#the mandalorian urge to adopt anything that moves

[sailorkamino]

rex: and these are our new-

echo, picking up dogma: thanks, we'll take these

rex: he's not a tooka, you can't just-

fives, picking up tup: do you have a name yet? 'cause i think you look like a fives jr

rex, with a tired sigh: just don't do anything that will require flimsiwork. i'm begging you

echo: of course captain <3

fives, loudly whispering to echo: do adoption forms count as flimsiwork?

[salty-sith-bitch]

Hey, so I saw you needed some writing ideas. I was wondering if you would be ok writing a platonic Mando/Reader (the reader is like a teenager or young adult), where the reader gets anxious when Mando is gone for long periods of time hunting for bounties due to past trauma of their family leaving them (albeit not on purpose, they were taken away). And since they have to stay on the ship and take care of the child, they can’t go with him to make sure he’s alright. Just something I thought of.

This is very angsty I AM SO SORRY! I absolutely enjoyed writing this and it's probably one of my favorite pieces. 

The reader and Mando have a sweet platonic almost father/ child relationship in this.

Ni cuy' olar ad'ika (I am here Little one)

Wanings: Hurt/comfort, angst

Words: 1557

Ao3

"I'll be back," the Mandalorian said to you as he descended the ramp of the crest.

You nodded as you snuggled the child. Giving a soft coo the child looked up at you and moved his ears. Sighing you turned and entered the crest, heading off to make lunch.

***

You decided to eat lunch outside and enjoy the sunlight with the child while you could. It had been a while since your trio had inhabited a warm plant. The sun's rays kissing your skin left you feeling warm and hopeful. Hopeful for a better future and of not being alone again. 

It felt like home. The home you once knew for nearly 17 years where you had never felt alone or unloved. Where you had a garden and a family. Where cooking lessons from mother took place and sarcastic banter with your father. Where giggles from your brother bounced off the walls as he pulled your hair.

Eyes stinging and bottom lip quivering you looked down at the child as he brought his soup up to his mouth. Just like him, you had been alone until Mando found you. A child without parents or someone to take care of you. Lost and abandoned trying to find your place in the galaxy.

Before you met Mando you had been loved by your parents. They worked hard for you and your brother and made every moment worth living. Your home had been small and your parents would work until exhaustion overtook their bodies, leaving you to cook and look after your brother. You would tend to the garden and sew clothes for the family. Each day you would thank your mother for the skills she taught you and your father for his sense of humor and hard work. Your family was all you had known In life. It was all you needed. It was home. Where you felt safe and adored.

But everything changed when the troopers came. To this day you swear you can still smell the fires and feel your lungs ache as they tried to breathe anything besides ash. The fires and storm troopers engulfed your village, taking the children and killing off anyone who tried to stop them. 

Your parents had gone out earlier that day to the market and had never returned. They had taken your brother as you spent the day reading and basking in the sunlight in the garden. The first sound of blaster fire startled you, your muscles freezing as you pulled a vegetable from the soft soil beneath your feet. It was another couple of moments before the next round of blaster shots could be heard, this time closer.

When you could finally move again you looked off into the distance as the fires grew and smoke filled the sky. Panicking you ran inside and hid in the back of your parent’s closet. That was where your parents had told you to go if there was ever an invasion. They had created a room that was safe and where no one could find you. You waited and waited for your front door to be knocked down and for you're home to be stormed. No troopers ever came in search of you though. 

Neither had your parents.

You had spent days in and out of sleep not daring to leave the confined space of your hideout. On the third day, you had awoken to the noise of the front door opening and the shuffle of heavy footsteps. You waited a couple of minutes silently crying and praying to the maker that you wouldn't be found. Minutes turned into an hour, then two, then three, and eventually, night has fallen.

You knew whoever had intruded your home had not left yet and they didn't seem like they were in a hurry to. You waited until the early morning just before sunrise to try and sneak out from your hidden space and had almost made it to the front door when heard the click of a blaster and felt the barrel of it pressed into your back.

It was then that the Mandalorian and Grogu had found you, starving, dehydrated, and filthy. You broke down crying and begging for him to just kill you. You refused to be taken as anyone's slave, servant or turned into a soldier. 

Watching you shake and please for death Mando had gracefully holstered his blaster and instead comforted you, explaining he would not hurt you and that he could leave once the sun rose and his child woke. In response, you told him that you would instead go. This place was a house but no longer a home.

Putting the pieces together the Mandalorian sympathized with you and offered you a new beginning and what would eventually become your home. He expressed his concern about his son and needing someone to watch him while he went on missions. You considered and said you would think about it. Mando would be leaving later that night and told you that if you decided to join him to meet him at his ship just before sundown.

That evening Mando found you sitting outside of his ship with the few belongings you had and any produce that had not wilted from the ash and fires. The Mandalorian didn't say much or ask much of you and you quickly fell into a routine with him and the kid.

That had been nearly a year ago. You had been too old to be a foundling but too young to become a bounty hunter yourself so you stuck with watching the child much as you did now.

Looking down at the child again you saw his eyes begin to droop. Smiling weakly you packed up the remaining bits of lunch and scooped up the child.

"Naptime my friend."

Grogu cooed, nuzzling his head into your chest.

Making your way into the ship you shut the ramp and laid with the child on Din's cot until you both fell into a deep slumber.

***

Three days. It had been three days since Din left to go search for his bounty. You generally didn't worry but when his adventures hit the three-day mark anxiety started to kick in. You knew Din was capable of handling himself and would always comm you if there was trouble or if he needed you to fly the Crest to him. Despite knowing all of that you couldn't fight the bile that rose in your chest and the tunneling sensation of the world around you.

By sundown, on that night  you felt like a walking corpse. You hadn't eaten but still had to fight the urge to throw up or break down crying. Grogu had watched you in concern all day and had been extra cuddly and affectionate. He could sense your unease and see your fear through forced smiles and glossy eyes. 

Bedtime came early that night for the little womp rat. Trying to comfort you tuckered him out.

Having time to yourself is both a blessing and a curse. You could cry freely without being embarrassed and without tiring out the kid but it also reminded you that you were alone and what you had lost. It reminded you that it could happen again. That the family you now had could be torn apart just as easily as your last.

Sobbing, you sat in Din's chair in the cockpit wrapped in your favorite blanket from home. It still had the smell of your mother's perfume and your father's aftershave on it. Realizing one day that that too would fade and disappear you wept harder, letting out gasps of air as your lungs tried to replenish themselves. The material of the blanket caught the tears that rolled down your face and you wrapped it tightly around you in desperation to feel close to your family again. Eventually, your body gave up on supporting you and you fell out of the pilot's chair and laid on the cold metal ground. Eyes squeezed just hit salty tears continued to flow and splash onto the worn metal of the Crest. 

You don't know how long you were down there or how long you had been crying but you felt yourself being lifted and scooped into a hug. You wailed into Din's chest as he slowly rocked you.

"Ni cuy' olar ad'ika." His unmodulated voice rang through your ears and you felt his own tears fall down and into your hair.

You may have been too old to be a foundling when Din found you but he still adopted you as his own. He treated you as I'd you were his own child, laughing when you laughed, threatened to take away credits when you sassed him and cried when you cried.

He understood your pain and hurt and his chest tightened every time you shed a tear. He knew you longed for your parents as much as he longed for it. If there was a way he could bring your parents back he would. You would do the same for him if you could.

That was not a possibility though and you both knew it. Instead, the three of you made your own family. Your own clan.

This is the way.

Rocking together on the floor of the cockpit you both cried into the night.

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Of Bruised Knees and Climbed Trees

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Sheriff Din Djarin x Female Teacher Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Rating: G

Warnings: N/A

Summary: He has always been gentle with the little one’s but it is nothing compared to the sureness with which he climbs the tall tree and gentleness with which he reassures one of your students that they can in fact make the climb down and they’ll be okay.

Notes: We all love papa Din and is there anything sweeter than this guy being all gentle and kind to scared little one’s? Pure dad material.

Archiveofourown

Lunch times at the schoolhouse were never quiet affairs. After eight years as a school teacher you had learnt that if something was going to happen, it was inevitably going to happen at lunch time when the children were out of the classroom doors and in the fresh air. Touch wood, you think touching the wall of the schoolhouse, you had yet to have anything too dramatic happen this school year. There had been no fights between the older boys and girls which had in previous years had a tendency to happen as frustrations and teenage angst boiled over. There had been no major injuries, no children had gone missing at lunch time, and no one had attempted to tattoo another child like Davey McDonald that one year. He had definitely been the source of most of your schoolhouse drama. With him having completed his school last year, perhaps, you thought, this year might prove to be uneventful. 

This year had been rather tame and as you stood on the wooden porch of the schoolhouse watching your children make the most of their hour to run, get fresh air, and eat their lunches, you couldn’t help but smile. You watched Grogu, Mary-Beth and Timmy playing at the small pond, more of a puddle really, that rested near the school. Mary-Beth was showing both boys how to skip stones and Grogu seemed impressed every single time she managed to get a perfect skip. Timmy fumbled at his attempt, stone landing in the water with a sploosh! 

Your eyes drifted to the older kids, eating their lunch and giggling together in groups. The boys had separated off from the girls, no doubt more and more aware of their differences as courting became a new interest in their eyes. Soon you’d have the usual problems of teenage love on your hands, sweet, but always requiring your eyes to be peeled. While the boys would face no repercussions for a dalliance, the girls would, and you always made sure to keep a chaperone's watchful eye on them each year. Much to their annoyance. 

You spotted Jerome sitting on his own, sketchbook and pencil in hand and carefully walked your way over, picking through the rocks and fallen leaves as the weather began to turn colder. He was wrapped up full, only a little bit of his face visible beneath a large scarf and fluffy hat.

“Do you mind if I sit with you, Jerome?” 

“Not at all, Miss.” He quickly goes back to his drawing and despite the desire to peek you resist the urge and wait for him to offer to show you, if that were to happen at all. You pride yourself on creating relationships born from trust with your pupils and part of that was letting them come to you rather than demanding they share things. Jerome had become more willing to share his art bit by bit, preening under your admiration and praise and you hoped that it would be enough to encourage him to pursue his dream of art school. You had a few old acquaintances you hoped would be willing to offer him patronage if they saw his work, but that was a few years off and for now, you were just content to provide him with kind words and support.

He doesn’t ask if you’d like to have a look, just shuffles the book over into your lap with a shy look away, not wanting to see your reaction. They’re beautiful little drawings of the world around him. The daisies in the grass, the leaves on the ground, the nearly bare trees. A few sketches of the other children playing. Each has careful line strokes, hashing to shade and a style to them that gives them an almost classical look. Smooth, soft. 

“These are beautiful, Jerome! You really have a gift!” You praise him, carefully handing the book back for him to return to his sketching. The two of you fall into companionable silence as he draws and you watch the children around you. 

It is when you go to ring the bell to draw them back into class with a ‘Lunch is over, boys and girls! Time to get back to work!’, that you notice a crowd gathering quite a distance away from the school underneath some trees. With a quick request that Jerome keep an eye on the younger children, you stride your way over, hands lifting your skirt from the dirt. 

“What’s going on? David, why are you all…” You trail off as you look up to see the exact reason they’re all crowding beneath the tall oak tree. 

Lilly-Anne is shaking at the very top, arms wrapped tightly around the branch she’d managed to make it to. The girl is barely ten, and has always been one of your more adventurous and confident children, but in that moment she is clearly petrified and you very much consider climbing the tree yourself to get her. 

“Lilly-Anne, dear, are you stuck?” You can’t think of a possible reason but that fact, that she is stuck in some way whether mental or physical. 

“I-I-I I can’t get down! I-” She cuts herself off in panic, clinging even tighter to the branch as a brisk wind causes the smaller branches to shake. 

“I’m coming to get you! Don’t worry, sweetheart! It’s going to be okay!” You say, sounding much more confident than you actually are about your ability to climb a thirty foot tall oak tree in a dress and heeled boots. You haven’t climbed a tree since you were thirteen years old and have never been a particularly fan of heights, but needs must. 

You’re planting a foot on a knot in the tree and reaching up for a lower branch when spurs clink behind you and a familiar deep drawl sounds out from behind you. 

“Everything alright, Miss Y/N?” You’re in truth rather relieved when you turn to see Din standing there, thumbs tucked into his belt behind the buckle. The worn hat he never seems to be without is tilted back as he looks over you, your gaggle of children and up into the tree. The bemused expression turns to one of concern when he sees Lilly-Anne at the top, immediately pulling his hat and holsters off and placing them on the ground. 

Before you can even reply to his question he has gentle hands on your waist twisting you away from the tree before placing a boot in the same spot your foot was moments ago. It doesn’t irritate you that he has done all this without asking, instead you are relieved. You know you are not dressed for tree climbing nor are you proficient at it, Din is better suited for the task and you are glad that he is here. 

“Lilly-Anne, Ad’ika, it’s the sheriff! I’m coming to get you, little one, don’t you worry about a thing!”  He keeps his voice even, soothing, the same voice he uses whenever Grogu has a nightmare. She might be feet up in the air but even from down at the base of the tree he can see how scared she is, can hear her whimpering and crying out for someone to come help her. Like any scared little kid.

He’s not really thinking much of anything, in truth, not when he sees the little girl terrified and crying at the top of the tall tree. There’s a memory from his past, a small boy at the top of a large tree, his adopted father climbing to get him with gentle words. He remembers the fear of being at the top, of being so confident in your ability to get all the way up that you never considered just how you’d make your way back down. 

He’s not scared of heights, not anymore. His adoptive father had made sure of that. Taught him to climb right back down, how to face that fear that makes you freeze. It’s not a hard climb, and each foothold is easy to find. The tree is sturdy, thick branches and a wide trunk. Old, older than him, older than any of them and he wonders how many children have climbed it only to need a guardian or parent to come and rescue them from the top. 

“It’s alright, little one! I’m on my way, you just hang tight, okay?”

“O-o-okay…” He likes Lilly-Anne, she likes his adventure stories the most. The little wild card a born adventurer herself, she always talks about becoming a famous gunslinger, constantly badgering him to teach her how to shoot. Adventurous spirit, stubborn, but he’s never seen her scared of anything. It breaks Din’s heart to see her usual confidence and fearlessness missing. 

You’re worried. That’s the best way to describe what you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach and it’s nail biting, stomach churning worry. A part of you knows that Din is competent in a million different ways, that he’ll be fine climbing a tree that a ten year old managed to scale and that he’ll be fine bringing her back down. Another part of you worries that maybe he’ll slip or she’ll slip or both of them will slip. The thought of either of them getting hurt sends you into a pacing sort of panic at the bottom of the tree, eyes on them the whole time, watching Din scale as your feet move you back and forth, to and fro. 

He’s at the top before you can even blink, bracing himself besides her and talking to her low enough that you can’t hear. She’s shaking and you’re not sure if it is the wind or the fear that does it to her. He’s steady as a rock, it doesn’t surprise you, Din has, from the moment he walked into town, been steady, stable, and competent. He brings an ease to everything he does and seems to trust in his own skills beyond a shadow of a doubt.

“Hey, Ad’ika, I’m right here, okay? Look at me…” He knows this is the hard part, how to convince her to come down even with his help. She is so scared and he can now finally see the tear tracks over her chubby cheeks and the redness of her eyes. This little girl is so terribly scared and it makes his heart ache for her. But, he promises himself, that he’ll be the stable presence she needs, that he’ll be calm and collected for her even with a thirty foot drop beneath them and you pacing the ground below in worry. 

