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kookyburrowing · 6 months ago

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Different Languages AU Part 1: Wait, Fuck, They Don't Speak Basic?

First things first motherfuckers, let’s get one thing straight: Basic as a language does exist in this AU! It’s just less common outside of the Core/Mid Rim. SO. What does that give us? Well, it gives us way more interesting conflict, for one thing, and for another, so many languages. Let’s get crackalackin!

In the Outer Rim, Huttese is largely The Language To Speak. If you don’t speak Huttese, you might as well just hurl yourself into the nearest bottomless pit now and save yourself the time and trouble. Even in the Core and Mid Rim, Huttese is a very common language just because of how useful it is if you ever find yourself in the Outer Rim. Most bounty hunters (i.e. Jango Fett, just for one completely random example) speak Huttese fluently, alongside their native languages. Naturally, then, this is a language Anakin is very familiar with. In fact, when he became a Jedi, it was the language he knew the best, and most people thought his speech was stilted in Basic because of this. He spoke Basic maybe once every month on Tatooine—can you blame him?

In the Mid Rim, each planet has their own language and conversations between diplomats are typically done as they are on Earth—via interpreters, to avoid any misunderstandings. Padmé, for instance, does speak Basic, but that is the language she would use in the Senate, not on Naboo. The same goes for Palpatine, but we’ll get to him in a minute, because he sucks and I want to not talk about him for as long as I feasibly can.

The Core means Basic, Basic, Basic, because of just the sheer number of people making it necessary. Coruscant is a weird case because of how communities develop there. Since it’s kind of like a gigantic version of a modern city (I’ll use NYC as an example because I know it the best), it’s broken up into enclaves. Cultures clump—it’s a thing. Some neighborhoods in NYC are predominantly Jewish, some are predominantly Italian, the list goes on. The same goes for Coruscant, although on a supersized scale. There’s some areas where non-Mandalorians need not apply, some where everyone is a Twi’lek or Togruta, some where everyone is a Mirialan, et cetera. Also, Coruscant dialects of certain languages are very much a thing.

Anyway. Let’s talk Kamino, because that’s why I started this to begin with!

Jango Fett is a Mandalorian. He’s also a bounty hunter. He’s from Concord Dawn and was a True Mandalorian. Therefore we can guess he probably at the bare minimum speaks two dialects of Mando’a (Concord Dawn, True Mandalorian) Huttese, and has at least passing Basic. He probably speaks more than that given how well-traveled he is, but those are the ones I can name for sure. So Jango Fett, who speaks Mando’a and Huttese and Basic, encounters Count Dooku. Count Dooku is from Serenno, but he was also a Jedi, so he probably speaks Serennese, Basic, Huttese, and a few more. He may even speak Mando’a, but his dialects wouldn’t be likely to overlap with Jango’s. Count Dooku tells Jango to go to Kamino and let them clone him in exchange for an exorbitant amount of money. Jango does, because Jango is a thinking human being and thinking human beings under capitalism do not turn down exorbitant amounts of money in exchange for what amounts to (at most) being a three or four-time sperm donor.

And on Kamino, our intrepid Mandalorian encounters something a bit weird. The Kaminoans, being that they are an extremely isolated species and thus have absolutely no reason to have developed humanoid vocal chords, have to rely on droid translators. Cool! This means Jango can speak to them exclusively in his native language (Concord Dawn Mando’a), and they can speka to him exclusively in theirs, and everyone’s largely happy. Jango negotiates the finer points of the contract, acquires an infant who he names Boba, and calls up some old friends (and acquaintances) to teach the clones to kick ass. He informs them they don’t have to worry about speaking Basic, so they don’t bother speaking Basic.

Thus, we have our setup. The Kaminoans have no reason to make the clones speak Basic because literally none of these outsiders are bothering to inform that oh yeah there’s this whole common language thing going on, and said outsiders have no reason whatsoever to tell them because it would ultimately just be an inconvenience. They’ve got a good thing going, and Jedi are required to speak more than one language anyway. The clones can definitely find at least one in common!

So the clones learn to speak Mando’a, understand Kaminoan, and speak and/or understand one extra elective language. Most pick something weird because they can—everyone around them speaks either Mando’a or Kaminoan so why would they bother with languages they don’t care about, like Basic? Unfortunately for the Kaminoans and the trainers in equal measure, they do also realize that in order to express themselves in private they need their own universal language, so they acquire one. They just call it clonespeak to keep things simple, and for most of them, that’s their native language. They feel most comfortable speaking in it because that’s the language they associate with safety and with their siblings/parents.

Thus: the predicament.

Obi-Wan arrives on Kamino. Obi-Wan is a Jedi. Obi-Wan speaks Basic.

Uh-oh. See, Jango is out of practice—the Kaminoans can’t make those noises. Boba’s language skills begin and end with Mando’a and some random bits of clonespeak right now—he’s kind of conversational with Huttese but every once in a while he just throws in a Mando’a word or an idiom in clonespeak and Jango has to take a minute to breathe lest he slam his head straight through the wall in frustration because he doesn’t understand clonespeak. And so much performing of charades, many awkward moments, and exactly one sentence in Basic later, Obi-Wan is heading back to Coruscant with several questions.

First: why the fuck did Sifo-Dyas order an army who didn’t speak Basic? No one knows. No one can find any records of this order, for one thing. No one knows who Tyrannus is, for another.

And second: what languages do the clones speak? Obviously, Mando’a is amongst them, but Jango’s extremely intensely staring son also spoke another, infinitely weird language and no one can find any record of it, and not even Jango seemed to understand him. Do they understand the Kaminoans’ clicking noises? Are they just mute? Is it constantly Shut The Fuck Up Friday up in there? What is going on?

