The Masterlist | Mudhornchronicles

the masterlist | mudhornchronicles

DIN DJARIN | THE MANDALORIAN

that cantina

hands

uh oh

promise

check ups

festivals

reds: maroon | sanguine | brick 

MARCUS MORENO | WE CAN BE HEROES

suits | buckles

FRANKIE MORALES | TRIPLE FRONTIER

dreamboat: part one | part two | part three | part four |

JAVIER PEÑA | NARCOS

strategies

JACK ‘WHISKEY’ DANIELS | KINGSMAN: GC

teamwork

United As One. || Master Post.

Summary: Din returns home after fulfilling his mission of saving his foundling, after completing it he can now claim his rightful spot as clan leader. There is one problem he needs a wife to secure the future of his clan but his clan is not to happy with his choice and they make that very clear.

Warning/content: None for this part except for blood, wounds and angst but future ones will be 18+, have mature themes, pregnancy and etc. This does contain chapter 16 spoilers!!! No use of y/n.

Clan Leader Din AU

1.  “Marry Me.”  - Din finally returns home to his clan, the reader comes with him but soon finds out she is not wanted. 

2. “Hi pretty girl.” -  While Din is trying to convince the reader to marry him, the elders show their distaste while the reader finds out something that can impact her decision. warning: nsfw 

3. “See me the way no one else has.” - While Din tries to fix what happens between him and the reader another Clan leader comes seeking lodging for the night but he seems to have quiet the interest in the reader. **coming soon**

i love this.

déjà vu - oneshot

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F!Reader Rating: M Word count: 2,817 Notes: I’ve had this idea since the trailer first dropped, but tweaked it a little bit after watching the movie. I had fun with the movie and I had fun writing for a new character, too. Warnings: Implied/referenced sex, pining, mentions of death/grieving process

masterlist || read on ao3

Keep reading

Based on this post by @thecyndimistuff that I couldn’t get out of my head. Not sure when or if I’ll get to finish this since uni is starting to take over my life again, so have this WIP in the meantime! :)

Here’s the trifecta- angst, smut, and fluff (a long one lol) Frankie has been in love with you for years. As much he valued you as his friend, he couldn’t help this pit in his heart growing every moment he wouldn’t tell you he loved you. After you get a promotion you two get drinks to celebrate, one thing leads to another and you wake up naked beside each other in his bed. You two immediately take the route of pretending like it never happened. But inevitably days after he breaks into tears telling you he loves you. Even if you don’t feel the same he’ll never regret that night. Even as he accepts you’ll reject him. Which you don’t. You tell him you feel the same, that night you two decide to make it your real first time together. Frankie touches you and holds you and kisses you without restraint like before. Expect sober, and completely emotionally aligned in the love you two finally could admit.

Is it pathetic that this made me burst into tears?

Pairing: Francisco 'Catfish' Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: smut, angst, confessions of love, fluff

A/N: This is one of the best prompts ever, anon. Thank you for sending it in!

[Frankie masterlist]

---

Frankie smiles as you tell him about your day over the phone. He just loves hearing your voice. He loves that he's always the first person you call whenever something important happens.

He loves you.

For the longest time he's tried to tell himself that he didn't love you, but he couldn't lie to himself anymore. He is in love with you and you'll never know.

You'll never know.

Why? Because he is afraid of ruining what you two have--a friendship that has stood the test of time. You two have been through everything together and he isn't about to ruin that because of his bleeding heart, because he can't control his stupid emotions.

Besides it's not like you feel the same. You're career-oriented. You're about to get the promotion you have been waiting for and...you probably won't even have time for him anymore.

"Frankie, are you listening?" you ask him over the phone and he snaps back to reality.

"Y-Yeah. What's up?"

"I said I got the promotion! We gotta celebrate! Drinks on me tonight at our favorite spot, okay?!" You laugh and it makes him smile even bigger. "Meet me at 7."

"Okay. Sounds good," he says. You say your goodbyes and hang up. He sighs and closes his eyes. "Okay."

---

Frankie sits at the bar waiting for you. He had a feeling you'd run a little late but he doesn't mind waiting. He'd wait forever for you.

"Frankie!" you call when you walk into the bar. He takes one look at you and feels his heart skip a beat. You wave excitedly as you walk over to him and he waves awkwardly. The hug you give him takes his breath away in the best way.

"Congrats," he says happily. You pull away and kiss his cheek.

"I'm so happy! Sorry I'm late, by the way. I had to run home and change." You order shots for the both of you.

