#aliit lore

[loverboy-havocboy]

either comet or sinker was born with a freckle in a cute place on their face. the other one thought they should have matching freckles, so they had boost tattoo one on them. years down the line, gregor notices the matching freckle and the following ensues

comet: oh yeah, i had this freckle and sinker thought it was cute, so he got one tattooed to match.

sinker: um.. no, i had the freckle, you got it tattooed.

comet and sinker: 🤨

comet and sinker: boost, which one of us did you tattoo a freckle on?

boost: [looking between them for a solid 2 minutes in complete silence like 🤔]

boost: i have no idea

[writerlyhabits]

Aliit ori’shya tal'din

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Your second day in the covert reveals both new and familiar faces; hospitality and hostility.

Chapter 3 of the Shereshoy series | Masterlist | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4

Warnings: lots of Mando’a, mild language, soft Din, awkward Din, protective Din [he’s got a wide range, okay?], original Mandalorian characters… maybe a little bit of angst? It’s mostly worldbuilding, so I think that’s about it. 

AN: A word from the author – “I’m in grad school, I take forever to write things.Soon I will start grad school again, which means I’ll write this instead of my dissertation. I’m quite fond of the Mando Legends Lore, if you haven’t noticed. I literally got Kad Ha’rangir & Arasuum tattooed on me.”

This is the third part of a sister fic for my one-shot (Courting) a friend of mine wrote based on this request, and I’m so happy she’s letting me share it with you guys! She is also sharing it on AO3, so be sure to send her your love and kudos there as well! We hope you enjoy 💛

Translations, in order of appearance:

Aliit ori’shya tal'din: Family is more than blood

Rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?:  Are you gonna tell her to kiss your ouchies?

Cuyi ulyc, vod.: Be careful, sister.

Aliit: family

Ad(e): child/children

Kar’ta beskar: the central "diamond" of Mandalorian armor; lit. heart armor

Mirjahaal: peace of mind, "healing", general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Beroya: bounty hunter

Kurshi: tree

Sen’tra: jackpack

Buir(e): Parent/Parents

Akaanati'kar'oya: The War of Life and Death (Mandalorian myth), creation story

Verd'goten: a special trial for one to become warrior; lit. birth of warrior

So'haale: births

Urman'gedete: prayers

Eparave: feasts

Cyarir evaar'la: Courting

Alii'aliit: meeting of the clans, the closest thing mandalorians have to government or parliament; lit. "clan of clans"

Tsad: group (of people), alliance

Bes'ede: Mythosaur

Kandush : inevitable doom

Time moves differently underground.

With Odona, the hours passed quickly. As a team, you could disassemble and reconstruct nearly any ship in their small fleet, save for a few parts— which no one had yet found and delivered. The days were faster when the guardsman opted to join you in his free time, his first visit and subsequent dialogue with Odona still memorable.

To what do I owe the displeasure; Oh Mighty Protector of the Covert and Savior of Foundlings?

The pleasure of my company is for your friend, ‘Dona.

Why? Going to terrorize her again, Ik’? Ven’rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?

Cuyi ulyc, vod.

You had sensed there was a joke hidden within their jibes, one you were unable to decipher in their foreign tongue, but neither took the time to explain. Whilst Ikarus lacked use for the labor that required fine motor control, his presence disrupted the monotony of the many tedious and repetitive tasks you and Odona spent much of your time doing— their frequent banter kept you entertained throughout the day. 

The time you had spent in the medbay was shorter— the most common injuries coming from the older adolescents early on in their training, whose resilience and constitution had yet to strengthen— as well as wrist and ankle sprains from poor fighting forms, the occasional laceration from knife safety training; and at worst, injuries from the teens and young adults earned from a vigorous sparring session.

But with Din, the mornings and evenings together never felt long enough. The hours were reminiscent of your time with him and the Child in the Crest, the warmth of your aliit protected by familiar cold walls; the stone of the cavern both analogous yet antithetic to the durasteel of your former home. 

One forged of hands, and the other of time— one of the fires of a furnace, the other the fires of a planet’s mantle. Your time together before was that of contrivance, engineered— with agendas to follow and assignments to complete— your interactions affable yet somewhat artificial, a present barrier precluding your companionship from evolving into something more… More natural, more innate, more intimate. Here, your time together had been more candid, endearing— Din no longer shied away from any probing questions or physical closeness, which allowed that previous barrier to melt and slowly flow away like that of bedrock to magma, reshaping and remolding your times of leisure together to hours of unified repose.

The hours turned to days, the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turn to this moment, where seemingly no time passes at all— blanketed in the familiar darkness of your room. The unlit and chilled space, at first an unacquainted oddity, now a comfortable companion to spend the sleeping and waking hours in. The ritual remains the same— awaken with the Child, have the morning trade-off with Din, make the caf, and begin the tasks for the day— like clock work, a well-oiled droid.

This morning is almost no different, and yet, you hesitate to leave your bed, your conversation with Din the previous morning still fresh in your mind— 

Din had sat aside the table, his body resting against the wall— unarmored, arms crossed, head tilted to the side, the same position as every morning. Once you handed him the Child and sat, caf in hand, he finally spoke.

“I’d like you to join me tomorrow,” he stated. 

The lack of pleasantries from him was unsurprising, though a teasing ‘Good morning to you, Din’ was a tempting response. Instead, you greeted him with a grin and an unobjectionable reply— 

“Alright, what are we doing?” 

He hummed, pleased with your immediate acceptance.

“The adults alternate supervising the ade. Tomorrow, it’ll be our turn.”

You gestured toward the Child in his arms, in a playful retort. “Don’t we supervise this ad every day?”

The Child cooed in his arms, his ears perked tentatively at his mention. Din sighed, with a smile in voice.

“We do. It’s tradition for all of the adults to care for the ade… All have wisdom to share.”

Skeptical, you thought: ‘What would I possibly teach them?’

You observed the Child resting so comfortably on Din’s chest— his tiny hand gripped tightly into Din’s clothes, right where his armor’s kar’ta beskar normally sat. It was a stark contrast compared to the Child’s behavior upon your first meeting. With any loud noises and sudden movements, he would shrink inwards in his cradle— as if he could make himself any smaller. Medical scanners made him grimace, unfamiliar places and people made his ears droop— seeing others upset made him wary. And yet, he was endlessly curious. Despite his initial unease with the two new adults in his life, the Child was quick to trust you both— and with his trust, his personality came through… his affection, his laughter, his love. 

From there, Din learned how to tend to someone outside of himself— what it meant to have someone that relied on him, and more colossally, someone that wanted Din, as he was. The Armorer branded him as the Child’s father, and the delighted squeal from the little one sealed the bond that Din had been trying to hide for so long. Just as the Child learned to trust Din with his welfare, so too did Din learn to trust the Child with his own mirjahaal.  

Perhaps it wasn’t the lessons they taught, but rather the connection they made, and the wisdom they sought.

With this, the true question then inverted from the skeptic ‘what would I teach them’, to the sanguine ‘what will I learn?’...

“...When do we meet them?”

—

To the ade, the former beroya is nothing more than a tall kurshi fit to climb. 

Somehow, Din appears endlessly patient and playful with all six of the young children. They utilize their limitless spurts of energy to continuously attack Din as a squad, bringing him to the ground— he’ll exclaim a faux wail, and collapse to his knees— and the collective giggles of the ade begin the cycle again. 

Whenever a child grows tired of their battle, they come to you— wanting to be tossed into the air, or onto the nearest surface. Supposedly being gently thrown around aids in their brain development, and ‘it’s good practice for their first sen’tra flight’, Din tells you. The logic is questionable at best, but hearing their joyous squeals makes the ever-growing muscle fatigue worthwhile. Even the child of the Djarin clan is as equally amused, his own little spirit mightily lifted by the experience of being with other kids again. 

During your time on Sorgan, the Child was happy to interact with the other children— but mostly, he watched them, rather than play. Perhaps he was still too shy or too wary to fully engage with so many people, but surrounded by these Foundlings now, he looks at home; like he belongs. Amidst this cohort, he’s made a new friend, Mara, the youngest of the lot. Her long and dark hair reminds you— and perhaps the Child— of Winta, Omera’s daughter. The two spent the most time together on Sorgan, and despite the little one’s inability to say, he misses her. 

Mara and the Child sit away from the squad play-fighting Din, in front of the single wall of volcanic tuff— embellished with crimps and pockets, graven by many hands. You watch them, as they examine the wall, looking up and down, side to side. Your eyes travel upward to the small cavate, almost eight feet from the floor. You watch as Mara looks to the Child and nods, and begins her ascent up— using her fingers and toes to grip tightly onto the various crevices in the wall— and the Child begins to follow.

You step forward, almost instinctively, wanting to call out to them to stop, wanting to reach out to the children to prevent a fall—

Then, from nowhere, Din appears at your side, extending his hand to stop you. “Don’t,” he says softly, “Let them try.”

You look at him puzzled, and he continues. “If you distract them now, they might fall…” he pauses, and turns his head to watch them, “...but if you allow them to focus, they can succeed. Watch…” 

The pair silently step closer, closing the distance between themselves and the wall, watching the two ade slowly make their way up to the cavate. Mara climbs inside first, and lays on her belly, reaching out to the Child to help him trek the final span of the wall. Once inside, the Child turns around, to face the entire room below him. He squeals a little clamor of excitement, proud of his triumph, before looking down to his buire.

“Good job, kid,” Din says. “Come on down, it’s time to go.”

The Child looks at you both doe-eyed, his ears drooping, as he peers over the ledge. He looks back to Mara, and back down over the ledge, contemplating his next move. 

You lean slightly towards Din, speaking in a hushed tone. “I don’t think he knows how to get back down.”

“He can do it,” Din says confidently. 

You challenge him, “He looks scared.” 

Din insists, “Then he’ll do it scared.” 

He steps forward once more, his body almost pressed against the wall, reaching one hand up. “Come on kid, climb down.”

The child’s ears droop even lower, letting out a quiet whimper, a little anxious look on his face. He looks back up to Mara, who gives him an encouraging “You can do it,” before he finally begins his descent towards you and Din. 

