Stumbles Out Of Google Docs With Newfound Daddy Issues

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On a Hot, Hot Day (Din x Reader Insert)

Sequel to On a Cold, Cold Night.

Post The Mandalorian season 2, Pre-Book of Boba Fett

Summary: On a desert planet with the looming threat of a sandstorm rolling in, you find a ghost from your past buried in the dunes with you being his only chance at survival before the storm hits.

Rating: T

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, depiction of depression, brief but mild mention of attempted suicide, alcoholism, and a shit ton of FLUFF.

Word Count: 8,180

On a hot, hot day, the double suns above caressed your skin like an overzealous lover that caused sweat to drip from your hairline and pool uncomfortably in the dip of your lower back. In front of you: home. Behind you: a gale wails in agony as a large tsunami sand wall races after you. The wind whipped at your face, your goggles your only form of protection from stray sand plucked from the ground from the acceleration of your speeder bike, racing against time and nature.

Based on the placement of the nefarious suns, you calculated you had about ten minutes left before you reached the safety of your dwelling and the sandstorm hit, the howling behind you letting you know you had about twenty before the desert blizzard hit and would strand you for a few days once you got home. And just as you approached the ruins of an old temple, the last landmark of your journey, the brightness of something metallic shining in the harsh, desert light nearly blinded you into crashing into a broken column. You wanted to pull your goggles aside to wipe your eyes so badly, but the threat of sand making the sting worse and scraping your face stopped you from doing so.

At first, your mind chalked up the metallic shine to a scrap the Jawas had left behind or hadn’t found yet. But as you passed the ruins, the last stretch of the landmark approaching, you couldn’t help but rethink your assessment. When do the Jawas ever leave anything behind, and when are they ever not aware of alien scrap in their desert? Against your better judgment, you turned your speeder around to hunt down whatever it was that caught your eye. Whether it was curiosity or a nagging feeling on the back of your neck not caused by the suns, you couldn’t say. But something beckoned you either way and who were you to not heed its call?

Your eyes picked up the shine of silver and you had to squint through your goggles to keep your focus on whatever had caught your attention as you approached it. Wavering between broken pieces of the forgotten building jetting out of the sands and ducking when the wind threw something larger than a pebble at you from the intensity of the approaching storm, you finally found the source of what caught your attention.

You parked your speeder and hopped off, approaching what at first looked like a heap of shiny metal untouched by time, your excitement of having an easy payout dampening your logic. But as you grew closer, the scrap turned into the form of a large man, sprawled halfway buried in a dune. Your heart raced at the discovery and ran to the figure to aid them, but immediately froze when you took in the specific details you hadn't seen from afar. 

The body was a Mandalorian.

The helmet’s black strip for eyes bore right into you, daring you to come any closer. You matched its intensity behind your own goggles, body rigid, unsure if the man was waiting to see who’d make the first move. But he didn’t budge. A gust of wind shoved you towards him, making your decision for you. The push nearly had you fall face first into the sand, but you managed to land safely on your knees instead. But when you realized how close the wind had brought you to the Mandalorian in front of you, your head snapped up waiting for the man to strike.

But nothing came.

The gust that pushed you had shoved more sand onto his body, burying him further. And a reminder of the storm that had been nipping at your heels for the past hour. You glanced towards the sea of sand, now much closer than what was comfortable, and you turn back to the Mandalorian. 

“Fuck.”

You stomp the ground in irritation at your good heart and started to scoop the sand away until more of the Mandalorian’s body surfaced. When enough was out of the way, he slumped against you and it took everything in you not to fall over from his weight. Another glance back at the storm told you you had fifteen minutes to get home, and the heavy body in your arms made you wonder if the rescue was even worth it. Was the man under the armor even alive? If he was, would he survive at all if you just left him there?

Knowing the answer and not liking either outcome, it took everything in you to drag the legendary warrior out from the rest of the sand. From his satchel, empty bottles of the local whiskey rolled out, one stopping at the toe of your boot. You scrunched your brow but knew you didn’t have time to analyze this new discovery. With strained muscles that screamed with every step you took, you manage to drag the Mandalorian back to your speeder and with great effort, flung him onto his stomach on the bike and hopped on behind him, taking off with one hand on his back in a weak attempt to keep him from slipping.

Over the roar of the speeder and the approaching storm, you couldn’t be too sure but you thought you heard a weak moan from the man. The thought made your heart flutter with hope and relief that he was alive, but you decided to celebrate later in the shelter of your home.

By the time you made it to the mouth of the cave where the back wall had a single wooden door built into a natural hole in the stone, the storm was minutes away from swallowing you and your metal companion alive. It had become near impossible to both steer and try to keep the Mandalorian from falling, and you thanked whatever deity was out there that they gifted you the luck to get you both home alive and safe.

With haste, you secured your speeder once in the cave’s mouth and fastened an anchor and protective cloth over it. Throwing your backpack over your shoulders, you tugged the Mandalorian off the bike and ungracefully dragged him the ten feet it took to get to your front door, nervously fumbling with the keys to unlock it, and slamming the door shut the moment you both were securely inside. You barely had enough time to lock the door and slam the barricade blocks down to keep the door from blasting open when the storm finally hit. The winds and sand screamed and wailed and scratched at the thickness of the door and the stone walls of your home, but had no effect on the strength of the wooden door and its built-in barricade. You were able to let go of the breath you didn’t know you were even holding, shoulders slumping in the relief you hadn’t felt in maybe two years.

The place you called home was a humble abode carved into the cave itself from perhaps centuries prior with the help of both man and nature. You had found it by accident about a year ago when you were out scavenging for things to sell to get by on the desert planet. It had been mostly hidden by the dunes and the harsh contrast of sun on stone, the shadows cast over the rock formations made the entrance look like a dip in the rock and nearly undetectable to the naked eye.

Although the structure had long been abandoned, you were surprised to find a bed frame and basic pieces of furniture made of solid wood left behind. It wasn't a lot, just enough for you to use until you could make the place more livable and homey. And despite the primitiveness of the house, you found whoever had made it their own had gone out of their way to use every crevice in a modern way. Dips in the walls were used as shelving and a fireplace and stove were built into the stone's crevices like they had belonged there all along.

You had been especially shocked to find that the home had a working natural sanistream, the tub a deep dip carved in the ground within the grotto. Whoever had carved it created a piping system that utilized the planet’s natural pockets of water deep in the ground without damaging the natural formation perfect for the tub. Between a working bath, toilet, and sinks; you felt like you had hit the jackpot of indiscreet housing that was both practical and comfortable all at once.

Glancing down, you finally took in your new companion for the next few days. Your eyes roamed over his body freely now that you no longer had the threat of the storm whipping at your backs.

You couldn’t tell how badly the man was hurt or where he was hurt exactly from the black thickness of his flight suit and the armor he wore. With a shaky hand, you slipped off a glove and bent down, slowly reaching for the man's neck to give him time to stop you if he truely was alive and perhaps even awake. When he didn't snatch at you or groan in defiance, you dug your two fingers under his cowl until you felt the texture of human skin. 

