#Mandomera if you squint | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thefrogdalorian · 5 months

Text

Only The Father You'll Be

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His son.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#din djarin #the mandalorian #grogu #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #my fics #frogs #mandomera #if you squint #i just had feelings okay ;-;#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfic

23 notes · View notes

formerlyknownasenigmaforum23 · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Mandalorian (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Din Djarin & Omera Characters: Din Djarin, Cara Dune, Boba Fett, Fennec Shand, Omera (Star Wars) Additional Tags: S2E7 spoilers, Missing Scene, Mandomera in there if you squint, Post episode S2E7, Some angst Summary:

The Empire doesn't stop until they take everything.

But he won't stop until they learn what happens when they do.

He would make them pay.

#The Mandalorian #SPOILERS for S2E7 #Enigma Writes #Mandomera if you squint #Did I expect to write this? No. But here I am #Write what you want to see in the world

1 note · View note

communistkenobi-archive · 4 years

Text

A Real Backwater Skug Hole

AO3

Maybe Sorgan could be home for a while.

—

The walk from the longhall to the barn was a short one, and despite the dark that settled over the plains, her boots easily found where to step. The noise from the hall spilled out across the village, carried into the trees by the krill ponds. People laughing, singing, clattering bowls together. More noise than they’d ever dared make in months.

As she approached the door to the barn, she made sure her footfalls tread loudly on the wood panels of the porch. She could hear no noise inside.

Omera pressed her shoulder to the thatched wall and cleared her throat. “May I come in?”

“A moment,” came the immediate reply, and a sound of scuffing boots followed. His voice had been higher than she was used to hearing, unmodulated by his helmet. “Come in,” he said then, his voice now familiarly mixed with a faint, hollow feedback.

She ducked inside, and found him seated on the floor in front of a lantern and a plate of food. She wasn’t sure if he was a picky eater or simply not hungry, but most of it looked untouched.

“How is the meal?” she asked, setting her own plate down on a bench and sitting next to it.

“It’s very good, thank you.”

She considered teasing him about sitting on the floor and picking at his food like a child, but decided against it. Testing his patience and sense of humour would be for another time.

“Will you come join us in the hall afterwards?” she asked instead.

His helmet dipped down. “I don’t think so. I’m very tired.”

Omera nodded, not surprised. A round of uproarious laughter floated in from the open door, followed by table-pounding. The longhall sounded like it was only a few paces away. “Doesn’t it bother you, to eat out here by yourself? We’re celebrating our victories, yours included.”

A shoulder rose in a shrug. “I’m used to it,” he replied.

“Then perhaps you’d like a dinner partner.”

He said nothing for a long moment, his visor pointed at the floor. “I can’t,” he said finally.

“I can sit with my back to you. I promise I won’t look,” she added, smiling faintly. “But it’s rude to not dine with guests.”

“I can’t,” he repeated, though he whispered it this time. “But I’m grateful for the offer.”

She exhaled, nodding and standing up. What else could she possibly have expected? “Very well. I’ll leave you to eat.”

He said nothing to that, only watching her collect her plate and head for the barn door. It was darker inside the barn than outside, even with the lit lantern, and she wasn’t nearly as familiar with its layout than the village’s pathways. She stepped carefully, making sure not to run into anything. Spilling her food all over the floor would have the dual effect of looking foolish and further disrupting the man sitting alone behind her.

She was at the threshold of the barn when he spoke again. “If anyone sees me,” he said softly. “I can’t—no one can see me,” he repeated, sounding as if he was struggling for words.

Omera turned, looking at him still seated on the floor, and thought she understood what he was trying to say. “I swear I won’t look at you,” she whispered. “If you’d prefer not to eat alone.”

He was quiet again, one of his fingers tapping on the bandolier strapped to his boot.

“Okay.”

—

She settled herself down near him, facing the door. This close, the lantern gave enough light that she could see her own food, and she picked at it now. She was still famished, and this was her second plate, but she would wait for him first.

“How are the children?” he asked her, surprising her with a question. She looked away from the pair of gloves he'd tossed onto the floorboards, down to her meal.

“Happy,” she replied, “though they’re scared to come out of the longhall when it’s dark like this. I suspect they’ll be afraid for a while.”

“Of course.” A pause, and when he spoke again, it was muffled slightly as he talked around his food. “And the kid?”

“Also good,” she reported, smiling. “He’s the most content baby I’ve ever met. He doesn’t fuss or cry, and the noise doesn’t seem to bother him.”

“A lucky break,” he responded, and she swore there was a faint trace of amusement in his voice.

“You’ve had him for a while?” she ventured, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“No, not long. A week or so.”

“How did you come to adopt a Force-sensitive child?”

Silence followed. He stopped eating.

“Pardon?”

“He twirled a krill in the air for the children,” she explained. “And I’ve seen how he plays.”

“You know about the Force?”

“I know a lot of things,” she replied dryly, deciding not to take offence at his bewildered tone. “I may be a farmer, but I’m not oblivious to the workings of the world.”

“I apologise,” he said immediately. “I’m just… surprised.”

“So? Will you answer my question?”

He cleared his throat, and drank deeply of the spotchka he’d been given. “I was hired to kill him,” he told her.

She masked her surprise by taking in a mouthful of food, washing it down with her own drink. He’d said it so plainly, as if they were discussing harvest cycles. “You took a bounty to kill a child?” she eventually asked.

“I didn’t know he was a child when I accepted,” he responded defensively. “They barely gave me any information on the target.”

