#Mando’a project

[ranahan]

Trying to figure out patterns to the vowels in Mando’a derivational suffixes…

[ranahan]

My analysis project would probably qualify as working on my PhD in Mando’a.

tried explaining star wars fandom to my dad and settled on the simile that sw is too big and fucked up to know everything and you sort of have to choose a major like mando lore studies or jedi lineage trees and then we all come together but do not get along just like real academia. anyway what’s ur major

[blueberry-ry]

Starting to the design an alphabet for Concord Dawn’s mando’a

I sure hope this project won’t be the end of me

[vodika-vibes]

Different Worlds - Part 1

Story Summary:  A chance meeting between you and a man you had no right ever meeting might change the face of Mandalore forever. Of course, you have to survive first.

Chapter Summary: As one of the few traditional blacksmiths who live in Sundari, it's not unusual for you to work long days and even longer nights. There is honor in your position, even though you can't forge the traditional tools of your people without being arrested. A long night turns even longer when you're "invited" to a one-on-one meeting with Duchess Satine.

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x F!Reader

Word count: 2038

Warnings: I have opinions about the New Mandalorians and none of them are good. Just, FYI.

A/N: So this is a self-indulgent project that I'm slowly working on, that's going to involve a lot of Mandalorian characters, including Boba Fett, Bo-Katan Kryze, and Satine Kryze. It's also solidly an AU. I won't be tagging anyone in this, because it is going to be very different than my usual stuff. Well, unless you specifically ask. This story will be posted under my Mandalorian masterlist, with it's own masterlist.

Clang

Clang

Clang

There’s something peaceful about working the forge. When you’re creating, there’s nothing else in the galaxy. It’s just you, your hammer, and the metal you're forming under your hands.

When you’re working, there’s no civil war. There are no politicians making things worse. There’s no worry about food or housing.

All you have to worry about is where to strike next.

If your parents had elected to move anywhere other than Sundari or had backed anyone other than the New Mandalorians, you would be rolling in money.

But they didn’t.

And what use does Sundari have for an Armorer?

“Sister?”

You wince when you hear your younger sister’s voice. She’s only eight, it’s not her fault that she doesn’t know any Mando’a. Mother and Father refuse to teach her, and they refuse to let you teach her.

If only babuir was still alive. 

“What’s up, kid?” You ask as you stop hammering for a moment, to critically eye the cane you’ve been working on for the better part of a week.

“Mama wants to know if you’re coming to dinner?”

“What’s for dinner?”

“Um…Nerf burgers and fried tubers, I think. Papa was firing up the grill.”

You push your goggles up off your eyes to eye your younger sister critically, “Father can’t grill, Nymmie.”

She scratches her cheek, “Well, he wants to try.”

“I’m going to pass, I think. I need to finish this tonight.”

Nym ventures further into the forge, carefully lifting the hem of her skirt so it doesn’t drag against the soot-covered floor. You really should invest in a cleaning droid.

“What are you working on?”

You glance at her, and then shift to hold it up for her to examine, “What’s it look like to you?”

Nymmie tilts her head to the side as she scans the metal in your hand, “Um…a cane?”

You favor her with a bright smile, “Good job! That’s exactly what it is. Maybe you have the makings of a blacksmith too.” You tease.

Nymmie scrunches up her nose, “No, thank you. It’s too messy.”

You laugh, “You should have seen grandfather’s forge back in Keldabe, the floor was dirt.”

She gives a dramatic shudder, “I’m going to work in a building. With climate control.” She announces, “And then I’m gonna get rich and you’re never gonna have to work again.”

You flick a gloved finger at the smaller girl, “Don’t let Mother hear you say gonna or she’ll tan your hide.”

“I’m not stupid, sister,” Nymmie pauses, “Are you sure you don’t want to come to dinner?”

“Positive.”

She pauses again, “Mama didn’t mean what she said.”

“Then she shouldn’t have said it.” You counter as you pull your goggles back over your eyes, “I’m not working this weekend, if you want you can pop over and we’ll go to the botanical garden.”

Nymmie’s face brightens, “Alright! That sounds fun!” She turns and runs towards the door, pausing once she’s on the street, “Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too. Beat it, kid.”

As soon as you’re alone, you turn towards the fire and add more air to make it flare back to life.

Time to go back to work.

You work through the afternoon, and well after the sun sets. In fact, you don’t stop working until you put the final touches on the cane. It’s only then that you lay the cane on the workbench and send an automated message to the man who commissioned it, informing him that he can pick it up at lunchtime the following day.

Seeing as it’s nearly midnight by this point, you seriously consider leaving your mess to deal with in the morning. But you also know better. If you leave it for the morning, it’s never going to get cleaned.

So, grudgingly, you grab a rag and start cleaning.

By the time you finish, properly finish, it’s nearly 2 am and you’re practically dead on your feet. Your entire body aches from all of the work you’ve done today. Strong as you are, overwork still makes your muscles ache.

Finally, you step out of the shop and lock the door behind you while you roll your aching shoulders.

All you want is to go home, have a quick dinner, an even quicker shower, and sleep until 11 am.

So, the ugly curse you release in Huttese when three members of the Sundari Royal Guard approach you and greet you by name is not only totally understandable, but you’d even argue that it’s acceptable.

“What?” You’re too tired to be polite.

The leader of the group, a tall man with a full blonde beard, bows respectfully, “I understand that it’s very late, Armorer—”

“It’s 2 am, don’t you people sleep?”

The Captain’s polite smile doesn’t even twitch, “Duchess Satine would like to speak with you.”

You stare at him blankly, “Now?!”

“Yes.”

“I’m covered in soot. I haven’t eaten. And it’s 2 in the karking morning.”

“A fresher, clean clothes, and a full meal will be provided for you.”

You stare at him, unimpressed, “This is one of those situations where what I want doesn’t actually matter, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so, ma’am.”

You rub the back of your head, annoyed. “Fine. But I don’t wear dresses.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Grudgingly, and deeply annoyed, you trail after the three guards.

Well, two of them. The third, a young woman a little taller than you, apologetically offers you a bottle of water as she walks next to you. “Let me guess, you’re here to make sure I don’t run off?”

“No ma’am,” She shakes her head, “I’m here to make sure that you don’t collapse.” She beams and taps the red medic symbol on her arm, “Everyone knows that you normally start your day before sunrise.”

“They do?”

“You are the best blacksmith in Sundari,” The third guard, another man, pipes up. “My mother has a set of decorative goblets you made for her for Life Day one year, she adores them.”

You…vaguely remember those. It was one of the first commissions you did when you took over the shop from the previous blacksmith. “Well, I’m glad she likes them.” You finally reply, awkwardly.

The conversation stalls after that, you’re just too tired and too exhausted to be much of a conversationalist. Luckily, the people who are escorting you don’t seem to mind.

Soon enough, you reach the palace of Sundari and you hide your revulsion with practiced ease.

You hate this place. 

No Mandalorian should be living in a palace.

The guards pass you off to a servant, who leads you to a small room. There’s a brand-new outfit spread out on the bed. It’s not a fancy outfit, just a pair of brown pants, a cream-colored shirt, and a pair of sturdy boots.

Clean, but simple.

“Miss, would you like me to clean your jacket?” The servant asks.

You glance at him over your shoulder, and then you glance at the jacket hanging from your hand. You had been too warm after everything to put it on, so it doesn’t have any soot on it at all. “That’s alright. It’s clean.” You toss your jacket on the bed to join the rest of the clothes.

“As you say, Miss,” The servant bows, “The Fresher is through that door, shampoo, conditioner, soap, and lotion have all been provided. There are also clean towels and hairstyling tools for when you finish showering. I will be back in an hour.”

And then the servant is gone, and you find yourself alone in a room nicer than your entire apartment.

“This is fine,” You say to the empty room, as you turn towards the fresher while stripping your soot and sweat-covered clothes off, “I’m sure that this meeting won’t be anything serious.”

An hour later, you find yourself sitting at a small-ish table, the nicest meal you’ve ever eaten in your life spread out in front of you, a mug of caf in your hands, and a glass of the richest fruit juice you’ve ever tasted near enough that you could grab it if you wanted it.

The only people at the table are yourself and the Duchess, though there are guards positioned around the room.

Despite the late hour, Duchess Satine looks completely refreshed. She doesn’t look tired at all, and you kind of hate her for it, especially since the only thing keeping you going is the mug of caf that the wait staff keep filling for you.

“I appreciate you agreeing to come on such short notice,” The Duchess says as she sets her fork down on a napkin, “I understand you must be exhausted.”

“Well, so long as you keep the caf flowing I’ll be alright, your Grace.”

The older woman flashes a polite, close-mouthed smile, “And how is your meal?”

The meal is pancakes, bacon, sausage, toast, eggs, and fresh fruit. You’ve only eaten a few pieces of sausage so far.

“Very good, though the amount makes me think that this is going to be a long meeting.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Duchess Satine sits back and folds her hands, “Tell me, what do you know about the state of the galaxy?”

You blink at her, “The galaxy?”

“That’s right?”

“Well, I know that slavery has gotten more prevalent with the return of the Zygarian Empire, and I know that the Hutt Cartels are pushing in on other Cartel territory. But other than that, I don’t know much.”

She nods as if she expected as much, “And what do you know of the situation on Mandalore?”

“A lot more.” 

She gestures for you to continue.

“Uhm, right. Well, I know that Mandalore is in the middle of a Civil War and that four different factions are vying for power. There’s you, of course. And then there’s Boba Fett up in Keldabe. The Covert is farther to the east, near the ocean, though I don’t know who leads them. Finally, there’s the Death Watch up on Concordia. They’re led by…uhm…—” You trail off.

“My sister, yes.” She seems completely unbothered by the fact that her sister is a terrorist, or maybe she just doesn’t care. “I have no qualms about the Civil War, I know that I will come out on top.”

You highly doubt that.

“However, I do need your assistance.”

“...mine?”

“You are an Armorer. That position is highly respected in the more traditional sects of Mandalore.”

Well, she’s not wrong.

“I would like you to go to the Covert and negotiate with them. Try to bring them under my banner.”

And, you have a moment of startling clarity. This bitch is absolutely insane.

“With all due respect, your Grace.” You say slowly, “But I make vanity pieces. I’m more of a blacksmith than an armorer.”

The Duchess stares at you with cold eyes, “Could you craft armor?”

“If I had blueprints and a month, maybe. But it wouldn’t be good.” You might as well be trying to negotiate with a wall for all of the good it’ll do. In fact, you’d probably have a better chance of negotiating with a brick wall.

“Good enough.”

Maybe you should move to Naboo. Their child Queen has to be more sane than this, right?

“The ship leaves in half an hour.”

“I don’t have any—”

“Everything will be supplied.” She makes a motion and the servant is at your side again, “I do wish you the best of luck. Remember, all of Sundari is depending on you.”

And then the Duchess is gone. Slowly, grudgingly, you decide to eat the rest of the meal that was provided for you, before allowing the servant to drag you to the ship.

Maybe you’ll be able to get some sleep on the ship.

However, you do take a moment to shoot a message to Nymmie, asking her to go to your shop the following day and make sure your client gets his cane. And you also apologize for having to scrape the plan for the weekend, since you won’t be in Sundari.

You know she’ll understand, she’s a smart kid.

Then, as the ship powers up, you drift to sleep on a cot in the back.

It’s what you deserve.

[hellfiresky]

I’m terrible at shading when it comes to digital drawing - don’t judge me.

Ge’tal Solus, known to most simply as “Tal” or “Red” was raised in a Mandalorian clan on Concordia and spent most of her teenage years on Mandalore. As a young adult, she worked in a Mandalorian mercenary group, Reaper Unit. Yet, the rigid expectations of clan life and borderline hardcore Mandalorian merc values clashed with her growing disdain for authority and eventually led to her exile (and some other things I have not yet revealed in the story - please bear with me she’s an unreliable narrator lol).

She adopted the name “Solus,” (Alone in Mando’a), a nod to both her independence and the price of her rebellion. Tal built a reputation not for being the deadliest, but for being well-connected and willing to take odd jobs. She operated with a personal code: protect the powerless, screw over the powerful, which often left her at odds with her employers - especially the GAR.

