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xzaddyzanakinx · 4 months

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The Maker’s Angel pt. 2

Din Djarin/Mando x female reader

18+ MDNI

Warnings: Sub to Dom Din, spitting, name calling, slapping, aggression/anger, cockwarming, domesticity/breeding kink

Info: Fluffy beginning, smutty ending, lots of Mando’a (translations at the end of post.)

Over the next three months Grogu continued his training, you moved your family of three into a small three bedroom home at the base of the mountain, and you found work in the form of selling produce from my garden behind your home.

Din had a bit of an adjustment period, trying to find a good balance between bounty hunting and home-life, but soon settled into a loose schedule of 2 weeks away on work, 1 week home and repeat.

On this day, Grogu was training at the Temple while you sold vegetables from your roadside stand. Din would be returning from his off-world hunt this afternoon, you and your wrinkly green son were anxiously awaiting his arrival.

After collecting Grogu from the Temple you returned home and set about preparing dinner while Grogu roamed the house and caused his usual mischief. Soon enough you heard the familiar clunk of Din’s boots on the stone porch and you rushed to meet him at the door, Grogu following behind at your heels.

Entering your modest dwelling adorned with various trinkets collected during your travels together, Grogu bounds towards Din, his tiny arms wrapping around his legs in welcome embrace. He burbles something unintelligible, and warmth radiates from him like a sunbeam that dispels any lingering fatigue from his long travel home.

Din!” You wrapped him in a hug, pressing your forehead against his beskar helmet while placing your palm against the engraved Manticore on his armored chest plate; something you’d made a habit of doing every time he returned from his hunts. “we’ve missed you.”

Returning the embrace, he wrapped his arms around your waist tightly, sucking in a deep breath to fill his lungs with your unique scent of flowers and earth —a heady concoction that always seems to calm him.

"Missed you too," He whispered back.

“Been good for mommy?"

He released you gently before picking up Grogu and walking to the couch, sitting down on the sofa with him.

“He’s always good.” You teased, poking Grogu’s little belly to hear him giggle.

“Let’s get you comfy.” You told Din softly.

He’d come to love this part of returning home so he had no qualms about setting Grogu next to him while you slipped off his boots.

He leaned back against the couch's soft fabric as you begin to remove his beskar with practiced ease, you unfasten the secured metal plate across his torso, bringing you one layer closer to the expanse of his muscular stomach beneath his flight suit.

After you removed all his armor and sat it aside in its designated leather basket, you sat on his knee for a moment. Leaning into his chest and kissing the crook of his neck, smelling the salty dried sweat and the scent that was so uniquely him.

A soft moan escapes his lips as your warm breath caresses the soft flesh of his neck, sending shivers down spine after every sweet kiss.

“Helmet now?” You asked, fingers poised to remove it if given permission.

"No, it's fine," He manage to mumble out, "You go ahead and finish preparing dinner."

He took Grogu, placing him on his shoulder and walking to the dinner table and setting him down on the table cloth.

“Here, set the table for us okay?” Din said calmly, gesturing to the silverware and dishes already stacked on the table.

Grogu babbled in response, flattening out his ears in annoyance, though he complied anyway. After all, his dad did ask nicely…

Din stood leaned against the doorway to the kitchen following your every move as you worked. He smiled to himself as he watched you placing three bowls of steaming hot stew on a tray—a hearty blend of root vegetables, wild mushrooms, and tender slices of venison meat simmered slowly in rich broth.

"Smells delicious," He compliment sincerely, "Thank you."

“You’re welcome.” You smiled. “I baked some fresh bread too, it should be done cooling now.”

“Grogu?” Din’s deep voice came through the vocoder as he spoke. “think you can handle the tray here?”

Grogu huffed as he stuck out both of his tiny arms and scrunched his eyes shut. Bringing the tray safely, albeit wobbly, to the center of the table via the Force.

“Good. You’re getting better.” Din praised him, a compassionate tone reserved only for the most special people in his life.

You take a seat across from Din, presenting freshly baked bread on wooden platter covered by crisp white linen. He can't help but observe your movements—each fluid motion an enchanting sight for his tired eyes.

"You know how good you look doing this?" He asked with a grin, slipping off his helmet and sitting it aside. "Cooking... baking... taking care of home?"

“Maybe.” You couldn’t help but blush as you sliced into the fresh loaf of bread.

His eyes happily taking in the sight of your rosy cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment. A soft chuckle escapes his lips before he spoke again.

"It suits you... this domestic side." He murmured teasingly, yet undertones laced within his words hint at respect for your work in and around the home.

His compliment stirred a swirling storm within your core, the blush in your cheeks spreading rapidly as you let your mind wander out of control. Finally you cleared your throat and tried your best to swallow down the lump of desire that had formed in your throat, slicing the loaf of bread for your clan of three to eat with the stew.

"So... how was your day?" He asked casually, "Anything interesting happen? Any troublemakers causing mayhem outside our cozy little nest?"

With a well-practiced motion, Din placed Grogu in his high chair and buckled him securely in place. He then set his bowl on the tray for him, forcibly but gently making Grogu hold a spoon rather than use his hands like he so desperately wanted to.

“My produce stand sold out in less than 2 hours.” You said proudly.

“So I got to come home and read for a bit before going to pick up this little booger.“ You laughed, watching their interaction while you spoke.

“And on our way home from the Temple Grogu and I stopped at the river to splash about a bit, didn’t we buddy?” Grogu nodded happily, a large chunk of venison in his mouth.

A smile tugs at corners of Din’s lips as he lifted his helmet and placed it on the far-side of the table, amusement glinting in his eyes as Grogu chomps down on chunky morsel dangling between fingers stained red from venison juice.

"That does sound like an enjoyable day," He agreed, "But I have a question for you."

He set down his utensils momentarily, leaning forward close enough for your breaths to mingle in temporary shared silence.

"I-I had too much time to think on this last hunt," He paused, searching for words with his lips locked tight against sudden surge of emotion threatening spill forth, "you’re still happy aren’t you? You’d tell me if you weren’t right?"

“Din, of course I’m happy… w-what made you think I wasn’t?” You asked in concerned impatience.

“Well I don’t think you’re unhappy, that’s not what I meant.” He grumbled, sitting back in his chair with his eyebrows furrowed.

“I- well, you…” He let out an annoyed puff of air. “I’m just afraid.”

“Afraid?” You asked in confusion.

“For the first time in a long time, I’m afraid and I don’t like it.” He said quietly. “I feel itchy, my throat hurts, my armor feels too heavy… I- I can’t… I mean-“

He inhaled sharply, punching down his feelings with a beskar fist. His fingers twitched as he contemplated putting his helmet back on, his armor was for physical protection just as much as it was for spiritual and emotional protection. He shook his head, deciding against it so that you could see his face while he spoke about something so important.

“I’m afraid I’ll come home and you won’t be here.” He said softly. “I know… realistically that won’t happen. I know that.”

“But, It’s scary to think that it could happen.”

“Oh C’mere you big softie.” You whispered, standing up and squeezing into his lap to hold him close. Kissing softly until you heard a soft whimper escape Din’s lips…

“You could be in a different galaxy, away for decades, and I would still be here waiting for you.” You assured him quietly as you stood up, caressing his cheek as you did.

“You are… you’re to good.” Squeezing your hand he whispered in a gruff tone. “You’re too perfect. Sometimes it’s hard to believe you’re real.”

You didn’t respond verbally, you just squeezed his hand back in return and scooted your chair around the small round table to be closer to him.

The rest of dinner was punctuated with giggles and stories from your weeks apart, Din sparing the gory details while still making sure to include as much detail as possible, knowing you enjoyed hearing about his work. However, he didn’t know you only requested for his most detailed descriptions just so you could hear him talk alittle longer.

“Go play.” Din said gruffly after cleaning off Grogu’s hands and face at the kitchen sink.

The little one hopped down from the countertop and waddled off to living room, dumping a basket of toys over and digging through them until he found what he was looking for, a game cube. His favorite thing to do, making the colors flash and match up in the correct sequences using his Force abilities. Not only was it fun, it was wonderful practice.

Din shook his head, it was still hard to grasp how something so little held such power. It never failed to impress him, make him proud.

He returned to the dining room table, and sat back in his chair, patting his knee for you to sit on. His arms wrap tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He squeezed you hard, forcing the air out of your lungs in a crushing hug. He held you like that for a moment before loosening his grip.

He looked down at your lips before leaning in to place a passionate open-mouthed kiss on each side of your neck. Goosebumps covered your arms as he left a wet trail up the column of his throat to lock your lips in a searing kiss.

It soon turned frenzied, a dance of tongues tangling together in a display of raw desire from long denied release.

"Cyarika.” A strangled moan escapes his throat, "I... I want you."

Shhh,” You broke the kiss, hand firm on his chest. “patience Din… wait for Grogu to go to bed.” You giggled at his eagerness.

Groaning softly, he reluctantly relented to your demands—raw yearning tempered by cool rationality as he pulled himself back to reality.

"Alright..." He murmur begrudgingly, "But once Grogu's asleep... nothing will hold me back."

“Good.” You leaned in, whispering seductively before nibbling on his ear.

You rose from his lap, gathering the dirty dishes from the table and placing them carefully in the sink. Purposefully walking with a sway to your hips, making your ass jiggle with every stride.

"I'll finish these." He mumbled softly, placing a comforting hand on your waist. "You should put Grogu down for bed... show him who the boss is around here."

Alright. I’ll be back.” You promised, picking up Grogu and taking him to his room to tuck him into bed with his favorite stuffed animals.

Once he was sound asleep you crept out of his bedroom, shutting the door behind you with a soft click.

You all but ran back to the kitchen to find Din who had nearly finished washing the dishes. As he turned around, hearing your steps, you reached behind your back and pulled at the string that held your bandeau top on. Untying the bow that kept it in place and allowing it to fall to the ground.

Startled by your sudden brazen display he nearly dropped the pot in hand; heart racing as his eyes devour your chest now exposed to his hungry gaze—nipples erect and pert, begging for attention.

"Cyare" He croaked, voice strained with desire, "You... you're gonna kill me."

Without waiting another moment, he let the pot clank on the countertop, not bothering to dry his wet hands before reaching out to grasp your waist, pulling you flush against his body. His hardened member pressing urgently against your lower abdomen. His lips crash hungrily against yours, tongue tangling in lustful need barely suppressed by mere clothing separating you from complete surrender to those primal urges that clawed at your insides.

“Sit on the couch. Hurry, c’mon baby I’m feeling needy.” You softly instructed him, following behind him as he rushed to obey you.

“Get your cock out for me baby.” You whispered, trying to seductively strip your pants and underwear as well.

Swiftly following suit, his hands moving dexterously on his pants; lowering them to his ankles and kicking them off impatiently along with his boxers revealing his thick length standing proudly awaiting your touch.

"Here..." He murmur hoarsely, "Take it... do whatever you want."

“Oh I plan on it.” You teased, licking and suckling slowly on the swollen tip of his cock.

His breath hitches in a sharp intake as your soft lips envelop the engorged tip—warm wetness swallowing him whole causing a strike of mind-numbing pleasure to surge through his cock like lightning striking the earth of Mandalore.

“Mesh'la… kar'taylir darasuum.” His voice husky and affectionate as he threaded his fingers through your hair.

You let your hands wander the expanse of his hairy thighs, pressing your nose into the curls at the base of his dick to breathe in his musky scent. The way he sounds… the way his lips move, the grit in his voice when he speaks Mando’a to you, makes you practically feral.

You couldn’t help yourself, immediately releasing his cock with a drooly ‘pop’ and standing up, straddling his legs and hovering over his waiting girth.

“Din,” You pleaded, “I can’t wait. I’ve been wet since the second you stepped foot into the house.”

An involuntary groan escapes his lips as he watched you position yourself over him; your pussy just out of reach, taunting him.

