#arasuum

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Star Wars: The Bounty Hunter Code: From the Files of Boba Fett - Mandalorian Deities by Mark McHaley

[cienie-isengardu]

Cienie's take on Mandalorian Culture: Arasuum - stagnation as symbol of death, not sloth

The Funeral Rites of Taungs and later Mandalorian Warriors. <> Kad Ha’rangir and mandalorian traditional weapons (part 1 — part 2 — part 3 – part 4 – part 5)

Mandalorians: People and Culture [Star Wars Insider #86, 2006] introduced Arasuum as the god of Stagnation and Sloth:

“Mandalorians were once intensely religious but disillusionment with the old fanaticism and worship of war itself gave way to a far less supernatural belief system among modern Mandalorians. They now regard creation tales, such as Akaanati’kar’oya (The War of Life and Death) as parables to illustrate a deeper philosophical meaning rather than literal supernaturalism. The stars were mythologized as fallen kings of Mandalore, and there are tales of the mythosaurs, but the pragmatic and skeptical Mandalorians look for allegory in these stories. The manda - best described as a combination of the collective state of being, the essence of being Mandalorian, and an oversoul - is not viewed as a literal heaven. Traditionally, the Mando afterlife is seen as a plane of spiritual energy in constant conflict between stagnation, and the opportunity for change brought about by destruction - a parallel with modern theories of cosmology. In Mandalorian myth, this conflict is symbolized by the eternal war between the sloth-god Arasuum - the personification of idle consumption and stagnation - and the vigorous destroyer god Kad Ha’rangir, who forces change and growth on the universe. Every Mando warrior who dies is said to add to the army of the afterlife, defending wives and children living in its permanent, peaceful homestead - the only place Mandalorians believe they can ever reach a non-transitory state of existence.”

This description of Arasuum was repeated in following tie-in sources:

Excerpted from “Industry. Honor. Savagery: Shaping the Mandalorian Soul” keynote address by Vilnau Teupt, 412th Proceedings of Galactic Anthropology and History, Brentaat Academy, 24 ABY [2012, published in The Essential Guide to Warfare]:

“After being driven from ancient Coruscant, the Taungs relocated to Roon and then wandered the Outer Rim, leaving hints of their passage in various species’ chronicles and histories. But they attracted little notice until they conquered Mandalore around 7000 BBY. At that time Mandalore lay beyond the galactic frontier - but close to the Republic’s outlying trade routes. Soon, rumors reached the Republic of worlds ruled by ferocious warriors. They served the god Kad Ha’rangir, whose tests and trials forced change and growth upon clans he chose to be his people. In opposition to Kad Ha’rangir stood the sloth-god Arasuum, who sought to tempt the clans and drag them down into stagnation and idle consumption. By waging war in Kad Ha’rangir’s name and according to strict religious laws, the Mandalorian Crusaders defied Arasuum and showed themselves worthy of favor.”

and 

Death Watch Manifesto [2013, published as part of The Bounty Hunter Code: From the Files of Boba Fett]

Our history begins with the Taung, the Shadow Warriors we honor as our Progenitors. They originally dwelled on Coruscant, but their enemies drove them into the Outer Rim. Their clans traveled from planet to planet on orders from their war chief, who interpreted the will of their now-extinct gods: Kad Ha’rangir, the all-seeing creator of test and trials; Hod Ha’ran, the trickster agent of fickle fortune; and Arasuum the god of sloth, an enemy whispering and seducing with promises of peace [...].

“The ancient Mandalorian deities were led by all-seeing Kad Ha’rangir (left), shown here beside the trickster god Hod Ha’ran (central) and the slothful Arasuum (right).

The mentioned above works associate Arasuum with laziness and stagnation, even though those two terms aren’t synonymous, nor even closely tied to each other. Stagnation is, basically speaking, a lack of change that may be conditioned by various factors. Laziness though is a choice a person makes - a choice to not work or use as little effort as possible[1]. 

Arasuum is constantly accused of being sloth. In contrast, Kad Ha’rangir, as Destructor and as god sending trials to test his people plays an active role in mandalorian mythology. However, the same as with Kad Ha’rangir, I think the sources - and with it, in-universe knowledge - may not be accurate. Or more precisely, the modern academics’ conclusions are based on incomplete sources whose true meaning perhaps was lost over the centuries.

For example, Kad Ha’rangir is treated as one of the most important, if not outright the main deity, but as I was proving in previous analysis, sword - in mando’a: kad - did not have any special place in the culture of the original Mandalorians (Taung), as they hold mythosaur axes in high regard. Which puts into doubt the prominent position of god named after a weapon clearly favored by human Mandalorians who replaced the now-extinct Taungs. It does not mean there was never a god-Destructor in original mythology but rather allow us to assume the mandalorian culture has undergone many changes with passing time. If the Kad Ha’rangir himself may be a god reshaped to fit the needs of early human Mandalorians and their descendants, then the same could happen with Arasuum. 

Which is why I decided to analyze Arasuum and his role through the lens of three aspects:

Mandalorian language (Mando’a)

Official tie-in material 

widely understood Mandalorian culture

Let's start with the MANDALORIAN LANGUAGE

For those unfamiliar with Star Wars lore, mando’a is an official mandalorian language. Initially developed by composer Jesse Harlin as part of the soundtrack for the 2005 video game Republic Commando, it was expanded into functional language by Karen Traviss, the author or tie-in Republic Commando book series. The glossary included in her books evolved into a full dictionary and grammatical guide published on Traviss’ official page (archived version can be found here).

In short, Mandalorian language evolved from a few songs into a functional dialect that fans adapted and to this day are still developing for their own use. Understandable, the original mando’a published by Karen Traviss is an artificially created language but because it was made by the same person that at time shaped Mandalorian culture, we have a reason to assume the meaning of deities’ names wasn’t assigned at random.

And so we have a role of Destructor assigned to Kad Ha’rangir - in which kad is a word for sword/saber

while ha’rangir is derived from ha’ran or rangir, two words related to ash/destruction & hell. 

With publication of Bounty Hunter Code and The Essential Guide to Warfare comes Hod Ha’ran, another deity whose name and role correlate with similar meaning in mando’a:

The name of Arasuum brings an important detail - mandalorian language distinguishes between stagnation

and laziness.

As can be seen, there is no common element between those two words, as in: one word is not derived from the other, the way logically some meanings are connected.

If two names have direct correlation to gods’ mythological roles, why Arasuum wouldn’t be perceived by original Mandalorians the same as Kad Ha’rangir and Hod Ha’ran? And this is our first clue to understand Arasuum’s original role in mythology.

Arasuum, as his name suggests, remains the same. Is stagnant. In contrast Kad Ha’rangir is associated with vigor, the growth that happens to Mandalorian people. All three presented above source material associate Kad Ha’rangir with life (active energy), what from biological and symbolic perspectives is a constant change. Since both deities are part of the same myth titles as The War between Life and Death, logically thinking Arasuum, the unchanging god, should represent death as opposition to growth.

If we go with that logic, then facing and overcoming Kad Ha’rangir’s trials may mean surviving the hardship like fight (war). Each victory over death (stagnation) gives a warrior an unique experience that change them, though if the change is for better or worse may be secondary concern. Alive Mandalorian can’t stay the same, because those unable to grow will fail to survive another god’s trial and then will be lost to Arasuum. 

And this is the base ground for my theory that stagnation from mythological point is symbolic metaphor for death and with that, Arasuum is the god of death, not laziness.

The next part will explore the tie-in source material, with special focus on Death Watch Manifesto and political symbolism of Arasuum.

SIDE NOTES:

[1] Just to be clear here: no, needing to rest after hard work is not laziness, the same as lack of will to take action due to depression or other psychological or physical illness. 

[kalevalakryze]

Taungsdays, Am I Right?

For Bo-Katan Week Day 5, Mand’alor Characters: Axe Woves, The Armorer, Bo-Katan Kryze, Original Mandalorian Characters (background) Pairings: Bo-Katan Kryze/The Armorer, Bo-Katan Kryze & Axe Woves, Axe Woves & The Armorer Warnings: none Notes: Look, listen, I’ve been reading nonstop between American government books, and everything I can find about the Taungs and old Mandalorian ruling structures. But, keep in mind, I am not a wise man. And my pen ran out of ink during all my notes, so I had to just. . . stop taking notes because I have no other pen, and I can’t concentrate without handwritten notes lmao. Maybe this counts as more of a character study. And it’s a little shorter than I’d like, but I think ending it where I did is the best option right now Word Count: 1,929 AO3 Link: Here!

“She does not stop often, does she?” The Armorer questioned to one of the few who held the title of the Mand’alor’s most trusted. The mug of pot soup was passed towards Axe Woves  as she lowered herself into a seat beside him. 

Bo-Katan had been moving nonstop as of late, between sitting through the many different politics required of a new world leader, expanding the new rule to the rest of the Mandalore system, and ensuring her people were still given an equal amount of her time, between training, to rebuilding, and even just to aid them in small errands, Bo-Katan Kryze was a blur of near constant movement. They only had nineteen hours in a cycle in the system, and yet, she was often busy for nearly fifteen hours each day. 

“It’s how she’s survived,” Axe surmised, taking the offered food with quiet thanks. His gaze did not move from the woman in the middle of the small arena, how she walked the younglings and even some of the children of the watch through a training exercise, stopping often to fix posture and offer words of encouragement between them all. “Kriff, might as well be in her DNA,” 

The light that filtered into the cavern from the green hued crystal above highlighted the yellow in her eyes, irises seemingly caught in an illuminated glow as she looked towards her two spectators with a small smile puling at her lips. 

“Would you elaborate?” The woman requested as she settled herself in, nodding her head in acknowledgment of a youngling that seemed excited by her presence. 

“It was always a rumor, that some of the oldest clans may have descended from the Taungs, our Progenitors,” The next time the Mand’alor glanced at them, her eyes seemed a warm amber, than the illuminated yellow they had been. “Their songs have been sung for eons, though much has been lost to history,” 

“The Taungs used warfare as a personal honor, but also to appease a god,” His gloved hand brushed over his stubble as he racked his brain for the name. 

“Ka Ha’rangir,” The Armorer supplied. The Children of the Watch did not have as much information as many of the Niteowls who had lived their history on the front-most lines, their convert had followed in the paths that were laid out by Mandalore the first themself. 

“Yes, and like with most religions based on an omnipotent being, there is a clearly defined ‘good’ and ‘bad’, for the Taungs, they strived to remove themselves from Arasuum’s temptation of stagnation and idleness. This was not a trait that died with the Taungs,” He gestured to the redhead that was now rolling on the floor with one of the children of the watch, giving a visual for how the moves she’d just taught would be used in combat. 

“Under Mand’alor the Ultimate, when the Taungs truly started to accept other species among their ranks, cross breeding was frequent, though many humans had been, supposedly, unable to survive the birth of a Taung, even if the child was only half Taung. Not all of our oldest clans have survived from those days, it was mainly Riduuroks that kept bloodlines alive as well, so, while unlikely to have found a Mandalorian descended from the first,” When he gestured to Bo-Katan again, it was to the woman wrapped in a headlock, before her sharp teeth pierced through the flight suit and arm of her opponent, until they’d released. 

“Even with less than a percentage of genetics that may have been passed down, they showed much more prominently in Bo-Katan, than they had in The Duchess Satine,” Axe had seen them both, and compared to Mandalorians’ they were obviously a different breed, in their own way. Even the Vizsla’s hadn’t been able to hold a flame to the traits of the Taungs that had stood out sharply in Kryze genetics. 

“It is safe to assume that these traits have clung so tightly through the bloodline, that she is simply hardwired like a Taung,”

“She is still human though, is she not?” The Armorer finally questioned, watching as Bo-Katan helped put bacta on the Mandalorian’s arm she’d bitten, who she’d sent off for water before jumping back into the lesson. 

“Without a doubt, and that has always been one of her flaws,” Axe shook his head “Worship and belief of Ka Ha’ragnir and Arasuum fell out of favor long before our time, though, with the way our lives, hers especially, have been led, I can understand some kind of base decline to the instincts of the Taungs. We have our songs, our ancient recordings, but we also have the behaviors passed from generation to generation about how our lives were to be lived and how to react.”

It was no secret that they’d all done unimaginable things in the name of survival, and their culture. It had always been written off as their bullheadedness and their way of life, though many had forgotten that it had once quite literally been in their blood. “Her flaw is not that she is human,” The Armorer’s voice was slow, steady, trying to ensure that she’d heard him correctly, while making sure her own point was known.

“No, no. That isn’t her flaw, but the activity is. When she… for lack of a better term: forgets that she’s human. The Taungs may not have needed to rest as often, and that may have been a leading factor to their belief and devotion to Ka Ha’ragnir and their pursuance of growth and change that she’s chasing subconsciously,” 

“You seem to have given this a great deal of introspection,” The Armorer noted. “We have not had a great deal of resources about our earliest ancestors, aside from the creed and the moments in history w have found that had defined a need for our existence as well,” 

“Being home has granted me more than my share of time to learn. We are all given an opportunity our ancestors had not, to be good at something other than war,” It was an echo of Bo-Katan’s own words. Axe was becoming a scholar and a rather skilled diplomat, now that they had access to records from the New Republic, and the old records from the Imperial Academy on Mandalore as well. He finally had the time to sit down and stimulate his brain with history, over battle strategies and espionage. “Lady Kryze has quite the extensive knowledge as well, more so about the more… dry aspects of our history. She has not limited herself to the governing past, or the past of warfare, but has extensive details about our prior trade, exports, and many other details I am sure had sparked her interest before the New Mandalorian rule had her splitting off.”

