#kidtalk

[fallenrepublick]

Alright!! Since you gave me the green light about Zabraks request I'm gonna milk it dry!

We've already had Sunder and Brutus thinking they are going to die after their child is born and their s/o comforting them.

And I ask you... When we'll see Riot in this scenario??👀

(I'm so sorry it took me so long to get back to this it's been INSANE)

You're so right though, he hasn't been given this scenario! Ahh his struggles of being in the forgotten one in the trop translates here as well...

However, yes, this is something he must grapple with, just as all the others.

Riot, though... he isn't afraid of it. Not in the way Sunder is, or the way Brutus pretends he isn't. No, rather, he'd come to terms with what would happen to him a long time ago. Brutus could never protect him from everything, really, and things simply... slipped through the cracks. He knew from a young age that it would happen, that he would be forced to come face to face with death in the form of a witch.

In this moment, though, he is not face to face with death, dressed in a witch's clothing, painting on a wicked smile that would decide whether he would be given the mercy of a quick end or a torturous one like his father. Instead, he is standing face to face with you. Death comes dressed in the body of someone he loves unconditionally.

The baby is asleep, and you've got something urgent that requires his presence. A presence, he knows, that will come to an end soon. And so he abides, kneeling before you and staring up. He smiles as if to assure you that he welcomes the end.

"Have you decided how it will go?" he asks, hands clasped in his lap.

"How what will go?" you ask him. He is far too in denial to feel your confusion.

He smiles. And it hurt.

"My father didn't know peace after he was taken," he said, "At least, that's what they told me. The nightsister liked that he was social and bright and... happy. It meant she had more time to cut him down. I don't really know, but... well, at the end of it all... I don't think he was really the same. None of them were, but with him, he... he was the one that everyone expected to be okay. He was the one that no one could fathom being so silent or empty. As if... even if the whole world was dark and destructive... even if the whole village was full of broken souls, he would still be there... finding his own ways to fix everything.

"But in the end... In the end he couldn't walk. She liked pushing him down, crippling him, draining him. And I think when it was all over... he didn't even want to try to stand anymore."

He watches you, and it isn't fear he feels. Only sadness. It would be the last time he would get to do so.

"But... I never had to worry about this," he continues, trying to comfort you, himself, "I am... healthier than ever. I am happy. You offer me something that my family has never had."

He holds up his hands, palms raised to the sky in acceptance of a blessing, requesting yours to hold. "I have done my duty to you, my love. I gladly accept whatever end you have planned for me. It would be the most honorable thing I've ever done."

From your stance, you kneel, still holding his hands, but now sharing his eye level. He is shocked, but brought to silence when you hold his cheek.

"Then here is yet another gift I have to offer you," you tell him quietly, firmly, "You will not find your end here, and you will not find your end with me. Riot. I brought you here, because you deserve better. And I wanted to love you, because I saw a life with you. An entire life, years of watching our child grow, of exploring the galaxy and finding our way back to the home we've made together. I ask nothing of you other than to stay with me, just as I will always stay with you."

"You shouldn't. It's not a fate that my kind are allowed. I must follow in our traditions."

"Tradition does not always mean it is right. Your gods are good, from what you've told me. Would they truly wish for you and your people to suffer at the hands of their mates? The tradition was given to you by the Nightsisters, not your people. It is suffering that I reject."

"I... cannot honor our past brothers who were lost in this way if I don't follow in their footsteps."

"You can. You honor them by living the life they were never given. You may live and thrive, and they may watch and know that their family is finally at peace. Would your father not have wanted that for you?"

And when you hold him close, you feel the tension soothe, the sadness fall away into the floor. He has a future, a chance to choose. It's more than he could ever ask for.

[psalmsofpsychosis]

[ angry rant ahead ]

you know, i usually dont talk to other people much in real life right now, even less so on the internet, it takes a lot to get me on the case of disco horses and other variants of supposed "discussions". It's a strange thing because i'm actually a quite talkative person, but also in the recent 5-6 years any and every kind of expression i've had, no matter how mild or colorful it was, people [who had already decided they hated my guts] used as an excuse to justify why "they were leaving me behind". It was always my fault that i was being treated like shit; they were just reacting sensibly to me being a fuckhead.

