as he was one of the rare people Paz actually listened to when it came to the Mandalorians.

And so on to the subject of football they moved to, Paz predictably intent on retelling everything that had happened on Sunday but the Sheriff – Cobb, dammit – seemed to be slowly coming out of his shell and participate, and Peli looked pleased. Hurts’s fumble, Mahomes’s ankle, Bradberry’s defensive holding penalty (they spent a good ten minutes arguing whether the refs had been right to call it), Butker’s 27-yard field goal with eight seconds left in the game… Omera was taken right back to the conversations she’d already been subjected to a couple of days prior, but she guessed it was a small price to pay. Also, it gave Din the necessary time to munch on half a dozen grissini, and it looked like he’d needed it. He’d probably skipped lunch again.

Food arrived, her spaghetti alle vongole tasted amazing, and it became easier to make small talk that had nothing to do with the Philadelphia Eagles or the Kansas City Chiefs. Bo-Katan gave them news about her sister in Boston, Peli mentioned the old 1966 Ford Bronco she was currently restoring, and Omera talked about the renovation work that would start at the coffee shop the following month. This took them almost all the way to the deserts they all ordered, and it might even have worked if Paz hadn’t been so intent to stare at a couple who had just been seated near the bar, several tables away from them – but then the man was notorious for being Nevarro’s ultimate busybody.

“Isn’t that Qin and Xi-an over there?”

If he’d expected Din and Bo-Katan to behave discretely, he was sorely disappointed, as they had both recognized the names immediately and turned towards the table he was observing.

“Why are they pretending to be a couple?” Din asked, looking at the man and woman as they ostensibly held hands and made eyes at each other. This might be Valentine’s day and the restaurant had done its best to make the setting romantic, but even to Omera’s eyes their behavior seemed to be over the top.

“Their family’s always been weird but not that weird,” Bo added.

“Didn’t Qin do time upstate?” Paz whispered.

“What’s that now?” the Sheriff wondered, looking very interested indeed.

“We went to high school with them,” Din explained. “They’re twins.”

“And very much bad news,” Bo confirmed, as Paz and Din nodded reluctantly.

“What happened?” Omera inquired, her interest also piqued.

“Qin wanted to join the football team but had a problem with authority so he never made it, and his sister found another way to make sure to get into the Mandalorians, if you know what I mean,” Paz explained, taking clear delight in the retelling. “She went through pretty much all the players in record time.”

“I shouldn’t have asked, “Omera sighed.

“You included I take it?” Peli asked at the same time with a cackle.

“Me? No, I have standards,” Paz huffed, while Din and Bo guffawed not too discretely. “Why are you laughing? Didn’t you have a thing for her?”

“What?” Din replied, affronted. “No! Never!”

“She was crazy about you.”

“For about five minutes, and it was definitely one-sided.”

Omera thought he was protesting a bit too much but she kept her doubts to herself. This could wait, she thought with a grin.

“So they’re definitely not a couple,” Cobb made sure, trying to redirect the conversation.

“No,” all three confirmed.

“And you said he did time? How much time?” he asked, all business.

“I know it was for at least five years, I thought he was still inside,” Paz offered.

“So most likely repeated offenses, and the dates match for him to have met Bane,” the Sheriff noted. “Now that’s very interesting.”

“What’s so interesting?” Paz asked, his main focus on the other man now instead of the twins’ table. Cobb seemed to hesitate for a second, but he eventually bent his head and shared what he could in a low voice.

“There’s been a string of robberies in various high-end restaurants in the county, always the same m.o., but we’re not sure it’s always the same perpetrators. They’re good at avoiding cameras and no one seems to be able to give a good description for a composite. I thought there might be a chance one could take place tonight, cash register must be getting pretty full on Valentine’s day, and what you just told me could be the key to all of this. If they’re pretending to be a couple – ”

“Wait,” Peli interrupted. “Are you saying you knew something like this could happen? Is that why you agreed to this date?”

“Well – ”

“Because let me tell you, me and Omera have been working our asses off to find a place and a day that would fit everybody’s schedule, so you’ve got some nerve!”

That was a slight exaggeration, thought Omera. She’d been the one doing all the work. And to be honest, she thought the conversation had finally started to get interesting. Learning that there might soon even be a robbery taking place? Yes, this was slightly concerning. But also kind of exciting?

“Who’s this Bane you mentioned?” she asked Cobb, saving him from having to reply to Peli just yet.

“Do you mean Cad Bane?” Bo whispered, having reached a similar conclusion as Omera and looking just as thrilled. “The crime boss? Are they working for him?”

The two women had apparently been reading the same articles online and the Sheriff looked as though he didn’t want to confirm it, but there again he eventually decided he’d said too much already, so he gave a reluctant nod.

“Well, shit,” Paz concluded.

“So we’re just going to sit there and do nothing?” Din asked. “You’re not going to call for backup?”

