#like... i know Mandalorians train from like... babies...

[nikxation]

Things I learned today: Jango Fett became Mand'alor of the True Mandalorians when he was the ripe young age of 14.

I love Mandalorians so much y'all.

[samisnotlegend]

Okay hear me out: Mandalorian Katsuki and Jedi Izuku. They accidentally end up sharing custody over little force sensitive youngling Eri. That's it that's the fic.

[koi-illust]

[StarWars][BobaDin][LukeDin]

Sons (of BobaDin & LukeDin)

I'm in the middle of the Inktober challenge (posting on my IG story if you're interested). Sorry for the wait for my new artwork if anyone's been waiting...🫣

Anyway, inspired by my fellow artist, I decided to draw the offspring of Boba/Din and Luke/Din. I'm having a hard time now determining which pair is my OTP, so I decided they're both my OTP and drew the sons of both pairs in the same piece.

These two baby boys can exist in the same universe or not, depending on what plot you prefer. However, I have a somewhat unethical feeling that these two could make a good couple if they're not half-brothers... (Yeah, I know in some stories, they can be a couple if you don't mind the ethical issues).

I borrowed the clothing from kid Boba and Padawan but blended in "red," which comes from the traditional colors of Din's birth country, Aq Vetina.

The son of BobaDin

has Boba & Din's curls, Boba's eyebrows & lips (and probably the height, though it's hard to tell at his age), and Din's eyes & nose. He always carries a vibro-knife with him, began training at a very young age, and wants to be a great warrior like his fathers. He’s kind of grumpy but has a soft heart and is very protective of Din (who gave birth to him) and his green brother. He often looks reluctant to play with Grogu because he wants to spend most of his time training, but Grogu knows, just like everybody else, that he loves playing with his brother and cares deeply for his family!

The son of LukeDin

also has curls from Din (yes, because I love curls! Din is also the one who gave birth to him, as you all know I'm a huge sucker for bottom Din). He has Luke's hair color, eyes, nose, chin, and Force abilities, as well as Din's eyebrows, eye color, lips, and probably height. He has a playful mind, so he has no problem playing and causing mayhem together with Grogu. He has a strong Force connection like Luke, but unlike Grogu, who is prone to becoming a Mandalorian, he wants to be a Jedi under Luke's training. Although he appears confident and relaxed, he’s quite insecure about his abilities due to having two famous dads, he faces a lot of pressure others can't understand.

About how they refer to their fathers

Since Boba and Din are both Mandalorians, it can be confusing for calling them both "Buir." In my research, "Papa" is a term of endearment for "father" in Spanish and since Pedro is a Latino, so...

It's relatively easy for LukeDin's son to call his fathers: Din is "Buir," and Luke is "Dad." "Dad" has a more casual vibe, which I think suits his personality.

Okay, that's it! Hope you enjoy my boys, and sorry for babbling again. The last thing is that I have another question for you:

Yeah, I know there’s a BIG ISSUE in there, which is why I’m asking. I’m curious about what people think about such a thing, feel free to discuss with me, no judgment here no matter what your answer is!

[iron-strangers]

we will raise warriors

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Female Jedi!Reader

Tags: Established Relationship, Mand’alor Din Djarin, PWP, Vaginal sex, Creampie

CW: Breeding Kink, No use of Y/N, Smut (MINORS DNI)

Length: 2.036 words

Read this on AO3: we will raise warriors

Link to the series on ao3, tumblr

-

“Happy love day!” You greet Din at the front door of your home by tackling him with a bear hug, armors and all, presenting a small gift, wrapped rather messily, with a huge, silly red bow on top. “Got you a little something, cyare!”

Din just walked into your home, a grand three-bedroom apartment-style room in the eastern wing of Keldabe Palace. I want to see the sunrise every morning, cyare, you had said when Din asked you to pick your family wing upon moving to the ancient, though newly renovated palace. Din had no preference. No actually, he’d prefer not to live in the old castle. He’d rather live in a house in the countryside, somewhere near a body of water, where he can enjoy nature with his family, away from the responsibility of being The Mand’alor. But anywhere is just as good if he has his beautiful riduur and their foundling with him, Din claimed.

You help your riduur to pull off his cape, hanging the long fabric on its stand near the door. Gone is the old and tattered one, replaced by a floor-length, crimson, soft fabric that more often than not got folded into a birikad for Grogu. You excitedly rush him towards the karyai, sitting him down on a couch and placing the gift in his hand. Not used to getting presents, Din eagerly removes his helmet before pulling the red ribbon off, revealing a small T-shaped metal in a transparent box. He stares at it with a puzzled look on his face before looking back up at you with his head tilted sideways.

“Is this, uh, a new bullet?”

”It is not a bullet, don't you dare to load it into your blaster,” You scold, snatching the box from your riduur's hand. “You remember how we’ve talked about trying for a baby? We’ve been planning it for a while, and then there was that time when we kinda, you know, get excited about it in the throne room?” Oh yeah, Din can’t forget that one, nuh-uh, top ten moment of his life. “So, here it is. This is an IUD, mine. It’s my birth control. I went to the healer this morning to take it out.”

Din stutters, his eyes wide open, looking back and forth at you and the IUD, so expressive behind his helmet, trying to process what he just heard. You smile at him patiently, your hands steady on his shoulder, rubbing tight circles with your thumbs, giving him some time to process the news. A few seconds later, the frown morphs into a smile, a huge grin now adorning his handsome face as he then pulls you to his lap and claims your lips in a flurry of hungry kisses. His hands come up to your jaw to cup your face, holding you ever-so-gently as he peppers your face with kisses, stealing giggles out of you.

“How soon can we start?” Din asks eagerly, beaming to you like a verd’ika who just got his first set of beskar’gam, holding you by your ass and lifting you both from the couch, ignoring your protests, holding tightly around his neck.

“Well, my healer said it might take a few weeks to purge the hormones outta my system, but she also said that anything can happen,” You shrug, absently playing with the tuft of hair reaching his neck, he needs a haircut, you duly noted. “Anyways, the elders are begging for us to start training heirs already, so how about you give us what we all want and fuck a baby into me, ner Mand'alor ?” You lean in to whisper playfully, lightly nibbling on his earlobe.

You watch with a smirk when Din is, once again, completely at a loss for words. His pupils are dark with desire and you can feel him starting to harden in his pants against the swell of your ass. Smirking, you grind down on his growing erection, earning a groan from him, always so easy to tease. “Dont start something you can't finish, Rid'ika,” He warns you, pressing your back against the bedroom wall.

“But we all know how much you want to,” you tease, trailing your hand down his beskar-covered chest all the way to the tenting length straining his flightsuit pants. “Want me all soft and pregnant, looking absolutely yours . Your riduur, your baby- Oh !”

Din throws you on the bed, ignoring your squeals. He immediately crawls on top of you and pins you down with a kiss. His hand sneaks down to pull your armors off one by one. He studies you thoroughly, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing his left vambrace that you have worn since your riduurok. He brushes your robes aside, sliding his hand down your belly, admiring your body for a moment. You take his gloves off, wanting to feel your riduur's blaster-calloused fingers on your skin. Your breath catches and the feeling of his hands on you makes you shudder. His middle finger slips beneath the panties and between your slick folds.

“So fucking wet for me, cyar’ika.” Din's lips are back on yours, swallowing your gasps as he circles your sensitive nub. You break the kiss with a sob when you feel Din gathering up your slick on his fingers and he nudges his thick fingers into your heat. You gasp as he slides his fingers deep, crooking his fingers into your sweet spot.

“Right there, Din,” you whine, throwing your head back onto the bed. Your riduur’s hand travels up, cupping your breast and rubbing the pad of his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pulling and pinching. He watches as you chew on your lower lip, trying to stave off your moans. 

“Fuck mesh’la , I can’t wait until these are filled with milk. Aching and leaking all day long until I can milk you dry.” Din leans closer to you, rolling your nipple with his tongue. His mouth closes around you and he sucks hard while his other fingers are still leisurely pumping in and out of you, ignoring your pleas.

“Please what, cyar'ika? Where's that smart mouth now, hmm?”

“Please fuck me! Need you to come inside, fill me up with our verd’ika, please, ner alor- ah!” 

Din swears hearing your needy whines, eager to give whatever his riduur's wants. He pulls his fingers out of you and taps your drenched folds with the tip of his cock. Din growls, he has denied himself for way too long, tucking his face in the crook of your neck he buries himself all the way into you in one thrust, knocking the breath out of you. 

“Force, you fill me up so fucking good .” You moan, letting your head fall down the pillow and grabbing a fistful of the sheet as Din immediately pounds into you. Your walls flutter around his girth, struggling to take him. 

Din burns with desire and his primal need to breed takes over. One rough snap of his hips makes you scream as the head of his cock nudges your sweet spot just right, severing the connection to your brain for a moment.

“You like that, cyar’ika?” He leans down, kissing your sweaty temples. You nod, trapped underneath your riduur, wailing and begging and taking everything Din is giving you. He claims your lips and kisses every plea from your mouth before he pulls back, indulging himself by staring down where his cock is buried inside of you. His length is wet and sticky with your arousal and his pre-cum, making him growl and pace himself harder, faster, rougher.

“I know how much you want it, rid'ika- fuck , look at you, made such a mess on my cock, mesh’la. You don’t want me to stop fucking this pussy until you’re all round and swollen with my ad’ika, huh?” 

“Yes, please, Mand'alor, please fuck a baby into me, wanna make you a buir.”

“Manda - Soak my cock, mesh'la, c'mon, gonna get you all wet and pregnant.” he snarls, spitting filthy promises as he thrust harder. “That’s it, cyar’ika. Keep on squeezing me like that, sweet girl. Not gonna stop fucking this tight pussy until you're all nice and full with our verd'ika.”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes, Din, cyare,” you moan, rolling your hips greedily. “Wanna give you a baby, Din. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, Force-”

Din can’t control himself any longer, he growls gutturally, his fingers digging into your hips as his pace grows sloppier and he shoots the first of his hot, heavy load deep inside of you, holding you hard against his front and rutting his hips as he pumps his seeds into your willing womb. The feeling of Din's seeds flooding your insides is overwhelming, your mind is whiting out, legs trembling and you’re cumming hard, milking the thick shaft, enticing him to pump more loads into you until it leaks down your thigh. 

“Don't waste any drop now, cyar’ika.” Din hums, grinning and kissing on your jaw. Slowly he eases himself out of you and watches his cum dripping out of you. He tuts with dismay, gently fingering it back into your puffy cunt, then he gives you his fingers to suck clean. 

You settle in his arms, making out with him lazily when he pulls away and smiles, his hand a comforting weight on your tummy. His smile gives you butterflies. Running your fingers up and down his forearm, you beam to him and he almost tips over with the weight of his love and adoration for you. 

“I'm so excited,” you whisper softly, admiring the blissful look on your riduur’s face as he sounds his agreement and presses a tickling kiss on your nose. Din plays with your hair, brushing the strands sticking on your sweaty forehead back. “Mesh’la? I like the name Aranar,” Din thinks, and you beam at him, nodding and testing the name on your tongue.

The sun is setting, painting a beautiful glow on both his and your mismatched vambraces. There's a peaceful silence between you, the sound of his breathing evening out lulls you to sleep, almost swallowing you into a slumber when you remember something-

“Oh, I have another present for you, an actual present!”

Din tries to protest, claiming you’ve already given him the best present in the galaxy when you shush him, levitating an equally small box from the side table. You open the box, revealing two identical keys on a plush velvet. Din eyes you curiously, picking one key up.

“Remember that one house we saw near your covert?”

“The one with the big yard near the pond? Did you- No, cyar’ika!”

“It’s ours! No, listen to me,” you huff when your riduur tries to protest again. “We can’t live in the palace forever, Din. I won’t let you to. You don’t like it here, and therefore, neither do I. I figured we’d stay here until Mandalore is stable enough, or until we’ve reached about seventy percent of our rebuilding goal, then we’ll move out. We’ll get speeders to get here every morning, show our adi’ke around, then we’ll come home when the day is done, to a place where the Council of Alor can't steal you away from me. We can make it work, my love.” 

Din stares at you adoringly with his big brown eyes, too overwhelmed with the weight of your love to honestly do or say anything other than holding you close and kissing you, caressing your jaw lovingly with each kisses, murmuring a soft thank you over and over again against your lips. “I’ve never- No one’s ever do this much for me,” he mumbles, holding your hand to his heart. “You don’t like it here too? Why don’t you tell me?”

“Oh cyare, you deserve the world and you gave so much for me and our foundling, so of couse I will try to give you a place we both can call home, where we can watch our aliit grows,” You lean into his touch, nuzzling his hand with your jaw, offering him a smile. “And no, I don’t like this place, the force ghosts of previous Mand’alors are creeping me the fuck out!”

“THE WHAT NOW?”

-

Mando'a translations

Karyai: main living room of a traditional mandalorian house

Riduur: Spouse

Birikad: Baby harness

Mand’alor: Ruler of mandalorians

Alor: Leader

Cyare / cyar’ika: beloved

Riduurok: Love bond / Marriage agreement

Mesh’la: Beautiful

Verd’ika: Little warrior

Aranar: Defend

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

You gotta admit, the start of The Mandalorian was a very weird couple of days for Grogu.

I mean, it all starts with blasterfire in the camp (which, by now, is really nothing new to this kid). But then everything goes still and your relatively safe little pod is opened by a droid and a guy wearing a helmet. You know they were the cause of the blasterfire and they seem to be working together but then the droid tries to shoot you—which, yeah, okay, fair; not the first time this has happened, maybe it’ll be over now—and there’s a shot but not from the droid, no, helmet-guy just took out his partner.

Okay.

That’s… also probably not unusual.

But then. THEN. Helmet-guy tilts his head and holds out a finger in a way people do for babies they want to interact with, not targets they’re gonna bring in. So you reach back because, hey, this guy seems kinda nice.

You leave together and it’s a really long way. You get ambushed and attacked by more hunters and helmet-guy protects you. You carry on. Helmet-guy is NOT a talker. But that’s cool; you don’t talk either.

You see he’s hurt. He’s been pretty nice so far and, hey, he got hurting protecting you. Only fair you heal him. But you keep trying and he keeps putting you back in your pod and, again, the fact neither of you talk is a problem. Whatever. He can suffer; he won’t die.

You get to his ship and, yikes. What a dump. It’s such a mess. And there’s scavengers picking it all apart, making helmet-guy furious. Helmet-guy tries to chase them, I mean, actually chase them. He’s just one little man and that’s a big fat tank. What’s he thinking? That he’s just gonna stop it with his bare hands—oh, that does seem to be the strategy. (Starting to think this guy just wings everything he does in life. Like. There is no plan going on here whatsoever.)

Helmet-guy gets electrocuted by about twenty scavengers and falls like six storeys in an unconscious heap. Is he dead? Well. Can’t fix that. It was nice knowing him. Wonder how long until the next—oh, no. He’s okay. He’s sitting up. Okay. We’re back on track.