"You can be as late as you want." He smiles then lifts the shot glass. "To my amazing friend and the smartest person I know."

"Oh, stop it," you laugh, tapping your glass to his then downing the shot. You make a face and Frankie laughs. "Another? Another!"

One drink turned into three or four and you were never one to hold your liquor well. Before things get too crazy, Frankie walks you to his truck and helps you in. Before he can close the door, you grab his face.

"I ever tell you how handsome you are, Francisco," you say.

"You've had too much to drink." He closes the door and walks to his side to get in.

"My car," you exclaim.

"We'll come get it tomorrow." He pulls onto the road. "You'll stay with me tonight since I'm closer. I shouldn't even be driving myself."

"I won't tell anyone." You tap his arm.

---

At his place, you two sit and reminisce about everything. He watches you. God, he loves you. He loves the way you gesture when you talk and the way you laugh. He loves how you blink slowly when you're drunk. He loves that you're sitting so close to him. So close he can smell the perfume you're wearing. It was one of your favorite scents.

And your lips are pressed to his. You're kissing him. He's kissing you back. Goddamn, you taste good. You're in his lap now and he reacts to you immediately. He's had dreams about this, about the way you would look and sound as he made love to you.

Now you're in his bed and wearing less clothing than before. What the hell happened to your clothes? Doesn't matter. He has to make sure though. He has to even if that means he has to stop kissing your delicious lips.

"Should we stop?" he asks and you shake your head.

"Don't you fucking dare," you whimper before kissing him again.

"Are you sure?" He pulls away and looks down at you, disheveled and oh so sexy.

"I'm sure, Frankie. Please."

"God, forgive me," he mumbles, looking up to the ceiling before setting his eyes on you again. "I want you so fucking bad."

That's all it takes. One little confession. Well, not the confession but one of them. And then he's naked and you're naked. You're on top of him, riding him, and he's in fucking heaven. He has to be dead. There's no way this is actually happening. How do you feel so fucking good?

No, it's real because he's touching you and you're responding to his touch. Then his fingers are in your mouth as you swirl your hips on him. God, that's fucking hot.

Not long after that, he's on top of you giving you his all and you take it, you take all of him. You cry out his name and he groans yours.

When he collapses beside you, he wants to say it so badly but you roll out of bed to go use the bathroom. By the time you get back, he's lost the confidence to say it. You lie there staring at the ceiling until you eventually fall asleep. Frankie puts his arm around you and eventually falls asleep himself.

---

In the morning, you groan at the sunlight coming through the window and...

...this isn't your bed. This isn’t your room. You roll over and are face-to-face with Frankie. Your friend Frankie.

"Oh fuck," you whisper. When you move your legs, you realize how sore you are. "Fuck," you say a little louder. Frankie moves in his sleep and you grimace as you try to get out of bed as quietly as possible.

Suddenly, he sits up then holds his head. He turns slowly to find you standing there in nothing but your panties.

"H-Hey...uh..." You search around his room for the rest of your clothes. You avoid eye contact for as long as you can.

"You wanna get break-"

"No! I mean...I have a lot of work to do. I need to get back to my car." You smile awkwardly and walk out the room.

Frankie’s heart sinks as he rolls out of bed and gets dressed quickly. When he leaves the room he's sure he'll find you in the living room but you're not there. In a panic, he checks the bathroom, the kitchen, then opens the front door and finds you sitting on the porch swing. Even with your messy hair and disheveled clothes you look like a goddess.

"So, we-"

"I can't talk about it, Frankie. I'm sorry. I just can't." It isn't that you regret what happened, but...it's a long story.

"Right. I'll take you to your car."

---

The ride to your car is quiet and seems longer than it did last night. You know he wants to say something but you're kind of happy he doesn't.

He pulls up next to your car and you're about to hop out when you feel his hand on your arm.

"Are we just gonna pretend that never happened?" he asks and you can hear the pain in his voice.

"I think that's the best thing, don't you?" You don't even turn to look at him. You can't. If you do surely you'll end up in tears. "See you, Frankie." You get out and close the door before quickly getting in your car and covering your face. "Please drive away, please drive away..." you say quietly. When you uncover your face, Frankie’s truck is gone and tears fill your eyes.

"Fuck," you mumble.

---

This is not how things were supposed to go. You spend the next few days crying yourself to sleep and Frankie does the same. He feels as though he needs to give you space but he misses you. He misses his friend. So much it hurts.

