#nu kyr'adyc shi taab'echaaj'la

[sailorkamino]

senator: [being anti-clone]

jedi: [casually lifts sleeve to show tattoo in honor of their battalion] what were you saying?

[wayward-wren]

When I was about 11-13, we had chickens. We had about four or five at first, but due to various reasons, I can't fully remember we lost a few. Since we were a family of 6 at the time and went through a fair few eggs, Dad decided to get more chickens, and we went to a nearby farm place and picked up about three more.

Now chickens are vicious creatures, and very much have a pecking order that is honestly rather cruel. I was aware of this, and felt sorry for the poor little bullied chicken at the bottom of the pecking order, but I wasn't sure what would happen when the two flocks were introduced--our original few, and the new ones we brought home.

The answer was war. I have a very clear and distinct memory of these chickens--our old black one and the new brown one--who were used to being the top of the pecking order attacking each other with full ferocity. Wings flailing, talons gripping, feathers flying.

Anyway, Paz Vizler and Axe Wolf attacking each other in this week's episode of the Mandalorian reminded me of those two chickens flailing around each other, wings amock and it was all I could see that entire scene.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

live to rise - chapter three

live to rise series

three: won't give them that satisfaction

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: Din faces his past. You dare to enter the Mandalorian's cell when he's in need of medical attention. A bond grows, and so do the stakes.

chapter warnings: masturbation (f, m), p in v (not Din, brief mention of reader x oc), hurt/comfort, a little yearning, a little pining, a lot of ~bonding~, minor character deaths, canon-typical violence, description of injury, gore, angst

Please heed the series and chapter warnings.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Din is the only one from Cresh with an off day today. It’s quiet in the cellblock, and he’s putting himself through an easy bodyweight routine when he feels the pneumatics of the door. You’re so quiet, bare feet barely making a sound on the sleek floor. 

It’s not even midday, so he waits to find out who was the first to fall.

The door next to his opens. 

He takes a moment to close his eyes and pray. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. Not gone, merely marching far away. Idly, he wonders if the words would bring you comfort.

But when he opens his mouth, he chokes on them. No, he can’t share that with you. No matter how honorable, you are not Mandalorian. 

“What was her name?” he says instead.

It startles you, and you drop the bottle of disinfectant. He’s never just spoken to you before, unprompted. 

“Disdraa,” you tell him, and hesitate for just a moment before letting the rest pour out. “—a smuggler—explosives for the, um. You know.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“Thank you.” You fall quiet, letting the skrish-skrish of the spray bottle fill the silence. 

“Why did she call you little bird?” Din’s not really sure why he asks, other than a strange ache in his chest at the way your words are laden with sorrow. 

“Because some of the others used to.”

“Why did they call you little bird?”

“Picked it up in a long chain of the dead. One of my first who survived for a few months started it.” You pause, knowing this isn’t the answer he was looking for. “It’s silly. When I first got here, I used to whistle a lot. The quiet was unsettling.”

“It doesn’t bother you now?”

“—used to it.”

He knows there’s something more that you’re keeping locked down. He knows it’s probably for a good reason, and he should leave it be, let you pretend. 

He asks anyway. “Why did you stop?”

“Guards didn’t like it much,” is all you tell him, the silence filling in the gaps of the story. 

You hesitate in the hall after you’re done, like you want to say something to him but haven’t the nerve.

He beats you to it. “What’s on your hand?” he says as he studies you, everything about you as neat and tidy as ever—except that. 

You look down. A blue smudge runs the length of your palm. He watches, rapt, as you bring your other thumb to your mouth and lick it, scrubbing it against the blossom of color until it disappears. 

“Nothing,” you whisper. 

“What?” 

“It’s nothing,” you shake your head and slip out of the barracks. 

When you leave, he waits only a moment before he licks his palm and strokes his cock, thinking of his own thumb, of more, between your lips as he spills down the drain. He shuts down before the shame can come. He’s only human, after all. 

There’s an energy to the compound that you don’t particularly like. It crackles and shakes, much like the soft surface of this planet did when they first built the arena, when the red soil swallowed it whole, and instead of moving on, they just built more and more on top. But you can feel this, even here at the frigid, solid core—an unsettling. 

When you ask the others, they shrug. It’s not strong, not bothersome. The officers are clearly abuzz with something stupid or irrelevant, and it’s just echoing down the lifts and spilling into the underground. 

Hali shrugs. “It probably doesn’t bode well for us, but what can we do?”

Two weeks later, the tension crests. Eli catches your arm when he passes you in the corridor after breakfast service, pausing for just a fraction of a moment. 

“They found another Mandalorian,” he murmurs. 

His hand drops, and you’re gone before you can think it through. You’re too late, though.

They’ve already taken him to the arena.

Gideon’s face tells Din that he’s going to lose this fight no matter the outcome. It’s always a little true. A little part of him dies each turn. 

But Din knows he’s right when his opponent is forced into the ring. He knows because he won’t meet his eyes. He knows because when the bell tolls, the other man takes a knee.

“Ner Mand’alor,” he says, voice hoarse from overuse and underhydration. 

“No,” Din says. “Not here.” 

“Anywhere,” Alor’ad Adro Varra swears. 

“I won’t fight you,” Din says, voice cracking a little on the tail end. 

“I’m dead either way,” Varra says. “Grant me a warrior’s death. Gedet’ye.”

Din closes his eyes. “Don’t go easy on me,” he begs.

“I would never do you the dishonor, ner Mand’alor.” 

The crowd finally gets the fight they’ve been waiting for. Few of the champions so far have been much competition for Din. But between a well-trained opponent and his own unwillingness to cause unnecessary pain, they manage to drag it out for a few extra minutes.

Varra holds true to his word, of course, and doesn’t hold back. To drive in Gideon’s mockery, their weapons today are beskad they’ve stolen from Mandalore. 

They’re going to make him kill his vod with a beskar blade. 