Carefully, his little clawed feet grip into the same pockets he used to climb up, and his hands hold onto the ledge. He looks down at his buire with a slightly quivering lip, then back up to his hands. Slowly, he presses on, his movements deliberate and cautious, gravity tugging at his little limbs with relentless persuasion, clammy clawed-hands threatening to slip free from the cold stone. His disgruntled babbling fading with each tentative step, footfalls growing more steady with every downward stride. 

His little foot finally reached something soft— the hand of his buir, waiting for his arrival. With an excited squeal, he looks to Din, holding out his clawed fingers for Din to grasp. Din takes the Child into his arms.

“Good job… I knew you could do it.” Din whispers to him.

With his ad in hand, Din looks back to the cavate, where Mara sits silently. “You too, Mara, come down,” he says. 

Mara, unlike the little one, is less graceful, only climbing down two feet of wall before leaping off. You instinctively reach your arms out to catch her, but are a few seconds too late, as she lands confidently on her feet, smiling up at you. She giggles, asking the Child “Wasn’t that fun!” and the little one cooing affectionately with a bright smile.

“They need to rest.” Din says, before leading Mara and the Child back with the other ade. You follow him in toe, and aid him while he attempts to settle the children in preparation for them to sleep. 

The chamber is bathed in the soft, warm light of the cressets along the walls. The ade sit and lay in a circle on the floor, looking up at the two adults expectedly, waiting for you both to join them. Din gently places the Child in Mara’s lap, seating himself amongst them. 

The ade demanded a story before they would agree to their midday nap, and with only one long sigh, Din relented. As you sit beside him, the tale of Akaanati'kar'oya begins.

—

In ages past, when cosmic realms were naught,

Two gods emerged, each with a purpose sought.

Kad Ha'rangir, embodiment of change,

A dance of growth, His essence did arrange.

Arasuum, the god of slow decay,

In stillness thrived, where life would fade away.

Eternal foes, in battle they engaged,

Ideals clashed, the cosmic script was paged.

Kad Ha'rangir, with eyes of vibrant light,

Envisioned galaxies in endless flight.

His very step, a ripple through the void,

Transforming all, where life and change enjoyed.

Arasuum, with eyes as deep as night,

Desired a realm where stasis held its might.

Decay His touch, a silent, withering breath,

A universe in stillness, touched by death.

In ceaseless clash, their cosmic struggle roared,

A dance of gods, where destinies were stored.

Stoic truths emerged from this grand design,

A tale of action, life's breath so divine.

"For action is the breath that life bestows,

A vital force, as mighty river flows.

Inaction, slow demise, a creeping shade,

A silent death in stillness' dark cascade."

Through galaxies and time, the story spread,

Of Kad Ha'rangir, where change was bred.

Arasuum's touch, a cautionary tale,

A realm in stillness, where all things frail.

So heed the moral, in verses spun,

That action is life, beneath the sun.

For inaction's grasp, a silent breath,

A slow demise, an encroaching death.

—

The ade rest together in a haphazard heap of limbs on various bedcovers and furs draped across the floor. Exhausted from their Beroya Battles and abseil adventures, they finally sleep, leaving the two adults to quietly watch over them together. In the chamber’s silent embrace, the air hangs heavy and chilled— a symphony of stillness envelops the room, broken by the muted shuffle of shifting bodies, and the hushed breaths of the ade. The only audible rhythm is that of the pulsating cadence of your own heartbeat and the rush of blood moving inside your head. 

Your eyes scan over the ade, finding a sense of calmness watching their steady breaths, in… out. 

In… out.

In… out.

Your gaze once again falls onto the Child, cuddled against Mara, also breathing steadily. In the gentle cradle of his friend’s arms, he looks peaceful. Had he ever slept this soundly on the Crest?... Who held him every night before us? Who will take care of him after us?

In the softest whisper, to not disturb the ade, you lean closer to Din, telling him the obvious— “He’s happy here.”

“...Yes,” Din replies, just as quietly. 

“Was this your experience, too? After the Mandalorians saved you?”

“No.”

His visor is trained on the little one’s sleeping face—the same face of a child who was once trapped in the suffocating darkness of a sealed cradle—a cage, a cage whose opening only revealed another prison, in the form of two bounty hunters hovering over him like… a B2 Battle Droid, with a blaster pointed in a child’s face. A child rescued from death at the last possible moment by a shiny warden, offering an adiaphorous detainment. 

“It was… a time of war. I was trained to fight in it. I hope… that they never have to.” Din says, his gaze scanning over the ade once more. 

“I thought all Mandalorians were warriors.”

He, too, believed the same notion for many years. Training from the day he was rescued to the day he became an adult, after his verd'goten, life became a perpetual streak of jobs. Commission, retrieval, payment. Commission, retrieval, payment… Until a strange, golden, aureate armorsmith joined his tribe, bringing tales of the “Great Forge of Mandalore,” and the songs of the artificers that echoed through the speos as they worked. He remembers the first time he kneeled in front of her small, austere forge, in a dark room beneath a busy market above, listening as she spoke of the ethos, the rites, the latria, the true way of the Mandalore. 

“No. Everyone is trained to survive. But… we used to live, too.” 

“...Until Mandalore was taken.”

“Yes.”

So'haale, urman'gedete, eparave, cyarir evaar'la, alii'aliit… A cultus he could only dream of, but never truly have. Spoken knowledge fades into whispers, slipping through his fingers like sand as the voices of the ancestors grow ever fainter. Each decampment a dissolution of tsad res publica, each step forward a battle against oblivion. 

“I’m sorry.” You lean over, resting your head on his pauldron. “...Maybe there’ll come a time when we’ll live in the light, on a planet that welcomes us.” 

Din knows that within every Mandalorian is a patchwork of unfamiliar faces and ever-changing landscapes, their solace and safety as elusive as a bes'ede itself—and yet they endlessly repugn the kandush they have faced time and time again, guided by the conviction that within the uncertainty of the cosmos lay the promise of a sanctuary forged from the resilience of their spirit. 

He tilts his head, resting it atop yours. “There will.”

Ali'nare vencuyanir yaim. This is the Way.   

Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

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[sofasoap]

Little Heart

Pairing : Din Djarin x f!reader. Summary: little drabble post- Heartbreak series. Takes place a few weeks or so after the kidnapping incident. 

N1 is cool, but it is too small. Din got something else. 

Mature theme. strong languages. Some warnings I am not gonna list here, because it will spoil the plot.  And the timeline and lores might be a bit funky. It’s AU and fanfic.  just… roll with it. Also weird Mando’a? Blame me. And the google. Just read the English translation bit. 

English isn’t my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes. 

A/N: I thought my juice ran dry. But it didn’t. I am glad it didn’t. So there is another chapter to the series, or side drabble really.

As Promised @groguspicklejar, here's the fluff that will keep you going. @deakyjoe and @josephquinnswhore, here are sprinkle of tooth rotting sweetness for you both too.

MASTERLIST for the previous stories in this multi-part fic.

There’s that strange fluttering feeling again.  You remember the first time you felt it while back at your parent’s estate on Naboo, waiting for Din to rescue you. Little warmth rising, not uncomfortable, but enough to make you aware of it. Grogu has been acting a bit strange as well, he loves coming up to you, hugging your middle, patting it and looking up at you with a big smile, showing his adorable little fangs. 

Everything has settled back to… relatively normal? Since the incident. Din has introduced you to the convert as his riduur, HIS QUEEN. You blushed at the thought. 

Armorer sat you down, privately, without the prying eyes of the whole covert or your family by your side. Asking you all the sharp questions. How did you come to know Din, how did you know about Mandalorian cultures, do you intend to take the vow and follow the creed.

You were nervous, but try to answer the question as truthfully as you can. You really don’t want to ruin Din’s relationship with his Covert, after he worked so hard redeeming himself.  You surprised Armorer with your ability to speak Mando’a, well, at least you think so, with the very subtle movement she displayed ( you almost missed it ) as you opened your mouth.  “There is no requirement of Mand’alor ‘s riduur  to be a Mandalorian? Right?” You were half hoping all the teachings from your nanny were correct OR at least you remember correctly. Trying to show as much confidence as you. If she refuses, you are ready to use Paz’s riduur as an excuse.

“Very well.” She replied at last, after a brief silence. Seemingly somehow satisfied with your answer, even with your refusal of accepting the creed and becoming a fully fledge Mandalorian. She nodded to you, stood up, signalling the end of the conversation. Just as you were about to walk out, she stopped you, and asked you to hold out your hand. Finding it very strange but still complying with her request, she took your hand, had a good look at it, turned it over and mumbled briefly before letting it go. Secretly sigh in relief as you walk out of the room, where Din has been hovering around the door anxiously during the meeting, rushing over to you. “Cyar’ika, are you ok? Did she ….” “ What do you think I will do to her, Din?” Both you and Din jumped a little hearing Armorer’s voice behind you. Din ducked his head down, like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing, you chuckled a little. “ By the way, you will need to find more beskar ingot soon, for your aliit.” Leaving you both with the mysterious parting words before heading back into her workshop,  you and Din look at each other, in confusion. Din led you back into your private guest quarter, with his arm around your waist the whole time. He’s been acting very protective, a bit overprotective actually, since the incident. Almost not leaving you out of his sight ( you had to kick him out of the refresher a few times. Embarrassingly.)  You can't blame the man. Looking around the room, you see Grogu’s floating pram empty. 

“ Where is Grogu?” 

“ He is playing with Paz’s adike. It’s good for him to interact with other adike sometimes around the same age as him.” ‘ Same age... You mean…. Paz?” Din laughed. “ Alright, I might have phrased that wrong. Adike, who has the same mental age as him. Paz and riduur said he can stay there until after dinner time. So we can have some time alone.” 

You raised your eyebrow. Looking back to the room door, making sure it’s locked before hovering your hand up to his helmet,silently asking for permission to take it off. He moves forward a little, lowering his head to let you gently remove the helmet. “ Hello my king.” You teased. No matter how many times you have seen his face already, you still get the same butterfly feeling when he takes his helmet off. 

