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mandos-mind-trick · 11 months

Text

Cabur

Summary: Twelve years ago the animal representing your soulmate appeared in your home. You finally get to meet him when his battalion arrives to help defend your planet from the droid army.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: NSFW, smut, unprotected sex, oral, fingering, injuries, brief mention of animal injury but it's not serious, a bit of angst, reader is a BAMF but it doesn't really get shown cause I'm garbage at action scenes, some mentioned PTSD at the end.

A/N: Sooooo this may be my sign to stick to only writing for the Bad Batch boys cause this is garbage. Turns out I'm not good at writing other clones. Also I wrote the smut before eating breakfast so if it's entirely indecipherable please forgive me.

Also Mide is pronounced Mee-deh.

MASTERLIST

It’s become a sort of legend within the GAR.

The clone who rides into battle on the back of a Nexu.

It’s a bit ridiculous. He doesn’t ride the Nexu. But, they are never far from each other.

No one ever dares to ask.

Most of them already know.

The others are too scared.

The only one that had asked was the General, which was forgiven since he probably didn’t expect his second in command to be closely trailed by a Nexu when they met for the first time.

His soulmate link, Wolffe had explained to his General. One of the rarest, where each soulmate is accompanied by the animal that represents their soulmate. The Kaminoans had been rather shocked when shortly after he was taken from his growth chamber, a fully grown Nexu appeared in the room. The feline had been entirely tame, until the Kaminoans had tried to separate them because clones were not allowed to pursue their soulmates due to some of the early clones deserting for their soulmates.

Separation hadn’t worked, as the Nexu proceeded to rampage through the halls of Tipoca City until she was reunited with Wolffe. Only Wolffe could seem to control her, and so the Kaminoans begrudgingly allowed the Nexu to stay.

She learned quickly, coming to Wolffe’s defense even during training. It didn’t take long for Wolffe to teach her how to fight, and how to take down droids. She never hesitated, even after the war started, fearlessly following him into even the ugliest battles.

He had spent much of his free time thinking about his soulmate. They’re obviously a fierce fighter, given the predatory nature of Nexu. Strong and brave. He often wondered what kind of animal they have that represents him.

***

The last thing you had been expecting twelve years ago was a loth-wolf pup to show up in the middle of your home.

It had appeared out of nowhere, startling both you and your parents. You hadn’t known what it was at first, until a quick search had directed you to the supposedly extinct loth-wolf. Why it had appeared suddenly in your home...that was another quick search.

Your soulmate link.

You had always wondered what it might be, seeing as you had no mark or strange dreams, or any of the other typical links between soulmates. Developing this late, though, was confusing. You didn’t think much about it, though. Fate was not something to question. Everything would make sense eventually. Your people believed that fate drove every decision, every event in your life. Everything happens for a reason, all directed by fate’s design.

Already twice the size of a tooka, the pup grew quickly, outgrowing your parents hut. It grew big enough to ride within a couple years and you often did. When you moved into your own hut, you built it big enough to fit you and your wolf comfortably.

You often wondered about your soulmate. Who they are, what they’re doing, what kind of animal they have. You wonder how you’ll meet. Will they come here? Your people don’t leave your planet often. Aside from the few who show great prowess for politics and get sent to represent you in the senate, not many else leave. Your people prefer simple, quiet lives. Though you have technology, most of your food is grown or hunted, and your medicine is a practice that’s been passed down for generations.

You had thought perhaps you were meant to leave, that you would meet your soulmate somewhere else. Your strength, however, was not in politics. You were a natural fighter. So instead you stayed on the planet, defending your village and hunting to provide food. Maybe you weren’t meant to find your soulmate elsewhere. Perhaps your soulmate was in one of the other villages.

You think that, until the war starts.

Your planet is mostly untouched for two years. There was no strategic reasoning to invade your planet, other than simply being part of the Republic. It keeps your planet untouched, at least until the Separatists begin to get desperate.

Word reaches you one morning of a droid army approaching one of the neighboring villages. It had landed two days ago and it was slowly burning its way through village after village. They had already reached out to the Republic for assistance, but they were already stretched as it was.

You don’t give up hope.

You’re right not to.

Two days after the message had been sent, they arrived. The roar of gunships is loud as troops drop in at the next village over from yours. You were already there, preparing defenses for when the inevitable attack began. They’d already burned through the village to the North. You had scouted over the hill earlier, and had spotted the dust cloud kicked up by the army’s movements. Fighters from surrounding villages have gathered, but it’s not nearly enough.

The clones arrive like a blessing from the Maker.

You’re glad to see them, even if some of them stare and whisper as you pass. You know they’re not staring at you. They’re staring at your wolf. Loth-wolves are supposed to be extinct, so actually seeing one would be a bit shocking. Even more so, seeing one outside of Lothal.

You had been called to the village leader’s hut, which was being used for battle planning. The village leader had chosen you as her second in command, since you were one of the best fighters. You were also one of the few still alive that had seen battle before.

Not every village on the planet was as interested in peace as the others. One such village had decided to attack a neighboring village out of nothing but greed shortly before the galactic war started. Fighters from across the planet had been called to aid in the fight, and you had been one of them. The most battle you’d seen back then had been on hunting trips. Though you were skilled, you’d never actually fought before.

It had been terrifying, but you had quickly proved your skills and your ability to stay calm under pressure. You had made a name for yourself, and had carried that still to this day.

Most of the more experienced fighters had been sent ahead to try and aid other villages, but it had been fruitless. The droid army had wiped out both the fighters, and some innocent villagers caught in the crossfire.

This village had been evacuated, and it was going to be the last stand against the droid army. If they couldn’t be defeated, then the planet was lost. The arrival of the clones to aid you had renewed hope in the possibility of securing your planet and its safety once more. There would be a lot to do, a lot to rebuild after, but now there was hope you would get to do so.

You make your way towards the hut, your wolf running ahead. It’s strange, usually he never left your side unless you told him to. He had been acting strangely all day. You had blamed it on the nervous energy in the village, and the approaching army. Everyone had been a bit on edge, and being an animal, he could likely pick up on it more than anyone.

You hear a commotion as you approach the hut, finding your wolf cornering one of the clones. Your eyes widen, thinking the worst, and you hurry over. Some of the clones are laughing by the time you reach them, and you realize your wolf is licking this clone.

“Mide,” You pull on the fur at his neck to try and get him to stop. His tail is wagging, creating a breeze behind him. “Mide, stop.”

The hair at the back of your neck stands straight, a loud growl reaching your ears. You turn, eyes widening as you stare into four red eyes and a wide mouth full of sharp fangs.

You scramble back, the Nexu following you. You’ve never seen one in person before, only read about them. They’re not native to this planet, so how did this one get here? And why doesn’t anyone else seem afraid of it?

“Cabur.” The stern voice of the clone reaches your ears. “Cabur, stand down.”

The Nexu doesn’t respond, crouching as it prepares to pounce. Do you run? You can’t outrun a Nexu. Why isn’t anyone trying to help? Why isn’t Mide helping?

The Nexu pounces, knocking you off your feet. You close your eyes, preparing for those teeth to sink into your skin, rip away at your flesh until you bleed out.

Something wet and rough drags across your skin from your shoulder to the top of your head. Your eyes snap open in surprise. Is the Nexu...licking you?

It licks you again, leaving a wet, gooey trail along your skin.

“Easy, girl.” The clone pets its head, trying to nudge it back.

It steps back reluctantly, its own tail swishing back and forth as it watches you. A hand appears in your line of sight and you take it, the clone hauling you to your feet easily. You brush the dirt off, wiping the Nexu spit from your face.

“Sorry about her.” The clone says. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her today.”

“It’s alright. Mide has been weird all day too. He’s never run away from me like that before.” You stare up at him, taking in his face.

His face is stern, pinched a bit in focus. There’s a scar stretching from his forehead to his cheek, his eye having been replaced with a cybernetic one. He’s handsome, as you assume all the clones would be.

“Is she yours?” You ask, breaking the silence between you.

“It’s my soulmate link.” He says. “I’ve had her since I came out of my growth chamber.”

“Oh.” You say, blinking in surprise. “Mide’s also my soulmate link. Appeared about twelve years ago.”

“Really.” He says, giving you a strange look.

Before you can continue the conversation, the village leader and who you assume is the Jedi General approach you.

“I see you two have already met.” The Kel Dor says.

You glance at the clone for a moment as the village leader introduces you to General Plo Koon and Commander Wolffe.

“Come,” The General says. “We have much to discuss, and little time to do so.”

***

“What’s her name?” You ask as you and Commander Wolffe make your way into position. His Nexu is walking beside you, trotting along happily. Mide is walking beside Wolffe, looking perfectly content.

“Cabur.” Wolffe answers. “It’s Mando’a. It means guardian or protector.”

“Fitting name.” You say.

“She’s saved my life a few times.” He pats Mide’s side. “What about him?”

“Mide. He’s a mythical warrior who protected our people. He rode to war with the sigil of a wolf on his helmet.”

The corner of Wolffe’s mouth lifts. “Aptly named.”

You both stop, having reached the point you have to go separate ways. You mount Mide, looking down at Wolffe. “See you when the battle’s done?”

Wolffe nods, patting Mide’s neck. “Take care of her.”

Mide huffs out a breath, nodding his head just slightly as if agreeing. He would, even without having to be asked.

You know. Even without having to say anything you know. Just Mide’s reaction was enough to tell you. The link is so rare, and to have someone else with the same link suddenly appear on your planet like this...

It’s not just a coincidence.

Mide runs to your position, and you watch as the cloud of dust that the droid army was kicking up gets closer and closer, flashes of blue and red gradually disappearing as dust envelops the valley.

***

You’re covered in dirt, but you’re alive.

With the help of the clones, you had stopped the droid army from advancing much further, protecting the village. It had been a long battle, lasting into the night. The stars are out by the time you return to the village, weary after a long battle unlike any you’ve ever been in.

No squabble between villages will ever compare to that.

You had seen Wolffe shortly after your return to the village, nothing more than a passing glance across the fire as you’d helped both injured villagers and troopers. You’re both alive, you’re both alright. You had spotted Cabur slinking around the village, unharmed due to her training in fighting droids. Mide’s white fur is streaked with dirt, his feet and nose scratched from the droids, but he’s otherwise uninjured.

You’ll give him a big, juicy cut of meat later.

You’re cleaning the cut on his nose when you hear the footsteps approaching. Mide’s head lifts, ears perking and tail wagging as he sees who it is. Something brushes against your side, Cabur purring as she makes herself comfortable next to Mide. Wolffe approaches you, and you take a moment to look him over. His armor is streaked with dirt, but he’s otherwise uninjured.

