Mandoa - Tumblr Posts

Mandalorian fanfic fanart

Book cover work-in-progress for my Travel Buddies series.

it illustrates some of my favorite content from chapter 15, “Knowledge” and the wholesomeness of Din’s little family. Gideon is too much fun to draw, i’ve had him done for ages but i’m struggling to get the others painted.

Mirdalaan (mir.daa.laan)

General Description: The Mirdalaan is a majestic bird native to Mandalore, known for its double pair of wings and its deep symbolism of wisdom and knowledge. Combining characteristics of majesty and intelligence, the Mirdalaan is highly revered in Mandalorian culture as a symbol of insight and discernment.

Physical Characteristics:

Size and Structure: The Mirdalaan is a medium-sized bird, with a wingspan of about 1.5 meters. Its body is slender and elegant, covered in feathers of blue-silver hues that reflect light, creating a shimmering effect.

Head and Beak: The Mirdalaan has a relatively small head with a long, pointed beak, ideal for catching small insects and feeding on nectar. Its eyes are large and piercing, with a golden color that shines brightly in sunlight.

Wings: The Mirdalaan features two pairs of long and impressive wings. The primary wings are broad and robust, with feathers that shine in silver and blue. The secondary wings are smaller and more delicate, allowing the Mirdalaan to perform agile and precise aerial maneuvers.

Tail: The tail is long and slightly curved, with feathers extending in an elegant fan shape, aiding in stability during flight.

Behavior and Habits:

Diet: The Mirdalaan primarily feeds on nectar and small insects, playing an important role in pollinating the rare flowers that grow in the mountainous areas of Mandalore.

Territoriality and Mating Rituals: During the mating season, Mirdalaans perform complex aerial displays, with synchronized movements and a series of melodic calls to attract mates. Each display is a visual and auditory spectacle that demonstrates their intelligence and agility.

Resilience: Although a bird, the Mirdalaan is resilient and well-adapted to the diverse conditions of Mandalore, with feathers providing protection against predators and climate changes.

Cultural Significance: The Mirdalaan is an emblem of wisdom and knowledge in Mandalorian culture. Its image is frequently found in artifacts, sculptures, and even in armor, representing the importance of intelligence and reflection. Spotting a Mirdalaan is considered an auspicious sign that wisdom and discernment are needed to overcome challenges and achieve balance in life.

New story! based on an idea I developed here on tumble and publish

Learning Mando'a... came across the word for field 'vhetin' and it rang a bell... in RepComm, Jaing mentions that Arla, Jango's sister, spells her name Vhett and that it's the correct spelling of the name, ie. the Mandalorian way of spelling it. Turns out, vhett means farmer and I now I just have this mental image of Jango and Boba in overalls chewing on a wheat stem...

In Mando'a, they don't say "he's dumb". They say "kaysh mirsh solus" (his brain cell is lonely), and I think that's beautiful.

haran- hell “The Fett name puts the very fear of haran up the aruetiise.” (Order 66)

jari'eyc-ugly (lit: wrecked)

nibral-loser "And you’re not strolling in your fancy Kuati park now, so shift your shebs, you lazy little nibral.” (Order 66)

bev'ikase- dicks/penises “What a bunch of useless bev’ikase.” (Order 66)

gett'se-nuts/balls/testicles “Besany, if he moves, blow his gett’se off." (Order 66)

osik-shit “Doesn’t that scare the osik out of you?” "About kama fashions or some such osik.” (True Colors)

osik'la-shitty “You didn’t think some osik’la Imperial encryption could keep us out forever, did you?” (501st)

mir'osik- dumbass, shit for brains “Nice shooting, mir’osik,” Darman called to the gunner from the 14th. (Order 66)

shab-fuck “Well, shab-face, here’s where you find out that trooper armor isn’t as hardened as Katarn kit …” “Who the shab trained you?” (Order 66)

shabla- fucking “Fi, I’m going to break your shabla neck …”

shabii'gar- fuck you “Shabii’gar,” Niner snapped, and tossed the comlink back at A’den.(True Colors)

Ne shab'rud'ni! - don't fuck with me!

shebs,shebse-ass,asses “Dar! You’re going to be as wrinkled as a strill’s shebs if you stay in there much longer.”(501st)

mir'sheb-smartass “Okay, mir’sheb, you got a better idea?” (True Colors)

Nar'sheb!- Shove it up your ass!