Lilly-Anne’s bottom lip is trembling and her knuckles are white from holding on so tight, but she looks at him and seems to calm a little at his presence beside her. “I need you to hold onto me okay, sweetheart? I’m going to come closer and I need you to hold onto me so I can help you down, okay?” He knows it’s a big ask, knowing she’d have to pull herself away from the safety of the branch and trust that he’d keep her safe and secure, but she nods her head at him with a little whimper and he knows she’s brave enough to do this. 

“You’re doing so well, Ad’ika.” Din praises her as he sidles as close as he can, helping her, with one arm, wrap her own around his neck and rest her legs around his hips. She’s a little big to be carried normally, getting to that age where her legs are getting a little too long and her body doesn’t fit as easily as Grogu’s would against his hip, but she’s light and easy to wrap around him as he secures his own feet and hands getting ready to make the climb down. 

“You got all the way up here, Lilly-Anne, you can get back down, okay? Look,” Din begins the climb down, at each handhold and foot placement he points out to her that she could grab here or step there. He wants her to understand that if she could get all the way up, she could have made her way down. While he’s more than happy to help her, he knows her. She is an adventurous child, likely to climb a tree again and likely to need to make her way back down. Just like his buir had done, he was determined to make sure she was never scared of getting back down again. “You just need to place your hands where they fit best, move them down with you, a step at a time, Ad’ika. A step at a time.”

“It’s...it’s scary though…”

“I’ll let you in on a lil’ secret…” He turns his head to give her a meaningful look with a soft smile, stopping where he is just for a moment, “it’s not being scared that matters, it’s being brave enough to do it anyway.” 

People think him fearless. The fearless sheriff, cleaning up the town, keeping people safe, facing down men with guns and hunting down criminals. He’s not. He’s scared of a lot of things, mostly Grogu, you or the other little ones getting hurt. Losing you from his life. Losing his son. Being a disappointment to his son. That scares him more than any threat to his own body, but still in the face of that fear he is brave. Bravery has never been the absence of fear, it’s doing what you need to do anyway, knowing that it terrifies you. His buir had taught him that and he’d teach Lilly-Anne that, teach Grogu that. 

As he continues down the tree he can see her process his words. Brain working hard behind big blue eyes before she tugs on the back of his shirt to stop him where he is. Once again he stops climbing. You’re still pacing below, every time they stop you grow more anxious wondering what on earth could be happening. Did Din lose his footing? Was he faltering in some way? Was Lilly-Anne panicking? 

But, that isn’t the case. When he asks her what’s wrong, she simply tells him she wants to try and climb down on her own, with his help. He can feel pride blooming in his chest, like a new bud opening up to the world in spring, and so he carefully helps her off of his hip and adjusts her footing and handholds before he moves below her so he can help her ease her way down and catch her if she slips. 

She takes those first steps backwards, tentatively, scared of where she should put her feet, but each step after becomes more confident until they’re climbing at a decent pace back down the tree. She is a natural climber.

“You’re doing so well, Lil’ika! I knew you could do it, darlin’.” Din’s voice is quiet but now half way down you can actually hear him speaking to her, little praises at every successful step, reminders of how brave she is, how good she is doing. It eases some of that panic within you, warms your chest at the sounds of him, so utterly paternal and kind. 

She is smiling wider as she gets nearer to the bottom, you can see that the fear has left her, the panic gone, replaced with a bravery that you are thankful to see. She has always been a brave child, an adventurous child, fearless. The thought that she would lose that had terrified you almost as much as the thought that she was stuck at the top of that tree. 

The moment her feet touch the ground again you are fussing over her like a mother hen, “Lilly-Anne, what possessed you to climb such a tall tree?!” You both do not want to stifle her adventurous spirit and at the same time feel a sense of responsibility to teach her to think before taking potentially dangerous actions. It is the one cruelty of being a teacher and not a friend, you must always tell them off for doing something which could have ended with them hurt because no one else would. “You could have been hurt, sweetheart.” You soften the blow with the endearment, checking her over for cuts and bruises. Her hands are a little rough, but otherwise she is fine and despite your fussing and admonishment she is still smiling. 

“I got back down, Miss Y/N! I got back down!” You sigh out from your place kneeling in front of her, a small smile making its way to your face. Before you tug lightly at one of the blonde braids of her hair. You want to be stern, but can’t find it in yourself to be when she had in fact managed to get all the way back down, when she was so clearly proud of herself. How could you bring yourself to crush that happiness? 

“Yes, yes, you did, well done, sweet girl...now that you’ve nearly given me a heart attack, why don’t you thank the sheriff and go get sorted for your next lesson?” You can still feel the residual adrenaline running through you, your heart is still beating faster than it should. To think you were going to climb up that tree to get her, in a full dress and heeled boots...you suspected the outcome would have been the two of you stuck up that tree, not just one. What a sight that would have made. 

“Thank you, Sheriff Djarin!” He’s buckling his holster on as she turns to him, already getting back into sheriff mode as he places that worn hat over dark brown curls. He cuts an impressive figure as sheriff, but you most enjoy him at his softest, when he lets the walls fall for the children and shows you who he really is underneath all that responsibility and posturing. 

“You’re welcome, Ad’ika, you remember how to get down for next time?” 

“Uh huh!” Like all children she nods her head so vigorously you briefly worry she’ll concuss herself, but know that they always seem to be fine afterwards.

“Good. Go get ready for your lesson.” He pats the top of her head with a soft smile. You only ever see that smile around you and the children, including Grogu, of course. The two of you watch her run off, the other children in the group following her at your insistence that they better be ready at the desks by the time you return. 

You know you need to move soon, they are waiting for their next set of lessons before the day ends and you have things to teach them. Things you always stress are important. But, you can’t ever resist spending a little more time with Din, even more so when it comes to thanking him for his hand in helping you with the children. He is always there when you need him, when his support or involvement is required. 

“Thank you, Din...I...I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t turned up. I’m sure we both would have been stuck up there if I’d tried to get her…” There’s something about being alone with Din that excites you more than it should. Perhaps, it’s the reminder that you’re an unmarried woman, he’s an unmarried man, and the two of you certainly shouldn’t be spending time alone together away from other people’s eyes. There is no one here to watch you, to ensure everything is polite and appropriate. It shouldn’t mean more than it does. It should just be a moment to thank him, something simple, devoid of any deep feelings, but like everything that happens with Din, there is always more going on beneath the surface. Your feelings are always deep and hard to understand with him. 

“Cabur’ika. You never have to thank me. For anything.” He’s almost bashful looking when he smiles at you from under the brim of his hat, face tilted down just so. You can see the hint of a flush to his tanned cheeks and the dimples pull at the sides of his mouth when he smiles.

“Yes...yes I do. I hope you...I hope you understand just how much I appreciate your help, Din. You...you do more for me than anyone else in this town and,” You gently reach for one of his large hands, holding it between the two of your own. His fingers are calloused and rough, his skin warm to the touch even in the autumn air. “I really do appreciate it. I appreciate you. So thank you.” 

He’s at a loss for words. Not just because of your own sweet ones, but because your eyes are so soft and large, staring up at him like he’s hung the moon, like he’s done something above and beyond. When in truth he has just done his job, the right thing. Supporting you as the school teacher will always be the right thing and certainly it isn’t all duty. He finds you to be beautiful, sweet and soft, kind, yet strong and fierce. Your treatment of his son, his Grogu warms his heart. Your deep love for your children makes him want to sigh like a lovesick school boy and your treatment of him, your acceptance, open arms to a man who should scare you, makes him want to be around you all the more. From the moment he met you, you had been welcoming and soft. That hadn’t changed and everything in him screams at him to do something, say something, hold your hand tighter, kiss your lips, but that’s too fast and too soon. It would be a dishonour to you, you deserved him taking his time, finding the right words and actions to court you, to prove that he was worthy of your time and affection. 

So instead he just smiles at you, squeezes your hands tightly, once, twice, before thanking you. There are few parting words, a slow goodbye in which you both are reluctant to pull away from each other, but a call from the schoolhouse porch draws you away from him with a sad little smile. 

His chest hurts so badly that he rubs at it with a palm. The hurt is a good sort though. Not the blistering pain of a gunshot wound or slash from a knife, but the ache of...of love. That’s what it is, he has to admit it to himself, it’s love. New and small, growing larger each day, but love.

                                                    -----------------------

Mando’a Translations:

Ad’ika - Little one

Lil’ika - Basically little Lily. The ‘ika is a diminutive suffix and often you take the first 3 words of a child's name like Gro’ika to make a familiar name. 

Cabur’ika - Lit. Little Guardian, but Din’s term of endearment for reader after ‘Never Mess With a School Teacher’ because she is a true guardian of her kids. 

Buir - Mother/Father/Parent

[themilky-way]

when morning comes

gif credit: a7estrellas

pairing: din djarin/the mandalorian x reader

summary: din wakes up to you making breakfast, and the both of you share a moment

warnings: heat, stoves, a brief mention of burns, like one bad language word and the ending insinuates a smooch with this mf lmao

author’s note: pancakes don’t exist in this universe but they do now, you’re welcome lol

-----------

din’s morning had begun like it usually did. he’d woken up to a soft patch of light entering through his window, a small square of glass that wasn’t of much use. the sun was warmer than he’d ever felt it and for once in his life, he wanted to feel more of it.

 his armor awaited him on a stool adjacent to his bed that wasn’t really a bed, just a lumpy, rigid mattress that barely accommodated his posture. he sat up and dangled his feet for a while to regain his composure, since one of his many traits was being overly dizzy when he didn’t need to be. for example, he’d be in the middle of a quarrel when vertigo would strike him as fast as he could blink and without warning. he told himself that if he got it over with first thing in the morning, it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the future. so far it wasn’t working. 

slowly but surely, the mandalorian got dressed; pieces of his bare skin began to disappear like it meant nothing. cold metal replaced his natural warmth with ease. if he didn’t stop mid-plate to sit down again, it’d only take him a few minutes to complete his day-to-day look. today he’d done exactly that; his helmet and boots the only accessories yet to be placed on his form. when he did so, he pondered for a while about scattered topics and couldn’t quite settle on one. morning thinking had become a ritual of some sort, allowing the earnest man to diminish his ego. 

din almost missed the odd scent that flew by his nose. it was unlike anything he knew of: sweet and succulent with maker knows what other things. he was sure that whatever it was, it included a variety of spices. cinnamon and nutmeg mingled in the air of his dorm and played around him like children in a field of flowers. he was determined to keep the aroma inside for as long as possible, so he stood up to close the latch of his window. his helmet slipped over his head in an instant, eagerly almost, as if the faster he finished his routine, the sooner he could taste whatever it was he smelled. 

as he exited the cot, din’s steps were cautiously light against the metal of his ship. one of the last things he wanted to do was alarm the head chef into creating a spill or fire. the kitchen was compact and in a corner that needed to be rigorously searched for to find it. it wasn’t far, only a few feet away from where he had initially started his walk but his boots were heavy and unnecessarily noisy unless he was careful. 

he came to a halt at the entrance, a shoulder coming to rest against the doorframe. his arms were now crossed, not in a displeased way but more of surprise. the concoction of flavors were more prominent now than they’d been in his room, and he slowly breathed them in again. 

the rustling of pots and pans became clearer now as he stood there, and the person behind the apparent noise was too caught up in their task. they were rushing from one corner of the tiny kitchen to the other all while flipping some weird, round discs on a skillet. they were golden brown when they flipped them, and din took the abundance of bubbles popping on their surface as a sign that attention was needed. his eyes moved to scan another scene: his unofficial shipmate was occupied feeding the little greenling at the foot of the table. his hardly incoming set of teeth nibbled on a piece of the cooked bread, cooing with satisfaction at the sugary flavor. it stopped mid-bite after a few seconds, its big, rounded eyes flicking up towards the stove, then back to its (adoptive) dad.  

“you should probably take a look at the...cakes?” din finally asked you after a cloud of smoke started to form above them.

with a minor jump, you turned to face the man behind the inquiry before catching a glimpse at what he meant. you quickly made your way over and input the code to shut off the heat, brief curses leaving your mouth the entire time. “oh, kriff!” you exclaimed, “does this thing even work right-shit!”

“it hasn’t been used in ages. are you alright?” he moved into the tiny kitchen and motioned to your now burned skin. your pinky, instead of being its natural hue, was now bright red from its top edge to the bottom. from the ground, the baby made a sound of grievance and started to shuffle in your direction, its tiny hands reaching up when he finally reached you. din watched as you scooped him up with your good hand and into your arm, and he watched as you laughed lightly at the child’s reaction. 

intently watching the interaction, he failed to notice when your gaze fell upon him and observed his stance-stuck between coming to your aid or staying still. “i’m fine, it was just a small sting,” you clarified. it was hard to tell his expression with his face covered, but the way he tipped his helmet to one side prompted you to continue. “i promise it doesn’t even hurt anymore. watch,” you extended your hand outward for the mandalorian to examine, the other still holding a very lively baby. 

din’s gloved palm now supported yours from underneath and didn’t make haste in observing the abrasion. the fingers of his free hand grabbed your pinky and inspected the affected area. you recoiled immediately at the pain, slipping your hand away from his grip.

“you’re not a very decent liar,” he joked.

you shrugged, “i don’t like to worry you, that’s all.” the child was now on the floor again after you turned to collect the pancakes that remained edible, placing two on one plate and four on another. “i made you some breakfast, though i’m not..quite sure how to describe it,” you smiled. 

“i’ve got time,” he reached behind you to take the smaller portion, then walked to the table and pulled a chair out for him to sit. “what’s the honey for?” 

“oh, you drizzle that over these,” you pointed to the semi-charred discs. “they’re just cakes, and the syrup helps make them sweet.” 

before din could acknowledge what you had just said, and before he could even grab his fork, you switched his plate. now, he had four instead of two. he looked down for a few seconds, and then back up at you. 

“you need your strength, din’ika.” 

“i’m already strong.” 

“yes, but that doesn’t mean you should eat less,” you pointed out. 

he sighed, knowing full well that his reasoning matched yours to begin with and swallowed a rebuttal. he wished you could see the look of gratitude forming underneath his headgear, and he was about to show you until he realized he morally couldn’t, but the swift impulse to do so was too intriguing to let it slip, the urge too enthralling to not go through with it all. 

and you recognized his compulsion, you really did, yet you respected him in the same way he respected his creed. the only option, in the meantime, was to eat in differing rooms as you’ve previously done. 

“tell me if you like it,” you said at the doorway, your own plate with a jar of the same honey in hand. 

perhaps he was too captivated by the way his son waddled over to grip your other thumb as you left. it might’ve been the warmth of your skin still ingrained into his, or how he felt after he realized you’ve done all of this for him. 

a faint thud fell upon the ambiance when his helmet came off, followed by the squeaks of the cutlery scraping against the glass. the taste of honey mingled with the buttery cake in his mouth when he took his first bite, and faded after he took his last. he newly sensed it when din blurred your vision with a dark cloth, and it flowed into him once more when your taste danced on his tongue. 

and he simply couldn’t get enough.

[buckybarnesbabydoll]

Lost and Found: Chapter 2

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warning(s): none <3

Word count: 2,000+

Summary: You teach the Mandalorian how to ride a blurrg, and you have a strange dream after he's gone...