“What are we talking about?” Bo-Katan questioned as she dropped herself into a lower level of seating in front of the two, armored back pressed into both of their legs as she leaned back and actually sat for the first time all day. 

“You,” The Armorer provided, a gloved hand reaching to smooth out loose strands of sweat slick hair to calm any rising thoughts she could see gathering beneath a furrowed brow. 

“Why are we talking about me?” The redhead questioned as the convert member shed bitten earlier brought over an extra canteen of water, receiving a quiet thanks as the rest of the class let out, either back to the surface, their mentors, or their duties. 

“You are a big part of Mandalorian history,” Axe pointed out, when Bo-Katan’s lips parted to argue the point, he was quick to continue. “Think about it, Bo. For the first time in our history, Mandalorians are not at war, not with each other, not with the dar’jetti, and not with the republic. Our people are united under a common banner, and for the first time since our Progenitors, the Mythosaur is back, and has revealed itself to only you, You have wielded the dark saber on more than one occasion, and yet, you have proven that a successful Mand’alor does not need to hold a weapon to be successful. You’ve led us to a new age,”

Bo-Katan shifted uncomfortably against their legs as she drank and wiped sweat away from her brow. “That’s a lot,” The woman shed her gloves and reached to scratch at the back of her neck with sharer than usual nails. “But I didn’t do it alone, and I never would be able to do any of it, without either of you, and without Din Djarin, or without Paz.” There were many among their ranks that had given much more than her, had sacrificed more of themselves than her in the pursuit of their home. 

“That does not exclude your leadership and influence through it all, however,” The Armorer reminded, causing the redhead to nod as she processed. 

“This is true, I supppose,” A pause, and a small smile. “Mandalorians are becoming something new,” 

“Like those who were formed directly from the Taungs,” Axe chimed in, bringing an excitable expression from the Mand’alor.

“That’s actually so true,” There was a knowing smirk on Axe’s lips as he forced his elbow into The Armorer’s side, as their Mand’alor went into an extensive tangent about their similarities to the first Mandalorians, and the fall of the Taungs that had secured their system, how, in regaining their planets and moons from Imperial control, they were almost like the crusaders of old. It was almost comical, the way the woman of near fifty standard years could turn into an excitable teenager the moment their history was mentioned. It was a side that he’d never seen much of until they came home, but one he enjoyed nonetheless, as he’d always find something new to learn from her. 

Koska joined the trio some time later, her arm draping around The Armorer’s shoulders as she dropped her chin on Axe’s shoulder, listening as the Mand’alor spun the stories of their people with excited hand gestures and the like. 

Truthfully, it was the most down-time Bo-Katan had given herself since the most recent bout of hyper-activity. She kept herself leaning on The Armorer and Axe’s legs, one arm tossed back to rest on The Armorer’s thigh as she explained the Taungs’ last stand, and the different ways their culture had branched off since the split. 

Their history was sprinkled with the hazards and the costs of war and destruction, even her sister, who’d done all she could to do better by their people, had not achieved such a feat. Many of the prior Mand’alor’s held titles that would have them remembered for eons, such as Mand’alor the first, Mand’alor the Indomitable, Mand’alor the Ultimate, and Mind’alor the Great.Bo-Katan would be remembered as the World Strider, the Mandalorian who brought their people back to a life like under the rule of Mand’alor the Uniter. 

Their system found safety and security under her rule, and they found a boom in hundreds of those oppressed by the Empire to create new clans, searching for a people and a purpose among their ranks. 

Mandalore was thriving once more under their rule, because it wasn’t truly hers alone, no matter who they’d allowed to hold the title, they had each poured themselves to get to this point, and as long as she was standing, Bo-Katan would ensure their songs would never be lost, that they would be seen not as just another soldier in a war, but as the foundation of their rebirth. 

[kad-dala]

An eclipse would hold a significant cultural importance because of "Maker comes to unmake" and the battle against Zhell under darkness of presumed volcano eruption.

I imagine Orthodox families devoting the total eclipse time to pray to Kad Harangir.

aww shit, ummmmmm mandalorian holidays?

Ooh. something I haven't thought much about, honestly, lmao. so bear with me as i completely 100% make stuff up lkasdjflkjasd galactic calendars are absolute Hell and mandalore doesn't abide by anyone elses rules so they do their own thing; apparently canonically mandalore's orbit is 366 days (boring) but the day is 19 hours (not boring!)

because the word for ten is two-fives i'm going to say five is an important number and that years are grouped into fives. there's some kind of big sort of 'yule' or 'new year' holiday at the end of every fifth year

also: mandalore, geographically, is apparently two-third's the diameter of Earth; however, Concordia is obviously fucking Massive if it has a breathable atmosphere, meaning Solar Eclipses are probably pretty common and could conceivably cover the whole damn planet every time they happen. so, there's like a mandalorian holiday every time there's an eclipse where you just bugger off to cook with family and don't have to go to work, and watch the eclipse with the kiddos (i'm not going to think about how absolutely insane mandalore's tides were before the oceans got boiled off).

Mandalore *used* to have pretty dramatic seasons (re: somehow being subtropical in many areas and having absolutely Bitter winters in the north and south) until the Dral'han, so seasonal holidays still exist even if they're a lot Less important than they used to be. Harvest festivals are a thing in like every culture and mandalorians are no exception - they're just a lot Bigger of a deal in places like Concord Dawn where most people are farmers asdklfjsdl

I imagine there's several holidays that maybe the NM tried to ignore a little bit re: celebrating the return of warriors after notable crusades or wars, wherein people are supposed to visit family maybe? just called various Homecomings

the date of the Dral'han and the date of the battle of Malachor V are probably pretty dour 'holidays', days of mourning etc. days where you recite your Rememberances in their entireties (tho you maybe should be doing it a lot more frequently than that lol), share stories from those past, etc. I can't decide if it would be good or bad luck to have a child born on one of those days but it's Some Kind of Luck or portent for their future birthdays are less important, but i'm sure after a successful verd'goten and the kid and mentors and whatnot get home it's a big Family Bash, passing the kid around to look at their shiny new armor lmao

there you go some stuff i pulled out of my butt

[ranahan]

Here’s a wild fan theory:

You see these blue triangles on Din’s gauntlets?

And these two little triangles on Boba’s (Jango’s) helmet?

And kind of here on Jaster’s cuirass?

I’ve pondered the significance (there was a post that made the connection between the triangles on the armour of various Mandalorians and clones, but I can’t find it anymore) and here’s my wild little theory.

You know what’s significant in Mandalorian culture and associated with the number three? The three Mandalorian gods Kad Ha’rangir, Arasuum and Hod Ha’ran.

So maybe for the Taung the triangle was a symbol of the three gods, the cosmic battle between growth and stagnation, and the Mandalorian faith as a whole. I like the idea of the triangle standing on one of its corners (“upside down”) ▽: the two upper corners are growth and stagnation, the bottom corner represents the fickle nature of fortune which may at any point tip the scales this or that way. The arrangement of the corners is also reminiscent of the iconic T-visor, and in that way, the T could be another representation of the idea of these teetering scales of cosmic battle.

After the Mandalorian Wars, the Mandalorians reinterpreted their old faith, came to view the gods as metaphors, and moved towards the belief in the Manda, the collective oversoul. And perhaps they also reused and reinterpreted a lot of the old iconography.

So for the modern Mandalorians, one triangle is symbolic of the Manda, the collective oversoul and shared identity. And two triangles… well, what’s significant in Mandalorian culture and associated with the number six? The Resol’nare, or the six actions. Or in Din’s case (his gauntlets are of course a pair, so 6 corners in total), The Way of the Mandalore.

And I like to think that the placement might also be significant. Perhaps Din’s are on his hands to signify honour: “the Way guides my actions.” Boba’s over his view plate might signify vision. Jaster’s around his kar’ta, perhaps justice or faith. Near the mouth parts, truth. On the back of the helmet or on the back plate, it might be a protective cantrip: “watch my back.” And on the shins or feet, a wish for the Manda to guide one’s steps.

[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.   

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[setaripendragon]

Sunlight by Hozier - in Mando'a

If you remember this post where I translated I See Fire into Sindarin, you probably won't be all that surprised by this. I've fallen head-first into the Star Wars fandom (admittedly second-hand, but still), and of course, being me, I went straight for the conlangs. Mando'a might not be the most fleshed out language of the GFFA, but it is the one with the most Culture, at least in the fandom, so it's the one I gravitated to. And honestly, I really like how... brisk it is? It drops unnecessary pronouns and verbs, barely bothers with tense at all, and contracts everything. It's so much fun to play with.

Sunlight isn't the first song I started translating into it (that would be Born For This from the Spiderverse movie), but it is the first one I've finished, because matching Mando'a to English scansion is hell. It struck me as a very Codywan song, which is why I picked it to translate (yes, I do imagine Obi-wan composing/singing it in honour of Cody pretty much every time I listen to it).

I did have to make up a couple of words because the dictionary I use didn't have even a near-equivalent to the concept I was looking for, and those will be marked with a * and I'll add the 'etymology' of them at the end. (If anyone knows any other Mando'dictionaries, throwing me a link will win you my undying gratitude.) I also had to get creative with my interpreations of the meaning of certain lines, since, just to pick the most obvious example, Mandalorians probably don't have the myth of Icarus like we do.

Any feedback, advice, or just general linguistics flailing is always welcome. Now, without further ado, here it is:

Tran'nau* (Sunlight)

Ni ru'nevor nau (I shunned the light) Ru'medinui naak be ca'tra (I shared in the peace of night) Ni nu'mirdi ba'slanar (I wouldn't think to leave) Par tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (For sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Tion'ad karta nu'redal (Whose heart doesn't dance) Dar'shekemi tra be ca'tra (Wouldn't abandon the stars of night) Sha solyc hettyc haa'it (At first burning vision) Be tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Of sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Ni r'echoyla ba'gar, tran'nau (I was lost to you, sunlight) Ru'miy sa kisen* ba'gar, tran'nau (Flew like a moth to you, sunlight) Ner tran'nau (My sunlight)

Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Gehat'ik arasuum (The tale remains the same) Ru'rejor bal ven'rejor (Told before and told again) Runi ru'got* lo ciryc pitat (The soul that's born in the cold rain) Kar'mir tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Mar'e lis dinuir gai (At last I can give a name) Ba tracin haaranovyc (To a hidden flame) Sa kar'tayli darasuum (As love/knowing forever) Ner tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (My sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

An tengaana ba'ni, tran'nau (All that's displayed to me, sunlight) Ratiin kar'mir ba'ni, tran'nau (Is always known to me, sunlight) Ner tran'nau (My sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Tran'nau (Sunlight)

An ner alii'gai* lo gar gaan solus (All that I am is in your hands) Ke'juri ni ulyc, ner tran'nau (Carry me carefully, my sunlight) An ner alii'gai* lo gar gaan solus (All that I am is in your hands) Ke'juri ni ulyc, ner tran'nau (Carry me carefully, my sunlight)

Antuur* mhi cuy tome (Everyday we exist together) Kar'mir gar ner shereshoy (Know that you're my reason for living) Ner oya bal kyr slati* gar (My life and death belong to you) Ner tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (My sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Narbatir* sen'tra (Wearing a jetpack) Kyr'nayl'gam* briikasyc (I'm death-trap clad happily) Galar carud ni trattokor (Spilling smoke I fall) Chur tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Gar kar'tayli tran'nau (Your love is sunlight) Gar kar'tayli tran'nau, tran'nau, tran'nau (Your love is sunlight, sunlight, sunlight)

Tran'nau (Sunlight) Tran'nau (Sunlight) Tran'nau (Sunlight) Tran'nau (Sunlight) Tran'nau (Sunlight)

[*tran'nau = tra (star field)/tranyc (sunny) + nau (light)] [*kisen (moth) = kih (small) + senaar (bird)] [*ru'got (born) = ru- (past prefix) + goten (birth)] [*alii'gai (identity) = aliit (clan)/aliik (sigil/symbol) + gai (name). This is technically already a word that means 'colours', but I took that to mean specifcally the colours one wears on their armour, the 'face' they show the world, i.e. their identity.] [*antuur (everyday) = anay (every) + tuur (day)] [*slatir (to belong to) = slanar (to go) + ti (with). I took the inspiration for this from the etymology of the word 'belong' in English.] [*narbatir (to wear/to put on) = narir (to put) + bat (on)] [*kyr'nayl'gam (death-trap-skinned) = kyr (end/death) + gaanaylir (to trap) + 'gam (skin). Since beskar'gam is literally 'metal-skin' and the word for skin literally translates to 'soft-skin', I figured it could also be poetically used to mean 'clad in']

[echoedcrosshairs]

Mandalorian Proverb: Fortune Cookie Edition

“Adversity reveals genius, prosperity conceals it.”

In the old Mandalorian religion there was the destroyer war god Kad Ha’rangir was the god who represented universal growth and change while Arasuum was the sloth god that represented sloth and idleness. These two gods were the most important of Mandalorian beliefs, adversity was the progression of the culture, clan and oneself while being peaceful was falling behind, never growing or developing and was viewed as a disgrace.

Adversity reveals genius, prosperity conceals it.

Growth and change is found after the destruction of something both metaphorically and realistically, fighting always challenges one’s views and beliefs without growth we would never learn even in horrific events it’s challenges us to learn how to keep it from happening again. Adversity is the essence of life progressing us but when we grow to fat in our riches we become complacent and no longer pay attention to the battles in front of us and we move backwards, to at ease with the security to stop seeing.