It was cold and clammy, but the faint pulse promised you a sliver of the man’s chance at survival now that you’ve found him. You swore, grateful that he was alive, but panicking now that you knew you had three days to either revive this man like the dying houseplant he was or live with a corpse for the next few days.

Refusing to think twice, you immediately began disrobing him of the heaviest of his armor and gear. The cowl came off easily, but you fumbled for far too long with this breastplate and vambraces. Your fingers went numb with the effort, and no relief came when you tossed the armor aside once it was free. Your hands rested on the indented cheekbones of his helmet and you hesitated. Was there a rule about this? You genuinely couldn’t remember, and it wasn’t like you had time to search for an answer on your datapad anyway.

With trembling hands, you unclasped the helmet and slid it off slowly, inch by inch until a firm jaw with disheveled salt and pepper facial hair was revealed, followed by extremely chapped lips, a sharp nose, and a mop of dark brown curls. You placed the helmet on the ground with more reverence, eyes roaming over the man’s face, fingertips brushing his features.

The Mandalorian’s face and neck were flushed, other parts ashen. His breathing had quickened since taking off his armor, his chest heaving with exertion and discomfort. Your hand jerked back when his eyelids fluttered open and you couldn't stop the hiss from escaping your teeth at the glossed-over look his eyes gave you. Through you, not at you. This was worse than you thought. He mumbled something you couldn’t make out, a shaky hand raising as if to touch you, but his arm fell limp and his eyes rolled in the back of his head. You immediately cupped his cheeks and gently shook his head, willing him to reopen his eyes, but he was out. 

“Kriff.”

You quickly stripped yourself of your own gear, kicking your boots into a box with slippers and some flats, and hanging your outer layers and the Mandolorian’s satchel on a rack beside the door. You turned to face the man in question, wincing. 

“I’ll be right back, just... just going to put this away. Okay?”

You awkwardly held up your backpack of supplies as if he could see it, then skittered off to the kitchen. You unceremoniously dropped each item in its place, including a hole in the natural rock formation that had been turned into a natural refrigerator, and booked it back to the warrior. You sighed, rolling your neck, already feeling how bad your knees and back will ache when you drag the Mandalorian deeper into your home and to your precious sanistream. You’re already looking forward to drawing a hot bath for yourself when the temperature that night drops and the Mandalorian rests. But for now, his life was in your hands.

With a strength and determination you hadn’t felt since your time on the run, you wrapped your arms under the warrior's armpits and dragged the Mandalorian towards your sanistream. You willed yourself on through bated breath and sweat threatening to blind you as it dripped from your hairline. Through eroded hallways smoothed over with time and water from times long gone by and lit with bioluminescent moss-grown as lamps, your back and knees screamed for a break but you knew if you stopped you’d struggle to find it in you to continue again.

The man in your arms groaned weakly only a few times during your trip to the fresher, but otherwise remained still. You nearly cried from relief once you make it to the fresher, the curtain hung up for privacy a beacon of success. The ribbon at the end of a long race. With a burst of energy, you pulled the Mandalorian the rest of the way in and slumped to the ground with him in your arms, your back against the wall, panting. Your clothes clung to you with your sweat despite how cool the cave kept the abode naturally.

The bathroom glowed a warm yellow from the bioluminescent moss, bright enough to see what was important, but soft and dull enough to be kind on strained eyes and tired minds. The never got over how romantic the moss made your home feel in the darkest of spaces, reminding you of something straight out of a fairytale your adopted mother had read to you as a child. 

With the first moment of peace you’ve had since finding the warrior and the storm, you’re able to really feel him against you. Broad shoulders and a strong body that unintentionally flexed wherever you touched him. And with him so close and the elements no longer a threatening distraction, you’re able to truly smell him and you realize he reeks of alcohol. You couldn’t stop your nose from scrunching at the newfound stench and gag from the sweetness that only came from the whiskey bottles you had found him with in the dune. Had he been drinking and wandered off into the desert one night after having one too many? Being out there sober without protection was already a death wish, but drunk?

As gently as you could, you dragged the warrior with weak arms and legs to the sanistream’s tub and thanked whatever god was out there that the original owners thought to utilize the natural formation in the rock rather than build a tub. You weren’t sure how you would’ve gotten the Mandalorian in otherwise and your back ached at the idea. 

Laying the man down next to the tub, you carefully pushed his hair out of his face and wiped away the sweat from around his eyes with the delicate touch of your fingers, heart clenching for him. You really hoped he pulled through.

You barely had the energy to unlace let alone take off his shoes. You ended up ripping them off the moment they were loose enough, and tossed them somewhere behind you to be collected when the man was more stable. You sighed through trembling fingers to unbutton and unzip the flight suit, struggling to peel the thick fabric from the man’s torso, and cursing when you saw yet another shirt hiding beneath. You managed to lift his shoulders enough to slide the flight suit off, then nearly ripped the shirt trying to tug it off with the grace of a newborn bantha. 

You tossed the shirt aside and worked the flight suit under him, struggling to hold his hips up as you slid the offending garment down and had to yank them over thick thighs and calves. Not that it mattered in a medical sense, but you were thankful he had at least worn long johns underneath the suit. Yet you still peeled that article down as well and were even more relieved to see the man wore brief shorts underneath. You forgot just how cold space could get.

With one last burst of energy, you managed to drag him into the tub with you and let him rest against you as you took a moment to catch your breath, his weight falling on you knocking the air out of you. You reached over and turned a knob, welcoming the ice-cold water as it filled the tub. The sudden coldness jolted you and your flinch caused the Mandalorian to groan. You rubbed his arm in an apology, waiting for the tub to fill enough.

Once the water height engulfed the man enough to help bring his temperature down but not enough to drown him if he were to slide or slouch, you carefully slid out from under him and placed his head softly against the tub’s edge.

His breathing had calmed and when you placed your hands on his face, you were relieved to feel the skin was less clammy and had lost a little of its flush from the cool relief. You let your fingers drag down to his neck and your shoulders relaxed, feeling the pulse beneath your fingers beat a little stronger.

Convinced he wouldn’t drown, you hesitantly parted from the warrior, giving him one long last glance, then allowed your tired legs to carry you back to your home’s entrance. Outside, the wind continues to scream and sand scratches to get in, but they fall on deaf ears as you collect the Mandalorian’s armor and helmet and carry it to your room, briefly checking in on the man as you pass the fresher.

The only rooms not needing the bioluminescent moss were the rooms on the upper incline of the cave where they each had large holes turned windows facing the desert. Large sheets of the same transparisteel used on ships had been wedged into place and protected the rooms from the harsh and unforgiving desert environment. By the time you had found the place, the thickness of the space glass had aged with dust, still not enough to block the view but enough to make it look smokey and orange. 

The space you designated yours had been an abandoned bedroom, the furniture still there but collecting dust. From what you could tell, it might’ve been a couple’s room. No photos had been left behind to give you a clue as to who once lived there, so you couldn’t confirm, but the hunch was formed by the size of the bed along with the amount of space the wardrobes and vanity had. Far too much space for just one person, but you weren’t complaining. Especially after living in the tightest, most uncomfortable places while on the run all those years ago. It almost felt like a gift from the gods, and you accepted it with gratitude. 