(In my world building, lace coding applies in some parts of the Underworld. Also yes, I draw a lot of inspiration from Hobbie Brown and copied the pose from Doctor Aphra in one of her comics.)

(This picture is missing her backpack that she carries everywhere just in case she needs to stay overnight somewhere, her very illegal slugthrower, and a water bottle - because I refuse my girl to be dehydrated like canon Star Wars characters lol they never drink. Additional context: she doesn’t like wearing her full Mandalorian armour because they’re heavy and she basically raw dogs life in the Underworld - she only wears a sad excuse of chestplates and thigh/shin guard that she DIY from scrap metal/leather.)

[vytels]

More dinluke, codywan time travel fic stuff

So, if you’ve read the fic so far, Din and Wolffe are vode. Plo took one look at Din and was like I’m adopting him lol

So basically, I’m just imagining how’d the two would interact in other things outside of the story

Like dealing with droids? They’re gleeful and bashing the shit out of them, they’re two feral dogs going to town on a piece of meat. You don’t wanna mess with them. They’re on a mission.

What’s the mission? Only they know.

Broken caf machine? Din’s trying to fix it (miserably failing) while Wolffe curses his own existence and spirals so deeply down the Mando’a curse word pipeline that he doesn’t remember Basic

Wolffe meets Grogu? Din’s a proud father while Wolffe can’t get over the fact it’s a tiny baby Yoda that’s actually really cute. He’s astounded and calls Grogu “little warrior”, probably tries to see if the eating-frogs thing is true or not

Wolffe totally would sick the Wolfpack on Din at any given notice. Just be like “here, baby sit these fools for me” or be like “this shiny needs brotherly attention, I’m busy, please give it to them”. Din would be okay with it, maybe a little annoyed, but he’s going to go full Mandalorian and teach them their “heritage” as best he can.

If they’re able to comm each other, it’s just insults back and forth with the occasional short conversation. Like:

Wolffe: sha’buir

Din: di’kut

Wolffe: Cody said you need to go to the bridge

Din: he can tell me himself

Wolffe: osi’kovid

Din: Cody told me that he wants you to know that he’s going to eat your socks

Wolffe: what? He did not

Din: you can’t prove he didn’t

Wolffe: sha’buir

Cody is so done with the two of them because Wolffe just boasts about Din in the command group chat and is about to throw them both out a window or something

Luke’s all for it, he wants his husband to have more friends that don’t actually wanna beat the shit out of him at any given moment

Anyways, link to the fic:

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fanfiction Recs | Vol 34

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Welcome to the Spreadsheet Digest, my weekly(ish) fic rec post. This is everything I read in the last two weeks. I was on a bit of a Din kick, but fear not, there are other boys here too.

All info provided by the author unless it was blank, in which case I filled it in.

Fic Recs Below!

lost, found

Dieter one shot by @sp00kymulderr

When Dieter is hurt by the words of someone else, he turns to his art to help him. What he really needs is you.

homophobia, unsupportive family, bad family relationships, drug use, alcohol use, implied poly relationship, sex mentions, angst angst angst. There is an ezra in this, whether he is our ezra or not is up to you. writer projecting their emotions on to their favourite character.

Well it's love, make it hurt

Din series by @corazondebeskar-reads

After The Mandalorian begrudgingly teamed up with you for a big-ticket bounty, you find you work surprisingly well together, and you propose a short-term partnership. Weeks become months, and your hunting partnership becomes muddled as you explore a new dynamic onboard the Razor Crest.

BDSM, d/s dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, s/m dynamics, sadism, masochism, bondage, bounty hunting, canon-typical violence, descriptions of injury, p in v unprotected sex, oral sex (m&f receiving), anal, toys, impact play, spanking, use of "sir," no y/n, all chapter titles are taking back sunday lyrics, explicit consent, aftercare, big meat Mando, soft dom din, din djarin removes the helmet but does not reveal his face

you've been a bad girl

Din one shot by @beskarandblasters

You’ve been a bad girl and Din decides to punish you by keeping you on a collar and leash

canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), dom/sub, degradation, pet names (good girl, cyar’ika), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, praising, no use of y/n

sorgan girls are easy

Din one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Din gets off to a pretty girl he met in the past

male masturbation, PIV (past), infidelity (past), hair pulling (past)

Rescue Me

Din series by @charnelhouse

Mando rescues a girl and develops a life-ruining crush.

Innocence kink. Age Gap. Smut. Screwing someone to get the other out of their head trope. Loss of Virginity (a tad bit of blood). Fluids. Dirty talk. Angst. Smut. semi-public sex. language. ptsd. fluff.

sweaty hands, reluctant hearts

Din one shot by 221bshrlocked (AO3)

He never thought the day would come when he’d hear you saying you wanted to leave (him). Yes there was an understanding between the two of you that you were hired to help him care for the Child and to somehow keep the Razor Crest alive and working. And he knew it made sense for you to find work elsewhere now that the Razor Crest was destroyed and the Child was with his own kind. But he just assumed you weren’t going to leave considering it’s been a couple of months since he’d given the kid to the Jedi and you never brought it up. It hurt hearing you say those words, especially when he realized he wasn’t meant to hear them and that you were confiding in Cobb Vanth of all people. Turns out, all Mando needed was to see the Marshal eye-fucking you as you fixed the new ship and overshared your thoughts for him to snap and finally make a move. Hopefully he can change your mind…

angst, smut, jealous mando, the helmet comes off, rough sex, penetrative sex, oral sex, breeding kink, slight exhibitionism, sweaty sex, overstimulation, squirting, dirty talk, sweet talk, mando’a, shy/fluffy mando, touch starved, post season 2 - no grogu, some non con elements due to overstimulation, but everyone is consenting.

i wonder if you stopped his world like you stopped mine

Frankie one shot by @chronically-ghosted

watching the woman he loves be with someone else is killing him, but for your sake, he manages. But when Benny's birthday loosens him up, he can't help but bear his soul over a phone call. Too bad you don't pick up and he's forced to leave the evidence in a voicemail.

pining, light angst, idiots in love, country music as a catalyst, romance, tw alcohol, tw drinking, hangovers, ultimately very fluffy

ruthless

Joel one shot by @whatsnewalycat

Joel is essentially your step dad and he catches you sneaking out instead of manning the radio like you're supposed to... so he punishes you.

DDDNE, literally just a fucked up stepdad/mom's bf fantasy, could read "mom" as tess but I don't name her or assign physical features to her or reader, post-outbreak, reader is def over 18 but not by much so yeah age gap, NON-CONSENSUAL, power imbalance, unethical d/s dynamic, slapping, spanking, punishment, orgasm delay/denial, humiliation, degradation, face fucking, anal sex, little to no aftercare

the warmth of your gaze, the lingering of your touch

Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters

After an evening out with Joel you come home to go to bed together, leading to some other activities before the night ends.

reader is disabled and uses a wheelchair, no outbreak AU, Joel can lift reader, fingering, oral sex, praising, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (darlin’, pretty girl, baby, angel), fluff, no use of y/n

undercover

Tim Rockford series by @secretelephanttattoo

It's been 20 years since you left LAPD and stopped answering his calls. What happens when you partner up again after all this time?

Idiots who won't admit their feelings. Or if we're being polite: friends to ex-friends to work partners to lovers. Miscommunication. Slow burn romance with eventual explicit smut. The holsters come with their own warning. the dressDave Yorkseries@janaispunkYou’re having an affair with Dave York. When he takes you on a week-long vacation, you realize that you have deeper feelings for him than you should. explicit smut (18+ only, mdni), angst, infidelity, fluff, somewhat questionable relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, dom!dave, sub!reader, able-bodied reader, dave pulls her hair, no use of y/n, idiots in love, more specific warnings at the start of each chapter

the dress

Dave York series by @janaispunk

You’re having an affair with Dave York. When he takes you on a week-long vacation, you realize that you have deeper feelings for him than you should.

explicit smut (18+ only, mdni), angst, infidelity, fluff, somewhat questionable relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, dom!dave, sub!reader, able-bodied reader, dave pulls her hair, no use of y/n, idiots in love, more specific warnings at the start of each chapter

My Recent Fics

Trust - Din Djarin x gn!reader - season 2 finale drabble (prompt fill)

Ravage - Ezra x f!Reader - saltburn AU, vampire scene

Only Good Girls - Dave x f!reader - D/s, punishment, mirror sex

Happy Reading!

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Thirty-Two point Five, part I

pairing: din djarin x plus size / reverse age gap / fem!O/C  

word count: 8K  

chapter summary: Marathel goes shopping, Din makes a new friend, and Marathel gets a haircut. 

warnings:  angst, mention of past abuse, child abuse, pedophilia, incest, and mental illness, English and Mando’a cursing  

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***   

    

You Were Marked: Masterlist 

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter 

Din and Marathel sat in silence until the cart came to a stop, making the little journey seem like it took a month.  Or two.  Din climbed out and extended his hand to Marathel to help her.  “What is this place?” asked Marathel as she took his hand and stepped out of the cart. 

“Mise-Tusil.  It is the best department store of all Canto.” 

“So big,” she murmured, looking up at the brass-and-glass edifice in front of her.  Such a large building, bigger than the palace on Tatooine.  It confused her.  Who could possibly need so many things that required such an enormous market-building? People of all kinds went in and out the doors, all of which seemed to open and close by magic.   

She felt a tug on her hand, and looked down to see Din’s gloved hand still holding hers tightly.  “Come on,” he said, nodding towards the doors.  “Nothing to be afraid of.” 

Well, you’d be wrong about that, Bounty Hunter, thought Marathel.  Everything was currently frightening her: the noise, the number of people, lights flashing from all directions.  It was all too much, too much at once, and her resolve was fading — not that her resolve was that strong to begin with.  And now Din was staring at her, tilting his helmet as he did so often, and she never could seem to figure out if he was amused or thoughtful or simply annoyed.   

“Dursi is waiting for us.  We’re late as it is, Marathel.” 

Annoyed. 

He tugged on her hand again, and her feet moved this time.  Marathel couldn’t understand why he was so insistent on coming here, anyway.  She thought they needed to leave this planet.  But then her eyes went wide at the sight of this — enormous room with shiny hard floors of polished stone and sparkling hanging lights that twinkled like flying fairylight insects.  It seemed much quieter in here than out in the street, and the pleasant tones of — what was that noise called? — music filled the air.  Marathel was staring open-mouthed at a lovely moving projection of a blue sky and clouds on the high ceiling above her when Din squeezed her arm.  Marathel lowered her chin to see a very tall woman, the tallest woman she’d ever seen, standing before her.  The woman’s skin was a color that she’d only ever seen in the night sky, and her eyes and teeth glowed like a sunset in the warm season.  She was wearing clothing of the most finely woven fabric, seeming to have thousands of threads in both warp and weft, yet the fabric still flowed as gracefully as a stream over a smooth rock. Marathel reached out to feel the tall woman’s sleeve, to rub the fabric between her fingertips.  She was so entranced by the softness and sheerness that she didn’t even notice Din hissing her name at her, trying to get her attention.   

“This silk is from a planet named Naboo.  Have you ever heard of it, Marathel?” 

Marathel looked up, startled to hear her name from a voice she did not recognize.  The woman was smiling at her warmly.  “No,” said Marathel quietly.  “I don’t know about Naboo.  Or silk.  But it is the finest fabric I have ever seen.” 

“Naboo makes very fine fabrics, yes.  I am Dursi, and I am so pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Marathel.” 

Me?  “Hello,” said Marathel quietly, bowing her head.   

“Hello, indeed.  And thank you, Mando, for bringing her. She is even lovelier than I expected.”   

Me?  Lovely? 

“We have much to accomplish this afternoon. I believe your Mando …”  — wait, what?  My Mando? — “may be a hindrance …” 

Another helmet tilt.   “Excuse me?” asked Din. 

“Hush,” Dursi said to Din.  “So, Marathel, you and I will get to work, while you, Mando, you are welcome to relax in the gentlemen’s lounge.  And no, I don’t mean that kind of lounge.  Go on, now.”  Dursi dismissed Din with a wave of her long fingernails as she gently took Marathel’s arm and led her away.   