[mayxthexforce]

Headcanuary - Day 12

Prompt: religion.

A'Sharad Hett

The Tuskens' religion doesn't center around a God, but around water. The story is that at first, there was a god or a few gods, but then one day they abandoned Tatooine, but not before telling the Tusken that from that point on, all the water on the planet was sacred and was theirs.

Carnor Jax

Through the years, Carnor held onto a lot of the beliefs he learned while he was a child in the care of the Thyrsus Sun Guard. These beliefs involved the honor of battle and the worshipping of deceased Sith Lords as entities who could provide the living with power and knowledge to face different circumstances.

Goran Beviin || Medrit Vasur

While Mandalorians do not have a pantheon. They have some people who allegedly did exist who achieved sainthood/godhood. The main three who Goran and Medrit believe in are Kad Ha'rangir, the destroyer god, bringer of change and chaos, but also the personification of growth and unity; Arasuum, the sloth god, personification of stagnation who tries to tempt clans into becoming selfish and self centered. They're polar opposites and are in an eternal battle against each other. Then there's Hod Ha'ran, the trickster, agent of fickle fortune and bringer of balance.

Mellichae

While Mellichae himself didn't see his cult as a religion, the people who followed him certainly did. Mellichae was like a messiah to them, promising them power and riches beyond their imagination, healing a few broken limbs, proving himself over and over to possess supernatural strength because the Empire kept sending people to kill him, giving them answers for questions that they believed would remain unanswered forever, and lifting things with his mind with such ease, in a time where people who could do that were little more than a distant memory.

[stellevatum]

I am going to use the geological timescale we know OOCly because it's easier for people to understand just how baby Kar is by Celestial standards.

The first generation (her grandparents) came into existence only a few billion years after the Big Bang (so tens of billions at most). (Pre-Hadean)

Kar's father, Kad Ha'rangir and his brother Arasuum are the oldest of the second generation. They were born in and around Hadean Era, around the time the Earth was formed, and the others came after (so 4ish billions of years old and younger.)

Kar's older siblings Tor and Skira were the first of the third generation, born around the mid Triassic Period or so (hundreds of millions of years old).

Her cousins and half-siblings range from hundreds to tens of millions of years old. (So like Jurassic to Oligocene).

Kar at her oldest verse (which is her Borderlands-focused verse), just nearing 700 years old, meaning she is the youngest of the third wave Celestials. As her birth Year is estimated to be 2160-- or at least that is the year Skira dumped her on Mandalore--that puts her as a Holocene baby.)

Other things to think about:

Abeloth is a manufactured Celestial-- being a mortal that was made one through ritual and will not be counted as third wave. Or any wave. (Abeloth Georg is an outlier and should not be counted.)

The Father is likely first wave, and the Son and Daughter also early second wave--perhaps older/similar in age than Kad Ha'rangir.

The Father was likely the culprit for uplifting the Killiks vis a vis the Abeloth shit.

Kad Ha'rangir and his siblings were the uplifters of the Taung which later became the Mandalorians; hence why they are known by the names the Mandalorians gave them.

Theoretically other relatives could have uplifted the Kwa who in turn uplifted the Rakata who pulled their shit, etc

[cuminhoid]

hey Mark McHaley. love your stuff. could you please have made arasuum's mask not a pain in the ass to draw

[cienie-isengardu]

Cienie's take on Mandalorian Culture: Arasuum, the God of Death, not Sloth #2

The Funeral Rites of Taungs and later Mandalorian Warriors. <> Kad Ha’rangir and Mandalorian traditional weapons (part 1 — part 2 — part 3 – part 4 – part 5) <> Arasuum, the God of Death, not Sloth (part 1 — part 2 — part 3 — part 4)

The first part was an introduction to my theory that Arasuum is not the god representing laziness, but death. I based my reasoning on the Mandalorian language that distinguishes between stagnation and laziness, as one word is not derived from another but also pointed out a visible correlation between gods names and their roles, in which laziness does not fit what the sources provided so far for Mandalorian gods. Thus laziness as Arasuum’s attribute seems to me more like modern interpretation than the original meaning behind the myth.

Establishing those two important nuances, it is time to look closely at the source material and their nature. In advance, I must warn that this part is focused on examining the sources as much as the religion itself, as text critical analysis is a natural part of widely understood research. 

Keeping in that mind, let’s talk about source material.

Ancient Mandalorians were presented as religious society that once worshiped many gods before the war became a divine itself - the claim dates at least to “History of the Mandalorians” from Star Wars Insider #80, 2005. From 2005 to current day, there are three main sources that influenced fandom’s idea of Arasuum and his role in mandalorian mythology: 

Mandalorian: People and Culture [Star Wars Insider #86, 2006]

Industry. Honor. Savagery: Shaping the Mandalorian Soul [The Essential Guide to Warfare, 2012]

Death Watch Manifesto [The Bounty Hunter Code, From Files of Boba Fett, 2013]

The Star Wars Insider’s article was written by Karen Traviss, whose Republic Commando book series shaped and popularized the modern Mandalorians[1]. This piece was published on February 21, 2006, which chronologically predates Republic Commando: Triple Zero, released on February 28, 2006. A lot of presented here ideas were either already part of the author's previous work (Hard Contact book and Omega: Targets short story) or will be exploited more in further novels. Understandably then, Mandalorians: People and Culture is more of an introduction to the world of Mandalorians than an ultimate guide - though a great chunk of presented in article material built the ground for writing of other authors and fans alike, it is hard to miss how it contradicts itself on some vital matters.

The article starts with the opening quote from in-universe “Mandalorians: Identity and Language”, published by the Galactic Institute of Anthropology:

In five millennia, the Mandalorians fought with and against a thousand armies on a thousand worlds. They learned to speak as many languages and absorbed weapons technology and tactics from every war. And yet, despite the overwhelming influence of alien cultures, and the absence of a true home world and even species, their own language not only survived but changed little; their way of life and their philosophy remained untouched; and their ideals and sense of family, of identity of nation, were only strengthened. Armor is not what makes a Mandalorian. Armor is simply a manifestation of an impenetrable, unassailable heart. 

This passage gives us a sense of what the Mandalorians are - or rather how they are seen by the unnamed author(s). But this is a very romanticized if not outright idealized description, based more on wishful thinking than a “facts” (lore) itself.

For one, Mandalorians’ way of life did not remain untouched, as they changed from independent military force (Mandalorian Crusaders and Neo-Crusaders) into people mainly engaged in mercenary work due to lost Mandalorian Wars (3976-3960 BBY) and if we include much later New Canon, they changed from warriors to pacifist (738 BBY). Majority of Mandalorians’ inner conflicts were in fact about what Mandalorians should be, because there was no common, universal identity all people could cling to anymore. And yes, the majority of (Legends) Mandalorians saw themselves as warriors, but that was not enough to avoid schisms and civil wars. 

To name the major examples, the first real friction happened just before and during the Mandalorian Wars, between traditional Crusaders and the New-Crusaders whose philosophy and purpose deviated from the universally accepted norms. Among those “oddities” was establishing color-themed armors and using them as official ranks or mass-forcing people into the Mandalorian army - something that more traditional Mandalorians like Mandalore the Ultimate or Gummig did complain about through the comics series of KotOR and spin-off sources. The Knights of the Old Republic Campaign Guide (2008) openly states that

The traditional Crusaders do not proselytize; rather, they attract others to their cause through the examples they set. Veterans see the later Neo-Crusaders movement, which actively converts outsiders in its hurry to conquer the galaxy, as a perversion.

After the war, a great number of Mandalorians became mercenaries and Canderous Ordo needed decades to rebuild the sense of warrior honor and reunite scattered Mandalorians under his banner. For his effort, he earned the name Mandalore the Preserver. And yet the discord between warriors following the old traditions and those turning into mercenaries or outright bandits preying on the weaker grew stronger. This cultural shift has never been fully merged back and so three to four centuries later, we have another ideological conflict between Mandalorians, this time those following Mandalore the Avenger (Shae Vizsla) and Heta Kol, the Field Marshal of Hidden Chain. The clash again came down to the mercenaries vs warriors/crusaders mindset that we could sum up with Heta Kol’s quote:

In Shae Vizla, I see only hypocrisy. She has driven out those who oppose her view, yet she has remade the Mandalorians into servants of anyone who pays her enough credits--no matter what they believe. Where is the honor in that?" [The Old Republic game]

Similar conflict happened decades before Clone Wars, between True Mandalorians under Jaster Mereel and later Jango Fett’s leadership and Death Watch led by Tor Vizsla. Depending on the sources, Jaster Mereel either saw Mandalorians just as highly paid soldiers (as stated in Jango Fett: Open Seasons) or brought reforms to bring Mandalorians back to the more honorable ways (as presented in majority of tie-in sources), while Tor Vizsla wished to bring back Mandalorians to their conquering galaxy roots[2].

If we include New Canon, the mandalorian conflict takes even more drastic shape, this time between exiled warriors and those who renounced their war culture for pacifism. 

Which proves that in the main historic eras presented in lore, Mandalorians may share the same skills, be part of the same war culture, yet there is no “only right one” identity or philosophy that unites all people and during the inner conflicts, a great chunk of Mandalorians will consider their ideological opponents as “dar’manda”[3], or traitors regardless if they follow cultural norms or not. The Mandalorian style of life has changed and changed in a way that left their culture fractured and torn between seeking independence and rebuilding the Mandalorian Empire or accepting the life of mercenaries or even rejecting both ideologies for non violent, peaceful life. 

A similar thing may be said about language, because the way people speak naturally evolves with passing time and is a reflection of their culture and historical period they lived in. For Mandalorian language to remain the same for such a large period of time - five millenia, as quote states - its speakers would need either to die out or at least live in isolation, cut off from the rest of the galaxy. Which in both cases we know is not true. 

We need to remember that the post-Mandalorian Wars era is a time in which the original Mandalorians (Taungs) died out, replaced by human and non-human people adopted into culture before and during war. As then-current Mandalore the Ultimate noted himself, Mandalorians faced problems they never before had, including the new wave of recruits and not enough time to teach them their culture:

“So many new recruits. Different species, different armors, different languages - and not enough time to learn our ways”. [Knight of the Old Republic, #20]

Which is a valid reason to assume that original mando’a at some point was influenced by new recruits’ native languages, especially Basic. Because if there was no time or opportunity to teach a mass of people (often forced into the Mandalorian army against their will), then naturally all the gaps in linguistic knowledge will be filled by things “newcomers” actually knew and understood.  

Going further, The Mandalorians: People and Culture provides information that: 

Mando’a is predominantly a spoken language, and contractions and pronunciation variations occur much as they do among Basic speakers

and that

The infinitive ends in -ir, -ar, -ur, -or, or -er. Removing the “r” usually produces the stem, e.g.: jurir - to bear or carry. Sometimes an apostrophe separates the terminal vowel, to indicate the slight glottal stop of some Mandalorian accents. This apostrophe, known as a beten, or sigh -- as in Mando’s -- can also indicate breathing, pronunciation, or dropped letters. So ni juri kad (I carry a saber) or even ni jur’kad is a correct as ni juri kad in some communities.

or

Spelling and punctuation have optional forms so it’s hard to get it wrong. What other species might take for sloppy grammar, Mandalorians embrace as the right of the individual Mando’ad (son or daughter of Mandalore) to add their own touches to their language, much as they customize their armor.

If we agree that mando’a words can be pronounced however each Mandalorian feels like, then it is natural the language may vary from one speaker to another, and with passing time creating specific dialects for individual clans or even the whole region. For example, Concord Dawn is part of the Mandalorian Sector. The article noted

[Mandalorians] are still predominantly human, and a large percentage of the population shows genetic markers typical of the peoples of Concord Dawn and nearby planets. Although there is no true Mandalorian ethnic type, the prevalence of common gene clusters indicates that specific populations were either absorbed by the Mandalorians or joined them.

and yet, Concord Dawn, despite such historical and cultural strong ties to Mandalorians, has its own dialect[4] that is apparently still close enough to mando’a to be understand by Mandalorians however it has its own distinct words that make communication difficult.

“It wasn't Mando'a, but it was close enough for any Mandalorian to understand”. (Republic Commando: Order 66)

&

Commander Bacara was originally trained by one of the few non-Mandalorian instructors, an ex-Journeyman Protector named Cort Davin  from the Concord Dawn system. [...] Bacara found it difficult to converse in Mandalorian with his brethren as he learned the peculiar dialect of Concord Dawn, which used words like “tat” instead of “vod” for “brother”. (Guide to the Grand Army of the Republic, published in Star Wars Insider: 84)

The moon of Mandalore, Concordia, apparently also has its own dialect[5], as mentioned by The Clone Wars in The Mandalore Plot episode:

Satine Kryze: He was speaking in the dialect they use on Concordia, our moon.

A dialect that the Duchess of Mandalore recognized easily and was capable of understanding and speaking it(?).

Additionally, the Complete Star Wars Encyclopedia’s entry for mando’a states:

At its core, Mando’a was a spoken language, because many different groups spoke it with enough subtle variation that writing it down became problematic [...].

As much as I agree it is impressive for Mandalorians to cultivate their culture for millenia despite many historical setbacks (including devastating military defeats) that influenced their political-economic standing in the galaxy, saying that language did not change for such a long period of time is both wrong and surprising for an in-universe academic claim officially published by the Galactic Institute of Anthropology.