You had to replace the sheets and clean the mattress and rugs, but after that and a good dusting, everything was as good as new. Minus the windows, which you cleaned the inside of but couldn’t for the life of you bring yourself to clean the outside. Maybe one day you’ll get a droid for that. One day.

The geometric rugs kept the room warm at night and the stone walls kept it cool during the day. When you needed the light, and the desert was kind, the stars and moon were often enough. But when a storm raged, just as it was now and you couldn’t see a thing out of the window, you settled on using old lamps that used bantha fat and oil, resources easy to obtain and took awhile to burn through. 

You were greeted to your room bathed in a dark orange hue, the furniture drenched in long shadows. Your bare feet patted over the soft rugs and over to the vanity where you placed the armor on its table, the last being the helmet that was tucked under your arm.

You held the helmet in your hands, gazing down at the black strip. It stirred a memory for you, of a snowy planet and an abandoned cabin. Of a time when you had been on the run from an abusive slave owner who had taken your adopted family away from you. Had taken you far from the life you were comfortably living.

After breaking your arm and being ill-prepared for a blizzard, you honestly thought your end had come. All the running, killing stealing... it had felt all for naught but you welcomed the embrace of death as it reached for you. You barely remember the day before the storm hit or the days waiting it out, just the moment you had come to, bandaged up and with a comlink waiting for you on your dresser containing the half-assed obituary declaring you dead.

The only memory, if you could call it that, from those blurry days was of a Mandalorian. Tall, broad, and hovered over you like the personification of Death. You remember trying to reach out to him and touch him, but that was it. For the longest time, despite your wounds being bandaged, the cabin boarded up, a fire waiting for you, and even some cooked food in the fridge… you had wondered if you had hallucinated him. If maybe a kind stranger had shown up and you mistook them for a Mandalorian or if you had in your delirium done it all and just didn’t remember it.

But gazing down at the helmet, you knew that the Mandalorian had been real. The lullabies sung to you were too far away for you to make out the lyrics, but the melody was close enough now to tickle your ear from time to time. You often dreamed up stories of places you had never been to, with creatures you had never seen. And some part of you, deep down, knew that they hadn't been made up by your brain. The Mandalorian haunted you in all the best ways possible, the personification of Death turned into one of a guardian angel. 

The Mandalorian had been Death incarnate if you hadn’t been injured. If you hadn’t been sick. He probably would have dragged you back to your owner with no mercy and you wouldn't be alive in this beautiful home in the desert with luxuries you didn’t know existed for people like you. Your near-death experience gave you a chance at life.

It’s why seeing the Mandalorian out in the dunes had startled you. The memory, although comforting, reminded you that you had been the man’s prey if you hadn’t luckily unlucky with your health. And seeing another Mandalorian so close to your desert home made you wonder if he was also a bounty hunter. And if he was, did it mean you had a bounty on your head again? Were people aware you actually were alive and well? And what about the alcohol?

But most importantly… was this the same Mandalorian from all those years ago? His armor had been red if you remembered right, and the armor in front of you was pure silver. 

You shook your head and placed the helmet on the vanity’s countertop, too fatigued to compare the warrior of your past and the warrior of your present. You hesitantly let the helmet go, but not before you let yourself get caught up in its blank stare. It took everything in you to pull away from its grip and willed yourself out of the room.

The warrior hadn’t drowned when you returned, and his body was less flushed and clammy. When you took his pulse, gratitude washed over you that the man was on his way to recovery. The worst appeared to be over, but it would still take a few days before he’d become coherent again.

You drained the tub and pulled out a towel to wipe him down. You struggled to get the man dry, sliding back into the tub with him. You attempted to pull him out but the strain in your back and knees reminded you of the daunting task at hand to get him into your room and you swore. You really were going to need that hot bath later.

The towels had been too small to use to drag him back, so you opted to get your spare sheet and yanked the warrior onto it after managing to drag him out of the tub. With most of his body on the cloth, you managed to drag him the rest of the way to your room and dropped the sheet to the ground once it was next to your bed with a huff. 

You couldn’t tell how much time had passed thanks to the storm, but based on how much dimmer the room was, you guessed it was approaching evening. Your legs felt as if they’d give out on you when you stood, but you ignored the weakness in favor of turning the lamps on before it got too dark and you had to fumble your way in the darkness.

Glancing over at the warrior’s slumped figure, you sighed and prayed to the gods for one last second wind.

You wrapped your arms under his and with the last bit of your strength, you manage to get him onto your bed in an ungraceful sprawl just as your body finally gave out from the strain. 

You let yourself lay on the ground, staring up at the stone ceiling. You allowed your body to feel the deep aches, cradling the discomfort and reminding yourself it wasn’t permanent. You listened to the Mandalorian above you breathe deeply, the very life inhaling and exhaling through his nose was like a melody, lulling you to a doze. 

From your place on the ground, you watched as the room went from a deep orange to nearly black, the death of the day witnessed with gratitude from your unmoving spot. The oil lamps were your only source of light, and where the sun through the storm bathed the room in oranges, the lamps washed the room in yellow pastels. 

Shaking the sleep from your head and rolling the fatigue out of your shoulders, you groaned as you sat up and leaned against the mattress for emotional and physical support. When you were ready, you dragged yourself to the kitchen and made yourself the simplest food you could make with whatever was left over of your energy, mindful of making enough for two.

When you came back, you placed the bowls of soup on the nightstand next to a canteen of water. You looked over your guest now that he didn't have armor or his suit in the way. The man was, at least to the naked eye, doing much better. But his flushed skin had turned sickly and his lips now bled from being cracked and dry. It was hard not to feel worried. 

You helped him sit up and cradled him in the crook of your arm. You took the canteen from the nightstand and did your best to unscrew it, then held it up to the warrior’s mouth. You helped him tilt his head back until a little water trickled through his lips. His Adam’s apple barely bobbed, barely accepting the gift at the alter of his sickbed, just enough for him to let out a content sigh and become even limper in your arms and you carefully laid him back down and tucked just the top sheet around his shivering body. 

You decided to feed yourself and relax your back, allowing the Mandalorian to sleep a little longer before attempting to feed him. When you were done, you cleaned your bowls and left them in the sink, and returned to his side with a damp washcloth. 

You cleaned the sweat from his forehead, brushed his hair out of his face, and dabbed at the places you knew would bring the most relief. When the washcloth was no longer cold, you went back to dip it in water and returned, placing it on his forehead and leaving it to rest there. 

You washed his clothes and hung them up to dry, not before emptying pockets of the most random items outside of weaponry accessories, including a round silver ball that you cradled in the palm of your hand. Despite its simplicity, you sense the object had enough meaning for the Mandalorian to want to carry it on his person and you placed it on the nightstand for him to wake up to when he was ready to return to the land of the living. But you failed to find any evidence that the man was a bounty hunter. At least not a bounty hunter looking for you. 

Slipping into your bed beside him, you rubbed his arms and ran your fingers through his hair and hummed to him, a tune from your own childhood and a tune you vaguely remember from the days spent incapacitated on the snowy planet. You told him stories of your travels, and what you had done since the incident you’ve dubbed “The Miracle.”