“We’re simply going to observe, this is just speculation right now,” Cobb said. “Well, I’m observing, you should try looking a little less obvious about it, it’s a miracle they haven’t spotted you yet.”

Omera thought he had a point there, but then the fake couple had been intent to play their parts until now, and didn’t seem to have noticed they were being closely monitored from the other side of the room. Looking at Din though, she could tell he hadn’t liked the Sheriff’s answer.

“Let’s order coffee,” she suggested. Omera always made it a rule to try the competition in Nevarro. You never knew. Especially now that she intended to expand Sorgan and serve more food, she’d have to go toe to toe with other venues, even the fancier ones. It wouldn’t do if people could get better coffee somewhere else – coffee was her thing. Also, it meant they could stay and observe – discretely – for just a little longer.

In the end, it happened very fast.

They had been sipping their coffee – much too dark, and with a questionable coffee to water ratio, she had nothing to worry about – and trying to keep a low profile when suddenly a man’s raised voice was heard near the bar.

“My wife! She’s choking! Someone do something!”

It was hard to see what was happening in the resulting commotion, with staff and patrons rushing in to assist the ‘victim’, but the Sheriff had immediately stood up, followed closely by Din and Paz.

Omera could now see a shape hurrying behind the bar, where the cash register was no doubt tucked away. Cobb ran in that direction, Paz right behind him, and her first reaction was to hold Din back but it proved unnecessary – he was standing still by their table, eyes fixed not on the potential robbery taking place, but on the group of people trying to come to the rescue of the supposedly choking woman, his back to the door, making sure he’d spot anyone trying to run for the exit. And then Omera was distracted once more when yet another shout was heard.

“Gun!”

The Sheriff’s voice. Who then disappeared from view with a stunning slide across the bar and a no doubt worthy tackle – a regular one this time – of the armed robber. A muffled shot resonated and everyone held their breath for what felt like long minutes. Peli swore. Bo stood up. Din gripped the back of Omera’s chair so hard she thought he would break it.

“Got you!” Cobb Vanth exclaimed, standing up, arms encircling a man Omera could now clearly recognize as Qin. Paz stood next to them, ready to intervene if necessary. No one looked hurt, which was a relief after the gunshot they’d heard, or so she’d thought.

“You’re bleeding!” Peli realized with a groan, getting up quickly to assess the damage in person, as the Sheriff’s white shirt was indeed starting to turn red near his shoulder.

“It’s nothing – ” she heard him mumble before yet another commotion took place. The one Din had clearly anticipated when he’d decided to stay put. Contrary to the others, he’d managed not to get distracted and lose track of the other twin, who’d pretended she needed medical attention while her brother robbed the place.

“Watch out!” Bo yelled, frozen for an instant as Xi-an, armed with a knife, lunged at Din, who’d done a good job covering the exit until now for that exact reason, and had expected such a move. Omera’s first instinct was to throw the decidedly not very good coffee she was still somehow holding at the attacker, but the woman was already on the ground, and the ensuing scuffle that gradually involved more and more people – Bo, a waiter, then Paz once Qin had been cuffed by the Sheriff, and finally herself when she decided she’d better make sure that bitch wouldn’t try anything else – took longer than her nerves could easily handle.

All in all, this was much more drama than Omera had expected or wanted for this evening. Especially when the restaurant turned into an overcrowded circus with state troopers, EMTs, local journalists, and according to Peli who’d been the only one who’d managed to talk to Vanth at one point, the FBI soon.

“Let’s get out of here,” Paz suggested, and they all agreed.

The Sheriff’s injury was thankfully minor and he would be kept busy for a long while yet – and seemed to be relishing every minute of it – so Peli suggested they went back to her place to wait for more news with a well-deserved shot of something stronger than the limoncello the owner had kindly started pouring to some of the haggard-looking patrons. Bo-Katan and Paz immediately agreed, but Omera and Din begged off, since they had Ahsoka to relieve from babysitting duties. They were both looking forward to give their kids a hug as well.

“Let’s watch something on Netflix next year,” Din suggested as he started the car, and Omera laughed until she felt nervous tears at the corner of her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, worried, and she realized her hands were still shaking.

“Let’s go home,” she urged, and he nodded, understanding she needed that moment to herself.

Something told her the night was far from being over.

[iamscoby]

What would the Creed say?

Read on AO3

Rating: T

Pairing: Din Djarin x Omera

Words: 6200

@mandomeraweek Day 6 - Prompt: Quiet

-------

She smells so enchanting that he should probably turn on the scent blocker of his helmet to make it even remotely possible to fall asleep so close to her. If only he could think about anything else but how her earthy scent seems to originate from her neck and filter through her hair. His head is spinning from imagining how it would feel all around his nose, and how she would exactly smell like, not suppressed by the helmet but for real, with only a thin strip of air between them.