“I see.” Nothing he said clarified or illuminated—it only prompted a dozen other questions, some of which were invasive and perhaps even rude. “You didn’t go through with it, obviously.”

“No,” he said, but sounded hesitant, as if he was unsure of the answer.

“An honourable thing to do.”

“Not honourable,” he insisted, his words suddenly hard. Angry. “I delivered him to the client, collected the reward. I only came back for him later.”

Omera suppressed the urge to turn and look at him, to see the shame in his words on his face instead. Keeping her head down, she smiled instead, taking a deliberately amused tone. “Robbing child-murderers sounds rather honourable to me.”

His only response was a grunt, and then they didn’t talk for a while. It gave her time to eat her own meal and listen to the sounds still coming from the longhall. Winta had been in especially high spirits when she left the hall to come here, dancing and playing hoop and showing the Mandalorian’s strange little boy how to play skipscotch.

“You keep calling him kid,” Omera observed, nearly finished her meal now, and surprised herself with how loud she sounded in the silence of the barn. “Does he have a name?”

“No,” he replied. “Not yet.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

She bit her lip. “Is that secret, too?”

“No.”

Like pulling teeth, she thought. “Usually when people ask after a man’s name, they give it.”

“Dyn Jarren,” he murmured, and she heard him shift to lean back against his pack. His boots came into view as his legs stretched out in front of him, and she heard a joint pop as he settled.

“I see,” she said. “I would shake your hand, but….”

She heard more shuffling behind her, then a hand appeared by her shoulder, held out in offering. It was bare, his fingers calloused and worn with work but not overly brutish or thick. It looked normal, though she wasn’t sure what else she’d been expecting.

Omera took it without looking over her shoulder. His skin was warm and smooth. “Nice to properly meet you, Dyn.”

“Aye,” he agreed, and quickly his hand retracted away.

More silence followed, though it was more awkward than before. She heard him place his helmet back on and settle further against the bedding she’d laid out for him several days ago.

She stood up then, taking her plate, and went to grab his until she remembered herself. “May I?” she asked, looking at the floor.

“Yes,” he said, and she turned to take in the sight of him again, once more clad in his helmet. The usual taut, rigid line of his shoulders was now relaxed, and if he’d not spoken a moment prior she would have assumed he was asleep.

Omera gathered up both of their dishes and looked towards the entrance of the barn. The sky had brightened a little, promising dawn in short order. The exhaustion he spoke of she also felt in spades, and now with a full belly she was looking forward to nothing more than sleeping.

“Well, goodnight,” she offered in parting, giving him a farewell nod.

“Goodnight,” he replied. “And—thank you.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed the meal.”

He said nothing to that, only crossing his arms and tipping his head down to rest against his chestplate. She wondered why he didn’t just lie down, but that was low on the long list of his confounding habits.

She walked out of the barn and back into the open air, breathing deeply. Sulfur and burnt chaff still wafted strongly through the air, and likely would for days to come. The longhall was still full of raucous laughter and the twang of instruments, and she suspected no one would get much work done tomorrow.

But they had time now.

As she headed back to the longhall, their plates in hand, it struck her that perhaps the Mandalorian had been thanking her for something other than the food.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #din djarin #omera #mandomera #but like only if you squint really really hard #idk how to tag this #ep 4 spoilers #my stuff #my writing #bwsh #you were the only one i kneeled before

161 notes · View notes

ronnieiswriting · 3 years

Text

FRIGHT IN THE NIGHT

The Mandalorian; A Stranger Things AU (80s mystery/ thriller)

Chapter One: In the Midnight Hour WC: 3430 Tags: Main character death, Descriptions of animal remains and dead bodies- nothing too graphic but be warned, Drug and alcohol use and references, General violence and mature themes, nothing overtly explicit , Background Mandomera- if you squint- it's more about our main boys x - please let me know if there's anything I should add!

Next Chapter

special thanks to @gingersnappe-9 for helping me work through a lot of concepts for this one!! You my everything xx

The rain on the roof pelted twice as fast as the beat of the music that was playing over the radio. Din couldn’t be sure as to what song it was, the static overpowered the melody, but the drawl of Cash’s voice was unmistakable.

The diner would usually be closed at this time of night but the owner had a soft spot for the young man. He’d found that most of the small town had a similar affection to him despite his badge of office and the authority that came with the gun he wore at his hip.

Din took his plate and glass up to the counter, dropping a few coins in the tip jar. The owner, Kuiil, admonished him from the kitchen where he was sweeping up. “You drive safe now, Din. It’s gon’ be a wild one tonight, I say.”

Din nodded, taking out a cigarette and popping it between his lips, unlit, “Your knees locking up again?”

Kuiil huffed in affirmation, trudging through the kitchen door to take his dishes from the counter. He always appreciated Din’s manners. “Worse than usual, I say, son. The rain brings out all sorts, ‘member to turn your lights on, alright.”

Din zipped up his suede jacket over his uniform. Kuiil was probably the most level-headed man in Sorgan- bordering on stoic even- but when it came to conspiracy, there were no limits. Din couldn’t even begin to count all the tales; elite government clubs, secret paranormally charged military bases, microphone bugs in his telephone, monster children, gangs involved in every crime in the paper, underground prisons- nothing was too far fetched. Din couldn’t be sure as to what “all sorts” he was talking about this time.