Varra is a skilled swordsman and hasn’t yet had a chance to weaken in the cells. Din finds the beskad as unwieldy as the Darksaber had been when he first held it. There’s no honor, here. 

Din parries more than he strikes. “Are there others?” he asks under the guise of heaving breaths.

“Not sure,” Varra says. “Got separated. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t,” Din says, fumbling in the riptide of disappointment and relief. The edge of Varra’s blade makes clean work of his thigh, just shy of danger. 

The cut is an awakening, an understanding. Time is running out.

“I think,” Varra gasps. “I think some made it. But—your alor—I’m sorry.”

He’s not deliberately trying to distract Din. But the words cost him another chunk of flesh from his forearm.

Din briefly considers letting his vod win to spare himself the pain. He can’t decide which path is more cowardly. 

The clash of beskad echoes sickeningly. Beskar against beskar is a broken oath, a true loss of The Way, and the guilt cuts worse than the sword. This man swore to him, swore to follow the command of his Mand’alor, and Din’s forcing him to use it in such a perverse manner.

No. It’s worse than that. He has forced his vod to break the Resol’nare by fighting against his Mand’alor. 

The scars from the blade will join the many others earned through his life, but this? The things he’s done now? The sins against his vod and the Manda? He’ll never stop bleeding.

In the end, though, Varra’s head is on the ground much further than his body, knocked afar by the swift, heavy swing of Din’s sword, leaving him awash with his brother’s blood. He chokes down the vomit and the screams. Gideon can’t have those, too. 

For the first time, you enter the Mandalorian’s cell while he’s inside. He had refused to see the medics, but he’d still showered, meaning the blood he trailed in was leaking from his own flesh. With your eyes shut tight, you hold out the only solution you could come up with—a linen scarf. 

“You should be able to breathe still,” you say. 

He gets the idea. 

You slip inside once he’s covered and seated on the cot. You start with the gash on his forearm, kneeling on the cold floor to wipe it clean. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say. 

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t speak for a long time, long enough that you’re afraid you’ve overstepped. But he sits still, the perfect patient, and lets you pinch the slippery sides of the cut together enough to apply suture tape. 

He thinks suddenly, unbidden, that she would have liked you. His alor, who he still bowed to despite his rank, for she wielded the fires and iron hearts of their people. Mandalorian or not, she would have respected you for your steadfast principles and unwavering purpose. 

“I knew him,” he says instead.

You startle and overcorrect trying to act casual, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Would you… would you like to tell me about him?” you say. This, at least, is familiar territory. 

“I didn’t know him well,” he admits, the clench in his chest screaming. Just another brother he’s failed. “He was a battalion captain. He still knelt for me, even without the saber, and I—”

You rest a hand on his knee and wait. 

He sighs. “I gave him a warrior’s death.” 

“What did his armor look like?” you say.

“He didn’t have it.”

You hum softly, not wanting to push. 

“Captains wear full black, matte and streamlined,” he says. “Sleek, flat, practical for ops.”

You hum again, the feeling spreading goosebumps as it vibrates through your wandering fingertips over his skin. You’re checking for wounds.

He indicates the weeping gash on his thigh.

“Oh, kriff, Mando, I’m sorry. That looks painful.”

“It’s fine,” he says. 

You lean close, gently prodding around to assess. “It’s deep. You prefer it stitched or cauterized?” 

“Stitched,” he grunts as you wipe it down with antiseptic.

The cell is tense, now. He thinks he’s smothered your softness with his grief.

“I paint,” you say suddenly, as the needle slips into his skin. 

His attention snaps to you, even if you can’t see his eyes. “What?”

“That’s what was on my hand the other day. Paint. I paint.” 

“Where do you get paint?”

“I make it,” you say as he winces against the tug of the thread. 

“What?” 

“I’ve got a friend in the kitchens,” you say.

“No, sorry,” Mando says. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Oh. I said I make it.” 

“Oh,” he says, and thinks for a moment. “They sneak you oil?”

“Or grease, or lard. Whatever the runoff is.” 

“Whatever the what is?”

“Runoff, like—”

“No, I know what it means,” he huffs a little. “I just. Dank farrik,” he mutters.

“What’s wrong?” you stop stitching immediately.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he says and waits until you’ve resumed your careful motions. “I… I can’t hear very well without my helmet.”

You sit back on your haunches. “Oh,” you say.

“You can’t—don’t—”

“I won’t tell,” you say. “But you let me know if there’s anything I can do to make things easier on you. Do you read lips?”

“Not really. It’s hard. I can pick up some things in Basic from humanoids, but it’s near impossible with anyone else. And unreliable.”

“Okay,” you nod, lips twisting and gears turning. “Want a signal? Like if you need me to be louder or repeat something.” 

“Maybe,” he says. He’s feeling oddly dizzy, like perhaps he lost more blood than he thought. When he looks down at his thigh to check, you’re applying a cream to the sutures. It only gets worse as he watches deft fingers secure bandages, sucking in a sharp breath when you gently brush over the hair next to the wound. 

“Sorry,” you say, wincing. 

He lets you think it hurt. “You never finished answering my question,” he says. 

“No, but it worked, though, didn’t it?” you say. 

He quirks his head.

“Distracted you,” you say, and grin.  

You’re beautiful, he thinks. He’s in trouble.

You don’t seem to notice his dilemma, especially since you won’t look at him, despite the veil. 

“Anything else?” you ask, fingers gently holding his calf while you investigate his battered body. Now that the danger has passed, you’re a little choked up. You knew he was strong, but hadn’t been close enough to realize how broad he was without the armor. 

Most of that bulk was actually him. The wide cord of his thigh where you had stitched spans far past the sprawl of your palm. He’s not all rock, though. It’s muscle well-earned under the softness of a life… well, you don’t want to say well-lived, because that’s up for debate. But lived. Fully and unapologetically. 

It feels illicit, just even seeing this much of him. 