His rough hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as desire grows unbearable, "Fuck me... please." He whined, trying to force you down onto his throbbing length.

“Y-yes.” Sliding your soaked pussy down his cock, releasing a high pitched whine at the burning stretch of his dick plunging deep into your cunt.

Pain and pleasure intertwine into a maelstrom of sensations— clenched teeth to stifle your moans; reverberating swallowed pleas echoing from his throat with urgency as you slowly impale yourself on him.

"M-maker.” He gasped out through clenched jaw, "Fuck... fuck me like I'm your bitch."

“You are my bitch.” You growled.

Your hand shooting out to grip his throat tightly and force his head back against the couch cushions.

“Open your mouth.” You whispered.

His eyes widen as your grip tightens, constricting the airflow to his brain addling his senses further.

"Y-Yes..." He managed to choke out between ragged breaths, "Whatever you want."

“Stick out your tongue out for me now baby.”You said sweetly. “There, that’s a good boy.”

You pushed your hips flush to crotch, grinding in circles on his thickness, feeling it throbbing in response to each pulsing clench of your pussy. Halting your movement completely, simply holding his cock captive and rendering him practically pussy drunk with need.

You leaned down to take his tongue between your lips, sucking on it and slurping loudly, feeling his hot breath fanning across your face lips as you did so. His hips involuntary bucking up into you at the sensation of being trapped inside your pussy and at your every whim.

Suddenly you pulled back from his face, making sure to squeeze his jaw to keep it pried open. Spitting harshly into his mouth before snapping his mouth shut with a click of his teeth.

Blinded by desire, he can't resist the storm surging through his veins wildfire-like, spreading and burning its way through him.

"Ni'duraa" He groaned deep and punctuated in his chest, "I love it.”

Arching his hips upwards in anticipation of climax fast approaching, closing in closer each powerful thrust buried him deep inside your pussy. His body trembling with needful want.

“Yeah?” Taunting him you released the hold on his neck to lace your hands together behind his head, using your thumbs to tip his chin up and expose his throat.

Ravaging his jaw and throat with long messy licks. Alternating between love bites and sucking harshly. Finally, after much whining on his part you relented as the sensation of your cunt rhythmically squeezing him as you cockwarmed him, paired with the brutality of your attention to his neck became too much for him.

You slowly resumed your movements on his cock, lightly rocking back and forth, just enough to make the tip brush against that sweet spot deep inside your wet heat. Sliding your hand down between your bodies to find your swollen and needy clit.

A moan escapes his throat as he watches you use him for your own pleasure.

"Y-Yes... Gods fucking yes," His voice cracking with need.

Both of his large hands grip your waist tightly as you tortured him with slow rhythmic thrusts—each deliberate movement driving him closer and closer to orgasm, his eyes welling up with tears of frustration as you refused to allow him to guide your hips at the pace he wanted.

“Get your fucking hands off me and put them behind you back.” You demanded, enjoying the sudden shock in his eyes.

“You don’t need your hands for this okay pretty boy?” You soothed his confusion of your un-characteristic harshness in a sweeter tone.

“Now, as long as you’re good… I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” You kissed his forehead, nose, lips, then his chin.

“So just sit back and let me do all the work, while I bounce on your cock…” You moaned accidentally, showing how easily he could break my character if he wanted too. “and make you cum over, and over, and over.”

“I’m gonna breed myself on your big fat dick okay?” You whined as his body immediately reacted to your words with a shudder, his eyes fluttering closed momentarily.

“Wait! No no no baby no d-don’t. Just w-wait let me.” He pleaded once his love drunk brain truly registered the meaning of your words; eyes opened wide with urgency.

“No, no c’mon sweet girl let me, let me make love to you. Please? Please just let me love on you while I fill you up, yeah?” He begged.

Lost in the haze of desire, his hands had a mind of their own, refusing to obediently follow your previous instruction—placing themselves behind back to rest idly on your hips.

His head rolls back against couch cushion, eyes closing tightly as he surrendered to your wishes.

“Yaihadla? Gods yes... that sounds perfect."

“Oh does it?” You cooed down at his pitiful face. “is that what you want? You want me to fuck myself on your cock until you get me good a pregnant?”

A gravely moan escapes his throat, hands gripping tightly to keep hold on reality slipping away as you continued your merciless tease.

"Yes!" He choked out through grit teeth, "Just... just fuck me for real already."

Your words, your continued denial of giving into his needs only fueled the firestorm in his veins—a primal urge clawing at the surface of his sanity.

“Say please for me.” You taunted. “You have manners, use them.”

Din felt a blush rise in his cheeks, submission tinged with embarrassment adding extra layer of vulnerability he hated to admit that he loved.

"P-Please..." He whimpered out desperately, "Fuck me... please fuck me now."

“Good boy,” You praised him, removing your fingers from your clit to lace both hands into his sweaty hair.

Immediately you bounced harder, faster… rolling your hips with every down stroke, getting a teasing bit of friction on your neglected clit.

He whined, pulling one of your hardened nipples into his mouth and suckling greedily.

“I love it when you let me use you like you’re just a little fuck toy.” You moaned, trying to rile him up.

With that said you bit down on the Adam’s apple of his throat and clapped one hand over his mouth to muffle the sound of him crying out in pain, his cock twitching proving he loved this display of dominance as much as you did.

"Gods-“ He managed to grunt, voice muffled by your hand, "you brat!"

Spasms ripple through his abdomen as his muscles tightened. He was close, and you couldn’t have that… not just yet.

“You call that an insult?” You laughed.

“You can do better than that can’t you? Hmm? Or are you too pussy-drunk from being my goddamn dildo to think?”

You rear back to slap him across the face hard, a sickening whack echoed through the room.

“There, that better? Give you some motivation to do better?”

Stunned by sudden blow, stars dance in his vision briefly before his focus snaps back to the present moment, anger burning brightly within his eyes.

"What the-?" He growled through clenched teeth, "You want a fucking insult? I’ll give it to you then you little bitch!"

With a primal roar, his muscular arms wrap around your waist and lift you off the ground; practically dragging you until he pinned you against wall, your dangling feet barely brushing the cool wood of the living room floor.

You smiled widely, a feral excitement in your glassy eyes; finally he was angry, finally he’d be as rough as you had been begging him to be for months now. You let out a low growling moan as if a wild animal was clawing it’s way out of your throat.

Intensity escalates rapidly his lustful anger threatening to consume all in its path.

"Fuck you..." He snarled viciously, "Fuck this... fuck those stupid bounties for keeping me away from you.”

With brute strength borne from years spent fighting for survival against odds insurmountable, he thrusted deep into your cunt.

“Vaii did ner cyare riduurok slanar?” He growled, eyebrows furrowed.

His already harsh thrusts became brutal plunges; your body slamming into wall with each powerful stroke meant to possess and claim.

“Ohhhhhh.” Your flesh pimples up In goosebumps.

Each thrust of his cock driving so far into your cunt that his tip slammed against my cervix painfully. Though it was worth every teeth gritting second all for that delicious push and pull of velvety skin against your raw and need clit.

“That’s it. This is what I wanted.” You praised, eyes filling with tears.

Breaths coming in ragged gasps, sweat coating his forehead in a light sheen.

"Y-Yeah... goddamn it..." He groaned lowly, "You fucking love this don't you? You want me to fucking claim you as mine?"

Teeth clash together in a violent snap; fury and desire merge into primal symphony of skin on skin, shared breath and unbidden pleasure.

“We’ve been married for almost a year!” You snapped as he dug his fingertips into the soft flesh of your ass. “And I’ve finally pushed you over the edge. Finally got you to be rough, to be mean.”

You arched your back with a high pitched squeal, bracing yourself with your hands gripping your forearms around his neck, holding on for dear life as he ravaged you.

“Of course I fucking love it you idiot!” You panted.

Though blinded by passion, he can't help but feel a pang of guilt in his chest.

"Gods... you fucking insane?" He managed to choke out hoarsely, "This... this is what you needed? This is what you’ve been begging for?”

His eyes lock onto yours filled with love and desire combined into single focus piercing through yours with a burning intensity.

“I’m finally getting what I want, either shut up or fuck me senseless god damnit!” Your voice although demanding, had hidden notes of pleading.

You were so close to orgasm you could practically taste it.

“Gods you’re so deep,” You groaned, pushing your hips forward to suck his length in farther. “C’mon fill me up, breed me like I know you want to.”

Din couldn’t help but let out a strangled laugh through gritted teeth.

"Gods..." He breathed, wrapping his arms around you tightly to press your bodies together, "You really have no idea how fucking right you are."

His forehead drops to rest on your shoulder as his lungs squeezed out a reedy whine. With a final surge of energy, he buries himself deeply between your folds, holding you still as he pumped you full of his hot cum. Each spurt brought out a shameless whimper from his full lips, his face now tucked in the crook of your neck.

“Udesiir, atiniir.” He mumbled against your soft skin.

As you felt him cum, warm and sticky ropes of wet coating your insides you cried out loudly. Eyebrows furrowed with your mouth open in a high-pitched whine, turning into babbled words.

“That’s it, that’s just what I needed. Feels so good, shit- I love it, I love you.”

He starts up his thrusts again, this time slow and sensual with the sounds of your messy cum coated cunt. He takes his time to fuck you through your orgasm, your body shakes uncontrollably as warm wet slick gushes from your pussy and leaks down my thighs.

"Gods... you're such a brat..." He managed to speak between ragged gasps for breath.

“Don’t act like you didn’t love every second of that.” You chided him, kissing his jaw gently.

“Bet you wish you’d given in a long time ago now don’t you? Hmm?” You teased.

With a loud bellowing laugh echoing through the room he agreed with you.

"Fuck off, you know damn well how much I enjoyed it." He retorted with a slight grin sneaking onto his lips despite best efforts.

"Next time... we do it in bed." Gently, his hands tenderly reach out and help you slide down from wall still trembling with aftermath, whispering softly into your ear, nipping lightly on the lobe before returning to his usual serious demeanor.

“Don’t expect that kind of rough treatment often,” He said sternly. “Although I don’t have any complaints about it; You’re precious to me, I want to take care of you, make love to you, not ravage you like an animal all the time.”

“You can make love to me nice and slow, all gentle like you love to tomorrow.” You kissed him softly, lovingly like you normally did.

A chuckle escapes his throat, unable to suppress the wide grin creeping onto his lips again.

Mando’a to English (in order of appearance I think)

Cyare- beloved

Mesh’la- beautiful

Cyarika- darling, sweetheart

‘Mesh’la kar'taylir darasuum.’- ‘Beautiful, I will hold you in my heart forever.’

Ni'duraa- disgusting/gross

‘Yaihadla?’- ‘pregnant?’

‘Vaii did ner cyare riduurok* slanar?’- ‘Where did my sweet love go?’

*Riduurok: used only for spouses

‘Udesiir, atiniir.’- ‘Relax, just take it.’

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din-miller · 6 months

Note

Heyoooo! I’m not sure if you take requests, or if this is where your supposed to ask, it’s my first time doing so :’)

BUT

If you do, I was wondering if you could maybe wright an angsty fic, could be platonic or romantic, idm, but after a mission the reader dies similar to how aunt may dies in Spider-Man. Like, everybody gets out alive after a mission, and they’re about to head back on the ship r somthin and then BOOM, the reader falls. They don’t know the are dying and everyone is panicking(or just one of TBB for bonus individual trauma) then after a few, they die. One minute TBB have it all, the next, their world shattered.

Ofc your free to change as much as you want up, and you really don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, it’s just a prompt I’ve been thinking about. Personally its just been nagging me for a while and I love your writing, and would really love to see it done (we all love some heavy angst, no?)

Again, if you don’t want to that’s perfectly fine, just thought I could ask <333

Hello dear, sorry this took so long.

