Reblog To Diminish The Horrors From The Person You Reblogged From

a natural disaster happens in appalachia. i casually go on twitter. ppl are saying those in red states “deserve” bad things with no care for nuance or the fact that most of those people are incredibly misinformed and miseducated about governmental issues. one of my great aunts is staying in a dollar store and my family is being evacuated from their homes, hopefully to safe places. i hate it here.

postcard c1910

I shall pass through this world but once, any good thing therefore I can do, or any kindness I can show to any human being, let me do it now, let me not defer it or neglect it for I shall not pass this way again.

Life Update + Fics

Hello, everyone! I am not dead! I am so sorry for the lack of responses in my inbox and fics, but I haven't had the energy to do a whole lot outside of work. August was not kind to me and I'm just starting to come out of recovery, but I want everyone to know that I will be participating in Kinktober along with dropping a fic by the weekend so please stay tuned! And thank you to those who have reblogged and commented on my posts and followed me!! I'll catch up in a few days, thank you for being patient with me!!

Long story short, in August:

I had a LOT of travel drama

my Airbnb hosts turned into absolute psychopaths trying to get me to pay for a lamp I didn't break on top of damaging their

kitchen when I didn't and it took 2 weeks to resolve this going back and forth with them to where I had to get Airbnb involved and had them blocked on there and I had to block their numbers as well from texting and calling me

my diseases started to flare up again to where I had to up my medication and I'm afraid they still aren't helping as much as I needed them to

all specialists in my area are booked at least 4 months out so I have to consider either finding help hours away or moving (which I want to do but I'm still saving up before I make that commitment)

my best friend who I have known since high school decided to end our friendship in a really traumatic way all because I put my foot down regarding one of my boundaries and she took that personally. Traumatic as in not only she blocked me on all platforms including Pinterest and Venmo, but she also got her husband, parents, sister, and a mutual friend to all block me instead of talking to me and ending our friendship on a note that we were both worthy of rather than whatever the fuck this was. Reminder: we're in our 30s. So this completely blindsided me on the last day of August while I was at work on break.

I feel like I'm missing something but that's the gist. I'm being vague but if anyone wants more details, just DM me and I can tell you what happened in more depth for clarity or I might just make a post about it later depending on how I'm feeling but yeah it's been a lot. I'll respond to everyone in the next few days, thank you again for your patience. I love you all!! Be safe!! Look forward to some beautiful and horny fics coming your way!!

Life Update

Hey, everyone! I want to apologize for the lack of writing and interactions. In short, life has kicked my ass since October. Between falling out with one of my best friends over the dumbest thing, deciding to go No Contact with half my family after a revelation during Thanksgiving dinner, spraining my knee, and dealing with Strep A... to say I've been running on low steam is an understatement. I'm just now sending out my end-of-the-year cards cause if I wasn't sick, I was too tired to finish them and drop them off at the post office. But I refuse to be embarrassed by it.

But I'm happy to say that I'll be posting two Mandalorian fics soon. I'll be posting a sneak peek of both tonight to get my ass motivated to polish the fics and actually post them on here and AO3. Thanks for sticking around, everyone! I'm getting my shit together.

Also special shout-out to @yourcoolauntie for the messages I still need to respond to and for including me in your posts. I can't begin to express how much I appreciate you.

Everyone's Feelings are Valid Regarding Mando Season 3

As a neurodivergent teacher whose students are on spring break, I finally have the time to weigh in on the Mando Season 3 debate after seeing how divided the fandom is. This mini essay is meant to be a logical and safe middle ground for everyone, to remind everyone that your feelings are valid regardless of what they are, and that even if your opinions/feelings are valid that doesn't meant they're fact or justifiable to police how others think and feel.

This contains spoilers for Mando S3, Rebels, and Clone Wars and is written while I'm high on benadryl so approach at your own risk! I may go back and edit this and edit out/rewrite points to make them more succinct or add points others may have that should be included and don't want anyone to feel gaslit if they see any changes they don't recall seeing before.