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Note(s): i hope you guys enjoy this next part! i'm new to writing fanfics so pls go easy on me <3 I might try to make this a little bit of a slow burn fic too, also this part is now posted on my ao3!

The following day, you stood behind the ropes of the circle where you tame blurrgs. The Mandalorian has been trying to ride the same blurrg that attacked him the day before. He’s been trying since early morning and judging by the placement of the sun, as well as his groans in frustration, he hasn’t made a lot of progress. Kuiil was watching from inside the tent for a little bit, before leaving the rest to you so he could work on another one of his projects. You had your hood pulled over your head to keep the sun from beating down on you, leaning on one of the poles while you watched this hopeless lesson.

One arm resting on the wooden cylinder, while the other absentmindedly fiddled with the necklace you had on. It was a simple leather rope that was wrapped around a crystal. You found it interesting how that crystal became your favorite color, or perhaps your favorite color was because of the crystal. The only thing you knew about it was that you’ve had it since you were a baby, never being away from it. Even taking it off for a second made you feel vulnerable. At this point it was a part of you, the only thing binding you to your past, which was still muddled in smoke and mirrors.

Hearing the blurrg squawk and growl brought you back to the mess in front of you. You tried teaching the Mandalorian the same way Kuiil showed you how to ride, but now you’re learning that maybe everyone learns a little differently… It wasn’t that he wasn’t able to mount the creature, it’s that it wouldn’t let him stay on. Throwing him off at any attempt or scurrying away to different parts of the circle, it’s been a bit of a goose chase to watch. You couldn’t blame it though, he did try to burn it alive, or so that’s what Kuiil told you when he found the Mandalorian. But you had to admit, seeing a Mandalorian, who were revered for their strength in battle, get thrown around like a ragdoll was a little funny.

After getting bucked off into the dirt for the umpteenth time that day, the armored man exclaimed a ‘Dank Farrik!’ and stood up. Almost stomping towards you in a fed-up cadence with his arms swinging from irritation. You could almost perfectly imagine his expression underneath that helmet.

“Alright, this isn’t working. Do you have a speeder bike or anything else I can use to get there? I’ll pay you,” the modulation didn’t hide any of his feelings either, you bit your lip to keep from chuckling at his suffering.

“Sorry, we don’t have anything like that,” you swore he rolled his eyes under that helmet, unable to believe there wasn’t any other form of transportation besides those oversized land piranhas. “Perhaps try approaching it more… gently.” The silver helmet looked at you again, a brief silence before repeating you.

“Gently?” There was a slightly incredulous tone to the question. He’s been trying almost every method all morning, sowhywasn’tanythingworking.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “your methods are too blunt for it. It’s scared,” you gestured to the blurrg that was pacing on the other side of the circle.

“Scared of what? It attacked me,” you shrugged in response, looking at the distorted reflection of yourself on the beskar.

“At least try and approach more passively.” He sighed, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to try it your way. It was something different after trying forever. The Mandalorian moved closer to the blurrg, holding up his hands with his palms facing towards the creature. The blurrg started to act anxious again, watching his movements. But he gently shushed the creature, displaying his body language as less threatening as he scooted closer.

As the blurrg seemed to further relax, he quickly grabbed the reins and got up on its back again. You held your breath as you watched him climb up, and as the moments passed the creature seemed to start walking around like normal again. You cheered a little bit, since this was the first time you’ve taught someone how to ride a blurrg, you weren’t exactly sure how it was going to turn out. Fortunately, your first (and hopefully, last) attempt at teaching was a success. Thankfully, he didn’t die!

“Alright! Now let’s get you to your bounty!”

After the success of the Mandalorian learning how to ride a blurrg, you promptly hopped on yours to guide the way, where his bounty was waiting for him. You rode through the desert planet, hopping over fissures in the ground and riding across large swaths of cracked mud. You found it sort of fascinating how the cracks sometimes appeared hexagonal, how something so monotonous could be interesting to you, you’d never know. Again, it was hard to find a lot interesting on this desert planet. Your mind drifted off to different places on your ride there since the bounty hunter you were guiding was a man of few words. Well, at least when he wasn’t frustrated. You didn’t know a whole lot about Mandalorians, but you were sure you’d probably never know since he’s most likely going to die trying to get his bounty. They always did.

You rode up to the location of the Mandalorian’s bounty, the spot used to be a small town where you would visit and play in the fountain in the middle. Once a month there used to be different festivals for the various alien cultures that lived there filled with music and life. You’d walk around to the colorful vendors full of tasty food and pretty trinkets, always asking Kuiil for something from them. You didn’t have a whole lot, so those days he would always spoil you sick with anything you wanted. The resurfaced memory is fuzzy and warm, but things have changed now since it was taken over by raiders and pirates. It was never the same and it hurt to see something that special be ruined so quickly.

“This is it, whatever you’re looking for, it’s in there,” you tilted your head in the direction of the town. Or at least what was left of it. The Mandalorian took out his fob, holding it in the direction of the abandoned town. The quiet beeping increased over the ride to the spot, showing you had taken him to the right place.

“Thank you,” he said, nodding to you. You glanced over and noticed he was handing out a small pouch to you, but you shook your head in rejection. “Please, you’ve helped me a lot.” He reinforced the statement by urging the pouch your way again. The offer was nice, you’ve never encountered a bounty hunter quite like this one.

“That’s kind of you, but the only payment I need is seeing this area cleaned out of them,” you looked back at the territory a little solemnly. “Things… haven’t been the same since they arrived, but no one has managed to get rid of them yet.”

“...Then why help me?” He folded one hand over his wrist, holding the reins in the lower hand. It made sense why you were so patient to help him out, perhaps this place meant more to you than he knew. You paused to consider your answer.

“I’ve never met a Mandalorian, I’ve only lived here my entire life so all I know is the stories my father told me,” you mused, “if they’re correct, then this shouldn’t be too hard for you.” You start turning the blurrg before pausing, a hint of amusement on your face, “Not to mention, it was fun seeing you get bullied by that blurrg. Good luck!” You giggled to yourself, riding away as he shook his head. His face was definitely burning just a little bit from the memory of that display.

You took your time riding back, the Mandalorian still on your mind. Even though you got a ways away, the sound of blasters being shot reached you. Taking a minute to listen, it took a little bit before it went quiet again. That’s how it usually was, you’d bring them to the quarry, they would go off and get in a shootout, and you’d never see them again. You sighed, shaking your head. You wanted to have hope for the Mandalorian, but hopefulness won’t keep him from getting killed by a blaster shot.

“Well, at least now I know I can teach the next one how to ride a blurrg,” you shrugged to yourself, riding off back home. As you rode away into the desert, in the dust of an ended firefight the Mandalorian stood, gazing down at a small, green child in a floating pram. A child that would change both of your lives.

You arrived back home a little before nightfall, leading your blurrg back into her area before closing it off again. You pulled your hood off and sighed as the cool air drifted through your hair, the cool breeze felt nice on your scalp. Kuiil walked over to the entrance of the tent, holding two containers of water in his hand.

“Do you think this is the one?” You glanced over at your adoptive father, taking a drink he offers to you.

“I am not sure, we will find out in a few days,” he tilted his head to the side in uncertainty. “Do you think this is the one?” You shrugged at the question, taking a swig from the container. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to make it, but with no one else making it back it was kind of hard to think anything else except that. “I’d like to think so. It would be cool to say I know a Mandalorian that didn’t immediately die after meeting him,” the Ugnaught snorted at your reasoning. “And… I don’t know, he just seems.. different. I don’t know if I can explain it.” Perhaps it was the slowly increasing need for change in your life, but you knew what you felt.

At least that’s what you thought.

The rest of the evening passed by without anything else eventful happening, but before you went to sleep you found yourself still wondering what happened to the Mandalorian. Perhaps he was dead, but oh well. You’d get your answer in a few days. Accepting the fate of your brief acquaintance, you let your eyes close and peacefully drifted off to sleep. You dreamt of the desert, the imagery moving over the sand to the location of the small town you used to frequent as a child. However, it wasn’t the nostalgic memory you were used to, it simply showed the current state of the town. But the movement didn’t stop there, you were slowly guided through the town, the echoes of laughter and cheer, of your childhood, bounced around until you entered the main building.

It was dark inside, the only source of light was the sun pouring in from the windows and entrances. Your heart wanted to wander around, to relive those fond memories. Relive moments when you weren’t worried about bounty hunters or mercenaries coming through your home and making you feel a little more on edge. But something drew you away from those thoughts. There was the slight tugging in the back of your mind, almost like a small string pulling you in a different direction until you saw what could be the source. You apprehensively approach a white, spherical floating object. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought it was a baby pram. Until it popped open, showing two green ears poking out from underneath.

You tilted your head in wonder, seeing something small start to peek out from underneath the blanket it was in. But you couldn’t get a good look at it, the face was blurred for some reason. It all felt… foggy. Despite the low visibility, you felt your hand lift a little to hold your finger out towards the small thing, wiggling it a little bit. It reached out a three-clawed hand at you, right as its hand wrapped around your finger, you woke up.

[autisticdindjarin]

The Guard of the Mand’alor

Chapter Two: Foundlings and the Future

(AO3)

Summary: Omera was a foundling, taken in by Mandalorians when her family was slaughtered. She never met a certain Mandalorian on Sorgan, but when the Mandalorian throne is claimed by Din Djarin, he is in need of an honor guard. Omera steps up to the challenge. Rating: T Pairing: Din Djarin x Omera Warnings: None. Notes:   We're continuing this I guess!! Haha, just had a lot of feelings about Din and foundlings and found family and the guard.

(Masterlist)

(Chapter One)(Chapter Three)

------------

“ … and Clan Wren is expected for the banquet tomorrow evening,” Bo-Katan continued. Omera stood tall opposite of Koska, and the two of them framed the throne of the Mand’alor, their beskar spears held vertically, while two others guarded the entryway.

Omera often tuned out during these reports, instead focusing on the entryways for any signs of danger, but that last part caught her attention. She’d have to let Myrah know - her fellow guard was off duty at the moment. Myra would be eager to see Sabine.

    Her attention turned back to Din as Bo-Katan finished up her daily briefing with the Mand’alor, and Din relaxed back into the throne more as the head of Clan Kryze left. Bo-Katan seemed intent on treating Din like a misguided little brother, and Omera could smother from the atmosphere in the room as Din stubbornly continued on his own path  - an admirable quality.

    With Bo-Katan gone, all left in the throne room were the Mand’alor and his guards, so Din soon signaled for them to stand at ease. He felt comfortable around them, and it pleased Omera to note that. The strain left his shoulders and he appeared calm - less overwhelmed. 

The familiarity between Din and his guard only continued to strengthen - while they protected him, he returned the favor, being more involved in his guard’s routine than one would expect from a king. Hells, he even sparred with them in the training room, sharpening their skills with the beskar spears.

    “I only know Sabine of Clan Wren. Are the rest of them as pleasant, or should I be on guard?” Din asked.

    “They’re alright,” Koska shrugged to the side, slipping her helmet off, an action that Omera and the other two guards - Kad and Novoc - mirrored. Omera raised an eyebrow over at Koska as she realized her fellow guard was not going to elaborate.

    “Clan Wren was ostracized during the reign of the Empire. But they regained their honor in helping to free Mandalore from Imperial control. Sabine is the figurehead of the clan now, but her brother and mother are also well known. Her brother can be … antagonistic,” Omera said, as politely as she could. “While Ursa can also be prickly, she has good sense to her. Her husband, Alrich, is a quieter man - he doesn’t like to play in the world of politics.”

    Din nodded at this, though he didn’t ask any more questions to clarify or dig deeper. Omera was used to that - their king was a man of few words. But she knew it was because he spent most of his time thinking, and planning strategy, which he had a knack for.

    “Well,” Din stood up, readjusting his cape. “No more appointments today. I’m heading over to the Sanctuary,” he said, as if they hadn’t already guessed.

Omera nodded, and the rest of the guards straightened up. They put their helmets back in place, and followed Din out of the throne room. Omera smiled under her helmet as she watched the flow of his cape behind him. His stride wasn’t one that Bo-Katan had to teach him - it had always been kingly, a determined step to it that made others immediately fall aside. Her eyes fell to his left hand, the one she was closest to, where it rested at his side, and she held back that urge to grab it and hold it.

    It’d been over a month now since their excursion to Tatooine, dealing with Boba Fett. A month since sharing a Keldabe kiss, and while Omera could appreciate taking things slow, it was also incredibly frustrating. Being so close to him all the time but also feeling so far away tested her patience but strengthened her desire.

    Din continued his regal way through the courtyard, guiding them towards the far end of the expansive Mandalorian palace. The courtyard led into a garden with serene pools, where children were playing and splashing in the warm sun that filtered down through the leaves of willows.

    A caregiver sat off to the side, observing the children but not hovering. He stood as they approached, putting down a datapad and giving a small bow in their direction. The reaction from the children was much different as they began running up, all smiles and yells of excitement. They bombarded Din, and Omera stepped back out of the way in a practiced move when he fell to the ground with a pile of kids surrounding him. He let out a grunt, but then he laughed and sat up, clasping tiny shoulders and patting small backs.

    “You’ve proven my guard to be useless,” Din said, his tone mocking stern. Kad and Koska had remained at the entrance of the garden, distancing themselves from the ruckus, while Omera and Novoc lingered at Din’s side.

    “We’ve defeated the Mand’alor!” one of the boys proclaimed, his dark eyes gleaming with a mischief Omera was well acquainted with in her own daughter. She laughed behind her helmet, shaking her head. Din played along with it, as some of the younger girls had gathered sticks to use as imagined laser swords, pointing them at Din’s chest and throat.

    “Surrender!” A little hybrid girl squeaked out, one who would just barely be able to reach Din’s knee when he stood up. Her skin faded into blue around the edges of her face and ears, and thick black hair ran down in a braid along her back.

    “I yield, you’ve got me,” Din held his hands up. But soon enough they became bored of their little game, and sat in a circle around Din, asking for stories.

    “Hm. I think you’ve heard them all,” the Mandalorian king chuckled where he now sat cross legged, cape laid out beside him with a group of kids sitting on it. Another had leaned up against his opposite shoulder, and the little hybrid girl made herself at home perched on his lap. The cape was getting damp as some of the kids had been swimming, but Din either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and Omera would bet it was the latter.

    The kids finally convinced him and he was launching into a grand story involving a krayt dragon and a small town marshal. Omera’s eyes wandered, watching the garden for any disturbances, noting Koska and Kad snarking back and forth at one another in the distance.

    “ … and then it started going back in …” Din’s voice flowed through the garden, and it made her cheeks feel too warm. It made her whole body feel too warm, seeing this gentle nurturing side of him around kids, making her think of how he’d been when first meeting Winta, wondering if she would see more of it in the future.

    The sun had begun to say its goodbyes when Din finished the story off. The hybrid girl had fallen asleep against his chest, and a few more of the kids surrounding him weren’t far off from passing out as well. Din squeezed the shoulder of one of the foundlings using his cloak as a blanket, saying his goodbyes to small sounds of protest. He lifted the hybrid girl up with him, carefully, though she didn’t stir beyond pressing her face further into the space between his pauldron and chestplate.

    “I’ll take her, Mand’alor,” said the previously silent caretaker, reaching forwards. Din nodded, gently passing over the sleepy foundling.