He listens very quietly for a moment. Since she sounds like fast asleep, he very carefully moves his hands to ease off his helmet. Then he inches closer, until his nose touches her hair. It is unbelievably subtle and intense at the same time, feeling like both way too much and way too little. And something about it pulls his face forward like a primal magnet, until he can feel her hair all over his forehead and cheeks and lips.

The tip of his nose touches something soft but firm, and he knows it must be her neck, and he really should back away now, but he just does not. Like his nose had a will of its own, it slowly brushes along her skin. Intoxicated by the fragrance and warmth and closeness, he takes a deeper breath, and that is when she stirs.

[starkskypines]

I’ve finally figured out how to properly write Din Djarin and I’m so excited!!!! Chapter 1 of my Mandomera fic is up on AO3 now! 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641228/chapters/70205670

Here’s a little excerpt:

Din entered the coordinates into the nav computer before even really thinking it through. He was drifting in the nothingness of loss, unable to think without being drowned in sorrow. He’d been on countless missions before. Bounty hunter and Creed missions both, but none of them had caused him pain like this. None of them had shaken him to the foundation of his being. He...he didn’t know who he was anymore.

And it terrified him.

And on this mission, there was only one place where he felt safe, relaxed, and all he wanted was to go back there. (He didn’t really have anywhere else to go.) It was stupid and illogical. He knew that, but it didn’t matter. He had no obligations to anyone anymore. He was free to do as he liked. Cara Dune and her New Republic friends had told him so. True, he still had some things to figure out with the other Mandalorians. A whole lot of things. The stupid darksaber was still in his possession, sitting on the empty crates in the cargo hold. And that’s where it would remain until he figured out a way to peacefully turn it over to Bo-Katan without having to fight her, but he figured it’d end up coming down to a fight. With him didn’t it always?

And maybe that's part of the reason he sought out Sorgan now. He didn’t have to fight there. He didn’t have to resort to violence. He could be something...different...more...than the Mandalorian warrior he was trained to be.

[newpathwrites]

Question for readers, after my typical lengthy background info (this is how I talk, too, fyi):

A super weird thing happened where I’ve been wanting to write some actual smut for some reason 🤷🏼‍♀️ Have something outlined for Dinbo (because my mandomera is too soft for that, jk).

But then I just read a Dinbo fic that was strangely similar to what I was going to write (so weird…), and it was leagues better than whatever I would have written… And anyway, my brain is sort of just satisfied now - like I no longer need to write this?

Perhaps I should do something for mandomera instead. I did have quite some fun with the mandomera week prompts…. Anyone interested in that? It wouldn’t be super explicit and still probably very fluffy.

[the-kittylorian-writes]

"Battle Scar"

Type: One-Shot

Pairing: Din Djarin x Omera

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary:

In the aftermath of a battle on Mandalore, Din is confronted by a distraught Omera as she is further acquainted with a reality where her own authority is as revered as the Manda’lor’s, as his spouse and co-ruler. Amidst the chaos of miscommunication, Omera has been forced to issue a command out of duty which nearly cost Din’s life, and Omera was not happy at all. Arguments loom, and so do regrets. (TW: One-sided marital spat)

[Written for (extended!) Mandomera Week 2022, seventh prompt: “Forgiveness”]

Read here or on Archive of Our Own

"Battle Scar"

“Mand’alor, I was told that the Lady Omera was not at the debriefing,” Din Djarin’s aide-de-camp informed him as Din limped into the modest rooms he shared with his wife. 

The Sundari Royal Palace remained grey and bleak, unpolished from debris and dust in its slow recovery from the ruin brought about by the Great Purge. The Purge was but a dreadful scar in Mandalorian history, remedied by the grueling work of reunifying clans and creeds until all arrived at the same page, and unequivocally under Din’s rule.

The Palace had only partially been rebuilt, with its construction relentlessly interrupted by reports of impending enemy attacks. Din could count past his ten fingers the instances he needed to cut quality time with his family short. Omera would be the one left to govern the Palace while Din stormed into the battlefields with his fellow seasoned warriors.

Omera had continued to coordinate with Din and his officers while she remained at her post in the Palace’s headquarters. These incidents of prolonged joint command happened more often than they thought was ideal. There seemed no trouble at first when Omera willingly learned the various forms of leadership required of Din as well as her. She was taught the necessary protocols and directives in the event that her husband could not issue them himself, for any grave reason. 

For a long and arduous streak, Din was leading the charge most of the time; Omera assisted, sometimes becoming her husband’s aide as she fastened the armor on him. That ritual had transformed into stolen moments of spiritual intimacy between them. With every component of the beskar’gam she placed upon him, their gazes would lock, intense and sublime, and little words were exchanged. Tension would always follow—and suddenly Din was off with Bo-Katan Kryze or the Armorer or Paz Vizsla into war, his cape billowing behind him like a rallying banner, the Darksaber clipped to his side. 