The Council loses their collective minds. Shaak Ti is about ready to haul ass across the galaxy to collect these poor, lost young men—Plo Koon is right there with her. Yoda is—well, Yoda is swearing loudly in several dead languages right now. Mace Windu, ever the voice of reason, just has one thing to say: how about they meet the clones, first. Before they panic.

In the face of this intense, all-consuming, glorious sensibility, the Council collectively shuts the fuck up. They decide to let things run their course.

And then Geonosis. Quickly, Yoda collects several hundred clones, manages to communicate to one of them—who speaks a really weird, ancient, and fucked up dialect of Basic that could basically scan to Elizabethan English, and whose name is probably Kowalski—what he needs, and that one tells an older, larger and more intimidating one. Then that one yells a lot in a language Yoda has never heard before, and several hundred clones are suddenly hauling ass into gunships.

Enter one Anakin Skywalker and one Padmé Amidala, who are about to acquire some friends, none of whom understand a word they’re saying. They fuck some things up, get strapped to some poles to be devoured by Space Beasts of some sort, and then escape.

Battle of Geonosis happens. Mace Windu quickly discovers that the answer to the question what do the clones speak is effectively every language except Basic, and the answer is also supremely inconsistent. He is Suffering. He is Experiencing The Horrors. Obi-Wan is likewise fighting for his life because he speaks a fancy-ass dialect of Mando’a that the clones don’t understand. This is because they, like normal people, don’t talk like dignitaries on diplomatic missions.

Moving on! Obi-Wan gets assigned Alpha-17. Alpha-17 is a demon. Actually. He probably speaks Basic but refuses to out of spite. This is the biggest asshole to ever stomp his way into a Venator and terrify Anakin Skywalker into cowering submission. (He may even be why Anakin behaved like that as Vader. We will never know!) Like most clones, Alpha-17 speaks four languages. Clonespeak, Mando’a, Kaminoan, and Huttese. In that order. So he has no real trouble communicating with either Anakin or Obi-Wan.

What he does have, though, is a surplus of kids. Like it or not (he insists he doesn’t) they are his kids, and he wants them to have a shot at having a moderately tolerable existence. Enter everyone’s favorite group of six weirdos: Wolffe, Ponds, Fox, Bly, Cody, and Rex.

Wolffe is easy. He’s horrible with languages, and so gets sent to Plo Koon, who speaks through a translator anyway. Add Mando’a to the translator, and bang! Easy. Done. They understand each other perfectly.

Ponds is also easy. He, being sensible, learned Basic, so he goes to Mace Windu, who is equally sensible (and grateful for the easy transition).

Fox, who is a scheming little shit and also just so happens to speak Naboo, get sent to Coruscant. The Chancellor can’t get one over on him if Fox can understand every word he says, and most Senators have protocol droids with them for translation anyway.

Bly speaks Ryll, so she gets Aayla Secura. Again, easy.

Cody, on the other hand? Cody speaks the same languages as 17. Cody has a favorite younger brother who needs guidance. Cody, therefore, gets deposited with Obi-Wan, and Rex? Rex gets Anakin.

But the issue with Rex is he and Anakin have no language in common. Rex’s elective language was Togruti, and like the rest of his batch he also speaks Tusken sign. Because his batch are a bunch of assholes who wanted an extremely private way to talk.

So. Anakin and Rex start off the war with no way to communicate! None! Literally not one language in common!

And they do try to communicate—via charades, via text, et cetera—but they don’t really have access to translation software on a regular basis and thus things become complicated.

Things are made even more complicated by the fact that Rex, like Wolffe, is shit at language learning. Anakin, who isn’t, could try to learn clonespeak, and does! But when you can’t communicate with the person teaching you it is immensely slow going.

And thus, our premise is complete. How do you run a war with someone you can’t talk to?

Well, it depends. If you’re Anakin, you say, maybe I can figure a way around this.

If you’re Pong Krell?

I dunno man. Yell? Yeah, that sounds about right.

#hahaha #heeeeere's nonsense!#lee writes #different languages au #star wars #tcw #jango fett #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #alpha-17 #commander cody #captain rex

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gloomwitchwrites · 11 months ago

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Say Yes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Trigger Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, heavy suggestive themes, protective!Boba, Mandalorian!Boba, light angst, non-descriptive sex

Word Count: 2.5k

A young, handsome bounty hunter on Tatooine makes it a daily intention to ask you to marry him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // fluffuary 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart riduur – partner / spouse “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde” – marriage vows

“Marry me, cyar’ika.”

You glance up from the worn open tome resting on the counter in front of you. “Again? Really, Boba?”

The Mandalorian helmet, dented with flaking green paint, tilts slightly to the right. “You called me ‘Boba’ this time,” teases the bounty hunter.

You roll your eyes and push off from the counter, cheeks heating even as you grumble in false irritation.

Boba Fett, Jabba the Hutt’s favorite mercenary for hire, has asked you to marry him every day for several weeks now. And each time, you have refused him. For the first few, you were overly polite. But as his attempts continued, your polite rejections transformed into snarky quips and blatant dismissals.

It’s not like you don’t find the man attractive. Underneath the armor is an incredibly handsome man, and his attention has always been sincere. But Boba Fett is a dangerous man, and you’re just a simple shopkeeper trying to make a living in Mos Espa. In that regard, the two of you are incompatible no matter how much he persists and chases after you.

“I like how you say my name,” continues Boba, his voice a soft purr. “Sounds beautiful on your tongue.”

“And you are too forward,” you snap, knowing that your sharpness is just a cover. Which is silly, because you do like him, and Boba seems to understand this. Boba burrows beneath your skin, and you cannot dig him out.

“Am I?” he asks with mock offense. You really want to throttle him, but you also really want to kiss him.