“Sir?” Din nearly jumped; the young male Omwati from yesterday suddenly appeared at his elbow.  “Follow me, please.” Din fell in step just behind the white-feathered man.  They walked along a curved wall and then down a short intricately carved wooden staircase to a magnificent large room.  Dark and plush, the lounge featured a long glossy bar along one wall, with a startling array of crystalline bottles of various-colored alcohols behind it.  The Omwati fellow nodded to Din, and left.  Din walked up to the bar and lifted one boot to the foot rail. 

The bartender, a tall slender Sephi male, said, “What will you have, sir?” 

Din reached into a deep pocket and pulled out a sippy cup.  He placed it on the highly polished bar top and said, “Blue milk, please.” 

The bartender frowned.  “Blue …?” 

“Milk.  Yes, please,” said Din. 

The bartender shrugged and reached into a chiller, pulling out a carton.  Din reached into his bag and pulled out Grogu, who looked up at the bartender curiously.  The bartender raised his eyebrows, and filled the sippy cup.  “This for you or for …?” 

“For him.” 

The bartender closed the sippy cup tightly and handed it to Grogu, saying, “For you, sir, if you are fond of blue milk yourself, I do make a drink called the Hoth Sleigh Ride …” 

“Nothing for me, thank you.” 

The bartender blinked and said, “I believe that Tuulka — the young man who escorted you here — was not aware you had a child with you.  We don’t usually have children in here.  It is a child, yes?”  Din nodded.  “Perhaps you’d prefer to wait in the family center?” 

Din nodded his assent, and the bartender spoke quietly into a small transponder on his shoulder.  Within moments, the Omwati had returned.  “Forgive me, sir, I was not aware you had a child with you.  Children usually find the gentleman’s lounge … stifling.  If you’d please follow me?”   

Din fell in step behind Tuulka, and asked, “Erm … what is the fee for all this … service?” 

“Your wife …”  

“Not my wife,” quickly said Din. 

“… your lady is shopping, yes?  Then the lounges are inclusive.” 

Din thought about correcting Tuulka on Marathel not being his lady either but decided not to bother.  “Does that include this family center?” 

“It does.”  They turned another corner, then went through a set of sliding doors.  “We do require that you remain within the center with your child.  If you need to leave, your child can go into the child-minding center, but that does have an hourly fee.” 

By this time, they had entered the family center, and Din was struck speechless.  There was a huge section of climbing apparatus for children of all sizes, tables to color and draw, the ubiquitous ball pit … but against the far wall were six full-size holo gaming consoles, the kind that an adult could sit in, immersed in a virtual reality game world … the likes of which he hadn’t played in at least twenty years.  “Wizard,” whispered Din, already walking that direction.  

“Enjoy yourself, sir,” said Tuulka with a smile before leaving the center. 

Dursi led Marathel up a moving staircase — which Marathel used with deep trepidation — and across several clothing departments. Bright lights and strange music kept grabbing her attention.  It amused Dursi greatly.  She is so interesting!  So childlike with curiosity and wonder, yet she is exhausted from fear and sadness.    “Have you ever seen a place like this before, Marathel?” 

“No.  I have only been to one market.  It was outdoors.” 

“Where was that?” 

“Tatooine,” replied Marathel, before wondering if she should have kept that a secret. 

“Tatooine?  I have not heard of that place.  What was it like?” 

“A desert land.  Hot and dusty,” said Marathel with a shrug. 

“Did you like it?” 

“I hated it.  But I met some good people.  They were kind.  They treated me well.” 

Dursi nodded.  “It is not the place we tend to be, but the people that are what makes a home.”  She walked around a large table to face Marathel.  “Is Tatooine where Mando will take you next?” 

Marathel leaned up against the table and folded her hands.  “No,” she said, bowing her head.  “He has just told me he is taking me to Nevarro.” 

“Another planet I do not know. Have you been there before?”  Marathel shook her head.  “Why then, would he take you there?” 

Marathel blinked a few times, trying to hold back tears.  “He says … he doesn’t go to Tatooine often, and there is his … his son, a little boy.  A little boy I love more than anything.”  She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.  “Di- … Mando says that on Nevarro, I could see his son regularly.” 

Dursi handed Marathel a tissue.  “But you know nothing about this Nevarro or the people there?”  Marathel blew her nose, and shook her head again.  “Well then, let us see what we can learn quickly.  Come over here so we can look at this holopad together.” 

Marathel complied, and Dursi slid over the box of tissues before tapping on the holopad before her.  “Hmmmm.  Temperate weather, volcanic.  Seems a bit dry, but certainly not a hot desert.  Quite a lot of good farming because of the volcanic soil.” 

“Volcanic?” 

“Yes, volcanos.”  Dursi looked up to Marathel’s confused expression.  “A volcano is a mountain that blew off its top, so that molten rock from deep within the planet could escape.” 

“Molten rock?” 

“Also known as lava.  But look at these holos of the capital city.  See what the people look like.” 

Marathel watched Dursi scroll through the holos from one image to the next.  She saw tall stone buildings, pathways made of flat stone, leafy trees, and colorful plants.  The people seemed to wear some complicated layers of fabric.  The women were mostly wearing dresses and elaborately styled hair.  “I don’t think I can be as fancy as that.” 

“Of course you can.  However, I can also see in these other holos that women there wear all sorts of things.  So do the men.  See?”  Dursi scrolled through some more holos to show her.  “What did you wear where you came from?” 

“Oh … I wore simple things.  I wove my own fabric, sewed my own clothes,” said Marathel, looking down at her current clothes.  “Like these, I suppose.  Comfortable.  Pockets.  Useful.  But plain.  I couldn’t make very many colors, because I was limited by what I could use to make dyes from.  I like these colors, so rich and deep.  And black!  We couldn’t make black, though we tried.” 

Dursi smiled.  “You like what you’re currently wearing?  So, let’s get you a few more of those.” 

“But … I wouldn’t look like those women.  I wouldn’t fit in.”   

“Marathel, my dear,” said Dursi, taking her hands, “I believe that that you fit in everywhere you go.  You are lovely, strong, smart, and kind …” 

“You can’t possibly think that; you just met me.  And anyway, I’m …” 

“I know what I know, Marathel.  I only wish you could see in yourself what we all see in you … what that Mandalorian sees in you.” Marathel dropped her eyes and sighed; it became obvious to Dursi that Marathel didn’t believe that either.  “Well, then, let’s consider things this way.  Those ladies wearing those fancy dresses and extreme hair up-dos are probably not fun people at all.  In fact, I would venture to say that they are probably complete bitches with sticks up their asses.”  By this point, Marathel was laughing.  “In short, no fun and completely unpleasant, so why would you want to fit in with them?”  Dursi smiled down at Marathel.  “My dear, you will have a whole new life to explore.  You don’t have to figure out your entire future right now.  At this moment, you like these clothes for their comfort and color.  And dare I say, you look fabulous in them.”  This made Marathel blush with a shy smile.  “So, let’s pick out some more things like this.  Your style may change later on, but you need some basics for now … two weeks' worth, I should say …” 

“I don’t think I need all that …” 

“How many sets of clothes do you have now?” 

“Well … two.” 

“How many sets of clothes did you have where you came from?” 

Marathel had to think about that.  “I suppose seven full sets, and a few extras of certain things, like jackets.  I mean, I didn’t have much else to do other than spin and weave and make my own clothing.  I was by myself.” 

Dursi frowned.  “All alone?”  Marathel nodded.  “Well, that answers a lot of my questions.  Do you know how long you were all by yourself?” 

 “… thirty years.” 

“My goodness,” said Dursi, sounding alarmed.  Marathel suddenly felt ashamed, as if her solitary time were some sort of failing of hers, then Dursi said with a chuckle, “I cannot possibly imagine being on my own for that length of time.  My desire to be the center of attention is far too strong!”  This made Marathel smile again.  “Well, I say if you had seven full sets of clothing back there, you should have seven full sets now.  And foundations for fourteen days!  Who knows what your laundry situation will be; men never think about those things!”  Laughing now, Dursi led Marathel through making clothing choices.  “Pockets, yes?” asked Dursi.  Marathel nodded.  “Men never think that women want pockets, too! Then, if we carry a purse, they want us to carry all their items in it.  Men!  Foul creatures.” 

Marathel said, “Oh, not all men are bad, Dursi,” thinking of Din, Cobb, even Boba. 

Dursi relented.  “No, of course not.  Do watch out for certain ones, though, as they cannot be trusted.” 

“How will I know the difference? Besides the ones that will want to put things in my purse — whatever that is?” 

Dursi nearly fell out laughing; Marathel had just said the most delightful innuendo in such an earnest and naïve tone that it took the taller woman a moment to collect herself and explain what handbags were.  How to watch out for certain people was more difficult.  “You will have to learn how to trust, Marathel, which may be very difficult for you.  But do know that most people are kind, and helpful. The truly good people will expect nothing in return from you, just in the way you, I’m sure, live your life.  Kindness begets kindness.  But then, I am no therapist; I help women look and feel their best in their clothing.  So, let’s get back to that, shall we?” 

Eventually, the two women had built a rather sizable collection on the table.  Not only clothing, just also a substantial array of undergarments, sleeping sets, a light jacket, a cardigan, a simple heavy coat, socks, a pair of boots, and a classic handbag.  Marathel protested, but only mildly.  Dursi countered that Marathel really had nothing to her name, besides what she currently carried — and what Dursi had laundered for her. 

“Thank you for doing that for me.  I have been … losing my clothes a lot lately.” 

“When you suddenly have to start over, every little thing that you can hold on to is precious.  Your Mando didn’t quite understand that at first.” 

Marathel snickered.  “I yelled at him,” she said, blushing. 

“Good!  Your Mando is a good man; he wants to take care of you.  But before you let him do that, you need to learn how to take care of you in this new life you are entering.  You need to find the new you.  You need to let yourself do this.”  Marathel was suddenly reminded of Rodanthe’s dying words: You don’t let you be loved.  Dursi smiled widely.  “Enough rom-com-holo-type drama.  Now, what did you want to wear to dinner with your Mando?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I told him yesterday that we have a fine restaurant here, as well as a salon.” 

“Oh …?” said Marathel.  “I do not know what those are.” 

“A restaurant is a place where you can sit and be served a meal.  A salon is a place where you can sit and receive some pampering.  Someone could massage your back, paint your nails, give you a haircut …” 

“No. No.  No, no, no,” muttered Marathel.  “I cannot, I cannot …” She shook her head wildly as she clutched the end of her braid. 

“You were not allowed to cut your hair where you came from?”  

“No woman would cut her hair.  To have it cut … that was a punishment.” 

Dursi looked at Marathel’s terrified face, her eyes screwed tightly shut, the scabbed wound down her nose.  “Men did that to you, right?”  Marathel nodded.  “Are you ever going back to these men?” 

“… no …” 

“Are these men ever going to hurt you again?” 

Marathel’s heart hurt, compounded by her guilt for the deaths of the children, but the basic truth was … “No.” 

“Are you free of your old life?”   

Marathel thought for a moment, and then shook her head.  “I still carry much in here,” she said, pointing to her head. 

Dursi put her hand on Marathel’s shoulder, and Marathel looked up at the taller woman, who said, “I would be surprised if you didn’t, my dear.  But you are getting help for that, yes?”  Marathel nodded. “Good.  Now, your life will be strange and scary for a time.  Every task you take on will feel impossible, but only until it’s done.  Does that make sense?” 

“You mean … ‘fake it, ‘til you make it’?” 

Dursi laughed.  “Something like that.  May I take your hair out of the braid?”  Marathel bit her lip, but nodded, let go of her braid, and looked down to the floor.  Dursi carefully removed the stretchy band, and began uncoiling the braid.  “My goodness, you practically have wire for hair.  And so much of it!”  She finger-combed Marathel’s hair out as best she could, finding the burned section.  “What happened here?” 

“My hair caught fire.” 

“You were very lucky to not have been engulfed in flame.  Hair burns quickly.  Now,” said Dursi, touching Marathel’s shoulder blade, “here is the length of your burned hair. The rest is practically at your hips!”  Marathel shrugged.  “Marathel, you could simply trim the rest so it’s all even, and you would still have people throwing themselves at you with envy, with all this hair!  And I can see how wavy it could be with some of that weight cut off it!  Open your eyes, look in the mirror.”  Marathel did as directed.  “New clothes.  New hair.  A new you.  A brand-new Marathel, who can do precisely as she pleases.  A Marathel who is as beautiful as she deserves to be.” 

