Moderndayscribing - Scribing Away Little Chips In The Wall

so, here’s some bad news. earlier today I went to join my online classes. Normal, right? Totally normal thing to do on a school day. Except there was no update what so ever and I started to get worried. Then I found out all my other classmates got updated. I thought ‘Hey, maybe its a technical error,’ and Private Messaged my teacher so tell her that I couldn’t get access to the lesson. Then she laid down the news. I’m no longer able to join online classes until my family has paid the overdue fees. A few minutes ago I got a text from a different teacher, also stating the same. If my father - the only working adult in my family, my mom is a stay at home mom - cannot come up with enough cash to pay the fees, then that’s done. Granted, I have faith that my dad will be able to come up with something. He’s the most resourceful, hardworking and family oriented man I know. I respect him and I trust him fully. But I also love him, and I hate the sight of him coming back home every day so tired. And I hate the fact that I can do nothing about it. Except, hey, maybe I can. I don’t mean to sound like a broken record, but I still have commissions open. I have my patreon link which I’ll put at the bottom of this post. Look, I know I probably can’t even do much. But I want to do something. I want to help contribute to my own education. Anything. And I mean, even then, please don’t feel too pressured. If you’re already planning on giving something to someone who’s life is worse - which I’m sure there are plenty - then please give it to them first. I won’t die, I won’t go hungry (hopefully) and I’m sure it’ll all blow over. But I still want to do something. Anything, if I can. That’s why I’m making this post. Thank you for reading this far. I truly, tremendously appreciate even sticking around. Thank you. Ily. https://www.patreon.com/modernscrib3

etymology of weapons in mando’a

this is all speculative, but i’ve been teasing apart the different etymologies for mandalorian weapons in hopes of being able to come up with new words for other weapons (like bow, which has no equivalent in mando’a).

beskad - a slightly curved sword of mandalorian iron. bes is likely derived from beskar, and -kad means sword or saber. 

tracy’uur - a blaster. tracy is derived from tracyn, or the word for fire (both the burning kind and the shooting kind). uur is more of a mystery. uur by itself means silence, so perhaps blasters are associated with firing more quietly than the slugthrowers that proceeded them. 

bes’bev - mandalorian wind instrument also used for combat: a large metal flute with a sharpened, cut-off end. bes could again come from beskar considering the weapon is metallic, but it could also be derived from the word for music, bes’laar. bev could come from either bev, the word for needle or spike, or bevik, the word for stick (which itself is probably derived from bev, but whatever).

beviin - mandoa.org lists the definition as “lance”, but i’d wager it’s better translated as “spear”, considering that irl lances were a specialized type of spear developed millennia after the invention of the spear. bev comes from bev, which we’ve established means needle or spike. -viin could derive from iviin meaning speed, or viinir meaning run, both because of the speed that is required to stab with a spear.

kal  - it’s defined as “blade”, but i posit a better equivalent would be either “dagger or knife”, considering the existence of the mandalorian kal dagger. kal is one letter off from kad (sword or saber), but i’d argue that kal came first because irl we invented knives before swords, so it makes sense for the taungs to have done the same.

jetii’kad - lightsaber. this one is easy because it’s a compound word - jetii means jedi and kad means saber.

kad’au - an alternate word for lightsaber. it’s another compound word with kad meaning saber, but au is a little harder to suss out the origin. the only other word that uses au as a suffix is gaan’au, meaning laser pointer (sidenote: no i have no idea why kt thought this was an important word to have in her conlang). considering a lightsaber is also a laser and we can rule out gaan as meaning laser (it means hand), i feel confident that au means laser, so kad’au literally translates as “laser sword” (another sidenote: this is hilarious and i also now have a mental image of obi-wan using his lightsaber like a laser pointer in a council meeting)

besbe'trayc - weapons. this is a compound word constructed from the word besbe meaning kit, and trayc, which is derived from tracyn, meaning fire.

be’senaar - defined as “missile”, though i think it could also be a word for projectiles of any variety, including arrows. senaar means bird and be’ is a possessive, so projectiles are literally said to belong to the birds, likely because they’re launched through their domain.

tracyaat - artillery. tracy comes from tracyn aka fire, which we’ve seen before. -aat shows up in several other words in mando’a, but i’d argue the most logical meaning is related to the word trat’ade, meaning force. that would make the literal meaning of tracyaat fire-force.

marev - fist. this is the one that gave me the most grief. the closest related word i could find was marekar, meaning navigation. it’s possible to navigate using your hand and a knowledge of the stars, so the best i could come up with is that mare meant hand in some proto-mando language, and rev, which shows up nowhere else in the entire lexicon, is a root that implies that the hand is clenched

shuk’orok - crushgaunt. shuk derives from shukalar, to crush, and -orok is derived from kom’rk, meaning gauntlet. kom’rk and -orok look different, but they have a similar pronunciation of kohm-or-rohk and -oh-rok respectively. 