You weren’t sure if the man was the Mandalorian that had saved your life, but you decided to talk to him as if he was. It was strangely comforting, like talking to an old friend after a lifetime apart. You talked to him with the same familiarity you had with your family, the familiarity that you missed with your whole being. It was bittersweet, but you welcomed the feeling with open arms.

You laid next to him the rest of the night, dabbing at his forehead with the washcloth when he groaned in his sleep and holding him to your breast when he threatened to thrash around whether it was from a nightmare or discomfort. Caring for the big man in your arms felt so familiar and comforting despite not knowing if he was there by coincidence or if he had planned on turning you in. He was clearly a seasoned professional based on the weaponry you pried off of him, and that fact confused you more as to how he had allowed himself to nearly perish in the desert, far from civilization. How had he gotten there? And why?

You never did get that bath you wanted, but you didn’t complain. The discomfort was a reminder that you still had a lot to live for, and the man in your bed was a reminder of your own miracle. 

When morning came, just before the sun rose, you pried yourself from the Mandalorian and found some old curtains hidden away. You installed them just as the sun started to peek through the angry winds and sands billowing by the window. It kept the room relatively dark without completely blocking out the light and you were happy to discover it made the room that much cooler when the heat of the day radiated through the transparisteel and cloth. 

When you changed out the washcloths you had placed on his chest, neck, and forehead; you wandered down to the kitchen to make breakfast, rubbing your eyes and feeling the fatigue from the last twenty-four hours. The lack of sleep breathed down your neck, but it was far from claiming you despite the threat.

You rummaged through each built-in pantry and the fridge with eyes half open, taking out what you needed to make a type of cinnamon oatmeal you hadn’t had since your childhood. Pouring it into two bowls, you made your way back to your room as the warrior began to stir.

Heart rate speeding up, you placed the bowls on the nightstand and were at his side in a second, holding his hand. He struggled to wiggle out of the sheets, but was otherwise completely out. You rubbed his arm and made soothing noises, assuring him that he was okay. Your touch seemed to soothe him, and he sighed, stilling in place.

You propped him up against you in the crook of your arm and helped him eat, cooing words of encouragement with each successful scoop until the bowl was empty. You set the bowl down and changed out his washcloths, then finally allowed yourself to eat your own breakfast. You watched over the warrior with empathy. 

When you placed the bowls in the kitchen sink, instead of returning to the warrior’s side, your feet led you back to your front door. Outside, the angry howls of the wind had softened and the scratchy sand was less threatening against your door and the walls. The storm was thankfully almost over, give or take another day or two. But your eyes fell to what you had really come there for: the Mandalorian’s satchel, hanging from the rack on your wall just where you had left it. Guilt gnawed at you, but you had to know why the warrior was out in the desert like a sacrificial lamb and what that meant for you when he awakens.

With trembling hands, you take the satchel and sit on the floor, your legs naturally crisscrossing beneath you. You open the satchel and slide your hand in, the room too dark for you to fully see what was in the bag. You took out a few pouches of credits, enough to make your eyebrows nearly rise off your face. You gently kept them in a pile so as to not lose them, ensuring they were tightly shut.

Just like his clothes, you pulled out the most random items, the most prominent objects in the bag being more of the empty bottles of whiskey you had found with him in the dune.

One, two, three… you weren’t even sure how many there had been when you found him in the desert. And with reluctant unease, you concluded that the man wasn’t there for you, nor had he wandered into the desert after a night of drinking. He had purposefully found that place in the sand with every intent on letting the alcohol and harsh weather take him from this life. You couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks even if you wanted to.

Wiping the stray tears away, you continued to pull out items that thankfully didn’t feel like bottles anymore, but profound sadness was replaced with confusion when the items in question were discovered to be baby essentials. A clean handmade onesie, a few clean cloth diapers, an empty baby bottle, and two small hand-stitched stuffed animals. One looked like a half-assed bantha, the other resembled a frog you recalled seeing on Sorgan. 

You nearly dropped the items and the bag as if they had burned you. You scrambled to shove everything back in and hang the satchel back up, your heart racing and heavy in your chest. You let your tears stream down your face, welcoming the painful potential truths you had just learned regarding the man in your bed. Whether the child those items were for was dead or just no longer with him, you weren’t sure, but your heart went out to him either way. You understood the pain of losing parents, but a child?

To keep your thoughts from spiraling, you spent the next day in a strict routine. Replace the Mandalorian’s washcloths, dampen the top sheet to give him comfort, feed him easy-to-swallow foods, and rest by his side when there wasn’t anything else to do but wait.

On the third night, you listened to the final stages of the storm outside as you rested in your bed with the warrior. You turned and faced him, unable to sleep. You had snuffed out the lamps an hour ago and could only make out his features from what little light the moon was able to give you through the fading storm.

You placed your hand over his heart, softly smiling at how much stronger the beat of his life felt beneath your palm. His breathing had evened out earlier, his face only slightly flushed and skin no longer clammy. You suspect he’ll wake up within the next twenty-four hours, and you were still deciding on if you wanted to stick around for that or not.

So you made the most of the night, holding him to you, humming, and telling him any other stories you had forgotten to mention. You pretended he had been that Mandalorian that saved you all that time ago, regardless if he was, thanking him and whispering about how good of a man he is. You sensed maybe he thought otherwise, and you couldn't leave without him knowing. Even if it only came to him at night in the form of a faded melody.

You had no idea if he could hear you, but in a hushed tone, you begged him to continue living. Whether his baby was out there waiting for him in another galaxy or in another life. You told him you relate to his pain in your own way, that you had empathy even if you couldn't fully understand it, and reminded him of how proud he should be of himself for the good things he had done rather than focus on the sins he may or may not have committed. 

You packed your things as the storm gave one last swan song before fading into the sands of time. In the early morning hours of a new day being born, you admired the man you had shared the last few days with. In the blue light, he looked like a painting. His face was now at ease, pain-free, eyelashes resting softly on his cheeks rather than scrunched with discomfort.

Standing next to the bed with only what you could carry on you just as you had since and just as you will continue to do, you realized in the light of a new day that this was how you wanted to remember the Mandalorian, you realized. Not as Death personified, or as a dying warrior in an unforgiving desert. But as a man who had lost his way and found a second chance in the form of a girl who he hesitantly saved all those years ago.

You'd be gone by the time the sun peeked over the horizon. Whether it was the fear of the bounty hunter having a change of heart, or telling others where you were, that you were alive… you couldn’t risk it. But you left behind enough for the Mandalorian to know that, even if it was just the briefest of moments, he had been loved and cared for and seen even if he didn’t think he deserved it. And someday, you hope he could forgive you for saving him just as he had saved you all those years ago. 

But before you could go, there was just one last goodbye you had to leave behind. 

Din had expected to either wake up in the dark void that awaited all Mandalorian who had lost their way, a pit at the end of one’s treacherous life where they're left to rot away from the memories of those who live on; or to wake up in the dreamy realm among the stars where his memory is honored by Grogu and maybe even Cara and Karga and anyone else who might’ve deemed him worthy of glory for all eternity.