    “How are things going?” Din asked the caretaker.

    “Well enough. We’ve had several more adoptions this week, and we’ve had two more come in, twin boys who lost their guardian to illness. They’re adjusting.”

    “Don’t let them be separated,” Din said softly.

    “Of course not. There’s plenty who are willing to take in both, Mand’alor,” the caretaker smiled, shrugging his shoulders. Din shook his hand, gripping at his forearm in thanks.

    “If they need anything -”

    “I’ll let you know,” the caregiver said, having heard the request many times before, but Din always felt the need to repeat it.

    “The foundlings are the future,” Din said quietly, and the caretaker nodded in agreement.

    “This is the way.”

-----------------

    “You are very focused on the foundlings,” Omera said when they found themselves alone after night had fallen. Kad stood guard outside Din’s chamber, and had only tilted his head in curiosity when Din had requested her inside.

    “They’re important,” Din shrugged, sitting down on one of the chairs by the fireplace, beginning to unclasp his boots.

    “They are,” Omera agreed, softly. “I’ve just noticed too - most of your personal guard is made up of foundlings.”

    Din paused at that, looking up at her. “I hadn’t realized.”

    “Hm, well. Koska, Myrah, and Paz are the only ones with Mandalorian blood parents. Though perhaps foundlings make some of the best warriors - eager to prove themselves,” she shrugged.

    “You can sit,” Din gestured beside him when he realized she was still standing. Omera did so while he launched a question at her. “Were you? Eager to prove yourself?”

    Omera hesitated. “In a way, yes. But I was just a baby, not even a toddler, when I was adopted by Clan Thorne. It was all I knew. I guess I did feel like I had to work harder for my place, with not being blood related, but they never made me feel like I didn’t belong. They trained me well and I worked hard but -” she hesitated. “I didn’t really start honing my skills, not truly, until after I was widowed,” she looked away.

    Din just listened, and she appreciated that. So often her telling of her past came to probing questions. While he did question her some, it was never past what she felt comfortable with. It was almost like he could read her.

    Leaning back against the chair, she slipped her helmet off, braid falling over her shoulder. She wiped her face and placed the helmet beside her chair, then looked over at him.

    “I tried to work twice as hard as anyone else in the Fighting Corps,” Din’s low voice rumbled. “Not just to prove myself, but … to forget, in a way. I finally got chewed out after fainting during a practice drill,” he chuckled. “The alor was not happy. That’s the day I was told that you could be as physically balanced as possible, but being balanced in spirit is just as important. I didn’t learn it until decades later, though.”

    She listened to his musings, sensing he needed to let some things out. Perhaps things he’d never told to anyone else, and it touched something within her to know that he wanted to share it with her.

    “Not until Grogu,” he added. His voice softened considerably at the mention of his foundling.

    “You miss him,” Omera noted the obvious. Din nodded.

    “I do,” he answered, his voice catching before he cleared his throat. He looked to the side, remaining silent for a moment before speaking again. “I would like … If we could- could spend more time, togeth- I mean, talking,” he stumbled. “Not while you’re on duty, I mean, just - just outside of all this,” he gestured vaguely at their surroundings. “I’d like to know … get to know Winta better,” Din looked down. Omera smiled and reached forward, putting a hand over his.

“She’d love that,” she acknowledged, “and I would too.”

Din hummed at that, then seemed to hesitate before leaning forwards. Omera quickly caught on, and she moved forwards to let him gently rest his helmet against her forehead.

“Cyar’ika,” she mumbled. Darling. Din made a small noise, like he’s sucked too much air in at once. His hand turned palm up to grip hers, squeezing.

“Gar gana ner karta,” he replied. You have my heart.

(Chapter Three)

[capriciouswriting]

— emerald star.

pairing: the mandalorian / unnamed, blind oc. (oc pinterest aes)

warnings: angst. mentions of blood.

word count: 1.9k

edit: rewrite for sun, moon & stars. now loosely based on “emerald star” by lord huron

This was never meant to happen. At least, not to her.

Lying in a pool of her own blood, her own hands not knowing where to grasp. Crimson finger tips move back and forth from the deep wound on her abdomen, then over to Cara’s hands as they try to help. Cara keeps gently moving her hands away, the ex-shock trooper voice was the softest he’s ever heard it. Din felt guilty for ignoring her, her own heart giving a painful ache every time he heard her call for him while he had been fighting. But he was trying to protect her, something he had failed to do and he would not let himself fail her twice. So, he had begrudgingly continued to ignore her cries until he was sure that the threat was gone. Then, and only then, did he allow himself to slowly approach.

Like a meek animal, he approached her cautiously, scared of what he would really see when he entered the small building Cara had drug her into. It was dark, and the dirt floor announced his presence loudly despite how careful he tried to be. When he finally sees her he can’t help the air that catches in his throat. Her clothes are torn and crimson, a pool of blood is centered around Cara’s hands as she fumbles with different medical equipment. 

Din finds himself useless, falling to his knees at her side. She reaches for him, but he knows it’s dark, and the light won’t reflect off of his beskar in a way that she likes. She starts coughing, spluttering on her own blood but calling his name like a mantra of false hope. 

All he manages to do is adjust, carefully placing himself so he can safely lay her head on his lap. She clings to his gloves, but the shaking of his hands only intensifies the more her blood is smeared onto him. He can feel the panic in his chest, clinging to him tighter than even the beskar, holding him in an unwelcoming embrace.  

Cara is trying her best, and Din couldn’t be more thankful for the amount of effort she is putting into helping the woman on his lap. He hates that he can’t have a clear head through this, and hates even more that the first time he’s seen her hurt is this bad. More than anything he hates that he failed at protecting the one person who he always swore to protect.

His eyes glance over to the blood soaking into the dirt, making it look something akin to fresh soil. 

It was never supposed to be like this, it was always supposed to be him. Din was always the one hurt - and she would always be the more level headed. Her medical training wasn’t extensive by any means, but it was always enough. He was safe with her, and he knew it. He’s known it for a long time, before even the kid was in their lives he knew he could trust her. He did trust her, with everything. His name, his story, and even with his face. Granted, her blindness didn’t allow her to really see him, yet she still saw him and accepted him with open arms.

But this wasn’t his fight to start or finish, she had reiterated that to him one too many times. Din always commended her for how honest she was with him, openly telling her about her past and her siblings soon after they had met. (“My so-called family and I don’t really see eye-to-eye,” she had told him, “I mean, besides the whole blind thing so I actually can’t see their eyes, they’ve also tried to kill me. So, there’s that.”). He never understood it, the falling out with her adopted siblings and the disdain so overwhelming that instead of putting a bounty on her head they opted to try and do it themselves. And out of the five siblings she had, three hadn’t ever come close to killing her. 

Until one had. 

A cough tears through her, and Cara hisses through her teeth, pushing her palms down harder on his comapnion’s stomach, telling her to please be still as gently as the urgency would allow. Din is cold with fear when he sees the blood pool even more around Cara’s hands with each cough. The sound of his name rouses him from the stupor of fear, and he tilts his head slightly so Cara knows he’s looking at her. The ex shock trooper is sweating, droplets of blood freckle her face and he tries hard to focus on them so that he doesn’t look back at her hands soaked in the blood of his partner.

“I need her to calm down, please.”

Din hasn’t spoken a word, he realizes. Despite the woman on his lap calling for him earlier, he hadn’t said a word to her. For a moment he feels as if he’s forgotten how to speak, and he sits with his mouth open. He swallows thickly, and moves to push hair out of his partner's face. She stills, eyes wide and mouth trembling. 

He’s never seen her look so afraid.

“Cyar’ika.”

Din is terrified she can pick up the tremble in his voice, the fear and apprehension seeping through his lips unwanted. Din wants to be able to put on a brave facade for her and act as if he’s okay, like he knows she would for him. He hates the feeling of fear and failure mounted on his shoulders, weighing him down like a heavy cowl. 

Din is scared and he doesn’t want to be.

She was the only one, despite her inability to see, that he felt actually saw past the beskar. She saw past the walls he had built around his heart, muted by the creed he had taken years and years ago. She was one of the few, if not the only one, to never question the beskar or him. They never said it, but he had always felt it - the warmth in his chest whenever he thought of her. He hoped she felt the same, and he figured she had, because the first time she had heard his voice without the modulator of his helmet she had nearly cried. She was more than his partner, or his companion, or his friend.

“Haven’t heard,” she takes a deep, gulping breath, “that name in while.”

Din inhales as softly as he can, his chest shaking. He moves, lifting his hand to brush her hair away from her face again, this time swiping his thumb along her cheek bones. She closes her eyes at the touch, and he feels himself panic as the fleeting thought of her never opening them again enters his mind. He’s been around her for so long now that he doesn’t know a life without her there. He doesn’t want to know a life without her there. She’s the constant that he needs in his life, there to ground him when things are hard.

“Din,” he snaps back to meet her eyes, and she’s moving her hand to reach for him. Her fingertips graze his visor and he resists the urge to violently flinch away from the blood staining her hands, “Din, I’m scared.”

Whatever resolve he thought he had vanishes at her words, and he hastily grabs the hand that had originally sought him. Din can’t bring himself to speak, the overwhelming burn in his throat and in the back of his eyes is enough to keep him silent. So, he does the only thing he feels like he can. He grabs her hand, holding onto it as tightly as he can so as to not hurt her. He leans forward, despite the position being uncomfortable, to briefly lean his helmet against her forehead. 

“I don’t want to die,” she breathes quietly.

“You won’t.”

His response is immediate, and harsher than he intended it to be. Though, he softens when he sees the tears pooling in her eyes. Her gaze is looking up, almost meeting the T visor of his helmet, and he knows she’s trying hard to find any sort of light reflecting off of his beskar. 

“You won’t,” he repeats, softer this time, “The kid, he needs you.”

There’s a long pause after what he says, and through his peripherals Din can see Cara glance at him for the briefest moment.

“We both do,” Din spokes softly, and the words leave him slowly as he wills himself to try and not sound so afraid.

She gulps again, heavy and loud as she tries to both inhale and exhale. He’s glad that her grip on his hand hasn’t faltered, but he still wishes it would get stronger. He hates how fragile she looks, pale and covered in sweat, dirt and blood. It’s an image of her he hopes to never remember. Din wills himself to look away from her, instead glancing at Cara. The Alderaanian is sighing out, hands now resting on her thighs. 

“I did the best I could,” Cara’s voice is soft and Din can’t help that his eyes move to look at his companion’s abdomen, now patched and covered with semi-bloodied gauze and a large bacta patch. 

He nods at Cara, hoping that it is enough for her to understand just how thankful he is in that moment because he’s afraid his words will fail him. Cara gives him a tight-lipped smile, and a curt nod in understanding, as she moves out of the small building.

Din moves his legs out from under himself, stretching them so the woman lies between them. Her breathing is much more relax, and although she looks much more comfortable Din is still worried at how pale she looks from the blood loss. The panic that had been sitting in the back of his throat is still there, taunting him.

“I’m sorry,” her voice is getting weaker, he notes. But more surprising than that, he’s shocked she’s apologizing at all. He had failed her, and here she lied - in a pool of her own blood - apologizing to him. His silence prompts her to continue, and she’s still swallowing thickly in between her words, “I wish I was as strong as you.”

She truly was an oddity to him. Someone who was fragile yet capable, soft yet strong, both the calm and the storm. She was his sun, moon and stars. 

He didn’t deserve her.

“I’m the one who failed,” Din’s voice is soft, almost pleading, as it meets her ears. He doesn’t understand, and he wishes he could be upset with her for thinking something so stupid. He failed her, he wasn’t worth the apology that left her lips and if she knew what was good for her she would leave his company if she lived through this (when she lives through this, he wills himself to think). But he knows her, better than anyone would be able to guess. He knew that she would never leave him, nor the child. She was too good, and Din was too selfish. Because he didn’t want her to leave him either.

She whispers a no, her eyes slowly slipping close, “You protected me, that is enough.”

The exhaustion begins to catch up to them both, and Din pulls her closer as she slouches more into him. He clenches his jaw tight, teeth grinding against each other as the persistent burn in his throat actually makes him want to cry out to her.

“Thank you.”

[fortunefavorstheway]

Fortuna Chapters 1 & 2

AO3 link

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12k+

Din/OC

Din wakes up with a cold, he’s out of medicine, and the closest shops are sold out. He seeks out a blind healer living in the mountains and ends up getting more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, the Child makes absolutely sure the helmet stays on while Dad’s sleeping.

Long buildup of caretaking and fluff, ends with masturbation

When the Mandalorian woke up with a sore throat, his first instinct was to ignore it like always.

His developing paternal instincts swiftly squashed that first instinct. The sore throat did not go away after a meal and a couple of hours, so it wasn't fatigue. As he coughed from the growing itch in his throat and felt his face warm up, he knew that the first priority was to make sure the Child didn't catch anything, followed by getting well as soon as possible.

Din peered into the crate that currently served as the kid's cradle. Nestled among the blankets, he was still fast asleep, one hand outside the covers rising and falling on his chest as he breathed slowly and evenly. Smiling, he resisted the urge to get any closer in his present condition, and returned to the lower level. Opening his med-pack, he groaned when he saw the only medication available was a single dose of painkillers rattling around. He considered swallowing some bacta gel instead, but if there were unintended side effects there'd be no one left to take care of the kid. He wondered if he should save the painkillers for the kid, but dismissed it; it was too high of a dose of too strong a medicine for his ad'ika. He sighed and regretted it as it nearly became a cough. His carelessness had left his clan vulnerable to a simple cold, and he should've restocked sooner, but credits and discretion had both been scarce since they'd begun their journey to seek out the Jedi.

He tightened his fists with resolve, but weariness weighed down his limbs. He took the painkiller with water and then set about disinfecting everything on the ship, starting with his own clothes and armor. His limbs felt less tired as the painkiller did its work, but his skin was still warm with sweat. It only got worse as he slipped back into his clothes and armor, but if it meant the Child was safe from his sickness, he'd gladly endure the discomfort.

Weapons were last. He had finished disinfecting them and was about to begin regular maintenance when he heard the Child fussing. "Ad'ika," he croaked, hoarser than he anticipated. He grabbed some food and water and returned to the crate, where the Child was sitting up and holding his arms out, cooing with urgency. Din was more than happy to oblige.

"Ahh," the Child whined, pushing at the helmet. Ever since Din had made the adoption vow and revealed his face to the Child, the Child had grown used to him having his helmet off when they were alone.

"Not now ad'ika," Din said, sniffing as his nose stuffed up. "I'm sick and I don't want you to catch it."

The Child stopped pushing at the helmet, but didn't remove his hands entirely. His ears drooped in concern and he tilted his head before leaning against Din's chest. Something about Din's breathing must've been off, because the way the Child's brow furrowed was almost funny for how out of place it was on the face of a baby. The Child straightened and his ears perked as he held up his hands and reached towards his father.

"No!" Din said, startling the Child. "It's too much to ask for something as small as this." The Child's ears drooped once again and he pouted, eyes shining as he whimpered protests. Din sighed, and this time he couldn't stop it from turning into a cough. Once his body settled, he gently took the Child's hands in his own and then held him close as the Child had his breakfast. Once that was done, he continued to hold the Child close to him as he went up to the cockpit to navigate.

