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burnwater13 · 2 months

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Concept art by Ryan Church for The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 4, Sanctuary. A Mandalorian and another fighter are shooting at an Imperial AT-ST. Calendar from DataWorks.

Grogu wondered if they had left Sorgan a little too quickly. After all it was a nice planet. Cara Dune had taken care of that one bounty hunter who had managed to find them on a skug hole in the middle of no where. He and the Mandalorian were beginning to get to know each other a little better. Why leave now? Especially since there was an old piece of Imperial equipment on the planet that had absolutely no business being there. That AT-ST was a problem.

Not in and of itself. Not any more. It was destroyed. It had been touch and go, but eventually the Mandalorian and the fine people of the krill farming collective had managed to deal with it and the Klatooinian raiders who operated it. But it was still a problem. Where did it come from? Why was it there at all? Were there any other pieces of left over Imperial equipment on the planet?

Grogu was pretty sure that this sort of event fell under the heading of where there is smoke there is fire. He was even willing to fall back to a Jedi standard of risk management which stated that if one thing appeared to be out of place on a planet, an investigation into similar non-sequiturs should be undertaken sooner, rather than later. There was just too much that they hadn’t known about it, plain and simple.

For example, the Klatooinian raiders didn’t appear to have any air support or other mechanized transport of any kind. They had attacked the village on foot. Their only advantage was the AT-ST. So how did they manage to get their hands on an All Terrain Scout Transport to begin with? It seemed unlikely to Grogu that they had somehow brought it with them. Sorgan had such a small population the raiders could have run the whole planet if they’d had the ability to bring it to Sorgan from wherever else they had come from.

Grogu thought it was likely that the Klatooinians had found the transport on Sorgan. If that was true, why was it even there? Sorgan was not a strategic location for the Old Republic, the Empire, or even the New Republic. At least not an obvious one. It’s two exports were Spotchka, a fermented drink made from krill, and pickled krill sauce. Everything else they had they were importing. But no one involved in the farming collective had imported an AT-ST. If they had, they wouldn’t have needed the Mandalorian’s help in dealing with the Klatooinians. So why was it there?

Grogu suspected that the Empire or one of it’s former, wayward, war lords, had found Sorgan interesting because no one else did. It had a tiny population focused on farming. They had almost no infrastructure. They couldn’t defend themselves against a small band of Klatooinians. It was a perfect planet to set up a secret something on.

Grogu had no idea what that secret something was and when he tried to engage the Mandalorian in a discussion of unknown risks on Sorgan, he was ignored. Well, that was to be expected. Din Djarin didn’t think that Grogu understood Gal Basic and Grogu really hated trying to communicate in that language. It was so clunky and hard to pronounce and it had a grammar structure that left a lot to be desired.

If he had been able to have that discussion he would have also brought up a couple of other things that puzzled him. One of them was pretty simple. How had Cara Dune gotten there and why wasn’t she doing anything about the Klatooinians? The other was a little more mystifying. Why fight the Klatooinians from the ground?

The Razor Crest was outfitted with front mounted laser canons. Why bother teaching people how to be soldiers, when they could have just located the AT-ST with the sensors on the Razor Crest and then blasted it to it’s component atoms?

Was the Mandalorian worried that people might realize that he had the ship? Or was he worried that it might get a scratch on it? After all the stuff that Jawas on Arvala-7 had done to the ship was he just trying to protect it from everyone and everything? Grogu supposed that was possible.

After all the Razor Crest was the Mandalorian’s home. It wasn’t just a ship. All of his stuff was on it and he’d just about lost his mind when the Jawas had taken it apart, forcing him to put it back together with Kuiil’s help. Grogu knew that it wasn’t working quite perfectly, but he had no idea how to help with that. That was a gap in his education that he really wanted to fill in, but so far he hadn’t had a chance.

Was that it? He just didn’t want his precious ship to be damaged by the AT-ST? Maybe. It really seemed to Grogu that the Mandalorian found a harder way to solve the problem than was strictly necessary, but if that was the Way, fine. That was not a mystery that Grogu needed to solve right now anyway.