He hadn’t expected to wake up with a nasty migraine, nearly naked in a bed that was not his cot in a room that was not his own in a house that he definitely didn’t live in. 

Panic began to set in, but Din’s muscles were far too fatigued to move faster than Endorrian tree sap. The most he could do was weakly sit up until he was able to prop himself against the wall behind him with a heavy groan.

Din blinked away the heaviness of sleep from his eyes, wincing at what little light that the dark curtains allowed in. The strip of light was enough to highlight basic furniture in the room, including the bed he was in and the entryway of the door. His flight suit, long johns, and undershirt had been folded for him and sat at the foot of the bed, waiting for him to wake up. 

He strained his ears but Din failed to hear evidence of anyone else in the stone home with him. He truly was alone, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that just yet.

Din allowed himself to relax, hands dumbly resting on his lap over the sheets. He struggled to recall the last of his memories. Din vaguely remembered the Jedi's rejection to see his son and his heart throbbed remembering the exile from his covert before that, the sting of nowhere else to go…

Din truly thought he had nothing else to live for. With Grogu training to be a Jedi with no promise Din would ever see him again, his covert’s rejection, being the ruler of a dead planet, and not knowing if the waters the armorer had mentioned even existed for his redemption… Din had left his N-1 with Peli along with whatever else he couldn’t carry, gifting what remained of him to the unknowing mechanic. He hadn’t been sure what his plan was, just that he wanted the pain to stop. To have the noise in his head stop. To have the ache in his heart just stop. He wanted whatever relief he could be given. 

He remembered thanking the Maker that whiskey and other alcohols found their way back into cantinas after the Hutts’ downfall. Din remembered getting as many bottles as he could with whatever credits he had on his body and made the final trek into the desert, convinced he’d never return. He remembered finding the best spot to watch the suns rise, lifting his helmet back enough, and losing track of the swigs he took of the alcohol before blacking out. 

Din at least had enough sense to be horrified with his choices in that moment of pain and rejection now that he was sober and awake.

With a grunt and more effort than he cared to admit, Din managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed and rub his face into his hands, deciding to freak out over the fact he’s been helmet-less later on. One crisis at a time. 

The light caught something shiny and Din turned his attention to the nightstand and froze. Grogu’s silver ball sat there, patiently waiting for him to notice it. It sat on top of a photograph of a familiar cabin on a snowy planet he vaguely remembered years ago, but the fatigue and migraine of surviving yet another near-death experience prevented him from connecting those dots.

Din sighed and inched over to his flight suit, grabbing the now clean material, and he chuckled at how it was probably the cleanest it has been since he first bought it. He pulled each article on sluggishly, and if he hadn’t been so tired he would’ve been embarrassed by the slowness of his movements. 

Once dressed, he stumbled over to the vanity on weak legs and clung to the counter when he got to it for dear life. He glanced up at the mirror and flinched at his reflection, taking in how hollow his eyes were and just how pale he had allowed himself to become from his own negligence. But he had more color in his eyes and face than he previously remembered, something he guessed was thanks to whoever nursed him back to health.

This time, he purposefully re-clasped his armor to his body with the same reverence he had when cleaning his weapons. A holy ceremony he cherished through and through. Once dressed with the shine of his religion, he paused, admiring the polish job his host had given it. 

Din stared down at his helmet with the same animosity it had towards him. Judging him, reminding him that he no longer was a Mandalorian. But he couldn’t find it in him to give up the armor nor the helmet, regardless of the shame he felt.

When he lifted the helmet, he was surprised to find something fluttered out from underneath it. When Din bent down, he gasped, touching the offending item with unsure hands. He stood up, staring at the photograph with horror and awe. It was of him, laying in the very bed he had woken up in. The morning light outlined the sharpness of his features while softening the age from his forehead and eyes and the scars that littered his body.

It was the first time Din ever thought of himself as anything other than ordinary. Was this how his caretaker viewed him? He couldn’t help but blush, grateful that someone could see him in a light he never thought was possible. That that kind of softness and gentleness was available to people like him, regardless of the things he had done.

Din flipped the photograph over to see handwriting scrawled on the back. It read:

“In case we never meet again, you are a good man, Mandalorian. Never forget that. I know I haven’t.”

Din grew dizzy and had to cling to the vanity again as the familiarity of the cabin photo and now dawned on him. The snowy planet, the cabin, a quarry… had his caretaker really been the girl from all those years ago? 

As Din collected his things, he found more photos scattered here and there throughout the humble abode. Din wasn’t sure if his caretaker had intended to leave them behind for him to find, or if she had just forgotten in her haste to leave, but Din found comfort in them. 

They were photos of places Din didn’t recognize from the girl’s journal, ones that she must have taken well after Din had saved her life. Was this her way of thanking him? Of telling him she’s lived life fully since he let her go? 

Back then, he hadn’t had the heart to bring her in warm or cold when she was recovered enough. He had rememberd the digital photo he had taken of her when he first found her and was unsure of her likelihood of survival. When he had his change of heart, Din had sent the photo to the man who put a bounty on her head and claimed she was dead. The man bought it, no questions asked, but only gave Din half the credits promised. Din couldn’t find himself to mind it. 

When he saw the half-assed obituary the man wrote, he sent it to the com he left behind for her to use when she was recovered enough. He wasn’t sure until that moment that she had gotten it, and he’s relieved to know she had. Din hoped he found it as humorous as he had.

Not sure if she planned on coming back or not, Din ended up pocketing every photo he found regardless. He grabbed his things and a canteen of water the girl must’ve left behind for him and left the home behind, preparing himself for the long trek back to Peli and the optimism he now had for the future. 

The photos ended up getting him through the desert, back to Peli where he got an earful from the eccentric woman for disappearing on her, and to the next planet. They became his safety blanket at hotels and after lonely trips to brothels, and he had kept them close to his heart under his armor when he was called to help Boba back on Tatooine and had expected to die in combat.

Grogu coming back into his care was not part of the plan, nor was surviving the whole ordeal, let alone succeeding. But the photos that became a massive source of comfort for Din became a source of comfort and hope for Grogu as well. Din would show him the photos before bed and tell him the stories he faintly remembered a soft voice telling him as he drifted in between consciousness.

This time, Din never forgot about her. He could vaguely recall how she looked, but it was her voice and the gentleness that lingered whenever he needed a reminder that there was kindness in the galaxy if you were patient enough to find it. And a reminder that the miracle he had given you that cold, cold night all those years ago ended up being the very miracle he needed to find one hot, hot day. It led him back to himself, his own creed, his son, and another chance at life after far too many second chances. 

The gentleness Din chose all those years ago led him to his own miracle. Thanks to her, he was finally free

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Not really a spoiler, in case anyone wants to skip past this who hasn't seen the latest episode.

If Bo rides the Mythosaur in the next episode I'll be very mad. I'll literally take anyone else. It's nothing against Bo, I do like her as a character, but someone else needs to be the leader of the Mandalorians cause she just keeps causing war crimes and deaths since Clone Wars and a great step in redemption would just be admitting that wanting to rule does not equate to being a good ruler and I wish more people can admit/understand that in show and in the fandom. Giving that to her would be an easy out and doesn't make up for the dumb ways she's approached diplomacy this season or the fact that she refuses to be honest about what she's done and her connection to Mandalore's current state and that needs to come first before she can properly ride the Mythosaur or be the leader their people need but that's just my two cents.