Din couldn’t remember the last time he had properly shared the marriage bed with Omera since their wedding night. He was always away, awake, busy… and sometimes Omera would be awake with him, would join him in briefings if only to feel his warmth at her side. The only other way she found to compensate for these growing times apart was when she made dinner for him. Even then, it was hurried, and conversation was sparse.

This most recent battle could have been the last straw, and yet it was a victory which concluded a crucial campaign, thanks to Omera’s impartial and quick thinking. It was as if all her training culminated to this one victory, and she was ready to keep to the shadows, out of everyone’s way.

And as the aide reported—Omera had opted not to attend the debriefing. To date, this only happened once, and only because she needed to see Grogu and Winta off as they were transported to safety through their Jedi ally, Master Skywalker. Din, at the time, was in the middle of the most decisive battle yet—the one to capture Sundari, Mandalore’s new capital and epicenter of authority before the Purge struck.

A knot of worry formed within Din as pain bloomed like searing coals all over his body. This latest maddening fray to recapture Keldabe, Mandalore’s ancient and former capital, had sapped him of his strength. He sustained some debilitating injuries that were treated on the field and after, in the secure confines of the med-centre tent.

He had spent an entire week away from Omera, and months away from Grogu and Winta, capped by the wars that poured themselves unto his lap one after another… Yet, in spite of it, Din kept his resolve sharp and his spirit from falling into shreds. 

But tonight, he was more than bone-weary. He was utterly exhausted, and all he wanted to do was be in his wife’s arms, hear her soothing voice, feel her soft caresses as she inspected the medic’s work. The medics may have done their best… but Omera, she would always find ways to make it better, for the wounds to somehow close faster and his pains to fade away which bacta couldn’t mend. It was not sorcerer magic, but Omera was gifted in her on way. That was why Din had always been so drawn to her.

Tonight, he was met by an empty hallway as the aide left him to his privacy—no wife to greet him or to walk astride him from a debriefing as they entered the chambers together.

Din limped further in; he looked around—the lamps were lit, the heating was on (Mandalore had cold nights this time of year), and… to his relief, the dinner was set.

No wife, however, graced the table.

Din groaned in relief as he gingerly took a seat at one end of the table. His side burned; he kept his hand there, already shed of glove and vambrace, and waited for the brief rush of agony to subside. He grimaced, closing his eyes. He leaned upon the seat’s headrest awhile, letting the harrowing memories of Keldabe melt away. Paz had offered to clean up; Bo-Katan and Fenn Rau (whose revived Skull Squadron offered air support) remained at the debriefing. It was at Paz’s urging which led Din to return to Omera halfway through the meeting. If she hadn’t shown up from the beginning, she wouldn’t do so for the rest of it—and there was an acute reason for it.

Din’s eyes flew open when he heard footsteps approach. His half-drugged vision focused on the source, and Din sighed; a weight lifted off him when Omera appeared at the other end of the dinner table.

Din stopped short of his greeting. Omera’s eyes were bloodshot as if from a thorough cry. Her beautiful raven-dark hair and clothes were disheveled. She had already shed the armor she ceremoniously wore even as she remained in the Palace as the Mand’alor took to the battlefields.

It was Omera’s grating voice which hit Din like a shard of ice. “Please eat,” she prompted him tonelessly. “Don’t mind me—I have no appetite.”

“Omera—“ Din ventured. Omera sharply turned her head away, avoiding his pleading gaze.

“I’ll sit here,” she said at length, breathing out her statement in a shuddering sob, “I’ll sit here because you’re my husband, and I still respect you…”

“Omera…” Din called to her again. He winced at how his voice sounded so fragmented and weak. He realized how more acquainted he had become with Omera’s own suffering, even before she could completely relay her side of things. 

“… and because I love you, Din, after everything—everything we’ve gone through!” Omera unleashed the words. Her voice cracked. “Especially after this… this… call I had to make.” 

A call, in this context, was a tactical decision a commanding officer had to make amidst the odds, and in some cases—because of it. 

Din was silent as he let Omera pour her enraged heart out. She shook as she spoke, visibly fighting for vestiges of self-control. Din knew this, because she could be recovering from shock. Din felt guilt wash over him, because he also knew how proud he was of his wife’s mandokar, but sadly, at her expense. Omera had carried out a decision too difficult even for a battle-born Mandalorian to execute. The responsibility behind it was crushing should things fall awry. 

Weeks beforehand, the Keldabe campaign fell into a string of countless briefings, once they had gotten word that Imperial Remnant forces were amassing an offensive to retake the old capital. Omera was present in all those meetings when they reviewed the plans over and over again… she’d joked once, when spirits were relatively high: “I’ve heard these operatives so many times, I can recite them by rote in my sleep!” She had laughed then—uneasy laughter, but Maker, his wife still smiled, wide enough so her lovely dimples showed. The radiance still lingered in her eyes.