He didn’t need to solve the other one about Cara Dune either. But he wasn’t going to forget about figuring out why the AT-ST had been there at all. Not like everyone else. He owed it to Winta and her mom to determine whether or not they faced a hidden threat. They had been very kind to him and he wasn't going to forget that either.

Concept art by Ryan Church for The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 4, Sanctuary. A Mandalorian and another fighter are shooting at an Imperial AT-ST.

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #AT-ST #Sorgan

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rainbowsprinkledpirate · 1 year

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Sincerely, Yours 💌

AN: Okay so here's the thing. I'm a sucker for soulmate au ideas. I always have been. So, I decided to try writing one myself. Check out more soulmate au ideas from @ausforsoulmates (p.s. this is where I got the soulmate au from, the Now or Never AU).

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Male!Reader

Summary: You received your soulmate letter over 20 years ago. The vaugeness of it kept you on a wild goose chase around the galaxy for years. After so many failed leads you return home. Only to find a small green child being watched by a Mandalorian.

"It's you." You whisper the moment you see the child.

Child of green shows he's not mean.

A line from the piece of paper that sat closest to your heart.

Honestly, the first time you had read over the paper, you grimaced.

Vaguely written was an understatement when it came to your soulmate letter. The thing looked as if it had attempted to make itself rhyme alongside being vague. And only that single line stood out to you the most.

Well, it had at one point. Until you realized the galaxy had a multitude of green children.

The part you never focused on was the shows he's not mean one. Which you most likely should have until now.

But it didn't matter anymore because you understood.

A Mandalorian, for Maker's sake, stood close to the child. One of the fiercest known warriors in the galaxy.

Shows he's not mean.

Right...

He was listening to a woman you faintly recognize, yet you couldn't put a name to her face. She looked as fierce as the Mandalorian even without the beskar armor.

They both seemed relaxed for the most part.

Something that was bound to change now that you were there.

"Uncle, you're back!" The bright cry of Winta tore you from your thoughts as the little girl jumped into your arms. Warmth flooded your chest when she nuzzles into your shoulder. It felt like ages since you had last seen your niece.

"Ah, starflower. Look how much you've grown."

Pride was an understatement when you looked at her. She was growing into those rich eyes of hers and the too-big ears.

A chuckle rumbles from your chest as you ruffle her hair.

"Uncle, look, look! A nice man saved the village. And look at the monster he helped us beat." She motions towards the Mandalorian before bouncing in your arms and pointing at the AT-ST.

It was the soft tug at your pants that drags your attention down from trying to follow Winta's wild gestures.

The small green child peers up at you. His tiny three-clawed hands grasp your right leg. The trust he held in his deep galaxy eyes made your heart ache.

So, it begins. You couldn't help thinking as you hum.

"Well, what do we have here?" You knelt down by the child as Winta giggles at the movement. "Who is this little tooka kit?"

Winta tugs on your sleeve, saying, "It's the nice man's son. Isn't he cute?" She continues babbling about the child as your sister approached.

Omera was as beautiful as you remember her being. Elegant, yet simple as always.

It seems the ache of her husband's death still haunted her. You could tell from the relief that swam in her eyes at seeing you. A relief that only one who experienced tremendous loss could have.

"You're home." You settle Winta on the ground next to the child before straightening up.

It didn't take long for Omera to step forward to wrap her arms tightly around you, crushing you in her embrace. For such a delicate-looking woman, she was unbelievably strong.

"Thank the stars..." She murmurs before relaxing her hold on you. "So much has changed since you left."

Your eyes flick to the Mandalorian as he starts making his way over.

"I see," You raise a hand in greeting when the warrior got close enough. "You have my thanks, Warrior. Winta told me you helped our village."

The Mandalorian tips his helmet down enough for you to see before Omera hums, "Come, sit. I'm sure you're tired. And there's much to tell you."

You made your way over to a small bonfire, letting the familiar smells of your homeworld soothe you.

The rich fish-like scent from the krill ponds wasn't particularly one you missed, but the earthy mesh of the forest surrounding the small village was. Especially the hint of native flowers.

