Happy International Men's Day

What’s Your Ideal Place To Relax?

There is this place, in my head, that never fails to come to my aid. It is there when I need it most, and it has never not been there for me. I could joke that I trust this mental vision of a place that does not exist more than I trust some people in my life.

The vision takes place in the sunset. Or perhaps it is the sunrise. It mostly depends on my current mood at the time. The sky is orange and purple, blending together like paint on a canvas. The sun is gentle - a source of light, and only barely a source of heat so that I am comfortable. Sometimes there are clouds; soft ones, fluffy ones that feel you up with warmth as you imagine snuggling with one of them in your bed.

I am always sitting under a large tree. My back is pressed against the trunk, snuggled in its curves and twists in a way that suits me best. There is a picnic blanket beneath me - a red and white checkered pattern that’s gentle on the eyes. A flask of hot chocolate stands pressed against my thigh, a welcome source of warmth and sweetness. There are no books with me - nothing you would take with you for entertainment.

I don’t really need them.

A few steps away from my picnic blanket, the flower field starts. Sometimes they are sunflowers - bright and cheery, reaching up tall towards the sun. Sometimes they are simply flowers - colourful, vibrant, healthy, magical. The field follows the decline of the hill, and up the next one until there is nothing but bumps of flowers as far as the eye can see. 

There is no sign of human life, here. There is no one except for me. I can lean my head against the trunk of the tree and close my eyes - I can breathe in a deep breath and know that I am safe, in this place.

If I were to tilt my head back far enough and peer through the leaves of the trees, I can see the stars above my head. Glorious against a backdrop of purple and dark blue - of black, at times, at some spots. They twinkle down at me as they retreat away from the sun and sometimes I wave them goodbye - or hello.

I don’t know if such a place exists in reality. I only know that it exists in my reality - and my reality is, at times, all I really need.

Hades

He missed his wife. The King, the God of the Dead, in all his power and glory felt like a miserable slob without his wife. Persephone, Bringer of Death, Bringer of Light in his life. She had gone to live with her mother up on the mortal realm. Such was their agreement. She’ll come back to him in a few months - but before that happened, he was to live in The Underworld by himself. At least, that was what he’d assume. Pompeii had been devastating. All those dead - all those people crowding his realm. All the extra work he’d been faced with.  All the pain. The Dead of Pompeii had not died peaceful deaths. He knew he should be back on his throne. He had other Dead to attend to. Other Dead to sort out. He was The King, The God - and he had a duty to fulfill. Yet he cannot help himself from enjoying this walk. The Child’s still bouncy steps beside him - despite what horrors she had faced. The way she constantly tried to meet his gaze; and he would meet hers. Her eyes. Reminded him of his dear Persephone. Perhaps that was why he found himself to be relaxed, despite the multitude of tasks that hung above his head. “To find your Mama,” Hades said, glancing down towards Agata’s wide eyes. “You’ll have to go through The Process.” Agata’s eyebrows furrowed just slightly. Her fear picked up, tinging the air with an unpleasant smell. “The...process?” she echoed. Her grip on his hand tightened slightly. “What process?” Hades glanced away, back towards their path. It occurred to him suddenly that she might not know... Should he tell her? Should he meet The Child’s gaze squarely, look at her, and tell her what had happened to her when Mount Vesuvius erupted? Or maybe, he ought to let her cling onto that Children’s Ignorance for just a little bit longer? What should The King do?

So I wrote a song in Mando'a a while back, and I finally remembered to post it here :P

Te Nau teh te Me'suum'ika...

===

Te nau teh te me’suum’ika nau’ur te kurs,

<<The light from the moon illuminates the forest.>>

Te cin sarade bat te kurshise, jii dral pak,

<<The white flowers on the trees, now glowing silver>>

Te senaare laararir bah solus ashi, val laararir bah te ca’tra

<<The birds sing to each other, they sing to the night sky >>

...

Te nau teh te ka’ra nau’ur te kurshise,

<<The light from the stars illuminates the trees>>

Te shi’yayc sarade, jii dral ve’vut,

<<The yellow flowers, now glowing gold>>

Te senaare laararir bah solus ashi, val laararir bah te ka’ra

<<The birds sing to each other, they sing to the stars>>

...