Now, those eyes were dull, avoidant, and awash with the shackling fear of a loss which could have been, had the call she made not ended up being the staggering success it had become, to their great unfathomable fortune.

“Danger close,” Omera spat, as if drilling into Din his own awareness of the weight Omera needed to bear, of the gamble she was doing before she even realized it. “In a fatal distance from your position! Had I caught the report earlier, I wouldn’t have made the call to set an entire fire mission meant for the Imps practically right above your heads!”

Din leaned further into the headrest, studying his distraught wife. He felt disembodied as he witnessed her grief, and yet with the bond they shared between them, they both knew that Omera was duty-bound to make the call herself. There was no way out of it save for dereliction, and with it the capacity to undermine her husband’s trust.

Omera had risked an entire company when an airstrike targeted coordinates dangerously proximate to friendly troops in order to eliminate enemy forces—hence the term, danger close. “The message got to me too late!” her tirade went on. “I’ve only been informed of your situation right after I green-lit the fire mission… all I heard before the comms went down was, ‘the enemy’s in position, we got them where we need them to be!’ Comms were completely dead for a full ten minutes, the longest ten minutes of my life, and I know—I know the engineers have worked hard to get the comms back up, but… you told me, the enemy was in position. It was now or never, or retaking Keldabe would drain more of our resources; it could be lost to us for a long time. What I’ve not known until the last minute, when I had to give the order because you can’t, and because the comms were down—was that your own position hadn’t changed! You were pinned in place, and hadn’t relocated to a safe distance where artillery wouldn’t blow you all to bits! Oh Maker—Maker, Din!” 

Omera growled and stuttered; she quivered as her voice grew louder with every portion of her tale, until she was as good as hysterical. 

That was enough for Din to ignore his wounded state as he got up from his end of the table to limp his way to her—but Omera flinched. Din’s heart fell. Omera had deliberately shifted her own seat away from his reach, and Din was only clutching air mere inches atop her trembling frame. He could almost feel the heat of her turmoil emanate from her body.

Din couldn’t speak. He couldn’t find the words, or express all of them at once—he was sorry, and yet pride overtook him, knowing his wife did what she had to do even as it went against the grain she had been raised in, among the peaceful krill ponds of Sorgan and only the annual harvest to preoccupy their minds until the Klatooinian raids happened. He knew that she knew that none of this was his fault, and he wasn’t faulting her either, but logic dissolved where emotions ran high and rampant. 

This could be a long night.

“What would happen if the fire mission failed despite danger close? You knew your position, you knew the enemy’s position, you knew mine—and that was to command Captain Fenn Rau and his squadron to fire on coordinates so close to you! And even Captain Rau had hesitated… but an order was an order. Tons of firepower a small distance from where you were crouched behind nonexistent cover, just so you could wipe the enemy out… I was going to kill my own husband—look at me, Din! (and yet her eyes remained averted)… Am I Omera, widowed again, but this time, by her own hand…?”

There, she said it; she told him what was tearing her asunder from the inside. 

Omera was a fragile leaf in a gale as she strung racing emotions into thoughts, and thoughts into words as best as she could. Fresh tears and mirthless laughter wove through Omera’s feat at coherence. Din sensed that she’d finally reach the peak of her dark despondency, and the white flames of her anger were whittling to embers. Soon, he could touch her again without resistance. 

Din understood, and it hurt him deeply, yet he found Omera blameless. It was he who had kept himself and his forces in harm’s way, but the willingness to sacrifice oneself for a greater good had always been the forefront of their arsenal. From the entirely challenging first year of his marriage to Omera, Din had learned how to decipher his wife—the outbursts, the occasional moments of silent treatment, the sobs of relief when he would return to her in one piece. She would then kiss and hold him as she had when he’d first offered his heart to her. 

He deciphered Omera’s grating, terrible confusion—how silly she must feel with these arguments, knowing well what she had gotten herself into when she married him, and when he made her his Queen and co-ruler over Mandalore and its neighboring worlds. She had made that pact with him, of bringing the Mando’ade together, of leading them together, and even leading them when they were physically apart. And the Mando’ade embraced the arrangement in turn, fully accepting her as their Queen, whom the Mand’alor had chosen to spend the rest of his life with whether on the throne or when that time had run its course.

Inching closer, he engulfed her in a tender, tenuous embrace. Omera was too vulnerable right now, after hitting a new level of reality. She knew as well as himself that Mandalore and its people came first, as long as Din remained their anointed leader, as long as he kept wielding the Darksaber and no one had challenged him—and his rule—for it.

If it meant losing the one she loved the most so that Mandalore continued to rise, so be it. It may sound cruel and counterproductive, as a leader usually fell with their kingdom, but not for Din Djarin. He had already planned two steps ahead for the loved ones he would leave behind, should his life end prematurely.