“Good to see you.” You say, smiling softly.

He steps right up to you, gloved fingers grazing over the bandage wrapped around your arm.

“It’s just a scratch.” You say, skin tingling as his fingers continue to trail down your arm before dropping back to his side. “We’re not used to fighting droids.”

“You’re, uh...quite the fighter.” He says. “I think a Nexu was the perfect choice.”

Your cheeks warm a bit. You think the ferocious Nexu might be a bit of an exaggeration. It’s a compliment, though, that he thinks your skills are worthy of that representation. The loth-wolf is the perfect representation of him. He has the same dangerous gaze as Mide, the same fierce loyalty. The stern and serious battle-ready commander.

“Us clones...it’s forbidden for us to initiate the soulmate bond.” He says.

Your stomach clenches a bit at his words. You hadn’t even thought...you hadn’t even considered. You hadn’t had time to. Everything had been happening so quickly. You had never given consideration to the idea that your soulmate might not want you. Much less that he might have to reject you. All those daydreams, all those thoughts about what your life could be like with them...they’ve been nothing but fantasies and they might never be anything but.

“Most of us don’t agree.” He continues. “We all have an agreement not to say anything, not to report anything.”

“But...what if someone finds out?”

“We have to be careful so no one does.” He takes your hand, slipping something into it. “We’re preparing to leave. We already have our next orders.”

Your shoulders sink a bit. Of course they’re very busy. The war has been taking a turn. The attack against your planet is just proof of this. Having time with him right now is just another fantasy.

You walk with him to the gunships, taking your time as troopers load up around you. He turns, patting Mide on the nose as you reach one of the ships. Mide lets out a quiet whine, his ears falling.

You squat in front of Cabur, petting her head. “Take care of him, yeah?” She lets out a quiet sound, licking your cheek once more. You stand back up, facing Wolffe. “Come back? When the war’s over?”

He nods once and you stand up on your toes, kissing his cheek. He stares down at you long and hard for a moment before stepping away, sliding his helmet on. You watch as he boards the gunship, following it with your eyes as long as you can as it disappears into the sky.

You open your hand, looking down at what he’d slipped into it. A smile tugs at your lips as you stare at the item.

A comm device.

***

It’s been almost a year since the battle, since you met your soulmate. You’ve spoken as often as you can through the comm device, but for the last three months it’s been very quiet. You’ve gone stretches without speaking, but never this long.

You try not to worry.

The war had ended three months ago, around the time you had seemingly lost contact. You suppose with the restructuring of the Republic into the Empire and the sudden end to the war, things have gotten complicated for the clones. It could just be he hasn’t had a good time to step aside and secretly contact you. Despite your attempted reasoning, you can’t help but feel nervous about the sudden silence.

You’ve been keeping yourself busy helping the survivors from the destroyed villages resettle with other villages. While the army had been destroyed, the valley had become a wasteland of destroyed droids and the remnants from the battle. New huts were built and families integrated peacefully into new villages. The Senate had sent some relief, but it could only do so much. Homes could be rebuilt and crops replanted, but lives couldn’t be replaced.

You’ve buried far too many dead.

You try not to think your soulmate may be one of them.

He’s not. You know he’s not. You would have felt it. Mide would have died with him. Still, the thought haunts you. How easily he could be taken from you, and you barely got to know him.

Fate will make it work in the end. You try to remind yourself of that.

***

You’re out hunting when it happens.

Nearly four months since the end of the war, a year since you met your soulmate. You had been scouting the hills when you’d heard it. You’d moved your binocs to the sky, watching as a starfighter streaked across the sky like a smoking comet straight towards the trees just a few meters away.

The crash is loud, the trees shaking with the impact. Mide immediately takes off, darting into the trees. It’s not like him, still always sticking close to your side.

“Mide!” You call, immediately running after him.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. It couldn’t be...could it? You hadn’t seen any identifying markers on the ship, the smoke too dense around it to see. It could be anyone, or anything.

If it wasn’t, Mide wouldn’t have run off like that.

You duck into the undergrowth, following the path broken by your wolf. You freeze instinctively as a low growl reaches your ears. You know that growl.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Cabur?”

The Nexu steps out of the bushes, tail swishing as she looks at you. It’s her. You know it. You drop to a knee, patting her head as she greets you.

It’s him. It’s really him.

Mide breaks through the bushes, dragging a limp body with his teeth. He drags the body over to you, letting him go gently. Wolffe’s body lays limp on the ground. There’s charred marks on his armor, likely from the crash. You push him over onto his back, staring down at his helmet. You trace the markings with your fingers, the same markings you remember.

A sob threatens to tear from your lips as you slip your fingers under the edge of his helmet, tugging it off. You cup the back of his head, lowering it gently to the ground.

He’s unconscious but still breathing.

Mide lays next to Wolffe, looking at you sadly. Cabur nudges his foot, letting out a quiet whine. He’s injured, likely worse than it looks if he crashed a starfighter. You need to get him back to the village, and soon.

You’re sweating by the time you maneuver him onto Mide’s back, climbing on behind him. You hold him as Mide runs through the trees and back up the hill towards the village. Cabur keeps pace easily, miraculously mostly uninjured from the crash.

You guide Mide into your hut, easing Wolffe off his back and onto your bed. You begin the tedious process of removing his armor, figuring out how to get each piece off and carefully stacking it in the corner. You peel the body glove off next, revealing his chest covered in bruises.

You head to your kitchen, grabbing herbs and a bowl, beginning to mash them into a paste as you’ve done a hundred times. You mix a tonic as well, moving back to his side before spreading the mixture across his chest, making sure to cover each bruise. You place bandages over each spot, letting the herbs do their work. You cup his neck, lifting his head a bit to help him drink the tonic. You can feel it, the pulsing energy from where your fingers are pressed against the skin of his neck.

He’s really here, right in front of you. Crashed right out of the sky, practically into your lap.

Mide curls up on his blanket, Cabur making herself comfortable beside him. You sit by Wolffe’s side, tending to him as you let the medicine work its way through his body. You only leave to make dinner and feed the animals before you’re sitting back at his side.

You grab his pauldron, tracing the image of the wolf with your fingers. The grey paint around the edges is slightly worn, more than it had been the last time you’d seen him. It’s hard to believe he’s really here. After four months of nothing, no sign that he’s alive and alright, no word on what’s happening aside from what was broadcasted on the news...four months of thinking the worst.

You trace his face with your fingers, allowing yourself to feel him. He’s really here. He’s real.

You stay by his side through the night, changing out the herbs as they dry. You nap a few times, trusting the animals to alert you if something happens.

He begins to stir around sunrise. You’d been checking his wounds, already mostly healed. You put a gentle hand on his shoulder as he shifts, his eyes cracking open.

“It’s alright.” You say, tracing gentle circles on his skin with your thumb. “You’re safe.”

He breathes your name like a prayer, his eyes slipping closed for a moment as he relaxes.

“I’m here.” You whisper, sliding your hand up to cup his cheek. “I’ve got you.”

“I said I would.” He murmurs, turning his head to kiss your palm. “I said I’d come back.”

You shush him gently. “And you have.”

You get him sitting up, leaning against the wall. You feed him some soup after both Mide and Cabur greet him happily. He tells you about everything that happened since the war ended. He tells you about the Jedi and the inhibitor chips, deserting the Empire and getting his chip removed. He tells you about his fight to get here, and almost not making it.

You try not to think about it, relishing in the face he did make it. He is sitting here with you. You can see the pain in his eyes, the guilt. You can practically feel the sadness radiating from him. Your heart aches for him. He’s lost so much, and so much has changed so quickly. You can’t even imagine what it must have been like. What it must feel like for him.

You hold him, wrapping yourself around him. His bruises are almost completely healed, his strength returning as he holds you, his face pressed against your chest. Cabur creeps her way over, stretching herself out across your laps. Wolffe chuckles, patting her head. You tangle a hand on her fur, holding Wolffe with the other.

***

Wolffe settles into life in the village easily. He’s welcomed, not only as your soulmate, but also as a hero who helped save many lives. He accompanies you on hunts, learning as much about your culture as he can.

You settle into life with him easily too, adjusting to his presence like he’s been there the whole time. You’re glad your hut is on the edge of the village, as you’re both also rather insatiable. You have a year to make up for. A year of yearning and longing to make up for.

And you certainly do.

A body presses against yours as you finish loading the dishes in the sanitizer. You can feel him, every bit of his body through his thin shirt and soft pants. He’s softened a bit from the hardened soldier that had crash landed back into your life. You won’t complain. After the things you’ve heard, you’re happy he’s finally healthy and well taken care of.

You can also feel how hard he is against your ass.

His arms snake around your waist as you toss the dish towel on the counter. His lips trail up your neck, dragging along the soft skin.

“Miss me that much?” You ask, pressing back against him teasingly.

“Always.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss below your ear.

One of his hands snakes under your shirt, slowly sliding up your stomach, straight towards your breasts. You’re glad you ditched your breastband earlier as his warm hand cups your breast. He hums against your neck in approval, skilled fingers plucking at your nipple as he paints your skin with marks from his teeth.

“Wolffe,” You sigh his name as he switches breasts, giving the other one equal attention.

His other hand slips down your stomach, dipping into your pants. You’ve been wet in anticipation since his arms wrapped around you, his fingers gliding through your slick folds. Your legs tremble as he slowly circles your clit with the rough pads of his fingers.

“So wet for me, cyare.” He murmurs against your neck, slipping two of his fingers into you.

“Yes,” You breathe, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “Only for you.”

He growls quietly against your neck, pulling his hands free. He tugs your pants down before lifting you onto the kitchen counter. You pull your shirt over your head, tossing it to the floor. He tugs your hips closer to the edge, kneeling in front of you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, still kept in the regulation cut. He sometimes lets his stubble grow out, and you’re still trying to convince him to grow a beard just to see how it would look.

He licks a stripe up your clit, hands pressing against your thighs to keep them open for him. His tongue swirls around your clit, his eyes lifted to stare at your face. Your lips part in a moan as he closes his mouth against your clit, sucking hard. Your free hand grips the edge of the counter, holding on as he eats you out.

Your first few times together had been awkward and fumbling as you tried to figure each other out. It had taken lots of practice, and many laughs, to learn each other’s bodies. What you like, what you don’t, what he likes. How to make him putty in your hands. He’s still just as stern and dominating as he had been as a commander, but you know deep down he sometimes needs someone else to take control, someone else to give the orders. Someone he trusts.

Your legs are shaking around his head, your own head thrown back in pleasure as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. The noises are absolutely obscene as he slurps at your drenched pussy like he’s gone days without water.

He pulls away before you can cum, making you whine in protest.