Kovid lo'shebs'ul narit!-Put your head up your ass!

Kote lo'shebs'ul narit!-Shove glory up your ass!

motla'shebs-A rat's mott's ass "The Grand Army didn’t give a motla’shebs about how clones liked to be addressed, on the record at least." (True Colors)

sheb’urcyin-ass-kisser "Sheb’urcyin … aruetii.” (501st)

shabuir- fucker/motherfucker “As long as it’s not some Death Watch shabuir.” (501st)

shabuire-fuckers/motherfuckers"“And I just want to remind you shabuire that I’ve played meat-cans before.” (501st)

shabu'droten- fuck everyone/ a collective of fuckers “Shabu’droten,” Skirata muttered, and walked away. (Triple Zero)

Sooran, shab-suck on it/that (sooranir (verb) means “to suck”)

usen'ye-piss off/fuck off/go away “Usen’ye.” It was the crudest way to tell someone to go away in Mando’a" “And you lot can clear off. This is trooper business. Get lost! Usen’ye!” (Triple Zero,True Colors)

MANDALORIAN LORE OF THE DAY: SW NOVEL-CANON FOUL LANGUAGE (PART 1)

Don't ask why, but here's a stupid handwritten guide for Aurebesh and Mando'a You're welcome <3

my dumbass was mispronouncing these IN EVERY CLONE & TBB FIC I’VE EVER READ/WRITTEN

mom has started saying "Hey! watch your language" when i say dank farrick and i think she's serious so that's over i suppose

and i ramble enough about mando'a to the family that sheb shab shabuir mirsheb and osik are probably off the table too

Sometimes due to social anxiety and mando nerd brain I’ll be scrambling to remember how the heck you’re supposed to greet people and then brain goes “Su’cuy!” And I respond no you di’kut that’s mando’a and then I forget that hi exists. I have not thus far greeted a random person irl with su’cuy gar but I’ve come far too close for my liking

Currently coping with the lack of mando’a in Star Wars shows by shouting it at the screen at appropriate moments.

di’kut. Mir’sheb. Gar shabla di’kute gev! Ni nu copaani gar kyrayc, a val ven kyr’amu

apologies for my probably atrocious grammar I’m still pretty new to this

Su’cuy gar ner burc’ya. 

…gar? nu’luubid? Nayc. Shab ibac. Gar cuyir kotyc. Ni haa'taylir gar. Ni baatir gar.  K’oyacyi ner vod

Aran Tal translates to Guard Blood in mando'a.

Someone tell me who decided to name a gladiator guard blood. I would like to know. why.

That's so funny and beautiful

I come to y'all w the Way

Mando'a lesson

"Re-e-e-x, tell me something about the Mandalore"

"I- Alright, that's what I heard from Cody and he heard it from elders-"

Clones teaching Ahsoka (and other shinies) some Mando'a and telling about Mandalore? It was on my mind for a looooong time

Closeups:

I'm not really sure who the "True Mandalorians" are, but they cannot be the good guys.

Like. Imagine a political party called "The True Americans/British/French/Chinese/whatever". YOU'D KNOW THEY WERE FASCISTS JUST BASED ON THE NAME.

At the very least, they're a walking "no true Scottsman" fallacy.

Mmmm not quite.

Ironically, the True Mandalorians are basically centrists, by Mando standards. They aren't revolutionary pacifists like the New Mandalorians, but they aren't hardline traditionalists of the 'we need to take over everything and bring back our warlord glories' Death Watch variety.

"…the Mandalorians fractured, giving rise to a chaotic splinter group. They called themselves the 'Death Watch' and followed a barbarian called Vizsla, who believed that the Mandalorians should conquer the galaxy. Vizsla orchestrated a bloody coup against the True Mandalorians, still loyal to a reformed murderer named Jaster Mereel, who held that the Mandalorians were merely highly paid soldiers."