Full disclosure, I’ve never seen Spider-Man. I watched a few videos on YouTube. Both for the movie and the video game not knowing which death of Aunt May you had in mind. Thankfully you provided enough details in the request which helped me hugely!

Thank you for your love and support. It means the world to me ❤️

(Ps. You didn’t mention if you wanted the reader to have a specific pronoun so I’ve chosen to use she/her as the readers pronouns)

Go Peacefully, It’s Okay

Pairing: The Bad Batch + f!reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warning: Character death, blood mentioned, female reader, fun sibling dynamics THEN hurt with not a drop of comfort to be found, platonic relationships, use of mando’a (translation at the end)

Sometimes everything you hold dear to your heart, can slip out of your fingertips without out a cause, without a warning, without an explanation

“Remind me when we get back to Ord Mantell, to tell Sid that being hunted by an unknown animal was not in the job description.” Tech grumbled, re-gaining his balance after tripping over a root hidden in the soil.

You laughed, dodging another tree branch as you raced past him, “I wasn’t aware Sid was handing out job descriptions.”

“It’s probably for the best that she doesn’t, we’d be broke if she did,” Hunter pointed out, “If you haven’t noticed, her missions are getting more dangerous lately.”

“Oh, come on, they’re not all bad,” You flinched when the creatures let out a loud roar, “See, even they’re agreeing with me.”

Your commlink beeped, Crosshair’s voice coming through the speaker, “Take the next left, you should be able to lose them in the tall grass.”

“Lose them?” Echo smirked, enjoying this more than he probably should as he jumped over a fallen log, dodging the sharp claws trying to shred his prosthetic leg into pieces, “The fun’s just getting started!”

“You can say that again!” Wrecker cheered, running beside you; Omega balanced on his shoulders, shooting her bow in hopes that it’ll slow the animal chasing them down.

“Has anyone found their weak spot yet?”

Of course nothing is ever simple with the Batch. The creature's skin ricochet any blaster fire and for the first time in history, Wrecker didn’t pack any explosives. Something he’s still evidently mad about as he complained very loudly: “No need for explosives, Tech said. It’s a peaceful planet, Tech said.”

“It was peaceful until you decided to awaken the den, Wrecker.” Tech pointed out, dodging another pounce from the creature behind him, “This plan isn’t working.”

“Crosshair, I thought you said we’d lose them in the tall grass, not attract more!” Echo growled, annoyed as his prosthetics creaked loudly, “You’ll be in charge of oiling my prosthetics when we get back.”

You let out a snort, because that'll be a sight to behold. The others laughed when all Crosshair replied with was a sneer. With a fond roll of your eyes, you opened your comm link, “I have an idea.”

“If past experiences have proven anything, those words have never been followed by anything good.” Typically Tech response.

“You got a better idea?” You asked, a tad judgemental, “Just trust me, okay. Hunter, grab Omega and run. All of you, out of the grass.”

“Copy,” Echo turned to brothers, “Race you to the ship, last one takes first watch tonight.”

Hunter’s helmet is focused on you and you know underneath it he’s giving you a pleading look to not do anything stupid. You just waved him away in response.

“I’ll be right behind you.” You promised and drew your blaster. He sighed and took off with Omega at his side.

As promised, you followed. Albeit a little further behind them as you shoot at the ground again and again, the blaster shot hot enough for the dry grass to catch on fire, forming a wall of flames that prevent the creatures from continuing their attack. As the fire builds and they begin to retreat, you let out a breath of relief. Then, with a huge grin, you threw your hands in the air, ”Victory!”

“Parjir!” Wrecker cheered, high-fiving the youngest Batch. The kid giggled and gave a cheer herself.

Hunter shook his head at them, but you can see the tiniest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. The smile disappeared as quickly as it came, your name falling from his lips: “Behind you!”

Before you could turn around, your body is slammed to the ground. A vicious snarl came from right behind your ear and you winced at the loudness of it. You twisted your body and grabbed the blaster off of your belt. In the distance the boys are calling your name and without sparing a second thought you started firing into the creature's stomach, taking no pleasure in the pained screams it let out.

You laid your head back against the ground and tried your best not to gag at the smell and warmth of the blood seeping into your clothes. A second barely passed before a pair of hands pushed the animal off of you, “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” You answered, letting Tech help you up, “Thank you.”

“Next time please eliminate all threats before celebrating.”

“I’ll make sure to triple check my surroundings.” You promised, brushing off the dirt clinging to your pants.

“That would be suffice, thank you.” He said dryly and you chuckled in response, amused with his way of speech.

While Hunter started checking Omega over for any injuries, you pulled Wrecker toward you to do the same. The biggest clone willingly allowed you to poke and prod at various body parts and he doesn’t even complain when you checked a second time despite knowing that other than a bruise or two, he’s fine.

“Your turn,” Wrecker gestured for you to turn around, but before he could begin his check, Hunter called for everyone to grab their packs and start moving out. Wrecker clapped his hands together with a giant grin, “Finally! The heat is killing me! I guess I’ll check you over once we’re back on the Marauder.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” You patted Wrecker’s shoulder and followed him to where the others started preparing for the trip.

You begin the journey back to the ship at Wrecker’s side but the longer you walked, the slower your pace became and eventually you fell behind. The fire is still roaring behind you, the warmth of it faint against your back and despite having felt like you’ve travelled miles, you're not even halfway back to the ship yet.

Echo slowed down to match your pace, arm brushing against yours, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Echo. I think the adrenaline is starting to wear off, that's all.”

“Should I get Tech? He’ll probably have a stim shot.”

“No, there’s no need to bother him. I just need a sec-,” A sharp spasm rippled down your back, the force of it knocking you over, your legs giving out from underneath you.

Echo caught you, his arm wrapping around your waist and you leaned into his embrace, head crashing onto his shoulder. Echo lowered both of you to the ground, “Help, we need help!”

Hunter dropped down beside you, helmet placed on the ground as his eyes scanned over your body, looking for injuries, but he can’t tell if the blood is yours or the creatures, “Echo, what happened?”

“I don’t know, we were talking and then she collapsed.”

“Collapsed?” Wrecker appeared beside Hunter, helmet also off, his brows knitted together, “Is she okay?”

You know what he’s thinking, it’s written across his face. He should have checked you over earlier and you know very well that thoughts like those never lead anywhere good, so you grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “I’m okay, Wrecker. I just need a second.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Crosshair huffed impatiently. He’s out of your line of sight but you know he’s scowling, “Get up.”

“We have time to let her catch her breath,” Hunter surveyed the burning grass. The fire is steady and far enough that it wouldn’t hurt to sit for a few seconds, “When we get back to the ship, Tech is going to check you over, okay?”

Tech eyed the flames with caution, “For once I find myself agreeing with Crosshair. We don’t know what other animals the noise and fire might draw. We shouldn't stay here. It’ll be best to let Wrecker carry her to the ship.”

“First cardio, now a full upper body workout! It’s shaping up to be a good day after all.” Wrecker joked, but he couldn’t hide the anxiety that lingered in his words as he waited for Hunter’s permission.

Hunter nodded and moved out of the way, “Thanks Wrecker.”

“I got ya, ner vod.” Wrecker scooped you up, shifting you in his arms to get a better grip, only before he could find one comfortable enough for the both of you, he froze, his hold on you loosening until you were set back down carefully.

“Wrecker?”

“I-, she’s…,” He stuttered, taking several steps away from you until his back collided with a tree behind him. His eyes desperately searched for his brother, “Tech, she’s… oh maker, please no.”

You frowned, confused at his sudden behaviour. Tech seemed equally confused but he must have seen something in Wrecker's expression that you hadn’t, because suddenly he’s digging through his pack, searching for something of importance judging by the urgency of his movements.

You turned back to Hunter, “What’s wrong? What’s Tech doing?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure everything is fine.” Hunter reassured, returning to his previous place beside you. His hand slipped under your shirt, fingers deftly prodding at your side until they stopped at the bottom of your rib cage, then he’s applying pressure against your skin, cursing as he yelled for his brother to hurry.

Echo grabbed his pack, emptying the contents carelessly onto the ground before lifting your head up and placing the pack on the ground as a cushion for you, “Just relax, everything is okay, you’re okay.”

Tiny footsteps made their way to where you’re laying and Hunter held up his hand, stopping Omega from coming any closer. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her but his words are directed at his older brother, “Echo, take Omega to the ship.”

“No,” Omega fought the hand that grabbed her arm, shoving Echo back, “What's going on? Why aren’t we moving?”

She looked at you, anxiously awaiting an answer and you're quick to reassure the small girl, “Need a sec’, I prob’ly inhaled too much smoke.”

Realising that she isn’t going to go willingly to the Marauder, Hunter sighed, “Omega, go check on Wrecker. That’s an order, kid.”

Omega pressed her lips together and for a second you thought she was about to argue but instead she listened and went to check on Wrecker. The bigger clone’s sat on the ground, head between his legs, but he welcomed Omega into his arms when she hugged him in an attempt to calm him down.

Hunter cocked his head towards the two, “Echo, keep an eye on them.”

“Yes, sir,” Echo stood up and laid a hand on Hunter's shoulder, his voice lowering to a whisper, “Take care of her, vod.”

Tech took Echo's place, a scanner held over your body and he adjusted his goggles in the way he does when something isn’t looking good. The muscle in his jaw twitched before he turned the scanners screen to Hunter.

You tore your eyes away from them and tilted your head back to watch as the fire curled up into the dawn sky. Red and oranges mix with the pale pascals, and the stars, so bright from here, so familiar, blur with every breath you take. You can’t help but let your eyes drift shut.

“Don’t do that,” Crosshair hissed, “Keep your eyes open.”

You blinked them back open and you’re a little surprised to see Crosshair kneeling down beside you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. When your eyes met his, the corner of his mouth turned up, “Good, keep your eyes on me.”

“Crosshair?” You leaned into his hand, seeking the comfort he’s providing despite his usual nature, “Why aren’t we movin’? Is someone hurt?”

“No, everything is okay,” Crosshair replied, but it’s through clenched teeth. Something he only does when he’s having to say something he doesn’t fully believe and/or agree with. He positioned himself criss-crossed above you and lifted your head, replacing Echo’s pack with his lap, “We’re just taking a break.”

Right, a break. A second to relax and catch your breath, that’s what you needed. You closed your eyes, even though you're pretty sure someone just told you not to, but there’s a heavy fog clouding your mind and you can’t remember who it was.

“I said to keep them open.” Crosshair, right, that’s who said it. The man who’s currently demanding you to look at him.

“Crosshair, keep her awake.”

You're able to open your eyes enough to watch as the sniper glared at Tech, “What do you think I’m trying to do?”

Hunter’s fingers threaded through yours, “You can’t fall asleep, cyar’ika, okay? Hey, look at me, let me see those pretty eyes.”

The fading sun is too bright and your vision struggles to focus but you listened to his words and for that he gave you the softest smile, “There you are.”

“Wrec’ ok’?”

“He’s okay. We’re all okay. You just take another second to relax and don’t worry about anything, we have you.” Hunter pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Echo rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at his Sergeant, “You have to tell her, Hunter. You have to let her say goodbye.”

You want to ask what he means. Who’s saying goodbye by who. You want to ask why he looks so sorrowful, but your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate and your voice only comes out in weak gasps.

“Move,” Tech ordered Crosshair, taking his position to support your body up against his chest, helping the air fill your lungs, “Deep breaths, nice and slow.”

You tried to match Tech’s breathing, the strength in his inhale and the sturdiness in the exhale, but your lungs start to fail you as your breathing became weaker, your grip loosened but Hunter doesn’t let go. Not even when your eyes drift shut for the final time and your chest stills.

Hunter lowered his head, pressing his forehead to yours as he whispered a promise: “Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.”

“Hunter?”