His chin is slick with your juices, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. You reach forward, yanking his shirt over his head. Your fingers trail along the soft curves of his body, lips pressing kisses against his skin. His hands undo his pants, letting them drop to the floor.

You bite your lip, your hand wrapping around his hard length. His hands drop to your thighs, resting there as you pump him. You meet his gaze, staring into his eyes as you guide him forward and into your heat. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him all the way in. A moan tumbles from your lips at the stretch, your arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold him as close as you possibly can.

His arms wrap around your back, lips pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You both breathe for a moment, enjoying being so close, so connected to each other. You bury your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him. Musky and sweaty from being out in the warmth of the day working.

He adjusts his grip on you, holding you up as he begins to move. You meet his thrusts, tilting your head up to kiss him. It’s slow and soft, quiet moans passing between your lips. You hold onto him like you’re afraid he might disappear if you let go, like you might suddenly wake and find this has all been a dream.

His own fingers indent your skin, sharing your same fears. You know he’s here, you know it’s real, and he knows it’s real, but still, neither of you can forget the year you had been separated, the many times he could have died, the many times he could have been ripped from you.

“‘M close.” You murmur against his lips, nails breaking the skin of his shoulders.

“Gonna cum for me?” He growls, snapping his hips into yours. “Show me how pretty you look when you cum?”

Your head falls back, lips parted as you cum around his cock, moaning loudly. He watches you, memorizing your face. He’ll never forget it, but he commits it to memory every time.

A few more thrusts and he’s cumming with a growl, snapping his hips into yours a final time as he releases inside of you. You hold him against you, both of you riding out your highs together.

His hold around you is tight, clinging to you. You’re both breathing heavily, breaths mingling as he presses his forehead against yours. Your hands gently rub his shoulders, working your way up his neck and into his hair.

“You’re right here.” You whisper, lips brushing his. “I’m right here.”

He exhales shakily, fingers tightening their grip just slightly.

You press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ve got you.”

@stressed-cherry, @6oceansofmoons, @ladytano420 @spicy-clones, @dangraccoon, @bobaprint, @star-trekker-0013, @stunkbiggu

#star wars #star wars fic #clone wars #clone wars fic #commander wolffe x reader #clones #clone trooper wolffe x reader

393 notes · View notes

zoeykallus · 1 year

Note

Awww! May I request The Bad Batch and maybe Howzer ? Speaking Mando’a to their S/O like saying something funny or romantic that they wouldn’t say out loud or maybe S/O learns a few phrases for them? I love it when couples with different cultures try and learn one and another’s ❤️❤️❤️

Sounds like a cute idea to me :))

But I don't know anything about Mando'a so... let's hope for the best ^^'

The Bad Batch x Reader HC's - Speaking Mando'a

No Warnings

____________

Hunter

You two walk through the streets of Mos Eisley and Hunter can see you are a little nervous. The people around here are mostly gangsters, at least in the part of town you are roaming around right now.

"Don't you worry, Cyare, I'm always your cabur", he says softly, grabbing your hand.

You look at him puzzled.

"What's a cabur?"

"It's pronounced KAH-boor, and it means 'guardian' or 'protector'"

"Is it Mando'a?"

Hunter nods.

"I didn't know you really speak that language"

Hunter explains, "At some point I thought it's part of where we are coming from, even if we are cloned, not born, it doesn't hurt to know about it"

"Cyare is Mando'a too, right?"

"Yes, and it does mean 'love'. Madalorians use it to address their partners"

You smile at him, warmth spreading in your chest. You knew it was something sweet, but to finally really know it, felt different, much more real.

Echo

You two are walking thorugh a market and Echo got into a fight with one of the vendors over a faulty item he sold him an hour ago.

"Di'kut!", calls Echo over his shoulder at the vendor when you pull him along.

"Stop, Echo. You won't get anything out of this. You got your credits back"

Echo huffs, "A brazen son of a bitch is that!"

You chuckle, "I'm not used to you talking like that. What does 'di'kut' mean?"

Echo calms down a bit, smiles at you and says, "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. 'Di'kut' means 'idiot"

"Is it Mando'a?"

"Yes, dear, it is"

You grab his hand and ask, "Can you say something nicer in Mando'a?"

Echo nods, "Sure. What would you like to hear?"

"What would you like to tell me?", you ask back.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar'ta"

"What's it mean?"

Echo smiles and kisses your cheek, "I love you, my heart"

Wrecker

"Kandosii'la!"

"What?"

You are trying on an outfit for a party tonight. Wrecker and you are invited, and you want to look good at your man's side.

"Kandosii'la!"

You chuckle, "Yes Wrecker, I heard that, but what does it mean?"

He laughs, "Oh! It means 'amazing'. You look amazing, sweetheart"

You smile and turn around once more.

"Really?"

"Mesh'la!"

"Is that Mando'a again?"

"Yes, it means 'beautiful' ", Wrecker explains, gets up from his seat and pulls you close.

As he places a soft kiss on the top of your head, he says, "I can teach you a few words if you like"

"That would be nice"

"Okay, first of, we call Crosshair 'di'kut!"

Tech

You sit with Tech outside the Marauder in the shadow of a tree, leaning into one of his arms. He's holding his holopad with the hand of his other arm and is answering all your questions about Mandalorian culture.

Listening to his voice, cuddled to his side, you picture the things he's telling you about in your mind. Mandalorian's culture is anything but boring, and it's more or less part of his ancestry.

"Can you speak Mando'a?", you ask him.

"Indeed"

"Say something in Mando'a"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Do you love me, Tech?"

He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes I do, I thought it was obvious"

You smirk at him.

"Then tell me in Mando'a"

He smiles and says softly, "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum"

Crosshair

"What are you doing there, Kitten?"

You almost jump off the chair at the table.

"How do you always sneak up on me like this?", you ask with a wildly pounding heart.

Crosshair smirks.

"You are always with your head in the clouds or something, it's not exactly complicated to sneak up on you. So? What is this? Are you trying yourself at Mando'a?"

"Mhm", you hum in agreement.

He sighs and sits down next to you.

"Give me that", he snarls and picks the pen out of your hand, "Most of this is wrong"

He corrects an embarrassingly high number of mistakes you made and hands the pen back to you.

"You should read this carefully and remember it, I've added the pronunciation. Tonight I'll quiz you, if you get more than half right I'll show you how to shoot with my rifle."

You look up at him excitedly as he stands up.

"Your rifle? Really?"

He smirks.

"Now focus and learn, Mesh'la" he says, kissing the top of your head before leaving the room.

"That means beauty!" you exclaim, feeling your ears and cheeks grow hot.

Howzer

"You are calling me all these names and I don't know what they mean"

Howzer smirks at you.

"You want to know?"

It always sounds so sweet and soft when he uses these words you don't understand. You know they are something nice and sweet, but you want to know for sure.

"Of course"

He caresses your cheek and says, "'Mesh'la', means beauty or beautiful"

It tingles under your skin where he just touched you.

Howzer softly lifts your chin with his finger, "'Cyar'ika', means Darling"

His face comes closer, and he says softly, " 'Cyare', means love"

Howzer's lips touch yours softly as your eyes close. As you open them again, you ask, "What about 'di'kut'?"

Howzer laughs, "I never called you that"

"No, but you called one of your brothers that"

He chuckles, "It means 'idiot'"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@puppetswithteeth

@palliateclaws

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

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writerlyhabits · 1 year

Text

Ni Ceta

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Word Count: 5.7K

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

Chapter 2 of the Shereshoy series | Masterlist | Ch. 1 | Ch. 3

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." This is the second part of a sister fic for my fic Courting a friend of mine wrote based on this request, and I’m so happy she’s letting me share it with you guys! In this chapter, we get to see some new faces – or helmets, I should say – and I am here for what they have in store for us! Thanks for reading, we hope you enjoy 💛

This series is also on AO3, so you can read this chapter there too…

Translations:

Baar’ure: medics

Gotabor(e): (approx) mechanic(s)

(Lit.) engineer(s)

Aruetii(se): outsider(s)

Me’bana?: What happened?

Copikla bal mirdala: cute and clever

Copikla: meant to refer to babies and animals - never women unless you want your head ripped off

Could be considered a backhanded compliment or an insult

Ne shab'rud'kaysh, vod: (Approx) Don’t fuck with her, brother.

(Lit.) Don't mess with her, brother. (extremely strong warning, likely to be followed by violence)

N'eparavu takisit, vod: (Approx) Sorry, brother.

(Lit.) I eat my insult, brother

Me’dinui: share, give to one another

Aliit: family

Solus mhi oyacyi: (Approx) United, we remain

Buy’ce: helmet

Ik’aad: baby, child under 3

Jatne vod: “sir” or “ma’am”

Cabur(e): guard(s)

Kad: In reference to Kad Ha’rangir, destroyer god in the old Mandalorian pantheon

Utreekov: fool, idiot (lit: emptyhead)

Ni ceta: (Lit) I kneel, (approx.) I’m sorry

Ni ven’ceta par gar ratiin: I will always kneel for you

You feel the chill of the cave air settle around you as you rise from your slumber.

Opening your eyes, a soft glow leaks into your space from the room adjacent— signaling that Din is also awake. Not that he sleeps for very long anyway. Rather than immediately leaving the comfort of your sleeping mat to join him, you opt to spend a few extra minutes holding the little one close, hand on his back, as he continues to sleep soundly on your chest. Mornings like these are commonplace— cuddling with the Child until you feel ready enough to begin the day; making fresh caf for you and Din to share, feeding yourself and the little one, while enjoying the quiet company of one another in the cockpit. Perhaps our routine can stay somewhat the same, even here.

Mustering the strength to pull yourself from your warm cocoon of blankets, you slowly rise, trying to not disturb the Child. Two feet on the cold stone ground, and a blanket wrapped over your shoulders, you wander towards the common room.

In the corner sits a short-legged table, the perfect height to tuck ones’ legs beneath while enjoying a meal, or in this case, the morning caf. Din sits beside it, his shoulders and head leaning against the wall, his legs outstretched and crossed in front of him, and his hands interlaced across his abdomen. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was sleeping; but for the first time in a long time, Din is simply relaxing.

His head turns slightly to look at you as you approach, his arms slowly extending upward for the morning trade-off of the Child. Din guides him to lie against his shoulder while you ease yourself down to the floor, sitting across from him. Getting to watch Din with the Child like this was rare— it wasn’t often Din was able to decompress, allowing his body a break from the constant weight of armor. With bounty hunters and Imperials searching for the three of you, danger lurked around every corner. Din had to be prepared to fight at any moment. Seeing him unarmored and at ease— getting to enjoy the simple action of cuddling with his Foundling— makes you feel more calm, despite how unsettled you had been the day before.