1. More Than Two Ways to Feel

From what I gather, the two main opinions on this season are either it's a great season and anyone who disagrees is what's wrong with Star Wars, or that this season is a disappointing let down after waiting so long for Din to return. Both are valid, but since Star Wars fans tend to see outcomes in extremes, I want to point out that those aren't the only two options available, you can also:

be disappointed with this season while continuing to be a huge fan of the show

and

enjoy this season while recognizing the writing and quality isn't up to the standards the show had set in previous seasons or even the promises it made with this one.

The Mandalorian was the first piece of live action media since the Clone Wars that sparked the interest of even non Star Wars fans because it offered something new and exciting to a world and lore we're all familiar with that doesn't demand you to know 50 years of Star Wars history nor does it jeopardize characters and storylines long time fans are protective of.

Because of this, it's easy to forget that Star Wars fans are now sharing The Mandalorian with casual Star Wars fans or even exclusive fans to the show without having any interest in exploring the SW universe further through other forms of media.

I'd argue the first instance of this being taken away from casual fans was in The Book of Boba Fett by requiring them to view it to stay i in the know for Season 3 along with the return of Cad Bane who, for fans of the cartoons, flipped out seeing his live action form. But for those who only watched BOBF as fans of Mando, a lot of viewers were like:

Bo Katan, Ahsoka, Luke, and Boba Fett's resurrection in Mando were written in smoothly that excited long time SW fans familiar with them while allowing casual fans to enjoy the story because said characters stood on their own as supporting roles without taking away from their their origins. But throwing in characters like Cad Bane and even other Rebels/Clone Wars characters into Season 3 of Mando, it doesn't give casual fans a reason to stay or feel satisfied if they're not in the know with these beloved niche of characters.

And because of this, it's easy to unintentionally police said fans with how strongly you may feel as someone with deep rooted knowledge of the franchise.

Casual fans of the show shouldn't have to be spoiled or talked down to for not sharing the same enthusiasm as other fans because they don't know who a character is/their importance to the SW universe or for having differing opinions and feelings over a show that wasn't originally built on any previous Star Wars lore. And older fans who love all SW lore who are disappointed are allowed to feel let down after 3 years for this season to not be how it was advertised just as fans who are loving this season shouldn't be mocked for enjoying the ride regardless of where it goes. We're all valid here.

2. Mando Has Always Had Side Quests, but Not Without Plot

If I had a dollar for every

"Mando has always been about side quests! Why are people complaining about this format NOW?"

comment I read, I'd have enough to maybe... have a nice meal somewhere.

Has the Mandalorian been told through side quests? Yes and no. It's been 3 years since the last season aired and I think a lot of people will look back at the previous 2 seasons with vague memories of Din and Grogu traversing through time and space as father and son while helping wayward future friends and getting their asses handed to them by alien animal species when it wasn't quite like that.

The first season starts with Din being hired after a particularly easy job to hunt down a difficult quarry. Din requires the help of a moister farmer to get to the kid since he can't land the ship close enough to the mark without setting off security, and discovers said quarry is a child. He spends the rest of the season getting the kid back to the Imps, saving him from the Imps, blacklisting himself from his job, unintentionally setting up his covert for a massacre, trying to lay low and find a safe place for the kid to grow up so he can go back to his old life only to realize he can't as long as the kid is wanted, and proceeds to take on a few jobs to feed them and avoid the Empire until he's called back to deal with Karga's ambush and getting sucked into a trap intended for Grogu and the season ends with Grogu now being Din's foundling and his new mission is to bring Grogu home.