“Kid-,” Crosshair reached out for Omega, not sure if he was trying to comfort and protect her or hell, maybe even himself, as she dropped to her knees beside your body. It took everything in him to not walk away, far from here, but she needs him. His brothers need him.

They all watched helplessly as Omega finally noticed the blood pooling around your body, “She's bleeding! Tech, why are you just sitting there?! Help her!”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do, Omega. The wound was too deep, she was losing too much blood. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“No, I don’t believe that. There has to be something we can do!” She pressed her tiny hands against the wound while she begged through tears: “Wake up! Talk to me, say something, anything! Please, open your eyes!”

“Ad’ika, she’s gone,” Hunter swallowed around the lump in his throat, his lower lip quivered when he pulled the small clone into his arms, “She’s gone.”

Mando’a translation

Parjir. – Victory

Ner vod – My sister

Cyar’ika – darling/sweetheart

Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum – Daily remembrance of those passed on *I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.*

Ad’ika – Little one

#the bad batch #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb echo #tbb omega #tbb x platonic reader #justice joy writes #tw: character death

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davnittbraes · 11 months

Text

The Fifth Step - Chapter Thirty-Seven

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (not this chapter but series as a whole)

Word Count: 3500

Warnings, etc.: violence, reader is put in a dangerous situation, mentions of death, reader shows no remorse for committing acts of violence, I don’t want to include spoilers so imma leave it there but I can say that nothing happens that hasn’t already been covered by warnings in previous chapters

Notes: So this is it. Except for one more chapter, (but nothing really happens in it, just an unbearable amount of smutty feels) this is the end of TWILE. I don’t know what to say. I’ll think of something more meaningful for the next last update but for now I’m just a little bit overwhelmed. I hope this chapter wraps everything up in a way that is satisfying, and does justice to our bbys in the way they deserve.

Mando’a translations at the end of the chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

Every curse word you know flies through your head all at once.

What are Stormtroopers doing here?

Something shifts out of the corner of your eye.

More of them, moving through the trees. Some distance away, but circling behind you. Sweeping the forest. Searching.

And in less than a minute, effectively surrounding you.

Dank farrik.

“Get down.” You yank the Mandalorian’s wrist hard, pulling him into a crouch as you duck out of sight.

He grunts in surprise but doesn’t resist - small kriffing miracles. Quickly, you reach over to grab the edge of the kid’s pod, bring it down to the ground beside you.

Thoughts race blinding-fast -

What are the chances these are the same Imps that Din took the kid from?

What if they know who the ship belong’s to -

If they know about the kid -

If they find him -

The Mandalorian shifts, grips his blaster tight, black visor scanning the trees as he obviously plans out his next move.

The covert -

Din -

A plan half-forms, vague shapes and outlines, movements without conclusion but it’s enough.

It has to be. There’s no time for anything more.

Your fingernails sting as they dig into the Mandalorian’s wrist. “You have to get out of here.”

The black visor turns to you, helmet straightening stiffly. “I’m not running from Imps.”

Kriff, how can one person be this difficult? “We don’t have time to debate this. I’ll draw them away, you and the kid go back to the covert and get help.”

“I don’t take orders from -“

“I don’t care who in the crikking hells you take orders from.” Your words snap, snarling harsh. “If they know the Razor Crest, they’ll know we’re here. And if they see you, they’ll know there are other Mandalorians here - they’ll search the planet and hunt down the covert.”

A glimpse of white to your left - Stormtroopers, drawing closer.

Time no time -

You move fast, lift the kid out of his pod, push him into the Mandalorian’s arms. “The Empire wants the kid. They cannot get him.” A little whine of fear, a tiny clawed hand reaching for you - focus, don’t look at the kid, no time -. “Run. Don’t stop until he’s safe. Protect him with your life.”

More flashes of white, almost blending with the pale trunks of the trees - pfassk, too well, what if there are more than you think because their armour is camouflaging?

One stops, curved helmet turning, visor sweeping through the trees toward you -

No time -

Your legs flex as you stand, every muscle drawing tight in preparation, blaster already a solid weight in your hand.

Then your restraint breaks, you glance down at the kid -

Big amber eyes, full of understanding, fear, despair, too much for one so young.

It hurts, the strike of emotion between your ribs, sharp and tearing.

No time -

Then you’re running.

A shout from your left -

You fire a shot in that direction -

More shouting -

White through the trees, from all sides -

You’ve got them.

Run run go -

Trees whip by you, branches snag on your clothes.

Your boots find purchase by instinct, over roots and rocks and hollows.

Keep them on you, draw them away from the kid -

You fire another shot, another -

A blaster bolt sizzles into a tree next to you as you pass it.

Kriff.

They’re on you, that’s for sure.

Now what?

Your lungs are already burning, you need to lose them.

Glance behind you -

Dank farrik -

Too close they’re too close -

More blaster bolts zing past your ears, you duck instinctively -

Fire another round behind you blindly -

Shout of pain from over your shoulder -

Ha. Got one.

The trees thin up ahead - a clearing.

A large rock outcropping, bright in the warm sunlight -

Cover, use it to shoot them and protect your back -

Too many they’ll surround you -

Better than running until you drop.

You turn toward it, thigh muscles tweaking with the sudden shift.

Almost there -

Your boot slips on a slew of leaves -

Pfassk -

Stumble, haul yourself upright, dive for the rocks -

Blaster bolt sizzles into the rock at your side -

Scramble back, fingers scraping on rough stone, boots skidding -

Your elbows sting as you slam them on the rock, brace your arms, fire in the direction of the bolt -

The sun is bright, in your eyes, you can’t see -

A round of blaster bolts zips over your head -

Duck behind the rock -

Dank farrik.

You’re pinned down.

They’ll surround you in moments.

Fear turns your stomach, leaves a sour taste on your tongue.

The kid -

The Mandalorian would have protected him. Din told you how important children were to his people.

He’ll make it. He has to.

Your thoughts shy away from the alternative.

The faint crackle of a helmet modulator, words too far away to distinguish.

A pause.

Then -

Quiet.

The breeze plays through the leaves, a soft susurration that layers into your pounding heartbeat.

No blaster fire. No movement from the other side of the rocks.

What -

“I’m sure you’re aware that there’s nowhere else for you to go at this point.”

The unfamiliar voice drifts over the rocks - a woman’s, pitched to travel over the short distance, words ringing with a tone of the type of authority you haven’t heard in a while.

Arrogant. Derisive. Contemptuous.

An Imperial officer.

Kriffing fantastic. Now you have to deal with a self-important blowhard.

A spark of an idea.

Well. Maybe that can be used to your advantage.

Imperial officers love to hear themselves talk.

Stall them.

Keep her talking, keep as many troopers here as possible. Give the Mandalorian more time to get away with the kid.

Hope flares bright in your chest.

You call out over the top of the rock. “That’s fine, I’m quite comfortable here.”

“For now.” Her voice is heavy with threat.

Checking your blaster idly, you squint up at the sun, leaning into the casual chit chat for effect. “I’m not in any rush. Your troopers look like they could use a break, I’m sure they’d appreciate the opportunity to enjoy this beautiful day.”

“Oh, we won’t be staying here long. We’ll be taking you into custody shortly.”

“I wasn’t aware the Empire had any jurisdiction in this sector. Or anywhere, nowadays.” You bite your lip - that last part might have been a bit too much.

Her voice takes on a harsh grate, obviously catching the underlying insult in your words. “The Empire still holds power, and we will never stop working to bring the galaxy back to order.”

A genuine snort of laughter vibrates in your chest. “You must not have spent a lot of time in the Outer Rim. Just saying the word “order” could get your throat slit in some cantinas there.”

“Everyone will fall in to line.” She pauses, tone shifting to something more devious. “Even your Mandalorian.”

Your heartbeat stutters, and you push through it, keep your words light. “Not sure who you’re talking about.”

“The infamous bounty hunter who broke his oath with the Guild and stole an invaluable asset from the Empire.”

A clench of anger tightens your jaw at hearing her refer to the kid that way. “Hmm yeah, doesn’t sound familiar.”

“I know he’s here, and if he’s here, then the asset is as well. He keeps it with him at all times.” A pause, her tone shifting to something like curiosity. “The one thing I don’t know is how you factor into the situation.”

“I told you, I haven’t heard anything about a bounty hunter or an asset.” Inspiration strikes, a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “I’m just here on vacation.”

A moment of quiet, then she speaks again, words clipped and sharp with anger. “I may not know who you are, but that doesn’t matter. There are no other ships on this planet, and no other inhabitants. You are here with the Mandalorian, which tells me that you mean something to him. And that’s all I need to know right now.”

Dank farrik.

This was how the Empire held power for so long. Their officers, at least, were intelligent and persistent.

Unfortunately for you.

Ok, new angle. “You really think I mean more to a bounty hunter than this “invaluable asset” of the Empire?”

“Well. Only one way to find out.” The voice curves in an obvious smile. “As I said, there’s nowhere for you to go. We’ll take you hostage and hold you for ransom in exchange for the asset. If he won’t comply, then we’ll kill you and keep hunting him. There’s no escape off this planet, not when we have his ship surrounded. So, one way or another, I will get the asset.”

Well, pfassk.

Ok. New new angle.

Which is…

Your thoughts flit wildly, searching for something, anything -

Kriff.

She’s right.

You’re trapped. She was only dragging this out because she’s curious about who you are, how you relate to Din and the kid. But that curiosity has a time limit. she’ll move any minute now, take you in.

And she’ll succeed.

They’ll take you.

Make him choose.

You or the kid.

A swarm of emotion rips through your body, tears your senses apart with its ferocity -

Your vision swims, blurs -

Lungs choke, chest squeezing tight -

Blood rushes in your ears in time with your heartbeat, underneath the echoes of a rasping voice surfacing from memory -

Beat.

I love you, tionas.

Beat.

Everything is different with you.

Beat.

Ne’kotir.

Beat.

The world coalesces, defines, bold colours crisp and vibrant -

Beat.

Undefeated.

Your lungs burn with the sharp inhale.

Steel hardens your spine, muscles pulling tight across your back.

A back covered in scars that mark you a slave.

One who bows to others.

Anger flashes, fierce -

No.

I am ne’kotir.

They will not take you.

They will not use you against him.

You’ll die before that happens.

A heavy sort of peace, a thick serenity instantly pulls everything back into focus. The sounds of the world around you fade, soften, and all you know is what comes next.

The final step.

Your blaster is warm and heavy in your hand.

Calm. Focus. Control.

Breathe steady when they come.

Take as many out as you can.

And leave this life, undefeated.

The breeze smoothes over your cheek, fresh and cool. Soothing.

A rustle above you, branches of the tree closest to the rocks dip down -

Bright blue eyes peer through pale leaves.

You smile.

Stay out of the way, my friend. Be safe.

The Imp officer’s voice pierces through the quiet, skirting over the surface of your calm. “I’ll take your silence as acceptance of your fate.”

Another murmured command and then the faint sound of boots marching toward you, muffled against the forest floor.

You raise your blaster.

The trigger itches the pad of your fingertip.

You turn, lean over the top of the boulder, the sun-warmed stone seeping through your shirt as your gaze picks out the dozens of Stormtroopers moving through the trees into the clearing.

Big, amber eyes look up at you, a tiny clawed hand presses over your heart -

Beat.

Lips brush yours so gently, strong, warm hands glide down your back in reassurance -

Beat.

I love you.

Beat.

Pick a Stormtrooper, squeeze the trigger.

Bright red bolt cuts through the air -

The rustle of leaves -

A shout -

Chaos erupts.

The trees are moving -

Falling into the clearing -

No, not the trees -

Blurs of grey dropping onto the Stormtroopers -

Blaster bolts sizzle into rock and tree and ground -

You duck but they’re all on the other side of the rocks -

Shots of alarm, pain -

Your thoughts reel, trying to grasp what’s going on.