“Did you sleep well?” Din asks— his voice soft, to not stir the Child.

“Yeah…” you nod, your fatigue causing you to trail off, leaving your thoughts incomplete. When Din shut out the lights before falling asleep, the pitch black of the cave was not unlike the darkness in the Crest every night. Despite the sleeping mat not quite matching the feel of your bed on the ship, the familiarity of the darkness had been a comfort, allowing sleep to come easily.

However, it wasn’t entirely refreshing— with the usual lag of being on a new planet, as well as the ever present nip of the air throughout the night. Feeling the chill of the bedrock beneath you, you pull your blanket tighter around yourself. “...but it’s colder here than I expected.”

He readjusts, shifting the child to his other shoulder before replying. “The temperature underground remains constant,” he tells you, not unkindly, “It’s best to dress warmly— prevents the stone from absorbing your body heat.” He taps his fingers on the ground to emphasize his point. You nod, and the three of you ease into a comfortable silence, Din continuing to lie against the wall as you pull the blanket tight around you once more, hunching forward to rest your arms on the table, and your head atop your arms. It’s almost too easy to doze off again, your grogginess coupled with Din’s calming presence.

Before you’re able to drift back into a light sleep, he gently places his free hand on your arm, giving a light squeeze. His gruff voice just barely above a whisper, “I know you’re tired— but we won’t be out long… You’ll meet the baar’ure and the gotabore, and we’ll come back here.”

Gotabore— that’s a new one. The mechs?

Your eyes meet his visor again, and with a small sigh, you nod at him. “Let me get dressed… then I’ll make the caf.” Giving him a weak grin, he gently removes his hand from your arm, allowing you to stand back up and return to your sleeping area once again. While changing into a set of durable work-clothes, the time alone offers you the chance to reflect on the current arrangement— reiterating once more where you’ve come to, and why.

Recalling back to the discussion with the Alor the day prior— inquiring about some of your aptitudes and skill sets, tasking you with specific labor, and instructing Din the same. Being a guest in their home; shielding you from any dangers, being given a bed to sleep in and meals to eat— requesting that you earn your keep seems reasonable. But why did she ask— tell— Din to bring you here? When you first met, she did not deem you as a member of his clan, despite your… relationship with Din and your role as the other caretaker of the Child. Currently— the populace of this pseudokarst-hidden covert regard you as nothing but an outsider. An invader. A danger. A threat to their safety. An aruetii.

And yet, no matter their levels of distrust, you are here, by the Alor’s request.

This is not the first time you have had to deal with unpleasant people— those that make the day seem unending or unyielding in its discomfort, or work with ones who question your intelligence or ability at every turn. The only surefire way to ease the inquietude of your cohorts is to employ the same tactics that you always have— by simply doing your best. With Din, this came naturally. As a pragmatic man, he values and trusts both competency and integrity. Showcasing both traits allowed him to ease his habitual suspicion of strangers and eventually, after enough time, foster a fond friendship between you. Perhaps utilizing the same tactic can render a twin outcome.

It can’t hurt to try, at least for Din’s sake.

You understand, at least to some degree, what the concept of clan and community mean to him. After the tragedy of Nevarro, you watched him silently mourn his many losses, not just of the individuals, but the purpose he held in providing for his people, his sense of worth intrinsically tied to the survival and prosperity of his tribe. Whilst those who are gone will never return, this new collective of Mando’ade could present Din with an opportunity to release his residual guilt and shame, resuming his role as a primary generator of income, sponsoring many Foundlings and adults alike for many years to come. In essence, Din could finally come home.

Your place, for now it seems, is to make this arrangement with him, and them, work. To not instigate or incite any conflict, to not act out of turn or be discourteous. The way to the heart of your companion was through patience and compassion; and thus cooperation and communication is the way to solidarity with his comrades. Presenting yourself as an equal, as someone who has earned the respect and trust of one of their own can give them the freedom to do the same, without fear. And perhaps, one day, to care for you and about you just the same as Din does every day.

—

The workshop is lively— abuzz and boisterous.

The cavernous walls echo and amplify the clangs and thumps of the tools, muddling together with the chatter of the Mando’ade working together. In the mess of noise, you can distinctly make out their laughter, of all things— and with it, their camaraderie. At this moment, you can’t seem to recall a time in which you were that happy to be working on anything— undoubtedly, you’ve enjoyed some jobs and some people, but you can practically hear the smile in their voices hidden beneath their buy’ce.

For a group of ‘fearsome, ruthless warriors’, this isn’t what I expected.

The workshop appears to double as a port for the strange variety of ships they have stored, ones they must have collected over time, perhaps as more Mando’ade arrived at this covert. Anything from speeders to small transports. Most of them don’t appear to be in the best condition— and by the looks of others, not entirely operational either. At the far end of the shop is the hangar door, which presumably leads to the outside, where two Mandos are working on a small ship— a CS fighter. A small single-manned starfighter designed for combat, so customizable and versatile they’ve withstood the tests of time— most models still in existence are decades old.

Another pre-Empire ship, I’m sensing a trend.

The two Mandos underneath the ship pay no mind to you and Din as you approach, instead focusing on trying to remove a part from the underbelly of the starfighter. Upon closer inspection, you take note of their appearances. One Mando adorned in armor painted a faded mauve— old paint, chipped on the thighs and chest piece; and the other a light blue, with gray accents detailing the armor throughout. The two of you watch them work for a minute before Din speaks, getting their attention.

“Perhaps my friend could be of some aid.”

Their heads snap to you in unison, staring at you both for a moment. Mauve tilts her head, “Nice to see you too, Djarin.”

You give a slight chuckle at her response. Din can be the worst at introductions sometimes. You look back over to him, waiting for his own retort. Rather than greeting her, he nods his head once, and gestures towards the starfighter, “Me’bana? What’s wrong with it?”

Mauve pulls herself out from underneath the ship, wiping the oil on her gloves on the unarmored sections of her pants, and leaning herself against the wing.“Engine keeps overheating— we don’t have enough parts to replace every cooling unit, and I haven’t figured out which ones are failing or why,” she says casually, crossing her arms. She nods at you, “What do you think?”

You match her stance, crossing your arms, leaning your weight to one side, giving the question a moment of thought. “A ship as old as this? Check the ground conductors. The one’s on the Crest fry pretty often, especially with how manically he flies it.” In your peripherals you see Din turn his head to look at you, as if your jab at his pilotage genuinely offended him, but hearing a snicker from Mauve, he looks away.

Listening to your suggestion, Blue works to take apart the cooling unit they had already removed, working his way down towards the center. In less than a minute, he’s able to remove one of the culprits responsible for the malfunction— a very fried ground conductor. With a little, prideful smirk, you turn your head slightly to look back at Din, your eyes meeting his visor. He gives you a short nod, a silent approval of your correct assessment, his own unique way of telling you, Good work.

Blue rises from his back to a seated position, setting down the tool he has in hand. He refuses to look at you, to address you— to even acknowledge you, instead staring at Din. “Copikla bal mirdala— I see why the Alor let you keep her.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

If you’re dastard enough to undermine me, have the gall to do it in Basic, asshole. You want to conjure some sort of response to him, but ignoring his attempt at a crude remark may be the best course of action— to retaliate with your own insult will do nothing but escalate this dispute. As you have come to learn, anger is prone to rashness. And anger, whether it’s yours or Din’s— or both, is what he wants. And you won’t give him the satisfaction of having it.

“Ne shab'rud'kaysh, vod.”

Din, however, gives in to the bait. His voice irate— a warning, a threat. For a brief moment, there’s a passing worry about the possibility of Din igniting the flames of his gauntlet, a favorite weapon of his when he’s provoked. If anything, a knife fight feels more likely. The silence between the four of you somehow drowns out every other noise in the shop. The two of them continue to glare, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Your eyes watch back and forth between the two of them, waiting with baited breath. When Blue slowly raises both his hands in a mock surrender,“N'eparavu takisit, vod—“, and Din finally looks away from him, you know things have settled… for now.

An uncomfortable silence returns for a few moments, and Din is still not at ease. Mauve finally quips, “You saw it for yourself, go find another conductor.” She waves her hand, gesturing for Blue to leave. He rises, walking towards the other ships in the center of the shop— “You too, Djarin, find some.” She adds, casting Din away in the same manner she did with the other gotabor.

Din hesitates. He doesn’t want to leave your side— and looks to you, with a silent question. You nod at him, an unspoken It’s okay— with a sigh, he complies with her command. “Fine,” he swiftly turns around, leaving the two of you alone.

You watch them descend further into the shop, until they disappear from your sight. You’re left with the sounds of the distant chatter of the other Mando’ade, continuing to echo as it did when you first arrived.

Well, that could have gone worse.

Of the six Mando’ade you’ve met, three of them have not been hostile. It’s a start.

Continuing to stare off, Mauve speaks once more to get your attention. “Come help me check the rest of them.”

Her request brings you back to the present moment, turning around to see her lying underneath the ship again, hands deep in its underbelly, loosening some things and pulling others. You kneel down, until you’re able to lower yourself to the ground completely, lying next to her. She hands you the cooling units as she pulls them out, and the two of you work to take them apart, sitting beside one another.

“Jado doesn’t like you. But pay him no mind.” She states, matter-of-factly.

Yeah, he looks like a ‘Jado.’

This revelation of Jado’s discontempt is unsurprising— and not unexpected. “He doesn’t know me,” you say. Asking a question of why would be inane, you already know the answer.

“Well… none of us do. You’re an aruetii.” That moniker makes your stomach churn, but her lack of malice allows you to diminish the feeling of dejection quickly. “But that’s not inherently a bad thing. We’ll all get to know you soon enough.”

…What?

She continues, nonchalantly, “Djarin and the Alor trust you; so that’s all that matters. Aruetii or not.”

You continue to work, letting a short-lived silence settle between you, before she speaks again. “I’m Odona. Clan Drii. Unfortunately, Jado’s a part of it too. My little vod.”

You listen as her spiel drags on, leaning in to signal she has your attention, “We both usually work on the ships here, but he’s still pretty new at it— and I haven’t worked with many Pre-Imperial ships. When I heard that you were coming, after being on Djarin’s ancient me’sen?” She raises both her hands dramatically, “Briikase tuur. Happy day.”

Listening to this Mandalorian monologue feels like an oxymoron— given the usual disposition of your companion, and the general taciturn reputation that all Mandalorians seem to hold amongst the outsiders. Regardless, her comment and theatrical gestures make you grin.

“Don’t tell me you’re another ‘strong and silent’ type… Djarin’s sulking is enough for me.” That makes you laugh.