I assume the author’s intent was to praise Mandalorian’s unshakable sense of identity. However, looking at it from the perspective of time and expended lore, this statement puts into question not Mandalorian history but the Republic (galactic)’s knowledge about the Mandalorians. It does not help that we have no time frame in which the in-universe academic text was written, as in how out-dated could be the source. 

The main part of the Mandalorians: People and Culture is not free of inconsistency and some parts contradict each other within the same article. This is the most seen with gender norms, a topic to which we will soon come back in regard to Mandalorian religion. 

At the start, the article points out unknown origin of Mandalorians

[...] they’re probably not even the original Mandalorian race. Anthropologists disagree about their roots; did they begin as humans or, as a few academics still claim, a gray-skinned non-human species? Whichever theory you find most convincing, they became a species of predominantly human nomadic warriors 

while the “as a few academics still claim” statement sounds dismissive toward original Mandalorians (Taung species) and the connection between them and now predominantly human Mandalorians[6]. A connection that is confirmed in lore since at least 1995. This uncertainty of historical background acknowledged by the author puts into question further information about their religion. 

Let’s take a look at the paragraph of Mandalorian religion:

Mandalorians were once intensely religious but disillusionment with the old fanaticism and worship of war itself gave way to a far less supernatural belief system among modern Mandalorians. They now regard creation tales, such as Akaanati’kar’oya (The War of Life and Death) as parables to illustrate a deeper philosophical meaning rather than literal supernaturalism. The stars were mythologized as fallen kings of Mandalore, and there are tales of the mythosaurs, but the pragmatic and skeptical Mandalorians look for allegory in these stories. The manda - best described as a combination of the collective state of being, the essence of being Mandalorian, and an oversoul - is not viewed as a literal heaven. Traditionally, the Mando afterlife is seen as a plane of spiritual energy in constant conflict between stagnation, and the opportunity for change brought about by destruction - a parallel with modern theories of cosmology. In Mandalorian myth, this conflict is symbolized by the eternal war between the sloth-god Arasuum - the personification of idle consumption and stagnation - and the vigorous destroyer god Kad Ha’rangir, who forces change and growth on the universe. Every Mando warrior who dies is said to add to the army of the afterlife, defending wives and children living in its permanent, peaceful homestead - the only place Mandalorians believe they can ever reach a non-transitory state of existence.”

The change from deeply religious society to less concerned with gods and religion feels like a natural order of things, especially when we remember that the original Mandalorians died out around four thousands years ago and their legacy was influenced by many factors since then. However, the aforementioned uncertainty of historical background for Mandalorian culture forces us to ask, to whom and which era refer to the term of traditional belief? By “traditionally” does the author here mean the already predominantly human Mandalorian culture or consider it as something passed down by “unknown” predecessors? Should we see the faith in Arassum and Kad Ha’rangir as the original religion practiced by Taung!Mandalorians or something that was created by an influx of human and other alien species that dominated the culture at some point? And it is not just a question related to Arasuum and Kad Ha’rangir, who to this day are the most prominent gods we know about but also to the concept of afterlife itself. 

For one, Arasuum and Kad Ha’rangir are said to be part of the same myth, the Akaanati’kar’oya that means The War of Life and Death. Since Kad Ha’rangir is connected to growth, change and vigor it feels natural to associate him with Life, as those attributes represent the nature of living. If we agree that this god represents Life, then it is logical to assume Arasuum’s connection should be to Death, the opposed force. Arasuum name literally means stagnation and from it comes the word arasuumir - to remain the same, so this is one attribute we have no reason to question about him. However, the author calls Arasuum also the personification of idle consumption, and at first look this may sound weird, as idle or not, consumption itself is part of living. That way, both gods are tied to an aspect of Life, while the myth supposedly presents them as opposites forces, the Life and Death.

But, as the paragraph explains, Mandalorians believed that afterlife mirrors their mortal life - wives and children are living in its permanent, peaceful homestead, defended by warriors. Thus we could theorize that Arasuum’s “idle consumption” may refer to those who after death became part of “homestead” and choose(?) peace over serving in the afterlife army.

At the same time, the text presents us two separate ideas of the afterlife. One, mentioned above, mirrors mortal life. The other is a concept called MANDA, “best described as a combination of the collective state of being, the essence of being Mandalorian, and an oversoul - is not viewed as a literal heaven.” As the article stated, at some point Mandalorian people changed from a deeply religious society to one disillusioned with supernatural beliefs and that modern Mandalorians regard mythology as “parables to illustrate a deeper philosophical meaning rather than literal supernaturalism.” A change that has reflection in their funeral rites[7]. Thus we can theorize that afterlife mirroring mortal life is older than the manda itself that may be even unknown to original Mandalorians (Taungs). What brings us back to the vital questions: what era and which historical Mandalorian people fall under the “traditional” term? 

This is indeed an important question, because of Mandalorians: People and Culture’s inconsistency, especially with the gender norms. For example, in paragraph MANDALORIAN SOCIETY, article claims

There is no gender in the Mandalorian language. This mirrors the equal status of men and women and the general flexibility of societal roles, despite what appears to many to be a traditional division of tasks along gender lines.

yet

Men are expected to be warriors and to raise and train their sons to be the same. Women maintain the home wherever the nomads happen to travel, and raise daughters. But women also are expected to have the combat skills of a man in order to defend the homestead when men are away. Women also fight alongside men on battlefront. If they have no dependent children to care for, they're expected to share the responsibilities of defense and warfare."

or

If the first child is a son, parents may wait eight years before having another child so that the first is old enough to accompany his father and be trained as a soldier for five years until he reaches adulthood at 13. Then his father is free to train a younger son. At 13, both girls and boys undergo a rite of passage in military and survival skills that makes them legally adults. If the firstborn is a girl, the couple may try for a son soon afterwards. A daughter will usually stay with her mother until she marries. But if a couple has only daughters, the girls will be trained as warriors by their father exactly as boys would be. Boys learn their earliest lessons from their mothers before the age of eight, so her fighting skills are critical; a couple pledges to raise warriors, and this is a joint commitment

which is far from gender equality (something mentioned by author also in her book series), as girls are treated as second-rated members of family compared to male descendants, while there is much more demanded from women than from men - to take care of children and train them nevertheless of their gender (while men should focus on sons first and foremost and may not be involved in their daughters’ training IF they already have a male descendant), maintain and protect home, be skilled a fighter with expertise in military and survival skills - even if it is boys that should be educated by both mother and father in combat, while girls may be trained just by mother and usually stay with her until marriage. A mother that is supposed to maintain the home (staying behind) while father takes sons with himself.

This statement[8] reflects traditional afterlife presented in the same article but makes little sense from the perspective of lore. Because we do in fact have a chance to see Mandalorian family dynamic during Mandalorian Wars, an era in which Taungs were still around. Knights of the Old Republic: War (2012) introduced us to Ko Sornell, a female Devaronian, who raided basilisk droid with her young son into battle

and who in general was deeply involved with ongoing military operations as warrior and comm specialist and simultaneously raising her children on frontlines

while there is no information about her husband's military position; we do see them together during mission - on one frame - standing arm to arm and that is all. As the couple together raised their children on frontlines, and Ko Sornell joined another mission instead of staying with her family in the detachment on Phaedacomm (thus being far away from the makeshift house for at least a few days)

until the comics again presents her with family (the last 5th issue),

it's logical to assume husband was the one that took care of their younger children[9] in the absence of their mother. Alternatively, children were under another clan member’s care when both parents were involved with a special mission on which they could not bring their kids.

What is even more interesting, Zayne Carrick - an outsider - upon meeting the Devaronian family pointed out that in the Devaronian culture, women stay at home with children while only males wander through galaxy.  

and was assured by the Mandalorian family they indeed are fine with being nomads and raising children on the frontline. 

This supports the statement of Mandalorians: People and Culture that “a couple pledges to raise warriors, and this is a joint commitment” but it undermines the division of adult responsibilities and the different treatment of children based on gender alone. Because a mother is not by default relegated to defending a homestead even though there are children under her care.

This is further backed up by Knights of the Old Republic Campaign Guide’s description of Mandalorian Crusaders

Mandalorians place great emphasis on the family, prizing chastity before marriage and fidelity thereafter. Children are trained from a young age, and all members of the family share an equal role in its preservation against enemies

and The Old Republic Encyclopedia (2012):

CLAN SOCIETY Mandalorian society operates with a minimal and largely informal power structure. Every Mandalorian is a member of a clan, either by birth or recruitment. Although different clans often disagree and even fight one another, they treat their own members like family, regardless of whether they’re related by blood ties or oath. Other than the clan chieftain, members have no official ranks or positions unless organized into a fighting unit where chain of command has a valuable place. Each man or woman is expected to contribute however they can, with those who achieve great things gaining increased respect and new responsibilities. Although clans may have ties or rivalries with other clans, there is no formal hierarchy. All chieftains report directly to the Mandalore The families of Mandalorians are close-knit and remarkably affectionate, despite the culture’s propensity for violence. Marriage is considered a lifelong commitment, and both biological and adopted children are raised with equal love. Sons and daughters are raised as warriors, as gender has little bearing in Mandalorian culture, so much their language hardly distinguishes between male and female.

If the Mandalorians in the twilight of Taung hegemony and relatively shortly after their extinction are presented as those who treat their sons and daughters as equally valued members of the community, then we should ask what caused such discord between this image and the one presented in Mandalorians: People and Culture. If we agree that the term of traditional Mandalorians from mentioned article is not about people from Sith Wars - Mandalorians Wars era and following conflicts but about those between the ancient and modern times, then once again we must determine how much the values ​​of the original Mandalorians have been distorted through the millennia and how trustworthy is our narrator.

As the sources of widely understood lore were examined, let’s look again at the “traditional” afterlife and Mandalorian gods involved with the creation myth. As the article proclaims, “every Mando warrior who dies is said to add to the army of the afterlife”, thus we should assume it includes warriors of all genders. But then the army’s purpose is “defending wives and children living in its permanent, peaceful homestead” yet there is no information against whom the presumably non-combatant inhabitants must be defended. If said army takes part in the eternal conflict between Death and Life, an army of dead wouldn’t then serve Arasuum rather than Kad Ha’rangir, whose connection is to life and change? 

There is no explanation why only wives and children are excluded, since children were meant to learn the art of war from their parents, thus logically should join their family in the ongoing battle from age of 8. We should also ask what about professions like blacksmiths or farmers who in life provided vital support for the army by making armors and weapons or producing food. Are they too enrolled into the army of the afterlife if they weren’t nomadic warriors or professional soldiers or allowed to stay in a peaceful homestead? What about those who never could become warriors due to physical or mental illness? Or the same-sex couples with their children? Article described afterlife as the “plane of spiritual energy”, but there is a gender division (women staying in safe homestead), age division (adults and children) and profession division (warriors and non-combatants/mothers/wives), wouldn’t that suggest that Mandalorians at some point believed that afterlife will to some degree mirror their mortal life? If the family bonds stay the same (marriage even in the death and children to take care of), it is not so difficult to imagine the army’s need for armor, weapons, maybe even food and clothes to continue the eternal battle.

Going further with that thought, Arasuum is the one that “remains the same”, while article adds “sloth-god, the personification of idle consumption” and the homestead located in afterlife is described as “permanent” and “peaceful” while the role of Kad Ha’rangir - the Destructor - is definitely much more aggressive in nature. I believe this could reflect the belief that life is a constant battle and struggle that every person at some point will lose, while death is the non-transitory state of existence that offers both a place of peace and an eternal army to join, thus fulfilling the religious purpose Mandalorians dedicated their life to.

Thus Kad Ha’rangir and Arasuum ties to each other may be more complex than we are led to believe because the sense of original mythology either got lost or has changed with Mandalorians over the millenia. Which is why I believe that Arasuum as sloth-god may be an effect of misinterpretation of modern Mandalorians who are disconnected from the original faith of Mandalorian!Taungs as they rejected religious fanaticism and worship of their predecessors.

It won't be an exaggeration to say that the Mandalorians: People and Culture is an important source that both helped popularize modern Mandalorians in star wars fandom during Prequels era and served as an useful introduction to their culture. However, from the perspective of widely understood lore and passing time, this article does not reflect the complexity of Mandalorian culture nor its religion. Arasuum and his opponent, Kad Ha’rangir, is only briefly introduced here but this introduction will influence other authors' take on mandalorian religion.

And those additional tie-in material will be the subject of the next part.

SIDENOTES:

[1] Karen Traviss popularized Mandalorians, however this faction was already expanded by tie-in materials in the past beyond Boba Fett’s character. Other Mandalorian human people for the first time were introduced in Star Wars 68: The Search Begins (1982), while the ancient Mandalorians (Taungs) came to life in The Sith War comics (1995), as part of Tales of the Jedi series. The game Knights of the Old Republic (2003) exploited Mandalorian Wars, and the post-war era, when Taungs died out and their legacy was passed on to the humans. Jaster Mereel’s True Mandalorians and Tor Vizsla’s Death Watch were introduced into lore in 2002, as a way to expand Jango Fett’s backstory for Attack of the Clones film, while the Death Watch name alone has been part of lore since 1989(!). Finally, the Republic Commando book series shaped and popularized the modern Mandalorians (2005-2009), before The Clone Wars animated series (2008-2020) explored the conflict between Death Watch and New Mandalorian, followed by animated TV series Rebels (2014-2018) and Disney made a whole mandalorian-focused TV series (2019-present day).