“Really?” whispered Marathel.  “I … deserve …?” 

Dursi pressed her cheek against Marathel’s and nodded, smiling into their reflection.  “Yes.  You deserve.  Everything good.  But you have to let yourself receive it.  Can you do that?” 

Marathel’s lip trembled.  “I don’t know.  It’s all too much.” 

“Well, then, one thing at a time.  You’ve done well with picking out a new wardrobe … could a haircut be next?” 

The two women looked at each other in the mirror.  Finally, Marathel said, “Will you hold my hand?” 

“Of course.” 

Marathel took a deep breath.  “Okay.” 

Meanwhile, Din was having a grand time.  He discovered that the gaming pods were completely adaptable for two players, including an adult holding a child on his lap.  They were currently playing Escape the Death Star, with Din as the pilot and Grogu as the gunner.  It had taken a while to convince Grogu to actually play along and shoot at the TIE fighters instead of just spinning around and around in the gunny seat.  But once Grogu saw the sparkly pixelated explosions, he was hooked.   

They had advanced to a higher level this time around, and Grogu had just taken out three TIE fighters in a row.  “Great job, kid!” crowed Din.  “Now don’t get cocky.”  Unfortunately, this level had Darth Vader’s ship, and Din’s ship was blown up, ending the game. “You’re getting the hang of this, pal,” said Din, patting Grogu’s tummy. 

“Yeah, the kid’s doing great, but you’re playing like a total noob, Mando.”  Din turned to see the pretty redhead clerk from yesterday, sitting in the console next to him. 

“Meejil.  How are you?  What’s happening in your shop?” 

She shrugged.  “Closed for the day.” 

“I saw that.  Why?” 

“Owner boss-man is in divorce court,” said Meejil with a cheeky grin.  “No, the divorce has been a long time coming.  But he was pretty pissed off at Surunu trying to …” 

“Surunu?  You mean Yellowhair Bitchface?” 

Meejil gasped.  “You talk like that in front of the kid? … And yes.”  She laughed.  “He didn’t care for her chatting up an orthodox Mandalorian.” 

Din tilted his head.  “I don’t consider myself …” 

“Does that helmet come off before any living thing?” 

“… No, it does not.” 

“Then you are considered orthodox, according to my boss.   He’s told us about you Mandalorians, your Creed.  This is the way.  Some of the things he’d say … the rumor around us who work in his shops, we think that either he, or someone he cared greatly for, was someone who left the way.” 

“That is nothing to joke about.” 

His tone made Meejil lift up her hands in apology.  “It’s not.  We’re not making fun.  But we have a hard time believing what he says is true.  I mean, how often does a Mandalorian come walking into a woman’s clothing shop on Canto Bight?  Anyway, her behavior yesterday was the last straw.  So, I get today off.  Oh, before I forget,” said Meejil, holding out a business card.  “Boss says he’s sorry about Surunu.  He saw the whole thing play out on the shop monitors.  He says if you want to contact him, he’d be happy to chat with you.  I think he was as surprised as everyone else to see a Mandalorian in the shop.” 

Din took the card, although he had no intention of contacting the man.  Without looking at the card, he tucked it into his hip pocket.  “How did you know I’d be here?” 

“Dursi, of course.  She couldn’t stop talking about you, and she was so excited to meet Marathel.  And Tuulka let me back here; he’s my daughter’s boyfriend.” 

Din chuckled.  “Mise-Tusil is a family affair, huh?” 

“Yes!  I spent a lot of time with my kids in here, when they were young.  My girl is now part of the young models' club.  That’s where she met Tuulka.  Oh, and speaking of, Dursi told me all about you knowing about Frith! Are you Lew’el?” 

“I’m not, but Marathel is, after a fashion.  She is descended from Lew’elans who left the planet long ago.” 

Meejil frowned and looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, “Oh, I have something else for you.” She reached into her bag and brought out a small book with a hard cover.  “This is a reprint of the first published Frith book.  It was written in their old alphabet, but as you can see, it was annotated into Aurebesh.” 

Meejil held the book open, and Din could see the color drawing of a Not-a-Rabbit with a scrawling text underneath it that looked vaguely familiar somehow.  “Let me pay you for this,” said Din, reaching for his credits. 

“Absolutely not,” said Meejil.  “I have a couple copies of this book, and it tickles me to hear a Mandalorian, of all people, has heard of Frith.” 

“Well, it was Marathel who introduced me.  She told us the story of the Luad Dwycwingen.” 

Meejil frowned in confusion.  “The loo-ahd… I don’t know what that is.” 

“The Luad Dwycwingen.  She said that Frith was a dwycwingen who jumped over the moon to escape the Dahls, but he jumped too far, and had to live upside-down on the moon.” 

“Wow,” said Meejil.  “That … I’ve never heard that story.  And Great-Nan knew them all.  She could even say some of the old words …” 

“The Oldtalk?” 

“Yeah.  But that loo-ahd doo-ick — whatever — that’s … no one has spoken words like that for centuries.  Ever since the Old Republic introduced Basic.” 

Din shrugged.  “Marathel is fluent.  Or whatever passes for fluent.” 

“Kriffing hell!” 

“She has also told me that many of the words had lost their original meaning. She often tells Grogu — “ 

Meejil smiled and pointed at the child.  “That little guy?” 

“Yes.” 

“He’s such a cutie.”  

“Erm … yes.  Anyway, she tells him rw’yn di’rugar, which on the surface means ‘I love you’.  But according to Marathel, it literally means ‘my heart breaks to keep you safe.’” 

Meejil frowned.  “No, ‘I love you’ would be di grad’gwm cwd’atch.  That’s what Great-Nan always said.  I’ve never heard that roo-een die-roo-gar.” Meejil sighed.  “Now I’m wishing Great-Nan was still alive so I could ask her.  She was actually five generations older, so more like Great-great-great-Nan. She lived to be one hundred and twenty-seven years old,” wistfully said Meejil.   

“Die graw-goom coo-dahtch.  That’s a lot of syllables for ‘I love you’,” said Din with a chuckle. 

“Well, ‘you hold my heart’, to be precise. Oh, someone just buzzed me,” said Meejil, checking her holopad. “Wow! Dursi says she got Marathel to agree to a haircut.” 

“So that means …?” 

“It’ll be a while yet.  But I want to see the end result too.  Hey, did you know these machines are linked together? I challenge both of you to the Pod Death Race!” 

“Oh, you’re on,” said Din. 

Dursi led Marathel, wearing a brand-new outfit, down several levels and across several more departments.  Dursi spoke briefly with another impeccably-dressed woman, this one all in a color that reminded Marathel of the inside of a clam shell.  This new woman — who introduced herself as Arpella — had very pale skin, much like Marathel’s, but Arpella had lips of a deep pinkish-red and color on her cheeks that seemed to be there all the time.  Marathel didn’t pay attention to their conversation, as she was too distracted by a collection of beautiful bottles made of very fancy glass that seemed to all smell very pretty.  Marathel had just decided which bottle she liked best when Arpella asked, “Would you like to try one?” 

Marathel gasped and jumped away, putting her hands behind her back.  Then she turned pink and said quietly, “I was just looking …” 

Arpella smiled and chose a bottle at random.  “How about this one?” 

“No, the round bottle,” said Marathel, pointing before she could stop herself.   

“Oh, yes. This is a favorite of mine, too.” Arpella picked up a round bottle that was cut into many facets and reflected the shop lights.  She held it under Marathel’s nose and said, “Take a sniff.”  Marathel did, and was reminded of fields of newly opened cup-flowers and tall grass, wet with dew.  “Hold your arm out, and I’ll spritz you.”  Marathel lifted her arm.  When the woman atomized the cologne, Marathel said oh in surprise.  “Now smell your arm.  Do you like it?”  

When Marathel smelled the cologne on her arm, her first thought was: if Din loved my skin before, he would have another heart attack over this!  The idea gave her a warm tingly feeling, then a pang of regret.  Still, she found scent very pleasing.  “Yes, very much.”  Arpell found the scent name card and sprayed it with the cologne, handing it to Marathel. “Is that for me?  Oh, I cannot.” 

Arpell gave a confused smile, saying, “Of course you can.  To remind you of the scent.  It’s yours.” 

Marathel held this new gift in her cupped hands as if it were the finest lead crystal from Atoa.  “Thank you.  Oh, thank you very much.” 

“Marathel, they’re ready for you at the salon.  Oh yes, Arpella, we’ll be in the quiet one,” said Dursi over her shoulder as she led Marathel away.  “That is a lovely scent.  You should tuck that card into your cleavage.” Marathel looked puzzled; Dursi demonstrated down her own neckline.  Marathel turned pink again but tucked the tiny card where Dursi had indicated.  “That should have some effect on your Mando,” said Dursi with a chuckle. 

They left the main floor and went down a wide hall to a very ornate doorway.  Soft gentle music was playing in a well-lit room dominated by a large desk.  A pretty woman with fleshy tails growing out of her head — a Twi’lek, I’m pretty sure, thought Marathel — smiled at her and poured her a cup of tea, offering small spiced cookies.  Soon, Marathel was led through a maze of semi-private cubicles.  The music continued to play, but strange acidic smells assaulted her nose and made her squinch her face.  She was led to a chair, and a tall, slender decidedly non-human person with a long slender neck invited her to sit.  Marathel looked at Dursi, feeling apprehensive.   

Dursi took her hand, saying, “Marathel?  Is it all right if Pex cuts your hair?”  

Marathel looked up at Pex, who had large black eyes, long, extra-jointed fingers, and pale lavender skin. She was still getting used to the idea of people who didn’t look like her, but a thought occurred to her: if the person cutting her hair looked nothing like a human man, then the act of cutting her hair should be easier for her to deal with. 

Right, old girl?  That’s the tale we will tell the Luad Dwycwingen? 

Yes, I think so, old girl.   

Marathel, feeling braver, sat, and Pex and Dursi talked about Marathel’s hair.  Pex carefully combed the burned section, and then held up the ends. “I will only even out the length, Marathel,” said Pex, their voice soft and soothing.  “I think you will find your hair still sufficiently long enough.  Now, please allow me to wash your hair.  I will do an intensive treatment as well.” 

“Treatment?” 

“To repair and deeply moisturize your hair.  It is very thirsty,” replied Pex, extending a hand to Marathel to assist her from the chair. 

Marathel smiled, thinking of the thirsty leather of Din’s boots, and the idea that hair got thirsty as well, made sense to her. Pex led Marathel to a row of odd-shaped sinks with chairs in front of them.  Pex bade her to sit, and then lean back with her head resting on the curved edge of the sink.  Pex began the water, and Marathel suddenly exclaimed, “Oh!” 

“Is the water too hot?” 

“No, it … it could be hotter …but oh, this is so much better than leaning forward into a basin,” said Marathel.   

Pex and Dursi exchanged smiles. “Just relax, enjoy, Marathel; let Pex take care of you,” said Dursi.  The hair washing took a while due to the length of Marathel’s hair, but Pex refused to rush, lathering Marathel’s hair and massaging her scalp for a generous length of time.  Marathel closed her eyes and sighed contentedly; the aromatic scent of the shampoo and conditioner combined with the gentle massage and the quiet background music was nearly lulling her to sleep.  She heard Arpella join them but remained in her cocoon of contentment until she heard Dursi calling her name.  “Marathel?” 

“Hmmm?” 

“Sweetie, with that deep treatment on your hair, you have to stay where you are for a little bit, so let me cover you with this heated blanket, okay?” 

“Okay,” said Marathel, unsure if she could have moved anyway, and then she was wrapped in a soft blanket that was already warm, as if it had been held before a fire. 

“So, while you’re sitting here, Arpella would like to use some facial cleanser on you and a moisturizing mask, okay?” 

“Mmmmmm ... okay,” murmured Marathel. 

“While that’s happening, we’re going to give you a quick manicure too, okay?” 