Thoughts on Episode 7

Spoilers below the cut so read at your own transgression.

Am I the only one disappointed by this episode? It was the best of the season, but I still felt like a lot of subplots leading up to it were just thrown away.

Like I still don't get Paz's son subplot. He didn't act like a scared parent until they got the nest but if that had been my kid after a few days I would be burning the whole planet down to get to my kid. And for Paz to choose to sacrifice himself once again orphaning his foundling... either Paz has NO fatherly instincts or this wasn't thought through.

I also keep side eyeing Bo. It's great she's admitted to some of her failings but she should have let Koska spill the beans about her crimes cause so far it seems like almost everyone is in the dark as to what Bo has done in Clone Wars and Rebels and it's giving me a lot of anxiety. I'm glad people want Bo's redemption but the sins she committed aren't the kind you just... forgive overnight no matter how much you love her as a character.

I do applaud them for writing in her third failed attempt at taking back Mandalore by proving her curse exists for taking back the saber on a technicality. But I'm still unsure of how they didn't know the base was there when they put together a whole fleet for just that reason and Bo's home was destroyed by those same TIE fighters. I don't get why she's shocked.

I might be being overly critical thinking about this, but I just didn't like it as much as I had hoped but it's exactly what I had expected and longed for at the beginning of the season. Still excited for next week, but at this point I feel like I'm tapping out of the show if it continues like this next season.

My new meds make my skin throw a fit. It’s not terribly bad, just a few things here and there, but it’s bumming me out because I’ve never really had too many run-ins with acne.

My four-year-old sister, however, is under the impression that it’s just “3D freckles”, and that they look very, very pretty. She wants all of my freckles to “pop out”, especially the ones across my nose; they’re her favourite.

And it puts me in this weird position where I can’t say, “No, this is acne, and it’s bad,” because I don’t want to teach her that it’s a bad to have unclear skin, you know?

Because the more I think about interactions I have with children, the more I realise that children will consistently compliment “flaws” until they’ve been taught not to.

Like, a kid at the library, whose sister has vitiligo, saw my scars once and suggested that his sister and I should be cats for Halloween, since I have “tabby skin” and she has “calico skin”. “I can be a black cat,” he immediately added. “It’s not AS cool, but they’re the spookiest.”

When I started losing weight, my little brother immediately demanded that I gain it back, because I wasn’t as comfortable to cuddle with anymore.

And my other little sister always wants to wear her paint-stained clothes to school so that “everyone can tell [she’s] an artist”.

I don’t know. I guess talking to little kids just reminds me that all of this superficial shit we worry about really is 100% made up.

I literally just need to edit the fic I've been promising for weeks now like this post to give me the power to finally fucking finish and post it. Transfer your power to me, you insomniac heathens.

a poll based on my unhinged dream

i realized right before bed last night that i finally got polls and was apparently so excited i dreamt very vividly about what my first poll would be and dream-me was convinced this question with these answer options would be perfect so please i must know your thoughts:

wrong answers only

"it's not short for anything" isn't an option

Din stans angry that he no longer has the Darksaber is so funny because do you not know the character at all? He never wanted it. The amount of times people project their own wants onto a character and then get mad when they don’t get what they wanted, completely disregarding the actual wants of the character or what would actually make sense. If any of you genuinely thought Din wanted to rule Mand’alor you’re kidding yourselves and you should reevaluate how well you understand his character.

The Mandalorian and The Corellian

Chapter Three: Sorgan

pairing: din djarin x corellian/Solo!reader

warnings: 18+ (no explicit content but implied yearning), jealousy, reader being on brand as a Solo, verbal fights, angst, violence, blasters? lmao, so many feelings

words: 3.5k

series masterlist

“This place looks…green.” You commented as you walked with the Mandalorian through the woods of Sorgan, the child cradled safety in his arms.

No response came from the tall body of armor beside you, nor had any words since you touched down. In fact, he seemed as though he wasn’t even aware of your existence let alone your speaking. Pursing your lips, you nodded, trying not to take his silence as a direct insult.

“How do you know this place again—“

“Mom, look! It’s the Mandalorian!” You turned your head forward and watched as a little girl tugged on her mom’s dress, the two knelt down beside a pond. The woman lifted her head as the three of you approached, her face riddled with delighted surprise as she stood.

The closer you got to her, the prettier she became, causing your stomach to twist with an unknown feeling. Mando seemed to speed up, leaving you behind as he filled the space between them. You were shocked by the wave of feeling you now identified as jealousy that washed over you upon seeing the pair interact. You remained a couple yards behind them, swallowing thickly and turning your eyes to the grass when you heard the sound of her laughter followed by his. Wait—he was laughing? Did he even know how to do that?

“Who’s your friend?” The woman spoke kindly, making you even more irritated as you realized there was nothing to hate about her besides the fact that she was closer to the Mandalorian than you.

“Oh, that’s, um…Y/N.” He seemed to have paused in effort to remember your name, your eyes rolling in your head at the lack of affection he held for you. But deep down, you couldn’t blame him. You hadn’t even realized until this moment that you held so much for him. “I’m helping her travel to her home planet. Stopped here for the night.”

“Well, you’re always welcome here. Let me show you to your huts so you can set your things down. Have you eaten?” She guided the Mandalorian off with her hand on his beskar-covered shoulder, the two of them walking off into the literal sunset together while you remained still. Even the child was more popular than you, a group of children flocking around him as though they were old pals.

“You come with the Mandalorian?” A voice sounded through your ears, your head turning around towards the woods you had just walked through. Your lips parted as you took in a handsome, large, lumberjack of a man smiling at you. Still, his charming smile wasn’t quite enough to take your mind off the fact that Mando was inside a hut with a beautiful woman he seemed to turn soft for.

“Uh, yeah. He’s escorting me home.” You stepped closer to the man, eyes drifting to the muscles of his biceps poking out of his dark green tunic, the skin tan and glistening with sweat as he carried a bag full of firewood back into the village.

“That’s awfully nice of him.” He smiled at you again as he stopped a few feet in front of you, eyes traveling down your form before lifting again. He sucked in a sharp breath as he realized he was staring, hand reaching back to scratch at his neck. “Has, uh, has anybody found you a place to sleep?”

“No,” you shook your head and pursed your lips in a tight smile. “They’re a bit distracted by my chaperones.”

“Well, let me go drop this lumber off and then I’m sure we can find you someplace to get comfortable.” He smiled again, sparking light feelings of warmth inside your belly as you nodded.

You followed him down the grassy path, square ponds on either side of the walkway with villagers knelt over them.

“What do you guys use these for?” You asked, having never seen something like it.

“Oh, we’re krill farmers.” He looked over his shoulder at you, chuckling. “You must be from Tatooine.”

“Well, I’ve been there for a while now, but no. Corellia.” You watched as he set down the bag of wood like it weighed nothing, but the young man in charge of dragging it over to the builders was struggling. “What about you?”