You go back to his ship and yup. Dump. Wires sparking and whole walls missing. The toilet’s even been pilfered. Yeah, okay, this place probably wasn’t always like this but—what are you doing starting the engines? The ship has holes in it, man. Gigantic, we’ll-get-sucked-out-into-space-and-freaking-die holes!

Another long walk. No talk. At least the sunset’s pretty. Get to a farm run by an old man. Helmet-guy apparently knows old man. Ooh! Frogs! Don’t mind if I do… (“spit that out” yeah right. You’re not the boss of me. You think I’m gonna take orders from a guy that just tried to fight a tank with his bare hands? Think again, buddy.)

Looooong trek through the night and, cherry on top, it’s raining. Not so great, but, hey! More frogs!

You reach the tank helmet-guy unsuccessfully tried to fight the other day. He and the old man start talking to the scavengers. Probably can’t hear what they’re saying, don’t know what the random fire demonstration is meant to accomplish, but when the scavengers start getting too close and too interested in you, helmet-guy shouts at them to get away. That’s nice of him. Scavengers start chanting. Now this is just weird.

Next thing you know, you’re all crammed into the tank—the same tank helmet-guy fought and fell off of. Helmet-guy doesn’t fit inside. He’s mad about this. He’s mad about everything. Scavengers continue chanting.

Tank stops. Helmet-guy takes you with him to a cave. He leaves you outside the cave and he goes in. Is this… is this part of the ritual? Should have brought a frog for the road… didn’t know this was gonna be a whole day affair… aaaaannnnnd now helmet-guy’s flying through the air. Kind of like how he fell off the tank. But faster. (Very throwable, this guy. The galaxy’s soccer ball, if you will.)

Helmet-guy lands in the mud and, boy, does he look like a train wreck. I mean, he’s been getting beat up pretty much every waking minute you’ve known him but this is taking the cake.

Still alive, though.

And moving.

(Seriously. What are his insides made of? Concrete???)

Then there’s roaring and stomping and this gigantic—and I mean GIGANTIC—horned beast comes out of the cave.

Is this what you were doing, helmet-guy? Provoking the dangerous wildlife? Is getting your butt kicked like a hobby for you or something?!?

Horned beast is, of course, rampaging mad and trying to grind helmet-guy into the mud. Helmet-guy is trying not to become mud and at the same time is making sure you’re out of the firing line. Again. Very considerate of him. But this is really not going well… helmet-guy is definitely not gonna survive this unless…

Oh.

What the hey?

Let’s use the Force.

You stop the horned beast and, yeesh, should’a stretched or warmed up or something. This is a lot to do after not tapping into the Force for literal decades. Reeeeeallly hope this works… gonna… pass… out…

And then you wake up, like, who knows how long after. Probably starving.

But, hey! Helmet-guy’s alright! That’s so great—wait, wait, wait… are we in space?!? In the ship without a toilet????!?!?

[threepandas]

Counting Down: 1

[Next ->]

The worst part about knowing the end? Is the beginning and middle. The waiting to change. The hoping it can. Days, spent with the low fear, ever churning, that it will all make no difference. Your actions. Your plans. The hopes you have placed in Fate's fickle hands.

Entering the Creche at an awkward age, too soon to be Legend, too late to be Peer. I was destined to be an adult by the time Anikin arrived. Getting up there, by the time the Order fell. Not yet old enough to be an Elder... yet destined to never live long enough to see such an age.

Obviously, I refused.

Looked around, locked eyes on the closest most manageable Character Of Relevance and took a chance. After all, was it not? The Jedi WAY? To inconvenience the Sith at every turn? So... first Crecheling, then Initiate, then baby Padawan Me, tracked the poor man down. Hunted him for SPORT.

Meditate with me, Knight Dooku! Can you teach me about this or that, Knight Dooku? What is the correct use of seashell tongs in formal dining, when attending a formal feast with the aristocracy, during this specific religious holiday, Knight Dooku? (No, no, on the moon not the planet.)

Congratulations on you Mastery! Master Dooku!

Pushing and shoving my way into his life. Persistent, much to everyone's amusement, and his baffled chagrin. It was like befriending a fussy, regal looking, semi-feral cat. Force knows, for all his training, he's terrible at casual interactions. He was older them me, yes. And Mentor of sorts, certainly. For a time. But? We became... friendly? I like to think? I certainly chased him down enough.

He's a dramatic and awkward man, Yan, and he'd be lost without us; Sifo, Nu, and I. Occasionally Yoda, but that does come and go. Not to metion... well... his Padawans. (Damn it, Yan. They can't read the subtext from your pointed silences! Use your WORDS.) The sort of man who is... sturdy, but brittle. Like an old, unbending tree.

Which makes it all the worse, when the pressure becomes too much. Because it does not merely crack. No. No, such men? They shatter in terrible and unpredictable ways. Unbreakable right up until they are not. Unending right up until the crash.

It is...? Both tragic and hilarious, in a that way, that Yan should live surrounded by so many prophets. Yet he does not, can not, and never will see the end coming. Surrounded by legends, both old and new. Born with every marker for greatness. Yet he...? He will be considered little more then a footnote, in someone else's history. At best.

And the worst part of his Fall? The absolutely worst part? Is the Light I still feel, each time I look at him, the GOOD I know is there. Resolute and noble, dignified and full of grace. A diplomat. Expert swordsman. Makes magnificent tea. The driest wit imaginable. He... he is YAN. Not Count Dooku. Not some Sith Apprentice. Just... just Yan.

My friend.

I meditate on it a lot. The Force gives no clear answers. Still, I do try, sitting in the gardens. Tucked away several stories up, past the considerate veil of several sweeping branches. I never did succeed in figuring out which planet the tree hails from, I suspect it might be either a long dead one or some small moon. It's a truely lovely, sturdy, thing nonetheless.

Far below, younglings shriek and play growl. Running carefree, to work off energy before evening meditation. Each a tiny blaze of starlight dancing at the edge of my vision.

A bit bright, I note, but nothing concerning.

The Halls of Healing will have to increase my prescription again. My glasses are no longer blocking enough... I sigh. Considering that. My sight? Is at least partially genetic. While I may be predominantly human, just because someone looks human passing, doesnt mean they genetically are one. My ancestors were, to put it mildly, a bit... Mandalorian.

Where their was a will, there was apparently, a way; And now I pay the price for it. It's honestly a miracle they never "married", as it were, themselves into a genetic dead end. Some sort of metaphorical space mule scenario, as it were. Yet? Despite all that seeming success? Luck is not eternal. And should you keep gambling? Eventual you will roll poorly.

I was that poor hand. That unfortunate luck. Loved of course. Expected even. My parents both wanted and were delighted by me. But? I screamed. Could not bear to be near people. My inheritance? A truely unfortunate luck of the draw. When combine with Force Sensitivity? My eyes reacted to "Light" poorly. Very, VERY poorly.

They were blinding to me. A mere child with no shields to speak of, no Force training to push BACK with. Like being force to look direct at the sun, again and again. It HURT. Because I could See.

Where others saw merely flesh? I saw deeper. Not infalliblly, not perfectly, I was hardly some omniscient god, but... oh. Oh. The world was so Bright. So LUMINOUS. The Force swirling and burning and flowing. In everything, from humble to grand. People shine, and yes, it is beautiful. But it also? Hurts. Because it IS, ultimately, being forced to stare directly at bright, ever shifting, sometimes flickering LIGHT.

I have a lifelong disability. Can not FUNCTION without my filtering shade glasses.

Or, if you are one of the ignorant assholes, who even NOW still seek to use me? I have what you might call? A"gift~☆".

According to Healer Che, it was some highly recessive trait. (From a planet I honest didn't even know I had heritage on, much less could find on a navigation system.) A subterranean people, due to the truely ungodly surface conditions. VERY sensitive to energy signatures and light. Which...? When you slap on a whole NEW super special Force sensing ability? Filtered through the same brain? Wires unfortunately crossed.

It could have happened it anyone. Unfortunately, it happened to me. Now I'm effectively blind around large collections of sentients. Or Life in general, depending on the intensity. To say NOTHING of Force Nexus! Dear merciful FUCK, that was the sort of accident only you make ONCE and then NEVER again. I was lucky to keep my vision. At all. Full stop.

Sifo was not so lucky. His Visions being neither natural nor kind. The Force seizing him again and again, to plunge him into vivid scenes of carnage. Death and horrors in the home he so loved. I would would be forced to, should I fail, see the Fall of the Order once. But Sifo? Oh... oh, dear Sifo...

Sifo, had seen it fall ten thousand times.

Even Yan did listen to him. Not truely. But there is camaraderie, in the horrors. In whispering, "it's not their fault", through choking tears. Forgiving the victims that will one day kill us. There is... a certain, heavy, sort of friendship... born of pressing your foreheads together, fingers intertwined, knuckles white with terror, as you shudder in the dark.

I think it helped, helps, that he has someone, who believes him. Anyone. Not just humoring him, the mad man sprouting prophecies of doom. But truely believes him. Knows he is right. And that if nothing is done? Everyone will die.

But... BUT! It CAN NOT, be Kamino, Sifo. Not that, never that.

In the dark, I remind him of prophets, seeking to avoid their visions, and instead? Ensuring the worst, comes to pass. Defense, Sifo. Escape. We are JEDI. Do not let fear blind you, to who you ARE. Do not let it take down a path of darkness.

I wrap him in the Light. Tuck my Force presence close, like I'm hiding him again my side, a youngling tucked into the safety of my robe. Shhhh, my friend. It is okay to be afraid. I am too. We can do this together. We are not alone. I believe you.

We are the pillars of his mental health, Yan and I. It concerns the healers greatly. The council. Honestly? It concerns me. But what can I do? No one else CAN help Sifo, until the first take the step of recognizing he is not, in fact, insane. He is a perfectly SANE man, reacting in entirely reasonable ways, to unspeakable Nexus born horrors. Slowly cracking under the isolation and grief. A jedi pushed and pushed, far past the point lesser men would have broken.

And if? He need a woman young enough to be his one of his student's, to rely on? So be it. I am a Knight now, I can handle it. (I have been handling it, since the incident. Since I was a Crecheling. Where the fuck were all of YOU? Ah, that's right. Calling him insane. Making things WORSE.)

I breathe out slow and controlled. My meditation is getting me no where. Rising, I carefully hop down, using the Force to slow my fall, much to the awe of various Crechelings. I can not help but smile. Was I ever that small? So easily impressed? I bow to my tiny fellow jedi. Delighted, they scramble to bow back. Thrilled to show off how grown up and serious they are, how well down they can do it.

Reaching out with my senses, I look for Yan, politely avoiding doing more then the briefest brush as I reach past others. I am not the first, nor will I be the last. There are hundreds of such searches a day. Some clumsy and heavy handed, from Crechelings or Initiates. Some soft as brushing strands of silk. Knights or Masters, looking for friends, looking for students where the should not be.

The Temple feels alive, noisy even, when you know how to feel it.

Ah, there he is! Heading from the High Council's cha-Grief. Horror. A gutting pain that numbs and spreads.

Caught off gaurd, I am sent reeling. Stumbling, without grace, over my own feet into a nearby wall. Glad for it, as I desperately grab at my chest and wheeze, drawing the alarmed attention of nearby Knights and Guards. Because... because, the other direction? Had I stumbled in the other direction, I would have hit the railing. Fully doubt I... I would have been able t-too.... oh Force-!

It takes entirely too long to seperate my emotions from Yan's. To realize what's happening. My panic feeding into the pain. My pain feeding into the panic. Yan. S-Something happened to Yan! I manage to gasp it out. P-please! S.. Someone! Go! Go check on Master Dooku!

The world spins as I try to force air into my body. It refuses to come. Whatever horrible pain Yan is in, leeching down our connection. Into me. Hurting. Made so, SO much worse, by my having been actively looking for him. I close my eyes, teeth gritting, and trying to stop digging my nails into skin. I-It won't help. There's nothing physically there.

But it hurts! God, does it HURT!

It feels like my WORLD has been shredded. My heart, crushed, cruel and slow in my chest. H-he's having a panic attack. Has to be! Or-! Or being attacked! I d-don't... don't KNOW!

A passing Master has hurried over, now kneels next to me. Various Knights pushing whatever calm and safety the can at me. No one is quite certain what will help. But they try. Desperately, stubbornly, resolute to the last... they TRY.

Breathe with me, begs the Master. Pressing my hand to his chest. Just copy my breathing. Help is coming. Release what pain you can, into the Force. We will help you. Let us help you.

I try.

Desperately, I Try.

The Healers end up having to give us sedatives, Yan and I. Sifo ends up... worse. The entire event triggering another, nasty, round of visions. He is incoherent. Trapped. Staring up at the Death Star from the surface of Alderaan, through countless eyes, begging to be heard. His soul, small and desperate, replaying the end, over and over. Even as he tries to protect what souls he can from the inevitable.

He cries for this too. They won't believe him, I know. Even as he thrashs and begs. For the lives of the innocent to be spared, for monsters to hold their fire. I will though. I will. I always do.

But Sifo will be lost for days. Yan, however? As he sits, on the bed, just the other side me? Sits stiff and properly. Blankly. As the healers words wash over him. I doubt a single on has registered. Of the three of us, I am the only one even remotely functioning. Yet... yet I still, don't know what has happened.

Nodding one last time to the healer assigned to me. Promising that yes, I will most certainly rest. I slip my my bed and sweep over to stand next to Yan's. The Healer's concerned and frustrated. He knows Yan's not listening. But has to try. I shoot him a strained, closed lipped, smile. Quietly take charge of my unresponsive friend.

The Healers relief is palpable. Our notes and instructions are not terribly dissimilar. Rest, food, no missions or upsets. Got it.

Gently, I guide Yan from the Healing Halls. Alarmed, that he let's himself be led. He never let's himself be led like this. Insists he is no invalid, to be coddled. Yet... here he is. Mind a thousand parsecs away.

Bringing him to his rooms, I key in his code then gently guide him to his favorite chair. Lightly guide him down into it. Not... not once, during the entire walk back, has he responded to anything. I am beginning to grow afraid.

Fussing, I drag up that terribly pretentious Serranian musician, on his music system. The one I can't stand. I am worried. Sacrifices must be made. Boring and insipid music fills the room. Very fancy! Come on, Yan. This is his new piece! Don't you want to comment on it? Come, tell me why it's so much better then the racket youngling blast these days. I'll call you an old man...

Nothing.

Worry growing, I begin making his favorite tea. Digging out his special occasion snacks. Something, anything, to get a reaction. As things brew, a sound too wounded to truly be a laugh, chokes it's way out of him.

"Xana-...My..." he starts. Stops. Normally sharp mind refusing to obey him, as he tries to summon words. He looks lost.