Te nau te teh me’suum’ika nau’ur te suumpir,

<<the light from the moon illuminates the lake>>

Te nau redalur bat te kebiin sarade,

<<the light dances on the blue flowers>>

Te senaare laararir bah solus ashi, val laararir bah te ca’tra,

<<The birds sing to each other, they sing to the night sky>>

Te nau teh te me’suum’ika nau’ur te kurs,

<<The light from the moon illuminates the forest.>>

Te cin sarade bat te kurshise, jii dral pak,

<<The white flowers on the trees, now glowing silver>>

Te senaare laararir bah solus ashi, val laararir bah te me’suum’ika

<<The birds sing to each other, they sing to the moon >>

Val laararir bah te me’suum’ika...

<<they sing to the moon>>

===

If you use this in something like a fic or something, please credit and tag me! I'd love to read it! <3

Also- I'll edit in a recording of me singing this later for the tune. Right now I can't do that, but I'll do it later :)

literally how are you supposed to reach the end of the rainbow this way-

[Retweet]

oh, hello.

i’ve been doing well thank you. school will start soon for me so that’s not fun.

writing? well i haven’t been writing too much, but i did start up a new docs about the mandalorian.

it’s going well so far, thanks. 

is it angsty?

“You know you look nothing like him,” she murmured softly - lightly stroking the line of his ears. “But every time I look at you, it’s like-”

Grogu reached forward, resting a tri-fingered hand on Ba’vodu Cara’s slightly damp cheek.

A shaky breath passed. Then another, tinged with a sob. In a quick, sudden movement, Grogu was pressed into Ba’vodu’s chest as she dropped to her knees.

i guess you can call it that.

Writing Prompt #4

‘Bartender.’

To be frank, the only reason I was here was because the pay was good.

Almost too good, for such an easy job in my opinion. All I had to do was serve drinks - that were in labelled bottles, mind you - and to know when a person was red-faced enough to cut them off.

I didn’t even have to deal with the drunkards that often, they rarely came over to this particular establishment.

I guess I was just lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time. A poster on a lamp post, a chilly Wednesday morning, and a wallet that was only getting emptier. Then it was just a hop, skip and a twirl away to the club.

Well, they say club. It looks more like a cafe to me. Admittedly, most cafes don’t sell alcohol, but most clubs were loud and rowdy and wholly annoying.

Whoever designed this club had comfort in their mind; with large and lush armchairs, warm and rustic colours, and low-hanging dim lanterns. The atmosphere was almost always cozy - except of course for the times someone got too rowdy with the bottles.

There I was, minding my own business. Cleaning the glasses with a rag and nodding my head along to the tunes that floated out of the speakers.

Then she walked in.

I won’t be cliche. I won’t say that heads turned when she walked through the door. I won’t say that the speakers stuttered to a stop thanks to some magically timed malfunction. I won’t say her presence was magnetic, and that she’d be forever imprinted in the minds of the other people in the cafe.

Mostly because all that didn’t happen. Also because I’m not one for cliches.

But then she walked over to my counter. 

Ordered a drink.

Took out her phone.

I mean, all normal things, right? I thought so too. I paid her no mind.

I served her drink, talked about how it looked like it was going to rain, then went back to work.

Eventually, she finished her drink, left her pay - along with a tip that I appreciated - on the counter,  and walked out.

And that was it.

She didn’t even leave her number on the counter, so I filed that memory as insignificant and continued on with my life.

That was it.

It was, honest.

Though, while we’re on the subject of honesty-

I lied, she did leave her number on the counter.

Though, I’d dealt with lots of these before. I wasn’t exactly unattractive, if you’d catch my drift.

Most of the time, I’d ignore them. Throw them in the recycling, never look back.

This time though, I thought, what’s the worst that could happen?

Oh boy.

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. 

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

AHUSIHWIUASIWHHSIUAHSUWIHSUIHW YOU TOO

but sir that’s my emotional support mutual who’s way cooler than me that i can’t believe actually follows me