He does sulk a little, doesn’t he?

Smiling, you finally respond, “No. I think I’ve just grown accustomed to the sulking.”

Odona snorts. “Sorry to disappoint you, but you’ll get none of that from me. You’ll replace Jado for now, we’ll likely get more accomplished that way.” You’re not disappointed, the change of pace will be interesting— a new opportunity to learn a lot from. You feel a little prideful, knowing that she’s pleased with your knowledge and ability.

Before Odona can begin another monologue— and perhaps to disprove her claim of yours and Din’s shared hobby of sulking— you seize the chance to ask a question of your own. “I’m surprised by how many ships are here— but why are so many of them stripped out?”

Her hands stop, a pause in her tinkering as she ponders your enquiry. With a tilt of her head, she finally answers. “Whenever we get a new ship, it gets…” she hesitates for a moment, attempting to better articulate herself, searching for the precise word; “...triaged.”

Interesting connotation.

You suggest, “...As in, you decide whether to fix it, or scrap it for parts.”

“Exactly. We don’t have the resources to fix everything. It’s best to spend our time efficiently— focusing on the ones that will yield the greatest benefit in the long run.” The explanation is sound, yet Odona sees your underlying confusion still present. She asks you, “Why?”

Din would blow a fuse if someone tried to strip the Crest… again… Damn Jawas.

You point in the direction Din and Jado wandered towards, “I can see why he landed the Crest over a mile away from here.” Odona chuckles at the light joke, and you continue, “But— people are… okay with their ship getting scrapped?” On the surface, the concept almost sounds absurd. For Din, the Crest is another home. Everything meticulously ordered, from his weapons to his food stocks. Despite the frequent abuse his ship endures, he works to ensure its continued functionality, it’s almost a second layer of armor, one he cares about greatly.

“Well, no one has a personal ship— whenever any newcomers settle into the covert, any ships they once owned join the tribe’s fleet,” Odona explains.

Your brows furrow. They just give away their ship to the covert?

She elaborates more. “I guess it could be difficult for someone outside of…” she gestures to your surroundings, “...this… to understand. We share things— me’dinui— do what we can to contribute to each other, to our community.” She shrugs, watching you, gauging your reaction. “A ship doesn’t mean anything… But supporting your aliit? Your family?” She pauses again, her voice passionate, “...It’s everything. All we truly have is each other.”

In a galaxy so wrought with selfishness, greed, and ‘survival of the fittest’— the thought of anyone doing anything for a collective good is almost inconceivable. And yet, hearing the emotion of her voice, listening to her speak of the tenets you see Din adhere to so unfailingly, the concept of unity seems more tangible, more apodictic.

Setting down the tools you have in hand, you softly lament, “Sadly, I think I’ve become a little jaded to that idea...” you look at her, hoping to meet her eyes behind her visor, “...but I’m open to having my mind changed.”

You nod at her, and she does the same. In a familiar tone, Odona enounces, “Solus mhi oyacyi— this is the Way.”

—

Upon Din’s and Jado’s return with the necessary parts, Din extends a hand to you to help you rise from the ground.

As you stand, Odona quips “Making me do all the work with these?”

And with Din’s reply— “We have other matters to attend to;” you make your way towards the exit, giving Odona a wave, and she returns with a nod.

As you both close the heavy metal doors of the shop behind you, the hush of the cavern is jarring— the noise of the chaotic banter suddenly silenced. You’re only left with the sound of your blood whooshing in your head, and again, the persistent gelidity of the cave air forcing a chill up your spine. You exhale, removing your hands from the door, and slowly turn around to face Din. You stare at one another for a moment, before taking another breath.

“Odona said you sulk too much,” you say, your voice light and soft, to break the quiet tension without dissettling the quiescent chamber.

He huffs at your teasing remark and tilts his head, “...It seemed like the two of you were getting along?” He matches your volume, inquiring gingerly.

There’s worry in his voice, you recognize. Lingering feelings of contrition for the unnecessary antagonism Jado had given you. It must be strange for him, you contemplate, this role reversal of sorts. Outside these walls, he’s a living embodiment of minatory. In his day-to-day, he has to make an effort to appear benign to sociable strangers— whilst you, on the other hand, are as regular as any other citizen in the galaxy— posing passivity is the goal, a fine balance between being amicable but guarded. But now, in his enclave, you have to think and behave as he does when he interacts with everyone else in the galaxy— an intriguing juxtaposition.

You smile, “Yes, she’s interesting...she reminds me of Peli.” That’s not all he wants to know. It’s another tacit question, a chance to tell him how you feel without him having to ask. You take a step closer, letting your eyes meet his visor, “She also assured me that continuing to ignore her brother’s jibes is the best course of action.”

He sighs, and his shoulders drop. “I told him not to do it again.”

Din isn’t good with words. He’s curt, sometimes to the point of being tactless. On Sorgan, when faced with the obligation of informing the villagers of their predicament— Bad news, you can’t live here anymore— his delivery, at best, was uncouth. Nice bedside manner— Cara had told him, which earned a chuckle from you. He usually thrives more in one-on-one interactions; he can be amenable— kind, even. He ensures to give people thanks when necessary, listens to others without interruption; and attempts to be a calm presence, especially in times of turmoil.

Where he excels, however, are in his actions. Whether it’s the softer things— letting the Child grip his finger for comfort, a gentle hand to help you; or the more intense things— fighting his way through an army of Imperials to ensure the safety of his aliit, Din shows his care through his actions. He didn’t protect you from the enmity of his cohort because he thought you were incapable of vying against another Mando’ade. He wasn’t attempting to patronize you— but rather displaying his respect, to not stand idly by when someone is attempting to ostracize you.

His care is a reverent kind, one he conveys with both his body and his mind, a message given with nary a word spoken.

You stare into him once more, hoping to meet his eyes. You grin, and give a soft “Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond, he simply nods.

You gaze at one another for a few moments, before you nod your head to the side, gesturing to him to start walking; just as he did to you the day prior. Together, you walk beside each other through the various halls and passageways— working to build a mental map of the cave system— until you reach the medbay.

It’s a small room, one equipt to host only a few residents. Along the chamber walls are privacy shields— drawn to create different spaces for individual patients. Towards the back are tall shelves of med supplies— anything from syringes and needles, blood tubes, to disinfectants, gauze, and kits for intravenous fluids— supplies that would allow for basic blood tests, and treating minor to moderate wounds. Near the entrance sits another Mando, the baar’ur— their armor a deep green with teal sigils along the side of their buy’ce; holo pad in hand, seemingly deep in focus.

The sounds of your footsteps pull her attention. “Ah, su cuy'gar, Djarin, it’s been a while. How’s your ik’aad?”

He extends a hand for her to grasp, pulling her from the ground. “Fine. He’s with the other ade.”

She looks at you, “Jatne vod, I’ve been waiting for you to arrive.”

“I hope I can assist.” You give her your name, she replies with her own; Mavis.

She sighs, exasperated. She points to the first room, “One of the idiot cabure just showed up for the third time in two weeks, and…” She stops, and takes a deep breath, trying to ease her agitation, “... and I don’t want to deal with him again.” She holds the holopad out for you to take, “Can you handle this for me?”

Reading through her notes, you skim over some of the details.

G: He is in no apparent distress. He is alert and oriented

S: No open fracture or bony abnormality

E: Laceration to left shoulder, 15cm x 1 cm, simple, shallow

A simple laceration… “No sutures or staples?” You ask.

“No. Just use a tissue adhesive— I would have just made him do it himself; but he can’t reach it.” Her annoyance seeps through her voice again, “So, don’t waste any bacta on that,” she replies, pointedly. She mumbles under her breath, shaking her head, “Kad knows that utreekov will be back here next week.” She looks at Din, who gives her a sympathetic shrug.

She must be the only medic here.

You nod in understanding, “...I’ll take care of him, Mavis.” You turn around to walk towards the room, reading through the rest of her notes. Din and the baar’ur carry on in conversation as you approach the line of privacy shades.

Standing before the first room, you use the corner of the holo pad to tap upon the pole holding the curtain— a sound to alert the patient of your arrival, “Can I come in?” you ask.

A moment of silence greets you, before a deep voice answers “...Sure.”

Slowly drawing back the curtain just wide enough to allow you entry, you step in.

A familiar Mando sits before you. The idiot cabur.

The same idiot cabur you met yesterday— the very one that glowered into your karking soul like he craved nothing more than to break you in half. The sight of him makes your stomach sink— dread coursing through your bones, your nerves firing to prepare for his inevitable attack— skin electric, heart racing, blood cold.

You’re not safe.

You breathe, trying to will your voice to return once more. Taking a moment, your eyes scan up and down his form— assessing his position. He’s slouched, sitting atop the bed, one leg tucked underneath the other, a hand pressed against the injured shoulder. His pauldrons and chest piece sit beside him, his shirt half pulled over his form, revealing the nasty gash across his shoulder blade. Your eyes finally meet his visor— almost hoping to find his own beneath it, only to greet the same abyss that bore into you upon your first meeting.

Breathe. You nod at him, feigning nonchalance, “What happened?”

He observes you in return, tilting his head.

His gaze, though not predatory, reveals his intrigue. You’re enigmatic, oracular— he’s studying you, fixated on your features; searching for the apologues and adages that have sculpted your spirit— the flame of your psyche he yearns to succumb to. For a moment, he too is breathless, lost in the sea of your presence, desperate for a mast to secure himself to. He yields, finally looking away from you, to bring his attention to his injured shoulder.

He considers his response, and answers your question; almost timid, but with an obvious lightness to his voice. “I— uh… bravely protected the covert from an invader.”

You blink, and furrow your brows in confusion. You slowly shake your head at him. “No.” You reply, unconvinced. “Try again.”

He straightens his posture, looking at you once more. After another pause, he argues his second retelling of events. “Okay… again, I bravely rescued a Foundling lost in one of the Back Caves,” his voice less shy, but still chary.

His witticism begins to thaw the icy tension between you, reforming to liquescent diffidence— your pulse easing back to its restful tempo, the slight tremor of your hands gradually ceasing. You stride towards him, equanimous and assured, until you’re close enough to inspect his injury. A nasty gash, skin frayed along the edges, with smaller abrasions surrounding it— the beginnings of a bruise coloring the area. Dust and tiny shards of lava rock are settled on the skin throughout, peppering the wound. It looks painful.

Your eyes meet his hidden ones, desperate to conceal your amused grin he’s given you, “No,” you challenge, an insincere jest, “...last chance.”