"My Grand-Padawan is dead." His voice is brittle, alien sounding in his mouth. I nearly drop the plate of snacks I was carrying over, in response. Horrified. "He was supposed be returning a knight. Qui-gon was.. was so proud of him. Adored him. This has destroyed him. Will destroy all of us. I... I have lost everything."

No. No, you have NOT.

Striding forward and all but dumping the plate on the side table next to him, I reach for my friend with both hands. With my Force presence. I refuse. No, damn it! I Will NOT lose him. Not like this, not TOO this!

Listen. LISTEN to me, Yan Dooku. So help me Stars, Gods both big and small, you will not succumb to this!

The greatest lie the Dark has ever told, is that it will make things better. That it can help you with your pain. Would Xanatos want his death to destroy you? Would the child of your child, want his legacy to be the ruin of everyone he loved? It is okay to grieve. You NEED to grieve. But remember you Padawans. Remember their Padawans.

Your Lineage still lives, Yan Dooku.

It is hurting, mourning, but ALIVE. Don't you dare run from it in your grief. You are better then that. I am here. Sifo and Nu are here. Yoda, is here. We will carry this pain together, okay?

Closing his eyes, he let his head rest more heavily against my hands. Dampness darkened his eyelashes, but no true tears formed or fell. He didn't seem to have it in him. Not yet. His hands though... his hands? Shook as they slowly, haltingly, like a droid with seizing joints, reached out for me.

I moved from leaning over him to sitting on the arm rest of his fancy Serranian high backed chair. That he didn't even grumble over me "abusing his furniture" by putting weight on the arm rest like this? Gods.

Leaning into him, I wrapped my arms around his head and shoulders. Like a shield against the universe. Used the Force to pull the tea, finally done, and pour it into a nice cup. Properly of course. See, Yan? I remember your lectures. Here, drink.

He... did not.

Just leaned, sagged against me, as he shuddered with grief. Hands wrapped around a cup of fragrant tea. Music filling the air. Tucked safe inside my Force presence, as best I could.

In... Out... In... Out... There was a slight stutter to it, a hitch, that in a less controlled man? Might have broken into a sob. But... instead, Yan meditated. That first cup going to waste. The second following, as it slowly went cold. Needs must, though, and tea? Can be replaced. Yan can not.

Emptying wasted cups, I poured more. Rested my head atop his own. Matched his breathing as I slipped into a light meditation with him. The room was quite enough. The position not terribly comfortable. But honestly? We'd both meditated under worse conditions, and it had been... A DAY.

To put it mildly.

I didn't like the look of Yan's Force Presence. It was like a fault line had been struck. Spreading terrible spiderwebbing cracks in otherwise sturdy stone. I was no mind healer... really, not a healer at all, I was a Seeker, but? I had learned a few tricks. After all, not every child I had found? Was found in a safe and loving home. Most weren't, honestly.

You learned to soothe, as a Seeker. Learn how to help. Children, after all, don't know Light from Dark. They just know that if they reach for the magic in their head? Bad things go away and good things tend to happen. Sometimes they hurt themselves by accident. Sometimes they hurt themselves... because the alternative was worse.

"You know, my dear? Some days I think you are the only Jedi with any compassion left. The boy never should have been sent there. Not for his trials. The lives of others are not a child's test. And to be asked to face one's own family? It... it was cruel."

Yan sent his cup around me, to rest on the side table, before gently tugging me down into his lap. He hugged me close, like a child squeezing a stuffed animal for comfort, face buried in the crook between my shoulder and neck. Like he was hiding from the world. I rest my head against his shoulder, eyes closed.

We were both... so tired, weren't we. This was nice.

"When did it all become about proving ones purity? One's superiority of morals? We are supposed to help people. Not lord over them. If I wished to do THAT, I would merely need to return to Serrano. Become a Count. You and Sifo are the only one who seem to understand me."

"I think I would go mad, without you."

Yes. I worry that you would, Yan. I worry that you would.

[phi8]

A bit of Star Wars fanart! A conversation between Ahsoka and Anakin after The Mandalorian Chapter 13: The Jedi. This one goes along with a bit of writing, check it out below or here.

Ahsoka broke the piece of dried meat she was eating into a few smaller parts. She let her consciousness expand and felt the birds and lizards around her camp site, a singular simian alien at the edge of her awareness. The trees rustled and their anticipation for the coming change of season was apparent. She felt the Khyber crystals in her lightsabers hum and reverberate the life around them. Even the rock on which she had unfolded a clean napkin had its signature in the living force. Savoring the taste of the jerky, she thanked the beast from which it had come.

“Ahsoka,” a voice called out.

“Master,” she responded. It became easier to become aware of him each time she did. “Good to see you,” she said, right before he materialized into the world.

The pale blue visage of Anakin Skywalker shifted uncomfortably. “I told you to stop calling me that, I don’t deserve it.”

“You are the one who’s become one with the force, not me,” Ahsoka said with a smirk. “... Anakin,” she finished with a nod.

“Thank you,” he said, sitting down on a log across from her. As was the case with Obi-Wan and his master and Yoda, Anakin was strangely physical when he appeared like this. Ahsoka could feel how he was affected by gravity and that he would rather sit than stand. But she could also see right through his wispy shape.

Similarly, Anakin could tell that Ahsoka had been wrestling with something. “You have something on your mind?”

“Yes,” Ahsoka said. She swallowed the last piece of her meal and wrung her hands. “Grogu... Turns out he’s still alive.”

“The little kid that the council was always so mysterious about?” Anakin paused, then flickered out of existence briefly. With a pained expression now on his face, he continued, “I always figured he got caught when... When you were on Mandalore.”

“We shared a connection, apparently someone managed to sneak him out of the temple.” She looked at him. “His life hasn’t been easy,” Ahsoka said. She didn’t manage to keep all of the accusation out of her tone.

Anakin nodded. He was of the force now, supposed to be in ultimate balance with the galaxy. Ahsoka noted he really didn’t look it.

“He’s gotten himself a father figure, a Mandalorian. It’s pretty cute. But he wanted me to train Grogu.” She looked down at her lap. “And, and – Anakin, Grogu reminded me so much of you.”

“The little baby Yoda reminded you of me?” Anakin said incredulously.

“He’s powerful, and filled with fear and passion. Fear to become lost again, to lose this new parent. We’ve seen what such fear to lose someone can -,” Ahsoka interrupted herself.

Anakin sighed. He didn’t have lungs anymore, but it still hurt. There were some downsides to being granted eternity. He was forced to be faced with the consequences of his actions, all the people he had hurt.

He leaned forward  and put his hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder. To her, the sensation was one of warmth, not one of touch. “So you turned him down,” Anakin said softly.

“Yes.” She looked at him. Both being this connected to the force, they could feel the compassion they felt for each other. Healing and forgiving would take time, but it would come. “I promised to help them though, and since I’m not comfortable training him I sent them to Tython.”

“Tython? That dingy temple with the seeing stone?” He sat back a little. “But who would respond to a call from a place like that?”

“I think Luke will find them.” Ahsoka said. Her lekku twitched, and the guilt she felt was visible on her face.

“Oh, I see,” Anakin said, a mischievous smile on his face. “You wanted to check in with me because you sent a potential Sith Lord to my son.”

“When you put it like that...” Ahsoka smiled as well and hit Anakin in the arm, which  fully connected. He let out a soft gasp, as he would have in life.

“Don’t worry about him!” Anakin continued. “I don’t know if you  noticed, but that young man is capable of some incredible things. In fact, it was his love, his passion, that made him a better Jedi, made him able to save me.” Anakin’s form glowed slightly as he talked about his son, as though the thought of Luke made his spirit more bright. “If anyone can train Grogu, it’s him.”

Anakin stood up, face turned to the night sky of Corvus. “But here: you called a Jedi knight from the beyond for advice and counseling?” Looking back at Ahsoka, he made a little bow and said, “just go check in on Luke at some point. You get to make sure you made the right decision, see if the kid is doing well. And Luke can needle you for more advice.”

“Yeah, he’s very eager, isn’t he?” Ahsoka said, her expression softening.

“It’s unbelievable. He won’t let Obi-Wan and Yoda have a single bit of rest, always asking is this right, what did we do in such cases... He even figured out how master Qui-Gon’s views are different and how to find the compromise between them” Anakin got a sad look on his face and said, “he’s so much like Padmé.”

Ahsoka felt Anakin fading away in the force, like he suddenly didn’t have the willpower to maintain his form here anymore.

“Do not worry, Ahsoka,” Anakin said faintly, “Luke is more than capable, and yours is a different path.”

“Thank you, master,” she said to the chilly night.

[rinixo]

divine battle

Din Djarin/Reader | 2.5k | Rated E | afab reader, no y/n, pregnancy, Mand’alor Din Djarin, pregnant sex, pregnancy related body dysmorphia, descriptions of childbirth, descriptions of pain, blood

A short wrap-up to aquae vivae. This has descriptions of body dysmorphia, pain and stress during childbirth, and blood.

a/n: The concept of Mandalorians viewing childbirth as a battle is inspired by Aztec mythology and folklore.

read on ao3

You weren’t exactly trying to avoid it, but it still happens sooner than you expected.

Fatigue. Sore abdomen and breasts. Minor mood swings. All symptoms of an impending menstrual cycle - which never comes.

You keep quiet about it at first. A visit to a med droid confirms your suspicions and gives you a clearer timeline. Just a few weeks in so far. Many months to go.

Laying on the bed, you press soft fingers into the flesh of your stomach absentmindedly, trying to imagine it swollen and round. You’d have to let your clothes out, you realize. Or get new ones. Plus all of the other things babies require.

You don’t know where to even start. You don’t have any family here on Mandalore besides your husband - no one to ask, to confide in.

Din had raised Grogu, but that was different. He isn’t a normal baby. A human baby. Your baby.

The sound of the door opening makes you turn your head to look. Din has arrived, Grogu in his arms. They had been training, based on the paint splattered across the child’s clothes.

“Are you all right?” Din questions, seeing you laid out over the blankets.

You nod. “Yes. Just tired.”

Setting Grogu down, he starts to take off his boots and helmet. “Are you sure you’re not working too hard? You’ve been more tired than usual the past few days.”

“I’m sure,” you reply. He casts you a small frown, which you can’t help but smile at. You like how his lips curve naturally into a soft pout.

Raising your hand, you beckon him closer. “Come here.”

Din obliges you, walking slowly toward your bed. He lets you grab his gloved hand, and you pull him down so that he lies next to you. You entwine your fingers with his, turning your head to look into his dark eyes.

He has such nice eyes, you think. Perhaps your baby would have his eyes.

“You sure you’re ok?” Din asks again. There’s worry in his tone, and you squeeze his hand in reassurance. Are you ok? Yes and no. You’re nervous, anxious, and so full of an emotion you can’t name that you feel like you’re going to burst.

“I’m pregnant.” The words fall loosely from your mouth. You watch his expression - eyes widening almost imperceptibly. A short breath leaves his lips.

“Pregnant,” he repeats, almost as if in disbelief. You nod. Tears prick the edge of your vision, and you’re not sure why. Hormones, maybe?

He glances down at your bare abdomen. Removing a glove, he places his palm over you, warmth emanating from his skin into yours. The two of you stay like that for several silent minutes.

“A baby,” he murmurs, and there’s so much awe in how he says it. “Our baby. You’re pregnant.” He looks up at you, and you see the loving determination in his gaze. It makes you feel braver.

“I don’t know how to be a parent,” you confess, looking for support. Din’s eyes soften, and he kisses your lips, the tip of your nose, and the sides of your eyes where tears glisten.

“We’ll figure it out together,” he promises.

—

News of your pregnancy is slow to travel. It’s several months before you start to show noticeably - several months before you can no longer get away with wearing baggier and baggier clothes to cover it up.

It starts with low murmurs in the palace. Idle mumbles of congratulations, which you smile at and hurry past. It’s not that you aren’t happy or excited - sometimes it feels like your heart is going to burst from it all - but you’re nervous. Having a baby is a big deal. Having the Mand’alor’s baby is an even bigger deal.

Din is your constant shadow, unwilling to leave you alone or unguarded for any amount of time. When he absolutely can’t be at your side, he assigns his most loyal and highly trained guards to escort you.

After one incident when a guard doesn’t even let you open a jar yourself, you snap. That evening you sit your husband down and explain that you aren’t helpless and that while you appreciate the concern, it’s becoming more of a nuisance than a help.

Those big brown eyes look up at you forlornly. He agrees to tone it down, pulling you closer by the waist. He kisses the growing swell of your stomach through your linen shift as you pat his soft hair lovingly. You can’t stay mad at him.

The midwives had told you that it would be normal for you to experience an increased libido as time went on. However, it was Din who was becoming more and more insatiable with each passing day. Whether it was lathing over your breasts or buried between your legs, there was scarcely a night where his mouth wasn’t on you somewhere.

Din murmurs idolization into your stomach, and you bite your lip at the feeling of his scruff on your sensitive skin. Laying you back on the bed, he spreads your legs open and kisses softly from the summit of your bump down to where you’re swollen and waiting for him. He has you coming undone with just a few wide laps of his tongue, praising you the whole while.

He tells you how good you taste, and how sensitive you are to his touches. You feel like a goddess being worshipped with how he revels in your changing body.

It helps you on the days you feel detached from yourself. You examine yourself in the full-length mirror, propped up in your closet. Pulling your top up, you cup your round stomach with both hands, turning to view yourself from a side angle.

Din finds you there, brows furrowed in thought. “Everything all right?” He asks.

“I don’t recognize myself,” you murmur. As your body changes, you struggle with seeing yourself in your reflection. It’s made worse by people commenting on how you look - how big you’re getting or how the way your stomach sits means you’re carrying a boy or a girl or whatever other wives’ tales people come up with. You’ve taken to avoiding the court as much as possible as your due date draws nearer.

Din comes up behind you and places his hands over yours, thumbs stroking lovingly over your soft skin. He places his chin on your shoulder, looking at your reflection in the mirror. You lean your head against his.

“I see a woman carrying my child,” he soothes. “A woman who grows more beautiful by the day.” He places a soft kiss to your hair, and you give him a small smile.

—

Something happens on the southern continent, something that his military advisors say requires Din’s attention. At first, he refuses to go, citing your nearing due date.

“Just go,” you insist. “We’ve got a few weeks left. You’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’d never forgive myself if I missed the birth of our child,” he presses. “If I wasn’t there at your side.”

“I’ll hold it in,” you counter, and that gets a huff and a smirk from him.

He grumbles but acquiesces. You wish him good luck and tell him you love him, watching him and Grogu take off in his starfighter.

You waddle back to your chambers, looking forward to getting off your feet. Everything aches recently, and resting in your soft bed surrounded by an ever-increasing mountain of pillows is all that soothes you. Din had teased you about it, feigning exasperation at his disappearing real estate, but dutifully fetched you more and more pillows.