“Born and raised here. This is all I’ve ever known.” He walked over to a water spout and ran his hands underneath it before splashing his face with it. Your bottom lip somehow found its way between your teeth as you watched him stand, the water trickling down his sharp jaw to his thick and muscular neck. God, it had been a while.

“I—uh, haven’t caught your name.” You spoke up, trying to make conversation in effort to rid the lustful thoughts from your mind.

“Vero,” he smiled at you and lifted the hem of his tunic to wipe his face, your eyes dropping to his hairy 12-pack of a stomach, your throat gulping and eyes quickly turning away. “Yours?”

“Y/N.” You choked out, eyes still trained on the krill pods rather than the mountain of a man beside you.

“Everybody got such a pretty name on Corellia?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at his flirting, not because you thought it was funny, but because you weren’t accustomed to it after living in Mos Espa for as long as you did.

“There you are,” that same kind voice from earlier approached you, the sound of armor clanking following it. You lifted your eyes to the woman and your escort behind her, trying to force a polite smile onto your face. “I see you’ve met my brother. Has he shown you to your hut?”

“Uh, no.” You shook your head and turned your eyes from hers, somehow feeling that she’d be able to read your jealousy if she looked hard enough.

“We were just getting acquainted, ‘Mer. Come on, I’ll walk you over.” Your eyes flickered to Mando, though it wasn’t like you’d be able to read him at all. Taking a breath, you nodded and turned back to Vero, smiling at him.

“Here, let me help carry your bags.” Mando stepped forward, holding his hand out. As you were about to decline his offer out of sheer spite, Vero spoke up instead.

“I think I’ve got it.” He smiled at him condescendingly and grabbed both bags from your hands with only one of his, Mando stiffening in response. His helmet tilted towards you, watching as you shrugged and turned away, following the Sorgan hulk.

“Your sister seems kind,” you mentioned as the two of you stepped up the wooden steps to your hut for the night. You winced internally at the comment, not sure why you said it. “And pretty, of course.”

Also odd.

“Yeah, she’s alright. I think she’s laying it on thick to impress the Mandalorian. Hasn’t shut up about him since he landed here a while back.” He set your bags down on the wooden floor and spun around, arms stretched out and a smile on his face as he unveiled your sleeping quarters. “Welcome to your home for the night. Will it do?”

“It’ll do perfectly,” you chuckled at his theatrics and stepped further into the one-bed shack, taking in the lack of a refresher. “One thing…where can I freshen up?”

“Oh, right.” He nodded and gestured for you to follow him outside. He walked around to the side of the hut and opened up an outhouse, gesturing for you to look inside. It was modest, perhaps a bit primitive, but it would work fine.

“That’ll do,” you nodded and blushed as you looked back at him only to see him already staring. “I probably should freshen up before dinner.”

“Oh! Yes. I’m sorry.” He stepped away and blushed.

“No need to apologize.” You watched as he nodded and exhaled his nervous breath. “I’ll come find you in a bit?”

“I’d like that.” With one more longing look, Vero left you alone. You fanned your cheeks with your hand and walked back inside your hut to find your shower supplies, your mind spinning with lustful fantasies of him following you into the fresher.

“He’s strong.” Mando’s voice made you jump in your skin, your head whipping back to see him standing in the doorway, the sun shining behind him and darkening his silhouette. You placed your hand on your chest and calmed your heart, cursing under your breath.

“God, you could’ve knocked.” You spat, turning back to your bags.

“Didn’t know that’s what you went for. The lumberjack type.”

Was that jealousy you were hearing through his modulator? Couldn’t be. He had Mer to keep him satisfied.

He stepped further inside although your sigh made your contempt for his company known. Mando picked up a metal cup sitting on the counter and mindlessly examined it as you stood to your feet and turned to him.

“What?” You hissed in irritation, having spent so much time overthinking the tone behind his words that you forgot what he even said.

“I’m just surprised you’re falling for it. The muscles.” He shrugged, setting the cup down before turning his helmet towards you. Your breath hitched at the “eye contact”, your earlier fluster from Vero transferring now to your apparent longing for the man in front of you in beskar.

“I didn’t take you for the type to fall for a nice girl.” You countered, shrugging your shoulders as you held your shower supplied in your arms.

“Who said I fell for anyone?” His tone sounded sincere, as though it was news to him. Still, you chuckled, not believing that he was oblivious to the obvious heart eyes he was shooting at Mer through his visor. “What, Omera?”

“Omera. That’s a pretty name.” Your eyes fell to the floor as your expression turned sour against your will. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“Has she treated you unkindly? Why do you look so upset with her?”

“I don’t.” You quickly dismissed him, eyes lifting to narrow at his visor. “I literally just complimented her.”

“With a look on your face.”

“I always have a look on my face. It’s my whole thing, you know? Sarcastic, sour…it’s part of my charm.”

“I’m familiar with your charm but I haven’t seen you look as sour as that.” He argued, making your blood boil with irritation. Where was Vero when you needed him?

“Did you come here for anything important or just to make fun of your girlfriend’s brother and call me sour?” You asked, brows laced in irritation as you watched him stiffen.

“Omera isn’t…she’s not my girlfriend.” He corrected, though his tone proved there was more to the story than he let on. “I was told to come let you know that dinner will be ready in a bit.”

Before you could open your lips to speak, he was making his exit, your eyes rolling in frustration as you sighed. Was he always going to be so…stressful?

•••

“Y/N, I saved you a seat.” Vero called your name as you approached the community feast, your cheeks turning pink at his attention.

“Thanks,” you chuckled as he stood up to greet you, eyes avoiding his for a reason you weren’t quite sure. You scanned the scene in front of you, the small village all scattered on the lawn, a few late-attendees like yourself picking away at the remnants of the feast. There was a noticeable absence—though his child was happily seated with a bowl of soup in front of him.

“Hungry?” Vero asked, gesturing ahead at the table of food. You sucked in a breath and nodded, forcing a smile onto your face. Your eyes scanned the surrounding huts in hopes of spotting the Mandalorian responsible for your sudden lack of interest in the man beside you, coming up short. “Have you tried krill?”

“Uh,” you turned your head back to the man, shaking your head as you finally registered his question. “No, I haven’t.”

“Here,” he picked one off the table and showed you how to peel it before popping the little shrimp in his mouth. “Easy.”

“Does it taste okay?” You asked, reluctant as you reached for one, your fingers peeling it like you’d watched him do just seconds before. Vero chuckled and nodded, urging you on to try it for yourself. You bit down hesitantly, though soon eased in once you realized it tasted quite pleasant. It sure beat the rations on Tatooine. “Pretty good.”

“Right?” He beamed at you, watching as you picked a few more to put on your plate before doing the same with the other fruits and vegetables on the table. “So…I know you’re leaving in the morning, and I’ll probably never see you again, but—“

“Vero, listen—“ You attempted to let him down easily, but were cut off by a shiny glimmer of silver coming into view behind him. He turned to follow your gaze, chuckling to himself as he watched you watching the Mandalorian.

“Ah,” he nodded, pursing his lips. “I see.”

“Huh?” You turned back to him with furrowed brows.