“Sure thing, Kuiil.” He said. It was easier to humour the man. “Thanks again.” As he turned and headed for the door, he threw a “take care” over his shoulder that was reciprocated heartily before the sounds of heavy rain drowned out all the other sounds of the world. Din lit the cigarette in his mouth and took in the scene around him: other than the dim light from Kuiil’s that barely made it off the curb, the only light came from the few street lamps, the phone booth across the lot and the town marker sign a few miles away.

Kuiil’s diner was located near the outskirts of Sorgan, catching all the travelers that passed through; it made a pretty stop sight- looking out during the day you could see the green mountains and the snow-capped ones behind them, the lush forests and sometimes a bear and her cub crossing the highway. Sorgan was a different town in the dark. The mountains became a looming landscape that only the moon and stars couldn’t hide behind. The forest harbored all sorts of shadows and sounds and there was always a new story to go around about what kinds of cryptic, shadowed figures crossed the highway at night.

He’d parked his 60s Ford pickup on the other side of the parking lot- not to say that the lot for Kuiil’s diner was ever packed on a Wednesday night- but truthfully, he didn’t mind the rain, walking through it with no great amount of haste in his pace. Once in the front seat, Din took a moment to just listen to the sound of the pouring rain as it hit the roof and windshield. It had been a long day. One he spent trapped in the station all day, surrounded by monotonous tasks. The Sheriff had suggested that they clear out all the dust in their desks which meant stacks of papers and manila folders everywhere, the sounds of the shredder never stopping. Din’s only breaks came when the Deputy, Cara would pass by his office on her way to the recycling pile on the reception desk, she’d make a face at him or throw him a paper airplane with some ridiculous scribble or inappropriate haiku on it only for him to laugh and then shove his nose back into his filing cabinet. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to make days like that go faster.

When Vanth had finally let him go that night, Sorgan was almost dead quiet but he was able to catch the door at the grocery store at the last minute for a much needed bag of dog food and some offcuts from the butcher. The large bag of kibble took up the passenger seat, propping up his hunting rifle in the footwell and the meat would stay cool enough in the footwell until he could get it home to his dogs.

Din wound down the window and blew a puff of smoke out into the fresh air before pulling out of the lot and heading home. When he flipped the radio the last bar of the same song playing in Kuiil’s came on before giving way to a late night news segment. Remembering Kuiil’s well-meaning words, he turned on his lights before pulling out of the lot.

The rain on the empty streets shone under his headlights as he navigated his way back to his home on the far side of Sorgan. Din drove slowly, careful in the conditions and taking each turn carefully- even though he knew the streets well… Sorgan was a different town in the dark- and besides, a lot of the local wildlife became very active at night.

The soft talking on the radio served to fill the silence left over from the hum of the engine and the distant sounds of owls.

“... not just a storm- reports officials from the New Republic- but a meteor shower that can be witnessed as we speak passing through the night sky. It's a beautiful site, isn’t it Colin?” said a woman’s voice. A man replied on the same station, “And a rare, positive report from the New Republic who as of late we’re all sick of hearing from what with their new legal developments and endless reformations. This shower might be the only break we’re gonna catch for a while, folks.”

Din nodded to himself, flicking on the wipers, and he scoffed at the mention of the New Republic.

Things had been wild politically and it had a rippling effect that had reached as far as Sorgan and even further- to Nevarro, even to Hoth- from one building in Coruscant. Din didn’t know too much about exactly what had happened in the Endor building but from what people had told him, they were still cleaning up both the intellectual and structural damage that had resulted. For his own reasons, Din didn’t want to go back to Coruscant and the mess of the Empire just solidified his decided disaffection to the city and to everyone that lived there.

The woman on the radio spoke again, “Officials are encouraging anyone to explore their areas tomorrow and if they make any unusual discoveries to call the New Republic on the number: 555 111 2828- for geological abnormalities. That’s 555 111 2828. The New Republic tells us they’ll reward anyone's scientific discovery--”

It seemed that even in the presence of legislative disaster and the rubble of democracy, the main priority of the new government was still space. They were trying to continue the development of space-exploration technology through the change in office so as to be the first country to break the atmospheric barrier; an accomplishment that was said to be of “national pride” rather than anything to do with a new line of atomic weaponry for the military.

Din switched the radio onto a different station, coming up to Sorgan’s limits. He turned off from the main road onto the dirt one that led further into the mountains as the thunder rolled in.

The drive was smooth, uneventful, until a crack of lightning illuminated a small shape on the road. Cursing, Din slammed on the breaks even at the distance he saw the shape from. His headlights barely reached it, moonlight dappling across the road. He squinted through the pouring rain to make out the shape but it remained ambiguous- larger it looked than a raccoon but more upright and less bulky.

Heart rate increasing, Din reached over for his rifle and opened the door- at which, the small shape startled and sprinted into the trees. A hare. Must’ve been a large hare. He thought with certainty, cursing himself for scarring so easily. “The rain brings out all sorts...” Kuiil had said. Din hadn’t expected it to bring out his nerves. But as he made to get back in the truck, he was stopped again. There was still the shadow of something where the hare had been, this one was stretched out on the road and showed no signs of moving. Din edged closer, the rain soaking into his hair to the point that it curled, until the shape was at his feet. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he could make it out. It was a fox, mangled slightly but fresh.

Could a hare kill a fox? It probably wasn’t a hare… A bear cub, perhaps- yes! A bear cub.