You wince at a sharp pain in your back. It’s nothing to be concerned about, you tell yourself. You’ve got all kinds of pain, in more than just your back. It would be ridiculous if you went into labor the same hour Din left the city -

Another sharp pain and you start to feel clammy. Something feels wrong, innately wrong. The pain doesn’t dissipate, and you have to sit down on a window ledge before your legs give out.

You tap on your wrist communicator, sending a message to the med droid and midwife with your location.

There’s a dampness between your legs. Did your water break? You can’t see past your stomach, so you reach down to touch and feel faint when your hand comes back smeared in blood.

“No no no,” you mumble. “Not yet, please not yet - not right now, your father’s not here.”

Another roll of pain is the only answer, and you choke back a cry. The last thing you remember before your vision goes black is the hurried drone of the med droid arriving, and being lifted in strong, familiar arms.

You come to in a private med bay as Din lays you down carefully. He snaps at the med droid trying to squeeze in next to him, and the midwife snaps back at him and tells him that, Mand’alor or no, if he wants to stay he has to move so they can do their job.

He moves to kneel next to the bed, moving your hair out of your face gently. You sigh as the midwife injects you with something that begins to make the terrible pain subside.

“How are you here?” You murmur, turning your head to look at Din. His eyes are wide, and you can see fear in the way he searches your face.

“Grogu,” he whispers. “He started to cry, and I just - I had a really bad feeling.”

“Hush now,” the midwife announced. You looked up at her helmeted face. “You need to save your energy, young warrior.”

“M’not a warrior,” you choke out.

“You are,” the stern woman insisted. “In our culture, childbirth is conceptually equivalent to battle. You are going to fight and struggle as you labor to bring your child into this world, and if you are to emerge victorious you will need all of your strength.”

A deep ache gets past whatever pain reliever you have in your system, and you curl up with a low groan. Your hand dashes out to grab Din’s, and you clench it hard as the contraction rolls through you.

“You can do this,” your husband says firmly. “I am here with you, my love.”

It’s not a quick birth. The midwife says something about complications, but you can barely think through the pain and the instinctual need for your body to just push. Din does not leave your side for a moment through the entire process, which lasts well into the night.

At last, your screams are answered by the wail of your daughter as she enters this world, and you collapse back onto the sheets. She’s placed, wet and screaming on your chest, and you barely have a chance to croak out a ‘hello’ before your vision goes black again. —

Low murmuring, like a lullaby, draws you from your sleep. Your eyes open slowly, vision blurry, and you see a broad figure sitting next to you holding a bundle of blankets in their arms.

You shift, getting the attention of your husband. Din looks up at you, a gentle smile on his curved lips. He glances back down at the bundle. There’s adoration in the way his eyes shine, like nothing you’ve ever seen from him before.

“Your mother’s awake, little one,” he hushes. You blink, trying to break out of your hazy mindset. “Would you like to try meeting her again?”

He moves carefully toward you and settles next to you on the bed. You sit up, eyes wide and curious, eager to see the face of the child you’d been carrying for all these months.

She’s asleep, and you’re delighted to see that her lips pout the same way Din’s do. She has a tuft of dark hair, and ten perfect little fingers and toes.

“Hello,” you whisper. “Hello, Rila.” Din leans over and transfers your daughter into your waiting arms, wrapping his arms around the both of you and holding you close.

“She’s beautiful,” you say dreamily. Din presses a soft kiss to your hair.

“Like her mother,” he agrees. You glance up at him, a watery smile on your lips.

Rila yawns, and blinks, and your heart sings when you realize that she does have her father’s eyes.

[phoenixyfriend]

Rex and Anakin Raise a Family 8

Chapter 8: Custody Visitation

The kids have a cousin, now.

Rex brings the twins to Anakin, and makes Mereel and Jango wait on the couch while they get the babies to stop squalling. They are upset, screaming, and red in the face. Rex doesn’t care what the Mandalorians want. The kids come first.

He hands Anakin a blanket to cover up while feeding. Anakin rarely minds people seeing him nurse the twins, but something in Rex hates the idea of Mereel and Jango seeing it.

“So,” Rex says. He keeps his eyes on Mereel, and doesn’t look at Jango. Shmi is pressed into Rex’s side and trembling. “What brings you here?”

“I think you know,” Mereel says. “You look rather a lot like—”

“Let me rephrase,” Rex interrupts, because he has no mind for being polite right now, “how did you know where we were, or that we even exist?”

Jango is fidgeting, but Rex can’t see details from his peripherals.

Mereel is stupidly calm, and Rex is jealous. “We heard rumors of someone wandering around in armor that had blue, black, and grey in enough of a quantity that we had someone come by to find out if there was Kyr’tsad in the area, see if maybe we’d stumbled across a new base. They found out you were here, heard you had kids and no interest in bounties or getting involved in any kind of politics or law, and then saw your face and realized… well. You look a lot like Jango’s father. We thought maybe an uncle, or something. Jango says he doesn’t know enough about his grandfather to know if there was any chance of his father having siblings he’s never met.”

It's the sensible assumption. Wrong, but the truth isn’t going to be anyone’s first thought.

“I don’t want to get pulled into your war with Death Watch,” Rex says. “I’m not putting my kids at risk for you.”

“You’re Mandalorian!” Jango bursts out. “So that means—”

“I’m not,” Rex says. He waits for a second to see if either of the people across from him will object, but they don’t. Jango is frozen, and Mereel is… patient.  Rex doesn’t like him. “My biological parent was a Mandalorian, but he never gave me or my brothers the grace of acknowledging us as his children, and the training we received may have been Mandalorian in culture, but we only got to learn the fighting and some of the language, but never to fluency, and never anything that wasn’t useful in battle. Even my armor is plastoid.”

“Brothers?” Mereel prompts.

“All dead,” Rex says. He ignores the wounded sound from Jango, like a little bubble of hope just got dashed.

Mereel makes a low hum of a noise, and says, “there are ways to become Mandalorian.”

“I’m not swearing the Resol’nare,” Rex carefully does not snap. “I am not swearing myself to you. Like I said, my own kids come first.”

The hand on Jango’s shoulder may well be the only thing keeping him from jumping up to pick a fight. Mereel is still so damnably calm. “I understand. That said, can we discuss some possibilities for having you in Jango’s life, as the only remaining blood relative?”

Rex purses his lips, and looks to Anakin. The twins, he thinks, are finished, and Shmi doesn’t feel as tense or scared as she did earlier.

“I’d prefer to have this conversation without the kids in the room,” Rex decides. Anakin twitches next to him. “Shmi, do you mind taking the twins to your room? If you’re okay with it, Jango could go with you and… I don’t know. Help you with one of your books? He’s a bit older than you, so he should know how to read.”

Jango looks offended. “I learned how to read years ago!”

I don’t care, Rex thinks. “Then you should be able to help her, yeah?”

Shmi leans away from Rex’s side to look at him, and then Anakin, and then back to Rex. There’s something calculating in her eye, but she nods. “Okay.”

She gets up, and grabs the hoverpram, and Anakin… well, he puts the babies down, which is more than Rex expected of him, honestly. He kind of expected a fight.

The kids leave. Anakin stays tense, and far away, and Rex listens for the closing of the door.

“So,” Mereel starts.

(Continue on AO3)

[gabrielislovegabrielislife]

Saving Ragnar

Paz Vizsla x reader

Mandalorian S3 E4 SPOILERS!

no beta read, we die like the younglings

1566 words, angst with a happy ending, no y/n

Literally just self-indulgence.

“Mom, are you sure I’m ready to start sparring with the others?”

“Of course you are sweetheart. Why wouldn’t you be?” I respond, brushing some dust off of his brand-new helmet.

“Well… I’m… I haven’t been with the covert as long as the other kids. What if I haven’t trained enough. What if I embarrass you and dad. What if–” I hold up a hand to stop him and pull him into a hug.

“Ragnar, you could never embarrass us. We love you very much and know you have trained more than enough. But failing in a sparring match will teach you things that you will not learn otherwise.” I take his hands and crouch so we are eye to eye, well… visor to visor, “remember what we have taught you and trust yourself.”

“I’ll try.” he sighs. I shake my head.

“Don’t try. Do.” I say softly.

“She’s right.” I hear from the entryway of our little home alcove. I see my husband leaning against the wall. He walks towards us and crouches next to me, putting a hand on Ragnar’s shoulder, “We are so proud of you, and no matter what happens today, we know you will learn from today.”

Ragnar takes a deep breath and nods.

“Come, the others have already begun training,” Paz says, standing up and patting our son on the shoulder. This seems to get the young boy excited, he practically runs out of the alcove.

“He will be fine cyare,” Paz says, putting an arm around my shoulders.

“I know that, but does he?” I sigh.

“Let’s go find out.”

….

A few minutes later, Ragnar has begun his first-ever sparring match.

It begins quite mildly, with a little bit of a scuffle as both children try to gain the upper hand, but Ragnar comes out on top, throwing his opponent in the sand.

Once declared the winner, he looks over to us, watching from a distance. I clang my vambraces together in excitement.  He nods and brings his focus back to the judge. It is then that I notice Din’s little one standing across from Ragnar as if to challenge.

“Is he putting his baby into a match?” Paz asks no one in particular.

“He knows his child best,” I respond, continuing to watch as Din convinces the judge it will be ok.

Ragnar chooses to fight with darts to which Paz remarks, “good choice.”

While waiting for the training darts, Ragnar begins speaking to Din, asking why the child does not wear a helmet, then saying he is too young to fight. Din reminds him of part of the Creed, sounding a little bit passive-aggressive, but whatever, that's just Din.

I sigh when Ragnar speaks, “Well, I know.”

“Well, we know what he will learn today then,” Paz states, a smile in his voice at his son’s sass.

After a moment of Din teaching Grogu how to fire the darts, the match begins.

The first two points go to Ragnar, quite easily, seeing as Grogu looked like he did not know what to do.

After another brief talk from Djarin, the next round begins.

Ragnar fires his dart the same as before, but this time, the small child jumps out of the way and completely over him, then back to his original position, firing all three darts and winning the challenge.

Ragnar looks around, confused, before looking back at us. I nod to him as Paz says, “One doesn’t speak unless one knows.”

Ragnar visibly sighs before walking toward an empty part of the beach to calm down.

“A valuable lesson has been learned today,” the Armorer speaks up, “go make sure he remembers it.”

We both nod and begin walking toward our son, but the flying beast comes flying over the mountain.

My heart stops, this creature has been picking us off for weeks, and it is flying directly toward the easiest target.

My son.

I'm not even sure I'm breathing as I take to the sky, willing my jetpack to go faster and faster, but it is still not enough. The beast is getting further and further ahead, Ragnar still flailing in its talons.

My pack begins to run out of fuel and I feel tears streaming under my helmet. I whisper, “please…no.”

I am forced to land, Paz and Din not far behind.

Even though I can't fly, I can still run, so I do. I don't even think as I hurdle over rocks and bushes, ignoring the burning in my legs and lungs.

I don’t notice my husband and friend running behind me to stop me until they each grab one of my arms.

“No! We have to get him! I can’t lose him!” I scream, fighting to get out of their hold.

“We can’t get him like this, we need to regroup. Look,” Din points, “Bo-katan is following the beast to its nest. When she comes back we will know exactly where it is.” he reasons.

I take a deep breath, following the ship with my eyes.

….

When Bo-katan vets back to the covert she immediately proposes a plan to save the boy.

We leave the covert within the hour and land where we have to start walking.

The sun is setting by the time we reach the peak holding the nest.

We make camp for the night. I help prepare the food, thankful for something to keep my mind off of my son, who will have to spend the night alone and scared in the lair of the beast.

Din explains how meals work in groups like this as the food is distributed.

Bo stands up to find somewhere to eat, but Paz stops her. “You are the leader of the war party. You have the honor of staying by the fire. This is the Way.” he says, taking my hand so we can find a place to eat together.

We eat in silence, having nothing to say in this solemn environment.

Fifteen minutes later, our helmets are back on, and we are back with the group, settling down for the night.

Sleeping on the ground next to my husband is not an unfamiliar experience, but it seems wrong to sleep when my child is not safe at home, surrounded by his family. I stay silent I feel tears reach my eyes.

Paz seems to sense my distress in his sleep as he pulls me closer to him, mumbling nonsense as he dreams.

Eventually, my tears fade and the feelings of fear and sadness in my heart are replaced with resolve, we will get our son back.

I don't know when or how I fell asleep but I am woken by my husband, who is gently shaking my shoulder.

The second I remember where we are and why, I’m up.

We have a short breakfast before re-stating the plan and beginning the climb up the peak.

Reaching the bundle of branches and sticks, I notice the eerie silence within the nest. Once we reach the edge of the nest, Din scans the area, pointing out heat signatures from the left.

Paz takes off immediately, against everyone’s protests, “He’s my son!” he says running in the direction Din pointed, shouting for our son.

He is knocked over by three baby beasts screeching and snapping at him, hungry for food. The mother comes flying up to the nest, alerted by the babies’ noise.

Paz covers himself with parts of the nest, trying to hide from the bird.

The bird begins regurgitating something for the young ones, and I almost lose my grip on the edge of the nest when I see that something is my son.

“Help me!” he calls out when he sees us.

I let out a breath of relief as Paz exclaims “He's alive!”

Paz activates his jetpack, flying toward the creature’s face to get it to drop Ragnar. The beast holds Paz in its mouth and Ragnar in its talons as it takes off, the war party not far behind.

Bo-katan is the first to attempt to grab Ragnar, getting smacked down by a wing in the process.

I am the next one to approach, grabbing Ragnar’s hand and pulling. He didn't budge.

I latch onto the creature’s ankle, pulling out my blade to get it to loosen its grip.

I didn't account for getting scratched off the leg by the other foot, earning deep gashes on my elbow and side.

I cry out as I fall, spinning out of control until I steady myself with my pack, landing on the side of a peak.

Paz is then released from the beast’s jaws as Bo-katan stabs its face. He lands right next to me, groaning in pain.

“Are you alright?” I breathe.

“Yes, you?”

“I’ll live,” I respond, holding a hand to one of the deeper gashes.

We watch as Din lands a successful stab at the creature’s ankle. It drops Ragnar and Din races to stop his fall.

He latches onto Ragnar just as the others take down the beast, flying him over to where we hold on to the rocks.

When they land Paz firmly asks, “are you okay?” Ragnar clambers over to me, clinging to my chest before breathlessly answering, “I’m okay dad.”

“Thank you,” I say to Din over Ragnar’s helmet.

“This is the Way” he replies

“This is the Way” we echo.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

A Fresh Start [9]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: a bit of a longer one, sorry if that’s not your forte, reader has nightmares involving being attacked, traumatic past, scar, fake name mentioned

Word Count: 6,275

Summary: When   you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a  Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child.    However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous   night,  you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a  far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community  turned  out to be  exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you  fall more  and more in love with your new life, but when  your past rears  its ugly  head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant  for everyone.