So i learnt to control and manage and frame and reframe my expression, not because i wanted to and liked it, but because of necessity— you can only afford to be left behind so many times before it starts damaging you emotionally, mentally, and physically in many aspects.

And i actually started developing severe physical symptoms because of how much i curated and leashed in my self expression— eating up 3/4th of what i actually wanted to say and spend so much fucking energy trying to script my thoughts and opinions in a way that would be oh so accomodating and considerate and soft-spoken and mild and non-threatening and harmless and agreeable so paper-skin-and-glass-bones fuckers online and offline dont feel threatened and start crying, or start biting me for "being rude" when all i did was to literally just open my mouth and form one or two sentences.

And i'm so insanely resentful about this. I'm resentful about constantly self censoring and watering down my expressions and forcing myself down to the level of other people the way grown ups squat to talk to a child so the child feels less threatened. Constantly writing and rewriting what i want to say so it's not "too antagonistic, too angry, too vicious, too confident, too anything" —"make it friendly, light, no-big-deal, agreeable, appropriate, acceptable to the rock bottom level boundaries of this context," the voice in my head says— when the truth is, i'm so so so much more than anything i've ever shown to people online and offline in the past 6 years. I'm full of hatred and rage and i'm shameless and i enjoy it too, i can hurt people terribly and i'm good at it and this is why i'm hellbent on kindness. It's a choice, i wake up and i make this choice every fucking day, and i dont like being taken for granted. I dont think most people truly understand what "where the light is brightest the shadows run deep" means, like no, you dont understand the depth of how fucked up i can be, you take my joy and delight for granted, and you cannot live up to either. You're not my equal on either front and you lack the substance it takes to mirror my happiness or my rage– and i get very irritated when people think they're on the same ground with me, "we're so alike!" no we're not, you just feel connected to the super mega easy digestable non-threatening responses i craft for you because i know you can't handle any more than this without having a mental breakdown and making me mom you.

Like, i solid feel like everytime i want to talk i have to put on kiddie gloves and do the kiddie talk, patting people's heads like "dont be scared, dont be scared, i'm a friend, no need to panic, now we're gonna play a game in which i give you super easy hints on life being more complex and deeper than you percieve it on a surface level and you proceed to think about that for 5 seconds everyday, easy, easy." Because that's what they are to me, children. I feel like i'm talking to children all the time, and no it's not about age, it's about the way most people are so incredibly shallow and superficial and simplistic and are so depth-averse it's kinda astounishing??? Like you'll find them hanging 6475378 adornments from every branch of a tree and thinking a tree is "a collection of leaves" and they never see the roots, or water them.

And yeah i'm so incredibly resentful about all of it. I feel like i put people in cute fun little floaties in the shallow end of the pool and stay with them and we play simple games and splash water at each other and they dont know the deep end of the pool exists, they dont care, they think everyone and them and me are kiddies playing in the shallow part, "oh you're just like me, we're all the same and having so much fun here," no, i'm so much more than you at any given point in this interaction, and what you sound like to me is a child mistaking their mother as "another playmate in the kindergarten".

And i'm super fucking tired of defanging and declawing my expression all the time so i dont spook the little dainty shallow people inside or outside my phone. "but they'll get scared and they'll leave!" and you know what? good. I want them to get very, very scared. And i want them to fucking run. I'm tired of trying to cater to simple people who i dont give a fuck about, people who are merely contemplating whether i'm worth loving or not. You walk into a haunted house only when you love ghosts and want to see one, this is not a space for the faint of heart. i am not a space for the faint of heart.

[poetryforpeds]

Adenovirus

One of the most common viruses seen in children, and one most children have experienced by the age of 10!

Read more here:

[danger-xylophones]

Ama’ni (Thrawn x reader)

Howdy, guess what - it’s a story set post-space whales where the reader and Thrawn have a kid. 