“No,” he says. The little cuts and scrapes aren’t worth wasting supplies. They’ll scab over on their own. But he regrets it as soon as his mouth closes because you push up on his knee to stand.

You’re leaving.

“Can I see?” he says.

“Not very well, right now, I’d say,” you tease, though you know what he means. “Maybe another time.”

He snorts, and your heart catches. 

Inconvenient, really, you think. Moreover, cruel and unfortunate. You’ve never felt this kind of warm affection toward a fighter before. 

“Hey Mando,” you say, turning back to look at him. “His helmet, was it like yours?”

“Yes,” he says, perplexed. 

“Okay. Well, I should go,” you say, and it’s almost like you want him to argue, but you’re already slipping out of his cell. “It’s almost dinner time, after all. Get some rest.” 

When he unwinds the shawl, he holds onto it for longer than he’ll ever admit. 

He does give it back, of course. Slides it out on his tray when you come by with dinner. You stuff it in the front pocket of your skirts, and if you take it out in the dark of the night to catch a hint of his musk, so what? It doesn’t hurt anyone. 

Well. Maybe yourself. You need to pinch this ridiculous crush at the stem before it blossoms. But one night of indulgence can’t hurt, or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you slip off to the fresher. You hold it to your cheek, clenched in one fist, as the other hand rubs quick circles around your clit. You orgasm easily, the smell of him and the cadence of his voice on the edge of your consciousness. 

You drop it in the laundry bin when you leave, washing your hands of the affair but not the guilt. 

But you can’t stay away. You’re drawn to him, and you tell yourself it’s just the way you’re drawn to any of your fighters who live long enough to bond. 

Anything else is just because you’re human, and he has a lovely voice. 

It’s not like you can’t satisfy your needs. Fucking around with the other servants isn’t exactly encouraged, but it isn’t prohibited either, and there are plenty of stock rooms and nooks and crannies for fumbling fingers and sordid, sloppy relief. 

You’re no stranger to these things, either. There’s an unspoken code that keeps things quick and neat, no attachments or drama. (You and Eli made a spoken pact, though—you’d keep an eye on each other. Make sure no one gets too close or too deep). 

And part of the medical processing upon arrival includes an implant, whether you like it or not. So. 

So you indulge. You find one of your go-to’s, Stellus, a dark-haired man with a nose crunched in far too many cantina brawls to ever sit straight again. He’s serving six years for stealing a ship and another two for evading his warrant. With three left, he’s numb to it all most of the time, but he almost never says no to pussy. 

It’s fine. It's satisfactory. He's a generous partner with nimble fingers and a girthy cock. It does take the edge off. It’s not what you want, but you’re used to that. None of this is what you want, but you take it anyway. 

After he tugs his trousers up and slips away, you lean against the wall of the laundry facility for a moment, catching your breath and leaving a gap between your departures.

And then you go straight to the barracks. In the middle of the day. With no excuse.

The Mandalorian has just gotten back from the arena, and you check in even though you know he has no injuries this time. His status is continually updated on your datapad, after all.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he says, but it comes out on a sigh and gives you pause. 

“Are you sleeping?” you say.

“As much as I can,” he says. 

You lean against his door for a moment, debating if you should leave or not.

“Do you sleep?” he says, catching you off guard. He sounds suspicious.

“As much as I can,” you echo. 

It's silent for a beat, but he can't shake the thought. “How did you know?” he finally asks. It’s been an itch too deep to ignore.

“How did I know what?”

“That he was Mandalorian.”

“Eli told me,” you say as if that’s the only answer you need. 

“It wasn’t advertised,” Mando says cautiously. “They didn’t want anyone to know there might be more survivors.”

You shrug. “Must have been in his file. I knew about you before everyone else, too. Do you—” You hesitate, knowing his answer will be an echo of all the others, “is there anything I can do for you?” 

It’s his turn to hesitate. You don’t usually deviate from the routine. Though, he supposes, this whole visit is off-schedule. 

“Like what?” His answer surprises you both.

“Oh, um.” You’ve immediately forgotten anything you thought he’d need. “Would you like some company?” 

“Only if it’s yours,” he says. 

Your brain feels a little fuzzy from the way his voice has softened, and you can’t quite smother the little pleased smile. You settle on the ground by his door; legs sprawled out under the fan of your skirts. He’s not a big conversationalist, but he asks questions and answers them just fine.

When you tell him a little about home, he feels like he’s finally cracked the mystery. The paintings, the service, the memorials. You don’t talk about it a lot, but it’s enough to fill in the missing piece he couldn’t quite puzzle together.

It’s a sentiment that feels a little too close to home for him, too. 

“How do you do it?” you ask.

“Do what?” 

“How do you keep going? You must be exhausted. I’ve seen other fighters last as long as this, but they were never up there as often as you are.” 

“I have to,” he says as if it’s that simple.

And you suppose maybe it is. 

He waits a moment, though, and then it spills from him like a faulty dam. “I have to try, for my son.”

It’s quiet, so quiet, but you hear it. Your breath trips and falls in a soft exhale of “Oh, Mando.” 

You flounder for something more to say, some way to swallow some of the rotting guilt and horrible, sharp sadness that leak into the silence. But as you open your mouth to speak, the doors nearest his cell slide open.

“What are you doing in here, girl?” the guard snaps. “You can’t be in during transfer.”

“I-I didn’t get a message,” you say to the ground, having leapt to your feet when the panel beeped. “Apologies, sir,” and then you’re gone. 

The ping comes right after breakfast delivery while you’re folding sheets for service rounds. It’s like a static shock, and you nearly drop your armful of stacked bedding.

It never goes off now. It’s too early for anyone to have died. Right? You repeat it under your breath while reaching for the datapad. 

It’s a notification you’ve only had twice before, and your heart swoops to the bottom of your diaphragm. “C-5 Status Update: Reassigned.” 

next chapter

*title from "Burn the Witch" by Shawn James

[sytortuga]

"Merely marching away"

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

[momojedi]

— NOT GONE, MERELY MARCHING FAR AWAY. pairing. none

**

type. drabble note. manifesting a reaction from echo regarding fives warnings. angst, hurt/comfort, death, mentions of fives word count. 156

star wars masterlist || pinned post

“Echo?”