Ch. #09: BUIR, GROGU, MA

Chapter Summary: ‘There is no one else, there will be no one else, it’s only you’.

     “Have you ever noticed how  

     wanting  

     burns you up  

     from the inside out?  

     Like one moment I am whole,  

     but then I hear  

     your voice on the phone  

     and I swear to God  

     three blocks away from here  

     they can smell smoke.”  

 As if you hadn’t already felt at home with Grogu and Mando, by the end of the month you couldn’t fathom how you once lived without them. The places you’ve lived prior— Coruscant before and after the incident, Tatooine where you chose to hide— you realized now you’d hadn’t truly been living. Even at your prime, a young recently out of training physician with the world at her fingertips, there had been a hole. You spent so much time busy, trying to reach your goals, that you let other aspects slips away. You didn’t regret the work you put in, you didn’t regret being independent, but you didn’t know a home could feel so… perfect. And, that’s what your life in Nevarro was. It was perfect.

 Grogu was thriving in school. Every day he seemed to know a new word in Basic and he had made so many friends. The routine of your life would look repetitive to someone on the outside looking in, but by the Maker did you adore every second of it. Mando had permanently decided to change the time he went into work. He assured you it had nothing to do with not trusting you and him just wanting to be there for Grogu. So, every week day morning the two of you would walk Grogu to school and then you’d walk Mando to work.

 And Mando was…

 You loved Grogu. Arguably to a fault. You weren’t sure how the ‘nanny rules of professionalism’ worked but growing so attached to the child in your care had to be frowned upon in some way. Crushing on the child’s father was also hugely frowned upon you’d guess, but it hadn’t stopped you. Mando was… Mando.

 It was hard to put it into words, or maybe you were just too scared to try, but something about him spoke to your soul. Before coming to Nevarro, you had never put much thought or faith into soulmates. Even now the idea made you marginally cringe with how cheesy and dorky you sounded, but it was possibly the simplest explanation. There was something about the make up of your cells and atoms that just called to him. You felt better in his presence. Happier. Safer. Cared for. Seen. Mando listened when you spoke, truly listened, and he seemed to remember every detail you offered him. Food preferences, favorites, old memories, fun facts. The heavy beskar seemed to soak up every detail and though he may not have been a man of many words, he was a man of action.  Mando didn’t hesitate to show you how much he appreciated you, and with every kind action you were falling harder and harder.

 You had it bad.

 Nima teased you relentlessly about him, and you constantly reminded her that this was as far as it could go. A simple crush. A longing. At the end of the day, though your feelings had evolved, he was still your boss. Mando was paying you to watch Grogu, paying you to live in his home, paying you to be present. The fact that he was willing to cross that line and be friends was blessing enough. You couldn’t push any further and risk ruining what you had. If you lost Grogu and Mando because you were too stupid to swallow your emotions you’d never forgive yourself.

 It was a fact you constantly had to remind yourself of.

 “Why would you come hang out with me only to sit there and daydream about the Marshal?” Nima complained. You glanced her way to see her wearing a comical pout.

 “I am not— ” You began, but Nima stared you down with a knowing look. You shifted in your seat and moved on from the flimsy excuse. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

 Nima was seated on the floor working on some kind of engine looking machine while you sat a few feet away on a crate. She shrugged. “Yeah, but you were supposed to keep me entertained while I work.”

 “Well, sorry to disappoint.” You rose from your seat as you noted the time. “You’re really gonna pout now since I have to go.”

 “What, why??” Nima asked. You pointed to the large clock on the garage wall that indicated it was nearly 3PM. She startled. “Oh kriff, Peli is gonna kill me. I was supposed to have this done half an hour ago!”

 You laughed at her panic and tossed her a half hearted goodbye before walking out of the garage. Mando was able to walk Grogu to school everyday with you, but you were primarily in charge of pick up since he couldn’t always get off of work for that. Rarely ever.  

 As you waited for the kids to get out, you casually held conversation with the other parents standing near you. You had gotten to know a few pretty well. Especially the ones who Grogu had befriended their kid. Another person you had gotten to know was Grogu’s teacher. Ms. Wynn was sunshine personified and you assumed that helped in her role as teacher to a class of rowdy, small children. Grogu loved her and when she asked for volunteers around class or with extra work you stepped up. Partly to be more involved with anything surrounding Grogu, and also because you sure as hell had the time.

 Ms. Wynn stepped out to release the class and you drifted closer to say hello to her while also picking up Grogu. Grogu, realizing you were coming closer to do so, didn’t bother checking with his teacher and instead leapt toward you as soon as you were close enough. You pulled him into a tight hug that he returned with gusto.

 “How was school, baby?” You cooed.

 “Fun! Play with Poe!” Grogu chirped. Poe was his favorite friend in school. You had the little boy over for play dates a few weekends alongside his parents.

 “Good.” You peppered light kisses to his face to make him squirm and giggle at the onslaught. Ms. Wynn stepped closer and greeted you. “Hey! How’re you?”

 She chuckled. “I’m doing well thank you for asking.” Ms. Wynn raised an eyebrow at Grogu. “Grogu, what are the rules about leaving the line? You’re supposed to check with me first, aren’t you?”

 Grogu nodded. “Sorry.”

 He still had a hard time pronouncing the letter ‘R’ which had the word come out sounding like ‘W’s but he was improving. Though he apologized, nothing about the way he bounced in your arms was apologetic.

 “That’s probably more my fault.” You winced. “My bad.”

 “It happens.” She shrugged. “There’s a little activity I put in his bag for him to do. We’re discussing families so I asked the kids to draw their own families.” Ms. Wynn tickled his belly. “Grogu told us all about his Uncle Boba and Aunt Fennec.”

 Those were names you vaguely recognized when Mando pointed out the figures in Grogu’s drawings. Maybe you’d ask for more detail tonight and where they were specifically. The two of you said goodbye to Ms. Wynn and you began to walk away from the school.

 “Hmm, I’m thinking that a good boy like you deserves a treat.” You hummed and his ears perked up. “Wanna stop for some ice cream?”

 “ ‘lek! ‘lek! Please!” Grogu went ecstatic in your arms as he tried to crawl out of your grip to beat you to the small shop you’d have to pass on your way home. You sighed contentedly and didn’t bother trying to mask the wide grin on your features.

 Din Djarin was happy. More than happy, he was at peace. He spent so much of his life traveling alone, keeping to himself, and trying not to want for more. He had been so focused on earning credits from bounties to pass along to the Armorer as offering to the foundlings at the covert that he didn’t let any other want or need enter his mind. It wasn’t until Grogu came into his life that he began to realize how much he wanted a family. He was tired of being alone. His earliest memories were of his parents. Flashes of a life on Aq Vetina before the world around him crumbled to ash. Memories of his mother holding him, singing him to sleep, and of his father playing with him, holding him on his shoulders so he could reach the sky. That’s what Din wanted more than anything. That was the deep secret he had buried years and years ago and refused to think about.

 When Grogu became his, Din had let himself dream of a better life. That better life didn’t involve anything further than being a father though. Realistically, he couldn’t imagine finding anything more. Being Grogu’s father was already more than he deserved⏤ Din thought it foolish to think he’d want for anything else. He was settled. Content. Then, as if to specifically prove him wrong, the universe led you into the station that first day with Nima.

 Din had no idea, no way of knowing, how important you would grow to be to him. With every single day that passed, every single moment, he found the roots of your presence twisting deeper and deeper into his soul⏤ twisting into every aspect of him. Suddenly, Din didn’t want some vague white picket fence life. No, he wanted you. The Maker could appear before him and offer him the galaxy on a platter, the supposed picture perfect life, but if it didn’t involve you he didn't want it. Din was falling for you more and more every single moment of every single day, and as if he didn’t have it bad enough watching you with Grogu melted him into a puddle.

 Din would cross the universe, fight any adversary in the galaxy, for the honor of coming home to you and Grogu every night for the rest of his life. The thought of calling you his⏤ Maker, Din didn’t have the strength to stay on that line of thought for very long. Not publicly at least. He could only afford to give into weakness in the dead of night. Din would let you flood his thoughts when he was alone. It was all he could afford. It was all he could do. You were only in his life because he was paying you. That’s what he kept reminding himself of. Sometimes it was the only thing that kept him from giving in⏤ from pulling you into his arms so he could feel how soft your skin felt, what sounds you’d make, rather than just imagining it in a moment of weakness alone in the shower.

 However, Din would never put Grogu’s happiness at risk. He loved you, you loved him. Din wanted you to stay in his son’s life for as long as he could have you, and the idea of ruining that made him sick to his stomach. Din had never been in a real relationship. He had been with others in the past, but nothing serious or long lasting and that’s what Din wanted from you. Not just sex, not just a fling, he wanted a life. He wanted everything. And, as if the fact that he was your employer wasn’t enough, Din didn’t trust that he could do that right. You deserved the entire world, and Din wasn’t sure he was capable of giving that.

 The point was that he would do anything and everything to keep his life exactly how it was right now. He wanted no sort of change, no risk of it even, which was exactly why he didn’t hesitate before telling Greef Karga no.

 “Mando,” Karga shook his head, “You didn’t even pause to think.”

 “I don’t need to.” Din shrugged. Karga had called him into his office to discuss matters. While Karga sat at his desk with wide and confused eyes, Din simply leaned against the wall resting his hands on his belt.

 Karga rose from his seat. “The bounty pucks I’m offering you are beyond⏤”

 “I don’t care.” Din said. He tilted his head, “I didn’t know you were still involved with the guild at all, High Magistrate Karga.”

 “Not like before, nothing like before!” Karga waved away his words. “Just passing out a few pucks here and there. Only to the best that I know.” He motioned his arms out to him. “And that’s you, Mando!”

 “You offered me the position of Marshal here.” Din argued. “It’s difficult to be Marshal when I’m on a different planet.”

 Karga shook his head. “The bounties would be short term. Just here and there. You recruited Dune and Mayfeld. They can keep an eye on things while you pick up a bounty or two, surely?” Din didn’t bother offering a response. He had made himself plenty clear. Karga stepped closer. “It’s simple stuff for high value. I’m talking about someone who skipped bail for a price you wouldn’t believe. A man who⏤”

 “No, Karga.” Din replied. “Now, are we done?”

 “I suppose.” Karga sighed and threw his hands up in defeat.

 Din nodded once before pushing off the wall and making his leave. He had taken a lot of risks throughout his life as a bounty hunter, but this was one risk he was not willing to make. You and Grogu were much, much too important to him.

 You leaned against the island counter reading the assignment Ms. Wynn had told you about. It was simple enough. She just wanted the kids to draw out their family and label them. Thinking it over, you may have to find some larger poster of some kind for him to use. Grogu may not have had a lot of immediate, blood related family, but he had no shortage of people who loved him. He had aunties and uncles galore.

 “Fruit!” Grogu was holding his stuffed frog to his chest as he waddled into the kitchen. You glanced down at him with a smile, and he began to jump around your legs. “Fruit, fruit, fruit.”

 “Okay, okay, you little womp rat.” You laughed and wandered to the fridge. There were already some cut up pieces from this morning that you could hand over to him. You pulled it out then dug a small bowl out of the cabinet to transfer it over for him. After grabbing a fork, you turned back to him. “Alright, I’ll trade you. You give me froggie and I’ll give you fruit.” You were attempting to keep froggie from needing another wash knowing Grogu would get the sticky fruit juice all over it. “Deal?”

 “Mhmm.” Grogu nodded and held up the frog. You knelt down to take it and handed over the fruit. Grogu took it happily, then titled his head at you. “V’ore, Ma!”

 Your brain began to short circuit as Grogu just waddled away. Had he just⏤? ‘V’ore’ meant thanks. You knew that. You racked your brain for a Mando’a word that sounded like ‘Ma’. That had to be Mando’a, right? He couldn’t have possibly just⏤ You scrambled around the kitchen island to reach Grogu who had settled on the floor amongst his toys and drawings to eat. “Grogu, Grogu, baby.” You sat in front of him. “What did you⏤ I⏤” How did you even phrase this question? You shook your head. “Who am I? I’m Soran, right? Soran.”

 You said the name slowly to try and get him to repeat it, but Grogu just stared up at you like you were actively losing your mind. Maybe you were. Maybe you had misheard and this was just⏤

 “Ma.” Grogu blurted. “You Ma.” You blinked in shock. Denial still swirled in your head, trying to find some kind of reasoning, but Grogu set down his fruit to dig through his piles of paper. Some had drawings and some had letters in Basic and Mando’a that you had been practicing. He dug out a picture where he had obviously scribbled Mando holding him while you stood beside them. It was absolutely adorable, but your eyes stared wide at the labeling. Above Mando’s head he had written the word ‘buir’ in Mando’a, you recognized the lettering, above his own head he had scribbled his name, and above you he had written two simple letters. ‘MA’. Grogu offered you the paper with a happy chirp. “Buir, Grogu, Ma.”

 The first instinct you had was to smile and take the paper. You were honored that this small, precious child would see you in that kind of light. That he cared for you⏤loved you⏤ enough to give you that important of a label. The second emotion to overcome you was pure, absolute panic.

 “Oh, Maker.” You blurted. Slowly, as to not cause the boy to feel the nervous energy threatening to radiate off you, you stood and walked back to the kitchen with the picture in hand. The moment you reached the island counter, you used your communicator to reach out to Nima. She needed to be here. Now.

 It took ten minutes before there was a knock at the door and you jumped off the couch so fast that it caused Grogu to look up from what he was playing with. You yanked the door open to see Nima and Cara standing on the porch. “Cara?”

 “Is everything alright?” Nima pushed past you.

 Cara followed. “Grogu okay?”

 “He’s fine.” You shut the door and followed after them. When they saw Grogu playing in the living room they seemed to relax, and when the boy realized they were here he began to rush over to greet them excitedly. They reacted accordingly.

 “Hey, little guy!” Nima picked him up. Cara tickled him with a grin. They both turned to you and Nima was the first to question you. “What’s going on? Your message seemed panicked and you’re never panicked.”

 “Cara, why are you here?” You ignored Nima’s question to ask one of your own. “Did you guys tell Mando⏤”

 “Relax.” Cara held a hand up as if that would put a halt to your fried nerves. “It’s my day off. I was with Nima when you called.” You let out a sigh of relief, and Cara narrowed her eyes at you curiously. “What is going on, Soran? Did the kid eat another critter?”

 You shook your head. “No, it’s⏤”

 “Ma!” Grogu held his arms out to you.

 Nima and Cara both stared at Grogu in surprise.

 You sighed, “That.”

 Mando didn’t have a television in his home, but Nima had set up her communicator in the living room to play some kind of kid show. Grogu sat in front of it watching intently while snacking on more fruit. Meanwhile, you stood in the kitchen leaning against the counter while Nima and Cara sat at the barstools across from you. You had made them both a cup of caf.