“Hello my queen.”  he cups your face with his hand, gently leaning forward, touching the forehead together. “ You are all sweaty.” you complained as you ran your hand through his curly mess of hair. “ Been training with Paz and a few of the younglings.” he rang his hand down your side, towards your waist, pulling you a bit closer. You feel that strange flutter again. 

“Ru'kel ner riduur vaabir ni te ijaat be gaa'tayl ni at cinarin laam?” ( Would my wife do me the honour of helping me to clean up?) He whispered into your ear, dropping a few light kisses here and there. “ Your wish is my command, my Mand’alor.” 

“I .. got a few business to attend to off planet. I need you to stay with either Peli or Boba. Or between them both. For a few days.”“ Why does this sound oddly familiar?" you mumbled. “ I hope I won’t get another bounty hit on me again.” You joked. Din pulled you in tighter from behind. “I.. I am sure you won’t. I made sure of it.”  you hummed. True. Who will dare to put a bounty on you now? 

“ Anyway, I am sure they will be excited to see their favourite little pea again. I wouldn’t be away too long.” That’s what he said to you a few weeks ago. And you hardly heard from him since. “He is fine.” Boba reassures you as he bounces Grogu in his lap, offers you no further explanation as to how he knows, while Fennec throws him a few items to make it float with force. “ Training him.” She said once. Secretly they just enjoy the presence of their favourite adopted nephew.  You stayed between Fett’s palace and Peli’s workshop for a few days, helping them with any repairs, just to distract yourself with thinking too much. That fluttering feeling has increased and more, and you start to have a fair suspicion what it might be. One day you pull Fennec aside, asking her if you can use the medical facility you knew Boba had in his palace. Whispering to her your reasoning, you see surprise on her face, but didn’t comment. Ushering you along, towards Boba’s office, asking for permission.

“You hurt? Din will kill me if you are injured..”

“ Woman problems. Ask no more.”  Fennec ended the conversation there. You were grateful for her help. Boba didn’t ask any more questions, leading you to the medical chamber and setting the medical droids up before leaving the room with Fennec to give you a bit of privacy. After a few questions and scans from the droid, you look at the screen, showing the result. Your suspicion was confirmed.  

Din finally appeared again a few weeks later. Grogu force jumped towards his buir, happy to see him again.  Following behind him in careful steps, you greeted him with a mysterious smile. 

He half regretted leaving you there, but he had to do this by himself.  To make up the wrongs he did previously. Pulling you into a tight hug, gosh, how he misses your touch. He is hoping he wouldn’t need to do this again. To leave you, to be apart from you. From his aliit. 

“ I miss you. So much.” You whispered into his chest. 

“ I know. Me too. I am sorry.”

Boba appeared behind you,” Welcome back Vod. You got everything you need?” Things? What things? Sounded like Boba knows something you don’t.  You look back up to Din, suspiciously.  He avoided your gaze, and nodded to Boba. “ We will leave immediately.” “ You're not going to stay for the night?” You frowned. 

“Time sensitive matter. Come on, I’ll help you pack.” Din pick up Grogu and with arm around your waist, leading you back to the palace. 

Hours later, the clan of three is back into space. Travelling to some unknown destination. 

“ It’s a surprise.” He smiled at you. Din’s lip was sealed. Wouldn’t tell you what he was planning. You also saw him whispering something to Grogu, and Grogu responded enthusiastically with coos and squeals. Your eyes narrowed at them, what are the boys plotting? 

After long travel, the ship arrived on a small planet.  Din finally let out a bit of information about where he has taken his family to.

“ We are not far away from the Codia system.” You are utterly shocked that you have travelled so far out, so close to the wild space. 

“ Boba found this place once when he was chasing down a bounty. Not many people know the existence of this planet.” He explained as he did the landing checks.

You looked out the cockpit window. It’s coming up to sunset time on this planet, you have landed on a large patch of grassland, full of flowers, and there’s a small lake beside it. You were entranced. “Patu.” Grogu pulled your gown a little, trying to get your attention. You smiled at him, and whispered an apology. 

“ Sorry adi’ka, buir probably can’t pick you up as often from now on.”  To your surprise, he coo’ed back in response, and nodded his head, before waddling towards his other buir. Din tilted his head, you can feel and see the confusion with his body language. He must have heard your response to Grogu. You shook your head and proceeded to open the ramp door. A gust of breeze hits you as soon as the ramp opens. The air smells sweet with all the blooming flowers, and a hint of saltiness. You guess the lake might be a body of salty water rather than fresh water. 

Slowly making your way down you look around, taking in the beautiful scenery. This reminds you of Naboo, in a way. Even with the trauma and memories of childhood, you still miss Naboo. The lush greens and waterfalls, but you doubt you will be heading back that way anytime soon, unless for any urgent or business trips. You turned around as you heard the two boys setting up a picnic spread on the grass. Shaking out a blanket, Din walked over to you, with his hands out, leading you to sit on the ground. As soon as you sat down, you feel Grogu patting gently on your arm, you turned to the side, looking down at him, he was smiling and happy as he got your attention, and proceed to open a little brown box that you didn’t notice was there before, with much effort, and carefully took out the content from the said box. 

Five Blossom cake. 

“Cyar’ika.” You turn back to Din, as he called you, unmodulated voice. He is kneeling down, on one knee, without his helmet. 

“I..am sorry I couldn’t do any better before.” he gulped.” I want to make up for my previous mistakes…” OH gosh, he remembered your words. 

You know, I always thought it would be a romantic proposal. Sitting by the lake, having a picnic by the sunset, with Grogu bringing me my favourite five blossom cake , and you popping the question at the same time.

You took a shuddered breath, tears rolling down your face. “I know you have agreed already and.. Well, we are married.” he let out a nervous chuckle.” But I will ask again… mesh’la, cyare, my life. Would you marry me?” You nodded your head furiously, turning into uncontrollable sobs. Damn the hormones. 

Grogu let out a happy coo and hugged your thigh with his tiny little body, while Din pulled you in and both of you buried into each other’s neck. 

He reluctantly pulled away after a while, and picked up a metal box beside him. Upon opening, you see two beautifully crafted arm brace, with small mudhorn sigil on both. It’s made of beskar, you realised. “I had the Armorer crafted this for you… I only realise both Grogu and I have armour made of beskar, and you .. I haven’t gifted you anything since we got married…” You held out your arms, letting him put on the brace for you. It fits perfectly. While admiring it's beauty, it dawned on you why Armorer was looking at your hand. She was trying to measure it. "So this is why you were running around for last few weeks?"

"I was scouting the location.. and I had information of where beskar ingots are, .. I am sorry to be away from you for so long, Cyare."

Another realisation hit at the same time. “Remember what Armorer said that day? About more ingots is needed for our aliit?” he frowned a little, not quite getting where you were going with the conversation. Softly taking his hand, moving it towards your stomach. “ You are going to be a buir.” “I am a buir, to Grogu already, aren’t I?” You shook your head, laughing, “ How about buir to two adike?” Din gasped. Oh , now he understands.

“ You… “ looking down at your stomach, realising why you been wearing more loose item dress and clothes since he saw you again on Tatooine, look of disbelief, and then joy. His clan, once he thought had fallen apart, lost, now will soon be a clan of four.

Thank you for reading! as always, any likes, comments and reblogs always appreciated :) spread the joy of space husband.

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[fuckyeahemmett]

Excerpt from an ongoing shared Star Wars AU

Below is a short piece of fanfic from my RPG group's ongoing supplemental prose. The concept of the Taung Lodge and the characters of Garrth Corvuud, Verse Tillthe, Wyndell, Yor, Resh, and Seht are all the original creations of my friend the GM. Vital is my OC who I portrayed in a prior campaign and fill in with when she shows up as an NPC. Shel Croft is the original creation of my other friend who played her opposite Vital in that prior campaign.

A long time ago when we were still in the planning phase of their campaign, I asked the GM whether it would be alright for me to play a Mandalorian. He replied that he had been burned out by other players choosing to play Mandalorians without giving much credence to the narrative precedents and lore (Canderous, Bo Katan, etc.), so that if I was willing to give it at least a modest effort, he would approve.

I don't do things by halves.

(I don't like Karen Traviss, but I do use the conlang, and I try to be thoughtful and creative with judiciously taking what I like from canon and Legends, and reasonably progress the narrative of Mandalorianness through the writing.)

I share this as an attempt at exemplifying what a Mandalorian funeral might be like, and what the elegy style could be. If you like the writing, please let me know. If you don't, I'll be curious for feedback, though the intended audience of the rest of the playgroup has already seen it so I'm satisfied.

When the five survivors of the Taung Lodge had at last returned to the Dewback Stampede, it wasn’t long before Vital summoned them together in the central deck of the craft. Wyndell bore a small drum, and Vital held a metal flute called a bes’bev. Resh watched as the other four produced keepsakes of their fallen comrades, whether retrieved from the bodies of the fallen in the depths of the hive or reverently taken from the effects in their respective berths. They passed the items around, regarding them carefully. A bone, a shell casing, an engraved stone, a ring. 

At length they arranged the four items together on a small table. Wyndell struck her drum once. Vital put the bes’bev to her lips and blew a brief dolorous phrase that cut through the air of the hunting craft like a knife. As one, the five Mandalorians breathed deeply and recited the following:

Aay'han

“Mhi su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, mhi partayli, gar darasuum:

Garrth Corvuud be Kryze Aliit,

Verse Tillthe be Saxon Aliit,

Bhai Fynch be Rook Aliit,

Lairk Enog be Tal Aliit,

Mhi dinu'gar runise bah Ke'gyce be Ijaa.

Par gar shereshoy, vor entye.

Mhi kar'tayli gar darasuum.

Mar’e!

Udesii.

Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.

Mhi ori, gar aru'ese ne'kar'tayl’udes."