“Yes. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, Fett,” you emphasize, deliberately using his last name. “But a ‘no’ is a ‘no’ even if you don’t like it.”

Yep. Push him away. Keep pushing. Maybe he’ll take the hint this time.

Boba Fett stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, one hip slightly popped. With the helmet on, you have no idea what his expression might be or what he’s feeling. Not knowing is maddening, and it quickens your heartbeat, a growing tingle buzzing in the tips of your fingers.

“So, all those touches meant nothing to you?” he asks with just the faintest hint of roughness in his tone.

“Yes,” you lie.

Boba shifts on his feet, shoulders straightening. “What about all the kisses you’ve given me? Hm? Nothing?”

Kriffing hell, why is this man always so direct? It’s nice that Boba is good about telling you what he wants and what he’s thinking for the most part, but it always catches you off-guard. It makes you weak, melting you into goo that he can mold however he wishes.

“Those are not enough to build a marriage, Boba,” you shrug. “There has to be more.”

“But there is more.” He steps around the counter, stepping into your space. “Isn’t there?”

Boba is right. There is more. There has always been more. Whenever Boba is on Tatooine, he is visiting you, talking with you, bringing you gifts, fixing things around the shop without you having to ask. He has offered to take you out after you’ve closed shop. He routinely takes a personal interest in your safety and security. Because of that, no one bothers you or tries to harass additional credits out of you. They stay away and respect you because they see you as Boba’s woman.

And it isn’t only that. He only ever speaks softly to you. He only ever treats you with respect and shows general interest in your life. The most maddening thing is how many women have actively shown their interest in him to his face, and he has brushed them all aside. Even after all these refusals on your end, Boba still declines their advances, and shows up at your shop each day insisting that you marry him.

“Why do you keep denying this, cyar’ika? You know I’d make you happy.” Boba is standing too close, almost on top of you.

“The shop is closed,” you reply. “If you’re not going to make a purchase, you should leave.”

Boba nods his head and backs up, reaching for an item off the shelf without looking. He deposits some credits on the counter, much more than what the item is actually worth.

“I’ll return tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder, tapping the counter as he makes his exit.

The soft chime that alerts you to when the front door opens echoes throughout the room.

You’re in the backroom organizing. It’s the next day, and Boba hasn’t shown himself yet. This might be him, but it’s likely not. There are times when Boba does not come, and you are fully aware that those are times when Jabba sends him off for a job.

“Sorry. We’re closed.” You step out from the backroom and immediately freeze.

Three Nikto bikers loiter in the middle of the shop. It’s evident that they are not here to purchase anything. Their dark eyes roam over the shelves and tables, but once they notice you, they focus in, drawing closer.

“Apologies,” you say, attempting to project your voice, to sound tougher than you are. “We’ve closed for the evening. If there is something you need right away, I can ring you up. Otherwise, you’ll need to leave.” You do your best to keep your voice steady and calm, but you hear the gentle shake.

“This street is our new territory,” hisses the leader of the group. “We were stopping by to offer our…services.”

Services, meaning protection, meaning “pay us or you’ll be a target.”

Tatooine might be overrun with crime lords and criminal activity, but the main powers at play are not known to harass the smaller folks just trying to make a living. These are outliers. These are individuals who answer to no one but themselves, and believe they can carve a piece out for their own gain.

Rarely are they ever successful, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try.

Just as you open your mouth to reply, the soft chime comes again. This time everyone turns and you sigh with relief when you see who it is.

“Boba Fett,” says the Nikto slowly. His shoulders stiffen and they all put their hands on their blasters.

The bounty hunter does no answer right away. His helmet moves, scanning the Nikto, and then you, assessing. Even from across the shop, you sense Boba’s anger. There are few things that rile him up, but you’re one of them.

“It’s not smart moving in on Jabba’s territory. Or to harass what’s mine.” When Boba says mine, he growls it. The possessiveness in his tone heats your flesh, sends a sharp spike of desire down to your belly.

The Nikto all glance at each other before the leader addresses Fett. “We didn’t know the female was yours, Boba.” He holds his hands out in a placating gesture, indicating that he didn’t mean any harm. Yet you know that isn’t true. Their intention from the start was to harass you for credits.

You scoff at female but decide to let it go.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” Boba steps to the side.

The duo glance at their leader for direction. The Nikto’s features are impassive, but he eventually inclines his head, exiting as Boba insist they do. When the last one leaves, Boba momentarily glances in your direction. The door stands open, and Boba exits with him.

When it whooshes shut, you sprint over to the wall panel, immediately engaging the lock and shuttering the windows. You stand in the silent shop for a few minutes trying to calm your heartrate. Once it’s manageable, and not beating so hard it might burst from your chest, you head upstairs to your small apartment above the shop.

By the time you’re curled up in bed, you’re no longer anxious, but there is the slightest bit of tension that lingers in your limbs. Sighing, you turn over in the bed, only to hear the brief pulse of a jetpack shutting off and boots on the small balcony outside your bedroom window.

Slowly, you push up to sitting, the bedsheets falling to your waist. You know it’s Boba. He does this some nights. Camps out and protect you in the only way he knows how because you’re too stubborn to take him up on his numerous marriage proposals.

Tonight, it’s obvious as to why he’s out there. Part of you is reluctant to leave him outside. You’d prefer it if he were with you, within arm’s reach, to see him without the helmet. Plus, nights on Tatooine can grow cold. You want him inside where it’s warm.

On quiet feet, you go to the door that leads outside. Opening it silently, you stick your head out into the chilly air, finding Boba as he leans against the exterior wall, arms crossed.

“You should be in bed, cyar’ika,” chides Boba playfully.