 “He just started calling me it after we got back from school.” You rubbed the side of your face. The drawing Grogu had drawn sat on the counter between you and them.

 Nima nodded slowly. “Alright.” She took a long sip of her caf then narrowed her eyes at you. “And what’s the problem?”

 “Nima.” You snapped.

 The mechanic shrugged, “What? I don’t see the issue here. You’re basically his mom.”

 “I’m his nanny. There’s a difference.”

 They didn’t respond and you bit down on your lower lip. The problem wasn’t that Grogu was calling you ‘Ma’. It wasn’t even that he saw you as that kind of figure. Grogu was just a kid. Of course, he’d get confused about that. The problem was, it didn’t bother you.

 More than not bothering you, you kind of liked it.

 Cara let out a low whistle. “Well, I think we all know how Mando is gonna take this.”

 “Yeah,” You scoffed, “He’s gonna think I’m some psycho trying to steal his kid out of his life or something.”

 “Okay, maybe we don’t all know.” Cara mumbled.

 “Look, if you want him to stop you could just tell him.” Nima said. “He’s a smart kid.”

 That was probably the truth. Grogu was so smart. You were constantly impressed with what he was capable of. Even though he was only just learning how to communicate in Basic or Mando’a hadn’t meant he was capable of understanding. The problem you faced was more internal than external. You weren’t a mother. Far from it. You were a woman running from your past who fell into a situation where you got offered the job of being a nanny for a local Marshal. The job turned into so much more⏤ more than you had ever dreamed. But, enjoying a casual life with Mando and Grogu was different than how hearing the word ‘Ma’ felt to you.

A nanny was temporary, a mother was permanent.

 “I have to tell him.” You shook your head.

 “And you can in…” Nima looked at her watch, “About two hours.”

 “No. I gotta go see him right now.”

 “Why?”

 You gave them a deadpanned look, “Because I want him to know the whole story rather than him walking through the door and hearing his son refer to me as his mother. I figure a little ‘heads up’ is indicated in this kind of situation.”  Nima and Cara shared a look before conceding to your point. “Alright. Can you keep an eye on Grogu while I run out?”

 “Sure.” Nima nodded. She looked to Cara who agreed with a nod of her own.

 You gave them your thanks then hurried around the kitchen counter and into the living room. You knelt by Grogu who, at your presence, perked up and began to point to the screen. “Fun, Ma!”

 “I know, baby.” You scrunched your nose. Calling him ‘baby’ probably hadn’t helped this situation. “I gotta run out for a minute, but Nima and Cara are going to stay here to hang out with you. Okay?”

 “ ‘lek.” Grogu nodded. You started to stand, but Grogu held his hands up in a familiar way. You hesitated for a second then hated that you did. With a smile, you leaned down to rest your forehead against Grogu’s lovingly.

 When you did stand, you realized Nima and Cara were both staring at you from the kitchen and when you met their eyes they both shot you a look amusement. You huffed at them and went for the door. You needed to tell Mando about this and more importantly you really, really needed to hear what he thought.

 Mayfeld was talking about some date he had the night previously, and if Din were being honest he wasn’t retaining a word. He wasn’t trying to ignore the man or zone out, Din just couldn’t focus. Between Karga offering him bounties as if that were still his life, and dealing with a scuffle between a handful of bounty hunters on the landing pad⏤ Din’s day had been kriffing annoying. He just wanted to be home. With Cara being off today, he couldn’t justify leaving early. Especially since Mayfeld was on call tonight so if he left now the man would be working on his own for longer than anyone deserved.

 “She was all over me, Mando. You should’ve seen it.” Mayfeld bragged.

 “I’m sure.” Din nodded plainly.

 When they entered the station, Cecilia, the human receptionist, called out to him. “Marshal.” He paused and Mayfeld did as well. “Soran is waiting for you in your office.”

 Din felt his shoulders relax. This was exactly what he needed. “When did her and Grogu get⏤”

 “No. It’s just Soran.” She said. As quickly as his ease had come, it was gone. You would never leave Grogu alone. He went with you everywhere when he wasn’t at school. “She looked kind of nervous.”

 That was all it took. Mayfeld called out to him, but Din was barreling down the hall to his office. His door was shut and it took all the self control he had to simply open it rather than accidentally break it down in the process of trying to get to you. What was going on? Was Grogu hurt? When the door swung open, you jumped up from where you sat on the couch. Just as Cecilia said, you looked troubled. Your lips were turned down in a worried frown and you squirmed in place.

 “Grogu?” He crossed the space to you.

 “No, he’s fine. I swear.” You said quickly and Din let out a breath of relief. “He’s at home with Nima and Cara right now. Everything is alright. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 That was exactly what he had felt. Din was scared. The thought of anything happening to Grogu, anything happening to you, filled his veins with ice. Hearing Grogu was alright calmed him marginally, but it still didn’t explain why you were here alone or why you looked so nervous. Din closed the last bit of space to set his hands on your shoulder.

 “Cyar’ika,” He breathed, “What is going on? Are you okay?”

 “Yeah, I just⏤ I needed to talk to you.” You mumbled. Din nodded and waited for you to continue. “I’m just not sure… I wanted to… I needed to talk to you about this before you got home tonight, and I wanted you to hear it from me rather than…”

 You were wringing your hands and every word out of your mouth made him more and more worried. Din released your arms to go back and close the door to this office. When he returned, he carefully maneuvered you to sit on the couch again. He settled down beside you and let his hand rest on your back. Din let his thumb rub the spot where it laid.

 “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” Din said as reassuringly as he could despite being on edge himself. “But you have to talk to me, cyar’ika. What is wrong?”

 You locked your jaw and at the sight of it Din wanted to lifted his hand and caress the side of your face⏤ try to soothe your tension. Finally, you shifted in place to face him further, your knee now pressed against his. “At school, the kids are talking about families. Familial roles. Aunt, Uncle, Cousin.” You twisted your lips. “Dad, mom.” Din nodded. “When we got home today, I was making Grogu a snack. He asked for fruit so I got it for him, and when I gave it to him he… he…” You paused and Din pressed his hand more firmly against your back. You sighed, “Mando, he called me ‘Ma’.”

 Din was at a loss for words. Grogu had… Grogu called you… This news should not affect him the way it did, but Maker, he felt like his temperature rose multiple degrees. He was cooking inside the beskar and his mouth went dry. The thought of his son seeing you as a maternal figure completed that family image he tried so hard not to think about. Before he could reign in his mind, he pictured crossing the room to lock the door. Everyone in the office knew not to bother him when the door was shut unless it was an emergency⏤ just in case his helmet was off. And dank farrik he wanted to take off his helmet. He wanted to rip it off, toss it across the room, and pull you into him⏤ taste you. The imagery caused Din to suck in a sharp breath. You must have misunderstood his reaction, because your panic increased.

 “I swear to the Maker, Mando, I didn’t tell him to do that.” You said. “It⏤It just happened. I didn’t really react because I didn’t want to worry Grogu, he’s so good at picking up on emotions, but the last thing I wanted was for you to come home and hear him call me ‘Ma.’” It’s funny you said that because that was ten thousand percent exactly what he wanted. “I kind of hoped maybe it was some Mando’a word I didn’t recognize and asked him to clarify, asked him who I was, but then he…”

 You sighed and shifted to pull out a folded piece of paper out of your pocket. You held it out to him and Din could see a slight tremble in your fingers. In all his euphoria of finding out Grogu saw you as a mother figure, he forgot to analyze your emotions entirely. You were nervous and scared. This had shaken you. He took the paper from you but kept his hand on yours for a second longer hoping the weight of his would ground you. When the tremble stopped, he pulled away to open the paper. It was one of Grogu’s drawings. It was of Din, his son, and you. All labeled. Buir, Grogu, Ma. Din swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

 “I know this is a lot, and I really, really hope you’re not mad at me⏤” You began and Din stiffened at the thought. Mad at you? “But if you could say something that would be great because I’ve said a lot of words and you haven’t and the more I say the more nervous I get.”

 Din only realized then he hadn’t said a single word. As cute as he always found your rambling, he hated how worried you were. He set the drawing down on the other side of him, with full plans to hang that one up by the others, then took your hands in his. Din wanted to take off his gloves⏤ wanted to feel your skin. Even behind the closed door of his office though, he resisted.

 “You have said a lot of words.” He tried to keep his amusement of of his voice. Din didn’t want you to think you were being teased. “But, in all those words, you only said you were worried about how I would feel.” Din squeezed your hand. “How do you feel, cyar’ika? Do you… Do you not want him to call you that?”

 You blinked in surprise, as if you hadn’t expected him to ask that, “I…It’s not that. I⏤” Your face crumpled and you closed your eyes as if in pain. For the second time since you entered, Din had to hold back from cupping your face. “I liked it too much, Mando.” Din bit back another sharp breath. Dank farrik, he was trying so hard to be a good man, but you were making it very, very hard. You opened your eyes again. “You’re paying me to be his nanny, and I know neither of us knew anything about the nanny gig when I started, but this has to be against the rules.”

 “What rules?”

 “I don’t know. The nanny rules?” You shook your head. “I⏤ You and Grogu are so important to me, Mando. Maybe I’m overstepping by saying that, but it’s the honest to maker truth.” Din bit down on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want to risk what we have right now. I love it. I was just afraid if you heard him call me ‘Ma’ you’d think I was trying to⏤ to⏤ I don’t know... steal him away or force myself into your lives more than I was supposed to.”

 Din finally settled enough that he could find his voice. Everything you said about them being important to you mirrored entirely how he felt, and some optimistic part of him wondered if that meant you could possibly feel the same way. He shoved that aside. It was too much to ask for⏤ hope for. Din, maybe being the one to overstep bounds now, slowly pulled a hand away from yours and let it drift closer to you. He moved slow enough to give you the opportunity to stop him, but when you didn’t he let his hand settled on the side of your neck, his thumb resting by your ear. “Listen to me.” You leaned into his glove and he had to take a slow breath. “I am… overjoyed that Grogu sees you that way. He deserves more in his life than just me⏤”

 “Mando⏤”

 “Cyar’ika.” Din didn’t let you interrupt him. “As long as you’re comfortable with it, I don’t want you to step outside your comfort zone, but I would love to hear him use the word ‘Ma’. If anyone in his life is deserving of that title, it’s you. I couldn’t ask for a better mother for Grogu.”

 Your eyes began to water and Din was terrified he said the wrong thing. Had he made this worse? He opened his mouth again to try and backpedal, but you lunged forward and wrapped your arms around his neck in a tight hug. It took a second for him to register the movement, but he let his own arms pull you in tightly to his chest. He wished he didn’t have his helmet on. He wanted to bury his face against the side of yours, press his lips to your temple to reassure you further, but this was enough for him. If this was all he could have, he’d treasure every second of it.

 Din felt you start to pull back and he loosened his grip so you could. When you were out of his reach, he realized the tears that had filled your eyes streaked down your cheeks. Distress filled him at the sight, but you let out a laugh that relieved it. You wiped the tears off your face with a shake of your head.

 “I’m so sorry. I’m such a mess.” You mumbled.

 “You apologize too much.” He replied and used his thumb to catch a stray tear you had missed.

 You shrugged. “Bad habits die hard.” After a beat, you frowned again. “You know, we don’t know how long I’ll be working for you,” Din held back a snort. Was ‘forever’ an option? “But, what happens when you meet someone and it gets serious? Technically she’d be Grogu’s⏤”

 “We’ll cross that bridge if we get there.” Din interrupted. It was a better answer than ‘There is no one else, there will be no one else, it’s only you’.

 Your smile returned and your nose scrunched, “Can I hug you again?”

 “You never have to ask, cyar’ika.” Din replied. You leaned forward to wrap your arms around him once more and Din didn’t hesitate to immediately pull you as close as he physically could.

 The entire house was quiet as you laid in bed staring up at the ceiling with a small smile on your face. Ma. Grogu saw you as his mother. You hadn’t been lying to Mando when you said you liked this far too much. Speaking long term, you may have been setting yourself up for failure. Mando seemed unconcerned about the future, but what would happen the day they no longer needed a nanny? What would happen the day Mando found a riddur? Still, knowing that these were things that could blow up in your face one day didn’t stop you⏤ didn’t even slow you down. Things were too perfect now for you to give up.

 You shifted in bed and took in a deep breath. Mando hadn’t been called into work during the middle of the night since that first time. It was odd. A part of you wished he would get called away just because it meant you could sleep in his bed once more, but the idea of him being out in danger made you nauseous. No matter how bad you wanted the opportunity to lay beside him and Grogu, you’d never take it over the risk of him getting hurt. You’d sleep in your bed, alone, and just dream. Spending your daylight hours with them was more than you had the right to ask for.

     Your throat was raw from screaming. Panic and adrenaline filled your body. Fear gripped your soul. You screamed and screamed and screamed, but nobody was coming. Why couldn’t anyone hear you? Why wasn’t anyone coming to save you? You fought. It wasn’t in your nature to give up, but you were wondering if it was worth the fight. Your hands tried to keep the blade from digging into your flesh⏤ deeper and deeper⏤ but all the blood made your grip too slick. You screamed, but you had no voice left.  

     “It was all your fault.” No, no. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. You loved her. You loved Soran. You did everything you could do. “She died because of you.” You thought you had saved her. You thought she was going to be okay. Everything went so badly, so quickly. “You took her from me.” Your hands slipped again, the blade sunk in further⏤ it tore through flesh and muscles, it dug into bone. “You deserve this.” Maybe he was right. You had been her doctor. Maybe you could’ve done more. Maybe, just maybe, this was the universe’s way of serving justice. Soran was gone and it was your fault. You sobbed as your vision began to go dark. He lifted the blade only to dig it in once more.  

     “You deserve to die.”  

 You shot up in bed, panting and breathless. A cold sweat collected at the back of your neck. Your hands lifted to your chest, but you didn’t find bloody wounds. Only an ugly scar. A hiccuped sob slipped from your lips and you quickly covered your mouth to muffle the sound.

 Life had been too perfect.

 Of course, Kurt would come back to haunt you.

[lavendertales]

HELLO! If you’re open for request I’d like to ask for something with Mando helping/comforting the reader on their period (if thats ok with you). Like I imagine him being kinda clueless and lowkey panicked but he’s trying his best to take care of us and Grogu

this is so cute🥹I imagine a clueless Din because let's face it, they don't hold biology lessons when they train you to be a Mandalorian, but he's trying his best!

a little tender—Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 710

You had a feeling this would happen, and yet here you are, still flabbergasted that you were right.

The conditions are far from ideal to be having this sort of situation; you’ve always managed, but being aboard a Mandalorian’ ship with a magical green baby who needs attention and maintenance as well is surely a challenge. Grogu curled in your lap a while ago and remained there, cooing sweetly once in a while, which, in a bizarre way, helped with your cramps.