A Stormtrooper stumbles right in front of you, falls against the boulder, blaster rifle skittering across the ground as both hands struggled to hold a writhing ball of grey fur.

What -

A glimpse of bright blue eyes and tiny, sharp teeth -

Crikking hells.

The tree-dwellers.

Your vision expands, takes in the scene.

Stormtroopers are scrambling, scattered, trying to escape the small furry creatures that swarm over them.

A shot fires -

The squeal of pain from the tree-dweller hit by the blaster bolt slices through your confusion.

Instinct kicks in, understanding follows quick, clicks into place.

You aim carefully at the nearest Stormtrooper, avoiding the tree-dweller currently biting the gloved hand holding a blaster, and fire.

The bolt hits, sizzles through plastoid armour -

A cry, the Stormtrooper falls to the ground -

The tree-dweller scurries away, leaps through the air, lands on the next closest Stormtrooper.

You don’t question it, just take aim at the next one and shoot.

Again and again -

A blaster bolt shrieks over your head -

Duck down, reposition, find target, aim and fire -

Another trooper drops -

Again -

Reposition, find target, aim, fire -

Again -

Blaster bolts cut through the air -

Pfassk -

You throw yourself down against the rock -

That’s too many Stormtroopers, kriff -

Shouts of distress, a flurry of blaster bolts -

Wait -

You slip around the boulder, see -

Figures in armour, different colours but familiar shapes, black visors glimpsed through pale leaves -

Mandalorians.

Several of them. Stalking through the trees, blasters firing, slicing through groups of Stormtroopers without slowing.

A flash of bright silver across the clearing -

Din -

Shoving off the boulder, you throw yourself into the fray.

It’s useless trying to track anything, just shoot anything in white armour, keep moving, dodge aim fire -

Again -

Only a few left, dropping one by one -

Tree-dwellers launching themselves back up into the branches above as the last Stormtroopers fall.

Your feet move without thought, only need.

Toward him, toward that flash of silver, that light you never thought you’d see again -

His arms are pulling you in and the scent of Din fills your lungs.

But you can’t stop, can’t dwell in this moment, you have to go before more Imps show up.

A deep breath.

Release.

And that’s all you can spare time for.

He pulls back, helmet tilting as he takes you in. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head sharply. “No. The kid -“

“Safe. With the covert.”

A tension you didn’t even know you’d been holding slips from your shoulders, pulls tears to the corners of your eyes. No time - “The Imps saw the ship, we have to get him off this planet.”

Another modulated voice from over his shoulder - the Mandalorian in grey armour. “We’re circling back to your ship to clear any Imps remaining. Go, get your foundling.”

Din nods in thanks. “You’ll have to return to hiding as soon as possible. The Imps may have called for backup.”

“They will not find us.” His modulated voice is almost forceful, words tight with conviction.

Like he’s trying to convince himself that possibility doesn’t exist.

A tiny curl of compassion twists in your stomach.

He may be an asshole, but he is passionate about keeping the people he cares for safe.

You can relate to that.

Suddenly, the grey helmet swivels, black visor landing on you, and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. Din stiffens beside you, a line of tension pulling his frame tight and you hold your breath, wait for the inevitable snipe.

The Mandalorian in grey speaks firmly. “You would not have survived without our help.”

Frustration blooms and grits between your clenched teeth. Does he have to hold it over you like this? “I’m aware of that. Thank you for coming back for me.”

The helmet tilts, a gesture so unnervingly like Din it makes you blink. “We are Mandalorian. We will never hesitate to fight in defence of our own.”

Our own.

Frustration fizzles into confusion. “But I’m not Mandalorian.”

“No, you’re not. But you put the safety of the covert and of your foundling before your own life. You fought with bravery and skill.” He hesitates, voice crackling through the modulator. “These are virtues we value. Traits of a true Mandalorian.”

Oh.

Words slip through your thoughts, fall away.

You don’t know what to say to that.

He holds out a gloved hand. “I will speak to the others on your behalf. If you return, you will be welcome among us. You and the child.”

Your hand grasps his automatically, still catching up. “Thank you.” The grey helmet nods once, and he moves to pull away when a thought sparks, your hand gripping his tight. “The tree-dwellers fought with just as much bravery. They deserve your respect, as well.”

He stills, fingers flexing, then relaxing once again. “And they have it.”

Another Mandalorian approaches - the one in blue, you recognize him from the canyon. “We need to move out.”

A quick exchange in Mando’a, then they’re striding away, leaving you and Din alone.

He takes your hand, squeezes it. “Let’s go get the kid.”

You follow him into the forest, strides long and eating up the ground as quickly as possible.

Above you, a skittering in the branches draws your gaze.

Bright blue eyes peer down at you before they turn away, disappear in a blur of grey fur that scurries off into the trees.

You watch it go. Wish there was something you could say that it would understand. Send a silent thought after the tree-dweller, full of every ounce of gratitude that glows warm in your chest.

Thank you.

*****

The engines flare, the feel of the Razor Crest gearing into take-off procedure a welcome balm to your nerves.

You hug the kid closer as the ship moves through the atmosphere, heartbeat skipping when he curls his tiny clawed fingers into your shirt.

He’d refused to be put down since he’d scrambled into your arms, back on the ground. Which is good, because you have no intention of letting him go any time soon.

There’s an ache behind your ribs, a scraped raw feeling that throbs with the knowledge of what almost happened.

How close you were to never feeling his little form tucked into the curve of your body again.

It creeps up your chest, threatens to close your throat. You swallow hard, try to breathe through it, distract yourself by watching Din key in a random planet as a destination on the navigational computer.

The gloved hands handle the side-sticks confidently, guide the ship through the planet’s atmosphere toward the black. His voice is soft through the modulator. “What happened?”

Good, yes, talking is also a distraction. “There was an Imperial officer. I didn’t see her, only spoke with her while taking cover in those rocks. She knew you - she was looking for the kid.” Your fingers tighten ever-so-slightly around the tiny body in your arms.

“Did she say how she found us?”

“No.” You haven’t had time to think about that until now. How did Imps find you on a random dwarf planet? “Maybe Greef’s contact ratted us out? Or was compromised?”

“Maybe. As soon as we’re in range, I’ll comm him to let him know.”

The black of space swallows the transparisteel, quickly changing to almost-blinding white and blue as Din immediately shifts the engines into hyperspace, putting the dwarf planet behind you.

Guilt and regret sting the back of your throat. “We can always wait a bit, try going back once we shake the Imps off our trail. I know you want more time with your people.”

He turns to face you, black visor a bold line through silver flashing with the light of hyperspace. “My people are right here.”

That ache behind your ribs swells, hurts, and you can’t stop the tears that well up the back of your throat.

The kid coos, looks up at you, amber eyes bright and full of love and concern, and that’s it.

You crack.

A sob gets stuck in your desperate laugh of disbelief.

Because you’re here, with them, not lying still among those rocks. Like you were so certain you would be, by now.

Large hands cup your face - bare of their worn leather gloves - and calloused thumbs wipe away the tears as they trail down your cheeks.

Blinking, you look at Din, kneeling in front of you, unseen gaze - beautiful brown eyes with laugh lines - behind the black visor. “You’re safe, tionas.”

A deep breath, pressing tight to the ache until it fades, swallowed up by the warm bright thing in your chest.

His hands are soothing, a beacon that guides you back to yourself. Like he always does.

You close your eyes, let yourself feel his touch, his closeness, the weight of the kid in your arms.

Words you haven’t thought in what seems like forever float to the surface of your mind.

You’re safe.

You’re alive.

You’re going to survive.

The kid babbles, and you open your eyes. Smile down at him, lift a hand to twine your fingers through Din’s and hold it to your cheek. Look into the depths of the black visor to find him there.

Warmth floods your chest, soothes the ache.

You don’t need those words anymore.

Everything is different, now.

You’re going to do more than just survive.

This is a life, here, with your aliit.

And you’re going to live it.

*****

Mando’a translations:

Tionas - question

Ne’kotir - undefeated

*****

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

#the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x female reader #mando x f!reader #mando x you #reader insert #no y/n #TWILE #the world is light embodied

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willowcrowned · 2 years

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Can uh we get the Karen Traviss mando’a rant?

you may :)

Intro

So Mando'a falls into the realm of what we call a fictional language—a conlang created to accompany, inhabit, and (most often) enrich a fictional world. Star Wars, surprisingly, is actually mostly bereft of conlangs (there is famously a star wars language that is just mispronounced french smurfs books), which makes Mando'a very special ...and very disappointing.

See, while Mando'a technically accomplishes its goal of enriching a fictional world by adding an element of realism, that only stretches so far. Mando'a sure looks good when you see it on a page, but the second you try to do anything with it, you're sorely disappointed.

There are, generally, two major parts of language: a lexicon and a grammar. The lexicon is the words used within a language, and the grammar is, well, the grammar of a language. When creating a conlang, one doesn't necessarily want to emulate both the lexicon and grammar of real-world languages—toki pona is a great example of when someone is trying to do the opposite—but as fictional languages are generally intended to add realism to a world, rather than take it away, there's a baseline expectation that the language acts realistically.

Part 1: The Lexicon

This is where Mando'a first fails. Its lexicon, while home to a good few words, lacks a good deal of realism. I'm not going to complain about its scope because it's a conlang and we've all got to stop somewhere—I'm going to complain about the depth of what we do have.

Words are composed of roots and affixes. "Writer," for example, is composed of the root "write," which means write, and the affix "er," which generally means one who does [insert root here]. We see both the root and the affix in wide use in English, and familiarity with them helps a speaker understand words they don't know. If an English speaker saw the word "blurpler," they would have a fair guess that it means someone who blurples.

The first place Mando'a falls apart is its lack of roots and affixes. Because so many of its words are compound words, it appears to actually have some linguistically linked morphemes, but that all falls apart when you look closer.

"Verd" for instance shows up in a lot of compounds, sometimes in its plural form as verde. We have verde (soldiers), along with al'verde (commander) and ol'averde (company). Technically, we might classify it as a root here. But then we'd have to classify al' and ol'a as affixes, and... they're really not. To be affixes, they'd have to show up in other words. And they don't

But Willow, you say, even if al' doesn't show up in other words in Mando'a, al does! And if you assume the apostrophe is just there because of a phonological pattern [it's not btw. the apostrophes in mando'a are totally random], then it doesn't matter if al' never shows up, because it shows up in all the ways that matter.

To which I reply: Yes! 'Al' does show up as a prefix in other words in Mando'a—aliik (armor sigil), aliit (clan; family), and alor (leader), to name a few—but for it to be an affix, it needs to have a meaning attached. It needs to be modifying the roots its attached to in some way. And it doesn't! None of the words I've listed above have a common thread. They may all be nouns, but the roots they're modifying—if they have one—aren't not nouns to begin with. The al isn't doing anything.

But it doesn't even matter, because the roots the al should be modifying don't exist either.

iik only shows up in more than a few words. So many, in fact, that I'll only list a couple: aliik (armor sigil), bes'uliik (basilisk war droid), abiik (air), araniik (cordon), and briik (line). If iik were truly a root, we would likely see some common thread between at least half of these. We don't.

iit has a similar problem. It shows up in fewer words—aliit (clan; family), traat'aliit (squad; team), miit (word), miit'gaanar (write), and naumiit (signal). In this case, we see how a few words are linked—aliit and traat'aliit, miit and miit'gaanar—but these are compounds of nouns and verbs, not roots and affixes put together.

Alor is actually the first place we see more of a root/affix combo come into play, but even then it's limited. Alor (leader) becomes alorir (lead) through the addition of the affix ir. Cheers! We found an example of language building that rings true to real life!

But I hope it's clear by now that that sort of word-building is the exception, not the rule.

Traviss actually did build in a few affixes to make comparatives + superlatives and to turn nouns into adjectives. I think that was actually a great idea on her part, and works fairly well for what it is, but again: that's the exception to the rule, not the rule. A believable conlang would have more than six or so affixes.