Once you settle down, Omera began to explain the events of how the Mandalorian and Cara Dune trained the people enough to fight back. Their plan went surprisingly well for what little time they had to initiate it.

"It seems what you taught me finally came in handy." Omera's tone was warm as she smiles sweetly.

The Mandalorian, who sat across from the both of you with the child sitting between his boots, cocks his head.

"You taught her how to handle a blaster?" His timbre reachs you even through the vocoder. The smoothness of it sent pleasant shivers down your spine.

"I did. It was something I picked up along the way with my travels. Searches, really." For him.

But you wouldn't admit that out loud.

"I'm sure you know how inhospitable the outer rim planets are, Warrior." A sad smile spreads across your lips when you meet his T visor. "I had to learn how to fight to survive."

You weren't the best at fighting or shooting, really. If the scars you bore were anything to go off of. You knew you had a lot to learn about fighting and shooting. And you hope your soulmate would teach you, when the time came.

Something about how his T visor bore into you urges you to speak more. You felt as if he deserved to know he wasn't alone in these dangerous travels.

"But I am glad at least." The Mandalorian leans forward a bit, almost as if he were curious to hear what you had to say. "Learning how to fight seems to have helped my sister protect the village alongside help from you and Ms. Dune."

Cara laughs a deep boisterous laugh as she relaxes against one of the logs further to your right.

"Please, just Cara is fine." You send her a smile and nod before looking back at the child who had managed to make his way towards you.

Just as he reached your boots you see a small red dot appear on his back.

It was small enough not to go noticed by many. But you had seen it enough times to know what it was by now.

You move faster than you ever have in your life to grab the child and twist to the side as a loud bang echoes through the once silent forest. Cara takes off in the direction the shot came from as the Mandalorian moves to shield your body with his own.

Your heart thunders in your ears as you stare down at the child. Shaky gasps leave you when his wide eyes peer back up at you and he cooes.

You scan him for injuries, thinking that maybe he still got hurt and you didn't move fast enough. Yet when you see that he is fine, you heave a sigh. The kid was more amused by the sudden roll than anything.

Warm hands tug you up as the Mandalorian takes the child from you. Giving him a good look over himself before turning his attention to you.

"You're hurt," The Mandalorian sets the child back down before kneeling beside you. "Let me see."

He firmly yet gently grips you right shoulder as you start to notice the white hot agony in your left. A yelp of pain escapes when the Mandalorian grazes his gloved finger over the blaster burn. He retracts his hand immediately murmuring an apology.

Omera is by your other side tightly gripping your hand as she weakly asks if you're alright. You can see her starting to panic.

Her husband had died due to a blaster shot. If she were to loose you too, it would definitely break her heart and Winta's.

"I'm fine sister," You squeeze her hand back gently. "This is not the worst wound I've had before."

The Mandalorian had started moving as you reassured Omera. He held the child lightly in one arm as he stalked to the small barn your sister had set him up in. You watch him go feeling a dull ache appear in your chest.

Focusing back on Omera you see how she seems to put the pieces together. Her earlier panic having faded. Eyes widening a fraction she looks up at you.

"He's your soulmate." The moment the words are spoken to the still air you close your eyes. The truth settles on your shoulders like a warm blanket on a cold night. Soothing the ache and numbing the pain in your shoulder a tad.

You say nothing to Omera as the Mandalorian reappears carrying a small box in his hands. He kneels next to you again and rifles through the box pulling out a bacta spray. Meeting his T visor you hum.

"Is the child okay?" He nods as Omera stands up stating she was going to get you a new shirt. Since the shot burned a hole in the shirt you currently wore.

Cara appears from the woods a frown hardening her features as she approaches you and the Mandalorian.

Unease trickles down your spine as she mutters, "It looks like it's time for you to go, Mando." She holds up a crushed tracker before tossing it next to his knee.

You glance at it before looking over to the barn the child was in. He was in danger here. Because if one bounty hunter knew he was here then many others did as well.