You swallow, suddenly nervous now that you’re confronting him. “Do you want to come inside?” you ask, a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it’s the uncertainty in your tone, or the way you shrink back a bit into the interior of the room, because Boba is suddenly alert, all of his attention attuned to you.

Boba immediately pushes off from the wall and approaches you, his hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Are you hurt? Did one of them touch you?”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. I’m fine. Promise.”

Boba’s chest heaves slightly but you’re not sure if it’s from his sudden movement or a releasing of relief. He glances over his shoulder at Mos Espa, the t-shaped visor of his helmet fixated on the city’s skyline. Turning back, Boba nods.

You step away from the door and Boba enters. Even with the door closed and the windows’ shutters slanted to dim the moonlight, some of it still spills over the room like tiny white rivers.

His helmet hisses as the pressure seal disengages. Slowly, Boba lifts the helmet off his head and sets it aside on a nearby table. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, the ends sticking up slightly after he does so. With the faintest movement, Boba turns, and that moonlight cuts sharp glowing lines over his face, highlighting tanned skin and dark eyes.

You don’t even realize you’re moving closer to him until Boba grabs you by the waist and pulls you against his armor-clad body. Instinctively, your hands reach out, locking onto the beskar. Boba’s head dips and yours rises to meet him automatically, and yet there is no connection. It is simply holding, a waiting between two hesitant people.

“You haven’t asked me to marry you today,” you murmur.

The corner of Boba’s lips turns upward in a soft smile. “Will you marry me, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you say automatically, before the two of you start laughing.

“Let’s try that again.” Boba reaches up and cradles your cheek. “Cyar’ika. Will you marry me? Will you allow me to speak the words of my people? And will you speak them back?”

The words of his people. The Mandalorian marriage vows. You are distinctly aware of what they are and what they mean. Which is why Boba’s earnestness isn’t fake to you. Mandalorians take their weddings vows seriously even though the process of exchange is simple. It is the intention behind the exchange that is most important to them.

That is how you know Boba speaks the truth, that him asking you to marry him is a genuine desire of his.

“Passion does not make a relationship,” you reply.

The answer is a shift away from actually having to answer. How many times have you and Boba ended up on the floor of the backroom after rejecting him? It’s more than you can count on your hands.

“That’s all this is to you?” he laughs. “You know I can give you more. I do more than that now.”

You curl forward a bit, rest your forehead against the beskar. “I’m scared,” you whisper.

“Of what?”

“Of what will change.”

Boba’s fingers brush under your chin and lightly guide your gaze back to his. “I wouldn’t ask you to give anything up.”

“Yes, but—”

Boba gives the slightest shake of his head and you instantly quiet. “Do you want me?” he asks. “Tell the truth.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I want you,” you breathe, allowing the words to drip off your tongue.

“May I have one of your kisses?” he asks softly, one gloved thumb lightly pressing down on your bottom lip.

“Yes,” you breathe.

Boba closes the distance, forms perfectly to you. It is slow and delicate and sweet. Your body hums with energy, and when you press for more, Boba growls and pulls back, hastily ripping off his gloves to reveal his bare hands.

Then he’s cupping the side of your face, drawing you back to him, tasting and tasting and tasting until your fingers are clawing at him in desperation. When he breaks the kiss, you still lean forward as if you can reach him.

“Then repeat the words with me, cyar’ika. Become my riduur.”

Boba presses his lips to yours, draws forth an air-stealing shiver from deep within your lungs.

“Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus tome,” you repeat.

We are one together.

Boba slides an arm around your waist to drape softly over your curves. “Mhi solus dar’tome,” he says.

You say it back to him. “Mhi solus dar’tome.”

We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

We share all.

This time, Boba slots his pelvis against yours, and you understand his heated intention.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde,” you say with shaky breath.

We will raise warriors.

Boba snuggles the side of your neck, breathes in your scent. “I’d like to lay with my riduur.” His fingers find the edge of your sleeping robes.

“As long as I can have my riduur the same way.”

Boba grins against your throat. Together, the two of you remove his armor, piece by piece by piece. The moment his flightsuit is unzipped and he steps out of it, Boba is on you, drawing your lips to his, desperately claiming what is now so rightfully his.

Your own clothes are gone before making it to the bed. Boba runs his hands over your back, sliding down to lift you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his middle, and Boba carries you off, placing you gently onto your back.

His mouth upon your skin is a brand. Hot. Searing. It goes lower, lower still until you’re crying out for him, begging for him to be with you as your riduur should. Boba is happy to do so, sliding between your thighs so perfectly, you both lose yourselves momentarily before becoming nothing but a raging storm, waves crashing into each other repeatedly until one of you breaks.

Rest does not come until the morning suns begin to ascend over the horizon. You do not open your shop. And Boba does not return to Jabba’s palace.

There is peace for a while.

Harmony.

taglist:

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ranahan · 8 months ago

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Appo is the pronunciation of oppo, British (originally military) slang for a friend, someone you work with, or someone who does the same job as you in a different company, political party, etc. It’s on my list of military slang words that might eventually make their way into my Mando’a dictionary in some form or another (Traviss herself has a few of these like taab and birgaan)… But I rather like “place of victory” too.

Blackout/Netra’dayn: Mando’a tends to put prepositions first in compound words, so it would probably be Daynetra or actually Danetra, as dayn gets contracted to da- in compound words. You could even shorten it further to Danet (cf. genet), or Denet which would be easier to say. Or you could derive a word with the same meaning but from different roots, e.g. dhaan. Or karanov = eclipse would also be similar.

Dush’kara: here are a couple of other options for your consideration: racin’kare, “faded stars,” shorten to racin’kar or dha’kar—all would have connotations with bad luck. Haran would be another one.