Writing Prompt #3

‘You have 10 days to live.’

Mortality is a dark subject to dwell on.

We don’t often think about what happens when we die, after it, about the death itself. Often times, we go through our daily lives without even being reminded that we are such fragile things.

I lived that kind of life; a life where I went by the days with a kind of reckless, careless freedom.

Perhaps you could call me ignorant, or oblivious. All living creatures die, but with the way I had lived you would’ve guessed I was chasing death.

I wasn’t. I had no intention of dying. I wanted to live. To live without regret, to look back and to say ‘I’m happy with the way I lived’.

That sentence ran through my head when I learned I had 10 days to live. A measly 10 days - barely more than a week - was all that my goodwill had earned.

Yet amidst the raging thoughts one would usually experience when faced with their own mortality, there was one clear sentence. Found beneath the piles of fear, of anger, of ‘why me?’, there it was, clear as day.

‘I’m happy with the way I lived.’

And I was.

Truly, genuinely happy.

After I realised it, it was easier for me to accept my fate. At least, as easy as it can be.

Those around me took longer; longer nights spent holding them while they cried, longer hours spent pounding away at locked doors because I cannot stand not seeing them again before I left.

I didn’t even tell most people. Those who had been with me for years and years, defended me from all sorts of monsters, and yet I kept this secret from them.

I wished I had enough time to tell them, to be able to tell them and be there to reassure them. But I barely had time to comfort the ones closest to me, and to convince them to accompany me on my plan.

My last journey.

I only had a few days left, after spending them on clearing all my extra affairs. It was then that I realised I had been lucky, in a sick and twisted way.

At the very least, I knew enough to plan for it.

After all affairs had been settled, we packed our bags into our car and went on a road trip. We called out buildings, sighs, horses, cows, fields, mountains, lakes, parks, people. We stopped and ate at the most questionable diner I had ever stepped into - and that was truly saying something, as I’d walked into multiple questionable diners.

We traveled and slept and talked. After a while on the road, I’d noticed that the others had began to relax slightly, to enjoy this final journey I’d planned, to live in the moment with someone without many moments left.

I was glad they did. It made the journey easier for me.

After all that traveling, we’d finally arrive at our destination. 

A long bridge, suspended high above a river valley. From the centre, a single piece of cord.

It had been unanimous that I were to go first. The man in charge fixed a harness around my torso, gave the cord a few more experimental tugs, then nodded an affirmative in my direction.

I took in a deep breath, then I jumped.

After it, my friends had applauded me on my bravery. They called me reckless, as always. I smiled cheekily in return, as I’ve always done.

And then we went home.

Bungee jumping had been the last thing on my bucket list. My last hurrah to the life I’d lived before I learned the news.

I was happy, but oh I wished I’d lived longer. Of course I would. I had plans that went on for years, dreams that plummeted like a deflated balloon.

But I dealt with the hand I was given, and while it was truly a shit hand, I was satisfied enough.

9 and 3/4 days after the news, I climbed to the roof of my apartment. The stars still peeked out beneath the ever-brightening sunrise sky, and I had wanted to see them one more time.

One last time.

Despite how dark the subject of mortality can be, Death always came on time.

And I was ready for it.

I made a spicy meme for you all

sometimes I forget Tumblr exists and that I have a space in this void for me to scream in. 

Anyway,

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909794/chapters/71047512#workskin

‘what he would’ve wanted,’ has been updated! That’s right, I asked myself, “what should I give out to the world today” and my answer was “pain”

“No one?” Master Skywalker’s fragile hope was shattered, and the shards were there in his voice.

Yes Mister Skywalker, not even your holy Jedi-ness is exempt from the angst I have for you. Now open wide-

CNN referred to Native Americans as “something else” on their voter demographic poll last night. The poll on the screen read like this:

White

Black

Latino

Something else

Asian

We weren’t declared as citizens of our own stolen land until 1924. We didn’t get the right to vote (in all states) until the early 1960’s.