Omera was folded up on the chair, racked in quiet sobs. 

“Omera,” Din rasped out; it was taking his remaining strength to console her. He hadn’t slept and eaten well in days… but he needed to see to his wife’s welfare, after this awful trial by fire he had inadvertently put her through. “Y-you have to forgive me…”

His wife ceased her weeping; as if something snapped within her, she turned to him. Her eyes brimmed with fleeting concern. “Din, your voice—It’s scratched… Are you ill?”

Din smiled. With all his heart, he wanted to kiss Omera then and there. All her training, and yet the innocence borne out of her worry for him stood out to him like a flare in the dark. 

“I’ve been… screaming for all of ten minutes,” Din explained fondly, almost jokingly. “No comms, and I couldn’t get anything past a certain distance. I was yelling orders out manually. Thankfully, they all got passed down the ranks. We pulled through. Voice still got busted, though.” He had shed his helmet already beforehand; his gaze was full on her when Omera had tried to read his eyes, the shape of light in them, the shadows and this own unspoken words. 

“You’re hurt,” Omera remarked needlessly. Her expression had softened for a moment—then, to Din’s dismay, it grew distant once more.

There was a long silence again. This time, Din felt it sink well into his gut, into his system.

“Please eat,” Omera urged him one last time before she set herself to rights—dried her tears and smoothed her tunic down before she carefully rose from her seat. “See you in the morning, Din,” she whispered, resuming her cold treatment of him, but only after her beautiful almond eyes gently gave him a once-over—her lips parted. She thought twice and said nothing more.

She left him at the table alone; she had gone to their sleeping chambers as Din heard the door swish open and close in the wake of her fading footfalls.

***

Omera was startled awake by a chill in her bones.

She opened her eyes, and out of habit, she faced the side of the bed where Din should be—had he slept beside her that night.

Automatically, and in a sudden surge of loneliness, a palm reached out to smooth the empty space where her husband should be in his usual fitful, but much needed repose. 

The chill came from a half-empty bed. While there were times when Din would stay up so late in meetings or matters that needed his attention, long enough to leave his side of the bed bare before dawn, he would always return as often as he could. The bed would dent where Din’s weight pushed it down, and Omera would wake the exact moment her husband laid next to her. In a silent treaty, their foreheads met as they both returned to slumber. In a few hours, they would be up again, despite the limited hours Din had to recuperate to face another day as sole ruler.

In the past months since reclaiming Sundari, Din had been like water through a sieve—and she was the sieve. He was there yet not fully present. He was elusive even when he kissed her, but it had become dispassionate overtime. 

Omera sighed. The pillow was still wet whereupon she had cried herself to sleep that night. She didn’t need to check the chrono to reckon that it only past two in the morning. Mandalore had nineteen-hour days, lesser than most worlds and planets, but still falling in accordance to standard. Maybe, Omera thought, that was why she had felt that days flew by so quickly, and the nights were over in the blink of an eye.

She eyed the empty side of Din’s bed. Her lips quivered. 

She bit back the urge to loath herself. 

She had been horrible to Din at the dinner table. And Din, her sweet, noble, pure-hearted husband—he was simply there for her as he took all her scathing words in. She couldn’t even remember half of what she said, the burning statements she snarled out at him; she could only remember with embarrassment the blazing anger and confusion and helplessness she had meant to reel in, but ended in taking it all out on Din.

Now, in this moment of clarity hitting her like a slap, now that she knew that she may have hurt Din irrevocably and her heart had begun to hurt in turn—she recognized the rage which grew out of frustration over the situation rather than the people behind it. She had no way of channeling all the emotions that threatened to drown her in a misery she would have trouble delivering herself from. And there was Din: his kind eyes, his beautiful face, his serene disposition despite being almost taken from her by her need to momentarily command air support and artillery while comms were still running smoothly in the Palace. He was her shock absorber. And he was there for her every step of the way. And—gods, Omera felt nauseatingly dreadful. 

She was being petulant while her husband sat there, injured, patiently listening, waiting for a window to push forward and comfort her. 

Where did Din get all this self-mastery? How has being Mand’alor changed him in such an immense way, that Din the bounty hunter, Din the hunted—now held authority not only over the Mando’ade, but over his own once-turbulent soul?

Did he have any idea of the repercussions should the fire mission wipe them out with the targets? Omera knew Din had already been updating his will and testament. It was customary, Din had told her, of Mandalorian kings and queens. She shouldn’t worry about him departing this life too soon, and yet—he almost had. At least, she had thought bitterly, it would be a coveted warrior’s death.

Din’s hurt, was all her mind pondered afterwards as Omera rose from the bed, dressed herself in a robe and tied her hair up. Din was hurt, and he’s not in bed. She had to go to him, wherever he was. He should still be in the Palace. There was no way Din was still testing the limits of his mandokar after a week in a war zone.