- Count Dooku

Jaster (the man who founded this True Mandalorian political faction) was known as 'The Reformer' due to his attempts to revise Mandalorian warrior culture to be more honorable than the slave-taking, genocidal history they have. I wouldn't call him actively anti-fascist, mostly because he didn't seem to have concerned himself overly much with large-scale government at all, but his political beliefs and attempts to change himself and traditional society definitely weren't fascist. Death Watch, who were very fascist, actively hated him for this.

While I can't find any evidence of True Mandalorians calling themselves 'Haat Mando'ade,' I don't think it's too big of a leap to think that they did when not interacting with people who spoke only Basic. As such, it follows that the way their language works probably had influence on the wording they chose.

The reading I take for the "true" part of that title is a little less "we're the REAL deal and the rest of you suck," and rather more like... 'in pursuit of an ideal.'

A traditional Mando phrase in Legends is "Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it" - "Truth, Honor, Vision"—said when sealing a pact. Other usages of the term haat also seem to have more to do with true in the sense of truth, rather than in the sense of purity.

With the way that Jaster's ideals are portrayed in the oblique sense, it seems most reasonable to say that they mean 'true' as in 'trustworthy, honorable, determined,' the way an old fairytale may use a phrase like 'gallant and true' to describe a knight. It's not fascist, just... flowery and evocative of what they want to be, in comparison to what their people used to be.

haran- hell “The Fett name puts the very fear of haran up the aruetiise.” (Order 66)

jari'eyc-ugly (lit: wrecked)

nibral-loser "And you’re not strolling in your fancy Kuati park now, so shift your shebs, you lazy little nibral.” (Order 66)

bev'ikase- dicks/penises “What a bunch of useless bev’ikase.” (Order 66)

gett'se-nuts/balls/testicles “Besany, if he moves, blow his gett’se off." (Order 66)

osik-shit “Doesn’t that scare the osik out of you?” "About kama fashions or some such osik.” (True Colors)

osik'la-shitty “You didn’t think some osik’la Imperial encryption could keep us out forever, did you?” (501st)

mir'osik- dumbass, shit for brains “Nice shooting, mir’osik,” Darman called to the gunner from the 14th. (Order 66)

shab-fuck “Well, shab-face, here’s where you find out that trooper armor isn’t as hardened as Katarn kit …” “Who the shab trained you?” (Order 66)

shabla- fucking “Fi, I’m going to break your shabla neck …”

shabii'gar- fuck you “Shabii’gar,” Niner snapped, and tossed the comlink back at A’den.(True Colors)

Ne shab'rud'ni! - don't fuck with me!

shebs,shebse-ass,asses “Dar! You’re going to be as wrinkled as a strill’s shebs if you stay in there much longer.”(501st)

mir'sheb-smartass “Okay, mir’sheb, you got a better idea?” (True Colors)

Nar'sheb!- shove it up your ass!

Kovid lo'shebs'ul narit!-put your head up your ass!

Kote lo'shebs'ul narit!-shove glory up your ass!

motla'shebs-A rat's mott's ass "The Grand Army didn’t give a motla’shebs about how clones liked to be addressed, on the record at least." (True Colors)

sheb’urcyin-ass-kisser "Sheb’urcyin … aruetii.” (501st)

shabuir- fucker/motherfucker “As long as it’s not some Death Watch shabuir.” (501st)

shabuire-fuckers/motherfuckers"“And I just want to remind you shabuire that I’ve played meat-cans before.” (501st)

shabu'droten- fuck everyone/ a collective of fuckers “Shabu’droten,” Skirata muttered, and walked away. (Triple Zero)

Sooran, shab-suck on it/that (sooranir (verb) means “to suck”)

usen'ye-piss off/fuck off/go away “Usen’ye.” It was the crudest way to tell someone to go away in Mando’a" “And you lot can clear off. This is trooper business. Get lost! Usenye!” (Triple Zero,True Colors)

MANDALORIAN LORE OF THE DAY: SW NOVEL-CANON FOUL LANGUAGE (PART 1)

Too Sweet

A/N: Hi friends. I haven't written anything in a while, as I've been tussling with my mental health and raging SAD from the weather near me. Please accept this Mandalorian drabble? Rambling? Takes place between the end of season two and Din's appearance in the Book of Boba Fett. Tags: The Mandalorian, Mandalorian x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader, Mandalorian x F!Reader, Apostate!Din WARNINGS: None Summary: You've been a safe place for Din Djarin for years. He comes to you at his most vulnerable, but always has to leave before you're ready. Title inspired by the Hozier song of the same name.