Return of the Senator

Warnings: fluff, kidtalk, nightmares, reader is referred to as the kid’s mother, she/her, marriage

Amani is the Swahili word for peace and to my understanding thamani means valuable/precious/worthy

(masterlist)

........................

Crying shook you from dreamless sleep, soft sniffles that barely slipped through the thick fog of your mind. Your eyes cracked open and met the side profile of Thrawn. Your eyes strained to make sense of his silhouette in the darkness of your room: his head was turned slightly to the door, obscuring the front of his face aside from the prominent point of his nose which peaked out just above the swell of his cheek. The muscle in his cheek twitched but he made no other signs of stirring. His stillness made you pause and wonder if the crying you had heard had been from a dream. Surely if it hadn’t, Thrawn would be awake and already on high alert. 

Content to accept that your own mind had simply woken you up, you let yourself sink back into your pillow. As you waited for sleep to return to you, you took a moment to admire Thrawn’s restful face. His hair was slightly disheveled, a result of his earlier tossing and turning as he was gripped in a nightmare. You’d woken him up and soothed him with gentle passes through his hair, massages at his temples and over the various scars littering his chest and arms till his labored breathing had eased. It was a relief to see him sleeping peacefully now - the memories of his abduction and survival in the unknown regions far from the surface of his mind. Without warning, he rolled over to face you and you realized that his eyes were open into narrow slits. 

The red of his eyes gently lit the apples of his cheeks, making them appear slightly purple as if he was blushing but they were unnervingly focused despite just waking up. “Beloved,” he began when his eyes met yours, “what are you doing up?” His voice was thick with sleep, seeping from his lips like molasses, to contrast the alertness of his eyes

“I could ask you the same thing,” you whispered back, “I thought I heard crying.” You mumbled as you slid closer to him. He accepted you into his space readily, bringing you close to his chest with a low hum. 

“I thought the same. I was worried it was you having a night terror this time.” He swept one large hand along the expanse of your back, up to clasp your neck to guide your head beneath his chin. With a small hum of your own, you rested your cold nose against the warm column of his throat. He hissed at the chill but said nothing.

“Should we-?” Footsteps cut you off this time. You raised your head at the same time Thrawn looked over his shoulder at the door. There was a beat and you were both out of bed. Thrawn, thanks to his long stride, beat you to the door and opened it with an elegant flick of a switch. When the door had vanished into the wall, you found yourself peering around you husband’s torso into the dark hallway of the wing bestowed to the two of you. 

It was hard to see anything without the luxury of the infrared spectrum so it came as no surprise to you that Thrawn saw whoever was wandering the homestead at this hour first. “Thamani?” His voice had cleared since first waking up and now rung out in the stillness of the night with clarity you were more used to hearing directed to his crew. You could just make out the silhouette of the girl in question as she froze midstep. “Why are you out of bed?” 

“Thrawn,” you hissed, lightly tapping his arm to admonish his harsh tone, “gentle.” Stepping around him, you met the young girl’s soft red eyes where they glowed like two lightning bugs. “Are you alright?” You waited, patiently, for the former sky-walker to approach you or begin speaking. She did the former, which brought her into the faint light emanating from the side panel of the doorway and allowed you to see the still evident tear tracks running down her cheeks. “K’ta,” you cooed and lowered to your knees before the girl, “what happened?” Thrawn reappeared and offered her a tissue that you hadn’t seen him grab. 

“I...” she began a hushed voice, “I had a nightmare,” dabbing at her cheeks she cleared the remaining water herself before softly blowing her nose, “and I...it’s stupid.” She sighed and hung her head, the tissue crumpled in her fist. 

Lowering himself to the girl’s height, Thrawn spoke in a much softer voice, “it cannot be ‘stupid’ if it has reduced you to tears and moved you from your room.”

Thamani was quiet for a long moment as her eyes darted between you and Thrawn. She found her strength in your husband’s gaze first, before bringing her eyes to you as she explained what had upset her. “It-it was about you two...” she started again in a voice so small and fragile you could have imagined it, “we were on a ship and I-” she choked, voice crackling like shattered glass “-and I got us lost and we crashed and you two, you two...” fresh tears fell in fat rivers, swiftly collecting on her chin and jaw to fall to the ground. With a distressed cry, Thamani turned away and roughly scrubbed at her face as if that would hide the fact she was genuinely terrified and more than upset at the very thought of you and Thrawn dying. 