Her steps moving out of their sleeping chambers felt like lead. Perhaps it was the guilt, the shame over last night’s hysterics which kept her from walking with her shoulders back and head up. 

The Palace seemed empty. Where were the other Mandalorians? After the Purge, there was so little of them left. Yet she had joined them, a new Mandalorian in their fold. She wasn’t Mandalorian-born, but wed to one, and through that custom, how quickly shall Mandalore rise again and be repopulated with new spouses and children?

Five steps, seven steps, nine…

She wove aimlessly down the empty halls where her footfalls echoed.

She didn’t know when her steps finally halted, but when she lifted her eyes to determine where her feet led her, she saw it was the door to one of the officers’ meeting rooms. She was surprised, however, when the door swished open—and out came Paz Vizsla, helmet perpetually on, but through his posture was visibly tired. She heard him sigh through the modulator, laced with heavy fatigue.

“Paz…” Omera called, and the heavy infantry warrior looked up to acknowledge her.

“Omera,” he answered back, his voice muted yet affable. He nodded his visored head. “It’s late. Should you not be in bed, my lady?”

Omera blushed. She could never get used to those titles, no matter how the likes of Bo-Katan herself, once so opposed to Din’s claim to the Darksaber, had convinced her that my lady was a noble title—and Omera was worthy of it. Bo-Katan had been very sincere, and very contrite.

Omera didn’t know what to reply. Her thoughts evaporated like steam.

Paz, to his credit, was no less understanding. He had been a stalwart friend to Din despite a history of scuffles and brief resentment over Din’s transgression of breaking the Creed. Paz had since forgiven him and took his place as a trusted comrade and brother-in-arms to Din in the battlefield. It was then no surprise to Omera when Paz offered, without her saying anything, “Din’s in there, my lady.” The large man motioned to the meeting room he’d just stepped out from. His deep baritone was gentle. “I bid you good night.”

“Good night, Paz,” Omera greeted back as Paz nodded and disappeared down the long hall to his own quarters.

The sight which met Omera had set her heart alight and broken at the same time.

Din was on a chair by the heating vent, shed of armor and only in his flight suit—he had not even changed to clothes fit for longer downtimes. He sat up but his eyes were closed, and that was when Omera realized that Paz had probably caught his brother sleeping, and had decided to drape a huge blanket over the man. It looked almost comical—an oversized blanket over her husband, but it also made Din look so small. So… mortal.

Omera bit back a sob as she made her way to the slumbering warrior.

She couldn’t help but admire his features: both soft and sharp and wonderfully handsome. Din’s self-consciousness over showing his face was long gone. He now treated the helmet as Bo-Katan or Fenn Rau did, like a piece of armor to be worn only when necessity arose, and not as part of a fundamentalist religious pact.

Din’s face in his sleep made him look so serene, but it was the serenity of one confident in their own strength, and reliant on the strength of those around them. 

The Mand’alor felt secure in this room where battle plans were hatched, and yet—not secure in his marriage bed, with his wife.

Worry tore through Omera when she noted Din’s slightly labored breathing. There were bruises and minor gashes on his face, but not to an extent where he could be unrecognizable. The cut over his nose had already been bandaged. Omera smelled the faint scent of bacta underneath the huge blanket.

Unable to help herself, she willed her husband to wake with a loving kiss on his cheek, so close to his mouth. How she missed this sort of warmth she could bestow on him, when her heart was full and free of darkness.

Din slowly stirred awake. A breath escaped him, and he blinked. Immediately alerted to a familiar presence, Din turned to face her. Puzzlement filled the sea of brown in his eyes, as though he hadn’t expected Omera to be at his side in this hour.

“Omera,” Din acknowledged his wife. The fatigue was palpable in his eyes and bled through the hoarseness of his voice. “I—I need to speak to you…”

“Right now, love?” Omera marveled at how Din could switch at once to a sort of business-like air, with both of them dressed down they were almost bare. Omera felt heat course through her body when Din had drawn his gaze over her entirety before meeting the warm depths of her eyes once more.

“Paz and I talked,” Din began, and he shifted his position so he sat up more fully. Din winced and Omera empathically winced with him as he registered the dull pain shooting through his body. “I… I know you’d want to find some peace again, after a long while.”

Omera’s brows knitted, not quite sure where Din was getting at. “Love—what are you saying?”

Din’s ever-so-gentle gaze kept her in place. His eyes were sad, so sad. Omera swallowed hard.