You check your phone constantly but the messages and calls you get are never from him. You tell yourself that you have ruined things once and for all. That is until you come home from work one day and find Frankie’s truck parked in your driveway. You take a few deep breaths before stepping out and find him leaning against the side of the truck. You just nod towards your house once and he follows.

Inside, you both stare at each other. You offer him a drink which he smartly turns down.

"We need to talk," he says and you nod in agreement. He doesn't even wait for you to sit down before he starts to let everything out. "The other day..."

"I'm sorry. We were drinking and I was on a high and-"

"I don't fucking regret it," he says. "I only regret not telling you before we did it." He sniffles and you realize he's crying. "You are one of my best friends. Those few days of not talking to you nearly killed me and...I should have told you..."

"Told me what?"

"That I fucking love you, okay? The only thing I regret about that night is that we weren't completely sober and that we couldn't really enjoy one another but I wouldn't take any of it back. I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Well-"

"I'm not expecting you to say it back, okay? The way you rushed out of there the morning after told me all I needed to know but I just wanted you to know that I love you. I always have and I'll never stop." He takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes.

"Frankie, the only reason I rushed out of there is because I was afraid of how you'd look at me after...that. I was afraid I would be different in your eyes. I was afraid of that because...I love you too and I only want to be the best in your eyes. I want to be the best for you." Now you are crying and trying to laugh it off.

"You love me? Really?" he asks and you nod.

"Of course." You move closer and kiss him gently, cupping his face and wiping his tears. "So so much, Frankie."

He sighs in relief and kisses you again. "I could never look at you differently. You'll always be perfect in my eyes, baby."

"Oh, Frankie," you cry. The kiss he gives you is passionate and deep and special. Your body responds to him in ways it has never responded to anyone else. "I think..." you start. "...I think we need a do-over of the other night."

"Hm? Wait...now?"

"We don't have to. We can just talk if you wa-"

Frankie kisses you hard, pulling you against him until you're on top of him. You pull away. "Bedroom. Let's go." You both stand and you take his hand, leading him to the bedroom. In there, though you are ready to tear the clothes from his body, you both move slowly in order to savor each other this time. He watches, he admires, he loves every inch of your body. You admire his body, your mouth itching to kiss at every scar you see. And you do when you make him lie down.

He gasps and whispers your name when you swirl your tongue around his nipples. You do it until he's whimpering and begging then finally, finally, you make love. And it's slow and sweet and passionate. It's full of kisses and sweet words and moans of each other's names.

He lets you stay on top for as long as you want. When you tire he takes over, carefully flipping you onto your back and entering you a little roughly then apologizes but you kiss the sorrys from his lips and tell him not to stop. There are tears in his eyes that threaten to spill over and you tell him its okay to let them go. So he does. They spill and you wipe and kiss them away.

He is so deep, so so deep but you want more. You need more. You want to become one. Your legs are wrapped around him as you come undone. He grabs one of your hands and squeezes as he follows, moaning your name, followed by a bunch of 'I love yous' that mean more each time he says them.

"I love you too, Frankie." More kisses follow.

You two stay wrapped up in each other all night, holding hands and whispering sweet words. This is what dreams were made of--your dreams and his. This is all you ever wanted.

---

frankie taglist: @fakenoods @oldstuffnewstuff​ @the-bird-suit​ @lestrange2703​ @findhimfives​ @windfallss​ @limenlimon​ @66wookies​ @rach7​ @surfsup666 @theghostwiththemost-babe​ @marshmallow–3​ @mrschiltoncat​ @aplaceofpeace​ @josepedropascal​ @mitchi-c​ @panda-angela​ @jeeperky​ @allthingsnarcos​ @laymegentlytorest​ @stanfordscrush​ @fangirlingss​ @damerondjarin​ @darthdumbasss @helga1031​ @triggerhappyflygirl​ @master-obi-wan-kenboneme​ @ladybeediva​ @heythere80sbaby @deserttastesbitter