[Translation:

Remembering and Celebration

We are still alive, but you are dead. We remember you, so you are eternal:

Garrth Corvuud of House Kryze,

Verse Tillthe of House Saxon,

Bhai Fynch of House Rook,

Lairk Enog of House Tal,

We commit your names to the Canons of Honor.

For your passion, we accept a debt.

We will know you forever.

At last!

Rest.

Not gone, merely marching far away.

We swear, your enemies shall never know peace.] Then Wyndell struck the drum again. Vital returned the bes’bev to her lips and blew again, a different melody, a repetitive and muscular sound. Wyndell struck a beat with the melody as it rolled through the spacecraft, and she, Seht, Resh, and Yor sang the ancient song Vode An.

[michi-beans]

My possessed brain at 4:00 AM coming up with a Star Wars OC:

☆ Lore down below:

》 Juno, force sensitive human mandalorian. Born in 14 BBY on Mandalore, 5 years before the start of the Empire. His buir took him out of the planet when the heat between the New Mandalorians and Death Watch got too dangerous for her to raise him considering not much of the True Mandalorians were left after the Battle of Korda Six. They lived fine for a year until until the Empire fully began. One thing led to another, his buir was killed, Vader and Nasty Man got their hands on him. They decided to keep him as Vader's apprentice in secret in order to have someone to use and keep Mandalore in their hands later on. Although, this didn't really last because the Night of a Thousand Years happened that very same year. So they didn't really need him anymore, but still kept him anyways. Palpatine didn't have much patience for him due to the boy being stubborn and refusing to be something other than a Mandalorian. Which is why he never truly fell to the dark side and doesn't have the yellow eyes. He's Mandalorain before anything else. So you know, trauma ensues, scars were made after the years from punishment. As much as he fought it, he ended up learning well from being forcibly trained by Vader. I want to say he escaped two or three years before the events of the original trilogy. For some reason they allowed him to keep his buir's armor so he had something to take, plus a large amount of beskar ingots he stole. Unfortunately, Vader caught up to him and the two had one last duel. The Sith Lord decided to "test" him and see if Juno deserved to be free. Like true Skywalker fashion, Vader cut off both his arms and left him for dead. Surprise, he didn't die and fortunately the planet he was on had a mod-parlor, so he got himself some cybernetics. Later he would use the beskar he stole to create neskar versions complete with the gauntlets. Years would pass, kept to himself in order to avoid being caught again by the Empire, which luckily not many knew of his existence anyways. He would later come to save Naro and Kesh from a slavers mines. They wouldn't leave him be so he has companions now. Empire fell, time went on and next thing he know he not only got adopted by the togruta and zabrack he saved, but also by the tried old man that is apparently Tatooine's Daimyo.

》 Yes essentially this is just my excuse for Boba to also have a force sensitive ad and Din to be omg we have two now so now Clan Fett-Djarin has two children and grogu has a big bro who wouldn't hesitate to murder anyone who dares to hurt him just like mama Din and papa Boba, probably a little more murderous considering he was trained by a Sith but shhhhhh we don't talk about that.

》 He used to wear a force nulling collar but came to terms with being force sensitive thanks to Naro and Kesh and later from his new aliit. Not used as often but still on occasions. He may be like eww no I don't want to be a Jedi/Sith, yet he still kept his lightsabers. He will probably end up building one for his vod, Grogu deserves one too. He was also really proud when he learned Grogu chose Din over training with Luke. Kriffing jetii and their attachment issues.

[sidhebeingbrand]

I think we’re talking past each other, and have a fundamentally different read on the original question. There is a difference between ‘people born on Mandalore’ with ‘Mandalorians’. For the purposes of clarity I will refer to the latter as Mando’ade.

If the question is ‘are the clones Mandalorian by descent’, then …sure? Unarguably they have the DNA of someone from Concorde Dawn who did live on Mandalore?

But if the question is why aren’t they *Mando’ade*, my point stands. There hasn’t been a ‘pure’ mandalorian bloodline since Mandalore the Ultimate and his unnamed rival bit the dust-

Okay, you’re already gearing up to tell me that KoTOR ‘isn’t canon, it’s EU’, but those things aren’t mutually exclusive.

You mentioned how many gaps the Disney canon leaves. The thing is, we’ve seen writers pick and choose bits of Legends to both confirm and reject. Any piece of Eu/Legends lore that has not been openly rejected is potential canon. Dave Filoni is an *obsessive* fan— he is aware of the mash of contradictory and sprawling canon, and he’s at the helm of the new canon.

Things we’ve seen canonized: Jaster Mereel exists! Taungsday is a thing. Mythosaurs exist. The Mandalorians and the Jedi did have a couple really nasty wars and something Very Bad happened to Mandalore a few thousand years ago wink wink nudge nudge (he won’t call it the excision buuut-) [broader scale: fucking thrawn exists! Cortosis is a thing! Bleeding lightsabers are a thing]

Rejections: Boba Fett does not become Mand’alor (EU). The Clones did not obey Order 66 of their own recognizance (repcomm). [broader scale: no Solo/Organa twins. Luke never marries. Chewbacca doesn’t die before Han Solo]

Mixed: the clones were trained by bounty hunters— like the interview said— but we can only extrapolate how many of those were Mandalorians. None of the trainers we meet in canon are Mando’ade or even Mandalorian that we know of. The Cuy’val Dar COULD be canon, even other parts of the Repcomm books are put the airlock, because they were explicitly only there to train 10,000 commandos, all of whom had RC- identity numbers, and all of the cvd left Kamino by the era the TCW covers. The Repcomm books even draw a pretty thick line between the commandos and the ~lesser troopers who don’t really know what it’s like to be Mandalorian— so there’s room to slide in a generation of clones who did grow up steeped in Mando-lore. We just know that the face-clones we meet in TCW didn’t have that upbringing.

(I do personally think Rex remembering Fenn Rau as a trainer is a loving nod to the CvD, but Rau did not have the relationship with his trainees that Kal Skirata had with his commandos.)

Tl:dr, back to the Taung- it’s not explicit Disney canon that the Taung were the first Mandalorians— but it’s not explicitly REJECTED by canon.

And I think the idea of the Mando’ade as a culture that survived the extinction of its progenitors by throwing open the door to former conquered races to become full members— a culture that survived BECAUSE it was a creed and BECAUSE bloodline did not matter— is still very much in play.

We heard the words *Aliit orishya tal’din*, onscreen— it was non-diegetic music, we can’t take anything from canon from it, but wasn’t it wild to hear a proverb from legends sung over a haunting funereal scene where the child of a mandalorian was grieving his adopted family? That that concept is still in the air, that we have the possibilty of badass warrior peoples NOT defined by ‘good genes’ and ‘royal blood?’

It is definitely canon that some Mando’ade care about blood for sure! Mostly nite owls, aka former Deathwatch. But it’s strongly implied that that is the kind of blood quantum tracking that comes from Deathwatch’s reactionary fascist version of being Mando’ade— and Deathwatch is *less than a hundred years old*. Out of a history of thousands of years.

Axe Woves talks about blood. Din Djarin— the titular Mandalorian, the Mandalorian the show is about— has this to say to his child:

“Every mandalorian can trace their roots to the *beskar from those mines*.” he echoes the Legends concept that there is spiritual significance in the ARMOR, which can be given regardless of blood. In canon! He said that! I lost my whole shit what a great moment.

(He also said to Bo Katan ‘I hoped you would help me by creed’. One of the six actions — the resol’nare— of the Legends-era mandalorians is to aid your tribe.

The Armorer said to Bo Katan that the highest honor one could Do (omitted excited yelling about how one DOES honor rather than receives it passively in this culture) is protecting a child. The FIRST of the six actions is ‘raise and nurture children’. We are a stiff breeze away from the disney canon confirming the resolnare wait where are you going I’m still getting my red string out)

Okay, so that’s blood. Let’s tackle the idea of Mandalorian children.

-Obviously mando’ade have biological kids. No question there. And those kids might be Mandalorian— as in, genes from around the Mandalorian system— but I argue those children are not Mando’ade. Mando’ade love their kids, those are the children-of-mando’ade, but they are not mando’ad…ad. They probably will be, most kids adopt their parents values and we’ve got canon examples now that societal pressure makes it less of a true choice— but I argue at its purest, in the ideal started by Mandalore the Ultimate (canonicity may vary) and solidified by Jaster Mereel (maybe unless they tell us specifically not), it is a choice.

That’s where the compact comes in and we actually got to see several versions of this play out in Disney canon.

Look at the Kryzes:

Adonai Kryze was mando’ad, at least on paper. He would have self identified as Mando’ad.

His eldest daughter opted RIGHT the hell out, denouncing and even banning the spiritual practice.

His younger daughter went uncomfortably through the motions— you can feel the lingering awkwardness as she describes it to Din. She went with societal pressure, and wound up so alienated that she went full reactionary. The idea of the spiritual nature of being Mandalorian is so uncomfortable to her as she watches someone who loves and believes in the creed go through the rituals— god wasn’t season three was AMAZING for her? starting in her Sulking Throne full arasuum mode, soul dying of stagnation— then coming to the aid of a foundling and a spiritual, manda-certified mando’ad who she thinks is a religious whackjob— and then seeing the ancient stories unfold in front of her? Her, who thought she was too grown up for religion? Actively onscreen going from someone who went through the motions of faith to someone who lost faith to someone who HAD faith? I can’t even.

Then there’s Din. I don’t believe that the Children of the Watch are a cult. i do believe they are very traditional and intensely spiritual, and I believe that if he could have the choice again free of fear and loss he would STILL choose to be Mando’ad, still choose to be a traditional, actively practicing Child of the Manda because it speaks to him. he wanted to fight. he wanted to provide. he would Like to Try Again. I can’t prove that, he WAS an orphan and angry and his choice was swayed by that but I believe he would have come to the manda somehow anyway.

For actual kids, we have Ragnar— and we get to see his Battle Mitzvah, his birth as a warrior onscreen. He too believes, he too chooses the Children of the Watch version of being a mando’ad even with alternatives now open to him. I would say that before he puts his helmet on and steps into the living waters he is the child of a mando’ad— Paz Vizsla’s beloved child, probably biologically— but he is not a mando’ad until he swears to the creed.