Din sighed and picked up the carcass by the tail, he would put the poor animal in the compost. After he put it in the bed of the truck, Din made off again, considerably slower, towards home. Home was a small cabin in the woods on a large plot. Sorgan was a small enough town, and far enough away from Coruscant but still Din preferred to seek out his own quiet place there. Instead of the picture of suburbia with manicured lawns and awnings and a painted mailbox, Din’s was cozily rundown, an old ranger’s cabin that he’d spent a month fixing up when he moved to Sorgan years ago. Somehow the leftover “flaws” made it seem all the more like a home with its crawling plants tangling up the side, birds nests in the roof and the only heating being a log fireplace. It made his commute to the station longer than it needed to be but he enjoyed that- the landscape of the trees around him and the drive along the quiet, winding road allowed him a moment to relax before and after work. But more than the logs walls, the musty corners, or the heavy smell of the trees that assaulted him every time he’d open the front door, Din’s home was his dogs, Razor and Crest.

Razor was an old bloodhound. The grey hairs around his foggy eyes were covered by the wrinkles and sagging skin that hung off his chunky body, and his bark was like the sound of a rusty saw against a stump- but to say Din loved him was an understatement. Razor’s previous owner, old Mrs Calican, had a similar place in his heart and he was glad that he could keep the woman around in spirit at least- even if it was in the form of an old, flabby dog sprawled over his couch. Crest, the spritely border collie, was exactly the opposite. She was a three year old puppy that had probably only spent 2 minutes in one spot over the three years Din had had her. Crest had a crook in one ear and little black eyes that followed Din’s hands whenever he was in the kitchen or at his workbench. She had her own agenda too, leading Din on walks and freely exploring the area when he’d take her into town with him (always managing to find someone to give her a scratch). She was a good dog, one he was thankful to have with Razor’s age edging eleven and well-tempered despite her energy. Both dogs were like family to Din, as pitiful as that seemed. There was nothing like the moments when Din could watch them potter around the front of his cabin- one much faster than the other- and just simply take the time to breathe in the clear air with a cigarette in one hand and maybe even a glass of whiskey in the other. Home was shrouded now in the mist of night, transformed just like the rest of the town- it looked like it had when he first found it, like a haunted shack, or something out of a slasher movie. Din pulled his truck round to the back of the house, where the original builder had taken advantage of the sloping Earth and built a port that was covered by the foundations of the house. Engine off, he walked around to the bed of the truck for the roadkill. After dumping the fox into the compost, Din checked the water heater in passing and went back to the truck to get the dog food.

He was stopped short with a cold shock- the passenger door was wide open, the interior light illuminating a pair of tiny legs that stuck out. Din’s rifle was in there. He moved quickly, unclipping the fastening on his gun holster, and slowly tred closer to the open door. A few steps closer, Din realised that it was a kid- a young, small kid- and they were tearing into the package of butchers’ paper to get at the raw meat inside.

The kid’s ears pricked as Din got closer and they whipped around in fright. Din rushed to speak but forced out the word as calmly as he could “Easy.” His whole body was one bare nerve but he retained his composure. The kid jumped over the stick shift and ducked into the footwell, dark eyes blown wide at him. Din’s hand fell away from his gun and he held both up empty in front of him, “Easy, kid.” he said again. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Although shadowed by the steering wheel, Din could more clearly make out the kid’s appearance as he ever-so-slightly toed closer to the truck. He- Din could only guess it was a he- had bright blonde hair that was hacked close in a harsh buzz cut, big ears and a button nose, and wore what looked like a pair of coveralls. The kid was covered in dirt too, red-brown mud caked across his face and smeared across his hands. He was skinny too- almost stick thin and he shivered violently from the rain. Din’s eyes moved to the ransacked package of meat, a small hunk gnawed off the fatty chunk of beef. “You hungry, kid?” In the same slow pace he had set, Din placed his hand on the edge of the passenger door, easing it open just a little bit more. “Looks like you could do with a hot meal or two… whaddaya say, kid?”

…

Din opened the door but held back from entering first. He could hear the sounds of his dogs approaching from inside and whistled sharply so they’d hold back. When Din looked at the kid, he was hugging his arms over his chest and staring into the dark doorway with those same wide eyes.

Din kept his voice low. “It’s ok.” he told the kid, “They won’t hurt you.” And to make the boy more at ease, Din reached past the doorframe and flipped on the light. The scene of a bloodhound and a border collie waiting with raised noses was washed in warm lighting, both of them sat eager but still, a few feet away from the threshold. The kid looked up at him again and Din nodded, herding the kid successfully inside.

As soon as the door shut behind the two, the dogs broke from their position to inspect the strange child. Crest was very interested in him and came up to sniff at him before growling and backing up. Din clicked his tongue at her, “Back, Crest.” And she obliged, slinking away quickly towards the bedroom.

Razor was slower getting his nose to the kid but once he did, he nudged him gently. The kid was only just bigger than the flabby bloodhound but he didn’t seem to mind, he actually smiled a little and reached a tentative hand out to pat Razor. “Look at that.” Din observed. “Friends already.”

With the kid finally inside, Din was able to let out a full breath. While the boy was busy greeting Razor and wandering the main room, Din pulled a TV dinner out of his freezer and immediately started heating it up in the microwave. Then he went to his bedroom, giving Crest a reassuring pat as he went, pulled the heavy wool blanket off the end of his bed and tossed it over the couch.

In no time, Din had started a fire in the fireplace and rearranged an end table to be pulled up to the couch. “Here you go kid,” He told the boy, leading him to the cozy spot he had made with the steaming instant meal in hand, “don’t inhale it, alright- it’s hot.”