“You like the Mandalorian.”

“What? No. He’s just blinding me.” You scoffed at his words, walking back to your tree stump of a seat.

“Then…if you’re not interested in him…why don’t you come to my hut after dinner?” He found his confidence again, sitting down beside you and smirking at you. You had to hand it to him, he made it hard for a girl to say no.

“I—it’s a bad idea.” You shook your head and dropped your eyes to your plate. “I want to, but…I shouldn’t.”

“Because you like the Mandalorian—“

“I don’t like the Mandalorian!” You shouted, the entire village silencing their conversations and turning their heads to gawk at you. You turned red with embarrassment as your eyes scanned over the crowd, finally meeting Mando’s visor. Setting your plate down on the ground, you stood up. “Excuse me.”

Rushing off to your hut, you reached to shut the door, only to find there wasn’t one. You rushed over to the bed and picked up a pillow, screaming into it and releasing all your frustration and embarrassment.

“Hey,” you groaned at the sound of a modulated voice, your back turned to the door, the pillow holding your screams still in your hands.

“Go away.” You grumbled, reaching to wipe your face free of a rogue tear.

“No.” He spoke simply, causing your head to whip around, eyes glaring at him in disbelief.

“Leave, Mando.” You ordered again, this time with more anger than before.

“No.” He remained still, his body taking up the entire doorway.

“Do you know what else we Corellians are famous for besides the drinking and tinkering?” You seethed and watched him shake his head. “We’re good with our blasters.”

You held up the blaster you had tucked underneath your pillow after seeing the amount of children around.

“You gonna shoot me?” He stepped towards you, watching your hands tremble as you held out the blaster.

“I want you to leave.” You felt another embarrassed tear fall from your eyes as he continued toward you, his pace slow and careful as though he was approaching a beast.

“You’re crying.” He noted, watching as you quickly reached to wipe the evidence of any emotion away.

“What do you want, Mando?” You asked, so frustrated with yourself and his calmness that you were practically shaking. This was a side of you you rarely ever let surface, a side of you that was passed down from generation to generation—the Solo family temper.

“I want to make sure you’re okay.” He answered after a few beats of silence.

“Why do you care?” You finally lowered the blaster, tossing it back into the bed before sitting down on the old mattress.

“Because…” he seemed to be at a loss for an explanation.

“Right.” You chuckled darkly and nodded your head. “Well, I’m fine. You can go now.”

“Why—” he cut himself off, his gloved hand flexing as it rested at his side.

“Why what?” You asked, lifting your eyes to the black of his visor, hoping to see even a glimpse of him looking back.

“Why don’t you like me?” He finally managed, his voice soft, though the modulator attempted to hide it.

“I didn’t mean…you’re fine, Mando.” You sighed, turning your eyes away from him. The last thing you needed at the moment was to have to lie about your confusing feelings for the man escorting you across the galaxy. “I don’t hate you or anything. That’s not what I meant. So…can you go, now?”

“What did you mean, then?” He prodded, threatening to trigger your temper again.

“You know what? Yes! Yes, Mando, I don’t like you! You’re stubborn, and rude, and—and you don’t fucking listen to me when I tell you that I don’t want to see you right now! I don’t want to talk to you right now!” You shouted, making Mando step back at your volume, or at least that’s what you assumed it was.

“I’m stubborn? I’m rude?” He gritted back through his modulator, stepping forward to you, his finger pointed at his chest and helmet bobbing with the passion of his argument. “You’re the most rude and sarcastic woman I’ve ever met.”

“As if that’s an insult.” You snapped back with narrowed eyes, bored by his comeback.

“It should be! To any self-respecting woman in this galaxy, it should be an insult.” He spat back at you, this time striking a nerve. You closed the space between the two of you, your chin having to tilt upwards to look at him, fingers pressing into the beskar of his chestplate.

“How dare you tell me I have no self respect just because I don’t cover every fucking word with sugar. You wouldn’t say that to a man. Don’t say it to me.” You couldn’t have sounded more threatening if you tried, but Mando didn’t flinch.

“Excuse me,” you closed your eyes at the sound of Omera’s soft voice coming from your doorway. “Sorry. Um, the elders…they decided that it would be best if you found somewhere in the next town to stay tonight. Not…uh…not here, anymore.”

“Perfect.” You looked over his shoulder and gave her a phony smile before turning back to Mando. “I’ll be sleeping in my ship.”

“Mando, you’re still welcome to stay.” Omera spoke softly as you walked to pack your bags up, a scoff leaving your lips at her hopeful tone. Rather than stick around and watch the two of them dote over each other, you grabbed your things and began walking through the camp and into the dark woods.

Sure, it was cold, lonely, and mildly terrifying to walk to your ship in the dark woods, but it beat that entire situation back at the camp.

“The elders think it would be best…bullshit.” You mocked Omera out of sheer jealousy that she was back there with Mando instead of you. Wait— “Fuck him! Why am I even jealous? Mando is infuriating.”

“Mad at your little Mandalorian boyfriend?” A lone Klatooinian raider approached you from the dark, a blaster held out and pointed at you. He grinned, or at least that’s what you thought he was doing. You reached to your holster slowly, heart dropping when you realized you left your blaster behind in the hut. “I’m mad at him too. Killed my family.”

“I had nothing to do with that.” You responded through a shaking voice, terrified of what would come next.

“Don’t matter.” He chuckled and tightened his grip on the blaster, but before he could squeeze the trigger, a shot rang from over your shoulder, hitting the raider in his shoulder. You whipped your head around, expecting to see Mando, but seeing Vero instead. He instructed you to move out of the way as he stepped towards the Klatooinian on the ground. You did as he said and watched as he pointed the blaster at the wounded raider, only for it to jam on him. “Oops.”

The raider knocked him to the ground, the two beginning an all out brawl. You felt helpless as you watched the hulk of a man dodge the blunt force of the raider’s strikes, absorbing them when he couldn’t. For a minute, you thought he was done for, but soon he found his footing.

“Should’ve stayed hidden.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he strangled the raider with his arm, his eyes on yours as he finished the job. You weren’t sure why it aroused you, or if it was actually him that stirred you rather than the fantasy of it being Mando instead, but regardless, you were beginning to feel things.

The Klatooinian’s limp body hit the floor of the woods and Vero stood up tall, his chest heaving as he walked towards you, holding his hand out to help you up off the ground. You accepted his hand and stared at him in awe.

“Came to make sure you got to your ship safely.” He chuckled, gesturing to the body behind him. “Good thing I did.”

“How about you make sure I’m safe all night long?” You slipped your hand into his, tugging him along.

You’d regret this in the morning. But for now, you needed to release some of this pent up…frustration. And if Mando couldn’t be the one to do it, Vero would suffice.

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I'm actually one of those people and only found out about 2 years ago. But I was told it's flipped, the majority of people have one but a small population doesn't. I think in pictures, sounds, and more visually than others do rather than hearing my own thoughts played in real-time.

Abolish for-profit health care insurance.

The symbolism of the Mythosaur sleeping beneath the Living Waters on Mandalore just as the leader within Din is still sleeping, ready to be freed and to lead their people to freedom