His throat wasn't as sore as earlier, so he felt comfortable talking to the Child as usual. "We're gonna need to re-stock on some medical supplies and refuel the ship. We're far from Imperial presence out here so we can go somewhere industrial, but even then, we'd better stick to somewhere that has a lower population density," he said, bringing up the map. The Child relaxed at this familiar routine, bouncing side to side in his embrace, and giving a small cheer as Din unscrewed the ball and handed it to him. He kept giving commentary as he went through each planet. "Too backwater, we won't be able to restock here... terrain is too dangerous and there's a strong criminal presence, so our ship would get scrapped immediately... this one would be perfect if we had enough fuel to get there..." On and on it went, and Din felt a steady fuzz taking over his brain. The next planet he checked, however, gave him pause. "Lisera." He selected it and read through the specs. "Mostly mountains, but they've got a small trade center in this valley that's away from any active volcanoes or earthquake zones," he leaned back into his chair and set the coordinates. "I'd say it's our best bet, what do you think ad'ika?"

"Eh!" the Child agreed.

-----

"I'm sorry, but we're out of medicine."

It was a mixed blessing that the cold and painkiller dulled his senses, or else Din might've done something truly regrettable right then and there. Instead, he said, "When will you restock?"

"I don't know. None of the other vendors have any stock either," the vendor forced a sympathetic smile. "You arrived at a bad time I'm afraid. A trade dispute higher up in this territory meant certain goods are a lot scarcer, and most of the residents here stocked up in case. Had you arrived one week earlier-"

"It's fine," Din said. It was something out of both of their controls, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. He'd hoped to get everything done in one stop, and the idea of having to spend more credits for fuel just to find medicine was making his stomach churn. At that, a coughing fit surged through him, and he struggled to keep his hold on the Child. The Child, in turn, drummed on his chest in a state of alarm, anxious to do something, anything that would help his father feel better.

The vendor winced at the Mandalorian's current state, then said, "If I may make a suggestion, Mandalorian," she turned her head towards the mountains. "There's a healer, Silla, who lives up in the mountains. She sometimes comes down here to sell some medicine and herbs, but in your circumstances it'd be faster to seek her out."

Din cleared his throat. "How much will it cost?"

The vendor frowned. "I've never been a patient of hers, but I've heard she's generous and willing to barter services. I will caution you however," she dropped her voice low, "I've also heard rumors that she has mystical powers. For a blind woman, even for a regular person, her diagnoses are inhumanly accurate, and they say similar things about how powerful the stuff she brews is."

Din considered this, his free hand cradling his child's head closer to his chest. If this woman was a sorceress, maybe he had a lead on finding the Child's kind. "Has anything bad ever happened to any of her patients?"

The vendor shook her head. "I've witnessed the occasional arguments when she comes down to trade, but otherwise no. It might just be that she's a stranger on this planet, and people talk." Sensing the Mandalorian's next question, the vendor said, "She arrived a few standard months ago on a cargo ship and almost immediately went for the mountains."

A freelancer who likely wanted to stay hidden. Din would have to be on his guard. "Thank you. Where in the mountains does she live?"

"Follow the path and you'll eventually find her. You'll know you're getting close from the smell," the vendor said. "A piece of advice: Under no circumstances are you to stray from the marked path, unless you want to be eaten, lost, or crushed." The vendor glanced up at the sky, where the sun was high enough to cast short shadows on the ground. "If you start now, you should be able to find her before nightfall."

Din nodded his thanks, and turned to start his way up the mountain.

-----

It was only until the town was out of sight that Din felt the painkiller begin to wear off. He wasn't aware of any pain or discomfort while he was moving, but the moment he stopped to catch his breath, fatigue seized his body and the sweat soaking his clothes felt heavier than his armor. He wished he could set his child down to give his arm a rest, but if they were this far and he still hadn't found the healer, then he couldn't afford to walk any slower. He switched which arm was holding whenever he began to feel tired, but the frequency of his switches was increasing. The Child, normally so curious about every new sight, was unusually subdued, as if sensing his father's distress. Every once in a while Din caught his child raising his hands, only to gently grasp and lightly squeeze them in his own in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

His throat felt parched and hot, but when he took a sip from his canteen he coughed at how scratchy it felt. How bad was it that it would hurt to drink plain water? The Child reached for the canteen, and Din almost gave it to him on reflex before he stopped. He needed to disinfect it first, and he fumbled around his pockets for where he would keep the alcohol wipes, only to come up empty. He wanted to grind his teeth at how stupidly unprepared he was, but that would only worsen his headache. The Child whimpered and a faint rumble came from his belly, so Din put his canteen back and grabbed the bottle of ration bar mush he prepared when they both had to be away from the ship. The Child wrinkled his nose at the familiar smell, but Din didn't have the energy to argue, simply pushing the tip of the bottle at his child's mouth until the infant's hunger won out and he began drinking from the bottle.

The sun was still up, but much closer to the horizon than when Din had first started. He stared at the railings on the mountain path above him, tempted to scale them to save time, but aside from the vendor's stern warning and the wire nets that held back rocks, there was no way he could do it with in his sweating, aching condition. His limbs were burning as he kept climbing and climbing but he still couldn't see any signs of the healer. The vendor had said he'd smell it when he was near, but as the snot dripping from his nose was making that difficult. Every drop that slid down his upper lip seemed to replace his fatigue with sheer rage and frustration, but all he could do was keep climbing, even as the inside of his helmet smelled more and more like raw bantha meat. The child soon fell asleep, and was wrapped in a makeshift carrier from Din's cape.

Din wanted to feel relieved as the sun began to set and the air cooled, but once it was too dark, Din would need to make camp for the night and delay medical treatment, and being exposed to the elements, even in his armor, wouldn't help any. The Child stirred and shivered but didn't wake, and Din found the resolve to walk still a few more steps. How could he protect his son if he was sick like this?

The sun was touching the horizon when Din smelled it, even through the congestion. It was a spicy smell that reminded him of the food the tribe served, and his nose itched at its presence. He picked up the pace and Din could've cried when he saw a light in the distance. Energy rushing to his limbs with the knowledge that his destination was in sight, he found himself in a flat clearing where the healer had set up camp. Past a single light where the path first entered the clearing, there was a large tent. Next to it there was a low line with clothes and a high line with plants, fish, and meat hung to dry. The fireplace wasn't going right now, but a black kettle hung over it.

His body was begging for sleep now that Din had paused, but not yet. He went up to the tent and knocked on the front panel, but nobody answered. "Hello?" he called out in a cracked voice, hoping he was loud enough to be heard but not too loud to wake his child. Still no response. He stepped into the tent and his heart dropped upon seeing it empty. There were shelves of glass bottles and various instruments strewn about, but Din didn't have the energy to focus on those right now. Instead, his eyes turned to the bedding on the floor, and he felt himself floating towards it as he his strength dwindled to nothing. Even if the healer was out, having a comfortable place to sleep after such a long journey would do for the night.

This, of course, was the moment the Child chose to wake up, and Din sighed long and low when those adorable green ears perked up. The Child did not fuss or cry, but turned his head outwards and began reaching for something out there. At this, Din stilled, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. We're being watched. Much as it ached to do so, he switched on the thermal tracking. There were no footprints in the tent except the ones he'd made, so he stepped outside. Scanning the ground, he still found nothing. As he remembered how Cara had jumped from above, he barely picked up the sound of wood creaking above the clearing. He whipped his head up towards and got his hand on his blaster, confirming a humanoid heat signature up in the trees. The tightening in his chest triggered another coughing fit, and with the sudden dizziness from his head movement Din struggled to keep his balance. The Child cried as he fell, though he managed to roll so his child did not get crushed underneath.

The figure climbed down from the trees, and after he switched off thermal vision he struggled to keep his eyes open as they approached. They were dressed in white robes and knelt before him. "Can you stand?" a soft, low voice asked. Another coughing fit and he strained to get his legs to straighten, but soon he was leaning on the healer as she led him back into the tent. He set his rifle to the side while she laid him on the bed and gently shushed the Child. "Your guardian needs rest. You can stay with him, but I'll need you to move." The Child barely paid attention to her, clinging to Din's chest with all his might, whimpering in distress.

As the darkness overtook his vision, Din murmured, "Helmet... stays on." Clutching his child's hands to his chest and weakly patting his back, Din's eyelids fell shut and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

-----

If this one insisted on keeping his helmet on, then he was more likely a true Mandalorian than a mercenary simply wearing the shell of one. Silla wondered if instead it might be an urgent need to keep a criminal identity secret, until she knelt down to pick the child off of his guardian and a pendant brushed against her gloved fingertips. The Child cried out and seized the pendant, putting it in their mouth while their other hand clung to his guardian's chest. "Ah, it's yours then." Holding out her hand, she asked, "May I hold it for a short while? I want to know it's shape." When the child's answering noise was full of caution, she added, "You can hold it, and I'll let it go after a few seconds. I can tell that it's important to you." She smiled warmly, and after a moment's hesitation, the child removed the pendant from their mouth and held it out to Silla. Brushing her fingertips on the metal, her smile broadened when she recognized the shape. "A mythosaur skull. So you are a Mandalorian too?" When the child cooed in the affirmative, she let go of the pendant and brushed a hand along their head, feeling the light hair on top of thick, but soft skin, with their ears being the softest of all. "I must say, you are the most adorable Mandalorian I've ever met." The child giggled as she stroked their ears, but soon became distressed again when she held their waist to lift them away from their father.

"Now now, I need to change his shirt for a dry one so he can sleep comfortably tonight," Silla said. The child's weak whine said that letting go was out of the question. "Why don't you sit where his helmet is? I'll be moving him around a lot, and it might come loose. Can you help me make sure it stays on?" She moved her hand to the bottom of the helmet as if to take it off, at which the child gave a high-pitched shriek and launched themself onto the helmet, growling as menacingly as he could but to Silla's ears sounding like a tookit. "That's a start. Can he breathe like that?" The child went silent, slid down so they were laying on the pillow and clinging to the side of the helmet, the sounds they made softer than the earlier growls, but that nonetheless told the healer that they were watching her. Silla smiled. "Wonderful. You're such a good child."

The cape, boots, gloves, and pauldrons were the easiest and removed first, and Silla smiled when she felt the raised sigil on the right pauldron. A mudhorn skull? The bandolier and cuirass would be a challenge. She had to dig for the straps both on his shoulders and sides, and to remove them completely, she had to lift his shoulders up while keeping his head and neck steady, no small feat even if the child weren't clinging to his helmet as if both their lives depended on it. She unzipped his armorweave jacket and pulled his arms out of it, and finally reached the damp undershirt. Silla wrinkled her nose at the scent of disinfectant mixed with musk, and remembered her sisters complaining about how dirty "boy clean" was. She managed to move his arms and get them out just as she'd done with the armorweave outer layer, but now she had to slip it over his helmet.

"Can you help me?" she asked the child, moving her hand to the side where they were holding on. The child made a chirp, then got up and shuffled to the top of the helmet, where a slight movement and light pressure told Silla that it would be safe to remove the shirt now. It was a struggle to stretch it over and Silla winced when she heard some threads snap, but they managed to get the undershirt off while keeping the helmet in place. Throughout all of this movement the patient didn't even stir, to both Silla's relief and alarm as she recognized the signs of acute fatigue. He must've been determined to make the climb from the town to her tent, and given how tightly his child clung to him, she had to admire his dedication.

"Good job, thank you," she told the child. The child replied with a happy coo and reached up for the undershirt. "Ah, no, this needs to be cleaned," Silla said, tossing the shirt into her laundry basket. "How about the cape your father carried you here with?" Placing the blanket over the Mandalorian and wrapping the child in his cape, the first order of business was checking her patient's vitals. His skin was cool and but the monitor read his temperature as high, so his fever hadn't broken yet, and the sweat was likely from his hike. Otherwise, his signs were within normal limits.

After she wiped down her monitor with disinfectant, Silla grabbed a clean, dry towel and uncovered her patient, gently patting away all the sweat. Now that he'd been stripped of his armor, it allowed her to take him in more clearly. Though people knew of her as the blind healer, that wasn't entirely accurate. She could no longer see the surface details like most others, but she could see the energy, the Force even, that pulsed throughout the universe. She could see the disruptions in people where their bodies held pain and tension, and she could see when their souls were red with malice, no matter how soft their spoken words tried to hide it. Experience had taught her that it was easier to explain her observations using her other refined senses, because if she told others about her special sight, they were more likely to pry into vulnerable areas.

When she had first heard the ship fly overhead, she had finished her chores as quickly as possible and then climbed to her tree stand to observe in case it was a brigand. She was relieved at first to see a weary grey soul wander into her camp, but the bundle he carried made her pause. She had seen children before, and no matter what the state of their souls were in, the colors were intense. Mostly white, but when a child had red in their souls, it was like a firework, as intense as it was impermanent. The intensity of the white in this child's soul, however, was brighter than she had ever seen in any living creature, and it made her cautious. White could mean innocence instead of goodness, and neither of those were the same as harmless, so it wasn't until the Mandalorian had fallen to his knees and she heard the child cry out for his father that she felt it safe to descend.

As she continued moving the towel over her patient, her eyes turned to the beacon of light wrapped up in his father's cape, their hold on the helmet more like a comfort-seeking embrace than a protective cling. Her patient's energy was muted, as expected of someone who was ill, but it was unmistakably white. Even when he had reached for his weapon, no red had tainted his soul, his faded energy instead surging with brightness for a brief moment. There were several disruptions that she noted now, injuries and aches that he'd likely powered through to keep providing for his son, not knowing that he was putting the both of them in long-term jeopardy. As she placed her gloved hand directly onto his skin, the extent of his injuries and neglect became clear, and that was just on his torso. Still, he had a solid foundation, a body that had been trained well and experienced a lot of combat. Perhaps with some persuasion, after he recovered from his illness he could do some maintenance. The Mandalorian groaned and Silla flinched, realizing she'd held her hand to his bare torso far longer than necessary She finished patting him dry and got up, throwing the towel into the basket to join his sweaty shirt, and got a cloth patient robe from her supplies. She slipped his arms through the sleeves, and finally, she covered him back up with the blanket.

"Child," she whispered, "I have another bed for you to sleep in." The child's soul flared with oncoming refusal, so she continued. "You might get sick if you sleep near your father tonight, and your father would be upset if that were to happen."

The child made a noise of reluctant understanding, and Silla wondered how old the child was for them to be so intelligent and yet so quiet. "If you stay healthy, it would make him happy, and he'll get better faster." She knelt down and patted an area a few feet from where the Mandalorian was sleeping. "It would be dangerous to sleep on top of him, but I can put a bed for you here so you can sleep close to him. What do you think?"

The child tilted their head in consideration of this offer, then let go of the helmet, giving it a solemn pat before waddling over to where Silla was kneeling. They opened their mouth to say something, only for their stomach to rumble. Whatever the child wanted to say turned into pained whimpers.

Silla smiled. "Of course I can make you dinner. Food is medicine too, you know."

-----

The sound of wind and the soft light through his helmet made Din momentarily panic when he woke up, but the smell of spice and cooking food brought back his memory of the day before. The fact that he could even smell at all through his helmet was a relief, though now he was stuck with one nostril that could breathe fine while the other one was completely blocked. He sat up and found his body feeling lighter, his skin no longer a steaming hot prison, and he briefly froze when he saw that his shirt had been changed for a robe that was open at the back. His helmet was still on, and the rest of his clothes and armor were placed neatly at the foot of his bed. And the kid? A basket sat near the pillow, and Din looked inside and found his child sleeping on top of a folded blanket, wrapped in his cape. He reached a hand out to stroke his head but stopped when he saw his bare hands. Not yet.