When Din arrived back on the ship and saw you and Grogu curled together like that, he cocked his head to the side, thus revealing his confusion.

“He’s been sitting here with me for the past hour,” you giggle. “He’s really cute.”

“Are you okay?”

It still takes you by surprise whenever Din proves himself to be this receptive. You have to remind yourself over and over that, as a Mandalorian, his observation skills should be more than keen. And perhaps caring for you isn’t above that.

“I’m fine. Just some cramps.”

“Cramps? What’s wrong?”

Din kneels down, inspecting you like you’re in need of repair. Truthfully, the whole idea and situation makes you laugh a little bit because he’s adorably clueless. But then it hits you that he probably didn’t get the 101 on women while training to be a Mandalorian, so periods are most likely not something he’s familiar with.

“I got my period,” you explain to him. “Basically… I’m bleeding out of parts you wouldn’t want to bleed from.”

He looks at you and you just know he has a terrified face under the helmet.

“It happens every month,” you continue to explain.

“Every month? How do you—function this way?”

You chuckle, taking his gloved hands into yours. “Lots of practice.”

“Are you in pain now?”

“Moderate. Grogu being here helps. And you.”

Din huffs. “I’m not really sure what to do, how I can help you…”

Seeing him make such a fuss over you is probably more endearing than it should be, but you can’t help it. You know Din to be a practical man, someone of labor who fixes visible, hard issues. Fixing something he can’t see or feel… an entirely different story.

But he’s there, and he’s trying. And that’s what matters.

“Usually keeping warm on the belly helps,” you explain, gently stroking Grogu’s ear. “But this little guy helped with that.”

There’s something so domestic about that image that manages to take Din aback. He never truly thought he’d settle down, at least not while he still has some good fighting years. Then Grogu came along, entered his life abruptly, and yet the prospect of settling down still hadn’t occurred to him, not fully.

Now, however…

“Anything else I can help you with?” Din asks with a lump in his throat. “Are you in any pain? I can go out, see if I can find something that—“

“Din, I’m fine now. If you want to help, why don’t you sit here with us?”

Grogu coos, apparently excited by the prospect of having Din around. The latter curls his legs next to you and simply watches you and Grogu play. For a moment, he forgets the piece of information you just shared with him, and it’s remarkable to him that you don’t even look like you’re in pain.

“So this happens every month?” he asks. “You… bleed out every month?”

Normally you’d laugh at someone’s lack of knowledge in this area, maybe offer a coy response, but the way Din is so keen on finding out more information and admits his gap in knowledge is simply so endearing.

“Yes,” you respond. “Unfortunately, we don’t get a break from this.”

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips. “For what?”

“That you have to go through this.”

Oh, sweet Din. He’s probably the first man you’ve ever heard mutter such words and truly mean them. You reach for his hand, squeezing it lightly.

“I appreciate you being here with me,” you tell him. “And being so sweet.”

Din blushes, thankful you don’t see him.

But maybe one day you will. Maybe one day you will get to see his skin turn auburn with flattery and desire for you.

[whiskeynwriting]

Hi, I would really like to request Din comforting wife reader near their daughters first birthday when reader still hasn’t lost the baby weight. I get really self conscious about not fitting in my bras and could just imagine Din being so sweet and loving about it and maybe taking her on a shopping spree at their next stop to get some new lingerie that make reader feel pretty and smutty times ensue with some amazing smutty praise 😍

This is just darling. It's PRECIOUS

Reader-Specific Writing: Body After Baby

Din Djarin x Female Reader

◆

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) please read these warnings thoroughly, as there may be triggering aspects written here.

Body insecurity, parenting, mentions of pregnancy, breeding kink, lactation kink, body worship, helmetless Din, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, established relationship/marriage, reader is a mama, I thiiiiiink that’s it

◆

A/N: I really, truly adore this. And what's even better is I made it for my best friend. I hope you love it bb <3

◆

Reader-Specific Writing Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

◆

The house wasn’t everything you’d hoped for, but this life was. It was everything and more. And you never expected him to accept this, to understand this way of domesticity. But he did understand it; in fact, he wanted it. Din has yearned for this his entire life. 

It wasn’t a conventional marriage, not by your culture’s standards nor his. It was a blend - a perfect mix. Just like your life now. You’re not a warrior like your husband, you preferred a simpler, safer life. And for the time being, that’s exactly what you’ve been given. While you raise your child, hopefully children, your family will live in tranquility. But once they are of age, they’ll begin their training. Commencing Din’s preferred way of living. Until then, you’re to stay here, living on the planet that is Ralltiir. 

During your ceremony, Din promised to keep you safe, and settling here helped him fulfill that. The planet was known for its privacy, successfully maintaining its independence from general political battles - just what Din had envisioned for a home. He not only wanted to protect you, but it’s almost as if he wanted to keep you hidden. You were too precious for the outside world. You, and Vercopa. Your little ray of hope.

“Bid kih…” He hums, smoothing a hand gently over her head. She has barely any hair, but the hair she does have is dark like her father’s. (So small) 

It was a ritual of his, something that was special to him. The very first night Vercopa was brought home, he laid her tiny body on his chest, wrapping her in a blanket while her little hands felt her father’s warm touch. He just adores doing skin-to-skin with her. And that’s exactly what they’re doing now. 

Stepping out of the kitchen, you’re sure to be quiet as you take in the sight. Din shirtless and rocking gently in the chair near your living room, strong arms holding the precious soul you brought into the world. She’s everything to him; Din fell in love the moment he became aware of her small existence in your tummy. And when she came into the world, it was difficult to pry him away from her. But why would you ever want to? You know she’s going to be such a daddy’s girl.

Internally, he sighs, not wanting to wake his daughter. How have you already been here for an entire year? Smiling to himself, he releases a happy hum. He can’t believe her first birthday is almost here. 

“You’re going to be bid kotyc.” He whispers, leaning in to softly kiss her head. “Just like I’ll teach you to be.” Doing his best to remain still and quiet, he grins, his heart soaring with true joy and thankfulness. He knows she’ll be an amazing Mandalorian. (So strong)

The sight of Din holding and speaking to your child so sweetly fills your chest with such an incredible feeling. You’ve never known love like this. 

While your husband and daughter bond, you wander into the bathroom, getting yourself ready for the night. Once life had calmed, Din easily fell back into his routines. Which meant treating you to a night out once a week. Even when you were busy, he made time for it. He’ll dedicate the rest of his life to making time for you.

What an incredible milestone. For us all, really. Pondering your daughter’s first birthday, you find yourself feeling… unsure. Happy, of course, entirely elated to watch her grow. But selfishly, you cringe at the timeline. You thought this worry would be gone by now. 

Sighing, you rummage through your drawers, trying to find a bra that will fit. But it seems like you’ve run out of luck with that. 

“It’s been a year.” You grumble to yourself, closing your eyes in an attempt to calm down. “It’s been an entire year and everything still looks the fucking same.”

Your hips have gotten so wide since becoming pregnant and then giving birth to her. And your thighs… they make you frown. They’ve just gotten so big - everything has. And maker, not to mention your chest. When Vercopa was born, breastfeeding her wasn’t as difficult as you’d imagined, but once you stopped, your chest didn’t return to its normal size. It’s not like they sagged, they were just so big. Why?!

Overall, your body just feels… different. You don’t feel like you.

And what definitely doesn’t help is the constant reminder of it all. Every single day, your clothes bring the realization back into your mind, the remembrance of your new body. Your pants barely even fit, so you’ve resorted to dresses lately. And even then, it was difficult for their outline to contain your breasts. Why was this so difficult? 

“This is so useless.” The breath you release is high, signaling your oncoming cries. And Din hears. It’s a small noise, but one he picks up on, nonetheless. 

Concerned, he glances up, those dark brows furrowing. Your home isn’t big, only a few rooms huddled beneath the roof, so it’s difficult to hide. It’s easy to tell where the noise came from, he knows you’re in the bathroom. So, he stands, carefully moving into the baby’s room. With her still swaddled and snoozing quietly, he places her in the crib, taking one last glance before making his way over to you. 

“Cyare?” His voice is soft, approaching the situation cautiously while keeping himself quiet for the baby. (Beloved)

All he hears in response are your small sniffles, a certain weight pressing into his chest. He hates to see you upset, it genuinely disturbs him. 

Walking into the bathroom, he moves behind you, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he sighs, urging you to do the same. His presence is so calming. The air feels smoother, sturdier. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice brings you back to reality, soothing your growing storm of emotions. 

Looking up, you can see those dark brown eyes staring at you in the reflection. Your nose stings from your tears as they spill down your cheeks, a lump growing heavy in your throat. And even though you’re only in a pair of panties, Din doesn’t take his eyes off of yours. He’s worried about you, those broad hands finding your naked hips to rub you gently. 

As your eyes travel down, his follow, landing on the bra in your hands. “I can’t fit into it.” You explain quietly, sounding so small. You feel defeated. But Din smirks a little, his warm hands sliding up over your belly. 

“Ni guuror bic.” He mumbles, the scruffy hair above his lip tickling your ear. You give him a half annoyed chuckle that makes him smile sweetly. (I like it)

Leaning forward, Din reaches for the bra, taking it from your hands and tossing it lightly to the floor. 

“Your body isn’t made to fit into clothes.” He says plainly, turning you in his arms. Facing him, you glance up, staring at your tall, brooding warrior. “Clothes are made to fit your body.” 

And then, he’s bringing you in, lips kissing the crown of your head. “I don’t want you to be upset about this.”

“But I am!” You exclaim, and Din shushes you.

“She’s sleeping.” Your husband coos, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I’m so much bigger, Din. And…” Eyeing your discarded bra, you sigh. “Nothing fits.”

He shrugs, eyes dipping down to your naked chest. “Maybe go braless.”

“Ha. Ha.” 

“Cyar’ika,” Din sighs, his loving eyes flickering between your own. “Don’t you know how amazing your body is?” (Sweetheart)

This makes you feel bashful, a shy smirk curling on your lips.

“You made a person, a mini human being!” Din declares quietly, making you laugh. “Not everyone can do that. You know that, don’t you?” 

His words make you nod, gaze dropping to your still-rounded belly. And he sees this, moving his hands to cover it, stroking you kindly. 

“It only makes sense that your body changes. This is a brand new part of life. Like a brand new you.”

“That’s just the thing.” You can barely even meet his gaze. “I don’t feel like… me.”

It takes not even a second for him to respond. “You’re a better you.”

Head snapping up, you question, “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course, I do.” Leaning down, he presses his forehead to your own. A meaningful Mando’a touch. “To say your body is beautiful doesn’t even come close to genuinely describing you.”

“Din,” You reply quietly, voice filling with emotion. For a man so quiet, he really did have a way with words. 

“How about this,” Your beloved then offers, “Why don’t we go shopping tonight instead?”

“Instead of dinner?”

“Yeah,” He nods, holding your hands in his. “I’ll buy you whatever you like,” Lifting your hands, he kisses the backs of them. “Whatever you feel comfortable in.”

“Really?!” You perk up quite a bit at this, eager to buy some new things. And seeing this makes his heart leap.

“You’re excited about this, huh?” He asks, leaning in to kiss your cheek. But you turn your head, capturing his lips instead. 

Din’s hands find your hips again, settling on the place he just loves to squeeze. “Well…” He sighs against you, “Maybe we can get some new underwear for you, too.”

“I so need that.” You groan, feeling both excited and relieved. But you’re not exactly picking up on his hint.  

“Maybe something a little fancier…” Din mumbles, peppering his lips along your jaw. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” That low voice responds, kissing your earlobe. “Like some new lingerie.” Tracing his fingers around the space beneath your chest, he hums. “Something that makes you feel pretty.”

Your husband is not a trusting man. Outside of you, he could count on one hand how many people fell into that loop. And there were even fewer he trusted with your baby. So, Vera tags along, floating in a small pram beside you and your husband. It’s closed, securing her in for the night. It was a miracle, but you were able to transfer her from the crib to the pram without her waking. The craft itself is something Din is proud of. Made entirely of Beskar, he’d been able to create it after receiving payment from his most recent jobs, missions he took before she was born. And when she grows too old for the floating stroller, it will be molded into her armor.

“How many credits do we have to spend?” You ask, knowing that the fortune Din saved during your pregnancy won’t hold up forever.

“Don’t worry about that.” His voice is metallic now, and deep, that heavy helmet shielding him from the rest of the world.

And Din holds true to his word, he really does get you everything you want. He figures if you need a new wardrobe, you might as well go all out. Din was never one for material possessions, but clearly, this is important to you. 

“I have an idea.” You offer, Din’s gaze directly on you. “Why don’t you go pick out some sets you like? And I’ll try them on, and pick my favorite.”

And Din loves the idea of that, but he’s hesitant. He glances over at the pram.

“She’ll be with me while you’re gone.” Comes your tender reassurance, hand gentle as you pull his gaze back to you.

After that, he’s quick to grab a handful of sets off the rack. It’s almost like he’d been eyeing them since you walked in. He makes sure to grab a few different sizes, too. He’s not sure what fits you and doesn’t want you to feel pressured to squeeze yourself into one if it's too tight. But honestly, the image of you in a too-tight lingerie set has him internally groaning. He’d love to see your tits spill out of the sides, the delicate fabric clinging to the meat of your hips and thighs and wrapping around your belly. Truthfully though, this isn’t about him. He’ll be happy with whatever you pick.

“You're not gonna show me?” He asks, slightly bewildered when you come out of the stall fully-dressed.

“Do you wanna see here?” Whispering your proposal, you approach him, leaning down to ask, “Or at home?”

“Home.” Instantly, he’s standing, those gloved hips reaching out to hold and squeeze your waist. “Definitely at home.”

And while Din is excited to see you dress up in this, you’re excited to see him dress down. Watching him remove his armor was always a sacred experience, you never tired of it. You’ve been together for years and you’ve never tired of it.

“You’re so handsome,” Looking up, he almost forgets that you’re watching him. “You know that?”

He still has his flight suit on, but he’s taken every piece of armor off. And, as per his ritual, his helmet was always last. Truthfully though, you enjoyed every minute of this routine. From the moment he started on his boots, your attention was his. Even if the situation wasn’t sexual, your body warmed with affection and arousal; watching him undress, watching him place the sacred pieces in their chosen spots, his body slowly being revealed. 

“You think so?” He grins, and he never smiled so much before finding you. 

As soon as he’s free of his dressings, he’s moving toward you, cupping your beautiful face in his hands before pressing his lips to your own. And then, he’s turning, picking your daughter up from her pram. Without fail, those are the very first things he does when he takes off of his armor.

“Think she’ll go back to sleep?”

“Yeah,” Din nods, swaying her lightly in his arms. “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go get dressed?” Grinning, he leans in to kiss your cheek. 

“Okay,” Your fingertips pet across his scruffy beard, lips curling into a smile against him.