He chortles, looking away again, almost bashful. “I fell,” he responds, resolute. “In the Back Caves… Lost my footing on an unsteady rock, and landed on a sharper one.” His coyish inflection shifting to one aflutter— in a moment of confidence, he returns his gaze to you, illuminated by your amused expression, having caught on to his jocular antics.

You nod, and try to hide your simper, “That sounds right.” You gesture to his shoulder, “May I?”

“Please.” He moves slowly, turning slightly, allowing you easier access to his shoulder.

With the wound in full view, you work to treat him.

It only takes but a few minutes to clean the area, the two of you spend that time in silence. He fidgets, not in a way that indicates he’s in pain— but rather that he’s unnerved, nervous, even mousy. This massive Mando’ad sits beside you with such tension in his form, as though he’s bracing for an impact; on the precipice of the inchoate attack— waiting for the aruetii to spit their vitriol, to exploit his vulnerable position and leave him more scathed than when he arrived.

With your hands gently pressing over his shoulder blade, sealing the adhesive in place; he releases a long held breath, the anticipated aggression absent. The tautness of his muscles gives way, highlighting their definition across his back as he decompresses. Stop looking. His heat radiating into your palms, a warmth you’ve been starved of since entering this frore catacomb, you’re reluctant to pull away— longing to linger in the intimacy of this untrodden amity that has just scarcely begun.

Slowly, you will yourself to retreat, discarding the soiled gauze and removing your disposable gloves. “Does the brave cabur have any other battle wounds?” You tease, disrupting the prolonged silence.

“No, ma’am,” his tone reveleaving the alacarious smirk hidden behind his buy’ce. As you turn away, he maneuvers his arm back into his shirt. He continues, “...thank you. Vor entye.”

You look back to him and nod, “Of course.”

Just as the silence settles again, and you attempt to leave, he recommences. “Before you go…” He waits for you to stop, “I was hoping to speak with you?” His inflection returns to one of timidness again; but he sits straighter, his legs wide and relaxed, his hands resting over his thighs. Even without his armor, his broad form fills the space around him. Don’t ogle. “We didn’t get to talk much yesterday.”

Difficult to chat when you think you’re about to die. “No, we didn’t.”

His voice turns gentle, almost placating, as if he heard your thought. “I’m Ikarus, a guardsman for the covert. The other cabur was Sabe.” He breathes, tilts his head, fidgets like he’s considering every word before he says it. “It’s our duty… to ensure the safety of everyone here. Including you.”

You’re frozen in place, refusing to cross the threshold to him again, despite his words wanting you to ease yourself closer.

“I—” the words are trapped in his throat, “I failed that duty yesterday. I failed you.”

He pauses, looking down to the floor, gathering his thoughts once more. “I’ve been here a long time. We’re very careful who we allow in here. Having a new Foundling and an outsider come in like this is unusual, to say the least.”

He looks to your face, meeting your eyes, “But this… inordinate circumstance… doesn’t give me the right to scare you. Being leered at by a giant, armed, faceless stranger should not have been your first impression of us… of me.”

His guilt bleeds into his speech, a sadness overcoming him. “I’m sorry.” For a moment, Ikarus envisions you, the terror in your eyes upon your first meeting, your protectiveness of the Child, of Djarin shielding you from his ravening presence, keeping you away from him. “Ni ceta, I’m sorry.”

You stare at him, speechless, in awe of his confession.

Ni ceta. I kneel.

A rare, groveling apology you had only heard once before— in an unfortunate situation with Din that left you both upset— he found the Basic phrase I’m sorry could not express his attrition wholly. He had explained the Mando’a words to you; their connotation, their significance. Kneeling, you learned, was one of the highest forms of respect to another Mando’ade— not only a display of humility, but reverence, obedience; and at certain times, even submission. Whilst his genuflect never came, his declaration was enough for you both to reconcile.

But the person before you is not Din Djarin.

Having a man like him brought to his knees would be a sight to behold.

In a moment of boldness, you slowly step towards him— soft on your feet— until you stand a mere meter apart, never looking away from where you presume his eyes to be. In a quiet, demulcent tone— barely above a whisper; before you can even think to reconsider your words, you ask him, “Are you going to kneel, Ikarus?”

Thence, he is in free fall. Your emollient voice and temerarious inquiry luring him into the vast unknown of you— succumbing to the pull of your orbit, the fire of your spirit. In an instant, his body relaxes— his eyes bore into yours, as he slowly rises from the medical bed to his full height, before bending the knee to kneel below you. After a moment, he extends his hand for you to grasp. Whence his hand grips yours, he answers your question in kind; “Ni ven’ceta par gar ratiin.”

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

To show this author your direct support, go ahead and check this story out on A03 + leave some kudos and a nice comment 💜

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mando'a #original mandalorian characters #they're my favorites #i love them #shereshoy series #shereshoy sister fic #not my writing #i have permission to post this

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techs-goggles9902 · 3 months

Text

Two Souls Entwined

Part 2 Captain Rex x oc

A/N: Im back! Told you I would be posting this week. Open to criticism!! This isn’t my best work, so FEEL. FREE. TO. CRITICIZE!!!

Word count: 1133 (I know, I went overboard)

Niva watched as her buir fought for his life; kicking, biting, punching, anything to defeat the enemy Mando. Both Mandos fought without their helmets, since they were kicked away by their opponent.

The pair tousle around the mud, in between the bodies of the fallen. Niva’s friends, comrades, and her family. All gone within a matter of minutes, all 50 have died to the hands of this white and red armored Mando and his lackeys.

I can’t watch him die… Niva gasps and remembers her buir gave her a small modified handheld Verpine Shatter Rifle for her birthday last year. Her newest birthday present, the little silver necklace, slaps against her collarbones as she scrambles to find her duffel bag.

Her birthday was last week, but was she really going to tell him that? She rummages through it, tossing her clothes aside, and finds the blaster tucked between her book and her helmet, wrapped in a shirt.

Her armor was too big for her, and they haven’t gotten a chance to reforge it, so the armor is neatly stacked in her duffel bag. Niva checks the charge on the blaster.

Thank the Maker, it’s full.

Sliping the barrel of the blaster ever so slightly through the tent flaps, Niva closes an eye to aim better. Through the scope, alining her crosshair to hit the Mando, she tries not to hit her buir, but it’s so hard to find an opening when they’re both thrashing around in the mud.

Three… two… dead.

She pulls the trigger, the blast is nearly silent as the blaster bolt leaves the barrel and into the Mando’s neck.

That’s the good thing about Niva’s clan of Mandalorians. They don’t miss. The Mando falls to the ground with a muffled thud, the sludge making a squelching sound as he lands face first in it.

Niva gasps, holstering the Verpine and dashing out of the tent, her curls flying in the wind behind her. Her boots are covered in mud as she runs down the hill, sliding the last few yards on her knees towards her buir.

The adrenaline ebbs away, the urge to fight is slowly drowned out by the pain of his injuries. He’s beaten to a pulp and can barely lift his head. Blood runs down his nose and into his mouth, there's an arch on the bridge of his nose that shouldn’t be there.

“Ad’ika…” his words are slurred as he tries to bring his bloodied hand to Niva’s cheek.

“Buir…” Niva takes his hand and gently holds it in her lap. Bodies are everywhere, not just her allies but her enemies, the red and white armored Mandos. She doesn’t have to check his pulse, scan him, or even look at his injuries. He’s dying.

“Nami… She called for… The distress beacon…” He rasps, coughing up blood onto his chest plate. Nami was one of Buir’s closest friends; Niva searches the land for her and finds Nami’s corpse lying face down in a small pond, the water now stained a muddy crimson.

Niva’s lip quivers and she bites her cheeks to keep from crying. She’s aware of the extent of her father’s wounds and she knows that when his deadly grip on her slowly ceases, her buir is dead. Her shoulders shake as she drops her father’s hand gently. Sobs rack through her small form.

He’s gone. He’s dead…

Like many children who went into battle with their buirs, Niva always prepared for the worst. But no matter how many times she rehearsed this moment in her head, nothing could prepare her for it to really happen. Cabur Veen, one of the most well known war heroes of Mandalore’s recent history, is dead.

But he was more than a hero. He was a father of three, a husband, a friend, and a son.

Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. Not gone, merely marching far away… Right, Buir? You always told me so…

A small rustle from behind her causes Niva to turn around. Letting out a small gasp, her fingers tighten around the Verpine but it’s too late. The red and white armored Mando, who should be dead, is pointing his blaster at Niva.

No… No, he shouldn’t be-

Bang.

Thin tendrils of smoke travel from the barrel of the blaster and up towards the sky.

The blaster bolt hits Niva right in between her collarbones, knocking the air out of her lungs. As her body falls limp onto the mud, the Mando’s does as well, and he’s actually dead this time.

Her vision blurs as her chest heaves for air, tendrils of smoke curl upwards out of her chest. A burning pain sears into the delicate skin and fragile bones, the smell of charred flesh and carbon find their way into her nostrils.

I’m dying… Aren’t I, Buir? She coughs, crimson droplets of blood flying past her lips. One more deep, shaky breath, and Niva’s vision fades completely.

Kal Skirata never expected to be sent to this camp. The Chaabar aren’t a clan to mess with, so there wasn’t a good reason for a distress call to find its way on the comm channels.

Running a hand over his close cropped hair before sliding his buy’ce on, Kal lets out a nervous breath. The hum of the ship’s engines was the only sound apart from the breathing of the 25 Mandos seated around Kal.

“You think they’re all right?” A Mando from his right asks, nudging his elbow gently.

Kal shrugs, “Doesn’t matter what I think. Cabur’s in danger and he has his kid out there…”

“Well… He’s Cabur Veen. He’ll be fine!” The Mando smiles from beneath his buy’ce, thrusting his fist in the air.

Oh, how wrong could he be? Within moments, the ship lands on the muddy terrain of the Chaabar campgrounds.

“Oh, wow… There was a massacre…” One Mando says.

“Aw, Nami… I knew her.” Another says.

Osik, this is terrible. How could another clan do this? Regardless of being enemies, these people had families… Kal weaves between corpses, scanning each of them with his HUD, just to double check they’re dead.

A small lifeform comes up on his scanner, making Kal’s heart rate spike up. It’s… It’s a little girl…

“Hey, I got a live one!” He yells to the others, rushing over to the little girl. A fresh, charred, smoking blaster hole is just between her collarbones. Kal touches his fingers to her carotid artery. It’s pumping, but just barely.

“Hey, ad’ika, can you hear me?” He asks, gently tapping her cheek as one of the medics comes running over. The girl’s eyelids flutter. She coughs, blood splattering all over Kal’s sand colored chest plate.

“Buir…” She whispers.

“No, I’m Kal. What’s your name, ad’ika?”