But— adding onto that, I think Grogu fills in the last piece of the puzzle of how Mandalorian children relate to Mando’ade. I think Ahsoka was wrong when she said that perhaps Grogu was no longer ‘a mandalorian foundling’ because he might be a padawan. She was thinking ‘mandalorian foundling’ as in ‘a foundling who is required become mando’ad’, where Din’s clan would see it as in ‘a foundling under the protection of a mando’ad’.

I don’t think he was called Din Grogu because Din was a family name all along. I think he is called Din Grogu for the same reason the mando’adyc adoption ritual is called ‘gai bal manda’— name and soul.

In sharing his name, Din gives Grogu a symbolic piece of his mando’adyc soul, protecting the little bean and allowing a place in the communal afterlife, until Grogu is old enough to opt in or opt out. I think this is a loving embrace of so much of Mandalorian lore from the EU. In the EU there is no mention of a Mando’ad disowning a child— only of children disowning the PARENT who failed to uphold their end of the bargain, a bargain not contingent upon the child choosing to become Mando’ad. We have seen a dar’buir. We have not, to my knowledge, seen a dar’ad.

But this was about the clones.

Why aren’t the clones Mandalorians?

Genetically they are, next question.

Why aren’t the clones Mando’ade?

Because they haven’t chosen to be. It’s never too late, adult conversions to Mando’ade are still a thing until Jon Favreau and Dave Filoni as one descend to say ‘no that’s Not Canonical’

‘But Bo Katan said-‘ Bo Katan does not dictate any other person’s relationship to the manda, and I hope she’s real damn embarassed about implying that the circumstances of Boba’s— or any clones’ — birth had anything to do with it.

The clones COULD be Mando’ade, and if any shreds from the Repcomm books survive the clash with Disney canon, if Kal Skirata was around to rip pieces out of his withered gynophobic soul because a Mando’ad’s duty is to Raise and Nurture Children (because it is the greatest honor a mando’ad can do!) then some clones already are.

But the clone in question would have to want that. Genetics cannot make you mando’ad, it cannot guide you. Your bloodline is irrelevant; the manda only care what kind of parent you will be.

(From the comics, we know that at least one clone was explicitly given the choice between being accepted into Deathwatch and being a defender of the Jedi; and he chose the Jedi. I think many clones would, if they had to only pick one. The vast majority of the clones did not have the one-on-one mando time that the commandos may have had (100 cuy val’dar trained 10’000 commandos of a total population greater than 1,800,000 at minumum), and were nurtured and loved by the Jedi above and beyond what any mando’ad gave them.

For what it’s worth Jango Fett died dar’manda and disclaimed by the New Mandalorians, and those two things are not related.

-He was disowned by the New Mandaloriana because the people in charge were Satine ‘it’s not cultural genocide if I don’t kill anyone’ Kryze and prime minster Deathwatchplant Almec. They would have disowned the clones anyway.

-He was dar’manda because he let fear and the lust for revenge push him away from literally the first tenet of his religion, and the clones aren’t on the hook for any of that guilt.

So question..how the fuck are the clones not Mandalorian when Boba is? When Jango is? Or did Disney decide that they aren’t anymore (Jango and Boba)?

I thought they had made Jango Mandalorian and then took it away and then brought him back in. So wouldn’t the clones, who hold his DNA be Mandalorian?

If Boba is Mandalorian, the others should be also.

Wait! Does this mean Jaster isn’t Mandalorian either?

[kurara123]

Ok real talk....loose thoughts about OWK and TBOBF

This is my second attempt because i lost first 😅

I just finished my second viewing of TBOBF and yesterday I watched all episodes of OWK after I abandon it after ep 3. IMO TBOBF is better than OWK.

I'm seriously considering changing my rating for TBOBF (making it higher). OWK is better if you watch it in one day. Remember this is my opinion! I had more fun watching TBOBF than OWK.

In OWK there are no stakes. We know that characters will be fine (at least till A New Hope). This series should be 3 one hour episodes or one movie. The only elements that I really like/love are flashbacks (O66 and pre AOTC), Bail and Leia interactions, Vader vs Obi in the last episode and interactions between Obi and Leia and of course Liam Neeson and Temuera Morrison cameos💗. The dummest chase scene(s) is now in OWK not in TBOBF.😛 Music is much much better in TBOBF. OWK has not memorable soundtrack even OWK Theme! Meanwhile TBOBF has catchy Boba Theme and supreme Aliit Ori'shya Tal'din 💗

I love that Hayden and Ewan are back! I hope to see them in other series (Ahsoka) but Disney is so dumb that there were no Clone Wars flashbacks! 🤡

Meantime TBOBF is taking place after OG trilogy so we don't know what will happen to the characters (Cobb's injury and presumably dead Cad Bane, i refuse to believe he is dead after his awesome live action debut!). Sure TBOBF have a lot of problems (Din Djarin hijacking TWO episodes was the stupidest thing Disney has done. I posted some of my thoughts about TBOBF and Boba HERE (its kind of outdated....), HERE and HERE so I'm not gonna write about Boba in more details in this post.

OWK and TBOBF are not the worst things ever (as some dudebros are saying). Sure Disney could be more invested in STAR WARS as is invested in MCU. But one thing I'm sure of: Star Wars is not dead. I think Filoniverse is the right direction SW is heading but I'm still concerned.

Looking back I think that all I care about, in my 20 some years of knowing Star Wars, is: Jango, Boba, clones, Anakin/Vader, interactions and relations between characters and SW Lore in general. And I hate space battles🤮 I know SW has "Wars" in the name, oh irony 🤣

Feel free to comment and reblog and remember this is only my opinion!!!!!!

[mandoalorian]

Found Family [Din Djarin x Reader]

Word count: 2.1k

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mention of anxiety, slight angst and feelings of guilt, general Star Wars lore.

Author's note: short and sweet because I'm super excited for the Mandalorian season two! Only five days away! Enjoy!

Translations:

Mesh'la - beautiful

Cyar'ika - darling/sweetheart

Aliit - family

MASTERLIST

You sunk into the co-pilot seat of the Crest, feeling a wash of anxiety flood over you. You awaited the Mandalorian to return to the cockpit— he was just checking on the child. The child was unconscious after mustering up all of that mysterious energy he whelmed to save your life. The child saved your life at the risk of losing his own. You couldn't understand it.

You crossed your arms over your chest and as you heard his footsteps near you, your heart rate increased speed. With every heavy footstep he took, the armoury hung on the walls clattered. Without a hitch or a noise, he slid into the pilot seat, setting destination back to Nevarro before flicking a few buttons and pulling a lever down. You felt the Crest bolt forward as it lifted from the ground and into the air.

For the first few minutes, you both sat in silence. Glancing down at Din’s vibroknife, pushed into his holster, you figured you could use it to cut the tension that hung in the air. You fumbled around with your fingers, trying to just focus on the journey ahead— but your mind was wandering. "Din…" your voice was merely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

He didn't reply. You saw the dirt stained leather of his gloves tighten around his fingers as he flexed them over the nav system. You waited a moment, in desperate hope he’d say something. Anything. But not a single word came from his mouth. The guilt you were feeling was surreal. "Please…" you said softly, closing your eyes and sending a silent prayer to the Maker. In this moment, you had wished for an Imperial Star Destroyer to come out of lightspeed and blast you into a billion pieces. You wanted a black hole to swallow you up. 

You had never seen Din so angry. Of course, you hadn't even seen him without his helmet before but— it was in his movements. The negative energy resonated with the way he walked, the lack of communication, his stiffness...

"I… I didn't mean it." You promised Din, finally earning a modulated grunt from him as he briefly shook his head in disbelief. He didn't move. He didn't turn to you. His eyes were still locked on the route ahead. "You were gone for so long."

It was hardly an excuse and you knew it, but you were just trying to swindle some kind of response from him. You couldn’t stand the silent treatment. Din had gone on a very important bounty three days ago. Sure, he told you to wait by the ship, but as time went on and the nights got colder… you felt an ache in your heart. Pent up worry. What if something had happened to him? You and Din had never discussed such contingency plans before. Did he just expect you to wait at the Crest for the rest of your life? On a planet as dangerous as Felucia? It wasn’t like you could pilot a ship as unique as the Razor Crest. You relied on Din and you had to know if he was okay.

It just so happened, as you left the Crest that afternoon, Din and the child were on their way back. And thank the Maker for that. Carrying the child in his satchel, Din raced through the vibrant floral forest - blaster in hand - shooting at the running bounty. You heard his blaster first, stopping abruptly in your footsteps, your boots crunching in the autumnal orange leaves that laid beneath you. You heard running, followed by further blaster bolts. Hurtling towards you was a fair skinned man dressed in what could only be described as ex-Imperial uniform, a crimson red cape loosely tied around his neck. You froze up as his cold eyes bore into you and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t move. You were stuck. The man dived on top of you, pushing you backwards into the mud and slamming his hand over your mouth. You shuffled helplessly underneath him, trying to rid yourself from his grip - but it was no use. You wanted to cry. 

Din hurried towards you, his heart sinking when he saw his bounty straddling you. Seeing the bounty reach in his pocket and grab a knife, he held it to your throat. Din dropped his blaster and scrambled to get his pulse rifle out of his pocket. The little green ears of the child poked out of Din’s satchel and engulfed the image of you being held hostage by the bounty. The child raised his hand and closed his eyes. It was that mysterious energy again. The bounty froze up, knife in hand, just inches away from your neck. It gave Din enough time to wield his pulse rifle and set it for stun. Instantaneously, Din shot him. As the man fell limp on your body, so did the child, falling back into the satchel - unconscious. Din ran towards you, hap-hazardly pushing the man off you and kneeling by your side. “Kriff, are you alright?” He asked, cupping your cheek with his hand. “What happened?”

Dazed, you tried to refocus your eyes on the Mandalorian who was kneeling before you. “H-had been gone for days,” you said, forcing yourself to sit up and dust the dried up mud off your clothes the best you can. “Was worried.”