The second season focuses on Din trying to hunt down fellow Mandalorians to help him reunite Grogu to the Jedi, the first episode while on a job reveals that his quarry had seen a Mandalorian on Mos Pelgo which led him to meet Cobb Vanth. The only reason Din stayed is to take back the armor and agreed to earning it back by killing the Krayt Dragon for them and the Raiders. The second episode has Din playing Taxi in return for information about Mandalorians seen on Trask (where Frog Lady was heading). Din agrees to help Bo and her clan to raid an Imperial ship and her information leads him to Ahsoka two episodes later. Because the Mon Calamari's repairs were inadequate, Din goes to help Karga destroy an old Imperial base in return for repairs. He finally finds Ahsoka and helps her confront Elsbeth in exchange of training Grogu (again, I'll circle back to this as a Season 3 plot point that fell through). She decides she won't train him due to Grogu's attachment and anger in his heart for what he went through and points Din to a temple where Grogu can contact other Jedi for training and from there, he's capture, Din loses his ship, he finds Grogu's location with the help of his newfound friends, and saves Grogu only to give him over to Luke while now being the proud owner of a weapon and defunct planet.

So is Mando ALL random side quests with no point? No. Each episode interwove into the next effortlessly while being a self contained episode that never failed to remind you the importance of each mission, side quest, and character that Din interacted with. And it's hard to miss the overall theme of honor, identity, and religious guilt that Din faces and questions each episode up until the end when he chooses to show Grogu his face as an ultimate act of love.

But with Season 3, I can't tell you how any of the episodes connect or what they hint at to the overall season plot and we're six (seven, if you're reading this after the episode drops) episodes into an 8 episode season. Even if by the final episode things all tie together, it didn't have the same smooth transitions as the previous seasons had nor did they remind you of what we might've forgotten information wise in these three years and that's why a lot of these episodes feel pointless compared to the urgency that Din and Grogu faced leading up to his departure with Luke. Which brings me to...

3. Season 3's Plot Failed in Season 2 and BOBF

Yet two other comments I've seen that could buy me a second fancy meal somewhere or just a fancy ass desert for a family of 4 by myself is:

Season 3 has no plot! It's pointless! It's boring!

and

Season 3 has a plot! Just because it's not about Din anymore doesn't mean there lacks plot!

And to this, yet again, I say... yes and no to both. Season 3, as I mentioned in my previous point, hasn't woven in an overarching plot like its previous two seasons and so the urgency is not only not there, but it doesn't remind you of why you need to care or stick around for Din's redemption arc (whichever that may be) or whatever is going on with Bo and the Armorer and the Empire. But I don't fault Season 3 for having bad writing necessarily, but rather throwing out their best plot point for Book of Boba Fett and (as I mentioned before) not recapping what was mentioned in Season 2.

No one can convince me that The Book of Boba Fett wasn't a ploy for Disney+ to keep Mando fans happy and excited while they figured out Season 3. I will die on this hill. It's been 3 years and I already heard fans losing hope and grumbling about it before I even joined Tumblr. No matter how loyal a fanbase is, you still lose them to other media when what they crave isn't available in a certain amount of time and BOBF was the balm to that ache for many of us despite us also simultaneously being disappointed in how they handled BOBF. Boba and BIPOC characters deserve better. But that's for another essay.

Season 3 failed the moment Din and Grogu were reunited in BOBF along with Din's new ship. This broke what made Mando so unique and special as stated in my first point where fans could casually get into Mando without needing decades of SW lore to enjoy it, and now those fans are left behind because they didn't realize they had to invest in The Book of Boba Fett to be included in the Members Only Season of The Mandalorian and that's being reflected in its ratings.

I genuinely believe if they had opened Mando Season 3 with his entrance in BOBF and led the first two episodes with Din tracking down his tribe after delivering his bounty for said information, was made an apostate, and rejected to see Grogu all in one episode... that would have given the season far more possibilities for plot than what this season has offered us in the last 6 episodes. And especially so if they recapped the important plot details that Season 2 set up but expected fans to remember after 3 years and tied those plot points in in a way that upped the urgency Season 3 has lacked so far.