Now that he had the energy to keep his balance and his eyes open, he got a good look around the tent. Opposite of him and the kid was a hammock with a fur throw inside. Around the perimeter were bags filled with various plants likely harvested from the mountain. In the center of the tent was a firepit that had been dug into the ground, filled with sand, and lined with stone. A large steel pot was boiling above a steady fire, and smaller pots of clay and steel cooked on top of a grill over a separate fire in the corner of the pit. Around the pit was a dense woven wire barrier, and Din blinked. Had that been there yesterday?

At the wall farthest from the door was a hovercraft. Drawers and shelves folded out of it and on the shelves were various glass jars containing what looked like dried herbs, cooking spices, and other medicinal materials. A table was laid out on top of it all, cooking and medical utensils strewn about on faded white cloth. His lip quirked when he noticed a snake submerged in a dark liquid in one of the larger glass bottles. Would it catch the kid’s eye and stomach?

The crunch of footsteps on earth accompanied by the tock tock of a walking stick approached the tent and Silla stepped through the entrance carrying a few bags. She paused, her head first turning towards the Mandalorian, and then towards the basket. “Good morning,” she whispered.

The Mandalorian nodded, then he remembered. “Good morning,” he whispered back.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he said. “Lighter. I can breathe easier but-” As if on cue, his body was shaken with coughs, his ribs straining as he struggled to keep them quiet. His mouth and nose filled with phlegm, and he sucked swallowed it back in with a grimace.

Silla nodded. “I’m going to prepare breakfast and some other medicines. We can discuss further treatment and payment while you...” She paused, her mouth hanging open as she remembered. “You can eat while I take care of a few things around the campsite, and when you’re done, call for me and we’ll talk.”

“Okay.” With a nod, Silla set her bags down below her hammock and switched her leather gloves for rubber ones. She took some clean towels out of a basket and lifted the smaller pots from the fire pit, then returned to scoop some hot water from the large pot into a small saucepan. She brought everything over to her hovercraft workstation, and soon the tent was filled with the ambient sounds of cooking: pouring liquid, sliding drawers, the clink of metal against glass, and chopping.

While Silla focused on her work, Din’s eyes focused on her, gathering as much detail as he could now that his vision was no longer clouded by fever or fatigue. Loose-fitting pants were tucked into dark leather boots, and over that she wore a long tunic that was tied at waist and had a hood. Her hair was completely wrapped in a scarf that sat tight and high on her head, and a blindfold that covered her eyes and eyebrows tucked into the scarf. Except for the black blindfold, all of the cloth covering her body was light gray. It matched her pale skin, and it was here that Din drifted from observation to guesswork. She looked young, but the quiet confidence in her stance, the way she spoke, and the way she moved reminded him of someone closer to Omera’s age. Right now, he was most impressed with how quickly she chopped the vegetables and flung them into a pot with a flick of her knife. Soon, she was scooping the food into small bowls and laying out two trays, one for him and one for the Child. She brought both of them over to the bed, setting it down near the basket where the Child still slept, while she knelt on the floor.

“I advise you to finish as much as you can. You were suffering from acute fatigue when you collapsed here last night, and everything here is meant to restore your strength and clear your airways as much as possible,” she gestured to the tray. There was meat and vegetable stew that was red with spice, rice porridge, a mug of tea, and a spoonful of dark syrup. “The two things that are non-negotiable are the syrup and the tea. The syrup will taste awful, but it’ll expel the mucus in your lungs and help soothe your throat. That will make it easier to drink the tea, which has a medicine dissolved in it that should help you breathe through both nostrils again.” She brought out a box of tissues and a large metal thermos. “Here’s more water if you need it. What questions or concerns do you have?”

Din eyed the syrup dubiously, vague memories of his illnesses as a foundling and even vaguer memories of his illnesses as a youngling and of the bitter, sickly sweet medicines he had no choice but to take. Surely he could maintain a poker face now, but just to be sure, he asked, “You said they're going to clear my nose and throat?” Silla nodded in response. “How much coughing and sneezing will they trigger?”

The corner of Silla’s mouth quirked upward. “Even outside, I’m going to know if you don’t take the medicine as directed,” she said. She straightened, realizing his concern. “Your child has been sleeping soundly since I put him to bed last night. The tissues can help muffle your cough. That said, do you want me to move him to the other side of the tent so he can continue sleeping?”

Din sighed as he considered it. The viciously protective part of him did not want to be separated from his child more than necessary. The pragmatic part of him said that if the Child woke up while his helmet was off, there was no way he could hold and comfort the kid without potentially infecting him. “Other side of the tent, not under the hammock,” he said. “Just in case.”

If Silla was insulted by the implication, she didn’t show it, instead smiling as she turned to gently pick up the basket and slowly stood from her kneeling position. With steady, fluid steps she brought the basket where Din had requested. Reaching into her tunic, she brought out a metal ball the size of a fist, and Din stiffened as she set it near the child. Then he heard the turn of a mechanical key, and as a soft metallic tune played throughout the tent, his shoulders relaxed. Silla’s went back to her workstation, rummaged through the drawers, and brought a few towels and a spray bottle back to Din. “I imagine you’ll want to clean your helmet after all that it’s absorbed for the past half day or so. This disinfectant can also be used on your hands before you eat,” she set them down. “You can leave your trash on the tray. What else will you need?”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Din said. “Thank you.”

Silla’s smile this time flashed a small bit of teeth, and he found himself weakly returning one of his own. “I’ll be right outside. Call me if you need anything,” she said. Once she ducked out of the tent, he checked to make sure the cover on his window was secure, and he waited until he heard the sound of carving wood to finally, finally take the helmet off.

Just being able to breathe in fresh air that wasn’t saturated with his own snot was clearing his head already, and first he sprayed as much disinfectant as he felt comfortable with inside his helmet on the more-than-off chance the unexpected happened. Setting it aside, he blew his nose and lightly coughed into a tissue to clear himself as much as possible for what was to come next. After spraying his hands, he picked up the large spoon with the syrup, grimacing at the sickly bittersweet smell of it as he brought it up to his mouth. Before he could psyche himself out any further, he stuck the whole thing in his mouth and swallowed. A burst of bitter cold hit Din’s chest and tongue as his face squashed painfully, and he managed to grab a tissue as a series of violent coughs burst out of his lungs. Over the rattling noise of his own body, he could’ve sworn he heard Silla murmur, “Ah, there it is” with an amused smile in her voice. Then, as the syrup aftertaste lingered on his tongue, he swallowed and found that the scratchiness was all gone. When he took an experimental breath in through his mouth, he found it didn’t trigger a cough either, not even an itch in his throat. Glancing over at the basket, he listened for any signs of the kid stirring, but after a minute of silence, Din sighed and got to work on the rest of his meal.

After the punch of the syrup, the tea was nothing. What bitterness the medicine had was blended with a spicy sweetness and a citrus flavor that reminded him of shig. Pouring himself more hot water, he dipped the syrup spoon into the mug to make sure he got all of it, then when he finished that cup he poured another one to wash out the aftertastel. The warmth traveled to his head and chest, and once the tingling hit his nose, he was a lot better prepared for the sneezes that followed. Afterwards, he was able to fully breathe through both nostrils, and with his renewed energy he found himself more ravenous than he expected. He tried to savor the porridge and the stew as the first non-ration meal he’d eaten in ages, but they quickly vanished from their bowls and he poured himself another cup of water to wash it all down.

The sigh Din released this time was one of satisfaction. He soaked one of the towels he’d been given in hot water, using it to scrub his teeth and his face. He was overdue for a shave, but that could wait until he got back to the ship. At the quiet he realized that the music box had stopped playing a while back, and he listened again for any signs that the kid was awake. Still silent.

Well, it was time for breakfast anyway, but before he could wake the kid, he needed to get dressed. Din gently nudged an arm out the tent window, making sure the flap stayed mostly shut. “Silla, could I have my shirt back?” he called out.

“Of course. One moment.” She went away from the tent and he heard the sound of rope twisting and the flutter of fabric, and then Silla came to the window and placed the shirt in his hand.

“Thank you.” It smelled fresh and he sighed at how cool it was when he slipped back on, but he didn’t linger on the feeling long as he closed his jacket and got his armor and boots on. After he got his gloves on, he gave his helmet one last wipedown with a damp, still hot towel. A deep breath, filling his clear airways with one last gulp of the mountain air, and Din slipped it back over his head.

He picked up the tray with the kid’s food and went over to the basket. The Child was stirring a bit, bunching up the cape in his hands and chewing on a corner, his eyes still closed as he made some soft smacking noises. Din smiled, reaching in running a finger gently over the kid’s forehead and cheeks, and at that, the Child woke up. “Ah,” he cooed, reaching up to be held, still clutching the cape in his hands. Din happily complied, and the Child patted his helmet and chest, as if sensing his renewed spirits.

“Yeah, I’m better now,” Din said. “Still gonna keep this on even when we’re alone just to be safe, okay?” The kid pouted a bit, but the sight and smell of breakfast brought back his good mood immediately. Din got a bit of porridge into the spoon, but the kid ignored it and grabbed the bowl, gulping it down. He made quick work of the stew too, and all Din had left to do was wipe at the kid’s chin to make sure his clothes didn’t get too dirty. “Slow down, or you’ll choke,” he said

To which his ad’ika only gave an indignant “Hrmph!” and tilted the bowl almost upside down to get the last few drops of stew. Another wet towel to wipe down the Child’s face and scrub his teeth, and Din called out to Silla that he was ready for her. He could’ve done so earlier, but he wanted to relish some quiet time with his child a bit more, and he dreaded what the cost of medical treatment including a night’s stay and breakfast would be.

“I heard your purse when I put you to bed last night, and I imagine you’re in financial straits at the moment,” Silla said, not unkindly. “In such cases, the payment I ask is that you help me make my rounds around the mountain this morning. If you wish to stay for lunch, you will accompany me into town while l take care of business there. If you wish to stay another night, I will lead you back up the mountain--I can do it even after sunset--and you will help me with anything that remains.”

Bartering services. Just as the vendor had said. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Silla smiled, then continued, “I mentioned further treatment before breakfast. While your cold should definitely be gone by the end of the day, your body is under a great deal of stress. Without proper rest, you’ll continue to be vulnerable to illness and your recovery times will be longer than if you were healthy. When do you need to leave Lisera?”

Din wanted to say “after the morning rounds”, but he thought about it. He was unlikely to find room, board, and medical care for this kind of a bargain anywhere else that he could reach with his remaining fuel and credits he had left. There wasn’t any significant criminal activity that he’d observed, let alone Imperial presence, and since he kept the kid close to him, he’d be prepared for any rogue bounty hunters. For long term gain, he could afford to stay for a few days. He looked at Silla’s face, an enigmatic smile gracing her lips, and for a moment he felt a chill, as if she could see right through his helmet and into his mind. Was this why the others thought her a witch? He wanted to observe a while longer before he brought up the subject. No need for her to think his kid was anything but his kid.

As if sensing his thoughts, the kid wriggled out of his grasp, waddling towards the music box and giving it a light teething before holding it out to Silla. Her smile warmed as she wound it up again, and the Child squealed with delight before resuming his gnawing.

“Your child was such a good assistant, holding onto your helmet to make sure it didn’t come off last night,” Silla said. “You should feel proud.” The child stopped gnawing for a bit and glanced up at Din, ears perked.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, patting the kid’s head and earning a happy coo. “I’ll see how I feel after this morning.”

Silla nodded and then stood. “First order of business then,” she said. “Get some hot water from that big pot and clean these dishes.”

-----

The morning in the mountains felt as much like meditation as it did work. Din was reminded of those precious few weeks he’d spent on Sorgan as they hiked through the mountains, Silla bringing a wheeled cooler that had a tray on top for her to set some cloth bags. She wore her hood up to block the sun and had a multi-purpose shovel strapped to her back.

Silla had given him a bag padded with a small blanket so that he could carry the kid over his chest, but every time they stopped to forage for food the Child insisted on jumping out to help and explore. On one occasion Silla had stopped him from picking up a poisonous mushroom, and Din couldn’t help but ask, “How could you tell?”

Silla smiled. “I know where they grow,” she said, “and how they smell.” She then plucked a few blades of grass and folded them together to make throwing stars, and presented them to the child, tossing one in the air to demonstrate. The Child’s happy peals echoed throughout the mountain and it was all but impossible to get him back in the bag after that. He threw the stars on the path ahead and then dashed to retrieve them. Keeping up with the Child as he continued this cycle still let them make their way through the mountain at a steady pace.

After what happened with the mushrooms, however, Din picked up on something, and he walked closer to Silla to silently confirm it. Whenever she came to the next plant to harvest, he could see her turn her head first, then she would sniff to confirm her findings before she touched the plant. As they approached a riverbank, he could see some apples growing on the trees far overhead, and when he looked at her, he could see her craning her head as if to look at them too.

Once they were underneath one of the trees, Silla said, “I usually climb up there to harvest those, but I’ve already gotten the lower hanging ones and it’s becoming increasingly difficult.” She turned towards him. “Do you have anything with you that could get them down?”

Din shot his whipcord at one of the apples, only for it to go straight through, and the broken pieces fell to the ground with a soft splat. Silla smiled with a sigh. “Maybe that can make it easier for you to climb up there, but it’s not necessary.”

The Child had paused ahead on the trail, seeing that Dad and Soft One had stopped. Gathering his stars he shuffled back to where they were standing, and he looked up to see what they were looking at. Ah! He knew the round sweets that hung above them, and it sounded like Father and Soft One were confused about how to get them. He held his hands up, seeing where the sweets clung to the tree. To me! To me!

The branches above rustled and Silla’s mouth dropped as an apple fell, and she held out her hands to catch it. “That was… very lucky,” she said in a mystified voice. Turning towards the Child, she scooped him up in her arms. “Did you do this?” she asked, holding the apple to his mouth. The Child dropped the stars to grab the apple, then cried out for his fallen stars. Silla laughed and picked them up, tucking them into a fold in his hood. “Can you do that again?”

“I don’t think-” Din said, the Child held up a hand and this time an apple fell for his father to catch. It was one of the easiest things he’d ever done, since all he had to do was give a little twist and the fruit would fall on its own.

Din watched Silla closely for her reaction. Her smile looked genuine, but when she spoke next, her trembling voice betrayed her. “You really are such a precious one aren’t you?”

They were deep in the woods and likely had privacy, but Din did a quick scan of the area just in case. Once he confirmed they were alone, he said, “Silla, how much can you see with your eyes?”

She went still, then turned towards Din. “What do you mean?”

Din shared his observations with her, how her body language seemed to use sight first before her other senses, and how quickly she’d drawn the conclusion that it was the kid who’d made the apple fall. “I’ve never met a blind person who moves as you do,” he concluded.