“Okay.  What’s a manicure?” asked Marathel, her eyes still closed, still in a state of bliss. 

Dursi chuckled.  “We will trim your nails and cuticles, then moisturize and massage your hands.  That is, if you don’t mind us removing these splints from your fingers.  We will be very gentle.” 

“That sounds lovely.” 

“I concur,” said Arpella, who was gently massaging Marathel’s forehead with cleanser, carefully avoiding the large wound down her face.  “Then I would like to shape your eyebrows a bit.” 

“My eyebrows?  Why?  You can’t even see them.” 

“The eyebrows are the frame for your face.  And I believe once they’re shaped and have a little bit of color added in, you’ll understand,” said Arpella.   

“I agree,” said Dursi. “You’ll see such a difference, Marathel.  I promise.  But it might hurt a little bit.” 

“Hurt?” Marathel’s eyes flew open. 

“A little bit.  Just relax.”   

Marathel closed her eyes again, allowing herself to drift back into her relaxed state.  One of the women continued to gently massage her hands, which made her fingers ache, but it was an ache of stiffness and lack of use, making Marathel think that regular massages of her hands could be helpful to her healing.  Then someone was spreading something very warm on her eyebrow, something thick, like honey, and it felt so nice on her skin.  After a few moments, though, the thickened whatever-it-was was suddenly ripped off.  “Ow!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” said Arpella, pressing down on Marathel’s eyebrow with her fingertip. 

“What was that?” 

“Paraffin wax.  It’s how we do eyebrows.  Did it hurt very much?” 

Marathel almost laughed, she’d remained mostly silent while being beaten and carved up to within an inch of her life; but having a bit of wax pulled off her skin made her yelp.  “No, no, it just surprised me.”   

“Well, now that you know what it’s like, the rest should be easier.” 

“Okay,” said Marathel, closing her eyes again.  Arpella applied the wax and removed it three more times, and then plucked some errant hairs.  Arpella then applied some cream to Marathel’s face, which was very soothing.  Pex rinsed Marathel’s hair and then announced it was time to go back to the other chair.  Marathel pouted, but allowed the others to help her stand; she was so relaxed and cozy that it was difficult to get up.  Back in the stylist’s chair, Pex combed Marathel’s hair into sections, and then pulled out a pair of shiny scissors, and Marathel began to panic.  Dursi took her hands, saying, “Concentrate on me, sweetheart, you know it’s not going to hurt.” 

“I know, I know, but …” 

“But it’s just hair. And it’s your hair, and hair grows back.  It’s as simple as that.  Hair grows back.  This is not a punishment.  You are here on Canto Bight, not where you were before. This is you simply cutting your hair just like anyone else who has hair does from time to time. Even your Mando cuts his hair, I’m assuming. He has hair, yes?” 

Marathel heard snipping noises behind her.  “Yes, he has hair,” she said in a tight, frightened voice. 

“Tell me about his hair.” 

“I — I got to see it once.  No, twice.  I got to see his hair twice.  Not his face, just his hair.  From the back.  It’s brown, it’s a pretty brown too, like nut shells, and wavy.  It curls on the ends in the back.  And it’s soft, like petting a baby Dwycwingen, or, or ... stroking the petals of a puffy flower.  I’ve only touched it in the dark, because I’m not allowed to see his face, but he let me touch his hair a couple of times, and …” 

“And now, your hair has been cut,” said Pex. 

Marathel drew in a quick breath. “You’re … you’re done?” 

“No, not quite.  I need to do some finer trimming, but it’s mostly even, now.”   Pex spun the chair and showed Marathel in the mirror. 

“It seemed impossible before, didn’t it?” asked Dursi.  Marathel nodded, her eyes teary.  “But now, it is almost done.  Do you understand, now?” Marathel nodded again.  “So, blow your nose, let Pex and Arpella work their magic, and I will fetch you another cup of tea.  Okay?” 

“Okay,” said Marathel with a shaky smile. She looked at the long locks of cut hair on the floor, and then at her hands — back in their splints — with neatly trimmed nails, nicely shaped, so different from the careworn look they had before.  Her neck felt somehow longer, and she could sit up straighter, as if removing the weight of her hair (as well as the terror of it being cut) altered her posture.   Marathel took in a deep breath, because again, she was simply — awestruck at what her life had become, all because she threw a rock at a man’s head. 

Meejil was able to completely trounce Din and Grogu in the race game.  By the third loss, Din finally surrendered to Meejil’s superior driving.  “And you thought that was something; you should see me speeder race on the local salt flats!  I took second place in my class!” 

“What class was that?” 

“Tired Moms of Teenagers,” Meejil said with a grin.  “Ugh, I forgot how uncomfortable these units are,” she said, pulling her herself upright to stand.  “I could go for a snack.  You want … oh, you can’t, can you?  What about something for the kid?” 

Din sighed and looked down at Grogu, who was looking backing up at him, his large eyes transmitting the most pitiful look.  “Haar’chak, kid, ease up a little, will you?” Meejil laughed and led them to a tiny café counter, where Din purchased a meat roll and juice for Grogu.  They sat at one of the tiny tables, and Meejil deftly tore up the meat roll into tiny pieces so Grogu could feed himself.  “Old habits die hard, huh?” said Din, thinking of how Marathel stepped right in to care for Grogu that first day, 

“The little ways of doing things never leave you, no matter how big the kids get,” said Meejil with a wistful smile.  “My question is … how did you come by this one?” 

“Grogu was a bounty, an asset.  After I handed him over, I learned that he would be mistreated, exploited.  And he was just a baby … I knew I couldn’t abandon him.” 

Meejil watched Din stroke Grogu’s hair, who burbled and smiled at the touch.  “Instant fatherhood.” 

“Oh no, not instant.  For a while he was more like a pet than anything else.” 

Meejil laughed.  “Who knew that a bounty hunter could be such a soft touch?  A Mandalorian, even?” 

“Mandalorians act with honor, and help those who can’t help themselves.” 

“Like this Marathel?” 

“Marathel …” Din cleared his throat.  “Marathel was …” 

“Hurt Mama,” said Grogu firmly.  

Din couldn’t come up with any words.  Meejil reached over and squeezed his hand.  Din squeezed back for a moment, and finally muttered, “It’s complicated.” 

“Yeah?”   

Din looked at Meejil’s friendly face and wondered just how complicated it really was and decided to just tell her simple facts.  “Marathel was also a bounty, for an extreme amount of money.  All I had to do was return her to her … her people.  But it was a … they were …” 

“A place where she suffered?” 

Din closed his eyes and swallowed. “Yes.”   

Meejil nodded and squeezed his hand again.  “But you got her out.” 

“Too late …” 

“But you went back for her, just like you did this little guy.  You’re helping her. You made it right for him, you’re going to do your best for her.  Right?  She’s free of that place she came from, and the men there,” said Meejil. 

Din nodded, but then he had a thought.  “What … how did you know?  About …” 

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but the more I hear about Marathel … I have to mention this.  When I was looking for the book last night, I found a notebook I used to keep as a kid.  When Great-Nan started failing — her mind was staying back in the past — she started telling stories I had never heard before.  Stories about Lew’el that weren’t in any book.  I wrote them down as best I could. She didn’t often talk about her life on Lew’el, and nothing about why she left.  But one night, I think she thought I was her daughter, the one she brought with her when she left Lew’el.  She started with a story about this old family, one of the original families of the Southern Continent, that was stupid rich.  But as in all rich families, no matter how good the family is, there’s always a couple of people who don’t think they have enough.  And because they could buy anything they wanted, they decided to do anything they wanted.  The story goes that those four men in the family stole a good chunk of the family fortune and began their own clan of four families.  The clan was called …” 

Din closed his eyes.  If that clan name matches one of the Hold houses, I will officially lose my mind. 

“Cro’pryfa, allegedly.” 

Din shook his head in surprise, and said, “What now?” 

“Cro’pryfa.  It means ‘headmasters,’ more or less,” said.  “After that, I didn’t have much, because Great-Nan kind of faded off, I guess.  But after reading what I had jotted down in the notebook, I remembered that I actually did some research into that family name, and it was like the sub-ether had been scrubbed of any reference of the family … except on one of those levels.  You know which ones.” 

Din nodded, because he knew, oh yes, the dirty, dark underbelly of the sub-ether where anything and anyone could be bought, sold, fucked, eaten, spit out, and regurgitated.  Where every conspiracy theory, dastardly crime, foolproof plan, and airtight alibi was born.  Where wanna-be assholes became professional ones.  In other words, bounty hunter information central. 

“The Headmaster clan, apparently believed in keeping it in the family, as the ugly legends go.  But another night, when she called me her daughter’s name again, I asked directly why ‘we’ left Lew’el, and it was to escape her daughter’s father.  He believed he was a direct descendant of the Cro’pryfa clan.  And as a direct descendant, and a male, he believed he had certain privileges … with his own daughter. 

“After she told me that, the next day, I asked my mother. She told me that as far as she knew, that story was true.  My Great-Nan left everything behind but her daughter, who was twelve or so.  They were in hiding for a while, until they got new identities.  By the time they were able to start a new life, they also had a baby boy with them.” 

Haar’chak.  “Was the boy …?” 

“Son or grandson?  Or both?  That was something Great-Nan never talked about.  Even when her mind stayed back in the past.” 

Din sighed.  “So … Lew’el’s main export is predators?” 

“Not any more than any other system, according to their rather intense system of government.  And if you spend any time in the dark sub-ether, you’ll find that there’s a lot of sick, sad people all over the galaxy, who believe in that kind of garbage,” said Meejil. 

“Don’t I know it,” muttered Din.  Grogu had finished eating his meat roll and Din lifted him from the table so he could wipe the boy’s face.  “Does the name Archbishop of Serrano mean anything to you?  Did Great-Nan ever say anything like that?” 

Meejil shrugged.  “No, but then you have to remember that Great-Nan’s tale about the Cro’pryfa family was thousands of years old.  All old tales lose their credibility over time.  Names change.  And Lew’el changed over to Basic and Aurebesh a few thousand years ago.  The old language is basically lost.  And who can say if Great-Nan was speaking the truth?  She may not have been from Lew’el at all.  We never found any proof of it.”  She sighed, and then her holopad pinged.  “Ooh, Dursi says they’re done, and she thinks you’re going to like what you see.” 

“I better, after all this time.  What I’m not looking forward to is the cost of all this.” 

“Didn’t you say that you're giving Marathel’s bounty to her?  To start her new life?” 

“Well … yes.” 

“Wasn’t the bounty worth a lot?” Din nodded. “Can she well afford all this today?” 

“Erm … yes.” 

“Then I think you can shut your yap.  Starting over is expensive – at least that’s what Great-Nan always told us,” said Meejil, standing up and collecting the food wrappers from the table.  As if on cue, Tuulka appeared.  “Hey, guy,” said Meejil, giving the young man a hug.  “You’re gonna escort us?” 

“You bet, Ma,” said the Omwati, and then Tuulka turned to Din, back to his full professionalism, and said, “Sir, your lady friend has completed her appointment.  If you would care to follow me?” 

Din tilted his head in a small formal bow, saying, “By all means.” 

Once they entered the salon, Din found himself distracted from Meejil’s chatter with Tuulka by a woman facing away from him, leaning up against the desk, talking to the Twi’lek behind it.  The woman was wearing a fitted wrap top in a deep ocean blue-green that hugged her waist, and her ample backside was beautifully enhanced by the close fit of the dark fabric that hugged all of her lovely curves.  Dank ferrik, I wonder what Marathel’s ass would look like in those pants.   

The young woman — Din assumed she was young, with a perky ass like that — had light-colored hair, with a slight lavender-grey sheen that tumbled over her shoulders in a mass of large curls and waves and was seriously glossy-looking.  Her hair looked healthy and thick and shiny and damn near demanded for someone to bury their hands in it, so much so that Din’s right hand twitched a couple of times. 

Din, while entertained by the luscious lady before him, wondered where Marathel was.  He noticed the Twi’lek noticing him, and apparently the young woman with the great hair and the even better ass noticed the Twi’lek looking behind her, and the young woman turned around … and it was Marathel, wearing a low-cut wrap top of deep ocean blue-green, with form-fitting pants of black, with gleaming silver hair that cascaded with curls that bounced and a shine that caught the lights.  She smiled and said, “Oh, there you are.” 