“K’ta,” your heart squeezed in sympathy, “look at us, please.” You whispered to her. When she refused to turn towards you, you casted Thrawn a pleading look. His brow was furrowed the way it always was when he was presented with a problem outside the realms of tactics or art. And his mouth was twisted into a thin frown. But his eyes were focused on the back of Thamani’s head. 

“Thamani,” he began in a firm voice, “cheo visot vn’inen’i, please listen to your mother.” 

That was enough to move her. With her hands still clasped over her mouth as if to force her sobs and sniffles back into her tiny body, the young chiss turned frightened red eyes onto the both of you. 

You rested a grateful hand on Thrawn’s arm. “Darling, we’re alright. We’re safe. All of us are safe.” Your other hand reached out towards her, inviting her to approach. “I know you’re scared and I’m proud you care so much about our safety but you need to remember that that won’t ever happen. We won’t get lost, we won’t crash, we won’t leave you.” 

She was frozen for a long beat in which only her eyes and quivering bottom lip moved and then, as if someone had shoved her, she dove forward. Thamani crashed into you, a sobbing, sniffling mess with her arms far too tight around your neck. Startled by the uncharacteristic display, you didn’t have time to regain your balance and thus teetered backwards as your arms retracted around the young girl. If not for Thrawn swiftly moving to catch you - arms steadying you and your young daughter while his knee acted as a brace against your back - you would have toppled over. 

Thamani buried her face against your neck, sobbing loudly in your ear as she clung to you. You were quick to recover from your initial shock and began cycling through all the soothing techniques you knew from your own childhood and the one’s passed on to you by Thamani’s former momish. But as the seconds slipped past, it became increasingly obvious that she really needed to just cry everything out. 

You chanced a glance at Thrawn who had already come to the same conclusion you had. With a nod, he shifted, finding a comfortable position with his back against the wall. You followed him, curling into his chest and slightly shifting Thamani off of you to also rest against her father who gingerly curled his arms around the both of you. Thamani shifted, slipping further down to rest her head over your heart instead of on your shoulder. Content with the new position within both of your holds, her cries began to quiet.

Softly, you began to hum a lullaby Thrawn had taught you when you’d first started seeing each other. It was almost peaceful, here in the dark corner of the Mitth homestead in the hold of your husband with your daughter resting against your chest. 

A hand rested on your head, gently petting your hair in a steady rhythm in time with a rumbling hum that you felt just as much as you heard. It was saying something, but it was far too quiet for you to make sense of. But you felt safe. Safe enough to ignore how dark it was and how cold half of your body felt. With a now agitated huff, you burrowed into the warm surface you were leaning against. 

It wasn’t until you felt an even warmer puff of air curl over your forehead did your mind piece everything together. Peeling your eyes open, you found yourself still in the hallway just outside of your bedroom. You must have fallen asleep. Looking down you found Thamani still resting against you. Her hands were balled into little fists she caged between your stomach and her chest but her head had fallen against Thrawn’s chest instead of your own. But, she was asleep. Peacefully so. 

You looked up to find Thrawn watching both of you with a fond - if not tired - expression. “Ch’acah...” he whispered, bowing his head just low enough to brush your brow with a kiss, “help me get her back to bed?”

With a small nod you gradually extricated yourself from first your daughter’s grasp and than your husband’s. After stretching your aching limbs out you helped Thrawn gather the young girl into his arms so he could more easily carry her to her room. 

It was a tranquil walk through the hallway. Thamani clung to Thrawn in her sleep like a baby which somehow made her look much younger. How old was she when she was taken from her family? Her birth family? From what Thrawn had told you of his sister, she couldn’t have been much older than five. And the poor girl had only been with the two of you for a year now. Her thirdsight had faded  earlier than normal - when she was 11 - but that hadn’t stopped the Mitth from, more or less, staking claim to the young girl the second she became an option to adopt into the family. 