Rex carefully approaches his brother. Echo had been sitting on the lone crate away from the others for a little over an hour now, quietly losing himself in his thoughts.

As Rex stands next to him, he notices the object Echo had been fiddling with. A helmet. Rex’ eyes widen. Not just any helmet; Fives’ helmet.

“I’m sorry,” Echo sighs, staring back at the visor of his late twin’s helmet, “I guess I just needed some … some space, yeah.”

Rex frowns for a second before sitting down next to him, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “I’m sure he’s happy for you.”

“Huh?”

“Fives — if he could see you now,” Rex shakes his head lightly with a smile, “he’d be so proud of you. All the dominos would be.”

Echo grins softly. “Yeah,” he sets the helmet on the crate, next to the countless others of their fallen brothers.

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.”

[widderwise]

DP x SW

Danny Phantom x Star Wars fic Idea:

Btw, I have never posted on Tumblr before so I have no idea if I am doing this right. I am bad at communicating on the internet apparently. My son's friends think I am nerdy/geeky enough to be the cool mom though so I'll take it.

So, in Danny Phantom he Infinite realms holds all afterlives. However, only so many people form into ghosts after death. Highly traumatic emotional deaths and people exposed to ectoplasm if I understand correctly.

I was thinking about SW Mandalorians and how they think of death and souls. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la - "Not gone, merely marching far away"—;

When a foundling is adopted it's 'name and soul' and I've seen it referenced as giving that child a soul, sometimes even after they died.

"Comprised of a simple statement of intent, a prospective Mandalorian parent needed only to recite the phrase ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad—"I know your name as my child"—followed by the name of the individual to be adopted." Wookieepedia

The Mandalorians have the Manda:

"The manda was a spiritual[2] and philosophical concept in the Mandalorian religion. Among the living, manda referred to a state of being, wherein a Mandalorian had achieved a philosophical unity of mind, body, and spirit. Additionally, the manda could refer to the collective soul of the Mandalorian people, with Mandalorians passing into the manda upon their death." (Wookieepedia)

I have a headcannon that the Manda would be an ancient spirit like Vortex, Undergrowth, and Nocturne. With the Mandalorians united under the Manda, they are far more likely to form as ghosts and 'go 'marching' in the Infinite realms than a random Joe. This would lead to a large Mandalorian civilization in the realms, most likely made larger by the Mandalorian tendency to adopt. The realms would have plenty of newly formed ghosts from all overt the multiverse, probably a lot without a particular afterlife they're shooting for.

For a fic idea I see a Mandalorian, say Jaster, coming across Danny (maybe he had to flee his dimension due to the GIW) and adopting him on the spot (or at least trying to). He can mentor Danny as a leader (if this is a ghost prince/king thing). Or for more zaniness Dani/Elli. Or both.

THis being a SW cross you can have Dani taking notice of the clones. Jaster probably keeps an eye on Jango if he can. Danny and Dani being halfas could go into the SW verse to help the clones. Maybe leaving Jaster to collect the decommissioned clones by adopting them on his behalf? Not sure of the logistics there. I like the image of him saving the decommed clones and keeping them safe in the realms.

Jango might not count the clones as his kids, but my understanding of Mandalorian culture is that you can't disown your kids (but they can disown you), so they might be born into the Manda anyway. The Manda (as a spirit in this AU) would be very upset I think and maybe ask Danny as King to intervene? Just spitballing now. Maybe send Jaster to haunt Jango until he fixes his ish (as much as possible). Maybe other former Manda'lore as well.

Fun additions:

Jaster/Ghost Writer besties or maybe more?

Lunch Lady feeding the clones

Technus vs droid armies :)

[luke-skyjokers]

Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la to the Havoc Marauder.

We loved you and we'll miss you.

[marierg]

A small word about

Carl Weathers

(1948-2024)

Hearing of the passing of Carl Weathers this week I wanted to find the right words. I was sad as all were, I don't think I've met a person who didn't know one of his roles. From Toy Story to The Mandalorian to Rocky, Carl Weathers brought a presence to the screen that could not compare. Yes, he was a big fellow having formerly played Pro Football for the Raiders. Beyond that though he brought a dignity and gravitas, commanding respect and showing the same.

The earliest film I ever saw Mr. Weathers in was the Rocky series. He played the boxing great Apollo Creed who took on the title character in a showcase match. It was in Rocky 3 that I remember one line in particular, "There is no tomorrow! There is no tomorrow." Creed had come out to train Balboa to face not only Clubber Lang but also his own fears of getting back in the ring. This is one of lines that on a very bad day, when I get frustrated and want to quit that I remember.... That there is no tomorrow, only now. Keep fighting!

The Mandalorian could not have had anyone else to portray the complex character of Greef Karga. Mr. Weathers brought both the physicality and grit along with a wicked sense of comedy to the part, making what could have been a stereotypical scoundrel into a man of many layers. He also directed 2 of the episodes in the series (The foundling and the seige). Actor, Director, Emmy Nominee, and all around great. He will be missed

Rest Easy High Magistrate, Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.

[trooper-countdowns-shenanigans]

Countdown would like to thank all our brave service members who gave their lives in service of their country.

Happy Memorial Day!

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."

Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la — "Not gone, merely marching far away."

[wanderingjedi77]

The Foundling Chapter Two

Tag List: @iprobneedabeard

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Summary: As things start to change for Satine, Bo must make a hasty decision.

Satine let her hands fall over the tools the Armorer had in her forge. The hammers, the tongs. She was supposed to be getting ready for the aay'han a period of mourning and funeral for her mother, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Things were so different here, and Satine wondered if her father had ever felt the same.