He couldn’t even be sure that the kid even knew half the words he used but he seemed to understand for the most part, pulling himself up onto Din’s couch and eagerly tucking into the meal set out for him. The boy was still covered in grime from the forest and there was a dark red muck under his little nails but Din wasn’t about to try and wash the kid, he wanted to establish a conscious level of respect for the child’s personal space, knowing a fearful child would stay clammed up. Gingerly, Din tucked the blanket over his little shoulders and turned the TV on quiet to alleviate some of the heavy silence.

The lightning continued to crack and spark outside and the rain set in heavier. From his spot at the table in the kitchen, Din watched the colour bloom in the kids cheeks and thanked whatever force had sent the boy by his cabin. If Din had left Kuiil’s at any other time this boy would still be wandering in the rain at this time of night- the thought of which sent both a flush of relief and fear through him.

Din pushed his shaky fingers through his hair. He thought better of overloading this strange kid with questions the same night that he found him- instead, he dumped them all on himself and they rolled around his brain. Din begged himself to recognise the kid as one that belonged to a family in Sorgan but he found no memories of even a glimpse, no family names came to mind.

Did he belong to a family that was passing through? If that was the case, they’d surely take a while to track down. He’d have to take the kid first thing to the department tomorrow- but that came with the guarantee of a grilling from Sheriff Vanth over the details, and what could he explain beyond the little amount he knew?

To be truthful, missing children were a frequent case in any town, a list that changed by season as each found child was replaced by another just lost. Sorgan was no exception to this trend but usually the children who were reported as missing were found to be wagging school, camping out and doing drugs in the woods behind parents’ backs, or just too young to know not to wander off. Sorgan was a place seldom of any thing above general, petty crime. Resolutions were found quickly and quietly. But something didn’t sit right with Din about the case of the child on his couch. Usually when the shadowy things of Sorgan were bathed in light, they made sense- like the way a crooked figure in the shrubs was just a rusty bike twisted around a tree- but this child remained shrouded in mystery.

Thoroughly stressed, Din poured himself a tall glass of whiskey and downed near half of it standing. The kid had passed out from what must’ve been pure exhaustion and Razor had made himself comfortable with his flabby head in the boy's lap. When he came over to clean up and fix the blanket, Din got a closer look at what the kid was wearing.

He was right, it was a pair of coveralls, but it actually looked to be more of a kind of uniform. Grey-brown in colour with contrast stitching and velcro fastenings that attached both sleeves and closed the front but what caught his attention was the embroidered symbol on the chest and the badge below it. It wasn’t any symbol he recognised, depicting a pair of wings that opened around a point.

Written across the badge was the text: Grogu 9.

Happy October everyone!! this is a spooky AU I've been working on for quite a while now so I'm very excited to share it, what better time than now to start, huh!! I don't know how regularly my updates will come since these are meaty chapters and I have a lot of material in my notes that I want to cover well enough but there's a lot of things about this AU I really love so I hope I can do the concept justice.

Thanks for reading xx

Join the taglist Masterlist

link to the divider I used!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian au #the mandalorian modern au #the mandalorian fanfiction #stranger things au #thriller au #din djarin au #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin and grogu #mandomera #fright in the night #star wars au #star wars crossover #star wars fanfiction #ronnie's actual writing #ronnie's aus

53 notes · View notes

ronnieiswriting · 3 years

Text

FRIGHT IN THE NIGHT

The Mandalorian; A Stranger Things AU (80s mystery/ thriller)

Chapter Two: A Foul Stench WC: 3858 Tags: Main character death, Descriptions of animal remains and dead bodies- nothing too graphic but be warned, Drug and alcohol use and references, General violence and mature themes, nothing overtly explicit , Background Mandomera- if you squint- it's more about our main boys x - please let me know if there's anything I should add!

Previous Chapter --- Next Chapter

Din threw off the covers as soon as sunlight started peeking through the blinds. He could hardly sleep and Crest had just started scratching at the back door. When he pulled himself up and out of bed, he was relieved to find that the air wasn’t as cold as usual but the rain had apparently lasted through the night, now only a drizzle on the roof.

Any more emerging contentment in him left when he reached the doorway and saw the kid standing on the couch, staring out the adjacent window. It wasn’t some vivid dream- it was a waking nightmare.

Crest’s ears were back and she pawed at the door again when she saw that Din had entered the room. Din rubbed his eyes but opened the wooden door for her nonetheless and she scampered off quickly through the dog flap and onto the dirt to then disappear through the trees.

The kid was still staring out the window when Din turned back around, shutting the door behind him, and when he craned his neck to look in the same direction he cracked a small smile at the boy. “Good view, huh.” He said, hoping the gravel in his voice didn’t reveal how uneasy he felt. “It's better without the rain.”

He guessed the boy would retain his silence but then to Din’s surprise, he pointed at the scenery and said, “Fire.”

A cold sweat ripped through Din before his logic could protest. He whipped around and scanned the entire landscape for any sign of fire or smoke but found none through the light mist and fog. Confused, he turned back to the kid, who only insisted the word again and jabbed his finger higher. Din scanned again, briefer this time. “The… Sun?” It peaked through the low cloud, like a glowing ball that blinked in and out of clarity.

The kid’s brow furrowed but he nodded. “Sun.” He said in his small voice.