"Do you have a ship?" The Mandalorian turns to look at you just as you're tugging off your shirt to have better access to your shoulder. Heat crawls up your neck as you ball the shirt in your hands.

You had at one point had a ship, but sold it due to not having enough credits for fuel to make it back home. You ended up bumming a ride from a small freighter just to return to Sorgan.

When you shake your head the Mandalorian moves back to clean your wound and spray bacta on it.

Little did you know you earned his trust quite quickly. There was something about you protecting the kid even when you just met and the burning of his own soulmate letter near his heart that made him ask.

"Well, how do you feel about coming with me? I can help you find what you're looking for. It's the least I can do since you saved my Foundling."

The moment he asked that single question in his low baritone voice your fate was sealed. Because he had already helped you find what you were looking for.

Him.

"I'd be honored, Warrior."

Closer than what's been told. Heart of gold buried beneath cold. Child of green shows he's not mean. Austerely endures sincerely, yours

AN: I know it's pretty bad but I thought some of it made sense. 🤷 I'm not good at rhyming.

Star Wars Masterlist

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uwingdispatch · 2 months

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Mando girlies, would you be into some Sorgan Common House in-universe motel-style keychains? Because I am working on some and I'm trying to figure out how many to order.

They would look similar to these Hotel Ferrix keychains:

Also working on some Takodana Castle ones, but I feel like the Sorgan keychains will be especially popular with the Mando fanfic community so....pls let me know!

#mandalorian #the mandalorian #din djarin #mandomera #din djarin x reader #sorgan #omera #star wars #star wars fanart

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fulltimecatwitch · 1 year

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you ever think how in S1E7 when Mando went back to Sorgan to get Cara for the mission on Nevarro, Omera probably saw the Razor Crest flying by and for a moment thought that maybe Mando had changed his mind and was coming back to stay with her

because i do and it drives me crazy every day 🙃

#the mandalorian #din djarin #pedro pascal #mandomera #din x omera #sorgan

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findingsana · 10 months

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some of the photos from yesterday's photoshoot, i haven't gotten into cosplay in a hot minute. in-between work and school, i just haven't had the time.

it was fun though! super windy-more photos to come! (plus more friends later)

PC: insta lebo_wan_kenobi & ricknerdvarro

#omera #omera cosplay #din dijarn #the mandalorian #star wars cosplay #sorgan #star wars

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azertyrobaz · 2 years

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Din gently picking up his son

#the mandalorian #baby yoda #din djarin #grogu #clan of two #sorgan #season 1 #sanctuary #he's so small #star wars #my edits

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the-kittylorian-writes · 1 year

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"To The Letter"

Type: One-shot

Pairing: Din Djarin x Omera

Rating: General Audiences

Summary:

“The community’s grateful,” Omera told the Mandalorian one afternoon by the ponds. Indeed, the little Sorgan village is thankful for their newfound peace. Beforehand, Omera thinks that sending a heartfelt thank-you note to the silver-clad warrior is an excellent idea. Or isn’t it?

(Written for Mandomera Week 2022, second prompt: “Secrets”)

read it here or on AO3 (with author's notes)

To The Letter

“Dear Mandalorian,” Omera started speaking into one of her old, pocket-sized datapads where she logged in her thoughts.

Until recently, all her mini datapad logs contained holiday recipes, loom weaving techniques, and instructions of handy repairs around the humble hut which she and Winta shared.

Omera released a breathy, quivering laugh. She shook out the dream-fog that plagued her head.

“Delete salutation,” Omera instructed the log. Dear Mandalorian had disappeared into a clean slate.

“To the Mandalorian,” Omera recited into the data-log device, starting anew. “T-to…”

Omera sighed. Her mind had suddenly gone blank, right from when she had erased the entire “dear”-ness towards the letter’s recipient. A bubble of frustration began to brew within her.

She cleared her throat, composed herself, and took a deep breath. Her warm voice was the solitary reverberation in the hut. She had time for herself to do this, while Winta was at school, while the Mandalorian and Cara Dune did shifts at patrol rounds, and while a village matriarch took her turn in looking after the little green child.