… Holy Frith in heaven and all his starspawn, thought Din as his mouth went dry. 

You Were Marked: next chapter ->

[stars-n-spice]

KHEA + TBB:

A little look into the dynamics Khea shares with each member of the Bad Batch!

Khea + Wrecker:

Opposites attract - they’re nearly opposites in every way but they make it work

Slow burn baby because Khea took forever to open up and admit to her feelings, but thankfully Wrecker is patient

Wrecker keeps her grounded and is her voice of reason, he's there to reassure her that things are okay

Fuck, if they don't love explosions and causing a scene - they can be reckless as hell and it's advised not to leave them alone together or they will get into trouble

Khea is not used to men who wear their heart on their sleeve so finding out Wrecker was genuine in his affections and promises threw her in for a loop

Since Khea isn't a verbal person about her feelings, it's great that Wrecker has such a high emotional intelligence and can just tell when something's wrong and it's even better for her because he knows what to do when he does sense something is wong

In return, Khea always makes sure that Wrecker is looking out for himself because she realizes he's the glue holding the team together and doesn't give time for himself, so she makes sure that every now and then he takes a break from everything

Wrecker fell first, Khea fell harder.

Hunter + Khea:

Khea takes great joy in teasing Hunter at any chance she gets (all in good fun of course) because she claims it's her 'right' as the younger sister-in-law to do so

Khea will never admit to how much she respects/thinks highly of him as both a leader and older brother

Khea has a bad habit of stealing Hunter’s things (both intentionally and unintentionally)

Hunter is the other one outside of Wrecker who makes her feel like she's not as closed of a book as she thought she was because he can always sense when something's wrong but unlike Wrecker he doesn't know how to go about it to try and make her feel better

They both have sensory issues (yippee) and bond over that; giving each other tips and whatnot to avoid being overstimulated in dire situations

Khea's always there to help Hunter out with Omega whenever he needs it (especially with 'girl' things)

One of Khea's favorite things to do is give Hunter crap about him not tying up his hair because she thinks it's impractical to have it all out while under the helmet or when fighting

Khea + Echo:

Next to Wrecker, Echo is the closest Khea is to out of the group

Was the first of the Batch that Khea actually opened up to and he was the first one to hear about what happened with her brothers

Khea sorta sees Echo as the older brother she never got to have; one that's patient and kind with her but also makes sure to keep her in check

Bond over the trauma of losing their brothers + the guilt over not being able to save them

Echo gives her tough love often and will call her out on her bullshit, constantly pushing herself to be better and to take care of herself in healthier ways

Khea calls Echo "Eyayah" - which means 'Echo' in Mando'a

Echo lets Khea work on his prosthetics and Khea has made adjustments/attachments of various sorts for him

Kama buddies :) (sometimes Khea takes his kama on "accident")

Khea + Tech:

Both are big nerds, Khea's just more subtle about it

Their interactions are either them talking each other’s ears off or working in complete silence on projects next to each other

Tech does not understand how or why Khea is with Wrecker but since they’re both happy, he’s happy

Tech is learning Mando’a from her

Sometimes will butt heads and will passive-aggressively ignore each other until they’re forced to make amends (i.e. Wrecker makes them apologize to each other)

Like when they fight, they FIGHT; both hate admitting to being wrong whenever they come into conflict with each other and it's like bone on bone. It's never anything physical, it's always emotional and verbal assaults

Tech likes to point out things about Khea that Khea will adamantly deny or ignore because it pisses Tech off (i.e. Tech telling her she is nearsighted and should get some glasses or something and her insisting she's fine and it's okay to see things a little blurry sometimes)

Both are incredibly blunt people and maybe probably are on the spectrum one way or another (another thing Khea will deny when Tech points it out)

Khea + Crosshair:

Both are little shits

Crosshair takes his role as the 'annoying younger brother-in-law' VERY seriously

Took some time for them to warm up to each other once Crosshair was reunited with his family (He didn't know what to make of her let alone how Wrecker managed to pull her)

Khea only knew so much about him from the others (Wrecker and Omega occasionally told her things about him) but decided she'd try and be nice to him should she ever meet him but that went right out the door when he pointed out she was a little short for a Mandalorian

Would rather be caught dead than getting along in front of Wrecker because he will cry tears of happiness

They love to hate each other and their competitive personalities make them clash ALL the time (which can be both amusing and irritating depending on the situation)

Crosshair learns about Khea's brothers and the things she went through from Wrecker and after that, he's a little more understanding and compassionate with her

Khea drinks and Crosshair smokes; they like to poke fun at each other for who is going to die first from their bad coping mechanisms

Khea + Omega:

Khea and Omega both see each other as sisters (neither of them knows what it’s like to have one)

Tag team when it comes to raising Hunter’s stress levels (all in good fun)

Khea is fiercely protective of Omega as she kinda sees her as a “Mitcan Redo” - she would, can, and has killed for the kid

Omega was the one who got Khea to open up a little more to their squad (was also the first to pick up on how she felt about Wrecker and vice versa)

Omega is really interested in Mando culture and Khea takes delight and pride in telling her stories and teaching her things during their time off

Khea likes to tease Hunter and say that she's going to make Omega a Foundling (Omega loves the idea) and has promised to one day get Omega some beskar and maybe even a helmet if she wants it

Omega made her a little charm of a star that she wears on a necklace and totally didn't cry when Omega gifted it to her, nope

Khea sometimes finds herself incredibly frustrated over Omega's situation and wishes that someday Omega will get the chance to just be a kid and enjoy life without having to worry about things no child should have to worry about

[ranahan]

Which format is better? The appendix will contain every single instance of a particular morpheme grouped by morpheme, so does adding more examples clarify anything or just clutter up things?

[transitranger327]

Foundations (Ehn’yuste Ch. 5)

Summary: To build a new Jedi order, Jetii Mando’ayust, the Wrens will need two things: a Temple and more members. They make new friends to get the former, and connect with old friends to find the latter.

Notes: A 3.8k word chapter because y’all have been so patient waiting for this (and because I wrote the beginning and the end before the middle). I’m also posting this on my fiancée’s birthday while we’re on our 5-year anniversary trip. She wants me to hurry up and post it so we can go back to cuddling.

As always, a Mando’a glossary is at the end. Read it on Ao3 or below the cut

—

One and a half years after the Ignition

The apartment door slid open. Sabine inhaled the scent of searing meat and sautéing vegetables. Her wife’s cooking skills had blossomed in the past few months, now that she was no longer constantly on the run nor isolated on a sparsely populated world. An array of spices bloomed in the pan, collected from various worlds Shin had visited. Sabine tried teasing them apart, but could only identify catabar and pepper out of the menagerie. The splattering of liquids reducing in the pan was not loud enough to keep their guests—a fair-skinned man and a darker-skinned woman—from chatting with Shin as Sabine made her way across their karyai. She embraced her beloved from behind and offered a cheek kiss, “Hey beautiful, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Shin replied with her own kiss, “can you grab the wine for me?” It was across the room, on the table, but distance was rather trivial when you could use the Force. As her wife offered her the bottle, she introduced the couple. “This is Tyrus Vizsla, current Duke of clan Vizsla, and his wife Mirli.”

“Tyrus and Mirli, huh?” Sabine asked, greeting the Vizslas. “Your parents were interested in the Old Republic Wars?”

Mirli was the first to speak up, “No, actually, we picked the names ourselves.”

The implication was rather obvious to Sabine. “Of course, that’s why I didn’t recognize you. Welcome to the home of Clan Wren.”

“Vor entye for inviting us.” Tyrus did his best to navigate the weird formal-informal meeting that was taking place. He was a Duke meeting with a Countess for the first time, but Sabine was more blasé than nearly any Mandalorian he had met. “Tonight was perfect, Ragnar is staying over with some of his friends from school.”

“Oh, so you’re the ones taking care of him now?” Sabine had heard the tale of Paz Vizsla single-handedly fighting Moff Gideon’s forces, and was glad to meet those that were now taking care of his son. 

“While we may not have agreed with his father, he’s still a Vizsla. We don’t abandon our own.” Mirli seemed to emphasize this more than most Mandalorians, but Sabine was nodding in agreement.

—

After starting dinner and regaling the Vizslas with the Wren’s travels on Peridea, the point of the meeting came to a head with Tyrus asking “so why did you invite us here?”

The big question. Well, not the big question (that was the one Sabine was going to ask the Vizslas), but certainly a big question. So she started laying it out. “Shin and I are planning on starting a new Jedi Order. A Mandalorian Jedi Order. Jetii Mando’ayust” 

The Vizslas were curious. Mirli queried, “That’s certainly interesting, but how does that relate to us?”

“Eventually, this apartment will not be big enough,” Shin continued her wife’s proposition, “We want to establish a…temple, of sorts. A place to train, offer sanctuary, and have a library dedicated to Mandalorian and Jedi knowledge.”

“We want to build it at the only place on Mandalore that’s strong in the Force.” Sabine took a deep breath, “The childhood home of Tarre Vizsla.” Mirli and Tyrus had paused eating. “It’s in a part of Sundari that’s still in ruins. We just…”

Shin saw her wife faltering, and cut in. “We wanted your permission to use it.”

There was a long pause. Tyrus leaned back in his chair while Mirli began twirling her fork between her fingers. 

“That’s a big ask” was his answer. “I don’t hate it tho” was hers.

“Can you elaborate?” Sabine asked.

“Tyrus wants to keep the clan from infighting,” Mirli offered. “There’s trouble brewing between traditionalists and modernizers. Again.”

“I personally think it’s a good idea.” Tyrus’ look was difficult for the Wrens to parse. “You two have proven yourselves true Mando’ade, dedicated to us all. But I’m not sure that’s enough for some.” 

Shin queried, “Is there something that would…ease the minds of everyone else?”

“Maybe,” Mirli mused, “if they knew what you were doing was…shukenla sa val.”

“Like they had a stake in what you were proposing,” Tyrus added.

The two Jedi exchanged glances. “I think I know what you mean,” replied Sabine, “and we can certainly make that happen.”

“Ori’jate,” Tyrus declared, “It’s settled then.”

Mirli agreed. “Now, how about another glass of wine while you tell us more stories from far-off galaxies?”

—

Sabine slipped under the covers next to her wife. “I’m glad dinner went well.”

“I’m surprised you wanted to ask.” Shin dragged Sabine’s arm over her chest to nestle in with her. “You’re normally the ‘forgiveness, not permission’ type.”

Sabine playfully rebuked, “This is a big deal!”

“Just think of all the problems you all could’ve solved by doing this first instead of drawing blasters.”

“What does ‘this’ mean?” Sabine quipped, “cuddling each other?”

Shin softly chuckled. “Hmmmm that definitely would solve some problems—and create a few new ones.” Her wife joined her in the quiet laughter.

—

Before they could drift off to sleep, a loud chime rang out from their apartment computer system. “Shin, honey, didn’t you turn on ‘do not disturb’?”

“Yeah, but I left on notifications for family emergencies, like always.”

Sabine was a little annoyed, but she dragged a datapad out from her nightstand anyway. A smiling icon of Omega Hazard projected onto her eyes. She opened the holo. 

Sabine, sorry to bother you, but one of my best friends is missing. I think he was kidnapped by the Empire. New Republic won’t help. Meet me here soon. 

A set of galactic coordinates were embedded in the message, an old clone trick to keep locations hidden from less savvy spectators. 

“Forgive me, cyar, for not keeping your extended family straight, but Omega is a friend of Hera’s, right?”

Sabine snorted, “More like dated Hera.” She reminisced about the rebellion years when Omega slept in Hera’s room on the Ghost.

“And she wasn’t at the wedding because…”

“She and her wife Lyana were having a baby.”

“Right, right, they stopped by a month ago. Little baby Rex.” Shin tried to stop her wife from crawling out of bed. “Honey, we can call back in the morning.”

But Sabine was already suiting up. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep if I don’t do anything now.” She saw her Shin’s pleading eyes. “Come on, riduur, we can sleep on the Wolf. It’ll be like old times.”

“Fine, but you owe me,” Shin groaned. “Some kisses…and more when we get back.”