Part 2: The Grammar

If the lexicon is paltry, ill-constructed, and difficult to work with, then the grammar is the opposite. It's well-founded in real-world examples, it's got a solid answer for any grammatical conundrum, and it's even intuitive to English speakers!

Because, with a very few exceptions (the general-use interrogative particle being one, and the common lack of articles being another), it's literally fucking English.

In English (unless we're Yoda, who we're ignoring as a statistical outlier), we speak in SVO. That is to say, when we construct a sentence, we place the subject first, then the verb, then the object. Ahsoka throws the lightsaber. Anakin kills the child

Mando'a also does this! Ahsoka goora jetii'kad. Anakin kyr'amu adiik.

This, on its own, would not be enough to annoy me. SVO is a popular grammar pattern irl. What does annoy me is that it's clear Traviss picked it not out of a desire for realism, but rather out of laziness.

There's a reason there's only one inflection of verbs in Mando'a. There's a reason there's no past and future tense, nor any perfect and imperfect to make up for it (like in Biblical Hebrew). There's a reason that Mando'a largely only differs from English in what it drops, rather than what it adds.

That reason is this: Karen Traviss was not making a conlang. She was making a vocabulary list to supplement her writing.

Conclusion

Traviss accomplished what she set out to do: she created a list of words to enhance her fictional world. She did not, however, create a conlang, and it's immensely frustrating that the lack of other offical conlangs in Star Wars means that people pretend Mando'a counts as such.

Mando'a is not a conlang. Mando'a is a list of random, unrelated vocabulary, coupled with what barely counts as even an attempt at a real grammar.

tldr; it fucking sucks as a language. because it's not one

#this got LONG #though it gets shorter towards the bottom when I started running out of steam #and stopped giving as much background on linguistic terms #anyways. I hope you enjoy this anon #asks #anon #willow’s mando’a tag

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cloneloverrrrr · 3 months

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Thanks to my lovely @lune-de-miel-au-paradis I thought I would do a deep dive of my OC Crystal Lontac. Here you will find more about her & her character. I will probably do more of these going forward as I find them an interesting way for you all to get to know her more ☺️

Collage made by me on Canva & photos from Pinterest✨

Deep Dive OC Crystal Lontac

have they / would they dye their hair? Crystals hair is jet black. She wouldn’t change it as she likes to keep it dark. The darkness brings out the shine in her bright blue eyes.

do they maintain eye contact when talking? Yes she does.

what is their tell for lying? Her face stays straight but she clears her throat slightly before telling a lie.

do they have an accent? Not really but sometimes when speaking to her father certain words will have a hint of Mando'a.

what languages do they speak? Mando'a and basic.

what kind of music do they listen to? Heavy metal, thrash metal , metal core , rock anything heavy even though her character does not look like the type.

describe them in one word. What could happen to make them the opposite? Kind. Betrayal / loss.

do they have any ghosts? Yes she does, when she lost her mother there was a lot going on & sadly she wasn’t there. It’s haunted her since.

what is their worst fear? Being abandoned by the ones she loves.

what is a secret they do not tell anyone? Further information regarding her mothers death. She still has not told Wolffe not even her best friend. Only her father knows.

what motto do they live by? Every day is a second chance- something she tries to live by since her mothers death.

if they were a famous figure, who would they be?

.Florence Nightingale- due to her care for the clones and fighting for their rights

.Hedy Lamarr - making a name for herself within the senate and going from strength to strength in her role

personality? Crystals personality was very much shaped by her mothers death and the guilt she still feels. Before this she was a little selfish- very much loved her family and friends but was careless at times. Now she is very level headed has grown up quickly and is kind, cares deeply for her loved ones and would sacrifice herself for the ones she loves.

what great moment shaped them to be who they are? Have they lived through the moment yet?

.Her mothers death

.Falling in love with Wolffe and accepting his love for her

.The issues when that happened when Wolffes chip was set off too early , the death of her friend Hardcase

.Falling pregnant and understanding she is now responsible for not only her life but the one growing inside of her

what is their fatal flaw? Bad decisions being made when she feels lack of trust, sometimes cutting her nose off to spite her face.

how do they feel about jewelry? painted nails? Crystal wears a lot of headpieces and likes big chokers encrusted with jewels and dainty small necklaces with a delicate chain, sometimes she wears many rings on each fingers. Her nails are always square & short either natural baby pink or nude or micro French tip.

what kind of art are they? Slight BAUHAUS as a hobby, Classicism as a style, Romanticism as paintings, Futurism as sculptures and maybe slight Expressionism as films or books.

do they play a sport? Not her thing in the slightest but used to play ballgames when she was younger on Alderaan.

do they have a speech impairment? how would that translate across paper? None she is extremely well spoken and very intelligent.

what could you do to betray their trust? Lies. It always boils down to a liar to break her trust.

what makes them smile? Wolffe. Little things like acts of kindness, seeing loved ones, looking after animals she loves animals, sun rises and sunsets especially on Alderaan.

If you had to choose something to make them go all john wick, who would it be? Loved ones being hurt.

do they swear? in what language? Crystal tends not to curse but if she does it will be in Mando’a as per her fathers roots. She will sometimes curse in basic.

how comfortable do they feel around strangers? She is very comfortable around anyone.

are they extraverted or introverted? Abit of both but more extraverted.

do they stand straight? what is their posture like? Crystal stands very straight as she is only 5”5 she uses her strong posture to attempt to make her taller.

what is their sleep schedule like? Not long after her mother died she hardly slept and since being with Wolffe her sleep patterns have improved immensely.

would they consciously invade someone else's body space? even a stranger's? Crystal holds the acceptable distance, she only gets closer with Wolffe.

how do they feel about contact with other people? do they flinch? Crystal is quite a touchy person when it comes to Wolffe and her family / friends. However this will change come part 2 of chapter 9 she will be nervous around others and will flinch at any sort of contact- even from Wolffe.

are they the first to hug? Depends on the situation. But yes when it comes to Wolffe.

what would make them kill / stop them from killing? Her morals. She won’t harm anyone it’s not in her nature but if push comes to shove and it’s for her loved ones, this would cross her mind.

how do they smile? do they have dimples? Crystal smiles with her eyes as her own smile is not very wide. She has no dimples.

what about their teeth -- braces? sharp teeth? dentures? yellow teeth? what about spots? Crystals teeth are straight and white.

how do they get others' attention? clear their throat? punch them? A small clearing of the throat. She might playfully punch Wolffe in the arm if she really wants his attention lol.

do they talk with their hands? Yes quite often especially in the senate.

what is their final goal? To be fully happy and to let go of the guilt she carries regarding her mother.

how would they describe happiness? A warm content feeling deep inside when she’s with Wolffe or loved ones. I don’t think she will find this until the birth of child.

what is their biggest conflict? That her mothers death was not her fault and she isn’t hated by not being there.

how do they react to death? Isolates herself, can stay quiet or can go off the rails.

do they cry? how do they cry ? One of two ways. She will either cry quietly let one or two tears roll down her cheek or she will sob loudly and scream out her pain.

how do they react when someone else is crying? can they comfort a stranger? Her words can be calm, a kind hand upon the shoulder and if she is close to the person she will hold them.

how are they around pets? are they allergic to any? Crystal loves all animals she had tooka cats when she was younger and would love another, she just has to persuade Wolffe as he doesn’t seem to be a huge fan.

following up, do they have allergies? Yes to pollens and animals but still loves them, she takes antihistamine meds to help with this.

do they take off their shoes going into a stranger's house? would they offer to do the dishes? Yes and yes. She was brought up with very good manners.

do they call strangers by their first name or title? Both it depends on the situation.

how do they show fear? trying to hide it? shaking? etc. Sometimes it shows in her eyes or you can hear it in her voice. Her body trembles sometimes.

what is their impact on other characters? She has a very big impact, maybe due to her kind nature and soft heart every person she comes into contact with leaves happy and smiling. Her eyes and smile capture them and her personality keeps them around.

how could any of these change by the end of the story? By the end of part 2 of chapter 9 we will see become very nervous , scared to be touched even by Wolffe, she will not be as friendly and close in on herself but I don’t want to reveal too much.

#clone thot #talk to me about clones #deep dive OC addition #gabis oc #get to know my oc #oc character #oc cyrstal x wolffe #commander wolffe #Spotify

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cabezadeperro · 10 months

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I got so many ideas once again from (our) inspo tag. SparMij and honestly any of these: https://cabezadeperro.tumblr.com/post/687487402674094080 — MBW

hi friend!!!

i chose this one:

pre-relationship, right at the beginning of the war. ~730w, T. age difference, former teacher/student (but worse) relationship :D

---

Mij leaves the speeder at Erda’s and makes his way down the cliff towards the lake, his buy’ce in the crook of his arm. It’s hot and muggy, the sun hanging up high in a cloudless sky, and his face feels warm. Sweat drips down the back of his neck and down his nose: when he finally reaches the trees he sighs in relief.

He’s beginning to regret not paying attention to Erda’s warning. He hesitates on the edge of the trees and looks back up the cliff to where he can see the forge’s chimneys releasing a steady stream of black smoke.

In the end, he keeps on walking. The air under the old veshok trees is cooler, darker—it smells of wet wood and wetter earth, and Mij finds himself breathing it in. It takes him back ten, twenty years into the past, to the first time he visited Krownest, to the man he used to be.

He smells the lake before he sees it. He then catches the reflection of the sun on the waves, the noise of the water against the rocky shore, and then he’s stepping out of the shadow of the trees and into the sun again, his boots sinking into the black mud of the edge of the water. Mij breathes in and out, trying his best to kill the dread at the root.

Spar won’t be happy to see him: of this, he has no doubt. Mij has made his peace with it. He can’t find it in himself to regret agreeing to Jango’s plan, not when that plan saved the boy’s life. Spar has thrived on Krownest—unlike the rest of Jango’s clones, he’ll have a full life.

He knows Mij is there, but he takes his sweet time. Mij exhales, annoyed despite himself, and steps back under the shade of the trees. He takes a seat on one of the big rocks strewn all over the shore and rubs his face with his gloveless hands, his buy’ce watching it all at his side.

He’s a good, strong swimmer. Mij watches his dark head disappear the lake’s surface and pop up again, and when he finally reaches the shore he just stands there, at ease with himself and barely breathing hard, dripping lake water back into the waves, his curls in his eyes.

It’s been almost two years since the last time they saw each other. Mij’s intimately familiar with how fast they all grow up, how fast they grow old, but he finds he isn’t quite ready for the knowledge that Spar no longer is that scrawny seventeen year old he helped smuggle off Kamino.

Spar’s mouth quirks up and then he looks away, ignoring Mij in favour of the ratty towel that waits for him on a nearby rock. He pads barefoot out of the lake, his bare feet sinking in the mud like Mij’s boots did earlier.

He’s taller and broader. Mij feels himself falling into that old, familiar mindset and tries to shake it off, but it’s too late: Spar looks healthier than he ever did on Kamino.

He can’t help but notice that it looks good on him, and that Spar knows it. He’s browner and more freckled, his hair almost too long, his dark eyes sharp. He perfunctorily dries himself and then he turns to look at Mij, arms folded over his chest.

He’s still smiling, a tiny, knowing thing that reveals very little. It occurs to Mij that he doesn’t look like Jango at all.

It’s in the way he holds himself, in the set of his shoulders and in his bright eyes; in the freckles on that familiar nose and the flash of white teeth when his smile grows.

“Gilamar,” Spar greets him. Even his voice has changed—it’s rougher, deeper. “You here to take me back home?”

Home. Mij raises an eyebrow. His Mando’a is better—he sounds like a native.

“No,” he replies in Basic. Spar scoffs. He turns around, starts reaching for his clothes. His dark swimsuit clings to his thighs and to his ass.