"Ad'ika? You must get ready now." The Armorer spoke from the doorway. Satine turned to look at her, and saw Paz standing next to her.

"Come." Paz orders. "The Armorer will lead you in, as she; among others have agreed to take care of your well being."

Satine watches as he leaves and looks up at the Armorer. "I'm going to mess everything up."

"You will not." The Armorer replies stoically. "Because I will be there with you."

Satine walks over and takes her hand in hers. She looks up at her expectantly. "I'm scared." She admits, ashamed.

"Then you have more sense then half the tribe." The Armorer tells her and starts to lead her through the caves. "Do you remember what I taught you?"

"Mostly." Satine replies, and she can see, as they reach the entrance to the cave, that her mother is wrapped in white clothes on a pyre, and the tribe; along with the Nite Owls are standing vigil.

The Armorer led Satine over to the pyre and stood next to her, keeping both hands on her shoulders. "Ready?"

"Yes." Satine felt a lump in her throat.

"The aay'han is a period of mourning. We did not know Satine's mother long, yet we accepted both into the clan. We accepted Satine as a foundling when her mother passed, and now we help her as she mourns the loss of her mother."

"This is the way." Paz says from nearby, and the tribe echoes his statement.

"As it our custom, Satine will say the rites." The Armorer looks down at Satine and nods.

"Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum." Satine chokes out the words, struggling a bit. The Armorer squeezes her shoulders as she adds, "Adalia."

I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.

"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la." The Tribe answers, Paz being the loudest of all. Not gone, merely marching far away

The Armorer nods as a torch is handed to her, and Bo steps closer to Satine as she starts to cry. Protective almost. Despite her earlier feelings of betrayal.

"Together?" The Armorer asks softly. And Satune nods up at her. They grip the torch together and throw it at the pyre where it takes-

Satine grips the Armorers hand tightly as the flames dance. She knows Bo is right behind her, and Ahsoka stands close by with Din. It's comforting to have them here. But Satine still weeps for her mother, and she turns her head to bury in it the Armorers side.

The Armorer puts a hand on the back of Satine's head and lets her cry as Bo watches, daring anyone to say anything. She knows they won't. But she knows what it's like to lose her mother. Regardless of how she feels about the child.

She moves over to her and gently pries her away from the Armorer, kneeling down to look her in the eyes. "Stand tall. Even when you cry." Bo tells Satine. She stands up as Satine swallows hard, looking a little confused.

Bo points to her chin and lifts her head slightly. She doesn't know why she's doing this, helping the child. But she really can't fault her for being born.

Satine nods and raises her head slightly. She's still crying but feels a bit braver. And she's stays like that until her mother is gone.

The next few weeks are full of activity. If Satine isn't learning the creed and how to forge with the Armorer, which is a slow process at best, she's training with Ahsoka. Learning about the force and how to fight with it. Sometimes, Satine trains with Grogu. She's likes him. They can communicate through the force, just thinking to one another. It feels like their own secret language sometimes.

Bo doesn't help her with much, Satine realises. She watches her from a distance, but isn't mean when they come across each other. She knows Bo doesn't know what to make of her and that's confusing. But she likes it when Bo sends Axe and Koska, two of her Nite Owls to help her and give her extra snacks.

She shares with Grogu of course.

Today, she gets to join in the fighting circles. Ahsoka suggested it would be a good way to gain her footing. And now, as she stood there, Satine wondered if maybe they were getting things far ahead.

"She challenges." Ahsoka says to the referee.

He looks at Satine.

"The nature of the challenge?"

"Hand to hand." Ahsoka replies. The referee nods and calls over a boy nearby.

"The first to yield loses. Proceed." The referee says.

"Trust your instincts." Ahsoka steps back. "You can do this, Satine." She watches as the child sighs and steps into the fighting circle.

"Are you ready?"

Satine looks at the Referee, and nods firmly. "I am."

"Begin!"

Satine turned in time to feel the first hit on her face and stumbled back. She raised her hands to block the next, and stumbled away, trying to get her bearings.

"Awe go easy on the kid!"

"Yeah. She's like a newborn rancor."

Satine swallowed hard and looked at the other kid who winked at her. They hadn't taken the creed and didn't have a helmet in yet.

Were they enjoying this? Satine wondered. She frowned and looked over their shoulder in time to see Bo and the Armorer watching from the entrance of the cave until she got hit again hard enough to make her ears ring.

Satine shook her head as she dropped, and tried to push herself to her knees.

"There's no shame in yielding, kid!" Someone yelled.

Satine let out a sharp breath and stood back up. She slowed her breathing, trying to figure out where they would aim next. She shifted her feet, and when the next swing came

Satine knew

She ducked and threw a punch in the other child's side, and they stumbled forward as Satine stepped back like they had done with her. When they faced her again and swung Satine hit them hard in the face and they fell back onto their behind, giving Satine enough time to jump on them and pin them to the ground.

"Do you yeild!" Satine yelled, and the other kid nodded.

"Yes! Kandosii!"

Satine wiped her mouth and got off the kid. Held out a hand to help them up.

"I'm Markus." Markus looked a year younger than Satine but was bigger in height. He had dusty red hair and freckles. He smiled as he let Satine help him up and nodded as the other Mandalorians clapped. "Good fight."

Satine nodded and let him go as he walked away. She looked at Ahsoka for approval and saw her grinning at her.

"Well done, little one." Ahsoka praised.

"Let me look at your face."

Satine jumped a bit, turning to see the Armorer standing behind her, and nodded shyly as she led her away. "You fought well." The Armorer told her, sitting her down on a rock. "You need to work on your footwork."

Satine winched as the Armorer brushed her cut and bruised cheek with bacta and noticed Bo ylhad followed and was standing nearby.

"You did well." Bo says, and she looks hard at Satine. "You can do better next time." She adds, and walks away.

Satine looks at the Armorer, who pauses for a moment, and then finishes cleaning Satine's cheek. "I told you she didn't like me."