Still, six years of military service - six years of her childhood just gone...

To see her acting like a normal child with normal parents was perhaps the greatest gift you’d ever received. 

You’d been hesitant when Thrawn proposed the idea of adopting her yourselves. He was still on thin ice with the Mitth - Thurfian was constantly breathing down his neck even though Thrawn was technically retired - and you were a total outsider to the Chiss. You still weren’t fluent in Cheunh and the Chiss only acknowledged you as Thrawn’s spouse. You worried that, although your relationship with Thrawn was completely stable, your unstable relationship to the Mitth and to the Ascendancy as a whole would be detrimental to the girl. She’d already been displaced enough. Still, he’d been adamant about the importance of passing down your collective knowledge and life experience. 

You didn’t have the strength to deny him. And fortunately, the Mitth didn’t either. Thus, Thamani had come to you. 

Finally, the young girl’s room came into view. You slipped past Thrawn to open the door and stepped inside the dark area. Her bed was in total disarray - no doubt from startled kicking - but the rest of her room was just as it’d been when you came to tuck her in. 

While Thrawn gently adjusted his grip on the girl so he could set her down, you set about fixing her sheets and making sure her favorite stuffed animal was retrieved from where it fallen beneath the bed. Next came the girl herself who didn’t so much as stir as Thrawn carefully laid her down and you moved to pull her covers over her and tuck her in. With a careful kiss on her forehead, you pulled away and allowed Thrawn to do the same. 

There was a moment after where the two of you just watched, making sure she stayed asleep. Thrawn kept his hand secured on the small of your back, warm and constant - just like him. 

Slowly, his arm crept around your waist to secure you to his side as he carefully maneuvered the two of you out of her room and back to your own. 

As you settled into bed once more, Thrawn pulled you into him - his body forming to hold yours closer as his face rested in the curve of your throat. “Thrawn?” You asked softly. “Are you alright?” 

He hummed against your neck, his lips slightly cool on the warm, fragile skin he kissed. “I am overwhelmed, beloved - this life is more than I could have ever imagined for myself.” He moved up as whispered his confession against you and everywhere his lips touched on you seemed to spring to life and buzz with electricity. But while his motion excited your body, his words soothed your mind and heart. “Thank you.” 

A timid smile stretched at your lips and you found yourself reaching to intertwine your fingers with his where they rested on your waist. “Anything for you, ch’acah.” 

[starwarsbutmakeitdarthmaul]

So I just read chapter 16 of Thrawn Ascendency: Chaos Rising and he is so good with kids?? Like, he’s a military and tactical genius and politically absolutely blind. But with kids...

I mean I knew he was good with them, based on what I read online prior to that but that was “real life” and just wow. I can’t help but imagine what he’d be like with his own daughter? And the thought makes me so happy? Just Thrawn being content and happy and having a family...

One that doesn’t question his every move and tries to get rid of him after basically ripping him away from his old family. One that appreciates him and he can rely on and that trusts him and he can trust too

Just... Thrawn with a family of his own

[aberionart]

Three Daughters of Chaos

FINALLY I've finished drawing our star trio!! ⚡⚡⚡ This piece you see is a result of cooperation with my dear @fallenrepublick featuring her sw au about kids! Meaning:

Eris is Darth Maul's daughter 🔥

Theoni is Grand Admiral Thrawn's daughter 💫

And Aviva is Savage Opress's daughter! ✨

More details under the #kidtalk tag!

[justalittletomato]

Random thought: Puff randomly mentioning the genders when referring to Starlight’s unborn twins before the droid even know. “Oh hohoho, you got a fierce princess and a sweet strawberry prince on your hands” And going back to eating his sandwich like it’s no big deak

Starlight is overjoyed, "Both of them?!"

Maul hears and is both excited and also disappointed, "We wanted it to be a surprise...." he grumbles as he is already looking up baby girl clothes. Starlight is already making matching clothes sets.