“So you left the Crest and came looking for me? Are you out of your mind?” Din raised his voice and you began to feel the guilt pool up in your stomach. “Did you not, for one second, consider your own safety? Look at you,” Din scoped your body. “Didn’t even bring a weapon.”

With a heated sigh, Din stood up and began walking away from you. Confused and with a little wobble, you scrambled to your feet before chasing after the Mandalorian. “I- I didn’t plan on going far,” you told the bounty hunter. “I just had to see if you were nearby.”

The Mandalorian didn’t speak a word to you until you had both returned back to the Razor Crest later that night. The memory of what had happened earlier that day felt like a dagger in Din’s heart. He couldn’t stay mad at you for too long. You were foolish, yes, but he knew you didn’t have any bad intentions. Din contemplated for a moment before finally deciding to part his lips.

"And I gave you specific instructions to wait here for me." His voice was cold, but you breathed a sigh of relief. At least now he was talking to you.

"You had never been gone this long before," you informed him. You felt ashamed, embarrassed. Not only had you done a really silly thing, but you had done it against the will of one of the most esteemed bounty hunters in the parsec. "And the child…" 

"You would've died," he deadpanned. "If it wasn't for me, you would've died." You couldn't count on it, but you were sure that you heard his voice break slightly as he spat out those words. And it was true. If Din hadn’t been on the tail of the bounty then who knows what would’ve happened to you.

"I know, Din." you couldn't find excuses. You knew it would just get you into more trouble.

More silence filled up the cockpit. "And what would I do if you had died?" He paused, realising he might be sounding only a touch selfish. "What about the kid? He needs you." You placed a hand on his thigh, rubbing small circles in a comforting manner. "I need you." he revealed, looking down at your fingers and letting his gaze follow up to your arm and to your face. You were still looking down at the ground when he removed his hand from the steering device and tilted your chin upwards. "Look at me, mesh'la." His voice was low and rasp.

You looked up at him, blinking a few times to try and rid yourself of the guilty tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "I'm sorry Din." you repeated, hoping he could find the genuine sorrow in your voice.

"He- he was an ex-Imperial warlord. A big name in the Empire," Din informed you, gesturing to the back of the ship at his bounty who had only recently been frozen in carbonite. "People like him… they're dangerous. Do you know what they would do if they got their hands on someone like you? Someone as beautiful as yourself?" Din cursed in Mando’a under his breath and you shuffled in your chair uncomfortably. "Yeah…" Din's voice said, sensing your discomfort. "Fuck, it would be bad."

"I know Din." you wiped a tear from your eye. You didn't know the Mandalorian cared for you this much. You supposed it was because neither of you had ever been faced with a situation quite like this before. It really put things into perspective.

"Stormtroopers are one thing," Din conceded. "I've been to places. Seen things. Warlords like him hide on outer-rim planets, hiding in palaces being worshipped by the low ranked ex-Imps. Oh, they'd love someone like you in the outer-rim. Such a pretty thing. They'd keep you as a slave, for sure."

You winced at the revelation. You had heard of such stories, and you could only imagine how worse it would’ve been under New Republic rule. Imperial hide outs had always been scattered around the outer-rim but now, after the Empire had fallen, the New Republic seemingly ignored everything that wasn’t in the core or deep core. That’s what made bounties so dangerous, especially this one to Felucia. Crime syndicates patrolled the planet and you should’ve known better. The Mandalorian had put his trust in you, but you had failed him. "Din…” your voice was small and meek, almost shying away from him. “None of that has happened to me. I'm safe. I'm here. With you."

Din sunk back into his pilot chair and breathed a sigh of relief at your words. You were right. You were safe, and that's all that mattered. And Din was more than happy to take rest on Nevarro for a day or so before getting back on the move. He knew the return of this warlord would earn him enough credits that he could justify a day off.

From such a young and tender age, Din had lost everything. He never spoke of his parents; only once, and the discussion was very brief. You didn’t think it was appropriate to ask questions although your curiosity always peaked when it came to Din and his past. Nevertheless, he knew he valued family and his Creed more than anything else in the world. And his love for the child was immeasurable. To serve as a reminder, and hopefully provide him comfort, you were struck with an idea.

You got out of your chair and sauntered back to the ship, picking up the sleeping child from his cot and cradling him in your arms. You brought him back to the cockpit and watched the foundling as he stirred slightly, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Still asleep, he cooed quietly, and an air of satisfaction relished over you knowing that he wasn’t injured.

"What are you doing?" Din asked.

"What is that thing you always say?" you asked, cupping your hand gently around the child's face. "Aliit…"

"Aliit ori'shya tal'din," Din whispered, extending his arm and pulling you onto his lap. He draped his strong arms around your waist and peeked over your shoulder at the sleeping child. "Family is more than blood." he translated.

You rest your head in the crook of Din's neck, feeling a slight warmth radiate from under his beskar. You let your fingers trace the signet on his shoulder. "Clan of three." You smiled.

"Cyar'ika," Din hummed, taking in your scent and enjoying the close proximity of you sat on his lap holding his son. "Please, promise me you'll never do anything as stupid as that ever again."

"I promise Din." you shuffled around, just a little, but enough to be able to face Din.

The Mandalorian leaned his forehead against you, the coldness of his helmet making you shiver. He pressed a keldable kiss into your skin. "Clan of three." he confirmed, voice low and modulated. His grip on your back tightened and in that moment he swore that he would protect you and the child with his life.

[auty-ren]

The Offer: Chapter 2

Touches

Pairing: ClanLeader!Mando x fem. Reader

Rating: T (Mature for future chapters)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Injury, Touching, Insinuations of sex, Cursing (just a tiny bit), Fluff, Yearning (a lot).

A/N: I’m having so much fun writing this. Please let me know what you think! Comments and feedback appreciated always. It’s also on AO3. Hope y’all enjoy💕

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Mandalorian lore via mandoa.org (I dont own it)

ClanLeader!Au created by @magichandthing​​

Gif by @coredrive​

Summary: You finally get to speak to Clan Leader Djarin again.

Your nose was definitely broken.

The elder assessed that much on her initial exam of your face. 

The bile in your stomach churned and nausea flooded your senses at the thought of having to reset the broken cartilage. You knew they would have to realign your nose otherwise it would never grow back properly. However, your stubbornness took hold and you wouldn’t let the elder anywhere near your face. You knew the pain that was eventually going to happen, but you dreaded the process. You wanted to postpone it for as long as you could. You tried to rationalize other options, internally debating and trying to come up with excuses for Mira and the Elder. Maybe if it was left alone, your nose would heal just fine; it seemed like a probable outcome you just hoped Mira would see it that way and leave you be.

Mira, of course, had different plans.

It took Mira straddling you, completely immobile due to her weight pressing into your chest, and the strength she held your arms with for the Elder woman to be able to fix your nose from its dislocated position. When she finally did, you're sure your scream reverberated off the walls.

“We underestimated your strength ad’ika.” The woman joked after giving a final dose of a bacta shot. Your eyes were still watering and you just huffed in response, causing Mira to chuckle from across the room.

Mira’s company started to grow on you, even though at first your time together was filled with silence. She often busied herself around the hut; shining her armor, cleaning her assortment of weapons, tinkering with different pieces of mechanics that littered the shelves. You would offer to help and she accepted, reluctantly at first, but you were starting to think she enjoyed your company as much as you did hers.

Most of the conversation was you asking questions about Mira and her people. You had some knowledge of the ways of a Mandalorian but Mira always explained it better. She always answered you with a sense of patience, explaining everything to you in detail you could understand. You appreciated it, the last thing you would want to do is offend her people with ignorance. She seemed to enjoy your enthusiasm for learning about Mandalorian culture.

“Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando' a bal Mand'alor, An vencuyan mhi.”

“What?”

“It is a rhyme taught to children, so they can better understand our way of life.” She put down the tool she was cleaning her armor with, handing you the piece to polish. Before you could even ask, she recited the same phrase to you in basic.

“Education and armor, Self-defense, our tribe, Our language, and our leader, All help us survive.”

Days bled into weeks and you started to lose count of how long you had been with Mira. Your injuries had healed fully thanks to Mira and the elder that visited you. Light remains of your still healing bruises were all the evidence of the encounter. As you felt better, Mira invited you to accompany her into the village. It had almost become pleasant, the little routine you two had. The fresh air always felt nice, and Mira filled the time telling you more stories of her clan.

“That man,” you paused, debating whether or not you should even bring up the topic. “The one who I met when we first arrived, who was he?”

Ever since then you found yourself wondering about him more than you liked to admit. He and Mira had been the first people to treat you with kindness in a long time, so you figured the reaction to him was just grateful. Your curious nature made it almost impossible to not want to know more. You had learned much about Mira the last few weeks, and the persistent thoughts of him would certainly cease at knowing more of him. At least that's what you told yourself, but it was hard to forget that blooming you felt in your chest when he first spoke to you. How the deep timbre of his voice felt like honey that settled in your bones. You caught yourself daydreaming how his voice would sound without the mask of his voice coder, just as rich and deep but something new and soft against your ears. It probably felt heavenly to hear him whisper things to you, his breath gentle in your ear.

Mira turned to you and watched as you waited for an answer. It was as if Mira could read your thoughts from the way her head tilted to look at you. You were thankful she didn't pry, that was a conversation you didn't want to have.

“He is the strongest and conscientious of us all, which is why the High Elders chose him to lead and defend our clan. Each of the pendants he wears is a testament to his fortitude.”

You listened intently, hanging on to every word Mira spoke.

“They say he received his signent by hunting a Mudhorn that terrorized the village and killing the beast with a viro-blade as his only weapon.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, your voice just a whisper in the silence left behind her words. As much as you will yourself to be satisfied with this information, it only seemed to stoke the fire that had been set ablaze by him. You wanted to know so much more, the desire to be around him was something you tried hard to ignore.