permanent taglist: @gallowsjoker​ @magicsuperheroes​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @the-dazzling-urbanite @phoenixhalliwell​ @liveloudwriteloud​ @tumblogbykarapaloma​ @jaime1110​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @pascalz​ @blancatobarxoxo​ @dazedrhapsody @pascalisthepunkest​ @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ @cryptkeepersoul @tiffdawg​ @freak-of-nature2002 @kingpascals​ @saltywintersoldat​ @theocatkov​ @babybelou​ @mandilflorian​ @aeryntheofficial​ @cyaredindjarin​ @winters-buck​ @the-feckless-wonder​ @loki-098​ @arabellathorne @giselatropicana​ @dindisneydjarin​ @punkpascal​ @opheliaelysia​ @takens-world​ @huliabitch​ @stardelic @kandomeresbitch @havenforafrazzledmind​ @thisis-theway​ @stardust-galaxies​ @mrsparknuts​ @jedi-mando​ @frankiemorales @edencherries​ @lilkermit14​ @virtualxjournality​ @ladytrashbird @thirstworldproblemss​ @emesispo​ @heresathreebee​ @tangledlove27​ @marvgrrl​ @clydes-hole​ @hayley-the-comet​ @insoucianttt​ @witchyavenger​ @coaaster​ @starless-eyes-remain​ @wanderlustmags​ @wonderfulfluffer​ @lv7867​ @lovelyasfcuk​ @pedropasscals​ @talesfromtheguild​ @pedroepascal​ @wigwitch​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @theoria850​ @roxypeanut​ @justanotherblonde23​ @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @kenedyybrooklin​ @artsymaddie​ @dindjareen​ @silverfish-kingdom​ @heyitmelexie​ @gredandfeorgesgirl​ @mandaloriandindjarin​ @andriecastana​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​ @ssppoorrkk @amalie-buch​​ @lucifer- @mstgsmy​​ @randomness501​​ @max–phillips​​ @darthadeline​​ @youarenewformetoo @thehippiequilter​​ @whovian-gurl​​ @neverlandlibrarian​​ @chibi-liz05​​ @dragons-of-the-usa​​ @over300books​​ @borderlinedindjarin​​ @mudhornchronicles​​ @cosmoschick​​ @linkpk88 @lovingramsey

i hope everyone is where they want to be! let me know if you want to be changed around! join a taglist here!

maroon | din djarin

gif posted by sledposting 

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: all the fluff, soft!din but then i said sike... angst, mentions of death and violence, also mentions of... sexual encounters?

a/n: lowkey wanna make into a series, but idk if someone has done this. if so, i do apologize. 

masterlist

“You best learn how to weave, girl. A husband wouldn’t be caught dead wearing tattered clothing, let alone a Mandalorian riduur.”

“You must wear much more layered clothing. A Mandalorian riduur wants a respectable woman at his side.”

“Learn these recipes and maybe you’ll find yourself a Mandalorian riduur.”

You’ve grown tired of hearing this every day, but you sit back and simply nod. Mandalore may have not been your birth planet, but they took care of you after your father and brother both fell valiantly in battle. You were on your own after that. Your mother was not a Mandalorian, she was originally from Naboo. When your father was called back to Mandalore to assist in the ceremonial trials, your mother decided it was time she left. She said she was promised a tranquil life with the clan of four on Naboo, but the creed had to be followed. You have not heard from her since you were 7 years old.

Now as you’ve come to an age of maturity, you were being trained to… be a wife? 

You sat back and obeyed the elders wishes, but you knew that their rants were not true - not in the slightest. Your father never depended on your mother to do anything for him. Because of that, he taught you how to defend yourself and be independent. Although your father was devoted to The Way, he did not want you to swear the creed. Not because you were incapable, but because he did not want you to go through life with the restrictions that the creed entails. Even if you wanted to rebel against your loving father’s wishes, you were not able to be properly trained nor swear the creed at such a late age. So, you were content with being a member of the Mandalorian culture as a civilian.

You sat at a table that the elders reserved for the women who taught young ladies how to sew, heal, cook, and take care of the warriors in training. Whether it was a torn cape or a sparring injury, you were there to help. You always believed you didn’t need to be there as you already knew how to do it all, but the view made up for it. The table was set up on the outer boundaries of the sand pit they called a sparring arena. You got to see young Mandalorians train their bodies and minds by lessons taught by the elders. As many Mandalorians came and went, your eyes were always set on a specific foundling you met many years ago. You sympathized with that warrior when you first noticed his colored armor. You had a crafted bracelet in a similar color – a deep red, a maroon to be precise.

All Mandalorian armor was painted, but each general color had deeper meaning. For example, blue represented the reliability of the warrior, green represented duty, black represented justice, and grey or silver represented mourning.

Red represented the honoring of a parent or leader.

You watched as the two warriors, one in green armor and yours in the maroon, sparred while the other Mandalorians watched and rallied around their fighting brothers. After 10 minutes, the maroon pinned the green down and was declared the winner. The elders at your table clapped and you can’t help but smile and cheer along.