And yet non-natives can’t even refer us as Indigenous people when we’re a part of the electoral process.

oh my god OP

OP

You can’t just give me this opportunity and expect me to let it be 

oh my god

mind if I switch it up slightly? yeah? okay great anyway-

There’s a man that stands in the alleyway.

He stands with his blaster out. His grip is relaxed - experienced. His shoulders are tense and his stance ready - also experienced. 

Grogu, hidden in an alcove of the wall and staring down, should’ve expected this. This man wore Mandalorian armour. Whether or not he earned it or stole it, he would need the skills to even get a hand on the beskar.

(Other Mandalorians might not have the skill to get the Beskar)

And certainly not so much of it. The armour is silver and unpainted. Grogu has half a mind to try and shoot him in the leg guards just to see if those were beskar too.

But he’s not a fool. Mostly.

Grogu wears beskar too. He has had it reforged to fit him; the armour of his late father. He wears it with pride and guards it with ferocity, like how his father had done before him, and how every Mandalorian has done, had done, and will do.

He walks the way of Mandalore. Not many do.

Grogu’s job is to make sure this man does.

He whistles a long, low tune.

The man jolts subtly - surprised. He whistles back.

Grogu finds a tug of a smile on his face. It would be good to have another addition to the covert, to the people. Mandalorians were strong alone, but they were stronger together.

His helmet whirrs softly. A signal that it’s efforts of connecting to the man’s helmet were successful. Good; Grogu needs the privacy of the comm channel for this next bit.

“Su cuy’gar (Hello; You’re still alive),” Grogu says into the link. He snorts, amused as the man jolts again. “Relax, I’m just in your helmet.”

The man does not relax, but Grogu didn’t expect him too. The phrase ‘I’m in your helmet,’ is not meant to be calming.

“I didn’t...know there were other Mandalorians here,” the man replies.

Grogu frowns. His voice. His voice is familiar - it tugs at him, it hurts. Grogu blinks slowly; now taking in that armour slowly. With every second that passes, Grogu finds it harder to breathe.

His gaze finally falls onto the man’s pauldron, and his signet.

“You’re not from here...” he breathes.

The man tenses further. “No...I just landed on this planet-”

“You’re not from here,” Grogu interrupts him, drawling his voice out. His mind is whirling. He chances a glance into the Force and is nearly knocked over by the sheer intensity of wrong.

The man is not from here - and more importantly, he’s not supposed to be here.

“Take off your helmet.”

The words are out of his mouth before Grogu even registers he opened it. He winced in the dark shadows of the alcove. If he said it to any other Mandalorian, he would’ve gotten a blaster shot right in the beskar and would’ve deserved it.

Understandably, the man tenses. His grip on his blaster tightens. Grogu remembers the skill the man has-

Grogu remembers.

Grogu remembers this man.

The man with the mudhorn signet.

Grogu steps out of the alcove. The man instantly shifts his Visor to stare at him - and Grogu can see him physically recoil in shock.

Wordless and swift - then Grogu stands on the floor of the alleyway. The man is taller than him (everyone is taller than him) but Grogu’s own Visor meets the man’s unflinchingly.

That’s a lie. Grogu is shaking. His breaths sound too loud and instinct calls for him to calm down.

The man is silent as he stares down at him. Grogu can see his blaster shake.

Grogu expels a sharp breath of air. He reaches up to his own head and takes off his helmet in one clean swoop.

His ears twitch - uneasy and unused to being out in the open like this after so long. His being screams at him to put it back on, but he grips the side of his helmet and forces it to be quiet.

The man. The man doesn’t speak. Grogu doesn’t even know if he breathes.

“...Grogu?”

Grogu’s helmet falls from his hands as Buir (father) takes off his own.

“Buir-”

Grogu’s father - Din Djarin - a man who died when he was a child, rushes forward to catch his son as Grogu falls to his knees.

Din: Who are you and where did you get that pendant?

Grogu(Teen): *takes his hood down* My name is Grogu and I am from the future.

Time travel AU

i’m teaching a tiny little girl to say “nonbinary” and she keeps saying “no banana” and once she said “none bananananary” and honestly? close enough, she’s adorable and her parents are super chill with me and they already taught her to say genderfluid (to her it’s genner-flooood) and transgender (trains genner) and a bunch of sexualities so now i’m adding “none bananananary” to the mix