Mirdal’uliik > Mirda’liik & Oya’uliik > Oya’liik — I’m personally not a big fan of deriving animal names from uliik or bas, because I think more likely the words would have their own roots or be derived from descriptive words. But if you want to use uliik, you can contract it like so.

Ne’yaimpar could also be Ne’yaim’ol. It would have that phonetic ‘o.

Rex: I kinda thought his name came from Rexutu the Unconquerable from Dha Werda Verda.

Bev’sarad: I think you could go with just Bev. Personally I’ve glossed bev as “1. needle 2. spike, tine, spine, thorn” in my dictionary.

still workshopping some of these a bit, but here's the current mando'a name chart for the CCs (plus rex!)

green words are ones I took directly from the mando'a dictionary, yellow words are technically non-canon but are basically real words, orange are words I made up that could probably be real words, and red ones are the ones I just mashed words together and they don't always make the most sense

I'm taking constructive criticism on some of these names! If you have a better mando'a name for a character (esp. one w a red name) I'd be happy to hear it!

edit: other name lists can be found here: 501st 212th !!

#mando’a translations #mando’a #mandoa #star wars #star wars meta #mando'a #clone names

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goldnightshaade · 2 months ago

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Mando’a Brush Script

So I tend to struggle with canonical Mando’a scripts because it’s so blocky and not very translatable into normal handwriting. Hence, I sat down and spent an afternoon working out Mando’a into a brush script.

Here is the result:

Details/Explanation:

Brush script tends to look different and require different strokes depending on the hand holding the brush, so I made a version for both left and right hands for each style of script

Thick script: this script is meant to be used for official/professional writing. It’s more blocky and has more rules as to how individual letters are written.

Thin script: this script is meant to be used for more casual/personal writing. It’s looser, and has few/no rules around how letters are written. It’s expected that individuals have their own handwriting of this script.

Example:

#mandalorian #mando’a #mandalorian language #mandalorian script #mandalorian culture #mandalore #star wars #i made this for fun #but also #if anyone is interested in working on this with me that’d be amazing #or if anyone would like to use it #brush pen #calligraphy #this made me happy okay #mando’a brush script

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 2 years ago

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A FRESH START [23]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: none really, fluff?

Word Count: 4,201

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

[a/n: i'm so sorry this is late and i'm so sorry it's short. this will technically be considered this week's update, but i didn't want to wait until it truly became 06/01 because i know y'all have been waiting for this so you get it a few hours early😭]

#23: IT'S A SURPRISE

"dating isn't about dating anymore. you are picking your potential apocalypse partner. choose wisely folks." -unknown

“A date?” You asked in surprise.

Din nodded once, his tone nonchalant, “Yes.” Honestly, you weren’t sure why you were surprised. The two of you were courting. That’s what a courting couple did, right? Assuming that a courting couple was the exact equivalent of dating. If Din saw your mild confusion, he made no comment on it. He was leaning against the kitchen counter as you packed Grogu a lunch for his day. “Well, the more accurate translation from Mando’a is ‘courting session’, but date sounds better.”

You chuckled. “It does.” You zipped up Grogu’s lunch bag and bit your lower lip in a nervous excitement before shrugging once. “What happens during a Mandalorian ‘courting session’? An impromptu bounty hunting mission? Live combat?” The words were said with a teasing tone, but Din not reply and your eyes widened. “Din, do Mandalorians hunt quarries for their date nights?”

“No.” He answered quickly. “And I would never take you on a hunt. Maker, I’d be sick with worry.” He mumbled the last bit with a shake of his head. Finally, he shrugged. “The combat part isn’t so far off though.” You raised an eyebrow in question. “My people weren’t able to sit around a table to share food or bond over a meal. We shared stories and time through training so… courting and training tended to go hand in hand.”

It made a weird amount of sense to you. How much of your life was spent sitting at a table with family and friends sharing lives or talking over breakfast, lunch, or dinner? So much of a person’s culture and history was orally passed down through mealtimes and before this moment you never gave it a second thought. It never occurred to you how a family that couldn’t reveal their faces would bond and share their lives with one another. Mandalorians choosing combat as their bonding activity of choice was more than fitting.

“Alright.” You nodded. Din seemed to release a breath of relief and you found it endearing and adorable that he was nervous about asking you this. As if you wouldn’t immediately jump at the chance to spend more time with him. “But, if I go on a Mandalorian date you have to go on a not Mandalorian date.”

“A not Mandalorian date?” Din chuckled. “What happens during one of those?”

“It’s a surprise.” You replied simply. It was a ploy to buy yourself some more time to think of something great. It had been ages since you last went on a date, and you had never been on a date with a Mandalorian let alone a Mandalorian you loved. This needed to be perfect. “What kind of combat should I expect?”

“It’s a surprise.” Din echoed your sentiment. You chuckled and when he reached out to lightly grasp your wrist and pull you around the kitchen island, you let him. His hands settled on your hips as he tugged you into his chest⏤ you let your own hands wrap around the back of his neck in response. The motions were so fluid and natural to you. Second nature. Din lightly tapped his helmet against your forehead. “You gonna close your eyes or not, ner kar’ta?”

“Depends.” You teased.

“Yeah? On what?”

“You gonna fix the bathroom door or not?” You replied. Din chuckled sheepishly. The bathroom's doorway had been covered with a simple sheet since being broken down last week. It was simply a running joke on how long it’d take to get it replaced. You didn’t really care all that much. Especially since you knew Din had been crazy busy with getting the Mandalorians settled in Nevarro⏤ and simply restoring Nevarro as well.

Din shook his head. “I’m working on it.”