It’s been two standard months since Cara, the Mandalorian, and his small son were greeted by the perimeter of their farm and welcomed with open arms. Bless them—he and Cara had been very sincere in their attempts to help and uplift the village, if not for their acute pragmatism which came as a shock sometimes. They had once suggested that the villagers relocate elsewhere, as their beloved krill farm was doomed should it suffer a Klatooinian attack aided by their AT-ST assault machine.

Omera couldn’t believe it at first, when the Mandalorian had formed a viable solution. He’d suggested with a casual air that the village can be taught how to fight, if they were willing to take up arms and train for days on end. An attempt of such a scale hadn’t befallen their village in decades—they were peaceful folk who only wished to do good business through their exceptional spotchka, which was their main means of livelihood for generations.

The Mandalorian kept true to his word with a gravity that reflected the honor in which he had been raised. Not only had he lent his undivided attention to make sure everyone was as capable a shot as they could compared to Omera’s surprising expertise, he had lent his own weapons—dozens of hands touching the sacred objects of his religion, leaving a dozen more fingerprints upon the shiny metals from a variety of his personal munitions.

Omera watched the way he talked, the way he moved, even the way he stood in tranquil stillness. He was precise, reserved, unpatronizing… genuine.

His desire to help was real. He had already taken the downpayment for Cara’s own payroll, leaving nothing for himself and his child, save for food and lodging. Omera’s heart had sunken then, realizing that he had only wished for a place to lie low and think, and care for his child without the perils of the hunt and being hunted in turn—no more, and no less.

In his confidence over being able to restore the village to its post-raids state, his only valued transaction was a momentary home in exchange for his time, his blood, his sweat, his skill in the fight.

Now, in this noon hour, Omera remained stuck with her message to the Mandalorian. Cara’s had been easy; the other woman took neither flattery nor hyperbole, which Omera appreciated. She had found a friend in Cara. However, when it came to the Mandalorian…

Omera wasn’t one to curse, but this time, an ungainly swear word escaped her lips as frustration reached its peak.

“Fine,” Omera whispered to herself, relenting. “Dear Mandalorian…”

“Dearest Mandalorian and baby…”

“To our dearest Mandalorian and baby…”

“Our dearest… my dearest…”

Omera groaned, almost defeated but not quite. When she first came across the idea of a thank-you note, she thought that it was a lovely idea. She’d brought it up to Winta, and her little girl agreed with it whole-heartedly. When Omera had permitted Winta to go ahead with her own thank-yous into the log, the child went about it with an innocent ease of one unsullied by the humiliation of inadvertently saying the wrong things.

With a tinge of good-natured envy, Omera watched and heard her child utter her own sweet words of gratitude. A child’s sincerity flowed from their heart quickly downstream, unhampered.

Then came Omera’s turn. As days passed by, dictation into the log became increasingly difficult.

She couldn’t find the words to sort her feelings; or perhaps, she couldn’t decide on her feelings to sort out the words.

Omera was… conflicted.

“Dearest Mandalorian…”

She remembered the way he trudged around the perimeter, unbothered like the sturdiest tree in the forest. He emanated a quiet confidence which needed no heralding or ostentation. It was ever-present like the air Sorgan breathed or the waters upon the river that shimmered under the sun, since the beginning of time. It was a confidence which inspired trust.

It was a confidence which inspired…

“Dearest Mandalorian…” Omera begun once more, for the umpteenth time.

Love.

The Mandalorian was inspiring love…

Omera felt discomfort and a muted horror over the epiphany, which she herself had acted as a barrier against. However, actively fighting it was affecting her clarity of mind and the serenity in her soul. If she resisted any further, she’d perceive herself a false person, unworthy of truth as she herself could not extend it.

The truth, Omera decided, didn’t need to be paraded out in the open. If she could only be true to herself, that would be enough. All she needed to do was let all her thoughts out, starting with “Dearest Mandalorian” and all the words she wished she could tell him but couldn’t—shouldn’t. At this moment in time, it was still a very complicated thing, like a stove top too burning to the touch.