It takes him a bit too long, but then it all clicks into place. Mij makes himself look away, back at the lake. His mouth is dry, and his heart is trying its best to beat itself out of his chest.

That is going to be a problem.

#maría writes #june prompts #sparmij #mij gilamar #spar

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darlin-djarin · 7 months

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Hi hi!! it’s me -> the same anon who asked about cotw a couple days ago and I agree with everything you said, and I think it’s so cool that you were able to find something in Star Wars that spoke to you so well :)

something I really like about the cotw is their just utter love and respect for their own culture, especially after we see in clone wars that satine got rid of a lot of it. I think her storyline shows how even people within cultures abandon them for safety or protection- which is something I have personal experience with in my family history. I think what I love most about them is the language, and how they preserved it. Idk if this is canon but it seems like not many during Satine’s reign spoke Mando’a, either because it was banned or fell out of use. I’m Welsh, and so I relate to this a lot, because the English state has tried for a long time to get rid of Cymraeg, our language, with kids being shamed for speaking it in schools and it being viewed as backwards and something only peasants speak. So I think I project a lot of that onto the cotw and Mandalorians in general. Anyway, this was really long, but since you shared what you loved I figured I might too?? Idk, sorry if this was too long!!

ohhhh anon it's so lovely that you can feel so connected to this fictional culture in a different way than i do, but we can still both appreciate it. i think it's so special for you to relate the cotw to your culture and language in a similar but also different way than mine. i think that's so beautiful. i love hearing from you!!

i also wish we got more mando'a in canon star wars. i have many mutuals who are really into linguistics and love analyzing mando'a, and i do think the perseverance of the language even after mandalore was lost is super interesting!! i love satine and all but i do think it's sad how much satine's pacifist mandalore strayed so far away from their roots as warriors. anyway

i'm glad to hear from your perspective!! really opens my eyes and stuff, yk. thank you :)

#star wars #the mandalorian #oil.#satine kryze #the clone wars

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griefdestined · 2 years

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015. MANDALORIAN STEWJON

Stewjon ( as it is known in Galactic Basic ) is a small farming planet in the Mandalorian system. It’s a small moon that is barely considered to be Mandalorian by traditional standards because the people there are more inclined to agriculture than the warrior style of Mandalore. Yet, that does not mean it is not without it’s fearsome warriors.

The planet’s inhabitants are naturally Bilingual with their native Stuján and Mando’a as their first languages. This being said, considering Obi-Wan was brought to the Jedi Temple at 3 years old, his first and second language are Stuján and Mando’a, while Galactic Common is his third. The Stewjoni people were once considered warriors just like the traditional Mandalorians that are still known throughout the Galaxy and it can be seen in their still living traditions such as the kilt which is a representation of the armor piece the Kama. Warriors from Stuján wear kamas with patterns that represent their clan and their family.

For weddings they wear traditional Stujáni garb in which they have their kilts while wearing beskar chest pieces and vambraces. Helmets aren’t typically used and therefore are not as important to Stujáni Mando’s ( as they are considered within their own system. )

The clan wars was when Stuján truly started to turn more into themselves and become reclusive agriculturalists. Though rare, there are some Stujáni Mandalorians around the galaxy, often identified by their thick brogue and their own dialect of Stujáni Mando’a. True Mandalorians often see the Stuján as cowardly and “outsiders” because of them turning their back on their warrior roots.

may be more added, last updated: sep 11, 2022

#fanon: stewjon is space scotland #me: stewjon is space scotland and mandalorian #i. ‘ there will come a poet whose weapon is his word. ’ �� « character study. »

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crazynerdandproud · 30 days

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While the idea of the clones having a connection to their Mandalorian roots and speaking Mando’a fluently is fun, I think it is kind of unrealistic. At the very least they weren’t allowed to connect in any meaningful way to Mandalorian culture while if Kamino. The consistent dehumanization of the clones doesn’t seem like it would allow for that. Any connection they made with their roots had to have been made after they were deployed from Kamino.

#I have lots of thoughts about this subject but not the energy to verbalize them atm so imma just leave yall with this #st:tcw #tcw #clone

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diinferi · 1 month

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LOCATION

[OUTER RIM] Lawlessness is the defining feature of this region, the one furthest away from the center of galactic power. Where official power wanes, unofficial power creeps in to take hold. The Hutts and other criminal empires of the kind rule here. There is no shortage of work to be found for heavily armed and armored individuals across all levels both for those looking for an employer or those seeking to serve their own interests However, if honor is a concern of yours, perhaps it would be best to look elsewhere unless you’re looking to play the thankless work of a liberator.

TIME PERIOD

[DECLINE OF THE REPUBLIC] The fall of the Republic takes millennia, but it goes out in style. The galactic order gradually grows into a stagnant beast, and it leaves many unhappy with its flawed administration.

BACKGROUND

[MERCENARY] The bread and butter of most Mandalorians is merc work, whether that means operating solo as a bounty hunter or serving alongside their fellows as a foot soldier in someone else’s war. And while some of these individuals have greater principles or designs, most are just simple people trying to make their way in the universe. This is the kind of Mandalorian you are. You aren’t preoccupied with political struggles or trying to shape or conquer the galaxy. You’re just a warrior, pure and simple.

PERKS

[MANDO’ADE] You have a standard immune system for your chosen species. Additionally, you can speak Basic and Mando’a and are familiar with Mandalorian culture. You have basic combat proficiency with blasters and hand-to-hand, as well as a solid grasp of combat tactics (equivalent to that of a standard clone trooper’s). You are accustomed to moving and fighting in armor. Additionally, you can take one of the perks in this section tagged [Martial] for free.

[KELDABE KISS] A Keldabe Kiss is a headbutt, but with this perk, you’ll add not just that technique but also many to boost your skill at hand-to-hand or melee weapons. The Mandalorian approach to this form of combat, as with most, is not graceful, but it is brutally efficient. Notably, the Mando’ade are some of the few able to contend with Force wielders up close.

[TAKING TERMS] You have a good sense for incentives when it comes to your clientele. You know when someone is trying to obscure something about a job or when they’re lowballing their price. This won’t help get you whatever terms you desire, but it will help get a good offer and keep you from taking a job that would get you in over your head. This applies to renegotiating new terms when unforeseen circumstances arise.

[RIGHT HAND] Your talents and qualities are such that powerful individuals take notice of you. While this perk will impart a small degree of additional skill while taking on mercenary contracts and the reputation you build from successful jobs, the core of this perk is rooted in the connection you make to powerful clientele. At worst, you will be on the shortlist for important figures in the galaxy whenever they have a high paying job; at best, you will essentially become an unofficial lieutenant for them, enjoying a degree of command over their resources and the luxuries of such a position when working for them without the demands of an official position. Whenever you take such a posting, you will rapidly accrue skills that allow you to occupy your new role to the fullest. Where you once may have been the best of your field, you now begin to redefine how people think of someone in your line of work. You also get a feel for your patron, accruing some of their strengths and getting an instinct for how to neutralize their enemies as well. Should you switch to another patron, these buffs will gradually fade as new ones emerge but you will always keep a fragment of the prowess you attain.

[BA’SLAN SHEV’LA] Strategic disappearance. Should you ever find yourself on the backfoot, you will know before the finishing blow to your or to your people shall come. And before it happens, you will know how to get toground so that no one can find you. You will be in hiding, gone with no trace that you were ever there. A warning will always come your way should your foes catch onto your trail, and said clue will give you enough time to once again disappear, though should you operate too conspicuously it may not be enough to keep you hidden.

[MAGNETIC] For someone alone in the galaxy, marking connections can be a vital skill. With perk, you will find yourself well-placed to make friends or allies, though you will likely need to bail them out with your skills if you wish to further build on that relationship. You will find that these friends will later be in a position to help you in small ways throughout your jump. Their fates will, to an extent, be tied to yours. As you find success and move up and onward in life, so too will they (though the majority will never find quite the same level of success as you); this will ensure your support network will always be able to help you and vice versa.

BESKAR’GAM

[STANDARD FEATURES] Beyond the armor plating itself, these features come free: macrobinoculars, magnetized boots, computerized vambraces, and a commlink.

[STEALTH GENERATOR] A personal stealth field generator built into your armor. Renders the user invisible to the vision of most organics in addition to providing a much more limited degree of protection against electronic means of detection. Operates indefinitely until the user takes direct or involved action like attacking an enemy.

[ARMOR MOUNT: VIBROSHIV] A small, vibroblade hidden in your vambrace. Can spring out whenever you need to use it. As a bonus, comes with wristblades – smaller, non-vibrating blades that spring out of the side of your vambrace.

[HELMET FEATURE: ADVANCED HUD] Upgraded HUD. While a basic heads up display can zoom in, keep track of targets within line of sight, ammo counts, and display readouts you can connect your armor to, remotely or directly. This upgrade adds options like night and thermal vision, motion tracking, and a 360 degree field of view.

[ARMOR MOUNT: PERSONAL COMBAT SHIELD] A small plasma shield about the shape and size of a small buckler shield. Capable of deflecting blaster bolts and lightsaber blades, though it is likely that sustained contact would see the shield short out.

ITEMS

[BLASTER] A standard blaster, the default being from the Westar line or heavy Mandalorian blaster pistol, should those models be present in the jumper timeline. The first of this variety is free, with duplicates costing 50 CP and different blaster models costing 100 CP. alternatively, the jumper has the option of purchasing a holdout blaster for 50 CP or a specialized or exotic blaster (such as Mandalorian Rippers or Chiss masers) for an additional 100 CP on top of the base cost.

[MELEE WEAPON] Either a bladed or blunt instrument of your choosing should a ranged option not be available in a given scenario. Not that while these tools may be effective at close range, they will not stand up to lightsabers. If you would like to change that, you may pay an additional 100 CP to have your weapon be made of a more resistant material like beskar, phrik, or cortosis. Perhaps you’d like a beskad, a traditional Mandalorian iron saber?

[KOM’RK-CLASS FIGHTER/TRANSPORT] This transport is fit for a mercenary, as well as any small merc company they may have. Produced by MandalMotors, it has a pair of forward and rear laser cannons and heat-seeking missiles. Additionally, it is equipped with two hyperdrive systems (Class 1 and 10) and can hold up to 24 individuals, though this space is generally geared toward short-term transport. May be substituted for an AIAT/i gunship at the Jumper’s discretion.

[BLASTER RIFLE] As with the Blaster, duplicates are discounted after the initial purchase, while separate models require paying the base fee. Specialized models (such the Verpine shatter rifle or the Amban phase pile blaster) cost an additional 100.

DRAWBACKS

None

FUTURE

[MOVE ON]

#star wars #jumpchain #cyoa #star wars oc #file: information #file: jumpchain #file: build #file: text #file: alor'a

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ranahan · 4 months

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So I totally missed #lexember. But even so, I thought that while I’m still writing up my morphology analysis and editing the monster extended dictionary (sitting currently at 8,5k entries without duplicates removed—the finished thing will be shorter… I hope), I might try to post at least some analyses & derivations. Let’s start with the common complaint that Mando’a doesn’t have a word for the verb to fly. It does, however, have a root for it:

*sen- (‘fly’)

In canon Mando’a, this root appears in several words:

senaar, (n.) ‘bird’

From sen + aar, an agent suffix which also appears in chakaar (‘robber’) and galaar (‘hawk’). So senaar is basically “a flyer”. I thought that it could be extended to also apply to any other sort of winged creatures, like bats and butterflies, analogously to te reo Māori manu.

me’sen, (n.) ‘ship’

From meg + sen, literally “that which flies”. Colloquially might also be called senaar or just sen.

sen’tra, (n.) ‘jetpack’

From sen + tra (‘starfield; space; sky’).