Sabine knelt down, and rested her forehead against Shin’s. “Gar serim, my love.” She showered her with a few more kisses before dragging her out of bed.

—

Four Years before the Ignition

“Are you sure you want to leave?”

“The Empire’s gone, Omega, we’re free to go wherever we want.”

Omega and Jax were sitting in the cockpit of Omega’s tried-and-true shuttle, the Oh-Too. 

“I’m surprised you, of all people, want to stay here. You were a pilot for the rebellion, you saved the Galaxy, you should be living it up in the Core.”

“I saved the Galaxy so there would be a here to come back to. To protect my family, including you.”

“Okay, okay, I get it, family is important. But I found out that I still have family out there. I have a cousin running a small shop on Pippip 3, he asked me to come work with him. It’s my first real connection to what I lost.”

Omega finally relented, and began running her pre-flight checklist.

—

One and a half years after the Ignition

In truth, the Mandalorians didn’t sleep particularly well on the Wolf either. The bunks were a bit too small to fit both together, and they had forgotten how much sleeping together calmed their anxieties and fears. 

So they talked thru the mission, planning for how to move forward after meeting Omega. Reaching out to contacts in and adjacent to the Empire, trying to figure out why Omega’s friend was kidnapped in the first place, where to eat with her once they got there. Eventually they tired out, but the sleep they fell into was the restless kind, like unaccustomed sailors in rough waters. 

The ramp lowered, and the two women groggily descended. A third was waiting for them at the landing zone. Her trademark blonde hair was in an undercut, but a teal streak now lined the left edge, contrasting the bright red hair tie which kept the ensemble in place. This all, however, registered to Sabine as a blur of color charging at and hugging her. 

“Thank you for coming so fast!” Her voice was ragged with concern

“Omega, I’m—” Sabine’s grumpiness abated when she sensed the genuine despair in Omega’s voice “—a little tired but we’re here for you.”

“Did you not…oh…did I call you at night?” 

Shin chimed in to rescue, “Don’t worry about us or when you called, you’re on the family emergency list.”

Omega broke her long hug with Sabine, and moved to embrace Shin. “Thank you, thank you,” her voice becoming more stable. 

“Can you tell us more of what happened, and who we’re looking for?” asked Sabine. 

A deep breath. “We’re looking for Jax. He’s one of the kids who was experimented on at Tantiss. He didn’t show up to our holo-gamenight. Sami said that they were messaging the night before, but none of us could reach him that day. So I came here and found his house a mess.”

“Can you show us?” Shin asked. 

“This way.”

As the three women walked the streets of Pippip 3’s 27th-largest town, Shin kept vigilant for signs of past struggles. Sabine, on the other hand, was trying to figure out why the New Republic wasn’t interested in helping. “I’m surprised Hera wouldn’t help you, of all people.”

“I asked both Hera and Rex to help, but apparently when they ran it up their chains of command it got shut down. Apparently there are higher-ups in the New Republic who don’t think we should devote any time to rumors of the Empire.”

“So why would the Empire want to kidnap your friend?” Shin hoped that would tell her more about how the abduction happened.

“Jax and the others in our holo-gamenight all had high m-counts.”

A “Karabast” emerged from Sabine’s lips while several more swears came out of Shin.

“Now you see why I’m so worried.”

Sabine was now fully alert. “We need to get to Jax’s house iviin’yc.”

—

Despite the untarnished exterior, the two Jedi could feel something was wrong with the house. All events left signatures in the Force, but most were too weak to be felt even by experienced Jedi. Conflict and death, on the other hand, left gashes in it.

“Give you the chills, doesn’t it?” asked Omega, as she prepared a datapad. 

Shin and Sabine shot suspicious glances to each other.

“Here, take a look,” Omega held out her datapad, “the lock was sliced into, the door wasn’t broken in.”

Sabine took a look at the slicing program. “Definitely Imperial.”

The door opened, and what they found inside was nothing like the outside. The entire house was trashed. Possessions smashed, drawers rifled thru, furniture in disarray. The Force here reeked of hurt.

And worst of all, a Mirialan man lay dead, crumpled on the floor as if tossed around by a squad of stormtroopers. The two Jedi knelt down next to him, trying to understand his last moments. 

Those were pure, unadulterated fear.

“That’s Jax’s cousin, Rindenn,” Omega informed the others. “He ran a tack & feed shop in this city, and Jax moved here to help him out.”

Sabine got up and inspected all the rooms of the house, trying to find any clues about the kidnappers’ whereabouts. Dropped equipment, blaster shots indicative of academy training, a stray thought in the Force, anything. She pulled out a holo-imager to record everything undisturbed.

But these Imperials were tidy. Not even a spare tibanna magazine or busted comlink could be found. 

When Sabine returned to the main room, she found Omega weeping in Shin’s arms. 

“I told him that we’d always watch each other’s backs.”

Her emotions washed over Sabine as she drew near and hugged both.

“This isn’t your fault,” soothed Shin.

“You did the right thing calling us,” reassured Sabine.

—

24-hour diners were a common sight on planets with lots of interstellar traffic, staying perpetually open regardless of how long a world’s local day. On an agriworld in the Outer Rim, however, they tended to be rare outside of the major ports. 

The three women had managed to find the only one in the city. Not that they needed the odd hours (it was the middle of the afternoon, local time), but because Omega needed dinner and the Jedi were craving breakfast.

While they waited for their food, Shin was mainlining the cheap caf and sending messages to her old contacts in the Empire. None of them knew she had defected (whatever that means for a mercenary) to the Jedi, and she hoped that none suspected it either.

Sabine, on the other hand, was catching up with Omega. “So how’s everyone on Pabu? Well, I hope?”

“Lyana’s busy as always, lots of things to do as mayor.” She smiled, thinking of her wife, “But she loves doing it. And it gives me lots of time with little Rexy.” She pulled up a holo-recording of baby Rex, rolling round and laughing with his moms and uncles.

“He is absolutely adorable. Who did you hand him off to today?”

“Well I gave him to Hunter, but I think Crosshair will put him to bed tonight if Lyana doesn’t.”

This intrigued Sabine. “Does Hunter have something going on?”

“He plays Sabacc on Taungsday evenings.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the waiter arriving with their food: Fried Nerf Steak for Omega, Lessu Omelette for Sabine, Alsakan Toast for Shin. 

As the other two began to dig in, Shin gave them her preliminary results. “It looks like the Empire has been shuttling around their best biotech researchers. Basically never keeping them in one spot for long.”

“So even if we had their location, we couldn’t scout it out beforehand.” Omega always had an eye for tactical issues. 

Sabine frowned. “They would absolutely move their research if they discovered we knew.”

“And we may have tipped our hand,” Shin continued, “My high-clearance contact was very suspicious when I asked. They said it was classified.”

“What do the troopers think?” Omega asked. 

“My low-level contacts all seem to think there’s a research facility in the Galactic West, the Unknown Regions.”

“Karabast. There’s no way…” Sabine trailed off, a new idea taking shape. 

“Oh no,” Shin was between bites of bread, “I know that look.”

“What moonyo-brained idea do you have now?” Omega asked. 

“Huyang said that Jedi used to control hyperdrives with the Force to travel to uncharted systems. When navicomputers got better, they mostly stopped except to get to Ilum.”

“Which is in the Unknown Regions.” Shin thought she knew where Sabine was going. “Except we don’t know if the lab Jax is at is on Ilum.” 

“The old masters used their connection to Ilum to reach it, right? We have someone here who is connected to Jax.”

Omega tried making sense of what she was hearing. “Is that something Jedi can do? Jump to a person just thru the Force?”

Shin tried to keep Omega from getting her hopes up. “Force-assisted jumps are difficult, and they require deep knowledge of where the traveler is going. No one has ever done it looking for just a person before.”

“Just because no one’s done it before doesn’t make it impossible.” Sabine needed Omega’s hopes up. Hope is a powerful tool in the Force. “Riduur, you and I know the technique. Omega, you know the target. I can connect the three of us to fly.”

“This is incredibly reckless.”

“My plans usually are,” Sabine grinned. “But It’s our best bet.”

“Well, I’m always in to save family.”

“Omega, you said you were in a secure research facility. How many people did you need to help you escape.”

“Crosshair and I escaped alone once. But to destroy the base and rescue every prisoner, it took three of my brothers, plus my sister defecting.”

“You think a dozen Mandalorians could do the trick?”

“Definitely.”

Shin was rolling her eyes (affectionately) the whole time the others cooked up this scheme. “Fine, I’ll call up the Duchess and see if she can get a dozen volunteers.”

“Wait. Call the Vizslas first.” Sabine turned to Omega. “Go home. Grab your armor, weapons, and any object that connects you to Jax. Keepsakes, photos, tools, anything.”

—

Tyrus Vizsla was never much of a late-night guy. He preferred the cool breeze of a quiet Concordian morning to the evening events his wife frequented. A solitary stroll thru Sundari was the next best thing.

His quiet, however, was broken by an incoming call from Clan Wren.

“Su cuy'gar, Tyrus. You said that you wanted a stake in this new Jedi order?”

“Why do you ask?

“We have an opportunity for you. And it involves killing some imperials.”

—

Blind jumps are dangerous things, bordering on stupidity. Many a pilot met their end by jumping without calculation in a desperate move to escape. The Force, of course, made things marginally safer. While Sabine only knew the theory behind Force-assisted jumps, Shin had actually made a few: a short round-trip visit to Ilum with her old master (the Imperial installation there immediately sent them packing), and once when she used it to escape pirates who had destroyed her navicomputer. The whole technique was based on reaching out to a place in the Force, something so personal and intimately known that you can feel every inch of it on the back of your hand. 

She’d never done one for a stranger.

They were sitting in the cockpit of Tyrus Vizsla’s Mandalorian dropship—the Buir’tra, he called it. “And you’re sure this is safe?” he asked.

“Hell no,” answered Sabine, “but when have Mandalorians ever stopped doing something because it wasn’t safe?”

He merely shrugged. “Ni vercopaani kaysh brali.”

As Shin began slipping into her contemplative trance, Sabine offered some surprisingly simple instructions. “Okay Omega, I need you to start meditating and focus on Jax.” 

A holo-image of several teenagers sprang up from a comlink. Omega began twirling a lock pick in her right hand, then paused and picked up a carved statuette in her left. Shin felt Omega’s presence on the meditative plane grow.

Then Sabine joined, and their souls were aflame.

Memories, past and future, ripped thru their veins—and they witnessed.

Shin reached out, and threw them into hyperspace.

—

Baarpir bal beskar—sweat and iron. That’s how Mandalore grows. 

When strangers offer theirs to work with you, Mandalore grows. When you spend yours to protect others, Mandalore grows.

They’re also the smell of preparation for the fight. Before the blood and burn and mud and mayhem take over. 

Sixteen warriors had joined the three women. Two members of Clan Rook, Din Djarin, two members of Clan Kryze, and eleven members of Clan Vizsla. Tyrus was flying, while Mirli discussed the raiding plans with Shin, Sabine, and Omega. 

Nineteen suits of armor. Blaster, detonator, saber. One mission. 

Anti-aircraft cannons spat flak at the Buir’tra, to no avail. The Mandalorians would not be stopped so easily. Return fire cleared the perimeter of guards and damaged the defence towers. The assailants would have a clear path to all entrances. 

The doors opened up beneath them, and eighteen souls dropped onto the surface. Detonators disintegrated the base’s doors. Sparks and shot filled the corridors of this secret installation. Computers were sliced into, stripping all their secrets. 

Level 3, room 9 appeared on every helmet’s display.

Half the group stayed on ground level: seven to maintain their exit, Sabine and Djarin to find the base’s leader. Two more stayed in the stairwell to prevent being cut off. Shin, Omega, Mirli, and four more Vizslas descended to the final level, determined to find Jax alive. 

His experimentation room was locked. Shin’s sword made quick work of the door. But what they found inside was horrifying.

Jax was on the brink of death, heartbeat weak on the monitor. Two butchers were standing over him, cruelly keeping him conscious as they extracted his spinal fluid.

These Imperial scientists were promptly shot.