In Chapter 11: The Heiress when Din is saved by Bo and her clan, he only agrees to help them with their raid in exchange for where he can find a Jedi teacher for Grogu. But what did they need that raid for? To steal weapons in order to take down the Imperial remnants that still plunder Mandalore that will help them retake their planet. Aside from Bo's castle getting blown up by TIE fighters, we're not reminded of this fact at all during this season. Din and Bo were able to get to Mandalore with ease and stroll around like it was nothing. There were no ships hovering around the planet, no secret bases, no symbols, not even recently defunct battle droids. Mandalore was painted as a planet that was free real-estate that they could've moved in to that day the moment they realized the planet had breathable air and just some old robots and troll species to worry about. There was no reminder of this being a potentially dangerous planet as an Imperial wasteland.

But Bo's castle got blown up by TIE fighters! Where do you think they came from? The threat was obvious!

...Except it wasn't. Bo was moping around that castle in broad day light, not attempting to hide. Why didn't they blow her castle up sooner if she was a threat? And even if it came out later that Bo was part of the siege to free Gideon, they should have made it less obvious because yeah where DID they come from? Sure as shit not Mandalore, and why when she's united with Din the second time in this episode? And if this threat is linked to Thrawn, as we see his return in the trailer for Ahsoka, they should have recapped Chapter 13: The Jedi where Ahsoka shook down Elsbeth for information regarding where Thrawn's location is (which leads to Ahsoka's spin off series).

So yes the plot IS there, just not written in a way that reminds fans of what was at stake leading up to Season 3 and expanded upon those threats even within just opening scenes. The Mandalorian had brilliantly made whatever the opening scene was as foreshadowing the rest of the episode's plot. Season 3 could have used those recaps, flashbacks, or even a bonus scene to something we already saw in the previous season as that reminder audiences need after 3 years to remember what the stakes are and why it still impacts Din and Grogu regardless if Bo is now going on either a redemption journey herself or is secretly the season's antagonist.

And even if Bo is meant to be a central character, Mando has glossed over the fact that she was responsible for Mandalor's downfall TWICE and was considered a traitor, a terrorist, and the reason why her sister was murdered. It's possible they didn't reveal that for specific reasons, but it feels lazy not to hint at it in some ways that let the audience wonder if Bo is meant to be an antagonist or hero this time around, especially as an established selfish, morally gray character. And it's unfair that her redemption is this easy when her laundry list of sins she committed never properly held her accountable, and even with genuine remorse and empathy, Bo still is willing to make choices that benefit her in the long wrong over the benefit of others.

Which leads me to...

4. The Mandalorian Has Always Been About Din and Grogu

"The show is called The Mandalorian, not The Din Djarin and Grogu Show. Anyone can be The Mandalorian, and besides, it's plural!"

First off, The Mandalorian isn't plural. I just want to make that clear. The Mandalorian is a singular person and, although yes it can be anyone, it's explicitly about Din he is THE Mandalorian who walked the surface to bring back money, food, and goods to his tribe while everyone else stayed underground, hiding. Din made a name for himself as the best Bounty Hunter in the Parsec in a world where everyone believed Mandalore was a dead, unlivable planet and that

The Mandalorians, much like the Jedi, were extinct. This was reiterated in dialogue throughout the show by multiple characters, and is why Din was so special. Because when they heard about a Mandalorian it's always Din. Even gaining that land for his people, everyone will still turn to Din because he's THE Mandalorian to them. He's the one who has united people, saved towns, been the diplomat, and the reason why many characters and even Nevaro exist. He's the Mando people will recognize and hold esteem for, not anyone else even if Bo does try to take the mantle and that's because she's The Heiress, even to the likes of the Armorer, and The Armorer is the Armorer. Din will never shake that title even if he wanted to, because he's the one who's left a mark on the galaxy he lives in along with his green son, and Bo nor anyone else will be able to take that from him because they'll have their own titles in that universe to live up to whether they like it or not.

"But Din doesn't even want to be the main character in his own show! His story is over, let him and Grogu be at peace!"