“N-Niva…”

Glossary & Pronunciation

Chaabar - fear [cha-BAR]

Ad’ika - little one, son, daughter, of any age [ah-DEE-kah]

Buir - dad/mom [BOO-ear] (no gender)

Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum - I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal [Nee soo-COO-yee, gar keer-AH-deesh, nee par-TIE-lee, gar dah-rah-SOOM]

Osik - shit [oh-sick]

Buy’ce - helmet [BOO-shay]

Taglist: @fionajames @sevdidntdie @will-is-silly @hellhound5925 @skellymom

Dividers by @saradika ❤️

#Niva Veen oc by Sha #Sha speaks #star wars #clone troopers #tcw #mandalorian oc #captain rex #captain Rex x oc #Kal skirata #star wars fan fiction #republic commando #two souls entwined

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bitwhizzle · 9 days

Note

I am curious about "Cody - SOLDIER FIRST" 🥰

Would love to know what it's about 😊👍👍👍👍

Oh Coline...here goes!

SOLDIER FIRST: Currently at 14K words. Actively being worked on.

It's about Cody and an OC (I started it before I fell in love with Codywan) but it's light on the relationship stuff and heavy in them becoming friends. She is a "volunteer" trooper in the GAR (lots of backstory of how that happens), and lands in the 212th with my Phantom Company. Throughout the story, Cody struggles between his feelings of being a person vs being a soldier, and basically the soldier always wins - hence "Solider First". *sad face*

Here's a snippet:

Cody scanned the battlefield, noting the alarming number of clones that lay on the ground. The battle had been tough and had gone bad quickly. Too many fallen brothers. He allowed himself a small sigh. Where was she? A small knot formed in his throat. He began to wander through the still bodies, looking for a smaller form, but then saw her. She was sitting beside a downed clone, her helmet off, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She shifted slightly and the sun caught the tears that had spilled from her eyes, trailing diamonds in their wake. He looked at the trooper she sat beside and recognized the markings on the armour – it was Caller.

Cody the man wanted to run to her and take her in his arms and kiss the tears away. He wanted to whisper soft words of comfort into her ear, have her lean into him and surrender her safety to him.

Cody the soldier stared at her for a moment longer and then turned and walked away, knowing that there wasn’t time, or space, for him to comfort a lone soldier on the field. He had to make his reports and liaise with the other units and his general. The war waited for no one.

*Caller is one of her closest friends, he basically takes her under his wing when she joins the GAR, she is a sniper, he is her spotter.

**Taking this opportunity to brag about my Guardian (Cabur) Squad, of Phantom Company, led by Captain Silver (not to be confused with Captain Silver from Mace's company in Lethal Trackdown...I REFUSE TO RENAME MY CAPTAIN DANG IT!), Lt. Humble & Sgt. Pivot. Then there's Jigs, Medic Warn, Dash, Caller, Misfit, Fizz, Baz & Kickback (& Alice). I love them. But <<SPOILER>> I kill a bunch of them. Oops.

#don't look at me!#have you hugged a clone today #maybe Cody #we should all hug Cody

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sunshinesdaydream · 8 months

Note

Let’s get some fun recommendations goin around here! What’s a piece of clone content (art, fic, etc) that has stuck with you as being notably excellent? Tag it in your answer so we can all find some new fun to read! If you want, of course; feel free to ignore! 💕

Sorry I'm REALLY late coming to this, but it's been a time.

Mine are probably fairly well known

Dominoes - meridianpony I love Domino Lives! So obviously this one would stick with me.

in our hearts some ancient song by whimsicalimages Codywan, Fives lives, Fix it AU...just so much love for this.

Gar Cabur by InkSplots Simp for Alpha-17? Who me? Never!

#sunshine's asks #star wars #the bad batch #the clone wars #clone wars #sunshine recomends

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heyitsaloy · 1 year

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Of Ash and Traitors: Mando'a Translations

This is a list of Mando'a translations, and pronunciation that will be used throughout Of Ash and Traitors. Please note, that not all the translations will be used straightaway. This list will be updated as the story progresses. Everything is under the cut. Translations provided by mandoa.org

Ad (ahd): a gender-neutral term for son or daughter

Aliit ori’shya tal’din (ah-LEET or-EESH-yah tak-DEEN): Family is more than blood (Saying).

Aruetyc (AH-roo-eh-TEESH): Traitorous

Beskar (BESK-gar): Mandalorian Iron

Cuyan (koo-YAHN): survivor

Buir (boo-EER): a gender-neutral term for parent, used to describe a father or mother

Cabur (KAH-boor): guardian, protector

Cuyanir (koo-YAHN-neer): survive

Darjetti (dar-JAY-tee): Sith

Echoy’la (eh-CHOY-lah): searching, missing, lost

Di’kut (DEE-koot): idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on).

Di’kutla (dee-KOOT-lah): useless, stupid, worthless

Elek (EL-eck): yes [‘lek as yeah]

Haatyc or’arue jate’shya ori’sol aru’ike nuhaatyc (HAH-teesh ohr-AH-ray JAH-tay-SHE-ah oh-ree-SOL ah-roo-EE-kay noo-HAH-teesh): Better one big enemy that you can see than many small ones that you can’t. [A Mandalorian Proverb]

Gai bal manda (GUY bal MAN-da): adoption ceremony, lit. name and soul

Jate’kara (JAH-tay-KAH-rah): luck, destiny - lit. good stars, a course to steer by

Jetii (JAY-tee): Jedi

Jetii’kad (jay-TEE-kahd): lightsaber

Jetiise (JAY-tee-see): Jedi plural, Republic

#of ash and traitors: update #of ash and traitors #mando'a #mando'a translations #to be updated as the story continues #cal kestis x reader #echoy'la #star wars oc: drax the aruetyc

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wild-karrde · 2 years

Note

Hey there! This is pretty late for today's fandom Friday, but maybe next week could you please give a shout-out to @/wanderinginksplot and their story Gar Cabur? Tumblr and AO3 links:

https://wanderinginksplot.tumblr.com/garcabur

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32478013/chapters/80544301

I like this story because we don't have a whole lot of Alpha-17 stories out there, the characters are well-written, and the story effortlessly blends in events and characters from the comic books, TCW, and TBB. I love this story because Ink's world-building pulls me into the story, I'm a sucker for big, tough characters going all sweet and protective over loved ones, and the fluff is highly addictive 😁

Gar Cabur is rated T on AO3: violence, swearing, some suggestive scenes, but nothing explicit.

ABSOLUTELY! You are the first rec for this week! :)

You are correct, we do not have a lot of Alpha-17 stories out there (and I am admittedly not well-versed in his lore), but I love the thought of blending him in with TCW/TBB. Excellent world-building with protective fluff? SIGN ME UP!! I will DEFINITELY be checking out @wanderinginksplot's stuf! Thank you for the rec!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

#FANDOM FRIDAY #creator appreciation #fanfiction #fan fic #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #the bad batch #tbb #alpha 17 #alpha 17 x reader #fluff #slow burn

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wanderinginksplot · 9 months

Text

Gar Cabur

You are a Republic administrator, assigned to write a report on the clone army. You didn’t expect to find a planet full of flirty cadets. Alpha decides to help you with the problem.

Eventual Alpha-17 x fem!reader

Gar Cabur (Titled One-Shot: Alpha-17 + Lunch) - 3.1k words.

Gar Cabur (Alpha POV) - 3.9k words.

Sha-kajir (Over a Meal) - 3.3k words.

Riye (A Favor) - 3.1k words.

Shupur (Injury) - 4.0k words.

Onidir (To Sweat) - 3.8k words.

Nibral (Failure) - 5.6k words.

Nibral (Failure) - Alpha POV - 5.3k words.

Tsikador (Get Ready) - 4.6k words.

Ramorla (Besieged) - 4.1k words.

Jurkad (Attack) - 5.5k words.

Haatyc Or'arue Jate'shya (Better One Big Enemy) - 3.7k words.

Shuk'la (Broken) - 5.5k words.

Mirjahaal (Healing) - 5.1k words.

Pel (Soft) - 3.1k words.

Gaanaylir (Trap) - ARC trainees POV. - 7.7k words.

Gaanaylir (Trap) - Reader POV - 2.2k words.

Tratyc (In a State of Collapse) - 5.5k words.

Dar'Tome (Separated) - Drift POV - 4.3k words.

Solus (Alone) - Both Alpha and fem!reader POV. - 4.6k words.

Vercopaanir (To Hope) - 5.7k words.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars legends #star wars fanfiction #gar cabur #captain alpha 17 #alpha 17 fic #alpha 17 #alpha 17 x reader #alpha 17 x you #reader insert fic #reader insert #gar cabur fic #wanderinginksplot's masterlist #masterlist #masterlist update #ink's fics

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morganwrites-starwars · 2 years

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I Stand Here Right Beside You Masterlist

1. Cabur

2. Yaim

3. Baar'ur

4. Aliit

5. Partaylir 6. Mando'ade draar digu 7. Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc 8. Hibirar 9. Demagolka Alor 10. Darjetti 11. Kote 12. Ori’buyce, kih’kovid 13. Jurkad 14. Mirjahaal 15. Eyaytir 16. Jaro 17. Haat 18. Al'verde 19. Tionir 20. Vode 21. Yaim'la 22. oyayc 23. Ret'urcye mhi 24. Mar'e

Main Masterlist

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book-of-baba-fett · 2 years

Note

@wanderinginksplot's Gar Cabur series is PHENOMENAL. Not only is the building relationship between Reader and Alpha-17 a very realistic feeling one, the relationships between the other characters in the series is SO good. Absolutely love it!!!!!

ps: you are also amazingly talented <33333

This has been on my must read for awhile! And thank you anon💙💙

Creator Shout-Outs

#creator boost #creator appreciation

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mwolf0epsilon · 2 years

Text

Whumptober Day 26: No One Left Behind

Prompt: Separated

Summary: Pretty Boy had made a terrible mistake...

[Companion piece to yesterday's prompt.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

The plan stopped sounding half as good the moment he'd actually managed to sneak on board of an unattended cargo ship. All those thoughts of respite, freedom and no more pain curdling like sour blue milk out in the sun.

One moment he was sitting behind a few crates trying to get his hair looking a little nicer and his civvies to sit just right on his person, and then next moment he was biting his knuckles as it dawned on him what it was exactly that he was doing:

Pretty Boy had defected from the GAR.

Not only that, he'd also abandoned his little brother back on Coruscant. Run away like a coward because he couldn't face the world without Lichtenberg to offer him some semblance of guidance. And their Free'ika would have to deal with that on his own. Both the loss of their older brother, and the knowledge that Pretty Boy was too much of a selfish aruetti to even face him and tell him the news himself.