As the noise settles down, you ask to be excused from the table and wait for their approval. Once the oldest member examines your finished shawl, she excuses you for the day. You clean up your yarn and needles, place them and your newly knitted shawl in your basket, and thank them for the day’s lesson. You turn and notice the maroon armored figure standing with his brothers as a new pair of Mandalorians prepare for their turn at combat.

You walk over and stand next to him, basket in your left hand and proceed to place your right hand on his pauldron. He looks over at you and tilts his helmet as he acknowledges you. You mouth a simple hi and a small wave, not wanting to distract him from the scene in front of him.

“Hello, cyar’ika.”

You smile as he turns and holds your right hand in his left. “How was today’s lesson?”

You shrug, rolling your eyes and letting out a small laugh. “Oh you know, learning what I already know. The usual.”

He chuckles at your visible annoyance at the uniformed program you’re practically forced to attend. “Are you finished or are the elders letting you breathe?”

You just can’t help but always smile at every word that comes out of his mouth. “I’m very much finished for the day. Are you?”

“Yes, Paz and I were just asked to demonstrate a sparring technique. Would you like to go for a walk?”

You nod excitedly. He gives your hand a light squeeze and asks you to stay where you are. You watch him as he strides over to one of the elders watching over the training session to what you assume is asking for permission to leave. The elder simply nods and goes back to observing the trainees.

Your Mandalorian leads you to an escarpment not far from the main town – not far by speeder bike that is. You both called it our place. As far as you both knew, no one had known about the place. The ground is scattered with sand and cracks, but the pair are protected from unwanted visitors by an oddly bent acacia tree and nothing beats the view. The capital can be seen far out in the distance, seeming small and faded. You looked down from the cliff to the ground below. You took notice that the ground had small traces of grass while the trees began to dry and then to your luck, you spotted a strill dragging the corpse of a fanned rawl back to its pack. 

You step back from the edge and walk back to the tree. Your beloved unclips his cape and places it on the ground for you both to sit on – despite your countless protest about getting it dirty and tears. He proceeds to take a seat in the middle of his cape and places his hands on your waist. You take the hint and take a seat on his lap. He wraps his arms around your body and lay on him and he leans back on the thick trunk of the tree.

You quietly stay like this for what feels like hours, just holding onto each other. You two rarely get alone time anymore as his training has begun to be much more advanced. More advanced means longer training hours and longer training hours mean less time with you. Mandalore has nineteen hour days and the elders now have him train for six which means you barely get to talk to him and he barely gets to breathe. 

You change positions to lay on the ground with your head on his thighs. He starts to play with your hair, but suddenly lets the strand of hair go. He leans over to grab your hand. He begins to play with your fingers and places his palm straight onto yours just to feel how different his hands are from your own. He did always say he loved your hands – soft and caring.

He loves holding your hand. He loves caressing it. He loves playing with them. He loves how they look when in his.

When you’re in the safety of your home, he blindfolds you and  loves it when you play with his hair.

When you make love, he loves when you run your hands down his chest and on his biceps as he thrusts up into you. He loves when you grip his arms while you’re riding him and he brings you close to euphoria or when his body is over yours and your hands press down on his back to beg for him to go deeper.

He’s gone a long time without having gentle hands touch him. You were the first person he let touch his bare hands since his parents died. 

His helmet tilts over to you and you look up to him. He sits and stares at you and you unsuccessfully stifle a laugh. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar’ta.” He says quietly. So quietly you feel as if it wasn’t meant for your ears.

You situate yourself onto your knees and cradle the side of his helmet in one hand and hold his own hand in the other. “I love you too, Din. More than anything in the entire galaxy.”

You’ve been in a romantic relationship with Din for five years and you’ve heard those words a total of seven times. You savor every time he speaks them as it sounds like utter bliss to you.

“Ner kar’ta, I- I’d like to gift something to you, but I must know something first.”

“You can ask me anything, cyare.”

“I know I don’t tend to express my feelings and you may be thinking this is going to be a negative talk, but I promise it’s not.”

“I know it isn’t, my love. Even if it was, you’re not going anywhere.”

He chuckles at this and he nods. You know this is serious when his visor isn’t on your face.

“Mesh’la… Do you wa- Are you sure you…” he stops and clears his throat. “Cyare, do you plan on wanting to be stay? With me? I know we never talked about this, but I just thought it was time to bring it up.”

“Are you asking me if I want to stay by your side for the rest of my life, Din?”