Din looked him over again, reading the badge on his coveralls as if the letters had rearranged overnight. He decided to push a little. “You must be younger than I thought- or from somewhere out West.” Din knew that school age was between five and six but the boy looked to be about seven or eight- if he was from a rural town West of Sorgan that could explain why a child might call the sun “fire”; the Western climate was an anomaly in itself let alone the culture.

The boy shook his head again.

“No? How old are you.”

The kid didn’t say anything more, instead he climbed off the couch and wandered over to where Razor was stretching in between collecting mouthfuls of kibble.

Din had to hold in a frustrated sigh- just when he had got the kid talking… At least the kid could talk.

Once Din had woken himself up he fixed the kid's breakfast, plating up a couple of eggos and pouring him a cup of water. As the kid pulled himself onto one of the dining chairs, Din started a mental shopping list: “bread, some kind of jam… juice?” Which went on to include some other things that Din was out of and he turned to jotting the list down on a scrap of paper. No matter how long the kid was going to stay with him, he wanted to make sure he had enough on hand to take care of him in case it extended to be a week or so- but also, Din had left his own basic needs hanging for a while, only going to the shops for dog food or popping in to Kuiil’s every now and then, other than that he would be moping either around the station or at home. The kid had quickly become a reason to put himself back in check, physically and mentally. Din knew he couldn’t take the kid into Sorgan without raising questions- especially not with the cryptic looking uniform- so he sifted through his draws for anything that might fit him.

Din considered himself a practical man. It was almost impossible to find anything in his cabin that referenced his life before Sorgan, a detail that certainly wasn’t coincidental. There were boxes of papers that recorded his time spent in various half-way homes and the military school that claimed him for his teenage years, but those were kept well away from his conscious mind, hidden from his thoughts and sight in the attic. That wasn’t to say Din was devoid of sentimentality, it was quite the opposite case actually, but it did mean that he was unable to find much that would fit the kid other than a plain singlet and one of his plaid shirts, both of which were sure to swim on the boy’s little frame.

He came back to the main room to help the kid change, intending to keep the pants portion of the coveralls on him and tying the arms around his waist. First, he took to the muck on his face and hands with a damp face cloth with slow, gentle movements and by narrating what he was doing so as not to catch the child off guard. When the boy had grown accustomed to his closeness, Din asked him if he could undo the velcro fastening, to which he got a small nod in return. He started at the closure over his chest and pushed the fabric back over his shoulders and down the boy’s arms. Din stopped short. Not only was Din confronted with the true state of the child’s body- almost skeletal with the way his bones protruded from under his skin- but there was a cannula lodged in the centre of his left forearm.

“Are you sick?” Din hadn’t considered it before but now it struck him as an obvious answer to the whole mess- It would explain his skittish behaviour, his appearance, the fact that Din hadn’t seen him before if he was a permanent patient at the Sorgan Hospital. Still… It didn't explain anything about his clothing. A hospital admission ID bracelet would have been more assuring than a symbol and a badge that just looked to be a jumble of letters and a number.

Din clarified to the kid, now that he was closer to an explanation, “Did you come from the hospital?”

The boy shook his head, “No.”

Din didn’t dare touch the cannula and he was hesitant to ask more questions. “Does it hurt?”

The boy looked down at it and shook his head, “No.”

When Din pulled the singlet over his head and tucked the hem carefully into the coveralls, pulling the sleeves to cinch the fit, he watched for any kind of flinch or wince as the material brushed over the plastic tube. Din knew it was a bad idea to try to remove it himself but he didn’t want it to catch against anything and rip out accidentally. Again, he asked the child before doing anything, “Is it ok if I take it out for you?”

The boy nodded his head this time but a different look followed across his features, one that Din instantly recognised to be related to remembered pain; trauma. It wrinkled his fine brow and his little nose scrunched up ready to sob.

Din took his hand as gently as he could. “Hey, hey.” The boy was cold to the touch despite the warmth in the room; Din didn’t let it affect his composure, “It’s gonna be ok. It’ll be quick, I promise. It only hurts a second.”

The boy met his eyes, blown wide and brown, two pools ready to spill- It was like Din was staring into a mirror thirty years ago. “Promise?” He asked Din in a wobbly voice. It melted through the ice he had set around his heart long ago, leaving Din all too aware of the burning sensation that was rising behind his eyes.

Din nodded, producing a simple definition, “A promise… is something you can’t break- ever.”

…

To Din’s relief, the Sheriff’s wagon wasn’t in its usual parking spot when He pulled into the station lot. Vanth wasn’t in yet.

Before Din pulled the keys out of the ignition he turned to the boy next to him who was propped up in the passenger seat with a folded blanket and a cushion under him so he could see the road. “I probably should’ve asked you sooner, kid, but what’s your name?”

The kid pointed to the spot over his chest where the badge would be on his coveralls. “Grogu.”

Din was dumbfounded. There was a way to pronounce that jumble of letters? He tested it on his lips, “Grogu?” To which the boy nodded happily. “Is that… short for something?” When he got no clarification, he decided against pressing this time. “Look, Grogu,” he started slowly, choosing each word carefully, “We’re going to go inside to see a nice lady who is going to help you get back home. She’s going to ask you a lot of questions but if you can answer them- or as many as you can- I’ll get you some candy or something after. Whatever you want, kid. Can you do that for me?”

He was surprised to get a verbal answer out of him. “Yes.” Said Grogu.