—

Much to Mira’s protest you mostly stayed to yourself, already feeling so out of place. Aside from her, the elder, and the brief encounter with the clan leader Djarin you hadn’t spoken to anyone else since being here. She tried all she could to get you to attend their weekly dinner, a celebration every clan member attended, she insisted. You eventually caved to her persistence. So you sat with her at one of the long wooden tables, chipping away at the plate full of food in front of you. Every so often you stopped to pull at a loose thread in your sleeve, somehow hoping the action would ease the anxiousness you felt.

The clan had given you new clothes shortly after settling with Mira. She presented the garments to you one night, explaining that the leaders agreed you would feel more comfortable in them. A simple, deep red, long sleeve tunic, and a long brown skirt that flowed around the movement of your legs. It was similar to the attire you’d seen some of the women in the village wearing.  It felt unusual at first, you were so used to wearing the same few articles, almost threadbare in places from the years of consistent wear. These clothes seemed almost new, soft to the touch, and fit your body perfectly. The gesture nearly brought tears to your eyes, no one had given you such a thoughtful gift since you were a child.

It was so refreshing to see that not all the hope had been purged from the galaxy. Mira's people were just as legend had described them, fierce warriors with integrity and strength that rivaled entire battalions of soldiers; but there was also love and kinship that was deeply rooted in pillars of their society. It seemed almost surreal, this warrior race had taken you in; had healed and cared for you. It was something you had to witness first-hand, no amount of stories could convey the community the Mandalorians had, at least no one would believe you if you had tried.

You opted to observe the events of dinner, not wanting to cause any more trouble than you felt you had already. Mira had not lied when she said everyone would be there. The tables were filled with people laughing and enjoying the company of each other. It felt so peaceful, and the unsettling feeling in your stomach subsided as the dinner went on. The evening eventually started winding down when dusk had settled over the village. You thought it would be rude to leave without Mira, so you waited patiently on the sidelines wanting to return to the hut.

“How are you feeling?”

Din leaned his shoulder against the wall behind you, his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side. You jumped, you hadn't even heard him coming towards you. He seemed amused at your reaction, letting out a huff that slightly jolted his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” You felt that same pull start in your chest. “Mira has taken very good care of me.”

“Good.”

He became silent, watching the clan mingle like you were. This was exactly what you had been hoping for, to be alone, to be able to talk with him, and ask all the things you had been pondering since your initial meeting. But now you felt so small, every word you had readied was lost on your tongue, swallowed by the intimidation you felt. He was the noblest warrior of his clan, strong and authoritative in his ways but he made your heart flutter in a way you didn't know could. It was suffocating, being around him but you craved it nonetheless.

He moved to sit next to you, straddling the bench you sat on. You could feel him looking at you, but you didn't dare tear your gaze from in front of you. You felt your face flush all the way to the tips of your ears. He hadn’t said five words to you and you were already a mess.

“I should find Mira,” you broke the tension, hoping to escape so you could finally breathe again. “It's late.”

Before you could distance yourself he spoke, halting you in your tracks.

“I can return you to your hut,” he paused pushing himself to stand. He considered you for a moment as if to debate his next words.

“If that's what you wish.”

—

“I haven’t seen you since your arrival.” It wasn't really a question, more of an observation. You turned to look at his helmet, still trained on the path in front of you.

“Mira forced me to break my isolation.”

A huffed laugh came through his helmet, effectively melting some of the tension that had built up. Your own smile stretched across your lips, he still made you incredibly nervous but he at least had a sense of humor.

You didn't exchange any more words, silence falling back over you both. It felt just a little different than before, the tension wasn't drawn so tight. A light airy feeling replaced the energy that flows between the two of you. You could feel your muscles relaxing just the slightest bit, the bubbling worry in your stomach replaced with a dull ache.

Your senses focused back on your surroundings, cool darkness had enveloped your path, lit only by the torches mounted against the huts. People still congregated in the street, groups exchanging wishes of sweet dreams as most of them prepared for sleep. As you passed, side by side with their leader, each person stopped to give a small bow. Some of their gazes lingered on you, not in a judgemental way, most of them just seemed curious in nature. It was probably odd, seeing some strange woman being escorted by the most respected man in their village. If he noticed their looks, he didn't make it known.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a small flash of bright color, sticking out noticeably against the neutral tones of the earth. You stopped and tucked in between two of the homes lining your path home, was a small flower bed. Some of the buds had yet to bloom, the new petals poking through the green shell that encased them. Others were full and brilliant, ranging from every color under the sun. You kneeled down to gently caress the buds in the palm of your hand.

Din didn’t realize you had stopped at first. He noticed the absence of your footsteps and turned around, watching you admire the flowers. He walked closer to you, essentially blanketing you in his shadow. Like before, you failed to notice his presence behind you.

“Sorry,” you apologized once you realized he was waiting for you. Standing up and brushing the dirt from your knees. You awkwardly clasped your hands together in front of you, waiting for him to respond. He stood still, completely static and it felt like a standoff of who would move next. You thought of saying something, anything to get him to act again but before you could he cut you off.

“You like…” He seemed to carefully consider his next words, in some ways it almost seemed meek the way the syllables rolled off his tongue. “Flowers?”

You turned your head to glance at the bed behind you. Realizing now how odd you must've looked, stopping to smell flowers like some child. You looked forward and he had yet to move still staring directly at you, at least that's what you assumed it was hard to tell with his visor.

“Yes, um…” Your mouth felt dry and tightened around your words. You know he didn't ask for an explanation but you gave one nonetheless, trying to ease your embarrassment.

“My mother used to have flowers on my home planet,” You turned your face down to your hands, rubbing your thumb at the juncture of two of your fingers. “I haven't seen any since the day I left...”

It had been a long time since you had thought of your old life. Ever since the war it had become painful to even entertain the good memories. Your parents had become ghosts of what they once were.  Their faces were just flashes in your mind, reduced to the few reminders that stuck with you. The smells of cedar and earth reminded you of your father, his clothes always permeated with the smell of the outdoors. Sometimes you could recall how kind his eyes were, seeing a glimpse of them in your dreams. You remembered your mother’s flowers, how they grew during the warm season filling beds of green with vivid, swirling color.

“I didn’t realize they still grew.” You tried your best to keep the emotions these memories held from finding your face, but Din sensed them nonetheless. He hesitated for a moment before gesturing for you to follow him again.

—

“Thank you, for walking with me,” you said turning to him with a small smile on your face as the hut came into your view.

“Of course.” He stopped just a few feet away from you, turning to mimic your position.

“Goodnight,” you said, turning and walking up the few steps of the porch to Mira’s home.

“You never told me your name,” he said, causing you to stop just in front of the door, you turned back to face him.

You told him, giving a slight smile at the end of your words. He parroted your name, climbing up the stairs becoming level with you again. He moved closer to your body, leaving just a few inches between your chests. You looked up into his visor, your reflection more noticeable with the close proximity of your bodies.

He repeated your name, his hands going for one of the necklaces resting against his chest. He lifted it away from him, bringing the necklace around your neck, the cool metal of the pendant resting just above your breasts. You looked between him and the mythosaur skull, the same one you saw plastered on nearly everything in the village. You wanted to say something, your mouth opening, and closing while trying to focus long enough to string a few words together.

“You’re so beautiful.” He leaned his arm against the door behind you, pinning you between him and the wood of Mira’s hut. His other hand came up to trace along the length of your neck, his knuckles stopping when they reached your chin.

You felt like you were on fire, your blood running white-hot under your skin, leaving a blushed tint in its wake. You didn’t dare look up at him, afraid you’d melt under his gaze that seemed to bore straight through you. You kept your eyes fixated on the expansion of chest level with your eyes.

“Have you thought about staying?” His fingers gripped your chin, bringing you to look directly at his visor.

“Stay?” You were a little taken back, your voice coming out as a squeak compared to his. “Here?”

“Yes, here.” He chuckled, his voice dropped mocking the whisper in your tone. A smile threatens the corners of your lips and you bite on the inside of your cheek to stop the spread. He thought it was entertaining, watching you become giddy under his attention. You turned to look just past his shoulder, willing the flush you felt on your face and neck to subside. You had wanted his attention and now you had it but you were failing miserably at being anything but at his mercy.

“Do you like it here?” He said sensing your hesitation, forcing you to focus on him again.

“Yes, of course.” It was true, you enjoyed your time. But to stay? What place did you have here? They had made you feel so welcome but you were an outsider and you had yet to offer any contribution to their way of life. You had felt better than you had in years. Like a familiar version of yourself had taken over again, replenishing the life you so desperately tried to find before. It felt invigorating but you knew it couldn't last forever, and with your injuries in the final stages of healing, you knew that time was coming to an end.

“Then stay.” His voice was firm but held a sort of gentleness that made your heart flip in your ribcage.

He grabbed your hand, leading your palm to rest in the middle of his chest. Your fingers instinctively spread over the warmth of his skin, he interlocked his fingers with yours, effectively trapping your hand behind his.

You couldn’t see his face, but it felt as if you were staring right into his soul. You imagined the depth and piercing look of his eyes. You imagined they were just like the rest of him, fierce and intriguing but with a softness hid behind them. Mesmerizing you and making you want nothing more than to fall deep in their hypnosis. You wanted to kiss him, to feel him against you, flesh and bone to be explored by your fingertips. You wanted to be encased totally by him, to drown in the warmth he exuded, to feel nothing but him for the rest of your days.

With a newfound boldness, you slipped your hand away from his slowly trailing down the center of his chest. The pads of your fingers moved over the toned muscle of his chest, doing exactly what you had daydreamed about since you met him. His skin was a beautiful tanned color with scars scattered, telling the story of his battles. You traced a few, fingers delicately moving across the raised skin. You felt his breath released from behind his helmet, so quiet you may have not noticed if it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest. You continued your movements, traveling down until you met the trail of hair that peeked out from his trousers. He abruptly grabbed your wrist, a groan filtering through to your ears. His grip was firm, stopping your actions but being careful not to hurt you.

“You should get some rest.” His voice was so low, gravelly, barely registering with the voice coder of his helmet. He released his grip, moving your hand back to your side.