[2] It is worth keeping in mind that all information about Jaster and Tor’s ideology comes from Count Dooku’s narration. Death Watch has never stated their goals in the comics alone, while Dooku’s opinions were based on information delivered by Jaster & Jango’s allies (including Silas, True Mandalorian tortured by the Sith Lord for information about Jaster’s death). So though Jango Fett: Open Seasons with no doubt is not an objective in its narratives, it gives some credibility to Dooku’s claim about Jaster and True Mandalorians as he sought out Fett's allies in his research about Jango’s past. 

[3] dar’manda means a state of not being Mandalorian - a person that is not an outsider, but one who has lost or given up on their heritage, mandalorian identity and the soul. 

[4] The dialect was first presented in The Cestus Deception book (2004) as a Mandalorian language but Guide to the Grand Army of the Republic by Karen Traviss and Ryan Kaufman published in Star Wars Insider #84 (september 2005) retconned it as a separate dialect. The “mistake” made in the book is however easy to explain - Sheeka Tull knew Jango Fett personally, after he freed himself from slavery but between he went full into the bounty hunting profession. As she herself was not a Mandalorian and she and Jango met in the Meridian  sector, she could mistake Jango’s native language for the mando’a. Fett, as a person born and raised on Concord Dawn could even mix his native language with mando’a. Understandably, Sheeka couldn’t see the difference if she had no other ties to mandalorian culture than one year of dating (post-Galidraan) Jango Fett.

[5] The Behind the Scenes section of wookiepedia’s page for Concordia dialect states that:

At least one Concordian phrase from "The Mandalore Plot"—specifically the line exclaimed by the Death Watch bomber before leaping to his death, and featured as this article's main quote—appears to have been drawn from a 2007 post on the Empire at War forum, in which a user had compiled a list of fanon words and translations for the fledgling Mandalorian language. The aforementioned quote, "Calhava bru'chun dralshye'ran," was translated in the post as "Compassionate leaders will burn." Although the translation would seem contextually appropriate to the episode's storyline, to date there has been no official confirmation that this is the canonically accepted translation.

[6] The part of article focused on language acknowledged the similarity between mando'a and the language of the Taung "from whom the original inhabitations of Mandalore were thought to be descended", yet still does call mando'a origins as unclear.

[7] There is a visible difference between ancient and modern Mandalorians in regard to their dead. Ancient Mandalorians took time to perform proper funeral rites for warriors killed in fight and even have special Death Ceremony for the most brave while modern people have less strict approach. Partially due to the nature of mercenary work (when sometimes the body of fallen comrade could not be brought back to home) and partially due to believing in Manda, in which soul is more important than the body.

[8] The presented idea of Mandalorian fathers training sons may in fact be based on Attack of the Clones Visual Guide (2002) and not be Karen Taviss' own invention. I think the presented informations in her article could be an attempt to keep lore intact. Below the AotC Visual Guide's description for comparison:

Like Father, Like Son In Mandalorian tradition, fathers were responsible for training their sons in combat skills. At age 13, boys had to face the trials of manhood. Although these rites could be fatal, actual deaths were extremely rare because candidates were so well prepared. The close father-son bond, built on respect, trust, and discipline, produced highly capable and confident individuals.

[9] The presented frame with Ko Sornell's family forgot include the small baby presented in issue #2 (the frames as reference were included in the analysis). Considering the mentioned baby and how the daughter is much smaller than the son at least in the one frame we see the kids close-up,

I think it is safe to assume there were two younger children most likely left under father's care while Ko Sornell was raiding the basilisk droid with her son (and three kids to take care of when Ko was far away for at least few days).

[akalenedat]

I'm the strong one, I'm not nervous Ni kotyc solus, ni naas chaabyc I alone am strong, I’m not afraid

I'm as tough as the crust of the Earth is Ni sa atin sa pel’gam be me’suum I’m as tough as the skin of a planet

I move mountains, I move churches Ni shaadla cerare, ni shaadla me’sene I move mountains, I move starships

And I glow, 'cause I know what my worth is Bal ni drali, jorcu ni kar’tayli ner ruusaanyc And I shine, because I know in my heart I am reliable

I don't ask how hard the work is Ni ne’tioni megin umaan bor I don’t question the difficulty of the task

Got a rough, indestructible surface Gana beskaryc, caburyc aranov Got an armored, guarded defense

Diamonds and platinum, I find 'em, I flatten 'em Meshuroke bal beskar, ni mar’eyi bic, ni shukala bic Gemstones and beskar, I find it, I crush it

I take what I'm handed, I break what's demanded, but Ni vore meg gar dinui, ni skuku meg gar verbori, al- I accept what you give, I break what you hire (me for), but-

Under the surface Chur ner pel’gam Under my skin

I feel berserk as a tightrope walker in a three-ring circus Ni’aala aikiyc kaden sa verd bat vheybej I feel as desperate and angry as a soldier in a minefield

Under the surface Chur ner pel’gam Under my skin

Was Hercules ever like, "Yo, I don't wanna fight Cerberus?" Tion vurel ru’sirbu Kad Harangir “Ni ne’copaani akaani Arasuum?” Did Kad Harangir ever say “I don’t want to fight Arasuum?”

Under the surface Chur ner pel’gam Under my skin

I'm pretty surе I'm worthless if I can't be of servicе Ni urmankala ni nibral meh ni ne’lise pirimmuy I believe I’m a failure if I can’t be useful

A flaw or a crack, the straw in the stack Kih'hupur ra aar’ika, trac’ika A small injury or little pain, a small flame

That breaks the camel's back Hetti an akay haran Burns until all is annihilation

What breaks the camel's back, it's Tion’megin goteni tracinya, bic What birthed the flame, it

Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that'll never stop, whoa Mishuk sa kih, kih, kih, megin draar kyrdi Pressure like small, small, small, that never ends

Pressure that'll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop, whoa-oh-oh Mishuk megin shuk, shuk, shuk, akay gar trattoko Pressure that will crush, crush, crush, until you collapse

Give it to your sister, your sister's older Ke’dinui gar vod, gar vod ruug'la'shya Give it to your friend, your friend is older

Give her all the heavy things we can't shoulder Ke’dinui kaysh an burk’yc akaan mhi ne’parji Give them all the dangerous fights we can’t win

Who am I if I can't run with the ball? Tion’ad ni meh ne’viini ti rugam? Who am I if I can’t run with the ball?

If I fall to Meh ni trattoko at If I collapse to

Pressure like a grip, grip, grip, and it won't let go, whoa Mishuk sa marev, marev, marev, bal bic ne’tengaana Pressure like a fist, fist, fist, and the hand won’t open

Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'til it's ready to blow, whoa-oh-oh Mishuk sa sol, sol, sol, akay goore jarile Pressure like a count, count, count, until the bomb lays waste

Give it to your sister, your sister's stronger Ke’dinui gar vod, gar vod kotishya Give it to your friend, your friend is stronger

See if she can hang on a little longer Haa’tayli meh kaysh atini kih munit'shya See if they can endure a little longer

Who am I if I can't carry it all? Tion’ad meh ni ne’jori anaybic? Who am I if I can’t bear everything?

If I falter Meh ni trattoko If I collapse

Under the surface Chur ner pel’gam Under my skin

I hide my nerves and it worsens, I worry somethin' is gonna hurt us Ni haaranovo ner aal’briike bal debaani, ni baati adate jurkadi mhi I hide my nerves and it declines, I worry people will threaten us

Under the surface Chur ner pel’gam Under my skin

The ship doesn't swerve, has it heard how big the iceberg is? Me’sen n’ami vaii, tion susulu tra’ruus orine? The ship doesn’t change direction, has it heard the asteroid is the biggest?

Under the surface Chur ner pel’gam Under my skin

I think about my purpose, can I somehow preserve this? Ni mirdi par ner narser, tion’lise ni ret’yc tayli ibic? I think about my purpose, can I possibly preserve this?

Line up the dominoes, a light wind blows Paru verde, johayc ke’gyce Form up the soldiers, the command is spoken

You try to stop it tumbling, but on and on it goes Gar kebbu nari alor, al bat bal bat ibic taabi You try to be the leader, but on and on this marches

But wait, if I could shake the crushing weight of expectations Ke’pare, meh ni parji jaon ibic mishukla ke’gyce Wait, if I claim victory over these overwhelming demands

Would that free some room up for joy Tion parjai mav ca’nara par briikase Would victory free time for happiness

Or relaxation, or simple pleasure? Ra briikasak, ra pakod shereshoy? Or a run ashore, or simply today’s joy?

Instead, we measure this growing pressure Ashi, mhi ja’haili ibic mishuk drashaa Other, we watch this pressure grow

Keeps growing, keep going, 'cause all we know is Drashaa, ke’taabi, jorcu an mhi survari cuyi Growing, march on, because all we understand is

Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that'll never stop, whoa Mishuk sa kih, kih, kih, megin draar kyrdi Pressure like small, small, small, that never ends

Pressure that'll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop, whoa-oh-oh Mishuk megin shuk, shuk, shuk, akay gar trattoko Pressure that will crush, crush, crush, until you collapse

Give it to your sister, it doesn't hurt and Ke’dinui gar vod, ne'kadala bal Give it to your friend, no hurt and

See if she can handle every family burden Haa’tayli meh kaysh brali anay aliit akaan See if they can succeed with every family war

Watch as she buckles and bends but never breaks Ja’haili vaal kaysh aarayi bal tal’gala al draar ramaana Observe while they suffer and bleed but never die

No mistakes, just Naasad shabe, shi No mistakes, just

Pressure like a grip, grip, grip, and it won't let go, whoa Mishuk sa marev, marev, marev, bal bic ne’tengaana Pressure like a fist, fist, fist, and the hand won’t open

Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'til it's ready to blow, whoa-oh-oh Mishuk sa sol, sol, sol, akay goore jarile Pressure like a count, count, count, until the bomb lays waste

Give it to your sister and never wonder Ke’dinui gar vod bal draar mirdi Give it to your friend and never wonder

If the same pressure would've pulled you under Meh tatla mishuk shukala gar If the same pressure would crush you

Who am I if I don't have what it takes? Tion’ad ni meh ni ne’ramikadyc? Who am I if I’m not able to face any challenge?

No cracks, no breaks Naasad shupure, naasad aaray No injuries, no pain

No mistakes, no pressure! Naasad shabe, naasad mishuk! No mistakes, no pressure!

[mandalhoerian]

( ANTIBIOSIS )

PAIRING: Anakin Skywalker x OC

SHIP TROPES: bitch4brat, haters to friends, the hero x random npc/side character he picked instead of the princess, villainess x male lead she corrupted

WARNINGS/TAGS: terminal illness, recreational drug use, medicinal drug use, disability (cybernetics), chronic pain, medical horror, past grooming and teacher-student relationship, themes of death, anakin skywalker in general

TIMELINE: pre-aotc - aotc (~24-23 BBY)

READ ON AO3 ! | KA'TRACYN VIZSLA TAG !

The young Margrave Ka'tracyn Vizsla leads a life of isolation and tranquility in her sanctuary, tending to her gardens and keeping to her research. Having tossed all the heavy work of politics on the shoulders of her poor uncle, she doesn't shy away from indulging in the luxury of a leisurely lifestyle, surrounded by the only staff she tolerates and won't kick off the premises of her manor within a day: droids. It's a very well-known fact that Duchess Satine Kryze's bias is the only crutch holding her up as the head of House Vizsla, otherwise, the old warrior tradition of her house dictates she'd have been forsaken for being unfit for the title long ago. The lack of the Way and its teachings amongst the New Mandalorians have allowed her to slip through the cracks of her ancestors' ideals. Frustration and disapproval of her incompetence and blatant favoritism of her adoptive aunt have led to a bad reputation being cemented in Lady Vizsla's name by the public. The more traditional of Mandalorians have nicknamed her Arasuum after the old god of sloth and laziness in the Mandalorian religion. It's also a derogatory word meaning idle, lazy, spoiled, complacent - all words one would use to describe someone who's never experienced hardship nor conflict in their life. Which was true, of course, along with the more widespread title used for her by those with more political power and sway: the Villainess of Concordia. Ungrateful, selfish, callous, cold, aloof, and overall ill-equipped to lead anyone. Pre Vizsla deserves her position is the most common sentiment to be found surrounding the young aristocrat. It's routine. Life isn't bad, actually, if a little predictable, and Katra wouldn't have it any other way. She doesn't mind being villified as long as it keeps unwanted attention at bay. It's boring, admittedly, but safe.  So of course, it doesn't last. Her former sponsor in the Republic Futures Program, Padmé Amidala, suddenly calls in a favor, commissioning her to testify against the Military Creation Act in the Supreme Court of the Galactic Senate in legislative debates as an expert planetologist.  Unfortunately for Katra, her belief that nothing will prevent a war from breaking out is the least of her worries. Her ship gets hijacked, stranding her in the Outer Rim territories, making her one of the many scientists who conveniently couldn't make it in time to show up for the senator in her time of need. The rescue soon comes in the form of Anakin Skywalker, who is tasked with escorting her to Coruscant per Senator Amidala's request, kickstarting a chain of events that eventually ends with him assigned as her security detail for the foreseeable future.  Turns out, it's a collaboration far from harmonious; Katra is not a fan of The Jedi Order, and Anakin definitely isn't thrilled to babysit a snobby, privileged, entitled shut-in for his first solo assignment either. 