And the worst part was that, even though he was ashamed of himself, he couldn't really make himself go back on it. He just sat there, let the ship take off, and hid his face in his hands.

He was, as he'd always been, the batch disappointment...

The Long Name Squad (even before they'd named themselves as such) had never been separated before. Not even when they'd been assigned different postings. One way or another they always found their way back to each other, be it via comm or an outing to 79's. It had always been just the three of them against the world and they'd been proud of their strong bond.

What PB was doing was against all that he and his brothers stood for. And he couldn't even blame Lich for being the first one to break up their unity. Lich had died. Blaming him would have been atrocious.

No the only person guilty of something was him. He was the one running away with his tail between his legs.

Aruetti aruetti aruetti aruetti aruetti aruetti aruetti aruetti, aliit naast...

He'd ruined everything. Just as he'd always feared he might, and just as everyone always said he would. He'd been more the runt of the litter than his vod'ika (in all his frail cadethood) had ever been. The weakest link in their too short chain.

Nothing more than a pretty little face among thousands of other equally pretty faces. Nothing special. Just a clone putting on a front of superiority and disproportional self-adulation that didn't actually exist. A farce.

Cabur Lich, Free'ika... Please forgive him...

#Eps Writes #star wars #the clone wars #whumptober2022 #clone ocs #clone trooper pretty boy

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dindjarindiaries · 3 years

Note

Yeah I’m a fan of NCPG

Nat I’m literally gonna Scream

#NI CETA PAR GAR ERASURE !!!#cabur’s tradwife #you have spoken

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whiskeynwriting · 3 years

Text

Mando’a Translations: Words and Phrases

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) Masterlist

These are the translations to the Mando’a words and phrases I have used/will use in my stories (:

- Son/Daughter | (Ahd)

Aliit ori’shya tal’din

- Family is more than blood | (Ah-leet or-eesh-yah tal-deen)

Buycika

- Cradle | (Boo-she-kah)

Cabur

- Guardian, protector | (Kah-boor)

Cyar’ika

- Darling, sweetheart | (Shar-ee-kah)

Cyare

- Beloved, loved | (Shah-ray)

Dala

- Woman, girl | (Dah-la)

Dar’jetti

- No longer a Jedi, also referred to as a Sith | (Dar-jay-tee)

Gar cuyir bid kih

- You’re so small | (Gahr koo-yeer beed kee)

Ka’rta

- Heart | (Kah-roh-ta)

Keldabe Kiss

- An armored greeting between two Mandalorians. Can be gentle and/or affectionate in nature | (Kel-dahb-ay)

Mesh’la

- Beautiful | (May-sh-la)

Mesh’la dala

- Beautiful woman/beautiful girl | (Maysh-la dah-la)

Ner

- My, mine | (Nair)

Ner Dala

- My woman/my girl | (Nair da-la)

Ner laandur dala

- My delicate girl (Nair lah-n-doo-er da-la

Ner mesh’la dala

- My pretty girl | (Nair maysh-la dah-la)

Ni kar’tayl gai sa’ad

- An adoption vow. I know your name as my child | (Nee keer-tail guy-sah-add)

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum

- I love you. Literally translated: I know you forever | (Nee kar-tile gahr da-rah-soom)

Orikih

- Tiny | (Aw-ree-kee)

Riduur

- Partner, spouse, husband, wife | (Ree-door)

#blurred lines series #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandoa #mandoa words #mandoa phrases #mandoa transations #mando #mando fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfiction

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giggles-and-freckles · 3 years

Note

Abi! How about 8. With obitine (because your amazing drawings threw me back into obitine hell again these past few weeks)

8. "Go! Take the others and run!" // (from these prompts)

- some art I scribbled out for this one -

None of this was part of the plan.

They were trying to keep a low profile. Trying to be discreet. Leading a parade of orphans through the streets of Donba’ar was not helping their case.

“Obi-Wan,” he hears from behind him. “She’s —”

“On it.” He rushes forward to scoop up the smallest member of their newly-formed group. She can’t be older than four-years-old and he hasn’t been able to understand a word she’s said since he’s met her. “Whoa, little one,” he says, straightening her dress as she wraps her arms around his neck. Big, brown eyes peer at him curiously. “You have to stop wandering off.”

She fires off a string of mando’a in response.

“Satine,” he calls helplessly.

“Gar enteyor gebbar, ad’ika,” Satine says, coming up on Obi-Wan’s side. She holds the hand of a young boy, dragging him along, but uses her other hand to tap the nose of the girl in Obi-Wan’s arms. “Obi kaysh cuyir cuun cabur.”

“What did you just say about me?” he asks.

Satine lifts an eyebrow and cooly slides past him, taking the lead spot of the group. “That your ears are too big for your head.”

Obi-Wan scoffs. “My ears —”

“Obi!” the little girl cries, grabbing at his padawan braid.

“Obi-Wan,” he corrects with a huff, grappling the braid out of her grip. “And that’s a part of my person, so kindly let go.”

“Obi!” she squeals in delight.

“You’re a public menace,” Obi-Wan says earnestly, looking at the toddler with severity. Her brown eyes blink back at him, happily unaware of the discomfort he is in.

There’s a reason he’s traded his creche rotations for the past three years. And a reason Qui-Gon lets him.

The thought jolts Obi-Wan back to the present.

Qui-Gon — who is a few klicks behind them, making sure no one follows them. Their escape had been close...and not easy, with a troupe of ten orphans travelling with them. Obi-Wan still feels guilty for suggesting the orphanage as a place of refuge. He hadn’t even considered the target it would place on the facility and it’s residents once the bounty hunters found them.

Especially when they’d found them before morning.

There’d been no time to create a sustainable action plan. Qui-Gon had held the hunters off and urged Satine and Obi-Wan to take the younglings and run.

They’ve been travelling for most of the day now. A few of the children are older, nearing their teenage years. They seem to have an idea about the direness of the situation and do what they can to help with the younger ones. But a few of them — like the girl in Obi-Wan’s arms and the boy whose hand is in Satine’s — don’t seem to distinguish this fleeing from a recreational adventure.

“Zhasmuh,” Satine calls over her shoulder. “Me'vaar ti gar?”

The oldest child, a girl possibly ten or eleven-years-old nods, readjusting the toddler on her back. “Elek, alor.”

“We need water,” she says quieter, for Obi-Wan’s ears only.

He grimaces. “It can’t be much further. Once we’re there, we can get in touch with your captain. You said he can assist with the children, yes?”

Satine doesn’t respond immediately, and Obi-Wan senses trepidation within her pause.

“Satine? What’s wrong?”

Her eyebrows furrow in concentration, even as she walks. “I am trying to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“The children…”

“Orphans.”

“That’s just it,” she says with a frown. “Mandalore does not have orphans. We have...foundlings. Children who are without parents. They are not left to fend for themselves in a government-run facility. They are...how do you say it? Aliit ori'shya tal'din.”

“Adopted?” Obi-Wan prompts.

“Yes. And no. It’s complicated. But...either way, these children should not have been alone.”

“Perhaps their caretaker was out.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head, “Zhasmuh speaks of no adult.” She looks down at the boy who walks next to her, his small legs growing weary. Her frown deepens. “They have lost the Way.”

“The children?”

Satine looks back at Obi-Wan and offers a look of utter despair. “My people.”

Any sympathy or encouragement dies on his tongue, because, then — he feels it. His training bond being pulled taught, a clear message buzzing through.

Run.

“Satine,” he breathes, harshly. “Qui-Gon. He...he —”

Her eyes widen, then flicker to the children following them. “Already?” she hisses. “I thought we...I thought there was time. We have not yet reached Veldi’a.”

“I know,” he says quickly. “We...Satine.” He drops his voice, even though he knows the younglings do not speak Basic. “We are in great danger.”

“Obi-Wan, they cannot run,” she says through gritted teeth. “Look at them. They are dead on their feet already. We —”

“You must. All of you.”

Her eyebrows knit together for a moment, then lift altogether, a sting of agony glinting off of her. He tries not to flinch. She watches him. “You…”

“I have to go back for him,” Obi-Wan says, with a nod. “I cannot...if we are in danger, it means my master has failed. There is a reason. He is hurt, or…” A shaking breath. “Satine, I have to go to him. And even so, perhaps I can buy you all time. The bounty hunters. Surely, they...I can give you time.”

She offers a sad smile. “I knew you’d say something like that.”

“I’m sorry. I —”

“Don’t be. It’s the best of you,” she says, cutting him off with a shake of her head and —

Things truly become strange.

A kiss. She kisses him. It’s brief and chaste and tastes like sorrow, but Obi-Wan finds that it took his breath away even so. He blinks at her dumbly.

“You —”

“Go.”

“Satine —”

“They’ll be here soon. And your master needs you.”

“Obi!” the girl in his arms cries, slapping her hand against his cheek.

“Here,” Satine says, all-business. “Give her to me.”

“Satine,” Obi-Wan chokes off as the small girl in his arms is pulled up onto Satine’s shoulders. “I...you —”

“And there will be more,” she cuts him off mercifully and gives him a look to last a lifetime. “When you come back to us. When you come back to...me.”

The bond goes taught again, and this time Obi-Wan feels as if it is about to splinter into pieces. He hunches over as the pain rolls through.

“Go!” he manages, his voice rasping pathetically. “Take the others and run!”

If the best of Obi-Wan is his loyalty, the best of Satine is her passion. She gives him a resolute nod and turns to the children, willing — as always — to do the right thing, no matter what.

“Adike,” she calls, gathering the younglings close to her. “K’olar! Obi enteyor ba’slanar. Mhi enteyor viinir.”

Immediately, they attach themselves to her, each of them seeking purchase on the fabric of her dress or the hand of another child until they are all linked. Obi-Wan watches the moment, his heart constricting even as the bond with his master continues to tear him into pieces.

“Ben!” Satine yells, over the babbling of the children. His eyes find hers, just as easily as the children. She is a magnet in this way. The galaxy does not stand a chance against the magnitude of her determination and desire to do good. “May the Force be with you.”

mando'a translations (courtesy of mandoa.org of course)

- Gar enteyor gebbar, ad’ika. Obi kaysh cuyir cuun cabur.

Stay close, little one. Obi is our protector.

- Me'vaar ti gar?

Are you okay?/How are you doing?

- Elek, alor.

Yes, leader.

- Aliit ori'shya tal'din.

Family is more than blood.

- Adike. K’olar! Obi enteyor ba’slanar. Mhi enteyor viinir.

Little ones! Come close! Obi must leave. We must run.

#accidental baby acquisition x 10 i guess ahahaha #obitine #year on the run #my fic #writing prompts

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