Word count: 1.6k+

Hours later, you’re still in shock.

Din Djarin is in bed next to you, sans helmet.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be in your home- hell, it would be more unusual for him not to be there between jobs. Your Mandalorian had spent years visiting, hovering somewhere in between a lover and a partner. He shows up in the afternoon one day, and is gone early in the morning before you wake. When he returns, beaten and bruised, you chastise him for leaving without saying goodbye. The routine was comfortable. Familiar. 

Except every other time he had been there, you had never seen his face. 

It feels like a dance each time he comes. You tend to his wounds quickly but gently, lathering cuts and bruises in bacta before wrapping bandages or slings where necessary to let the medication heal. Once you’ve played nurse, Din secludes himself to your study to eat dinner. And each time, without fail, he leads you to the bedroom to extinguish the fireplace and blow out your candles. His hands find your body, and he ravishes you in the darkness. 

Key word being darkness.

Today was the same song and dance. He’d limped into your cabin without greeting, shaking snow from his armored body and settling himself into a kitchen chair while you fussed. A tube of bacta and half a roll of bandages later, he silently trudged away to eat in the study. There was a distinct lack of little green child with him today, which was a major concern after the past year. You suspected it had something to do with the oppressive sense of sorrow following him through the house. So you carried on with your usual routine, asking little to no questions. It wasn’t until he’d crowded you up against the sink, bowl still in your grip as you rinsed it, that he spoke. 

“Mesh’la.”

Strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, and you leaned back into an unarmored chest. In hindsight, you chastised yourself for not noticing the words lacked the electrical buzz of a vocoder. 

“Din.” You returned.

He only grunts, right hand gliding up your side. It grips your shoulder, and presses until you turn to face him, bowl still gripped in your damp fingers. 

“You know, words are- Din!”

The porcelain bowl shattered as it collided with the kitchen floor. You’d dropped it out of pure instinct, hands flying up to cover your eyes. As much as you’d tried to forget what you saw, it was burned into your brain. Wavy hair, long nose with a scar crossing the bridge of it. Big, brown eyes that couldn’t possibly belong to someone so stern and ruthless. It flashes across your mind, and you almost tear up at the thought of Din breaking his Creed after all these years. 

But he’d pulled your hands away and explained - while your eyes are still pinched closed- that he was an apostate. The Child was returned to his own people, but at the cost of Din’s Creed. It had taken minutes of coaxing and reassurance, but you’d opened your eyes and cursed the universe for being so cruel as to hide such a face. From the set of his brow to the nervous biting of his lip, you basked in seeing so much bare skin. It took less time for him to attach his lips to yours and lead you out of the kitchen.

He’d taken you to bed, and now here you sit. 

Your room isn’t anything special. Quaint and cozy if nothing else, with two small windows that face out over the mountain’s edge. A fireplace flickers opposite the bed, its warmth trickling out to the sheets and heating your toes. Two bookshelves border either side of your headboard, with a nightstand tucked on Din’s side of the bed. On it, the usually extinguished candles burn bright. 

The firelight flickers against Din’s tan skin, highlighting each bead of sweat and curled tendril of hair where it sticks to his forehead. He’s naked, back propped against the headboard and covered in a maroon sheet from the waist down. You’ve donned a short silk robe, black and bordered with laces where it plunges between your breasts. You lay between his legs above the sheets, head on his chest. One of his large hands caresses your scalp and trails to the ends of your hair. The other hand is occupied by a half-full glass of old Corellian whiskey. 

You trace a line of yellow bruises on his hip where they extend below the sheet on his lap. 

“What happened to you?”

His chest rumbles. “I fought an Imperial Moff. And Imperial battle droids.”

Your eyes widen, and you sit up. Din’s hand leaves your hair to grasp at your waist, pulling you to face him.

“Stars, Din.” You reach out to touch a patch of black and blue skin over his collarbone. “No wonder you’re so beat up. I’ll get you some more bacta before we go to sleep.”

He lifts your fingers from his collarbone to his mouth, kissing each fingertip. “You’re too good to me, cyar’ika.”