"Then we will find out why together." The Armorer stands and Satine follows closely as they walk back inside. "Bo."

Bo sighs and stops, looking at them. "She needs to learn how to fight better." She glances at Satine. "Otherwise, you'll have worse than a bruise on your cheek."

Satine frowns. "I just trusted my instincts like Ahsoka told me to." She explains.

"You need to trust more than your instincts if you expect to become Mandalorian." Bo replies.

Satine doesn't say anything, and the Armorer reaches down to squeeze her shoulder.

"Bo just doesn't want you to get hurt, Ad'ika. She's been fighting since before the Clone Wars." The Armorer says softly. Satine nods, and she understands. She just wished Bo wouldn't be so stern about it.

"Look, kid, I just want you to be prepared. You have to use all your skills to survive." Bo adds. She sighs and kneels down. "Fighting is part of how we live. It's in our culture, our creed."

Satine nodded. "Okay." And then, "So could you help me too?"

Bo hesitates and looks over The Armorers shoulder to see Ahsoka standing there, watching the interaction carefully. "You have a teacher, kid. I'd just get in the way." She gives her a small smile, and taps her gently on the head. "Try not to give Ahsoka too much trouble okay?" She teases, before she turns and leaves.

Satine looks back at Ahsoka, and then the Armorer. "I'm going back outside." She tells them disappointed. "Excuse me." She says softly and moves past them back into the sunshine.

Ahsoka looked at the Armorer.

"We need to talk about Satine."

She walked into the forge, and the Armorer followed.

By the time the sun had started to set, Satine had gone through two more fights and training with darts. But she was still restless. She wandered down the shore of the lake and looked at the sunset.

She liked it here. Despite the dangers. Despite not feeling like she fit in all the time. And she liked the tribe and the Nite Owls too.

She wanted to make it.

Satine looked up as something clouded the setting sun and barely had time to yell as she was lifted off her feet -

And she was gone.

"Bo!"

"Mand'alor come quick!"

Bo rushed outside at the frantic yelling. Most of the tribe had come inside, but she hadn't seen Satine. She thought she was with the Armorer, but as she rushed past her wife she couldn't see her and she turned towards the entrance of the cave as they called for her again.

"You have to help!" One of the Mandalorians shouted. "It's only just happened-"

"What's happened?" Bo demanded angrily.

"That Griffin took her." Another Mandalorian shouted.

"Took who?!" Bo snapped back.

"Satine."

"What?" Bo grabs the Mandalorian by the front of the armor. "Why weren't you watching her?!" She yells at them. Her heart seized, and it takes Bo a minute to register that it's fear she's feeling.

"I don't... she wandered off when we weren't looking." They stammer, and Bo shoves them to the ground.

"I'm going after them. Where is its lair?"

"On the other side of the mountain." The Mandalorian says as Din and Paz come running out.

"What's happened?"

"The Griffin took Satine." Bo says as the Armorer and Ahsoka come running up next. They look around for Satine, and Bo gives them a desperate look. "Stay here. I'm going to rescue her." She puts on her helmet.

"Bo be careful." Ahsoka tells her, and Bo gives her a grim nod.

"I'll bring her back." She turns and starts walking quickly toward her ship.

"I'm going." Din says, and Paz follows. Bo doesn't argue as they board the ship and sets off full throttle as the others watch below.

The Armorer looks at Ahsoka. Feels her heart twist. Ahsoka puts a hand on her arm. Squeezes.

"We're no use out here." Ahsoka says gently. "Bo will save her."

The Armorer looks at the departing ship. "I pray you are right."

As the ship faded into darkness, Satine found herself deposited in a cave. The Griffin forcing her further inside as she scrambled to get her footing.

She turns as the Griffin screams at her, and a few more come out of hiding. Babies. Satine realises with fright.

"No. Please don't eat me." Satine says loudly. She puts out her hands and prays to the force that they will stop.

Please. I'm a friend.

She waits for the inevitable. Never seeing the light of day again. Instead, the a baby Griffin nudges her hand, and she breathes out sharply.

The larger Griffin that took her, Satine thinks. Must be there, mother. She sits down, blocking the entrance to the cave, and watches carefully.

"I guess you're not so mean." Satine tells the creature. She reaches out and scratches her ears as the babies, which are the size of Satine, gather around her. "But my family will be worried that you took me."

The Griffin nudges her head against Satine's hand.

"I guess I can stay a while. You know, my family found me." Satine tries to explain. "I was lost, my mother died. And they took me in."

The Griffin coos.

"It was nice of them. I don't understand everything about being Mandalorian. But I like feeling safe." Satine sighs. "Can you maybe not kidnap me again though?"

The Griffin nods, like it understands her.

"Thank you." Satine smiles. And she leans against its side as it's babies, although she's not sure that's the right word curl up around her to keep her warm.

By the time morning arrives, Satine gently removes herself from the pile, and the mother Griffin wakes with her. She moves to the cave and peers out into the sunlight as Satine follows, and hears distant voices.

"I think I have to go now." Satine explains.

The Griffin tilts her head and flaps her wings.

"I can come back and visit, I think?" Satine adds. "Thank you for letting me go."

The Griffin tilts her head as a fearful cry of Satine comes from the left. She turns and raises her hands as Bo levels her blasters at them and jumps in front of the Griffin as it rears up.

"Stop it!" Satine holds out her hands. "It's okay!" She looks at Bo desperately and notices Din and Paz.

"Satine, it will kill you." Paz says.

"Come here slowly." Din adds.

Satine looks between them and reaches up to bring the Griffins head close to hers. She presses its her forehead against the griffins, a thank you; as she steps back and it retreats to the cave.

Din and Paz exchange a look behind Bo, wondering what the heck they just witnessed and whether or not they should tell the Armorer.

Bo puts away her blasters as Satine approaches and grabs her tightly. "What were you thinking? You could've been killed!" Bo raises her voice at her, and Satine feels the worry in the force.