“Don’t worry. I was just gonna have Paz over to fix it for us⏤”

Din turned your back to the island counter and he pushed you so he could pin your hips against the cabinets there. He leaned in, his voice low enough to be a growl, “Close your eyes.” Unable to resist, you let your eyes fall closed while a smirk continued to play on your lips. Only seconds after they had shut did you feel Din move abruptly and suddenly his lips were pressed against yours in a crushing kiss. With one hand cupping the side of your face, Din molded his lips against yours forcing them to part so he could let his tongue explore your mouth. Maker, he was getting too good at this. The frantic and desperate kiss had a possessive edge to it that you found yourself craving. Din nipped at your lower lip suddenly and you sucked in a sharp breath in response. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he let his lips trail along your jaw down to your neck where he began to leave open mouth kisses.

“Din…” You gasped, breathless, as his teeth grazed your skin. The feel of his hot tongue gliding over where his teeth had grazed you made your body tremble. You buried a hand into Din’s soft hair. The only image you had of his pretty, brown hair was that one morning so long ago where you had seen him from behind. Just a flash. A vague memory of slightly curled locks. You raked your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly, and Din groaned against your neck. You wanted to see his hair so badly, but for now you’d settle for feeling it between your fingers.

“We… We gotta go to work.” You mumbled.

Din pulled your scrubs collar to the side so he could pepper kisses along your collarbone. “We’ll call in sick.”

“The marshal and doctor of Nevarro?” You chuckled. “Playing hooky?”

“They’ll survive one day without us.” Din replied.

“Grogu is right down the hall. Do you really want him to walk in and see this?”

Din pressed his lips softly to the space right underneath your ear and you let out a shuddered breath, “We’re his parents.” You could feel his breath against your skin. “We’re supposed to scar him for life, I think.”

You tugged on his hair lightly to pull his lips up to yours so you could capture him in a chaste kiss. There was something about the way Din would so casually refer to you as Grogu’s official caretaker that sent chills up your spine. It felt permanent. It gave you a look into a more concrete future. One where Din and Grogu were both yours and yours alone.

Din let out a soft sigh before pulling back. You waited to open your eyes until you felt the cool metal of his helmet pressing against your forehead. You drummed your fingers against the armor covering his chest. “So, when’s this Mandalorian courting session of ours?”

“How about this weekend?” Din asked. “We should both have some time off then.”

“Perfect.” You agreed, and it was. With Din by your side, you felt safe. The world wasn’t perfect, far from it, and scars still littered your soul. However, Din made it bearable. You didn’t have to be scared or worried. Not with him. Never with him. “Lemme go check on Grogu. He’s been a little too quiet for a little too long.”

“True.” Din squeezed your hips once before allowing you to slip away.

You glanced at him over your shoulder with a smile⏤ you’d never get tired of staring at his tall and broad form. Even covered head to toe in layers of clothes and metal, Din was gorgeous. You slipped down the hall and called out for the little boy to hear no reply.

“Grogu?” You poked your head into Din’s bedroom to see a green ear sticking out from his hammock. You frowned in confusion. Why had he crawled back into bed? “Grogu, baby, you’re gonna be late.”

“No.” He blurted.

Your eyes widened, “Grogu⏤”

“No. Don’t wanna go.” Grogu mumbled.

Worried, you reached into the hammock and pulled Grogu out of his blankets and into your chest. He curled up there without hesitation and with a furrowed brow you rubbed his back. “Baby boy, what’s going on?”

“No.” He just repeated the word.

School was not back in session. Wynn’s funeral was two days ago and though there were people to rise up and pick up her role in this community they had big shoes to fill and no one was quite ready to attempt that yet. However, one of the Mandalorians offered to host a daycare-esque group in order to watch the children of parents who needed to work. You were fairly certain this babysitting would involve training of sorts. This seemed more likely after hearing Din explain what a courting session was.

“Don’t you wanna go see your friends?” You asked.

“El not there.” Grogu pouted.

“Right.” You nodded. Elodie was still off world with her parents. She was doing very well, but it might be a while longer before they returned. “But Poe will be there, and all your other friends.”

“Miss not there.”

Your heart broke at his quivering words. Grogu had not handled the funeral well at all. You knew he was taking the loss of his teacher hard. You hugged him tighter to your chest and let out a soft sigh. A knock made you glance over your shoulder to see that Din had followed after you since you hadn’t returned with the green boy in tow.

“Is everything okay?” Din came closer. He reached out and set his hand on top of Grogu’s head. “Ad’ika?”

“No!” Grogu chirped again and kept his face buried against you.

You felt Din’s gaze lift to yours. He tilted his head and you replied quietly, “He misses Wynn.” Din’s shoulders slumped. Quickly, you squeezed Grogu in your arms. “How about you come to work with me today, baby?”

“Lek!” Grogu’s head shot up. “Lek! Lek, Ma.”

You felt relief flood your heart at seeing Grogu’s mood shift back to his typical eager self. Din’s hand settled on your lower back and he leaned in. “Are you sure that’s okay? I can take him, ner kar’ta.”

“You’re gonna be moving all around the city today.” You shook your head. “It’ll be easier for me to watch him.” You shot him a smile. “Plus, you got to spend weeks with him alone and exploring the universe. It’s my turn to hog his attention.”

Din chuckled. “Alright. That’s fair.”

You tickled Grogu’s side and he laughed at the distraction. Taking the boy into work with you today, though most likely a distraction, would be fun. With the decision settled, the three of you made your way out of the house and into the city’s center. This was always one of your favorite activities. Walking with your boys was the perfect start to your day.

“Be good for Ma today, ad’ika.” Din bowed his head against Grogu’s as you came to a stop outside the clinic. Grogu gave his father’s helmet a few pats. Din lifted his gaze back to your, and you heard amusement fill his voice as he lifted his hand to caress the side of your neck. “You be good today too, ner kar’ta.”