If Omera could just let all those words out for him and yet treat all this as if no one listened, she’d find equilibrium again. The Mandalorian didn’t have to know. “To my dearest Mandalorian…

You are a force of nature, a blessing, a gift, a sign from our gods to guard our home.

When you walk around the circle of ponds, it’s as if you weave a spell of protection around it.

You keep all of us safe. You make us feel safe. We know we are safe because you made it so. You are a jewel.

And I love you for it.

I love you.”

A long silence followed as Omera felt the tears fall, as soon as she had uttered the last three words. The data-log noted it down like a faithful, automatic scribe.

She began to feel a tremendous burden slowly lift from deep within her, but she couldn’t face herself over this tenacious, hidden confession just yet. When her many inner storms had settled, maybe she can go out in the open again and pretend she had never said those words…

Her mouth tried to utter something more. She wanted to dictate to the log… “delete last message,” but a huge part of her refused to. It was like taking her words back, her sincerity back. It would once again be a lie.

Wiping the tears, forcing out a long exhale of trapped emotions, she let her shoulders droop. She calmed the beating of her heart. It was hammering powerfully enough to knock the oxygen out of her brain, and she held her ground.

“I’ll be okay,” Omera promised herself.

Letting the draft of her secret letter to marinate in the log for a day or two, Omera stepped out of the hut to enjoy the vestiges of daylight. She had been at the log for hours. She needed to stretch her legs and check on her dearest Mandalorian and his sweet child while she’s at it.

***

“Winta!”

Omera flitted around the hut like a caged bird all morning, flipping mats and pillows and folded laundry, tossing small household items here and there in clear search of something. “Winta, my love—have… have you seen my data-log?”

Winta was chewing porridge at the kitchen table. Her mouth was full when she replied, adding to Omera’s vexation. “Nnho, Mhama.” The little girl swallowed her food. “Mama—was that the same log with my thank-you letter in it?”

Omera wrung her hands, entangled her fingers over her braids as the plaits slowly came undone. “Y-yes. Yes. I’ve sent the log with your note to the Mandalorian. I don’t think I’ve sent mine—“ the young widow stopped short, catching her breath.

She wouldn’t be caught telling her own daughter a lie.

Omera hadn’t been in her best mood ever since the Mandalorian, the baby, and Cara had departed the village at the same time. She and Winta had adjusted their expectations over the whole messy affair of the Mandalorian needing to be on the run again for the safety of his son. Her heart had ached so preposterously, that when she had been packing gifts for the baby which the Mandalorian took with him, she also had not been paying close attention to her actions.

She had wanted to get over the pain of seeing father and son off, not knowing that she may have done so a little too hurriedly.

“Oh… Oh no. Maker…” Omera felt crushed as she collapsed on a wooden chair in their modest living room. Her chest heaved visibly and she seemed faint, enough for Winta to squeak and fetch her mother a tankard of water.

“Mama,” volunteered Winta at last, as Omera drank her fill, her eyes bloodshot and tired. “Mama… maybe you’ve packed it along with the baby’s gifts! It’s the tiny rectangle thing with a flap, right? I think I saw it tucked in the baby’s blanket…

Omera sat up, very attentive. Her eyes were wide as she stuttered at her daughter. “Y-yes, that one. It’s… it’s a tiny rectangle with a flap.”

Her body turned to jelly. Her bones turned to ice.

She buried her face in her hands.

Winta was prodding at her mother. “Was your letter in there, Mama?”

Omera nodded, keeping her face shrouded in her palms, unspeaking.

Winta scooted closer to her mother. “Then why d’ya look so worried, Mama? Did you say something in the log by mistake which you weren’t able to fix?”

Omera let out a small sob; she sat still for long moments before finding the courage to peek out of her shell.

She thought for an answer, unwittingly holding Winta close. The child, confused, simply embraced her mother back, her dark head resting under Omera’s chin.

The young widow was learning the hard way that secrets—in one way or another—were not meant to remain so forever. Omera kissed the top of Winta’s head, resigned to her fate.

“No, my darling,” said Omera softly. “There are no mistakes.”