"We were supposed to find out when they came." Maul keeps complaining, he is currently picking up more soft pink tooka toys and blue bears, " Now where is the surprise?" he is looking over a tiny pair of ballet onsies... no fun at all

[teddybearbby]

oh to be a soft calico critter and live in a tiny house to lead a simple critter life 🌸

[retrocgads]

USA 1986

[brenovablog]

Twuth be told, I’m 4 years old. I’m gettin too old for the hollereen stuff. Weally, I just want da candy ‘n goodies but Mommy made me put on dis wedicalas dwagon custoon. #trickortreat #halloweencostume #halloween #dragon #kidtalk #diorama #brenovatown #brenovablog #brenovatownresidents https://www.instagram.com/p/CHAjXWzpxtP/?igshid=1ijgxlzrsrs3e

[fallenrepublick]

I had a thought if you’re willing to entertain it…

So, in two sides there’s this pretty explicit guilt thrass feels for unintentionally missing a lot of his daughters life, right?

And that makes him try as hard as he can to make up for it now that he’s back in themis’s life.

Eventually, they build up the bond they would have had had the accident not occurred and this givens thrass’s spouse the chance to see that he’s genuinely a really great father and would have been the entire time.

And baby fever sets in again.

Do you think thrass would go for having a second kid? Or would he still be so torn up about all he missed in themis’s life?

If they do go for having a second kid, how does Themis feel and react?

Oh my god!!! The COMPLICATION!!! The EMOTION!!!! The STRUGGLE!!!! IT'S SIMPLY 🤌🤌🤌

God... because Thrass loves his baby girl. He loves her more than anything in this universe, and he would have given up anything and everything to experience her baby years. He's still grateful that he has this time with her, that he was given the opportunity to be there when she's still young. But it's common for him to still worry, to feel that guilt and despair that he lost so much time with her, that there's a time she still remembers when he wasn't her father.

That baby fever is a strong thing. He longs to hold his baby, to hear them babble and squeal and even cry. He yearns to watch them grow, learn to turn over onto their belly, learn to crawl, to unsteadily walk into his arms. He wants to teach them his language, as well as yours. All the names for father, the ways that young children mix up words and sentence structures and grammar when they're bilingual.

Maybe, one day, he even mentions it to you. He laments about everything he missed with Themis, everything about starting a family with you that he never got. You listen quietly and intently. You aren't sure it's the right idea. Neither is he.

He asks Themis, sitting with her at the piano. She sits in silence for a while, staring down at the keys. Her eyebrow is furrowed. But she isn't like Thrass, who would likely have nodded and agreed to anything just to make the family happy. For a moment, Thrass wondered if she would. But he forgot about the man who raised her.

"Am I not good enough?" she asks eventually.

How can he promise that it isn't true? That she is so perfect? Perfect enough that he wants to have her all over again? That she was all he could ever ask for? How could he say that all he thought about in his absence was you and her? That he fought death itself to return, praying that he wasn't too late to be there for her?

And then... that's just it, isn't it? Having another wouldn't solve a thing. It wouldn't give his time back. It wouldn't offer him her baby years, it would only give him a different baby. What would be the point, when she is already the perfect child?

"Am I not good enough, Thrass?" Themis asks again, bitterly.

She doesn't wait for an answer. She spins off the bench, leaving the room to return to her bedroom, ignoring Thrass's calls and pleas. He will have to work harder to undo this damage. Trust that he had only recently built with her will once more have to be earned.

So I suppose it goes without saying... no, he wouldn't want another child. Not a child that isn't Themis. He will prove that to her every single day forward.

[mysaturdaymorning]

Kidtalk 17 | Leah and Lori from People for Goldfish | Word Hustle, Game ...

[moiskis]

one of these poped off and fell into a frying pan and melted while I was cooking

[f-i-f-o]

#kidtalk https://www.instagram.com/p/Bv_XO33BHBt/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=czmmirkv0hys

[01hug]

lately i’ve been feeling so appreciated and assured that i’m loved, it’s the best feeling i had in a long time and although many people who make me feel this way won’t see this i want to say thank you, love you all x