“Hm. Makes me wonder how many blind people you’ve met,” Silla said, lightly bouncing the Child in her arms as the air grew tense. “I will say, you’ve made your observations a lot more politely than most.” She brought up her hand to run them across the black blindfold. “I don’t see in as much detail as most others,” she explained. “I mostly can see the shapes of things. As for how I concluded that your Child got that apple,” she took a deep breath and faced him, and he could see her internally calculating if it was worth the risk to tell him. Another deep breath breath, and she continued, “I can see the energy present in all living things, and sometimes in the non-living, though that’s more restricted. There are some who call this energy the Force.” She went on to list a few of the colors she could see and what they meant, and then she addressed the apple. “For a moment, the Force in the tree seemed to have sparked as a thread in a brilliant white like your Child’s tied itself to one of the apple stems. I couldn’t believe it, so I asked him to do it again, thinking I just imagined it. But that same thread and spark happened again, and this time I could see the way it came from his body.” She sighed, then smiled at the Child. “You, I must say, have the honors of being the most adorable Mandalorian and the most adorable Force-user I’ve ever met.” The Child’s ears wiggled at the praise.

“Can you teach him?” Din said with urgency. “I’ve been searching for a Jedi who can-”

“I’m no Jedi,” Silla interrupted, “and I’m afraid my use of the Force is limited.” She reached up to touch the blindfold again. “I wasn’t born this way, but after an… accident with a more powerful Force user, I wound up with this form of sight in exchange for the normal kind.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I cannot be the one to teach this child.”

Din wasn’t as disappointed by the news as he thought he’d be. It was the strongest lead he’d had in a while. “Even so, I could use someone like you as my crew,” he offered. Silla’s spine straightened in surprise, and she stopped bouncing the child. “I need someone to look after him while I run jobs, and with you could make sure we--especially him--stay healthy.” Her mouth had dropped open again and she remained silent. “The pay is… sporadic, but I can give you a cut of every job, and you’d have food and shelter.”

The silence stretched on and Din found himself wishing he could see her eyes to get more information of how she was feeling, and then he wondered if she could see his embarrassment and desperation. Her mouth snapped shut and she said in an even tone, “You’ve had to leave your son alone in your ship?”

He couldn’t stop himself from ducking his head. “I take him with me when I can, but most of the time it’s too dangerous,” he said. “The Empire is after him for what he can do, and it’s usually a choice between which one means he’s safer with.”

Her jaw tightened and Din braced himself for a more scolding of his parenting, but then Silla nodded. “Yes, yes I would gladly join your crew. I’ve seen-” she stopped, then hugged the Child close to her. “Just one thing. Could we leave tomorrow? I want to forage one last time on a different part of the mountain, so we can stock up.”

“Yes,” Din answered, and her face finally relaxed into a small smile.

-----

With the Child’s help, they gathered enough apples to fill a small bag, and soon after the Child nodded off from the most practice he’d gotten in a while. Just as well, because when they got close to the net that had been set up near the river bank, Din saw a buffet of amphibious and aquatic life that would’ve sent the kid into a feeding frenzy. Silla opened the cooler to reveal it was filled with water in three separate compartments, and the two of them gathered enough crayfish, crab, and fish to fill all compartments to half capacity each. Din reached down to seize a frog that fit in his palm, and when Silla saw, she said, “Oh, they don’t eat those here.”

“No, but he likes eating these raw,” he said, gesturing to the baby sleeping on his chest.

The corner of Silla’s mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t recommend it,” she said. “Unless he has an incredibly strong immune system, raw animals often contain parasites.” Din went frozen with dawning horror, and she continued, “If it’s any consolation, I don’t see any Force signatures of other lifeforms in his body. She glanced in the cooler. There weren’t any compartments remaining, but she grabbed a cloth bag and went to the shore. Finding a small, flat piece of driftwood floating in the water, she placed it inside the bag, then soaked the bag in water. “We can put the frogs in here, then put this bag in the same compartment as the fish. Once we get back to camp, we can cook them.” He admired her cleverness, and though the frogs burrowed deeper into the mud as the sun rose higher, they caught enough for a decent snack. They both dismantled the river net, and began the trip down the mountain.

Despite their greater burdens, the trip down the mountain was easier and their footsteps felt lighter than it had been the way up. Perhaps it was the figurative weight off their shoulders now that she knew about the Child and he knew about the source of her “mystic” eyes. Once they returned to camp, Silla retrieved the bag of frogs, removed the piece of wood, rinsed the bag with hot water from the center pot until the frogs inside stopped moving, then threw the frogs into a smaller pot filled with boiling water. She then separated some of everything else they’d gathered into bags and water-filled jars inside the tent. When Din noticed she left all the crabs and crayfish in the cooler, he asked about it.

“I’m allergic to shellfish,” she explained. “Would you like some later?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.” So she prepared a water jar just for the shellfish.

She loaded the bags with what remained onto the hovercraft shelves, then with a click of a button, everything folded back into the hovercraft as it came to life. By now, the frogs were done, so she scooped them back into their bag and gave it to Din. She showed Din where and how to secure the cooler, and they settled in as the hovercraft went the rest of the way to town. There was a red scanner in front that allowed it to self-drive, and once again, now that Din was still did he realize how much physical exertion he’d been doing. They were content to sit in silence, enjoying the ambient sounds and sights, surface or deeper, of the mountains.

As the town came back into view, the Child woke up, smacking his lips. When Din opened the bag to show the Child the boiled frogs, the Child responded with bulging eyes, high-pitched squeals, and clapping hands before he seized one and shoved it into his mouth. At the sound of him gulping it down whole, Silla laughed, and the Child giggled in return before shoving another one into his mouth. He made quick work of all the frogs, moping as he shook the bag upside down to no avail. He began to whimper and fidget in Din’s arms, and Din murmured apologies that those were all that they could find. Still the Child whimpered, and soon began to softly cry.

Silla spoke up. “He’s not hungry, he’s gassy,” she said. Din picked him up and patted his back, but still the Child continued to cry. “Here, let me try.” Din handed the Child over, and after a bit of bouncing, Silla struck his child’s back with a soft thud.

“HEY!” Din shouted, lunging for his son, only to stop when the Child belched loudly enough to echo. With a sigh, the Child nuzzled into Silla’s shoulder, peering over at his father with some concern.

“You do a firm strike with the heel of your palm right here,” she turned to gesture to a place off center left below his shoulders. “Children are tough, but I can understand your concern.” She handed the Child back to Din, who lightly placed the heel of his palm where she’d shown him. The Child turned and held his hand, patting it in reassurance.

“Sorry I yelled.”

“Don’t worry. It’s a parent’s prerogative to worry about their child.”

-----

Once the townsfolk found out that Silla was leaving Lisera tomorrow, they gave her well wishes and gifts to send her off, to the point where they soon gathered enough food gifts to take care of lunch. The harvest she brought with her sold out quickly, and soon all that was left was the bottle of what Din learned was snake wine. She brought it to a Sullustan technician at the spaceport where the Razor Crest was docked, and while she worked that out Din went to the Razor Crest so he could eat lunch and both he and his son could use the refresher. When they returned, Din caught the end of their conversation.

“-dy for you when you arrive tomorrow.”

“Thank you Jae,” Silla said. “Hope you and Hiung enjoy the wine.” She turned towards Din and smiled. “That’s everything! Shall we head back?”

“Yeah,” Din answered. “We should start preparing as soon as possible.”

“A Mandalorian huh? So you’re the one taking our witch away from us, and after we were all startin’ to get to be friends with her,” Jae said with a laugh. “You take care of her huh?”

“Yeah,” Din nodded. “I will.” As they left on the hovercraft and went back towards the mountain, Din asked, “What was that about?”

“Oh! Since I thought you’d be gone for awhile, in lieu of his usual payment, I asked Jae to run some diagnostics on this-” she patted the hovercraft, “right here, and he threw in an offer to craft some simple medical tools to make my new job easier.” She opened one of the food gift containers and found herself with a box of spicy noodles. “Ah, Mala knows these are my favorite.” The sound of slurping and chewing filled the air until the town was once again out of sight, and Silla sighed and sat back in satisfaction, her face red from the spice.

Din reached out to touch her face, and Silla stilled. “Wha-”

“You had some sauce on your cheek,” he said, wiping at it with his thumb.

“Ah, thank you,” she said, and her face turned redder where he’d touched her.

They rested for a bit when they got back to camp, and as the sun set, Silla set out a clay pot of rice to cook and then began packing away as much as she could while Din prepared dinner. The Child first resumed the throw-and-chase of his grass stars, but soon grew bored and climbed onto his father’s shoulder to watch him work. It had been a while since he’d cooked over an open flame, but as long as he paid attention to the food instead of the fire he was fine. In addition to a pot of soup he was making for all of them, he cleaned and stir fried the crab and crawfish for himself and cooked the fish in a separate skillet for Silla, tossing both of them with some vegetables. Silla came over to add some of the dried meat to the soup, then sighed at the smell of sizzling shellfish.

“Crab and shrimp used to be my favorite foods, but after I reached adulthood I suddenly developed an allergy,” she said with a laugh, rolling up the clotheslines. “I used to beg my family to let me have just a small bite but they refused.”

“I won’t be breaking tradition then,” he said, and she laughed again. She’d taken care of everything that was outside the tent, and he told her that dinner would be ready soon. Soon, the soup had simmered long enough, the meat was the right texture, and the rice was steaming and fluffy. He portioned out some of each dish for tomorrow’s breakfast, placing them inside the now dry and empty cooler. When he finished making the dinner trays, Silla took hers and stepped towards the entrance of the tent.

“I’ll go,” Din said, getting up with his plate and the Child’s, but Silla shook her head.

“You’re my guest for now, and I don’t want either you or son to be exposed to the cold,” she said. “Besides, I imagine after I fed him dinner yesterday while you were sleeping, the two of you might want to catch up.”

“I’m wearing armor, and he’s-”

Silla held up a hand and set down her tray. Walking over to her hammock, she pulled out the fur throw, which Din could now recognize as a wolf pelt. Wrapping it around her shoulders, Silla retrieved her tray. “As your host and healer, I insist that you eat inside,” she said. Without waiting for his response, she turned and left the tent.

-----

He hadn’t been as hungry as he’d been for lunch, though the Child took his portions with his usual gusto. Hesitatingly, Din brushed a bit of the crawfish against his ad’ika’s cheek and waited for a reaction. Nothing happened, but he decided to wait at least another day just in case. He’d have to ask Silla if she had the equipment and knowledge to run some tests. The thought of his kid having an allergic reaction, of hives and difficulty breathing, made him shudder. He was snapped out of his morbid thoughts when the Child reached up to pat his face, then reached for the shrimp. “Not yet, ad’ika. I’m not sure it’s safe yet. If it is, we’ll get you some more, okay?” His son pouted a bit, but didn’t protest. Once they’d finished dinner and brushed their teeth, Din got the helmet back on and called in Silla.

The dishes were cleaned and packed away in the hovercraft along with a few remaining bags, and the tent felt a lot larger to Din now that the only things left unpacked were the beds, the large water pot, the cooler, a basket of towels, and a bag of medical supplies. The Child settled into the basket-crib with Din’s cape as his blanket, and with a turn of the music box, he was soon fast asleep.

Silla smiled one of her warm smiles as she kneeled and peered into the basket, and Din wondered the Child looked like through her eyes. She’d said his soul was a brilliant white, but what did that look like when the Child was at peace, well fed, and happy? She then turned towards him, and Din felt her eyes scanning him.

“Were you caught in an explosion recently, or a similar sort of accident?” she asked. When Din answered in the affirmative, she explained, “I’ve noticed several disruptions in your energy along your neck, shoulders, and back. The most critical damage has been healed, but what remains can become an aggravating problem if left untreated. I can start now if you’d like.”

There was likely a reason she’d waited until the child was asleep to bring this up. “What kind of treatment?”

She retrieved the bag and brought out what looked like four pads hooked up to a small radio, along with a metal tray filled with smooth, flat stones the size of her palm. “I can loosen your muscles first with a small electric current, and then do a manual adjustment. I’ll need to apply the pads to bare skin in order for the current to do its job properly, but if you’d rather not, I can do the manual adjustment as long as your armor is removed.”

He had to admire how she was able to say it with such a neutral expression and tone of voice, as if oblivious to the implications or, more likely, aware of the implications but experienced enough for it to not phase her. “So it’s massage therapy.”

“A little more intense,” she said. “Like with the medicine this morning, noise is expected, and in case your helmet has a setting to turn the mic off, I’d rather you didn’t, because if I hit a particularly painful spot, I’d rather know. If you’re in pain and tense up, that works against the treatment. However, it’s all up to you.” She set everything down and folded her hands in her lap.

Din considered it. She’d already undressed him once, the only difference was that this time he’d be conscious of it. The electric current seemed a bit suspicious, but in the unlikely (and it was highly unlikely, given how the kid approved of her) event that she tried something funny, he’d still have his blaster at his hip. “We can do it with the current. Give me a moment.” Silla nodded and closed the tray with the stones, latching it shut. Just like this morning, she gently picked up the Child in his basket and set it on the metal tray, then lifted them both and brought him over to the other side of the tent, out of the shadow of her hammock. She dropped the tray into the large metal pot in the center fire, then stirred the pot and stoked the flame while Din undressed. At some point, satisfied with the fire, she returned to the basket-crib to check on the Child, that smile returning to her face, and she reset the music box. She grabbed the pillow from her hammock and returned to the fire pit, sat facing away from Din, and then simply waited.

He finally got his undershirt off and he told her he was ready. She placed her pillow next to his in an inverted V-shape, and said, “On your stomach. I’ll do your back first.” He did so, and she adjusted the pillows so he could lie face down comfortably. His vision cut off, all he could focus on was the activity of her hands as she applied the pads to his back in a 2x2 grid. She switched on the machine, and the feeling of the electrical current going through him made him shiver. “I’m going to turn up the intensity. Let me know when to stop by raising your left hand.” He heard her turning a knob, and the tingling in near his left shoulder grew until it felt like someone was squeezing the muscle, at which point he raised his left hand. She repeated the process for all four pads, and Din couldn’t help but sigh at the surges that ran through him, squeezing and then relaxing his muscles like… like… 

“We’ll let that do its job for 10 minutes,” Silla said. She got out two towels and laid them over the pads, then stood and went back to the fire pit. He heard her slip on gloves and get the metal tray out of the pot, then she returned to his beside and he groaned as he felt the heat on top of towels, making the electric pulses feel even stronger as they both melted him. He barely registered her “Let me know if it’s too hot” as she covered him with the blanket, and for what feels like an eternity Din just shut his eyes as what feels like years of stress dissolved away with each electric pulse under the heat. He lost track of Silla’s footsteps, but at some point the music box stopped playing and he heard it wind up again.

The electric current stopped and Din shivered as Silla removed all the layers and pads, only to sigh when he felt one of the hot stones digging into his back. He groaned as she pressed it into him, hissed as the pain seemed to build as she dug into a pressure point, only for something to give an audible pop and he released a breath at the same time as she did. “There we go,” she murmured, a pleasant tingling sensation radiating throughout his back while she moved on to make another part of his body feel sour. When the stones had cooled down and it felt like his back muscles had been tenderized, he felt her hands on him. She pressed lightly, but everywhere she pressed made sent a small jolt through him, and he wondered if it was a lingering effect of the electric pads. In particular, when she pressed her hands into his lower back, he felt something travel up his spine to the base of his neck, and he swallowed a lump in his throat.

She asked him to flip over, and the whole process repeated on his chest. Now that Din was facing up, she took back her own pillow. The electric pulses went for longer as she needed time to reheat the stones and metal tray, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Everything went about the same until it came time to apply the hot stones directly to him. Face up, he could see her sitting at the head of the bed, and when she leaned over, her chest hovered right above his face.