“Hm.” You replied with a smirk. “No promises.”

Din chuckled with a shake of his head and he lingered in his spot while you and Grogu headed into the clinic. You glanced over your shoulder to give him a small wave before slipping out of his line of sight. You bounced Grogu in your arms, “Alright, baby, let’s find you some stuff to do while Ma works, huh?”

“Lek!”

“You don’t have to plan to go yet. We always have a place for you.” Din said warmly to Vanth who was sitting on his desk. The man had healed up well, but there were still lingering scars and bruises from the fight. Din would always be in this man’s debt for the lengths he went to in order to protect Nevarro while Din was gone.

“Don’t say that.” Mayfeld cried out. “How the hell are we gonna get rid of him if you keep offering a spot??”

Vanth chuckled. “Oh, come on, Miggsy. I thought you liked me as a roommate. Why else did you offer me your spare room?”

“I didn’t! You invited yourself!”

Din listened to the men argue with a chuckle. The building Vanth had been staying in was one of the housing areas destroyed in the attack. As much as they seemed to be at one another’s neck, Din had a feeling that they’d miss one another deep down. Deep, deep down. Their relationship reminded him of the one he shared with Paz. Din would go to war to protect his brother in arms and support him, but he also wanted to wring the man’s neck most days.

“Djarin!”

Speak of the devil…

Din glanced over his shoulder to see Paz step into the marshal office and he made the room look so much smaller just from his size and presence. It felt odd to hear his name said in public like that. With the migration of Mandalorians to Nevarro, Din realized he might need to make alterations. Most of the city still called him Marshal because he didn’t offer them his name, but Din did choose to share it with his inner circle. Vanth, Mayfeld, Karga, Peli, Nima. Just the people he trusted without a doubt.

“You needed to speak to me?” Paz spoke up. “Can you make this quick? I wanted to swing by the clinic to greet wero’ika⏤”

“I gave her my token of intention.” Din snapped. “She accepted, we’re courting. Back off.”

Paz let out a full belly laugh and it took a bulk of Din’s self control to not shoot him. Vanth and Mayfeld had put aside their bickering to focus on the conversation at hand. Din grumbled in annoyance. The one thing that got both men to end an argument was always at his sake it seemed.

“Whoa, wait, you’re talking about Soran?” Mayfeld cried out. “I assume that’s the only person in the clinic you’d be courting.”

Vanth chuckled. “Courting. That’s adorable, brother. Is it a Mandalorian thing?”

“Also, why would you even need to court her?” Mayfeld suddenly added. “The two of you are practically married already. You live together and share a son. You got ‘couple celebrating their tenth anniversary’ vibes.”

Din shook his head in exasperation, but he didn’t bother voicing the fact that he quite liked that everyone in the city seemed to forget you had started as his son’s nanny. As far as they were concerned, you were Grogu’s mother and that made Din’s heart ache with pride.

“In order to properly wed someone to Mandalorian customs, courting must come first. It's taken him long enough.” Paz answered. Both men had already been introduced to Din’s brother days ago when rebuilding and clean up of the city had started. “We have a word for him in Mando’a. Utreekov.”

Din rolled his eyes and Mayfeld let out a laugh. Din’s head snapped to the deputy, “Why’re you laughing? You don’t even know the word.”

“No, but I’m decent at context clues and can make a pretty good bet.” Mayfeld snickered.

“When is your first courting session?” Paz demanded.

Mayfeld narrowed his eyes. “Wait, does that mean ‘date’?”

Vanth crossed his arms and shot his friend a wide, mocking grin. “Hot damn, Miggsy! You are good with those context clues, ain’t ya?”

“You’re literally the worst.” Mayfeld grumbled.

Din crossed his arms. “This weekend.”

“And have you chosen your combat activity yet?”

Vanth and Mayfeld both paused their bickering once more to snap their attention to Paz. Vanth spoke up first. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘combat activity’? Because if so, I have many questions.”

“Not yet.” Din answered Paz’s question, choosing to ignore Vanth’s. “Why?”

“Am I not allowed to ask?”

Din narrowed his eyes at Paz dubiously. He wouldn’t describe his brother as necessarily ‘nosy’, and he didn’t think Paz would deliberately undermine him. However, he remained skeptical nonetheless. Mayfeld cleared his throat and waved his hand once. “Can we circle back around to 'combat on a date'?”

“It’s just a custom we have.” Din replied in an offhand manner.

Vanth shrugged. “Why get a drink together when you can try to stab one another with a knife?”

“Hm,” Din hummed, “Training with her new dagger actually isn’t a terrible idea.”

“We have different definitions of the word ‘terrible’.” Mayfeld snorted.

“Actually,” Vanth countered, “I think you should use context clues to realize that our buddy Din here⏤”

“Maker, can you leave already!?”

Din nodded his head for Paz to follow him and both Mandalorians walked back to Din’s office leaving Mayfeld and Vanth in the main room. In the privacy of his office, Din turned to face Paz who spoke before he could.

“Did you call me here to ask for advice, vod?” Paz chuckled.

“No, I⏤ Wait, advice for what?”

“For courting gar kar’ta?”

Din bristled in annoyance at Paz picking fun at his nickname for you. He crossed his arms, “Why would I need your advice?” He scoffed. “You’ve known her for a little over a week.”

“I know how little experience you have courting at all. Thought I would help as able. You know,” Paz had a tone in his voice that told Din the man was grinning as he slipped into Mando’a, “So you don’t fuck it up, Djarin.”

Din scoffed. Honestly, he knew if he had a question on the topic of courting he could come to Paz for an answer. He would be mocked relentlessly, but after the ribbing Paz would eventually get to the advice. The issue was Din didn’t even know what to ask. Paz was right. Din had very, very little experience in courting. It was never a priority for him until meeting you. His biggest fear regarding the courting was that his lack of experience would somehow mess this up, but Din had to remind himself how easy things were with you. It was natural.