You were afraid you had fucked up, misreading him and crossing some forbidden line. Shame flooded your mind, causing your gaze to drift to your feet. He reached up to your face, pushing the hair that fell in your face back, revealing the timid look that fell on your features. He held his palm against your face for just a moment longer than necessary. As his hand fell from your face, you were back to staring into the darkness of his visor, surprised by the tenderness of his actions.

“Goodnight,” He whispered, turning back to walk down the steps, leaving you stunned and missing his warmth.

“Goodnight.”

—————

Taglist: @queenofheavenandhell​​ @youmeanmybrain​ @theocatkov​ @dreamgirl-67 @duker42​ @spxcedxdddy​ @vikingqueen28​ @hdlynn​ @leo-moon​ @tiffdawg​

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed!💕)

[kotorswtor]

One of the reasons I love Legends Old Republic-era stuff is that it’s made explicit that the Jedi Order in this era is very decentralized compared to that of the Separatist Crisis/Clone Wars era, and there are all kinds of heterodox takes on the Force and Jedi praxis uneasily coexisting with those of the mainline Order. It’s more realistic and more fun.

“The Force is amoral, cthonic, unknowable, and the closer you approach it, the more likely it is to completely obliterate you; the training is to give you a fighting chance of keeping your head on while you’re standing in it” *loud booing*

“The Force is unitary, or rather, it’s all ‘light;’ The ‘dark side’ is the shadow cast where the Force is obstructed by the delusion of a separate/separable self.” *someone starts swinging a chair*

I still want to write the fic where an outsider has all these preconceptions about what the Force is and then goes into a room with a bunch of Jedi who are tearing into each other like bitchy old academics.

“Ooh, look at Master Structuralist over here with his ever-so-deep ‘everything is attachment actually’ reading”

“I don’t want to hear that from someone who calls every new opinion ‘new depths of their relationship with the Force’”

“The Jedi Order is a social construct–”

“Could you stuff the po-mo and pick up a book once in a while? These aren’t new ideas! You are not a pioneer because you asked one question!”

“I think you could all benefit on more reflection on how our rooting in the Force is actually deeply sexual–”

“If I have to hear one more word about lightsabers being penis envy you are going to be one with the Force immediately.”

[loverboy-havocboy]

character designs for the aliit au are finally done!!

[mandorealism]

Mand’alor

This post is more from an in-universe lore perspective, due to a lot of people misunderstanding the entire concept of Mand’alor.

"You can't rule Mandalorians. You just make sensible suggestions that they want to follow"

"Funny, that’s the last thing Mandalore is: a nation. Sometimes we fight on different sides. We’re scattered around the galaxy. We’re not even one species. But we know what we are and what we want, and that’s not going to change anytime soon."

Many people get the impression that Mand'alor is a king, a dictator, a leader who is needed at all times by the Mando'ade. The reality is that it is a position of trust by the people, and only truly utilized in times where focused leadership is truly needed. There may even be a period with no Mand'alor, and for the most part that's just fine.

A Mand'alor may live much of his life as a farmer, or bounty hunter, or any other profession, and not be needed as a leader. He (or she, while we do not have any examples of female Mand'alore there's no restriction) may be called upon in a time of war, or even to help organize the Aliite during a period of planetary expansion.

Mand'alor is not needed to make daily decisions for his entire life, for an independent people who are accustomed to living all around the galaxy.

For more on this topic, find my Freedom of Choice post.

[counterfeitarcadia]

// March 2021 Custom Planner

Theme: The Mandalorian/Mandalorian Lore

Watching The Mandalorian has introduced me to a new, much-loved corner of everyone’s favorite galaxy far, far away. I’m thrilled by the importance of Mandalorian culture to Din’s story, and I love the additional lore, conlang, and backstory from the currently non-canon Legends continuity. In short, Mandalorians makes me happy, and as we approach the year anniversary of COVID-19 safety measures, I find a little happiness goes a long way.

Font: Mandalorian by Erikstormtrooper

Cover Page: Collage of textured cardstock, craft paper, and stickers inkjet-printed from digital art files. Metallics added with Uniball Signo Broad 1.0 mm pens in Gold and Silver.

Cover Artwork: Mudhorn logo vectored from show screenshots. Jaig Eyes logo drawn digitally by @counterfeitarcadia via ProCreate and embellished with metallic pen. Beskar ingot made of textured cardstock embellished with metallic pen.

Gray on White Cover Text: "This is the way."

Brown on White Text: "Aliit ori’shya taldin." A phrase from Karen Traviss’ Mandalorian conlang, Mando’a. The text is a Mandalorian proverb that reads "Family is more than blood."

Gray on Green Cover Text: A list of names from a fan-character Mandalorian clan that a dear friend and occasionally write for.

On Weekly Spread Page: Textured cardstock, brown craft paper, and mt Ex Washi Tape in Encyclopedia Solar System.

In Photos: Uniball Signo Broad 1.0mm in Gold, Prismacolor ColErase pencil in Brown, Zebra Sarasa Clip 0.5 Gel Pens in Dark Gray and Brown Gray, and Tombow Dual Brush Pens in 133 and 126.

[kotorswtor]

i've got 2 lore questions: 1) when/why do you think the whole "no removing helmets" thing came into being, since (my understanding is) it wasn't in place during tcw or rebels? and 2) considering they're still canon (or re-canonized) what do you think happened to the miraluka post order 66? at least one was recruited by sheev for his sith boyband, the uhhhh....(checks wookiepedia) inquisitorius, right? a whole species of force sensitives seem like something ol' sheevie wouldn't just ignore

The more I try to drill down on speculation about history and culture developments in The Mandalorian, the more confused I get.

I instinctively want the helmet taboo to have developed out of a security measure instituted during or as a result of the Great Purge. But that’s hard to square with other stuff we know about the timeline: Din tells Omera he’s been wearing the helm full-time since he wasn’t much older than Winta (and that comports with Legends stuff about Mandos having a comparatively young age-of-majority, like, mid-teens). That gives us a date-range of around 10-5 BBY...when the Mandalorians we see in Rebels in 4-1 BBY are casually walking around with their faces uncovered. I think the conclusion that’s hard to avoid is that the helmet taboo isn’t universal (in the Disney Gallery series, Bryce Dallas Howard very carefully states that “as far as Din knows, the helmet taboo applies for all Mandalorians”), or that different Aliite may turn out to adopt it on a different schedule. It’s possible that that’s more of a thing for diaspora Mandalorians than ones local to Mandalore. Gut-wise, I also want to connect it to the cultural conservatism that we see in Clan Viszla/Death Watch, but considering that as of Rebels, we’re seeing their representatives throwing in with either Bo Katan Kryze or Gar Saxon, maybe there’s something else driving that entirely.

Re: Miraluka, you’re right. The Sheev is very unlikely to overlook the resource of an entire planet of people with a pretty high minimum level of Force-sensitivity and an indigenous culture that cultivates research and training in the Force. I’m not surprised that if one was going to resurface in present canon, it was as an Inquisitor. A lot of Miraluka in Legends continuity end up characterized as evil-to-extremely-morally-ambiguous (Visas Marr, possibly Darth Marr, Krynda Draay, Q’anilia). The thought that I hate but seems likely is that everyone who didn’t manage to get out in time got coopted into the Sith Eternal/Final Order.

[jakey-beefed-it]

copperforge replied to your post “Old Republic Lore: Mandalorians are genocidal warmongers and the...”

You were a Mando not-liker?! Ma dude, you will be purged from my Aliit ori’shia tal’din list! �� (Obviously not, I love you, dude ��)

In my defense, the Mandalorian lore with which I was most familiar was from KotOR where they went ‘hey those cat-people can probably scrap let’s exterminate them for kicks’. So, you know, not my favorite sort of people. And most of the mando-fans I encountered were edgelord dudebros who wanted to identify with a warrior culture while being generally dickish and gatekeepy. In contrast, all the klingon enthusiasts I knew were mostly in it for the outrageously over-the-top melodrama and would welcome anyone who expressed any interest.

However, given that at least some of the more recent Mandalorian lore draws inspiration and parallels from Maori and diasporic Jewish cultures, they’re lots more interesting to me now. 

On a narrative level, warrior-culture Mandos were generally positioned as bad guys. Other baddies in Star Warrs include Empires, Hutts, and Sith. Imperials are blatant space fascists so they’re out. Hutts are what would happen if really gross-ass misogynist fanboys suddenly inherited a major drug cartel and the cartel just went along with it instead of dumping their largely immobile ass into the dune sea and getting on with business. And the Sith are always depicted in universe as absolute fucking batshit crazy supervillains bent on varying degrees of space fascism and omnicide, but they get to wear all black and have red lightsabers and fry motherfuckers with lightning. Which. Admittedly the ‘shiny blaster-resistant armor and many funky gadgets’ aesthetic is pretty good, it just can’t compete (for me at least) with this

however, you give me a scenario where the Mandos are the honorable warrior culture more or less on the run/in hiding from the space fascists, and when they all show up as the fucking cavalry to save Din Djarin’s ass, I will absolutely goddamn cheer and clap like a delighted idiot for the cool armored warrior dudes.

In short: Mandos as baddies, boring, out-aesthetic’d by the Sith.

Mandos as anti-imperial insular good guys: fuck. yes.

[askalphapazvizsla]

Maybe we should take some of the adike for a visit. I think it would be good to start exposing them to how other clans function. And they’d get the chance to spar against newer opponents. We could setup a little tournament for them to all compete in together. Plus, I think they need to know others out of their clan, spend some time just being kids for a while longer. *hugs you tighter* I’m so glad they get to have such a big family, loved by so many people. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. -🍪

Kissing you gently* That sounds wonderful my sweet. Fen was always an excellent trainer and her foundlings always scored high marks on their exams. I think this should be organized right away. Her riduur I trained personally so it wont be terribly different.

(( Fenri is my OC, she lived on Navarro with her Uncle and Mother until Din blew up the hideout. She escaped with majority of the foundlings to a tropical planetoid small enough to be disregarded by the empire and the republic. Her lore and fan fics to be announced))