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5

[tailorvizsla]

Arasuum and the Smith

Rating: PG Word Count: ~2200 words Warnings: Mention of creepy crawlie space bugs, but nothing too graphic. Author’s Notes: I posted this on AO3 and completely forgot to post it here. So, here y’all go. This is my take on what Mandalorian lore/mythology might look like. I hope y’all enjoy. ❤️

Part of the Mandalorian Lores and Myths series.

📚  My Master List 📚

A very long time ago, when Mandalore was still green and the stars were still unknown, there lived a Smith.

She powerful woman, as tall and broad as the L'Langon mountains. Her hands were hard and strong from a lifetime spent at the Forge, and she carried herself with grace. The Smith tended to the flame of the forge as faithfully as she tended the altar of Kad’Harangir, guarding both with her mighty hammer and sharpened blades. Her Tribe had many successful hunters. Every household had meat, furs, and sweet wine in excess. It was as if Kad’Harangir was leading them on their hunts, granting them blessings of success and prosperity.

For a long time, there was peace, and all rejoiced heavily.

As time went on, some began to rejoice a little too much. With each passing week, more and more of the verde stopped training, and instead spent their time eating and drinking. The tradespeople started to grow lazy, rushing to finish their work for the day and in turn, producing items of inferior quality. The Smith asked them when they would return to work, and the answer was always the same.

There was no fight in times of peace, so there was no reason to continue learning to fight. It was only midspring – there would be plenty of time to stock up for the coming winter later. And they would soon return to their gambling and drinking.

Tried as she might, she could not rouse her people to return to the industrious way they had once been. Each time she returned to her Forge, she could feel the same desire to end her day early and go join the Tribe in drinking and feasting. “Join your Tribe,” her inner voice told her, “For what better way to improve morale than to have their leader with them?” However, the Smith was a wise woman, and she knew in her heart that this was not the normal laziness that came with a successful season. She decided to investigate.

One cool evening, the Smith plucked a single coal from her Forge and placed it into her steel lantern. On all sides, it bore the sigil of Kad’Harangir, inlaid with kyber and quartz. For as long as she had owned the lamp, she had been blessed by him, and so she prayed to find the source of the evil of her home. After drawing the fur cloak about her shoulders, she set off into the darkness, using the light from her ember to search the shadows.

It did not take her very long to find the source of the rot in her Tribe. There, in the middle of the karyai, she found Arasuum himself, drinking and gambling with the verde. Even though he had taken on a humanoid form, she knew it was him, for not even her sacred flame could keep the chill in the air at bay. She did not know what to do – after all, what could a mere mortal do against the gods themselves? What could she do to harm the being who had been born before light itself even existed?

She almost despaired as she gazed down at the lamp in her arms. As if sensing her weakness, the coal seemed to glow just a little brighter, and then she knew. There was one way to best a god, and that was with her wits.

The Smith had always been taught that Arasuum was the personification of all that turned Mandalorians away from the path of the Resol’nare. She knew him to be lazy, cruel, and arrogant. He was also prideful. Suddenly, an idea blazed to life within her, and she knew she could win back her people from Arasuum’s insidious call.

She got to her feet and tucked her lantern under her cloak. Approaching his table, she bowed her head in respect, and asked if she could listen to his tales.

Arasuum, of course, could feel the warmth of the sacred flame in her arms. He could hear the song of Kad’Harangir beating within her heart. This woman was mortal – her lifespan no more significant than the grains of sand upon his boot – and so she was not a threat to him. After all, Kad’Harangir had not defeated him in the eons since the first light had touched Mandalore.

Despite knowing that the Smith had been blessed by Kad’Harangir himself, Arasuum granted her request and allowed her to join him at his table. When she accepted his offering of ale, he thought he had won her loyalty and devotion.

With only a thought, Arasuum turned stones and rocks into roasted meats and sweet, delicate pastries. The Smith flattered him and praised his powers until he finally lowered his guard. The Smith listened with wide eyes and attentive ears as he boasted of his prowess in battle, of how he could hold Kad’Harangir at bay without even lifting a weapon.

The Smith knew that Arasuum was a trickster, capable of changing his appearance to fool mortal eyes, so she asked him to show her how he had thwarted Kad’Harangir so many times.

Arasuum laughed at her, pleased to share his stories, eager to prove that his counterpart was not worthy of her unending devotion. First, he turned into a mighty mythosaur, his entire body nearly as long as the tent as they were sitting in. He showed her the glistening teeth that had devoured Kad’Harangir’s armies in a single bite. The Smith was deeply frightened, but the coal in her arms glowed soothingly, burning away the self-doubt that had begun to fester within her heart. The Smith continued forward, knowing that she would have to face things even more terrifying to save her people.

Bravely, she asked to see another one of his forms. This time, Arasuum changed into one of the mighty sand birds. He told her that each beat of his wings could bring a tornado of sand and lightning into existence. Many of Kad’Harangir’s armies had been killed this way, their very flesh burned to charcoal. His feathers – made of pure gold – glistened brightly in the darkened karyai.

She knew that the feathers would blind her if she gazed at them for too long, so she looked him in the eyes and praised him. With each word of flattery, Arasuum fell deeper and deeper into her carefully laid trap. The Smith dared to ask him to change into another terrifying beast, and he readily agreed to show her the creature that brought fear into his own heart.

With a rustling of gilt feathers, he changed his body into that of a plague beetle. Wherever the creatures appeared, said he, devastation of the crop and people would follow. Entire Tribes would wither away to dust in just days. She felt a pulse from the ember in her arms, and she knew it was time to act.

As quickly as she could, the Smith threw open the top of her lantern and seized the plague beetle with her tongs. Even as they melted, she forced him into her lantern and shut him away. He tried to change forms, but the sacred symbols of Kad’Harangir neutralized his powers. He raged and ranted as the Smith carried him to her Forge. He promised her immeasurable wealth and power if she freed him, but she did not fall for his promises. Above all else, she knew Arasuum to be a liar and a fraud.

She lifted the lantern above her head and prepared to cast him into the molten iron. Before she could destroy him, there was a flash of light, and Kad’Harangir himself appeared before her. Kad’Harangir stopped her from destroying him.

“Smith,” said Kad’Harangir, “What are you doing?”

“I am destroying this darkness,” she exclaimed. “Arasuum will never again take my people!”

“Without Arasuum’s darkness, you shall never know my light,” Kad’Harangir responded. “You must not destroy that which brings me balance.”

The Smith was very confused, but her hands wavered, and she lowered the lamp onto the edge of her Forge.

“Why should I not destroy him?” she demanded, “Have you seen what evil he has inflicted upon my people?”

Kad’Harangir only smiled at the Smith.

“If Arasuum is evil, then so am I,” Kad’Harangir said.

The Smith burned with righteous fury at his words. Before she could insult him, he spoke again.

“When my light parches the earth and kills your crops; when my fire burns your homes to ash, it is Arasuum’s rains that extinguish my flames,” he said. “Your people willingly brought him into their hearts, to follow him down the path of sloth. It is not your place to take that decision from them.”

The Smith frowned. God or not, she was not so easy to sway with only words. Kad’Harangir smiled again, seeing his own stubbornness in her frown.

“How do you know when it is time to eat, Smith?” he asked.

“I eat when I am hungry,” she said.

“How do you know when it is time to sleep?” he asked.

“I sleep when I need rest.”

“How do you know when it is time to drink wine and play cards?”

“When I have finished working.”

“Too much of anything will lead you down the path of greed and laziness. Too little, and you will deprive yourself, and you fail to thrive,” Kad’Harangir said. “It is only by remembering that which you were taught that you can walk the knife’s edge between sloth and deprivation.” He gestured at Arasuum, who wailed in his burning hot prison. “You alone are responsible for your choices, Smith.”

And she understood. She lifted the lid and Arasuum came slithering out, having taken the form of a long, strange insect. He reared back to strike with poisonous fangs, but Kad’Harangir caught him by the throat and cast him outside into the darkness.

“Leave!” he said in a voice that made earth beneath her feet shake in fear. “There is no place for you here, brother!”

With a hiss, Arasuum disappeared in his shame, never again to enter the place where Kad’Harangir’s heartbeat sang loudest.

“How do I keep him from coming here again?” she asked. “From taking my people from me?”

“We were once but infants, swaddled in the fabric that cradles the sun, the moon, and the stars above your head. While we lay at the feet of the Everything that created us, we created you. We formed vessels from clay, and when we breathed life into these vessels, we became part of you. You shall never be rid of Arasuum, just as you will never be rid of me.”

The Smith understood then – she understood that the great Everything did not intend for either god to triumph. There could only be balance between the two. For every light, there would be shadow. For every birth, there would be death. For every triumph, there would be a loss of equal measure for as long as Everything permeated all creation. And even the Everything would reach its own end, and become Nothing once more, to wait until the ancient cycle began again.

“I understand,” the Smith said.

Kad’Harangir smiled at her, for he knew it to be true. Outside, she could see T’Kuht beginning to rise over Seleya’s sharpest peak.

“My time here grows short,” Kad’Harangir said. “I have one request of you, Smith.”

She bowed her head once more, for it was an honor to be entrusted by the gods.

“In my stead, you will protect and teach your people. This will be your responsibility, Smith.”

“I will do as you will,” she said.

“Let me show you how,” he said, taking her lantern from her Forge.

He closed his hand around it and crushed it all into a single shining mass. He pressed it between his fingers, rolling the metal until it grew shiny and strong.

“With your hammer and my sacred flame, you will turn steel and kyber into beskar,” he said. “You will then form it into armor for protection, Smith.”

He placed the bar of metal into her waiting hands, gifting the Mando’ade with the first piece of beskar.

“This knowledge will be passed to your apprentices,” he said. “You will teach and guide our children when we cannot, Smith.”

With her agreement, the God disappeared, his voice never to be heard by mortal ears again. Some would say that the gods abandoned the Mando’ade after that fateful encounter with the Smith. Others would say that they still walk among us, veiled by time itself. However, the Smith would tell you to listen carefully – at dusk, when the sun has fallen, and T’Kuht rests on the sharpest peak of Mount Seleya – that when her cadence begins to slow, you might be able to hear the voice of Kad’Harangir and Arasuum singing together in perfect harmony.

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Notes:  

Because I am an absolute dork, I've borrowed T’Kuht, Mount Seleya, and the L'Langon mountains from Star Trek. T’Kuht means “The Watcher” in Vulcan and it will reappear later on in another fic. Mount Seleya is a sacred Vulcan mountain. The L'Langon mountains surround a place called "Vulcan's Forge" and it seemed really fitting to borrow these for a little bit. I’ve never posted any of my Star Trek fic and probably never will. However, in those stories, the blacksmith/the forge/the flame are also incredibly important, so I’m very glad to be able to share those ideas through these Mandalorian fics.

[hotnmad]

[Screaming at the top of my lungs into the ether] Iiiiiii loooooooooove theeeeeeeeeeeem soooooooooooooo muuuuuuuuuuuchhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“So, you did miss me,” you throw your head back, smiling and breathless.

“Yes, cyar'ika, ” he moans, rolling his hips until he sinks the rest of the way inside you, groaning with bliss. “I missed the way you taste. I missed holding you in my arms. I thought about you every day, and when Arasuum heard my prayers, you found me in my dreams.” 

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 YOU'RE A MASTERMIND AND A POET AND AN ERUDITE!!!!! I AM IN AWE!!!!! IN AWE I SAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Volume 4 - Post #9: Lucid Dreams [M]

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 6K (ninth post in Volume 4)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

A/N: this post is ~90% smut please proceed with caution

_______________________________

IX. “Who are they?” the Mandalorian asks.

You peer out from the gap under his arm. Up on the slope above, you spot the hazy outline of several figures making their way through the scattered huts and dwellings clinging to the mountainside. 

“Guards,” you say, recognizing the bright patches sewn over their breast pockets. “But I don’t think they’re on patrol.” 

The figures sway and meander as though too drunk to walk straight. They keep bunching up together to pass something around—a bottle, maybe?—only to break apart again to avoid tripping over each other. 

“Tagge Corp?”

“Not officially. Most are Lakarani, but they’re trained and outfitted by the Tagge’s to ensure…order.”

Mando unholsters his blaster.

“Don’t,” you whisper, placing a cautionary hand over his fist. “Please! If you’re seen—it could jeopardize everything.” 

He ignores your hushed warnings. “Can you confirm how many?”

“Three,” you mutter, growing more frustrated by the second. The Mandalorian might be accustomed to doing whatever he feels like without worrying about the consequences, but shooting his way through the entire camp, will put your whole operation in danger.

“Let’s not do anything rash, okay? They’re probably just making their way to the bonfire. That’s where everyone’s gathering for the solstice.”

“Weapons?”

Really? Okay. Yeah, stabbing him suddenly feels like a fantastic idea. 

“They usually take tasers on patrol. Some carry blasters.”

“Alright,” he says. “We hope they pass by. But if they make trouble for us…I’ll take care of the bodies.”

“Bodies?!” you groan.

“Leave the carcasses in the woods for predators. When the river washes up what’s left of them, it’ll look like an animal attack,” Mando shrugs. “An accident.”

You rub your hands over your face to prevent yourself from wrapping them around the Mandalorian’s throat. 

“Three missing guards is not going to look like an accident no matter what state they’re found in.” There’s a sharp edge to your words that only hinted at the rage building inside your chest. This isn’t some Outer Rim trading depot. Any sign of trouble would put the TaggeCo refinery on high alert. 