"I'm sorry." Satine apologised softly. She throws her arms around Bo and feels herself being lifted up. "I won't do it again."

"You're grounded." Bo says, holding her tight. "Thank the force you're okay. I was so worried." And Bo realises, she was. She might be upset for not being told she had kin, but she couldn't stand it, no matter how firm she came across, if something happened to Satine.

Satine swallows hard. She doesn't care that she's grounded. She was grateful that Bo was here. She buries her face in her shoulder pauldron.

"Can we go home?"

Bo nods. "Yeah."

"Are you mad at me? I know you don't really like -" Satine doesn't finish her sentence, overwhelmed. But she wants Bo to know she can sense how upset she is around her.

"It's not that I don't like you, Satine." Bo looks at Din and Paz, and they walk ahead, back towards the ship. "But you just remind me of my sister, and it scares me."

"That's why you don't like to be around me?" Satine asks softly.

"That's why it hurts me to be around you. But we can work on that, okay?" Bo answers, and Satine nods, hugging her tighter.

Bo swallows hard. "Come on. Ahsoka and the Armorer are both worried, too." She adds, "They aren't mad okay?"

Satine nods again, greatful to be going home.

"Bo?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"I'm glad you rescued me." Satine says, thanking her. "I'm glad you don't hate me."

Bo swallows hard, a lump forming in her throat and puts a gloved hand on the back of Satine's head. "Rest Satine. We'll be home soon."

[chopper-base]

Honor the Fallen

Summary: The missing scene after the Venator crashed into the moon, leaving Ahsoka and Rex to uncover their fallen brothers.

Warnings: Canon deaths, I cried writing this-

Ahsoka bit the inside of her lip as she pulled yet another body out the wreckage. The orange paint that decorated the helmet stared back at her. She had given up holding the tears back after pulling the second body out hours ago.

A choked sob from behind her had her turning towards her captain. He was holding another body in his arms, the Republic cog painted distinctly on the front of the helmet.

Jesse.

The ARC's armor was now painted with dirt and grime, but the 501st blue stuck out against the wreckage around them. His chest plate was cracked right over where his heart used to beat.

Rex looked up from his best friend, locking eyes with the young Togruta. Tears were spilling down the blonde clone's cheeks, following the same track as the previous ones.

Ahsoka picked up the body she had found as Rex picked up Jesse's unmoving one. They both walked them out of the wreckage, laying them beside their brothers. Their vode.

The two continued to pull body after body out of the wreckage, laying them gently outside what was left of the ship until only Ahoska went back in. Rex began to dig into the dirt, giving his fallen vode a final resting place that wasn't the trampled dirt of a battlefield.

When Ahsoka returned, cradling another one of his vode, he had only finished digging the first grave. Ahsoka carried the fallen soldier to the grave, gently laying him down in the ground. Rex reached up, removing his vod's helmet revealing the face he'd seen a thousand times.

Ahsoka rested her hand on Rex's shoulder, looking down at her Captain. "Rex," he looked up to meet her eyes, "Let us give them all the burial they all deserve."

Rex looked back to his vod once more before setting the helmet carefully beside him. He grabbed the shovel again, hesitating before pouring the dirt over the grave.

They both repeated the process over and over again, removing each helmet carefully, setting it utop a rifle dug into the dirt of every grave.

Ahsoka stood back, looking over the sea of now empty helmets, knowing all too well what lay beneath each one. Her lightsaber was held tightly in her hand, the blue blade never to be ignited by her again. She watched it roll out of her hand, landing with a soft thud in the dirt by her feet.

Rex appeared beside her, taking a last look across the field of graves, setting his hand gently on her shoulder. "Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la."

Ahsoka looked over to him, a slight questioning look on her face. Rex met her gaze, a saddened smile spread across his lips. "That was Mando'a." It wasn't a question. She knew enough of the language to recognize when it was spoken.

"Yes," Rex looked out once more, "It means 'Not gone, merely marching far away'. It… it only seemed right."

Ahsoka felt a small smile work its way onto her face. "It does." She took a shaky breath. "Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la, ori’vode. Rest well."

[vodeanzine]

Hey All!

All orders have been shipped now! We are sorry about the delay in shipping due to the weather. If you do not have tracking info, please check your junk mail and contact us though our social media or email. PLEASE INCLUDE your email order number and name on the order to help us find you asap.

Enjoy your orders, Vode! We will be announcing leftover sales and digital sales in the new year!

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

[disastertriowriting]

Yeah, I should have posted this a couple weeks ago, but I was lazy. Lol. This is for the square "ghosts". :D

Nu Kyr'adyc, Shi Taab'echaaj'la

They promised each other forever. They promised each other that their love with withstand the war, the pressure, the burdens of leadership, and the inevitable power imbalance between them. They promised each other that their love would outburn the stars themselves. But in war, nothing is a guarantee, and that is something Anika and Fives know all too well.

[valkeakuulas]

7/32 with Fox/Wolffe?

Fox and Wolffe, eh? Let's go then! Beware the sadness! Also, this Wolffe does not yet have his eye scar because this happens quite early in the war. Wolffe also talks about his almost-death. Angst is also there, me thinks. Tears. 

Also, this got LOOOOOOOOOOOOONG.

7. “I almost lost you.” + 32. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”’

The comm kept trying to make contact, only for the light to flash red again.

Silently, Fox tried again, pressing the code by hand instead of repeat dialling them. There was always the chance that he had put the code wrong, that’s why there was no answer. 

(He had not put it wrong, Fox’s memory was too perfect to do a mistake like that.)  

Finally, after the fourth try, the comm was picked up.

“What?” a tired, gruff voice and all the way on the other end of the galaxy demanded. The holo was engaged quickly after that, revealing a the worn out face and upper body. 

The moment Fox’s eyes landed on Wolffe’s face, it was like invisible strings that had been holding him upright cut off. He collapsed backwards against the bunk wall and covered his face with his free hand. 