“So?” Paz pressed.

“Well,” Din began, “I was⏤ Wait, no, stop. That’s not what I called you here for.”

“You sure? It seems you need all the help you can get.”

“B'epa slaat bal ramaana.”

Paz’s howling laughter made Din regret calling him into the office in the first place.

“I told you to keep that bandage dry and you didn’t.” You snapped at one of the local construction workers sitting on your cot. Today wasn't too busy which was nice. Grogu was bouncing happily in the sling you wore which tied him to your front. You covered his large ears, making him glance up at you, then spoke. “That’s why the damn thing is infected, you idiot.”

The worker gave you a sheepish smile. He was a repeat offender which gave him the honor of getting to hear your full thought process rather than the more politically correct version. You uncovered Grogu’s ears and he just laughed at your antics as if it were a game you were playing with him. Aayla drifted over and you gave the woman a broad grin.

“What would you do?” You asked, quizzing her.

Her eyes brightened, excited to be challenged, “Clean the wound today. Replace the bandages. Then start him on an anti-bacterial.”

“Ointment or oral medication?” You pressed.

Aayla paused in thought then sighed, “I… I’m not sure.”

“That’s alright. You’re learning, and you’re doing great.” You reassured her. “We’re gonna start him on an oral medicine to take because he’s an idiot,” Your eyes dragged to his as you emphasized your words, “that needs to keep his wound dry and clean before the infection turns systemic.”

Aayla giggled and the man laughed as well in good nature. You shook your head and began to walk away to leave Aayla to clean up his wound. Grogu bounced in the sling and began to chant, “Idiot, idiot, idiot.”

“No, no, baby.” You looked down and tugged him lightly on the ear. “That’s an adult word, you don’t use that.”

He repeated the word twice more, making you wince, but you supposed it wasn’t the worst thing for the child to repeat. As often as Din barked out the curse ‘dank farrik’ around the house it was a miracle Grogu hadn’t added that phrase to his vocabulary.

“Hey!” You glanced over to see Nima sweep into the room with a wave. She hurried over to greet you and Grogu. “Hey there, you green little bug.”

“Idiot!”

Nima’s eyes widened, “Whoa, hey.”

“Sorry, he’s been blurting it out because I told him not to say it.”

“Oh, okay. I was about to be super sad.” Nima chuckled. She reached out and tickled Grogu who squealed in response. “How come you got the baby with you?” You shook your head to let her know you’d tell her later. Not wanting to bring up the topic of Wynn in front of Grogu again. Nima picked up and moved on. “Busy morning?”

You shook your head. “Not so much. It’s been alright. You?”

“These days we’re so busy with repairs I don’t think I’ve touched an engine block in days.” Nima groaned. “I’m happy to be helpful, but Maker, do I miss tinkering.”

“Well, I might have news that’ll cheer you up.” You grinned. “Din and I are going on our first date this weekend.”

Nima scoffed. “Date? Why don’t you guys just get married already?”

“Nima.”

“Fine.” Her lips turned into a bright smile. “So date, huh? What’s on the agenda?”

“Hand to hand combat. Maybe.” You shrugged and Nima tilted her head in alarm. You explained to her the Mandalorian custom then focused on your half. “I get to plan a regular date though.”

Nima clapped her hands in excitement and Grogu copied her motions while peering up at you. “Do you have an idea yet??”

You nodded and bit your lower lip before voicing your thoughts. “I was thinking of making us a picnic to lay out in our living room. Pin up string lights, make a nice meal with wine and dessert.” Nima blinked at you without a reaction. “What?”

“That’s kind of… boring, isn’t it?” Nima scrunched her nose. “I just mean, I thought you guys would do something exciting! The lava plains does tours that’ll take you right up to the volcano’s edge. There are hot springs at the outside of the city where the two of you could share a bath.” She shimmied her shoulder. “You know, something like that.”

You twisted your lips, “You think he won’t like my idea?”

“You know your husband better than I do.” Nima held her hands out in surrender, Grogu mimicking her once more. You rolled your eyes at the ‘husband’ comment. “I was just offering my two cents.”

You hummed in thought and stood in place as Nima pulled a bag of candy out of her shoulder pack and began to feed them to Grogu who gobbled them up happily. Technically, the date you had in mind really wasn’t the most exciting of things the two of you could do. That being said, it felt right. Going on a lava plains tour, Din would be stressing the entire time about you accidentally falling into the mouth of a volcano to fully relax. Going to the hot springs, Din couldn’t actually enjoy it with you unless he decided to strip out of his armor and you knew he didn’t like being bare out in even a semi-public area. You also couldn’t go out to eat or for drinks in the city since he couldn’t remove his helmet.

More so, staying at home allowed you the opportunity to get his mouth on you which was always a plus. All those thoughts should put a stone of anxiety in your belly, but instead all you felt was excitement. The comfort and safety Din brought with his presence left no room for doubt or strain. He was home.

"Oh, also, I was gonna ask," Nima pointed at your neck, "What's up with the giant hickey?"

"Huh?" You blurted. Nima rustle through her pack again and pulled out a compact mirror. She held it up to you and your eyes widened at the sight of the two darker patches of skin where Din had left bruises with his kisses this morning. One on your neck and the other by your collarbone. Your face warmed up and an amused smile pulled up the corners of your lips. "That son of a bitch."

Grogu squealed, "Son of a bitch!"

mando'a translations:

ner kar'ta: my heart ad'ika: little one vod: brother utreekov: idiot gar kar'ta: your heart b'epa slaat bal ramaana: eat dirt and die

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