If Winta suddenly sported an even more baffled expression, Omera took no heed, as she felt her heart burst and she kissed her daughter’s soft crown once more.

***

The child patted his little three-fingered hands over the pocket-sized datapad with a flap on it. He wondered what that uncomfortable shape was digging into his side from among the blankets, and out of natural, immediate curiosity, the baby fished it out.

He uttered a pleasant trill which sent the Mandalorian’s visor facing towards him in the passenger’s seat. The man had been focused on the ship’s controls before then, as the Razor Crest whistled like a bolt through hyperspace.

The Mandalorian paused, intent over the object which the baby had found interest in.

“Whatcha got there, kid?” the Mandalorian inquired of the baby with ever-growing fondness. “More presents?"

The baby giggled and trilled, the magnetic pull of his huge eyes keeping the Mandalorian’s attention glued to his son.

A tiny, airy chuckle seeped through the warrior’s vocoder. “They’ve been spoiling you rotten, kid. I’ve never seen a womp rat get spoiled like you my whole life…”

The baby seemed to have other plans as his little clawed fingers played with the flap, and as soon as he pried it open, Winta’s cheerful voice filled the cockpit.

“To the dearest sweetest baby there ever was and his dad…”

The child’s ears flapped inwards and his face scrunched in delight. Winta’s thank-you message played on as the Mandalorian continued to fail at holding in a fit of tremulous laughter. That ecstatic sound was brief but tangible. The child loved his father’s laugh. He made that face again, and the Mandalorian chuckled again.

“…many many many hugs and kisses, and all the yummy frogs in the galaxy for you and all the oatcakes for your dad because you helped our village pres.. prosp… um—prosper again. That’s a big word we learned in school yesterday!”

Winta’s log-note soon came to a close, also translated in glowing little aurebesh letters as the little girl spoke her exuberant words. The child clapped, patted the little data-log once, as if to send a gesture of affection to Winta from afar.

The Mandalorian exuded one of his rare, wistful sighs (they were usually sighs of resignation).

“That was very nice of Winta, kid. I’m sure you’d love to keep that log to tide you over while we hop around the galaxy for a little while…”

“To my dearest Mandalorian…” began a new message.

The child looked so amused when the Mandalorian’s head whipped back to the direction of the data-log, quicker than a finger snap or a flash of lightning. The man sat there on the pilot’s chair, unmoving.

The Mandalorian had become paralyzed for an instant, his helmet tipping subtly, small movements missed if one should blink.

Then, the Mandalorian decided that hearing Omera’s voice again was a luxury he was unwilling to indulge in at the moment. He was unprepared. He swallowed hard, his breaths grew shallow, and he had sprung from his seat to carefully kneel in front of the child.

“…you keep all of us safe…” continued the young widow’s log-note, but the cockpit had grown abruptly silent when the Mandalorian had gotten hold of the device and snapped it shut.

The child cooed at his father inquisitively. He made cajoling noises of affection when the Mandalorian remained still, so still.

Then his shoulders heaved in the wake of a tremendously strained sigh.

“I’ll be okay, kid,” said the Mandalorian at last. As an afterthought, he patted the closed log firmly with a gloved hand.

“I know you’ll think me weird, kid,” added the man, his voice scratched with emotion. “But… I’d rather keep this a secret for a while longer…”

There was no judgment in the baby’s babbled response. The child reached out, and with surprising tenderness, laid a tiny clawed hand on top of his father’s helm.

“We’ll be okay,” the Mandalorian repeated, and the baby agreed.

****

#mandomeraweek2022 #din x omera #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfics #my works #my fic #din djarin #omera #sorgan #the mandalorian season 1 #more bittersweetness #the-kittylorian mandomera week fics

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mandomera-week-2022 · 2 years

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Welcome!

Before 2022 comes to a close, and with The Mandalorian Season 3 around the corner, let’s raise our spotchka glass to Din and Omera and enjoy a quiet evening by the ponds of Sorgan, listening to Grogu’s favorite one-eyed frogs’ croaking in the distance.