Din smiled, “Good.” He finally tugged his keys out of the truck and hopped out before coming around the front to let the door open for the kid and help him down. Grogu eyed the police station warily. “Don’t worry, kid. No one in there will hurt you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Cara Dune, rolled her eyes openly over the rim of the mug she drank from. “‘Bout time you showed up, Djarin. I was just to call out a search part for you.” She laughed as he came through the door of her shoebox-sized office. “Guess I shouldn’t have worried though,” she set down the mug of coffee and leaned back in her chair, “you’d never let me start missing you, huh.” Din said nothing and he pat the seat of the chair set on the other side of Cara’s desk and a small child popped into her view, jumping up to sit across from her. Her disposition changed quickly into one more child-friendly. “Hey there, buddy! Got yourself a friend, did ya, Djarin?”

Grogu lit up at her bubbly tone but Din remained stoic. “I found him last night in the storm. Well-” He looked down at the kid, “He found me. Right outside my cabin.”

Cara frowned at that. “What’s your name, bud?”

Grogu looked up at Din for affirmation before he told her. The frown remained on her face at the name but she didn’t comment on its oddness. She pulled the notepad that was kept next to the phone in front of her, taking down his name. “Do you know your last name, Grogu?”

Grogu shook his head.

Cara took down a few more scribbled notes, humming as she did. “Do you know what town you live in, Grogu?”

Grogu shook his head again.

“What about your parents, bud? Do you know their names?”

He was silent for a moment and Cara waited, hopeful. Only for Grogu to shake his head again, “No.”

Din pat Grogu’s shoulder comfortingly as Cara excused herself for a moment to buzz the receptionist in on the phone. “You did good, kid.” he said. “Don’t worry.”

Once the receptionist had led Grogu out of her office with the promise of a muffin and more of Din’s reassurance, Cara motioned for Din to sit across from her. He offered her a cigarette and she accepted it gladly. “About what time did you find him last night?”

Din extended his lighter towards her before he lit his own, “Just after twelve. I was coming back from Kuiil’s and I came across him while I was unloading my truck.” He took a drag, waiting for Cara’s pen to come to a stop against the notepad. “I took him in, put him in front of the fire and fed him. He didn’t start talking to me until this morning.”

“Anything about where he came from? Who he is?” Cara asked around the cigarette.

“Nothing. Although-” Din reached into the pocket on the front of his uniform shirt. He placed the cannula wrapped in a handkerchief on the desk between them. “This was in his arm. I asked him if he came from the hospital but he said no.” Cara hummed, eyeing the plastic. “If he was he would’ve been in a hospital gown right?”

Cara ashed in the tray on the desk. “Probably. I’ll call the hospital anyway, ask if they're missing a Grogu kid. I don’t know what the alternative answer is, though. What other kind of kid has access to a cannula?”

Din shrugged. “One with addict parents?” It didn’t sound like the right answer and Cara seemed just as unsure of it as any sort of credible answer. Din looked over to the inside-window in Cara’s office that looked into the staff room in the station. Grogu was seated on a waiting chair, his legs swinging as he enjoyed a chocolate chip muffin, the receptionist chatting to him sweetly. Din ashed the cigarette in the dish on Cara’s desk. “What should I do with him?”

“Well, If you can keep him well for another day or two, that’d be great.” Cara said. “I’ll make some calls out to the Arvala and Nevarro stations, see if they’ve got anything on this kid- missing children cases and the like- but you’re gonna have to talk with Vanth about the shifts you take.”

Din stood up. It was one thing to consider a blessing about a small town, three cops was often too many for any one day. “Right. thanks, Deputy.”

Cara smiled, seeing him out the door. “Hey- your ex has a kid right? Maybe she could take the boy for a bit?”

Din soured. “Yeah- maybe.” the words came out forced, clear in the assertion that there was still a great deal of tension. Further, it was not something he was about to detail. Thankfully, Cara could take the hint.

When Grogu saw Din he bounded back to his side to Cara’s amusement. “No one can say you don’t have a way with kids.” she said and clapped him on the shoulder, retreating into her office afterwards.

Grogu followed Din as they made to leave the station, going to take his hand but pushing it back down to his side when they were stopped by the Sheriff who stepped through the front door.

Sheriff Cobb Vanth was the same height as Din but he always stood up straighter in Din’s company- as if the shiny sheriff badge on his chest didn’t embellish his authority enough.

Vanth had transferred to the Sorgan Police Department from his less prestigious position in Mos Pelgo’s department when he’d shown potential. Sorgan was no real reward, holding none of the thrills a bigger city promised like high-speed car chases or gang busts. The glint of a dream in Vanth’s eye had been clouded by Sorgan’s gloom. Such were the ingredients of a grumpy, bemused Sheriff.

Vanth looked Din over, grey-brown eyes landing on the child next to him. “Finally knock someone up, did ya, Din?” It was an unusual comment as Din didn’t take Vanth for the kind that would indulge in the rumor mill. Din put up his defences instantly, keeping the kid behind him slightly. “Not my kid, Sheriff.”

The Sheriff looked the both of them over again, zeroing in on the boy’s dirty face and his shorn hair. “Little vandals start young, huh?” He asked the receptionist for his morning coffee gruffly- barely interested in anything beyond passing shallow judgements this early in the morning. Din swallowed a grumble, herding Grogu towards the door. “Dune will fill you in, Sheriff.”

The clouds and the rain from the night had almost completely disappeared by the time Din and Grogu climbed back into the truck. The road was busy as Din joined the traffic with Sorgan’s morning commute- kids going to school, people going to work- and he couldn’t place the last time he had found himself in the middle of it.