Sure, the Tagges liked to appear uninterested in the settlement right outside their gate. When it suited them. When they could claim ignorance about the appalling living conditions and environmental contamination. But they were, in fact, very interested in any signs of disorder. And three dead guards would certainly raise some eyebrows.   

Did they make the camp guards wear trackers? The guard Humia’s been sleeping with is the one who showed her how to block the signal. That didn’t necessarily mean—kriffing hell! If Mando leaves behind a bloody path that leads right back to your doorstep? Humia, Davik, and Serenio will all be fucked.

“Keep your head down,” the Mandalorian urges, angling his shoulders so the cloak hides you from view.

“Dammit, would you listen to me!” and you’re not the only one surprised to hear the fury in your voice. Mando’s head snaps up at attention. “Look,” you whisper softly, trying to regain some composure. “I know we haven’t spoken in weeks—”

“That was for your protection,” he says defensively. “You think I wanted—”

“That’s as may be,” you cut him off. “But my point is that you have no fucking clue how things work around here, or how close I am to—for you to just—you can’t just show up and—”

Mando’s hand closes firmly over your mouth, “They’re coming.” 

Light from the guard’s lantern splutters overhead, flickering against the steel and tin as it hovers aloft, illuminating their path down the slope.  

The Mandalorian’s hand slides up the back of your neck to press your forehead against his chest, completely obscuring your view of the approaching guards. You can only hear your breath and his, and the sound of footsteps coming closer.

While the criss-cross of shadows underneath the hut helps to conceal you, you aren’t totally hidden from sight. If they happen to look in your direction when they follow the path between the houses, the guards will see you under the lantern light. 

Or maybe the gods will be merciful? Most people never look further than the next foot in front of them, and these three are so drunk, they need all their concentration to stay upright. They might simply walk past and—   

But you hear from the crunch of gravel that they’ve already noticed the two indistinct figures huddled together amidst the pilings.  

They slow down. Suspicion? Voyeurism? You can’t be sure. 

But that last thought gives you sudden inspiration. “Grab me,” you whisper, looking into the Mandalorian’s viewplate. When he pauses to stare down at you in confusion, you explain, “Like you’re taking me up against the pylon.” 

There’s no time to run and even less time to think. You need to hide. Only there’s nowhere to hide—except exactly where you’re standing.

Mando catches on quick. He tucks the blaster into the bandolier strapped across his chest, and with two strong hands, grabs your ass in his wide palms and hauls you against his hips. The hard press of his body sends a trill of panic coursing through you. He has you pushed up against the steel beam now. You hadn’t really thought this through. Yet, despite your anger and frustration from moments ago, instead of pulling back, you lean closer. Lean into him. 

Leather fingers glide down your thigh to grip your knee, before he hoists your leg up, wrapping it around his back. He moves so fast and with such force, you have to throw your hands out behind you to brace yourself against the piling. The hem of your robe tugs open, the fabric falling aside to expose your leg from toe to hip, and the Beskar tasset scrapes against your bare skin. 

But the thrill of sensation when he presses his hips between your thighs, pinning you against the steel and concrete, is so good that you hardly notice. Suddenly you don’t care about him ignoring you, or the thoughtlessness of his actions. Pleasure arcs through you, and you gasp. 

The sound draws the guards’ attention. 

“Take a look at these two,” one of them guffaws. 

The beam from the lantern droid turns, casting a thin fluorescent glow over the pilings underneath your hut. With the Mandalorian’s hood draped over him, the cloak is just long enough to cover the Beskar, and his armor remains hidden. Hopefully, they won’t see the disintegration rounds strapped to his shin.  

“Remember,” Mando growls through clenched teeth. “This was your idea.” 

“I—” you have no idea what you planned to say in response—sorry?—but it doesn’t matter. 

Because that’s when his leather hand slips under the crease of your knee, lifting your leg up so high you have to wrap an arm around his shoulder to keep from falling. You barely regain your balance, when his hips buck, shoving you back against the rigid steel so hard you feel the pressure of his straining erection rub against you through the flight suit.

Oh?! Oh. Interesting! 

Is one gasp of pleasure in the Mandalorian’s ear all it takes to get that kind of reaction? Knowing that Mando is just as aroused, just as helpless to resist the force of attraction between you, is such an exhilarating rush. 

You feel ungodly smug right now. Still got it, you think to yourself. 

Then his hips buck again, and you lose the ability to think about anything else at all. It only lasts a moment, but that’s long enough to send a surge of pleasure ricocheting through you. A jolt of aching desire throbs between your thighs, and the cry that escapes your lips isn’t performance. 

“Whoa-ho, brother!” another of the guards chuckles. “Careful not to break her.”

They all laugh at this, and one of them calls out, adding, “Your queen deserves a bed, brother.” 

“A bed of blossoms for Ehki’s daughter!”  

“It’s Honatoka, brother! Where are her flowers?” 

“A crown of flowers for your queen!”

They are very loud and very drunk. Yet, some part of your brain vaguely acknowledges the harmless nature of their taunting. You sense no ill will from any of them. They had slowed down to jeer but made no attempt to approach. 

“Come on, you perverts! He doesn’t need you shouting suggestions.”

“Ah, you’re right, ha ha! At that rate, he won’t last much longer.” 

“My back hurts just watching.”

They howl in a chorus of raucous laughter as the slow tread of their footsteps continues to carry them down the rocky path.

Which should come as a relief. However, most of your brain is consumed by whether you might actually orgasm from the stimulation of the Mandalorian rutting between your thighs. This might be an act, but the way he pretends to fuck you is merciless. The rhythm of his hips is slow and brutal. 

You feel precariously weightless. The rigid strength of Mando’s arms is the only thing bearing you upright. He’d slid a hand behind your back, bracing his elbow against the pylon next to your face to conceal you from view as the guards pass by. But, his other hand remains cinched around your thigh, knee nearly pressed against your chin, using the leverage to hold you in place. Beneath the robe, you only have on a thin pair of shorts you were wearing when you fell asleep, and with each thrust, you feel the hard press of his cock rubbing the fabric against your clit.

By now, the sensation is almost overwhelming. Each time, you have to gasp for breath, caught between the bursts of pleasure—reeling on the edge of climax. All the blood in your body rushes to your cunt, pulsing with his every thrust, over and over. 

And, Blessed Mother, the sound of his breathing coming shallow and fast is enough to bring you to the brink already. You’re so close. 

Is this what he was like with other women? The women who came before, who fucked him in his armor and left afterward? Your time together had been so gentle and tender—Mando’s first time making love, being naked, sharing a bed in the aftermath. But you want this side of him, too. You want all of him. 

For some reason, the lantern droid had lingered to hover above the path, still casting its thin light overhead. You watch the undulation of his shadow while the Mandalorian rocks his hips against you. A jagged phantom looming over you, claiming you. You close your eyes and arch into his thrusts as the world goes black.

But even as you dance along the dizzying edge of orgasm, you can’t let go. Dammit, you can’t stop thinking about those faceless women. Ferocious mercenaries and cold-hearted bounty hunters, you imagine. Women of action, who did not sob under their blankets, wracked with indecision. 

Well, you may not be ruthless, but you can be shameless. Tonight, you want to erase everyone else who came before. Tonight, think only of me. 

The Mandalorian worships your tits, and from this angle, he must have a spectacular view of them bouncing with each clash of his hips. You know he must be watching, staring down at them, hypnotized and longing to touch them. So you reach for the hand on your thigh and press his palm over your breast.

Mando’s tenses in surprise. “Are they gone?” he asks in a low voice.

“Do you care?” you reply, letting all that urgency and desire fill your words. 

It takes him a minute to consider. Both the droid’s light and the guard’s boisterous laughter had finally faded away, leaving you behind in the quiet darkness. Still…maybe this was too reckless for him. Too impulsive. You don’t want to push his boundaries, but that’s exactly what makes it thrilling, right? That desire can make the rest of the world fade away, blurring out the periphery. 

Mando sighs, his fingers tracing the neckline of your robe, when he can’t find the words to answer.

The fabric is drapey enough for him to push aside, baring your breasts to the night air. The camisole you wore to bed is lace, so old and worn it's downy soft. And threadbare. Your nipples press against the gaping weave, visibly darkening with arousal. They pinch from the cold and anticipation. 

As his thumb brushes over your puckered skin, you suck in a sharp breath—“Mmph!”—then he squeezes. Hard. Then soft, then hard again. Arousal spirals through you, down to your core, as he kneads and caresses. The hand he had braced against the pylon, slips down to trail over the length of your neck, past your collarbone, and between your breasts until he presses them together tightly. The contrasting sensation of the soft leather and lace roughly teasing over your nipples is almost too much to bear. 

You bite your lip to keep from crying out.

“This is what you want?” Mando whispers. His hand lifts to cup your face, and you can feel his gaze boring into you, seeking out what’s hidden in the depths of your eyes. “Here? Now? In the armor?”

“Yes,” you moan. Sweet, merciful gods, yes! Your cunt is so tight and hot that it almost hurts. Tilting your hips at just the right angle, you rub yourself against his cock and feel the friction of the fabric glide across your clit again. You’re already soaking wet—so wet he must feel the dampness through his flight suit. 

“Hu-ungh,” the Mandalorian groans, before gripping you by the waist so he can meet the thrust of your hips and grind back against you. The hard press of his erection sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can make it if you keep doing that,” his voice is gruff and hoarse. “But you’re angry…what if you regret this?”

You feel a frantic bubble of laughter rising in your throat. How did you manage to fuck each other in the first place? You are both far too honorable!

Of course, Mando’s not wrong. But all that anger from before has, by now, transformed into lust—igniting the heat of passion, so hot it warms the hollow places in your heart. And you want to feel the full force of that heat. Burning through desperate emotions like hurt and despair, and, yes—jealously—to reclaim your confidence the best way you know how. With sex.

You want to feel powerful, the way you do when the Mandalorian gasps your name, as though it was his last dying breath.

“It’s nothing to do with you,” you lie, and maybe he is right about you being a terrible liar. Because when he continues to hesitate, you grow downright incensed. How dare he change his mind now, after you’ve decided this is what you want?

“Please, Mando,” you moan. “I need you.”

Those pleading words wrench something within him. “Maker, help me,” he says, jaw tight, as he reaches to hold your face in his leather palms. “But, I fucking love hearing you say please.” 

Now you’ve got him swearing? Your mouth curves into a triumphant grin. 

“You love hearing me beg,” you correct him with a sly wink. “Now let go, so I can get my hands around your cock.”

He breathes out sharply as though you’d struck him. Okay. So the Mandalorian likes it when you talk dirty? Or perhaps it’s your confidence he enjoys. He’s drawn to strong women, after all. 

His hands pull away as he stands up straighter and takes a step back. The night air rushes in to fill the sudden gap between your bodies, and for a terrifying second, you feel the dreadful weight of rejection ready to crush you. But the next second, Mando’s fingers close around your wrist, guiding your hand downward to place your palm over his straining erection. 

“It’s already so hard for you,” he says, his grip is as firm as his tone is soft. And you love it. That despite the gallantry, your boldness makes him bold. He needs this as much as you do.

By now, you feel dizzy—hazy with lust. The guttural moan he gives when you curl your fingers around his cock and slowly stroke your palm over its length is intoxicating, like a drug. You don’t care who might see, and you don’t care how shameless it is.

Tonight, think only of me. 

You bite your lip. “Last time we did this, you had me up against a wall,” you say, glancing at the closest pylon behind him, judging the distance. “Hmm, something something turnabout’s fair play?”

With that, you reach out to place your hands over his chest and push him back against the steel piling. Caught off-guard, he braces his hands wide behind him. As he stands there, mildly shocked, legs slightly spread, you kneel between his thighs and reach for his belt.

“What are you doing?” his voice is tight with strain.

You look up into the view plate, brow arched. “I should think it was obvious.”

It’s a strange logic that getting down on your knees can make you feel powerful, but there’s a thrill of satisfaction knowing the skills you’ve honed over years of practice will reduce this hardened warrior into a trembling state of incoherence. And you want to hear him shouting your name.

You aren’t especially flexible, nor are you totally free of inhibitions, but sucking dick is your one slutty superpower. 

“You don’t—haah,” his breath hitches when you open your mouth to trace your tongue over your lips, wetting them as you release the latch of his belt. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t,” you say, holding his gaze. “But I want to. And so do you.” 

Your fingers fan wide, palms gliding up the inside of his thighs, trying to ease some of the nervous tension building in his muscles. “Relax,” you murmur teasingly. 

Your hands meet at his inseam, slipping beneath the vest to caress the outline of his stiff erection through the canvas. The purr of his zipper goes almost tooth by tooth. In the breathless, still silence, you can even hear the soft sound of your fingers reaching into his pants to take hold of his enormous cock. 

He’s already so hard that it slips free, jutting into your palm, supple and thick. No matter how many times you see it, it’s still ridiculous! 

Released from the confines of his pants, Mando throbs in your grip, swelling larger between your fingers. The base is a deep bronze, the head is pale pink, growing steadily darker as blood pumps through his veins. He feels feverishly hot against your cool skin, so full that he must ache.

And so caught up in the sight of you kneeling between his legs, that he’s breathless.

With one hand, you circle him in your grip, tightening and loosening your fist as you move up and down the length of his shaft, before brushing your thumb over the tip. You smile up at him when his hips jerk, and you feel the first beads of come slick over your fingers even as his muscles tense, trying to resist the pleasure of it. 

“Relax,” you say again, softer this time. Your voice is almost a whisper, “I’ll take good care of you.” 