Omega began removing the vertebral needles, closing up the wounds. She demanded sedatives and analgesics from the group, who began scouring the cabinets for any medications. Shin sliced all the straps off the bed, freeing the patient. 

“Omega, you found me.”

“Save your strength. We’re getting you out of here.” 

Omega asked if there was any synthetic blood on the Buir’tra. Orar Vizsla, a medic in training, nodded. Omega injected Jax with the anesthetics that were found, knowing they wouldn’t have much an effect until he got a transfusion.

A message from Sabine: destroy the research, all levels. 

Omega and Orar moved Jax to a hover-stretcher. Mirli and two commandos began planting detonators throughout Level 3. Shin and another commando ascended to assist the stairwell crew in doing the same to Level 2. 

The stretcher crew was escorted to the door. Sabine, Djarin (carrying a computer core), and the chief scientist (in binders) joined. The six made a break for the the Buir’tra, which had made another pass over the base to set down twenty meters from the entrance. None of the straggling stormtroopers dared shoot at their chief scientist.

Safely aboard, Orar began digging out the medical supplies. Omega deduced Jax would need 4 standard units. Transfusion commenced. Heartbeat strengthened. Breathing steadied.

Sabine grew impatient waiting for Shin to make it back. She stunned the chief scientist, and ran back into the compound, saber ablaze.

As she re-entered, she heard Shin call for backup on Level 2. 

No time to run down the stairs, jumping is faster. The door had been sealed, but it was no match for a determined Jedi. A small detachment followed her thru the breach. 

“Hey boys!” 

The stormtroopers were caught off-guard. Their flurry of blaster fire was sent right back at them. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come on, let’s go.”

Shin’s smile could be felt thru her helmet. “Waiting for you, of course.”

The excitement in the air could be smelled, a mission nearly finished. As this final group made their way out of the research station, more and more of the strike team joined them. The feeling of victory swelled as they reached their exit. 

Jetpacks lit. The Buir’tra began taking off. Drop doors open, Mandalorians coming in the way they went out. 

There were now twenty-one souls on the dropship. 

Not a single loss. 

They watched as the detonators simultaneously triggered, the research base rapidly disassembling before their eyes. Several hoots and hollers emerged from the team.

A pair of exhausted Jedi entered the cockpit, ready to jump back to the known galaxy.

—

Notes: I will neither confirm nor deny Omega’s force-sensitivity Tyrus & Mirli are T4T, Orar is nonbinary Moonyos are the monkey-like animals native to Pabu

Mando’a Glossary: Vor entye: “Thank you” lit. “I accept a debt” Jetii Mando’ayust: “Jedi in the Way of Mandalore” Mando’ade: “children of Mandalore” shukenla sa val: the true meaning is lost when translated, word-for-word it’s “partly” “as/like” “them” Ori’jate: “very good” cyar: “love” riduur: “spouse” Gar serim: “that’s it”, lit. “you’re right” iviin’yc: “fast” Su cuy'gar: “Hello!” lit. “So you're still alive.” Buir’tra: Mother Sky, tho Mando’a has no gender Ni vercopaani kaysh brali: “I hope this works” lit. “I hope it succeeds”

[apatheticblues]

NEW FIC: He Strung Me Up

Fox was always angry. His rage was in a constant simmer just below the surface of his skin; it was sometimes frighteningly all-consuming, and sometimes—a fact that Fox would never admit to anyone—a relief to fall into.

Lord Sidious, of course, took notice.

Small snippet to whet your appetite:

“Commander Fox,” the General said cheerily. His voice was warped by his rebreather, but even through that, Fox could hear a certain depth to it that few could replicate. He kept pace with Fox’s quick stride easily, robes swishing dramatically behind him. “Wolffe has told me about you.”

Fox sighed internally. “Yes, General. Can I help you with anything, sir?”

The General just hummed vaguely in response. A shivering itch crawled up Fox’s spine; he swallowed the feeling down before it got the chance to grow. The General said, “Just a chat, Commander, if you do not mind me accompanying you. You’re one of Wolffe’s batchmates, yes? His, ah… ori’vod.”

Fox slanted a look his way, hesitant. He wasn’t aware that Wolffe felt close enough to his General to share a little tidbit like that. Wolffe was already a tetchy bastard in their cadet days, and Fox knew it had only worsened as the war progressed. To share something as personal as that, in Mando’a, no less… well. It was surprising, to say the least.

[angelcqre]

Ti Te Ka'Ra

Mandalorian!141/Jedi!Reader / 55 BBY / Eventual GhostxReader

The first night is spent meditating, projecting calm into the force and trying to ignore how loud these men are. You can hear every step, every sharp bark of laughter, every word of murmured mando’a. You can feel their intent. There’s a grim sort of camaraderie that permeates the ship.

It feels like family - like belonging, similar but not quite the same to the temple’s home-sense. Stubborn, more possessive, but that lingering home-sense is thick and heady. You wonder how long they've been a team. From the feeling of it, years. Echoes of them remain in the force, lingering like a blown-out candle, stuck to the walls and ceiling and vents.

If the captain - Price, he tells you, narrows his eyes and puffs it around his cigarra - thinks anything about the fact just you haven’t moved from the stool in the past ten hours, he doesn’t say anything. Merely mutters something about shabu'jetii and drops a mug of tea down in front of you.

You take it appreciatively. Offer him a smile and gesture for him to sit in one of the stools beside you, the baby in your other hand. He does with a groan.

“Swear to the stars, they get more uncomfortable each time I sit.” He mutters, lips pressing thin when his gaze flits back to you and realizes what you’re doing. Admittedly, it’s a superfluous use of the force to float your mug up to your mouth, but you’ve got your hands full of exhausted youngling and tea only stays good when it’s hot. Maybe you should stop. You don’t.

“Have you had the ship for long?”

It’s a polite question - you know he’s had it for years, the pervading home-sense is indication enough of that, but you’re eager to divert his attention away from disapproval and discomfort. You’re here. You’re a Jedi. You’re going to use the force, whether he personally approves of it or not.

“Almost ten years,” He grumbles, chewing on his cigarra, setting warm eyes beyond you. “Been flying her longer than I’ve been in the current mand'alor's service.”

Your brows quirk, hum softly.

“Rare for a mandalorian to be running missions for the republic.” You say, a question but not. Give him space to decide whether he wants to answer or not. The force in the ship is strange - thick with tension, edged with copper and spice and life that feels so alien compared to the serene blanket of the temple. It feels too rich, too vibrant, almost spicy.

You drink your tea. Let the flavors soak your tongue sharp and acrid, pull you out before you sink back into the meditative state.

"Rare for the child of a senator to end up on the battlefield of a civil war," He counters, brow quirking in what feels like another accusation. "Millions of parsecs from coruscant. That not curious to you, jed’ika?"

Of course it’s curious to you. There are countless bad actors that could be attributed to the kidnapping of a force sensitive baby, countless bad actors that could be attributed to the child of a senator, but together? It’s implausible. Strange. Something out of a shab holonovel, not reality.

You don’t voice that.

“You don’t think it’s your…” You trail off, pinch your brows. Search for the word that he’s said before and fail to grasp it, the shapes of mando’a not quite familiar enough to hold.

“Kyr’tsad. Death Watch. No. S'not Kyr'tsad. Would've killed her."

Your eyes go wide at how casually he says it, at the ease of it, and instinctively, you grasp the child closer, brows pinching. You've seen your fair share of suffering - as a watchman, you go where the force feels you're needed, and you're often needed where people are suffering, but..

But the way he says it is too settled. Like he's seen worse. Like he doesn't have any faith in the enemy, like he's seen things firsthand. He probably has. You fight the urge to soothe the stress away in the force, instead wrapping yourself and the child up in a blanket of calm, weave it nice and warm and watertight against the sluice of dread that fills the air.

"Could be one've your dar'jetii," Quips a voice as the handsome one - Gaz, his name is Gaz - approaches, dropping heavily into the space beside Price, loosely clutching a cup of caf in his hand. Once again, his bucket is off, and his face is schooled into neutrality, "No reason to think it's one of ours."

"It's not."

"How d'you know?" Gaz leans forwards, eyebrow quirked, takes a sip of his caf and narrows his eyes.

"Because it's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible, love." Price this time, his gaze still glued to the baby. The anxiety that twists your stomach at his implication is displeasing, and you begin to thumb at the baby's swaddle, realizing there's embroidery across it.

"This is," You say, voice flat, unamused, thumb running over the letters, the aurebesh crisp and fresh, trying to figure it out from touch alone. Mikha, maybe - mern-isk-kreath-aurek - though that doesn't feel right. "We would know if it was the sith. We'd feel it. It's not possible."

Mikha doesn't feel accurate. Micha (mern-isk-cherek-aurek) or Mika (mern-isk-krill-aurek) or something like it. The third letter is strange, the cursive aurebesh almost too vague for you to gauge on touch alone. You ignore the anxiety that tightens your core at the idea of the sith.

You'd know. You'd know.

"You'd feel it?"

You try not to bristle at the incredulity, tell yourself it's not meant to offend, that mandalorians are intense and passionate and unschooled, that they're not held to the same culture of passivity and serenity that you are, but it's difficult when the captain looks at you with pity and condescension. Like you're some child, hopeful and pitiful and naive.

Like you're a fool.

You are definitively not a fool. There's nothing naive about the knowledge that you'd know if the sith were still around - they're all but extinct now, a child's tale to keep crechelings from misbehaving. Kark it, you're a jedi, for force's sake. Clever and encompassing and wise beyond your years.

And yet, the men before you look at you with that same doubt, and you're the first to break the staring contest, glancing down.

Mira. Mern-isk-resk-aurek. A sweet name for a sweet baby.

"I'd know," You tell her. "I would."

[kookyburrowing]

Adventures In Clonelang Part 1: How The Fuck Do They Sound

Hi. Hello. I’m finally starting on this gigantic horrible project for real. So first up is phonetics! Because in order to make a language I need to know how it sounds.

Overview

It’s pretty similar to english but with some exceptions—it includes a glottal stop and like Mando’a has no “f” or “x.”  Unlike Mando’a, it makes frequent use of “z” and related sounds.  Also, it does NOT have “Q” because “Q” is nonsense. 

Vowel Sounds

A, E, O, U - this spelling indicates short vowel sound. These are the same as in English. 

Exceptions: “I” is pronounced as a long “E,” and “O” is always long.  “E” can also sometimes be pronounced as a long “A” in Mando’a loan words.

AA, II, OO, UU - this spelling indicates a long vowel sound, except with “O” where it indicates “Ooh”.

Vowel doubles:

AU - Pronounced “ow.”

AI - Pronounced “eye.”

AY - Pronounced like the “ay” in the English word “way.”

Consonants

B, D, G, H, K, L, M, N, P, R, S, T, V, W, Y, Z: pronounced the same except for G and Y.  G is only a hard G, while Y is only used in conjunction.  

Consonant doubles: 

ZH: Soft “J” sound.

DJ: Hard “J” sound.  

CY/C: “Sh” sound.

Notes

This is a very basic draft of the sounds. I think the language should have at least some influence from te reo Māori, so I have tried to include some influences from there but my knowledge of the language is very, VERY limited so some of this will change as I learn more. If anyone has any advice on that score it would be greatly appreciated—I’d rather be told I’m wrong now than later once I’ve done a ton of work.

[ranahan]

A little something to come out of my Mando’a morphology project: baar’ur as a construction is equivalent to English physician. And that’s why it’s a general term. As a quick suggestion, you might combine it with a military rank, or alor, or another specifier to get to a more precise job title.

Just wanted to say, a doctor and a medic are not always the same thing! A doctor could be a medic, but a medic doesn’t have to be a doctor! The terms are not always interchangeable :)

(Please please never ever ask me to act as a medic LOL)

(Brought to you after noting Mandalorians in fic being referred to as baar’ur [medic] even though they are in fact explicitly a doctor.)

[djarins-cyare]

Chapter 33 ‘The Exhibition’

A chapter of extremes…

🍀 Soft Din Djarin will give you anything you want on your birthday…

… and then the sexy times begin.

To everyone who has been supportive of this story: I love you, you’re beautiful, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me. Thank you isn’t good enough.

Let’s try Mando’a: vor entye (I accept a debt) 💚