Now let’s make some derivations!

senir, (v.) ‘to fly’

Simple and easy, because it’s such a basic action.

senyc, (adj./adv.), ‘flying’

Again, let’s keep it simple.

senad, (n.) ‘pilot’

Can equally be spelled as sen’ad. Literally “fly-man, the person who flies”.

ge’senad, (n.) co-pilot

Mando’a has several fun native affixes, ge’/get’ meaning ‘near, almost’. The meaning here could be either “almost a pilot” or maybe “near the pilot, the guy sitting next to the pilot”.

sesen, (n.) ‘fly’

Or, y’know, spell it as se’sen if you like. We’re not picky. Mando’a uses reduplication to derive new words. English doesn’t have reduplication, but it’s rather common cross-linguistically. The meaning is often iterative (which seems to be the case for Mando’a), but it can also have less iconic senses or grammatical functions. In Mando’a, the reduplication pattern is a CV- prefix for roots that begin with a consonant. So here a fly is literally “fly-fly”, because when do they ever appear one by one, instead of in swarms?

#mando’a #mandoa #mando’a language #mando’a words #mando’a etymology #ranah talks mando’a #mando’a linguistics #mando’a extended dictionary #mando'a #mando’a morphology #sen #mando’a roots

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diniidjarin · 2 years

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Din knows he’s made a mistake a split second before he decelerates out of hyperspace.

SU CUY’GAR, MHI KYR'ADYC. KE’PARTAYLIR, MHI DARASUUM.

KE GRA’TUAR MHI, MAND’ALOR!*

His scream joins the cacophony that explodes in his head. Fingers clawing at his helmet, he doesn’t know if he’s trying to hold it down or tear it off — not that there’s room under the starfighter’s dome to do much more than crush his fingers between beskar and transparisteel. The pain doesn’t even register. He is flayed open, fire and lightning arcing through his flesh. A sea of blood, burned into the pale wasteland.

It stretches on. Years of war between each heartbeat.

“Patu!”

Din’s throat unlocks and he inhales, deep and ragged. “Kid,” he gasps. Eyes unseeing, he tries to turn around, but the seat straps hold him in place. He’s still in his ship. The agony comes from within.

KE A’DENIR, VERD.**

“Shut up,” Din snaps.

Bit by bit, he regains his senses over the onslaught, begins to make sense of his surroundings. He’s knocked the controls askew, and Mandalore is spinning outside the starfighter’s cockpit at dizzying speed. Din groans. With some effort, he takes control of the ship and straightens out her course.

“Grogu?”

“Eeh,” comes from the back seat. “A-bah.”

Dank farrik, the cockpit of the N1 does not offer any room to maneuver. Din gives up trying to look behind. “Are you okay?”

Grogu offers a tired affirmative, and it’s enough to settle Din’s panic by that little bit. Black spots are still dancing at the edges of his vision and the voices continue their wailing in his head, but knowing he’s not floating in space with his ship in pieces gives him enough of a grasp on reality to get his bearings.

He turns her around and loads the coordinates to jump back where he came from.

Stars streak across his vision and take the screaming with them.

“Hell,” he murmurs. There’s an absolute bitch of a headache splitting his skull in the wake of… all that. “Cursed planet, all right.”

Grogu coos in agreement.

Din checks the nav computer. Enough time for a nap before they’re anywhere near a safe harbor.

He hopes the kid gets some rest.

He startles out of a doze himself when the blur of hyperspace falls away around him — and then his stomach drops when he realizes he’s no longer in the pilot’s seat. His body refuses cooperation when he tries to look around, but there’s a weight in his hands anchoring him in the void: the hilt of the darksaber.

Out of the pitch black ahead forms the silhouette of a warrior. Din can scarcely make out more than broad shoulders swathed in a long cloak — and a Mandalorian visor gleaming with starlight under a flowing hood.

“Tarre Vizsla,” he says, unsure of why he knows, but it feels something close to right.

Vizsla’s outline flickers. The light-rim of gravitational lensing makes Din’s eyes water, lose focus. With a thousand voices, the figure speaks, dialects of Mando’a blending until it feels less like a language and more like pure intent for Din to confront: WHY ARE YOU RUNNING, MAND’ALOR?

The title wedges itself in his chest. Din clenches his jaw.

He’s dealt with imperial butchers, Republic officers, crime lords of all stripes, and kriffing Jedi, but this? He doesn’t know how to deal with ghosts from a sword.

“I am not equal to the position,” he offers, because that is the root of it, is it not? He’s dar’manda, and only recently learned that by some accounts, he was barely Mandalorian to begin with.

Light swells and bends around the ghost. Voices speak again, but no longer in unison; what little Din can pick up sounds like a great conflict. The silhouette fractures, splits into multitudes, before coalescing once more. MANY HANDS CARRIED THE BLADE. YOU ARE LESS A USURPER THAN SOME.

Din stares at the avatar until his eyes burn. “And this is your unbiased opinion as who, exactly?”

A noise like a hull being torn apart, the rumble of a star if the void carried sound. The figure throws its head back.

“What’s funny?”

TRUTH IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT INTO.

“...I don’t understand.”

HISTORY IS WRITTEN BY THE VICTOR.

Din sighs. This is taking him nowhere. “What happened when I arrived in Mandalore’s orbit? I can’t land on a planet, much less lead it, if I can’t hear my thoughts.”

That agony returns, but this time gradual, a swelling tide rather than a sudden cyclone. Like this, Din has an easier time understanding it: the echo of life, brutally cut short on unspeakable scale, leaving its mark on the Force.

When the wave crests and passes over him, he realizes he’s crying.

Din thinks of his covert. The pile of armor outside the forge under Nevarro, familiar helmets empty and left askew.

He barely had the chance to grieve for them.

He blinks to clear his eyes, and when he can see the darksaber’s avatar again, it’s kneeling in front of him, something tremendous narrowed down to a point. Its hand reaches out towards Din’s throat. This close, he feels the way it makes his skin prickle, the faint subharmonics of the saber setting his teeth on edge.

He feels that cold, terrible burn a hair’s breadth from the edge of his jaw, where a tear track ends.

GRIEF IS THE PRIVILEGE OF A SURVIVOR.

“What do you want from me,” he whispers.

ENDURE. The blade’s tip draws away from his skin. Din’s cheek tingles with lines of dried salt. SURVIVE. RISE TO THE CHALLENGE.

That, at least, echoes some of what has been drummed into Din since he first accepted the buy’ce. He’s still wearing it now, by some idiosyncrasy of the vision, and it feels less a contradiction than it did since the moment he was proclaimed apostate.

Uphold your creed, your clan, your word.

He knows so little — but he knows how to survive.

Perhaps more importantly, he knows why he has to.

“This is the way,” Din says.

The darksaber ignites, and he snaps awake.

———

* tr. you live, we are dead. remember, (so) we are eternal. / avenge us, mand’alor!

** rage, warrior.

#goblin ebooks #man the lore #deezney said season 3 of mando exists so i'm tossing out the unusable scraps of fic i've horked up before canon invalidates these musings

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omgreally · 2 years

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Composure - E - Din Djarin/F!Reader smut oneshot

warnings: swearing, blowjob, (consensual) deep throating, come swallowing, Din being reduced to a quivering mess, ft. all our wildest dreams and inspired by the best view ever, thank you tbobf bryce dallas howard (no spoilers)

You test Din’s self-restrait.

Din Djarin is a man with iron self-control.

Sometimes you wonder if it is not merely stubbornness, manifesting in the adamant insistence to survive. He’s lived through things you can’t imagine, been through things you can’t imagine - and yet he has not been broken by them.

To have him lost and quivering above you, panting through the audio filter in his helm, is enough to make your thighs press together and your floor muscles flutter, unbidden.

“Mesh’la,” Din hisses, and he sounds wrecked - hoarse and sibilant - the regularity of his breath broken as you seat your hand over the growing bulge in his pants and squeeze, just lightly. “You - you don’t know what you’re doing to me. I can’t - ” He cuts himself off, groaning as your fingers map the outline of his rigid shaft.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you assure him on a murmur, and you drink in his shiver. You’re not sure exactly how you got to this point this time. You know only that it was sparked by a fight over your recklessness - or perhaps it was his - and as soon as the child was asleep you were sniping at each other. It did not take much to morph from charged anger to this.

Din doesn’t seem to mind. You’re sure he would move away and storm off to sulk if it did. Although, sometimes the best sex you have is when he comes back after a fight.

“Never should’ve-” His voice hitches again as you open his fly, “-let you come with me.” You chuckle as he growls when you take him in hand, thick-veined and throbbing. You sit back on your haunches to take him in, the ship’s decking digging into your knees, and he twitches in your grasp, throbbing from root to tip.

“But if you hadn’t, I couldn’t do this.” You lick a stripe up the underside of his cock, hot and firm and wet, and his fists are clenched on the arms of his chair when you sit back to look up at him.

“You don’t have to,” he says, brokenly, and your pussy aches. He looms in your vision, broad-shouldered and shining, reduced to something desperately craning into your touch.

You know he wants nothing more than to grab you by the hair and bend you over the console, but he’s holding himself back.

Warmth swells in your chest, gratefulness, and yes - a little annoyance - all the things you feel for Din Djarin, translated into the reward of the loving, open-mouthed kiss you place on the head of his cock.

“Dank farrik,” he utters with a gasp, his hips jerking, forcing a little more of him than you had prepared for into your mouth - but you roll your tongue against him regardless, tasting the salty tang of pre-come. “cyar’ika, fuck-”

The Mando’a mixed with expletives fuels the burn in the pit of your stomach. You take him deeper into your watering mouth, wrapping your fingers around what you can’t fit. You lick and suck at him as you lift away a moment later, and there’s more of that bitter tang on your tongue as you swipe it up his frenulum and along the slit, letting him free of your torturous mouth.

His thighs shake beneath your other hand. He’s holding himself so tightly-wound, trying desperately not to let go. And your heart aches for him - he is always so afraid to hurt you, although you know you can take it.

And sometimes, you want it.

“I’ll let you fuck my throat,” you tell him, licking your reddened lips as you lift your gaze to the darkness of his visor. Din stops breathing for a moment and then, he extends a gloved hand - wraps his fingers gently through the hair at the back of your head - and he pushes your mouth down on his cock.

This time, you were prepared. You stretch your jaw wide and let out your breath slowly, relaxing your throat muscles as the length of his cock slides through your mouth. He’s still careful, gentle with you even as his hand guides your head over him. You let him take his time, drawing out a little before lifting back in, your nose nestling into the wiry curls at the root of his dick as you suck him down deep until you can swallow flexively around the intrusion.

The feel of your throat clenching down on him like that almost does Din in - he croaks your name and pulls you up a little, but you’re relentless, swirling your tongue around him and spreading the lube of your spit with your hand as you focus your attention back on the weeping tip of his cock.

“Mesh’la, I can’t - I’m gonna - “ he tries to warn you, but you’re prepared. He tugs at your hair but it doesn’t stop you swallowing him down to the root once more, and by then, it’s too late. Din chokes on a groan, hips stuttering as his balls draw tight and the shaft of his cock starts to throb in your mouth. He fills your throat with spurting surges of his come, and you swallow it down, over and over until you’ve lost track and your mouth is overflowing and then at last, he is still.

He’s still hard when you pull back, releasing him from between your lips, and he lets go of your hair at last. Your jaw aches and your throat hurts but you’re grinning as you look up at him, wiping a pearly rivulet of his seed from your cheek. Din shudders, full-body, above you - slumped back, wrecked, shiny Beskar breastplate rising and falling with the force of his breath.

“Now are you glad you let me tag along?” you ask, tilting your head with a smile. Din reaches out and curls a hand around your jaw, and you go still as his gloved thumb strokes your cheek.

“Always, mesh’la,” he rumbles, and now it’s your turn to shiver at the smoke in his dark voice as he reaches out and draws you into his lap, “Always.”

#din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin/f!reader #din djarin/you #mando smut #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic

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