That's the other problem, their stories are far from over. We already know that Thrawn is alive, Dr. Pershing doesn't understand how his science is genocidal, and Gideon is walking around with potentially his own Mandalorian bodyguards or is setting Din up. As long as these men exist and the Empire is a problem, they will hunt down Grogu for their cruel science projects and kill Din in order to achieve that. But this season hasn't reminded us of that at all and has given people a false idea that Din and Grogu's stories are over when they absolutely are not. And even if Bo is intended to take the torch from Din, that doesn't wrap up his story or Grogu's it just makes it second fiddle for Bo to either redeem herself or make everything worse again. Time will tell I guess, but do not for a moment think that Din and Grogu are safe. They absolutely are not. Lastly,

5. Strong Stories Have Reluctant Protagonists

"Who wants to watch a show about someone who's a reluctant leader? Mandalor the Reluctant? I don't think so!"

Um... you do. That's literally the hero's journey. Bilbo Baggins never wanted an adventure. He wasn't confident in his abilities and he wasn't interested in helping the dwarves succeed. He was tricked by Gandalf by a false sense of duty. Luke Skywalker was content with his life on Tatooine until his childhood home an aunt and uncle perished and he physically couldn't go back even if he wanted to. Joel was a reluctant father figure to Ellie after his own losses despite his journey starting on greed. There's so many beloved characters that don't even want to star in their own stories but that's what makes them strong characters. They're forced to go on journeys they don't want to help them come to terms with their own inner termoil or even achieve the greatest version of themselves that they wouldn't have risen to if not for their inability to go back to their normal lives before the call of the journey. So even if we're all okay with more Din and Grogu adventure stories or even okay with Bo taking over, it feels unsatisfactory for Din to just hand the darksaber over to Bo after years of trying to get ride of it and handing his son, whom he spent at least a year apart from, to whoever is available to go on unrelated missions with Bo. There's a reason why people feel unsatisfied and disappointed with this season, and it's valid regardless of what you're okay with. Mando was built on strong writing and they've forgone simple solutions to cut corners in order to spit out a mediocre season when it had the potential to be not just fun but an incredible return of Din, Grogu, and introduction of Bo if she's meant to take the mantle down the line.

One more thing!

6. Bo Isn't a Worthy Leader (added 4/12/2023)

I know this may ruffle some peoples' feathers, but hear me out. I want to remind everyone once again I genuinely like Bo and have nothing against her, and my beef is with how the writers treated her this season and have mislead non Clone Wars and Rebels fans.

Bo deserves the title! The darksaber chose her! She wields it so well, and after all that she's gone through she deserves her redemption!!

A lot of fans of the show who haven't watched Rebels don't realize that Bo at one point couldn't wield the saber, either. It was Satine who taught her how. As far as I'm aware, the darksaber requires the wielder's thoughts and actions to flow into the Darksaber to fuel its energy, which then affects the weight and has nothing to do with being the chosen one like Excalibur. Anyone can learn to wield it if Bo was willing to teach them, hell even Gideon seemed to have a good grasp on it. Din even said in episode 7 that the saber doesn't dictate who is a worthy leader, it's based on principles and honor (which Bo conveniently chose not to inform Din on how she doesn't fit that bill).

Bo, this whole season, has shown time and time again she's not a worthy leader. At least, not yet. Bo has MANY sins to make up for. As I said earlier: Bo was a terrorist, she led to Mandalore's downfall... twice (now potentially thrice), led an incursion that got her sister killed, was openly racist towards Boba Fett and others, sexually assaulted Ahsoka, and burned down villages just because she could. None of these were ever brought up in Mando and it not only made Bo an innocent woman who lost everything and just needs her people and planet back, but also erases her history without ever fully holding her accountable.

Bo has fantastic military leadership (as shown this season alone), but when it comes to diplomatic, she falls short. All of her choices have led her to losing the darksaber, losing Mandalore, getting many people killed, and her prejudices have gotten in the way of true diplomacy where Din had to step in when she was ready to give up or use force to get what she wanted. She didn't even bother to try to win her people back or make a plan to take back Mandalore, she was content staying at home and crying on her throne until Din and Grogu forced her to finally do something productive.