“He’s agreed to take you back all the way to Sorgan in two days’ time. I’ll have Skywalker and the kids know. I’ll accompany you as far as the blockade before the jump. I—I need to be on Mandalore, but you… Omera, you need to rest. I’m granting you this, and you should grant yourself that, too…”

“Din,” Omera shushed him, and she kissed him again, this time full on the lips but only for an instant. “Din—no, no. I’m staying with you. I’m not going anywhere…”

Omera felt her beloved’s gloveless fingers trace her cheek, then her jaw with a reverent affection she had missed so much that it ached. “You’re in need of a home now, Omera. Mandalore isn’t home. At least, not yet. Let yourself recover… I know I’ve put you through so much.”

She meant no disrespect at all, but she had chosen to deter her husband’s entreaty from sinking into her thoughts. Din loved her—oh, Omera knew that as much. But at this moment, he was being civil.

It shattered her heart even more, knowing Din was giving her a chance to reconsider their marriage, their eternal pact to each other, and he was bearing her no ill will over it. He would not judge her for it, and he would make sure that the rest of the Mando’ade would not begrudge their Queen her right to decide for herself, out of her own free will.

Omera felt those stubborn tears again. They hadn’t left her entirely since the night before. 

She felt great relief when Din accepted her embrace, and with it, a kov’nyn with foreheads pressed so close together, it could almost seem that they read each other’s thoughts. Omera wished that was so. She wanted Din to know.

“I’m staying, my love,” she whispered again, almost pleadingly. “Din—I’m so sorry about last night…”

Din was unrelenting, yet his scratched voice was compassionate. “You had every right to let me know how you felt.”

Omera nodded helplessly. She let her wet cheek grace over Din’s own, now covered in the stubble she had loved to brush her fingers over, when they still had their nights to themselves, when their marriage was raw and young. How everything leveled so quickly; how reality had set in so dizzyingly faster than a free-fall. “I could do better, my love,” she insisted. “I’m learning, still learning. You know that.”

Din had compelled her to meet his gaze without as much as a word. 

“Your welfare means so much to me,” Din added, superfluously. “Omera—you can never be happy on Mandalore, not while the war is still upon us.”

Omera had her mind set. She would hold herself accountable to it, once she’s relayed these words to Din. 

“I don’t want to be happy all the time,” she told him pointblank, her voice surprisingly calm and resolute. “Of course, happiness is a gift. I’d want to be happy—but not at the expense of us. I was scared out of my wits with that danger close call yesterday. Yes. I was so upset and hysterical. Yes. I wanted to escape that pain for a little while. Yes. But Din—I want to experience every growing pain with you. My love—Sorgan is an old life. I would love to return there, but only if you come with me. But that won’t be after a while but it doesn’t matter. Do what you need to do—and I will always be by your side.”

Din was looking at her incredulously, truly baffled that his queen would rebuff a chance at solace, when she could still afford to do so. With that bafflement came a genuine spark of joy when he smiled—small, but with a vibrancy Omera had not seen on her husband’s face for a long time.

“Now come to bed,” Omera concluded, suppressing a grin that a dimple cratered on her cheek. 

“Smooth,” Din joked with a furrowed brow, and Omera laughed—what a freeing thing to do. 

Their foreheads met once more, and before Omera knew it, Din was kissing her again with a rekindled passion that sent Omera immediately on fire. To her slight vexation, Din cut the kiss short, only for her to realize that the culprit was his pained grimace, as he pressed a hand to his side.

“Uh-oh,” Omera riposted with her own jesting air. “Looks like someone needs some TLC.”

It didn’t take much for Din’s own dimple to emerge from his stubbly cheek. “Then you forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” Omera feigned an aghast tone. “Do you forgive me?”

Din’s airy chuckle sent her heart dancing when he leaned forward to kiss her again. She ran her hands over his curls as he entangled his fingers over the lush length of her locks in familiar playfulness. 

“I forgive you,” he muttered in between impassioned kisses.

“Then,” Omera replied, sighing in this tender exchange, as if they were saying their wedding vows again, “I forgive you too, my love.”

Soon, the sun was high on Mandalore, and another day of unmistakable challenges was at hand.

******

Author's Notes:

Mando'a:

*Mand’alor - the sole ruler of the Mandalorian people *beskar’gam - Mandalorian suit of armor (lit. “iron skin”) *mandokar - the *right stuff*, the epitome of Mando virtue - a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life. *Mando’ade - the people of Mandalore (lit. “children of Mandalore”) *kov’nyn - a head-butt; a Keldabe kiss

Wikipedia as a reference is usually frowned upon in the academe, but for fic purposes, here’s the military definition of danger close - “If the forward observer or any friendly troops are within 600 meters of the impact point, to keep themselves safe, the forward observer would declare "danger close" in this last element.” I was quite intrigued with how something like that could work in a scenario like the one in this fic. I’m not an expert but sometimes writing about Mandalorians, a people well-versed in war, has you doing a bunch of research you don’t normally do. I’m not even entirely sure if I got this right, but I was curious so I went for it. ^^ Thank you for reading!