Din drummed his hands against the steering wheel at a red light, looking over at Grogu every now and then. He felt the need to fill the silence between them, “Looks like you're stuck with me for a few days so we’ll get you some clothes that fit, okay, kid?” Grogu nodded, his eyes fixed on everything around him, taking in everything as if it were an alien world. The light turned green and the comfortable quiet resumed. The grocery store was only two streets away from the police station so they pulled into the lot after a few minutes, Din hesitating again to move once he had put the truck in park.

“Grogu?” Din thought he’d never get used to the name.

The kid let out a garbled hum, dropping the corner of the shirt from where he had been fiddling with the buttons.

“You can, uh, call me Din by the way.” Din had found that his name was easy to pronounce for kids, one syllable- like the sound that a tin can makes when you kick it, he would say. He smiled fondly at the memory; a little girl with wild hair giggling uncontrollably at his comparison, making the sound over and over again “Din, din, din!”

Grogu grinned, big and toothy. “Din.”

A smile pulled at the corners of Din’s mouth.

…

Din set to work unloading the groceries, watching as Grogu greeted Razor as if they were old friends.

The kid was already proving himself to be vastly different than any other child he’d known. For the entire duration of the shopping trip (including the time spent picking out a few clothing items that fit the kid well enough) Grogu had stuck right by his side, not wandering or lagging for a second even as they entered the confectionery aisle. All evidence would suggest the child to be skittish and unruly- especially considering the way that Din found him- but he was wholly well-behaved and polite.

How could the child that shyly pointed to a small bag of gummy frogs when Din had prompted his choice of treats be the same child as the one that was hunched over a package of raw meat, muddy and gaunt like the creature from a campfire story.

A scary thought dawned on Din then as Crest watched him put away things in cupboards: There was the possibility that the boy had been running away. From what or who he could only speculate… but it made more sense than any other theory this far. It explained his demeanor, his initial nervousness, his physical state- what kind of situation drove a child to such desperate measures other than-- Din didn’t even like to think of the word.

For all he knew, Grogu had been roaming the forest for years, living off of the wildlife like an animal. To an animal, the sun was simply fire.

Yet as conclusive as that speculation may be, there were still missing pieces or rather missing bridges between the facts; nothing to explain the utilitarian clothing with the weird embroidery nor the cannula in his arm.

Crest’s bark pulled Din out of his mind and back to Earth. He looked down to where she had wedged herself between his legs and the counter, one of her paws touched to the top of his shoe as if to say ‘why is this strange child still in my house?’.

Din could only apologize to her with a scratch under her ear which she leant into greedily, “Good girl.” He hoped the collie would warm up the child soon if they were going to be spending a few days together. She wasn’t an aggressive dog and she actually got along splendidly with his ex’s daughter. Perhaps that was why she took to Grogu so negatively- she resented Din for what she understood to be a replacement.

Everything now put away, Din left the kitchen with Crest in toe to find Grogu. They found the boy sitting next to the small bookshelf in the living room by the TV. He was admiring the few novels he had lined up but he refrained from touching them.

“You’re welcome to read one if you’d like.” There weren't many at all that were suitable for young readers as the majority of them were old survival manuals left behind by the forest ranger.

The boy turned then, startled only slightly. He looked back at the books with that same inquisitive look he had worn earlier that morning.

“Here,” Din approached him from the side and knelt down to his level, slipping one of the books off the shelf, “maybe you’ll like this one, it's about aliens.” The book bore the whimsical title How to Steal Saturn’s Ring; a fictional story from a classic author about the unlikely friendship between a young boy and an alien that crash lands in his backyard. He couldn’t remember the ending as it had been some time since he last read it, but he knew it was happy.

Grogu took the book from him and opened it to a random page. He frowned at it and then turned it sideways.

“Do you know how to read, kid?” When the boy shook his head, Din’s heart broke. He adjusted the book in the child’s hands, “Maybe I can teach you some letters? It might give you something to do while you stay here for a few days.” It made more sense for Din to take him to school but he had the feeling that he wouldn’t fare well there with the other children. In the end it wouldn’t be worth putting the boy through the stress, he’d be likely to be gone in a few days.

…

That night, the inside of Din’s cabin was like a diorama of perfect domesticity. Crest was asleep on the couch, making wuff sounds as she dreamt, Razor was sprawled out under the table where above, the evidence of a good dinner for two had been pushed aside to make room for a notebook. Din wrote out each letter of the alphabet in both cases, sounding them out as he went, before handing the boy the pencil to then watch as he copied them.

It filled Din with an amount of pride to see that Grogu looked comfortable, full-bellied in an outfit that fit him well, in a place that had gone too long without the warmth of a child’s presence. Din stood up with an encouraging hand on Grogu’s shoulder, moving into the kitchen to take the dishes and begin to make up two mugs of hot chocolate.

He looked out at the rain starting to set in again and couldn’t stifle the contentment that rose in him. Din caught himself smiling, wide and genuine, in the reflection of the window.

Another week, another update!! I hope this one is just as good as the last, as we build a bit more of the general setting before diving into the real spooky stuff I have planned for these boys!

Thanks for reading xx

Taglist: @magikfanatic @chronic-nosebleed join the taglist Masterlist

link to the divider I used

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian au #the mandalorian modern au #the mandalorian fanfiction #stranger things au #thriller au #din djarin au #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin and grogu #mandomera #fright in the night #star wars au #star wars crossover #the mandalorian crossover #star wars fanfiction #ronnie's actual writing #ronnie's aus

19 notes · View notes