And with that, you lift the head of his cock to your mouth and lick away the salty droplets with the tip of your tongue. Finally, you feel his body yield to a different kind of tension. 

“Nnngh!” he groans, gripping your shoulders before gasping something that might have been your name or just a general obscenity. Dirty talk isn’t covered in your Mando’a phrasebook—but it really should be! You make a mental note to download a more comprehensive dictionary, a little shocked that you hadn’t thought of it sooner.

His salty come is warm against your tongue. You trace the tip of his cock over your wet lips, slowly circling the circumference of your open mouth before drawing in just the first few inches, pleased to hear a sharp intake of breath sizzling through the modulator.

“Fuck,” he whispers, winding a hand through your hair as you open your mouth to take him in. You start sucking—soft, slow little swallows at first. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

You don’t give him everything right away. Sometimes, anticipation is the best part. You want him to slow down and enjoy the wait. So you run your tongue along the length of his shaft, lick him, tease the ridges of his crown with your lips, kiss the taut band of tissue underneath, and caress him against your cheeks.

Then, you press your lips against the tip to give him one swirl of your tongue, before sliding them down the length of his shaft. You take a strong, hard pull, hallowing your cheeks.

Mando throws his head back and releases another guttural moan, “Mmn-nngh!” The hand in your hair tightens, until his grip borders on pain. 

With the leather gloves on, he probably can’t tell. But you don’t mind. You like knowing you have this effect on him. And gods divine, the noises he’s making—

Come wells between your legs, so wet it’s drenching your shorts and slicking down your thighs. The urge to touch yourself, to slip a finger inside the wet folds of your cunt, is so unbearable it makes you feel weak. Instead, you grip his rock-hard thighs with both hands and take him in deeper. 

His girth forces you to open your jaw all the way, so big that you can barely use your tongue. It’s all you can do to get the full length of him inside your mouth. The head is almost to the back of your throat, and you feel like you might choke. You have to keep swallowing, faster and faster, just to catch your breath. Come wells against your mouth, trickling from your lips, stretched thin around his thick cock. 

You remember how much he loved your teeth last time, so you tense your jaw a little tighter before lightly dragging them under his shaft, grazing the ridges of his crown as you draw back.

“Aaah! Fuck, yes! That’s...” his fingers clench in your hair. His other hand cups the back of your head, but he can’t find the words to describe exactly what you're doing to him. 

Mando’s huge, but you feel confident you can take more of him down your throat. The trick is to still your breathing and swallow him. Which is where the ability to control your body on a cellular level elevates your dick-sucking abilities into the stratosphere.

But he’s not ready for that yet. You remind yourself to take it slow and luxuriate in the feel of him against your tongue, the taste of salt flooding your mouth. You can feel the tightness in his balls against your chin and wonder just how long it’s been since he’s had head this good. 

Placing your thumb and forefinger around the base of his sac, you gently tug downward to release some of the pressure while continuing to draw him into your mouth, alternating shallow, repetitious strokes and long, languorous pulls. Your other hand closes around the base of his cock so you can pump him in time with your movements.

The sticky come trickling from the corners of your mouth tells you that he’s getting close. You can feel him throb with every stroke. If you want to give him everything you’ve got, it has to be now. 

So you relax any muscle or reflex that might resist, before taking all of him in. You feel every swollen vein of his thick shaft sliding between your slick lips until he fills you all the way to your throat, until your nose touches his warm belly under a coarse thicket of black hair surrounding the base of his cock.  

Cheeks glistening with saliva, come running down your chin, you swallow around him, and the contraction of your throat is enough to make him thrust even deeper. Your mind empties of any thought beyond the pressure of each inch he squeezes further down your throat. 

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” his hands resting on your head squeeze into fists—you didn’t think he could grip you any tighter, but they do. The very real pain brings tears to your eyes, but it only sharpens your desire. The desperate, aching need, clenching the muscles inside your cunt, is so insistent you could probably come by just pressing your thighs together. 

"Oh, fuck," he gasps.

With your hands braced on his hips, you encourage him to thrust deeper into your mouth and throat in rhythm with each bob of your head. The squelching sound is driving you wild. He’s so close to finishing—so close you can feel his cock pulsing against your lips. His breath becomes shorter and sharper, each one just short of a moan.

Then, suddenly, Mando pulls out of your mouth. He takes a step back and shakes his head, catching himself right on the brink. 

“Did I—” your voice quavers. 

“No,” he looks up at you sharply. “That was perfect…so perfect that…” the Mandalorian stumbles on his next step before leaning back against the pylon.  

Holy crap! The widest, most delightful shit-eating grin spreads across your face. He doesn’t trust himself to stand. Yep, still got it!

“I wasn’t finished,” you say, wiping your chin clean with the back of your hand.

“I know,” he manages between ragged breaths. “But, another minute—aah— fuck, another second—and I would have shouted your name loud enough for the entire parsec to hear.”

Really?! “Then I definitely shouldn’t stop.”

That makes him laugh. 

Mando regains his equilibrium and steps forward, feet steadier now. His cock is still hard, jutting out from his pants, and you nuzzle it against your cheeks as he comes closer.

“Look at me,” he gasps, tilting your chin up. You lift your eyes to meet the jet-black line of his helmet, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I dreamed of this so many times,” he says, using one hand to gently brush the hair from your cheeks while the other guides his cock back into your mouth. His hips roll so slowly you can tell he’s determined to regain some measure of control. “What does it say about me…that I think you look perfect like this?”

“Mmmm,” your moan of satisfaction is genuine. The praise and validation, the sound of his hitched sighs and groans of pleasure—your entire body reacts—growing flushed, getting impossibly wetter. Your cunt begins to pulse so hard that, for a moment, you think you might come from simply listening to the hunger in his voice. 

The vibration of your lips against his cock sends a jolt through his body, and you remind yourself to dial it down. He doesn’t want to come yet. 

Sometime soon, you’ll need to mention that your abilities can assist with his…longevity. And recovery time. But for now, you can respect his need to slow down.   

You run your tongue underneath the length of his shaft, tease the ridge with your lips, and suck the head once or twice before pulling back. He slips from your mouth, dark and glistening. “Was it this good in your dreams?”

“Nothing feels as good as this,” Mando murmurs.

You’re about to say something clever about that sounding like a challenge, but the words get lost in your throat when his hands slip under your arms, lifting you back onto your feet. One hand slides up your spine to grip the back of your neck, the other clings to your waist. You feel the length and hardness of his erection pressed against your soft belly.

“Mmmph,” he sighs. “Nothing, except maybe the feeling of you clenching around my cock when you come.”

Oh gods, if you could orgasm from just listening to the Mandalorian’s voice, that would have done it.

“How do I make you ready?” he asks.

“That, aaah, won’t be a problem,” and since you’re so determined to prove what a shameless slut you are, you slip your hand between your bodies, down past your stomach, and into your shorts, wetting your fingers before holding them out for him to see. You fix him with what you hope is a smoldering look and drop into your most sultry tone, “See how wet I got with your cock in my mouth.” 

Grabbing you by the wrist, he pulls your hand up toward his face, lifts the steel jaw of his helmet over his mouth, and sucks the come from your fingers. 

Your entire body flushes with heat.

"Haaah," you gasp. The sensation of his warm, wet mouth, the press of his tongue between your fingers, sends the most powerful tidal wave of arousal coursing through your fingertips and down to your cunt. “That was…” but you’ve lost the capacity to speak, let alone describe what may be the hottest thing you’ve ever witnessed.  

Then, the helmet falls into place, and Mando pushes you back against the pylon. “Turnabout—” he starts to say—

“Yes,” you groan, arching into him. “Exactly,” and you wriggle the silky fabric of your robe against the rough concrete until your shorts slip over your hips and down to your ankles. 

Reaching out for him, you wrap your arms around his neck. He lifts you by the backs of your thighs and guides your legs around his waist, under the tassets. 

The blaster is still tucked against his chest plate, and it's all conflicting sensations—cold steel, warm body, sharp edges, and soft skin—but you can’t think about any of that. There’s nothing beyond the feeling of him between your thighs and the anticipation of sliding onto his waiting cock. 

The head is penetrating you, just barely, but slightly more with every roll of his hips. Mando is working you open as slowly and deliciously as possible. 

“So, you did miss me,” you throw your head back, smiling and breathless.

“Yes, cyar'ika, ” he moans, rolling his hips until he sinks the rest of the way inside you, groaning with bliss. “I missed the way you taste. I missed holding you in my arms. I thought about you every day, and when Arasuum heard my prayers, you found me in my dreams.” 

Then he thrusts harder, filling you completely, making you cry out, “Aaangh!” 

Hearing you, he growls in satisfaction and rocks his hips back so he can thrust inside you again. Mando’s width and length stretches you—your cunt burns as he forces you wider to take him in. It’s a pain so sweet, it makes your mouth water, and so, you lick the only part of him that’s exposed, the rough, stubbled skin under his jaw all the way to the tip of his chin. 

The Mandalorian responds by gasping what is definitely your name this time, along with some incomprehensible words that sound a lot more like prayers than obscenities. His hands grip you tighter, and that’s the moment when the pleasure eclipses the pain. His cock feels so good inside you, blurring out everything else.

Every time, he pulls almost all the way out, then plunges in deep. You glance down to see if you can watch him sliding in and out between your thighs. But all the crumpled folds of fabric, quilted leather, and armor are in the way. You can’t see. All you can do is feel.

“And what did you do to me in these dreams?” you whisper.

“Everything,” he sighs, the modulator vibrating next to your ear. “Slowing down to take my time, and I last forever. Speeding up until I’m fucking you senseless.”

Then he thrusts, so hard you have to clutch at his neck, your fingernails digging into the thick canvas. “We can go slow and hard like this. Or do you want me to fuck you faster? Tell me what you want.”

Merely hearing those words brings you back to the brink. You’re dizzy and flushed, entirely helpless to the feeling of him moving inside you. Your voice is hardly more than a whisper as you say, “Please...please, Mando, just fuck me as hard as you can.”

His hands go to your waist and grip you tightly as he starts to pump into you, each stroke more fierce as the last. You feel his powerful abdominals flexing against you, the muscles in his thighs tensing with each brutal thrust. He speeds up, and then the only sounds are his heavy breaths, grunting, and the whimper you release with each clash of his hips.

This angle makes it harder for you to get fully stimulated, but his cock feels so good inside you, filling you completely. You cry out—one long cry you can’t control—as the blood rushes to your cunt. The sensation spirals. Soars. Desire sharpens inside you. Peaks. You feel weightless in the rush of pure ecstasy, hips circling against him as every muscle of your body surrenders to the intensity of your orgasm.

Gravity turns upside down as you clench around Mando’s cock. The climax hits you so hard that, for a moment, you worry you might pass out.

“Nnngh, yes,” he grits his teeth, "just like that," and then he’s there with you. The Mandalorian reaches down, tilting your pelvis to thrust even deeper. How is that even possible? You feel him everywhere. Then he slides in slower, once, twice—then goes totally still, as a shudder of pleasure goes through him. "Haah, haah, aah."

His head collapses against your shoulder as you both struggle to catch your breath.

“Careful,” you murmur, barely able to hear yourself over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. “You’re the only thing keeping me from collapsing and tumbling down the side of a mountain.”

Mando chuckles, the vibration of his laughter resonating against your ribs. “Was that what you wanted?” he asks, slipping a hand behind your back so you feel more secure.

“That was perfect,” you sigh. “You?”

“Perfect,” he agrees. “But next time, I’m tearing that robe off you.” 

You look down to see the neckline hanging open, with a solitary knot at your waist, holding on for dear life as the fabric gapes open over your thighs.

“I’m not sure there’s much left to do.”

Mando laughs, pinching one of the sleeves to rub the fabric between his leather fingers. “I’m glad you like it. It suits you.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say appreciatively. “Thank you.”

“It’s a piece of fabric. You make it beautiful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks, and your heart begins to race again. His cock is still half hard inside you. If you moved your hips—

“I missed seeing that look in your eyes,” he says.

“What look?”

“When you flirt, you usually have this…sort of smug look on your face.” You immediately roll your eyes, which just makes him laugh. “But one compliment and you blush, and your eyes go wide with this look of…something,” he breathes out sharply. “Need, maybe. I can see in your eyes how much you want me.”

Damn, he is observant. “I’m usually the one making people blush.”

“I know, that's why it’s so satisfying.”

You place a hand lightly over his helmet, relieved when he doesn’t flinch or pull away. “Feels like an unfair advantage. How am I supposed to know how bad you want me?”

Mando cocks his head.

“Alright, fine. The hard on is a reliable indicator. But—”

“Never worry about that,” he says wryly, and you feel his cock throb, flexing inside you. “I always want you.”

The flush in your cheeks gets even hotter, and you laugh to dispel the fluster of embarrassment.

“When you were gone, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. When you’re near, all I want to do is touch you. All I ever want to do is touch you and kiss—"

He stops himself, "I—”

“It’s okay,” you sigh. “I know you can’t take off the helmet. You don’t remove your armor on the job.”

You uncross your ankles and return both feet to the ground. Mando finally slips out, and you feel warm wetness sliding down your thighs.

The Mandalorian can sense your disappointment, but you have no intention of being thwarted so easily. You wrap your arms tighter around his neck, threading your fingers so he won’t pull away. Your head rests against his chest—the Beskar plate feels cool against your flushed cheek.  

“We have time,” he says. “We haven’t even made it inside yet.”

“Actually,” you look up at him. “There's something I want to show you that's going to make you very excited.”

*********

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