“You deserve it.” Is your instant reply. 

If there was anything you knew about Din, it was that he never quite comprehended the good he brought to the world. 

The Mandalorian brings the whiskey to his lips and takes a swig. You opt to push an errant curl behind his ear. 

“I’m not a good man,” Your name falls off his tongue like honey. “Spent my whole life as kyramud.” 

You tilt your head at the Mando’a. He’d called you some pet names for years- mesh’la, cyar’ika. But this… kyramud was new. Without his helmet, hearing anything out of his mouth was like a drug. But Mando’a warmed you to the core, building off Din’s comfort and fondness when he spoke the ancient tongue. You yearned to know more. 

“Teach me Mando’a.” You kiss him gently, tasting the whiskey where it lingers on his lips. “So I can tell you why you deserve every bit of kindness.”

Din adjusts your legs so you’re sitting square between his, rear end on the bed and legs straddling his waist. He props you up with the ridiculous amount of pillows lying around. 

“I’ll teach you anything you want.” Din strokes your knee. “Where do I start?”

You chew on your bottom lip. “What am I to you?”

“Ner cyare.” He pauses, debating. The whiskey makes another appearance, and you’re distracted by his Adam's apple bobbing deliciously in the column of his throat. “Naysol uj par ni. Each day I see you is aay’han.”

“What does that mean?”

Din tilts your chin up. “My beloved. Too sweet for me.”

You blush. “What about the end? Ay-hen?”

“Aay’han. Mourning and joy. At the same time.” He finishes the whiskey. “I mourn when I leave you here.”

Much to your annoyance, tears prick your eyes at the reminder that when you closed them, he would be gone before you woke. “Don’t remind me. Please.”

Din leans forward to capture your lips with his. The sensation only serves to make the stinging behind your eyes worse, and a single tear drips down your cheek. He’s quick to kiss it away, large hand curling into your hair. You climb all the way into his lap, suddenly desperate for closeness. His skin is hot and damp, and you’ve never felt anything better. 

“Ni ceta. I never meant to hurt you.”

You sniffle against his neck. “Just promise me you’ll say goodbye from now on.”

He wets two fingers with his tongue and extinguishes the candles before cradling you in strong arms. Two words are murmured into your hair, quiet but sound.  

“I promise.”

You grip him tighter than ever, warmth sadly fading as the dread of morning envelopes you. 

*

The reflection of daylight off snow-covered ground wakes you. 

It bounces in your windows, bathing the room in cool white light. You blink slowly, a heaviness settled on all of your limbs. It’s a familiar soreness that aches from your shoulders to between your legs, dredging up memories of the night before. Din’s bare face, and all the sweet words in Mando’a that he tried to teach you before you remembered he can never stay as long as you’d like. You sigh, letting one of your arms dangle off the edge of the bed. The thought of turning over and seeing the candles, thinking about him blowing them out on each visit was too fresh. It’s easier to lay and stew in your sadness, watching fluffy flakes of snow fall. The clock on your wall reads ‘1457’, another unintentional reminder of your late-night escapades.

You hate to admit that the feeling makes you tear up again. So you lay in bed, curled beneath a thick comforter while the fireplace crackles its last few breaths towards your feet. It’s easier to stare at the snow than it is to close your eyes and think about Din. 

“Damn it.” You breathe. 

“What are you damning?”

You swear that you stop breathing for a moment. Despite the fact that he had already spoken, you ask aloud, “Din?”

The sounds of bare feet padding across the floor nears, and the Mandalorian appears in your vision. Barefoot and clad only in a pair of loose gray lounge pants that tighten at his ankles. His abdomen is without cover, displaying an array of healing bruises and deep scars. You sit up, letting your feet hang off the bed. 

“You’re still here?” You look at the clock again. “At 1500?”

Din smiles, kneeling in front of you. He presses a mug of steaming Caf into your hands and a kiss to your forehead. 

“If it’s alright with you… I might be for a while.”

It’s your turn to smile as he smoothes away your bedhead. 

“No arguments.” You sip at the warm mug. “I’ll keep taking my Caf in bed, though.”

___________________________________________________

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Cin Vhetin aka Shoni, Mustang Mare