He nods.

“Din, love, of course I want to be with you. We’ve only touched the surface. There’s so much left to do. You still haven’t given me a piece of your armor, we haven’t done a riduurok, and we haven’t raised warriors! You aren’t getting rid of me!” you joke.

He stays silent and you begin to think you may have gone too far. He opens one of his pouches on his belt. Your mind is saying he pulled out the blindfold he always carries for you to kiss you, but your heart wishes it’s something else.

Your heart wins.

He offers you a necklace. It consists of a maroon colored beskar ring clinging to a chain – his beskar. Before he can say anything, you jump on him and wrap your arms around him. He laughs and gives you a squeeze.

“I had a speech prepared, but I’d be very happy if I didn’t have to read it,” he sarcastically says. You can’t stop the tears running down your cheeks as you shake your head while you tell him he doesn’t have to. You know what he’s going to say and you know he’s going to stutter and shake. You know how much he loves you. You don’t need to hear him say it as his actions spoke volumes.

“I knew you didn’t lose your buckle to Paz! You rather lose me than your armor!”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’d rather lose my sponsorship then you.”

You playfully shove him. “Di’kut.” You grab your drink from your basket and take a swig from the cold liquid.

“Cyar’ika, w- would you like to marry me? Right now?”

You almost choke. You look at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Is it too soon?”

You shake you head. “No, no it’s been five years. The elders probably think we’re crazy.” You both share a laugh. “But, if you’re ready Din, then yes. I’d love to marry you right now.”

He stands and helps you up. He grabs the chained ring and places it around your neck. You look down and the ring falls beautifully next to the other necklace you wear, a nexu signet - your father’s clan. You reach up and bring his head down to yours as you connect your foreheads together. As Mandalorian culture states, the warrior must begin the riduurok and every phrase must be said by each to be vowed.  

Din’s hands are shaking, you can feel them. He clears his voice, but it does little to stop it from cracking.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus d-dar’tome”

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome”

“M-Mhi me’dinui an”

“Mhi me’dinui an”

“mhi ba’juri ver-“

You feel his forehead leave yours and you open your eyes. You follow his gaze and your heart sinks. Far out in the distance you see imperial ships slowly coming through the clouds. You see bright red light coming from the capital and you begin to panic. You know he has to go fight. As much as you don’t want him to, there’s no debate. 

You both run to collect everything. He stops to look at you.

“Ni ceta, ner kar’ta. I promise that I-“ you stop him and bring his forehead down again.

“It is your duty to Mandalore, Din. I know you’ll protect us and you’ll come back to me. Promise me you’ll fight with everything in you. I can’t lose you too.”

“I promise.”

With that you pack the speeder and ride back into town, although as the war begins, you wished you had just taken Din away and ran.

Blaster shot after blaster shot. Dead body after another. The cries of children and the screaming of mothers trying to find their babies.

You hear a Mandalorian usher women and children into life-ships, each with two Mandalorians escorts. You get rushed closer and closer to one when you catch Din in the corner of your eye.

You run to him as you hear your name being called out by the other women. Din sees you and tackles you down. He pins you against a wall yelling at you to get into a ship and go. You put your hands on each side of his helmet. Both of you are crying wishing this was only a nightmare. 

“Din, please promise me you’ll find me. Promise me you’ll make it out of here and come back to me. I can’t live without you. Please promise me.”

His visor is trained on you as you hold onto each other tighter than ever. “I promise I’ll find you and when I do, we’ll properly marry and I’ll take you far away from here so we can start our own clan. Ner kar’ta, I promise you this with my entire being.”

A promise sealed with a keldabe kiss. He runs with you towards a ship. You both ask escorts where the ship is going. No one knows. You try running out of the ship, but Din only pushes you back in. You hear him tell you how much he loves you before he jumps off the ship right when the ramp starts to move. You sob as the ramp closes until the view of your maroon-clad love is completely gone.

Little did you know that the war zone you had just witnessed was the fall of Mandalore and the last time you’d see the love of your life for many years to come.

update (1.1.21): Part two to Maroon has been posted - Saguine

 mando’a translations:

riduur = spouse, husband, wife, partner

cyar’ika = darling, sweetheart

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = I love you

ner kar’ta = my heart

mesh’la = beautiful

riduurok = love bond, specifically between spouses - marriage agreement

cyare = beloved

di’kut = idiot

Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde. = We are one whether we are together or apart, we will share everything and we will raise our children as warriors.

ni ceta = i’m sorry