“Fox? Are you alright?” Wolffe asked, worry lacing his voice but even then it was clear that the other man must be dead on his feet.

“Nothing, just - just wanted to make sure,“ Fox started and stopped because both of his hands were starting to shake, meaning the holo was shaking as well. 

Slowly, carefully, Fox placed the comm on the bunk next to him. He could hear Wolffe move on his bunk, probably sitting up properly while Fox was just leaning there, boneless. 

“Fox? Talk to me. What’s going on?” Wolffe’s soft words nearly broke something inside Fox, and he inhaled loudly.

“I almost lost you,” Fox said, unable to stop the shudder in his voice. Wolffe fell silent but now that Fox had gotten the words out, he couldn’t stop. “I knew about the missing warships, of course I knew, but I wasn’t aware that your General had been deployed to investigate them. Not before - before - “

“Before our ship got attacked,” Wolffe finished, and the hand Fox still used to hide his face, spasmed, fingers curling near painfully. 

Silence fell between the two, the only sounds being Fox’s loud, shuddering breathing and Wolffe’s steady one. 

“I thought I was going to die in that pod,” Wolffe started quietly, and Fox had to bite his lip. “Stuck there and wait for the air finish until I would suffocate. I couldn’t even get out and die beside my men because of all the fucking cycles, I chose that one not to wear my armor.”

Fox dropped his hand, using it to muffle the painful keen escaping from him but now he couldn’t hide the tears in his eyes as looked at Wolffe. That had been the worst part when the rapports had come in; to read that Wolffe had been stuck inside an escape pod, helpless. 

“I could only watch how the General and Boost and Sinker fought off the clankers, Fox. There was nothing, nothing I could do.”

On the holo, Wolffe closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deep, shoulders rising and falling. 

“A part of me was so angry at myself, for leading my men into death and then being unable to avenge them. That the only thing I could do was to witness them floating in the space, frozen to death.” 

Wolffe opened his eyes and he stared at Fox’s. 

Fox dropped the hand but he was unable to stop the tears that slowly started to glide down his cheeks. “ Nu kyr'adyc,” he started.

“...  shi taab'echaaj'la,” Wolffe finished. 

Another silence fell between them. 

Fox swallowed and he looked away quickly before looking at Wolffe again. “When I read the first rapport, the one that told about your Venator having gone down, the only thing I could feel was regret,” he murmured, swallowing again when Wolffe’s gaze sharpened, eyes narrowing. “Regret and fear. We’ve known from the beginning of this war that our days are numbered, and that has kept me from saying certain things, things that I regretted so much at that moment.”

Wolffe blinked, his expression shifting. “Fox,” he said, soft and almost pleading.

He cut the air in front of him with sharp hand move. “No. You have no idea how many times I imagined you dead during the past 36 hours. Even after finding out that you had been saved, I kept calling you and waiting them to tell that there had been a mistake, that you hadn’t been saved.”

Fox knew he was all but snarling at the other man, which should’ve alarmed him that he was still very upset about this whole Abregado mess so it didn’t. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified, Wolffe. Terrified that it took me this to realise it. So this is it: I am in love with you and you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Wolffe opened and closed his mouth for a few times, his eyes suddenly wider than they had been during the conversation. Eventually, he gave Fox a gentle, somewhat amused look.

“You really are a dramatic di’kut,” he murmured, and Fox couldn’t stop himself from laughing wetly but before he could retaliate, Wolffe continued. “I love you too, Fox. I was planning on telling you that once we got back in Coruscant but it seems you stole my thunder. Again.”

The tears started coming again but this time Fox wiped them away. He laughed again, the sound wet and hitched. “Serves you right. Asshole.”

Wolffe chuckled, settling on his back on the bunk and relaxing. “Hey now, is that the polite way to call the love of your life?” he teased. 

“Oh shut up,” Fox huffed, wiping furiously his eyes. He swallowed a few times, looking at Wolffe. “I really do love you,” he murmured, “and I’m sorry that told it to you like this.”

“I’m sorry you had to realise it the way you did,” Wolffe simply replied, shrugging awkwardly. 

Sighing, Fox shook his head. “It’s alright. Should’ve realised it faster. ... How long until you land?”

Wolffe glanced to the side, checking on something. “We’ve got four more cycles in hyperspeed, then just regular sublight travel for about two cycles.”

Fox nodded. “I’ll come and meet you.”

“I would like that very much,” Wolffe whispered.

The other man smiled at the promise and for the first time in over a tenday Fox felt something close to normal.

[burningfieldof-clover]

nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la

[keldabe]

Mandalorian Death, Memory and Honor

Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum Daily remembrance of those passed on *I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.* Followed by repetition of loved ones' names.

Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. Not gone, merely marching far away. (Tribute to a dead comrade.)

Munit tome'tayl, skotah iisa translation: long memory, short fuse - said to be the typical Mando mindset

Mando'ad draar digu translation: A Mandalorian never forgets.

In the daily remembrance, it is through the actions of the living (by remembering and repeating the saying) that the dead become eternal, not because the dead exist in their own right in an afterlife (I will later write about Mandalorian concepts of soul, heaven, and an afterlife, specifically what "manda" is).

Similarly, this action of honoring the dead is not for the dead's sake, but for the living. The dead are owed honor and respect, not for the sake of the dead receiving honor but for the sake of the living showing respect.

In the season one finale, Din asks Cara to let him have "A warrior's death". Dying in battle is one of the highest honors, something which makes sense for a warrior and warring culture. Dying in battle is needed to war, thus it is valued using honor.

As the latter two Mando'a sayings suggest, there is a concept that Mandalorians hold grudges, they don't forget wrong actions. For Mandalorians, vengeance is an act of justice.

So you have a culture that encourages remembering the dead, but also remembering the wronged. It encourages vengeances, and it encourages war. Not only this, it gives a moral reward to the cost of war, ie dying in battle ie a warrior's death.

Mando'a sayings and translations courtesy of mandoa.org