The celebration will take place from Monday, November 28th to Sunday, December 4th, and you are all invited.

Join us for Mandomera Week and share your art, fics, gifsets, etc. with us.

There will be daily prompts (to be posted soon!) and a specific tag here and on ao3 to share your creations.

Feel free to share and reblog this post to spread the Mandomera love! We also have a Discord channel open to anyone - send us an ask for a link if you want to talk all things Mandomera!

Stay tuned, and in the meantime, don’t forget to mark your calendars.

#the mandalorian #mandomera #din djarin #omera #din x omera #sorgan #mandomeraweek2022 #star wars

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newpathwrites · 1 year

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Another random thought on episode 1:

Bo-Katan tells Din to “go home”.

WHERE IS HIS HOME? He’s been flying around for apparently a year doing who knows what. Where does he stay in between? He can’t just live in his ship anymore, especially with Grogu. Has he been staying at hotels? Or has he set himself up somewhere?

Could he be staying on SORGAN??? That would make my year, honestly!

#mandomera wishful thinking #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian season 3 #sorgan

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burnwater13 · 1 year

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Sorgan was a pretty planet and Grogu thought it was a nice place to visit but when Din admitted that he had wanted to leave Grogu there, Grogu was not happy with the Mandalorian. Sure the kids were fun and the frogs were plentiful, but that didn’t mean that they should break up their partnership. Did it?

Grogu didn’t know why the Mandalorian hadn’t realized that bounty hunters and Imps and bad people would go to any length to find him and try to use him for what ever purpose they had in mind. After all, Din didn’t collect Grogu from the Imps. He collected him for the Imps.

Why did the Nikto gang have him to begin with? Because he was special and some how they had figured it out. Grogu wondered if it was because he had healed one of them accidentally and they worked it out. Or if they just figured that whatever the Imps had must be valuable. It didn’t really matter. They had him and it took the Mandalorian to collect him.

To Grogu that meant everything. Even when Din gave him to the Client and Doctor ‘This won’t hurt too much’, Grogu knew the Mandalorian would be coming back to collect him. Sometimes you just knew who your friends were even when you’d only met them that one time, or even the first time you met them. Grogu knew that about the Mandalorian.

He supposed that’s why the Mandalorian was hopeful that they could stay… well Grogu could stay on Sorgan. The people at the collective and in the town were friendly. They were helpful. They didn’t judge a Mandalorian by his armor, at least not entirely.

Din Djarin thought he had to go right back to bounty hunting. Grogu supposed it would be for a good cause. The New Republic and the old Empire had created a lot of foundlings. For everyone, not just the Mandalorians. Those children needed a protector too. They needed someone to rescue them for all the stuff their parents hadn’t been able to help with no matter how hard they tried, or even if they hadn’t tried.

Grogu couldn’t imagine what kind of responsibility that was. To have to raise children. To teach them the rules. To help them with daily activities like dressing, eating, and mech maintenance. Well, Din Djarin wouldn’t be teaching that course, but other parents did. They taught their children everything they knew and then found people to teach them the rest. Wow, that was a big job.

No wonder the Jedi had been so against attachment. If every student they taught, every youngling and padawan, had been as difficult to manage as he had been, well, no wonder they accepted that they couldn’t do it all. But the Mandalorian had made a very promising start. And Grogu had liked that.

Broth, friends, frogs, a roof over their heads. Sorgan had been a huge step up from other places Grogu had been, although it was not as technologically advanced as Coruscant. But Coruscant didn’t have anything like krill ponds, grass, or trees. In the Temple’s arboretum, sure, but any where else? Nope.

But even if the planet had been covered with frogs and broth flowed out of the ground and no one was trying to steal him, Grogu would pick the sterile metal environment of the Razor Crest over Sorgan or Coruscant every time if it meant staying with the Mandalorian. After all that’s what partners do, right? If not partners, then family. Din was part of Grogu’s life now whether he liked it or not. But Grogu was pretty sure the Mandalorian liked it. It was a challenge and he liked a challenge.

#the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #sorgan #calendar prompt a day

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