Din was now truly grateful for the Creed and how she respected it, because the only thing that would’ve made this silent torture worse was if she could see the expression on his face. The fact that she’d cured his cold this morning now felt like a curse as he could breathe in her scent with her so close to him, something that smelled like almost over-ripe fruit and steam. His eyes drifted to where he could see a shadow of a nipple poking through her robes and he clenched his teeth. He closed his eyes to rid himself of the temptation, but with that image in his mind, all he could focus on was the heat of her hands travelling and digging into the vulnerable parts of him, taking his pain and replacing it with a warmth that slowly pooled lower and lower. He could mask his groans as the result of the pressure from the stones, but he felt himself growing hard. This time when she set aside the stones and pressed her hands to him, every single touch seemed to send that electric jolt from straight to the base of his skull and then back down. He wasn’t aware of how much he was sweating until Silla shifted to the side of the bed and made small patting motions all over his torso with a dry towel. At that point, Din decided he would risk opening his eyes.

Her expression was neutral while Din focused on keeping his breathing steady. If she said anything about his breathing patterns, he could easily say he was making sure the cold wasn’t returning. She set aside the towel and reached for his undershirt, but paused. Her head turned towards Din, her brows furrowed in concern, and a frown on her face. The tent was silent save for his breathing, and then her brow relaxed and her lips parted a fraction of an inch.

Then Silla leaned down, close enough that he could feel her breath next to his ear, and whispered, “Just so you know, that is a completely normal physical response.” Din continued to focus on his breathing as if the denial made it more likely she meant something else. “While this-” she held up his shirt, “-is still off and your son sleeps, do you want me to take care of that?”

Din’s breathing stopped, and he wondered for a moment if he’d been poisoned and was hallucinating. That would explain why his throat suddenly felt tight. “You don’t-” he stammered. “You’re not-”

Silla’s mouth quirked into a cheeky smile. “There’s a euphemism where I grew up for whores,” she murmured, dark honey dripping into her voice. “Intimate healers. We were taught that for many, sex is as important as food, water, and sleep.” She gently lay herself next to him on the bed, and the hand that had been resting on his shoulder drifted downward. “Considering all the stress and anxiety that surrounds it… and you have been under so much stress already. I would gladly help you with it.” She paused at his stomach, tracing light circles that made his insides twist with heat. “If it’s payment you’re worried about,” she continued, fingers dancing tantalizingly close along his belt, “I’d say after all you’ve given me, you’ve more than earned it.” He seized her hand, squeezing it tightly in his own, holding it just above his belt. He could feel how soft it was, and he loosened his hold only slightly when she gave a small grunt of pain. Slowly, he steadied his breathing and he turned to look at her face. The way her mouth was parted promised warmth and comfort, and when his gaze drifted downward to see her breasts pressing into his side, he groaned before he could stop himself. “One word, yes or no, Mandalorian, and I will respect it,” she said, voice low and breathy.

He wanted, ached to give in, but the tremors in his limbs and the sight of her teeth in that small smile she was giving terrified him. If he gave in to what he wanted, he felt that this woman, this healer, would devour him with her devotion. That he felt scared at all filled him with self-loathing, and soon his mind was locked in a downward spiral. He kept a tight grip on her hand as he pulled it up, where he pressed it against his chest and relished the feel of it for just a while longer. A few more deep breaths, and he croaked, “No.”

And just like that, she lifted herself up, pulling her hand out of his grasp. She handed him his undershirt, and left his side, and while he got the undershirt over his helmet, he glanced over at the basket in case the kid had woken, relieved to hear only silence. He started when Silla appeared again at his side, which in turn caused her to flinch, but she simply handed him a cup of a sweet smelling beverage with a straw sticking out of it. “This tea should help you sleep tonight,” she said, the smile on her face small and tight. “Goodnight Mandalorian.” She rubbed the hand he’d gripped and returned to her hammock. Once she adjusted her bedding and zipped herself inside, silence filled the tent once more.

Din sipped the tea to the last drop and settled back on the bed, breathing deeply and forcing his eyes closed, but it was no use. His mind kept going back to how Silla pressed herself against him. One word, just one word. He tried to simply let the thoughts flow through him, but his body grew unbearably hot, and as he clenched his hand at the sense memories flooded, he knew he couldn’t hold out any longer.

Switching the mic in his helmet to off and grabbing a towel, he slipped off a glove and undid his pants, and shoved his hand inside, hissing at the sweet relief as he found himself as hard as a rock. He rubbed his thumb at the tip, pre-cum dripping into his hand that let him slip it over the rest of his length. He sighed as he squeezed up and down his length and he felt the calluses on his hands Silla’s hands were soft so soft suppose that she were the one doing this right now. She’d lick her lips and let out those breathy moans while she ran her hands up and down his dick, slipping her tunic off her shoulders to reveal those breasts- Din gasped at where his mind was going but he was lost to his own fantasy, pumping faster, his hand catching the tip with each stroke as if-she the tip in her mouth no it was too much she’d been kind too kind and generous with him but she pressed her breasts around the rest of him and how could he refuse. He imagined untangling her hair out of the scarf she wore, imagined that it was as pale as her skin as it flowed down and then he pulled at it then pushed her head down, made her take all of him, and she gasped and gagged around him but soon started moaning and he could hear her saying “Mndhh! Mndhh!” He let go of her head and she sucked hard on the tip, pressing her tongue at the spot that made his head spin. “Mando,” she gasped, a trail of spit going from his dick to her mouth. A smile spread over her face.

“Din…”

The burst of heat slammed into him and he gasped as he came, thick white ropes splattering onto his belly and the towel. He kept stroking for as much as he could, but the fantasy image began to fade along with the body heat. Before long, his head cleared, and he could feel his breathing return to normal. He absent-mindedly wiped himself off with the towel, thinking for a moment that he should toss it in the fire when he was done, before deciding on the less stupid idea of just hiding it on his person. Once done, his arm hung limply at his side. Din sighed at how his body felt like his own again, and he closed his eyes to welcome sleep.

In the dead silence of the tent, Din’s heart just about stopped when he heard Silla sigh and groan, and it didn’t start beating again until he heard the faint snoring that followed. He was beginning to regret offering her a place in his crew, but to rescind his offer after all the preparation and packing they’d done would be an act of complete cowardice.

Maybe once they were on the ship and some time had passed things would cool down, but even as Din considered such a chain of events, his instincts warned him that a professional relationship was not going to make this any easier.

[tk-duveraun]

The Same Moonlight 1/?

Title: The Same Moonlight Fandom: SWTOR Rating: T Genre: Romance & Drama Summary: Cakara’s life has been a combination of bad luck and bad choices. She’s on her second fresh start, but maybe this one isn’t as fresh as she thought it would be. Notes:

I’ve made a lot of personal headcanons for echani because there is so little in canon. So don’t try to look stuff up.

Mandalorians in this time are officially allied with the Empire and, according to the Empire, this makes it illegal for them to have Force users in their ranks. They see it as a capital offense and will punish it as such regardless of the fact that Mandalorians are their own state and not actually subject to Imperial Law.

Mandalorians by tradition also don’t allow Forcers in their ranks regardless because of something terrible that happened in the past.

yaim = clan home/camp

alor = clan leader (more literally clan mother/father)

aliit = clan/family

cin’vhetin = the Mandalorian phrase meaning that your past is irrelevant and wiped clean.

beskar = Mandalorian iron, also shorthand for armor.

This is in the continuity of the Morning Comes AU wherein Rathi and Fox both live.

Meshurok’s yaim is in the middle of a thick forest. It’s not too different from Tiyaar’s. The wood making up the temporary defenses is less green and the twisting, creeping ivy is further up the ramshackle walls, but it’s not a complex with roots deep in the ground. The camp guards wear their armor as bright and polished as any other Mandalorian’s, though Meshurok’s grey gemstone sigil is more prominent than most clan symbols.

Cakara’s sunset orange armor doesn’t have Tiyaar’s mark. They had taken her in when she needed it, but she’d never felt like family. And she never would as long as people flinched at the first sight of her. She removes her helmet as Meshurok’s guards check her credentials, but neither one reacts nor comments. A green laser flashes over her armor, scanning for beskar and then the gate opens and she’s instructed to speak to the alor.

Eyes follow Cakara as she walks through the camp, but the expressions show only mild curiosity and the stares linger more on her weapons than her face. The command tent is impossible to miss, with its two meter tall standards. The grey gemstone is flanked by two smaller standards depicting the silhouette of some animal wearing a crown. It’s completely foreign to Cakara, but it’s no stranger than most symbols, so she doesn’t waste time thinking about it before nodding to the sentinel that lets her enter the tent.

The Hound of Meshurok is a tall, human woman with black hair so thick it fights against the braids keeping it in place, despite her undercut. Her expression is carefully neutral as she looks Cakara up and down. The muscles in her face twitch just the slightest bit, just the smallest movements that only an echani would catch, but aside from signifying that she has some thoughts, they don’t tell Cakara anything.

Cakara gives her new alor a shallow bow. “I’m Cakara. Wat Tiyaar said you’d be expecting me.”

“I was. Sit,” Hound says. Once Cakara is seated, she sits as well, her face still betraying nothing. “He said you were interested in joining our melee corps.”

“There was some tension because of my blood, as well,” Cakara says. Under her black tattoos, her skin is whiter than any sun-bleached bone. Even if the Hound is unfamiliar with echani bone structure and faces, there’s no other subhuman race with white irises like Cakara’s.

“Tiyaar are a hard lot. Good at what they do. Traditional,” Hound says. Her tone is slightly clipped, but not enough to suggest anything other than brusque professionalism.

“They took me in when I needed it. That’s what matters.”

Hound nods at her. “Good. I’ll tell you right now, if you’re looking for glory and constant engagements, you’re in the wrong place. We fight and we do it well, but we’re conservative with what jobs we take and our profits go to the children, not necessarily the newest weapons and the fastest ships.”

“I’m not here for glory. I’m here for…” Cakara hesitates, but finally says, “aliit.”

That puts a smile on Hound’s face, though it’s quickly wiped away. “That’s what I like to hear. I don’t tell newcomers what I’m going to say next, but with your training, you’d notice and it’s best to avoid any unpleasantness.”

It’s only her perfect muscle control that keeps Cakara from reacting. She doesn’t know which of the many things Cakara’s been trained in Hound is referring to. Nor does she have any idea what kind of unpleasantness the clan leader is imagining. She allows herself a single, quick nod.

“We don’t break up families for having gifts. The ideal warrior is one using all of their best abilities. If we don’t have a teacher for whatever they’re good at, we’ll find one. Even if someone has to leave for training, Meshurok will always be their home,” Hound says.

Cakara counts the steady, perfect beats of her heart as she mulls over those statements. There’s some specific talent Hound is referencing. One Cakara would recognize on sight. One she doesn’t want to talk about directly. Cakara fights off the urge to narrow her eyes in thought and leaves her face unchanged as her brain makes suggestions and tosses them aside. Despite her best efforts, an involuntary gasp escapes Cakara when the pieces fall into place. She whispers the word, barely giving it the breath for any sound. “Forcers?”

“No child will be ripped from their family for having a gift,” Hound says.

Cakara feels cold inside her armor, but also clammy and too warm all at once. More than half of her training in her old life had been to counter Thryssian sorcerers. They were evil, corrupted and couldn’t be trusted. She forces her eyes closed and shoves the old thoughts aside. Cin’vhetin. When she opens them again, Cakara meets Hound’s eyes and nods. “I understand.”

“The details aren’t something we discuss openly, even here, but rest assured, Mandalore already knows. That said, should the Empire take exception to our clan, we’re on our own. That’s what’s best for our people. Cerar and D’narr could have a place for you if that’s a problem.”

Wat had offered Cerar and D’narr to her, too. The four clans are close and often send warriors where they fit best. Everyone speaks highly of Meshurok, but the clan has no reputation… by design, clearly. They don’t want word getting back to the Empire that they’re ‘harboring’ Forcers. If the Empire finds out, summary execution is on the docket and Mandalore won’t intervene. It’s a dangerous position, but it could be worth it to find a family that accepts her for what she is and only what she is.

“I’d like to make a home here,” Cakara finally says.

“Excellent. You’ll be bunking with Zali for now. She’ll get you sorted and settled in. If you need more privacy after that, we can discuss it and work something out. I don’t anticipate any interpersonal issues, but should one arise, you are to bring it to my attention immediately so that it can be resolved before a true problem can arise. Arbitration doesn’t favor longevity, so do not hesitate to speak up.”

Meshurok is on the small side for a Mandalorian clan, but even so… “Your attention, personally?”

Hound grins. “Zali will tell you who can speak for the clan. She should be waiting for you outside.”

Cakara nods at the dismissal and stands. Just before she can step out, Hound stops her with a few words.

“One last thing. Welcome home, Cakara.”

“Thank you, alor.”

---

Meshurok’s mess tent is loud. Despite there being empty tables scattered around, the warriors are crowded onto the tables closest to the firepit in the center. The main ruckus seems focused on a red-haired human man that’s gesturing wildly as he tells a story. He has a long, intricate braid just as fancy as Hound’s pulled over his shoulder. Even from the distance, Cakara could easily read his lips and ‘listen’ to the story, but she doesn’t because she’s terrified. She has to imagine that no one else can see what she does, but they’re warriors, surely they should be able to recognize an apex predator.

It’s not that his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, because it does, there are even crinkles in the skin around his eyes that prove he smiles a lot. No, it’s the way he sits and how perfectly he moves his arms. Non-Echani shouldn’t have that kind of muscle control, especially not people in full beskar with its limited joints and lagging pneumatics. In order to compensate for those factors, the man would need years of training. Cakara’s been a Mandalorian for three years and she only has base proficiency at what this man does so carelessly.

Something of her fear must make it past her control over her expression because Zali puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay? Do you want to go back to the bunk?”

Cakara can’t take her eyes off the danger, so she doesn’t look at Zali when she speaks. Each word is deliberate and torn from her chest because she’s sure he can hear her, even from the distance, even over the crowd. “That man is-”

“Gorgeous, right?” Zali gives a wistful sigh. “Wherever alor got him, I want one.”

She chokes and feels weak in the knees even though she’s sitting. “Are you out of your mind? He could tear you apart with his bare hands.”

“Fox would never. He and Morathis, that’s the chiss on his left, they’re alor’s partners. They wouldn’t hurt anyone in the clan. You’re fine. Fox is the best person to go to with problems. Alor tries to make it a lesson and ensure we learn from our mistakes, blah blah, but Fox’ll just fix things.”

Zali sounds so confident that Cakara glances at her. “He’s a monster.”

“Well, yes, you met Hound, didn’t you? They’ve gotta be monsters to keep up with her.”

“Are you really not worried?” Cakara ask as she turns back to watch Fox.

Zali shrugs next to her and loudly picks up her plate. “Of course not. He pulled me outta the rubble on Balmorra and brings me food when I’m sick and stuff. Doesn’t matter that I’m not officially adopted, he’s basically my dad now.”

Cakara lets a frown sit on her face. It’s slightly reassuring that he’s apparently affectionate under his terrifying strength, but that’s almost completely negated by the clear devotion on everyone’s faces. Power comes in many forms… “I suppose I just have to trust you.”