All of this circles back to my point on why Din being a reluctant character is important to the overall story. For someone who doesn't want to lead, he's shown the most leadership skills all season by putting others before him and communicating on everyone else's level instead of expecting them to rise to his which is a stark contrast to Bo's actions this season. He's multi-lingual, finds ways to speak to other species to make them feel seen and heard, and consistently gives up his own food and resources to those in need even if it's with a grumble at first (Frog Lady comes to mind). Everything Bo lacks or doesn't attempt, Din jumps head first in. Which is why I think there's such a divide on Bo's character this season and it's easier to say she stole the show from Din when, in reality, her desire to lead but having no leadership skills is what has drawn out the frustrating aspects of Season 3's storyline that's hard to put your finger on but might've given you anxiety regardless. Her role as Mandalore doesn't feel earned and her character feels cheated, again regardless of how you personally feel about her as a character and if you want what's best for her.

I think I had more to say but I'm running a blank now. I'm tagging @yourcoolauntie cause I know I promised to talk to you about all of this and I still plan on messaging you but figured this confined space would get everything out in one go rather than getting lost in the sauce in a tiny little chat box on here. Everyone is welcome to DM me over this, comment, challenge me, whatever you need to feel better regardless of what your stance is over the show. This isn't meant to dismiss anyone or make anyone feel invalidated as I said, just a safe space with facts that you can do what you please with to either validate how you feel or recognize where that discomfort or frustration is coming from regardless if you're enjoying this season or not. You're seen, you're heard, and I'll see you on the other side after this upcoming episode tonight.

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

The Fiddle Concerto album by Mark O'Connor. Using the term "played like a fiddle" in the most literal sense possible, I see.

ur government assigned gender for the day is the first thing u get when u click this link to a randomised wikipedia article. NO REROLLS . i am the  trollsteineggje mountain in norway

Fandom PSAs

Dont’ Like, Don’t Read

or DL; DR

You are responsible for curating your own online experience.

If something upsets you, makes you angry or queasy or triggers you, stop reading/looking at it. Avoid things that might make you feel that way.

Learn to use the Sort and Filter function on AO3, especially the Exclude tools.

On social media, block and mute accounts / tags / words when necessary.

If you hated something, you don’t need to tell that to the creator or start pointing fingers at them publicly.

The Back button is free. Use it.

Addendum:

Yes, for this to work, creators need to tag their works accordingly, so that people know what sort of content they are about to engage with and can nope out if necessary.

I will probably make another PSA about the importance of proper tagging later.

Ship And Let Ship

or SALS

You are allowed to ship whatever you want.

Everyone else is also allowed to ship whatever they want.

You are entitled to dislike or even hate a ship. If you want to do this online, in public, don’t use the ship tags for hate posts.

If you see someone posting about a ship they like and you don’t, there is no need for you to start arguing with them in their replies / comments / QRTs / reblogs. Don’t throw your hate in their face.

Do not harass fan creators or fans for shipping something you disapprove.

All of this also applies to liking / disliking an individual character.

Addendum:

”I agree with this, except when…”

No, then you are NOT agreeing with this.

Let me make this VERY clear. There are NO exceptions. None.

You don’t EVER harass real people over pixels.

If you disagree with this, kindly block and move on.

Your Kink Is Not My Kink

or YKINMK / YKINMKATO

The longer version is ”Your Kink Is Not My Kink And That’s Okay”.

People have different tastes. Not everything is for everybody.

Even if you don’t like a specific kink, other people are still allowed to use it in their creations.

You are entitled to dislike kinky content and think that it’s ”weird”.

Don’t kink shame or judge people based on their kinks.

This goes both ways: your kink is not someone else’s kink, so don’t push it onto those who are not into it.

Be Kind

or Don’t Be An Asshole

Focus on the things you like instead of the things you hate.

Create and unite instead of destroying and dividing.

Don’t harass real people over fictional things.

Stop stirring up petty drama just to get some attention on social media.

Stop trying to ”win”. Fandom is not a competition.

Remember that your own experiences aren’t universally shared. Your perception of things can differ from someone else’s, but that doesn’t mean either of you is necessarily wrong.