It’s easy to convince him that you've left to get dressed, but secretly, you wait. There’s a song Din likes to sing to his daughter, one he made himself. 

Ner orikih dala (My tiny girl)

Tion’ad cuyir bid kotyc (Who is so very strong)

Ni cuy ijaat at kar'taylir (I am blessed to know)

Gar ganar ratiin cuyir pal'vut (You’ve been mine all along)

Oh, kotyc dala be pal'vut (Oh, fierce girl of mine)

A verd gar kelir cuyir (A warrior you will become)

Bal ni cuy' cyau'kuyc par te tuur (And I’m excited for the day)

Ibac ni liser haa'taylir gar viinir (That I can see you run)

In your heart, you truly feel safe with him. Like you’re meant to be here and so is he. And in Din’s head, he couldn’t be happier; he’s so proud of you and the small child you’ve made, and he’s beyond proud to continue his lineage. 

Like clockwork, your daughter falls asleep, always lulled into peacefulness by her father’s voice. And by the time she has, you’re already dressed. The set Din picked out for you is a dark teal shade, and two-pieced. The entire thing is made of see-through lace, with high-waisted bottoms and a top that dips into your cleavage quite nicely. 

And when he steps into the room, he instantly pauses, eyes going wide when he sees you. Those deep, warm, puppy-dog eyes scan your body, his hands now softly closing the door.

“Cyare…” He’s moving toward you with out-stretched arms, his hands finding your waist that’s no longer well defined. (Beloved)

“You like it?” You feel bashful. Truthfully, it’s the first time you’ve dressed like this since giving birth. 

“It’s perfect.” Wide eyes continue to roam your figure, eyeing the skin he can see beneath the thin layer of lace. “So perfect…” 

Abruptly, he falls to his knees, releasing a deep groan as he kisses your belly. His hands are falling to your hips, sliding around to cup your backside. The small gasp that slips out of your throat makes him smile, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. 

“Din, baby…” Running your fingers through his hair, you hear him sigh before he’s hauling you into his arms. “Oh,”

“Come here,” He grunts, laying you back on your shared bed. 

Immediately, his fingers are finding the hem of your lingerie, pulling the front open and watching your tits spill out from the fabric. He then shoves his face into your chest, rubbing himself into the softness of your breasts. Wiggling his pelvis between your legs, he groans, teeth nipping at the delicate fabric. His body towers above your own, covering you entirely while his hips grind into you with gentle, sensual motions. Those broad hands quickly find your hips, squeezing you so tightly that it stings. And his mouth hasn’t stopped moving over your chest, lips dragging across your skin before sucking his mark onto your chest. 

Din’s body is pinning you down, forcing you into the mattress while you wiggle beneath him, your hands sliding through his hair while your hips meet his every motion. Lifting your legs, you plant your soles on the mattress so you can encase him, surround him. With Din, sex felt primal, like he had a dire need and duty to take you, to make love to you in the most carnal way. And seeing you dressed so prettily only made him hotter for you.

“Din!” Gasping, your hands fly to either side of his face as he wraps his lips around your nipple.

“Mm…” Comes that deep, desperate moan, languidly licking over your hardened peak while massaging each breast in his large hands.

“I love your fucking tits.” He mumbles, his soft mouth moving over your flesh. “I love that they’re big, I fucking love it.” His fingers dig into you, cupping you firmly in his palms. 

The stubble above his lip and along his cheeks tickles your skin, brushing over you as he moves his lips over the hills and valleys of your chest. He mouths at them, sucking on the sides and biting wherever he can. Before leaning back, he sticks his tongue out, flattening it on your solar plexus and slowly licking one, long stripe up between your breasts.

“Oh…” You sigh out, never tiring of his tongue on your skin.

“Look at your beautiful body…” Your husband sighs, that deep and gruff voice driving you mad. “Look at these hips…” 

His hands fall to your thighs, wrapping around the expanse of them and shoving them harshly to the sides. He then lifts them slightly, his mouth diving in to suck on your tender skin. 

Seeing him so aroused from the mere image of you is baffling, his mouth and hands already making you writhe and whine. 

“I can’t believe you’d ever think I wasn’t attracted to you.” He murmurs, licking the sweet flesh of your thighs. “Do you see yourself?”

“Din, baby…”

“I want as many children as I can have with you,” He groans, licking over the softness of your inner leg. “I always want you to look like this.”

Before you can say anything more, he continues to speak, continues to work himself up. “Do you remember how full they were after she was born? Your gorgeous tits?” 

“Mhm,” Nodding, you reach down for him, watching his eyes flutter shut when your fingers rake through his hair. 

“They were so swollen… I wish I could still taste them. Oh, cyar’ika,” Lifting himself, he covers you with his body once again, diving down to your neck so he can lick and nuzzle into you. “I loved it, I loved sucking on them…” With his free hand, he palms your breast, tweaking your nipple harsh enough to make you cry out for him. “Tasting them. Your sweet milk,” Glancing down, he murmurs, “I want that again.” (Sweetheart)

The memory of Din sucking on your tender breasts makes you wet for him all over again, not that you weren’t already. It was such an intimate and erotic moment, and it happened quite often. Holding him in your lap while he snuggled into your soft breasts, his hands kneading them as he watched milk spill from the tips. He’d suck on you for however long he wanted, however long you’d let him. And more often than not, you’d wrap your hand around him while he did it, another familiar, white liquid splattering your skin. 

“Don’t you want more?”

“Hm?”

“More of my babies, cyar’ika.” He answers instantly, his voice hurried and rough. “Don’t you want to be full of it? Full of my seed? Feeling it take root and grow inside you?” He’s truly working himself up, snarling against your neck while he groans. (Sweetheart)

“Baby, of course I do.” Lifting him to your face, you can practically feel the change in him. His dominance pushing to the surface, his primal desire to have and keep you. “Please, please take this off of me.” He’s only pushed parts of the set to the side, but it still hasn’t left your body. “I need you.”

“Stay quiet.” He suddenly orders, his voice stern as he speaks to you. And the next thing you hear is the tear of the fabric he’d bought you less than an hour ago. “Be quiet while I breed you.”

“Din.” But that’s all you get out before he’s slapping his palm over your mouth. 

“Such a beautiful thing, such a beautiful body for me to take…” He murmurs to himself, leaning back onto his knees so he can tower above your body, your heaving chest and spread legs.

Staring up at the man you love, the warrior that protects and provides for you, you reach out to him. Your hand slides over his firm stomach, his toned chest, all while maintaining his eye contact. 

“Din,” You whisper, wanting to appease him. And your quiet voice does. “Give me more babies.”

For the most part, the lingerie barely covering your body is brushed away, exposing your stunning curves to him. His chest presses to your own when he returns to you, one hand lifting to hold your jaw open so he can lick your tongue, the other falling to his throbbing shaft. Shuffling forward, he glides the tip of himself between your legs, between your very center. With a small whine of impatience, you lift your hips up to him. And instead of making you wait, he surprises you, staring into your soul while he slides entirely inside. 

“How does that feel?” He groans, leaning in to kiss your cheek while your mouth hangs open with a gasp. “How does it feel when I’m inside?” 

“It’s,” Sucking in a harsh gulp of air, you swallow, eyes closing in bliss. “It’s perfect, baby. Reminds me that you’re mine.” 

Smiling, you look up to see him transfixed on you, mesmerized by your beauty and devotion. “I am,” He nods, in awe of your love. “I am yours.” 

Retracting his hips, he pulls out half way before rolling his pelvis back into you, the hand he used to grip himself sliding along the bedsheets so he can paw at your cheeks.

“And you,” Dipping down, he shoves himself into the crook of your neck, mouth sliding down your throat, over your collarbones, landing on your breasts. “You are mine.”

Already, you feel like you can’t breathe. Your head is tipped back, lips open while you pant. His strokes are deep and turning harsh. Every thrust is accompanied by a forced and breathy grunt, his cock heavy as it drags along your sensitive walls.

With his head on your chest, he sucks on you again, lips latching to your already puffy nipples. His words are muffled, praise dripping out with his saliva, his kisses becoming sloppy and wet and before you know it, you’re drenched in it.

“Beautiful thing,” He grumbles over you with a heated moan, “Sexy fucking woman.” 

“Baby, holy fuck…” 

“Do you want it?” He asked, shoving himself into you. “Do you want me to breed you? Do you want it all over again?”

“Yes, yes please. Ner verd, ner cyare.” (My warrior, my beloved)

It’s then that he pulls out and is instantly flipping you over. He loves how easy you are to maneuver, those strong hands hauling your hips into the air so he can mount you. And he does, pressing his chest to your back while bucking his hips into you. He’s stretching your sensitive lips, the coarse hair at his base rubbing over your soft skin. The soft slap of his hips against your ass is louder than he wants it to be. But he can’t stop himself, not right now. 

“I want it inside.” He’s babbling into your ear, growling before he bites it. “I want it in your womb.” 

“Please.” It’s all you can manage out, feeling him forcefully rut into you, pressing your face down into the sheets while he massages the fat of your ass, the thickness of your thighs. 

“Your gorgeous body… always ready for me.” Din groans, leaning down to speak into your ear. Reaching around, he cups your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. “Ready to bless me, to give me more offspring.” 

And then, his lips are on you, smashing to your own and feeling the vibration of your moan. He revels in it, in the pleasure he brings you. And he does mean it, every child you give him is a blessing. 

You know he’s close by his grip on your jaw, fingers pinching into your cheek while his brows begin to furrow. Pushing yourself back against him, you whine beneath his weight, feeling his muscles flex against your legs and back. And you really wouldn't have it any other way. Sex has never felt better than when you’re being dominated by Din.

His high is long, drawn out completely. Hips jutting sharply against you, spilling the thickness of his seed into your center, your very core. And you can’t help but grind yourself back against him, feeling the hand on your jaw lower to grab your right breast. Lowering his head, he kisses your neck, your naked bodies rocking together. 

“Just… beautiful.” He praises, “You laid beautifully for me.” 

“Baby,” You whine, one hand curling around to slide your fingers through his thick, unruly hair. “I love you, I feel so connected to you.” 

“We are,” He emphasizes with a roll of his hips. “We are, ner mesh’la dala. Bonded as one, you to me…” Leaning in, he gives your lips a gentle peck. “And myself to you.” (my beautiful girl) 

Without fail, everytime Din came inside you, his fingers would find themselves sliding against your walls. He’d roll you onto your back, his warm body pressing against your own. His hands would spread your legs wide, his eyes watching intently as two fingers slipping into your center, rubbing against your walls. And of course, that’s what he does now. 

“Perfect,” He whispers, kissing your forehead. “Every part of you.” 

Din just adores the feeling of you scratching his back, so while he keeps you full, that’s just what you do. It makes the fierce warrior above you melt, relaxing against you. He lays over your body, muscles flexing as he calms down, his breaths beginning to steady. His weight is comforting, not enough to crush you but just enough for you to feel him. 

“Your body is a sacred thing… you are creating warriors, cyar’ika.” Pushing his fingers a bit further into you, he sighs, nuzzling his nose against your neck, rubbing himself into the space just beneath your jaw. “I have a feeling we made one tonight.”

“Your body is a sacred thing… you are creating warriors, cyar’ika.” Pushing his fingers a bit further into you, he sighs, nuzzling his nose against your neck, rubbing himself into the space just beneath your jaw. “I have a feeling we made one tonight.” 

[elizabethhood]

Biology Notes

A minute by minute summary of my thoughts during bio class.

Countdown begin.

This ain’t gonna be fun.

Only two min in.

She’s late.

How am I already bored?

That guy’s late.

Cal/Boba handcuffed together, working as allies?

Melidaan joins Mandalorian Empire?

I’m bored.

Clones’ first time hearing music

Clones eating real food for the first time?

Clones tour temple? (Where they hear music/eat real food for first time?)

I was right. This isn’t fun.

Soulmate AU for Charles/Erik?

Erik’s POV for first meeting?

Immediate aftermath of said first meeting?

Erik and Raven visit after Cuba?

They meet babies Kurt, Warren, Jean, maybe Scott.

They miss the sign, don’t realize it’s a school? 

‘Did Charles have kids?’ moment, especially after realizing Jean’s a telepath?

Jean recognizes them from memories? All recognize them from photos and/or stories?

All the guilt when Erik sees Charles.

Cells. The powerhouse of, mitochondria is.

Phospholipid. Now there’s a word to make people flip a Scrabble board with.

Nigh impossible, you’d need lipid down first, then add phospho-, but a girl can dream.

Kurt and Warren would be adorable as childhood friends

That guy’s playing Wordle.

That guy is really, really, really bad at Wordle.

People realizing how insanely dangerous Charles is?

Erik realizing how lucky humanity is for Charles’ morality? and being very attracted to that?

Quiz on Friday, 45-50 questions, 50 points. Study slides.

Erik getting attacked by another telepath, Charles going territorial, has other telepath screaming/crying on floor, living worst nightmares, clutching head and begging for it to end, while Charles is gently comforting/fussing over Erik?

That girl is texting.

Is that guy watching Gravity Falls? Great taste.

Aw, why’d you turn the screen that way? Now I can’t see it.

Quinlan switching out Fox’s caf with decaf, letting him fall asleep, tucking him into bed?

While Fox’s asleep, using Shadow Training (TM) to do paper work? (Forgery/Ability to have multiple styli (plural of stylus) filling out multiple data pads simultaneously? (Force use?)

Quinlan leaving five min before Fox wakes up. Fox finding his paper pretty much done, crying because he’s still out of it and doesn’t want to wake up?

Quinlan making this a habit when he’s on Coruscant? Stone finding out, not telling? Fox scared if he talks about it, it’ll go away? Unable to believe it’s real?

That girl’s doing a crossword. Badly.

The answer is Lobelia. “She stole Bilbo’s spoons” is Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. 

Where in Middle-Earth did she get Tauriel from? Even if she hadn’t been added solely for the purpose of paying less in royalties to Tolkien’s family, even if she had existed in the book, when in the name of all that is precious and beautiful, would she have stolen Bilbo’s spoons?

I might kill myself. This is why I shouldn’t have sat in the back row.

Only 6 min left. Heh. +60, Execute Order. I know I’m not funny.

So close, yet so far. So unbearably bored.

Is this what stream-of-consciousness notebooks look like?

I have a very odd stream of consciousness.

We get to leave early? Hallelujah!!

Goodbye!

[wannab-urs]

WIP Wednesday

Doing my own thing with WIP Wednesday this week and combining a couple typical tag games.

Step one: Post snippets of the fics you're working on (can be a summary if there's no snippet)

Loser, Baby - Dieter x Frankie

“Frankie, man, I just feel like such a fucking loser. I cannot get my shit together,” Dieter whines into the phone. He drums his fingers on the table top in front of him, contemplating ordering another whiskey.  “News flash, Dee. You are a loser,” Frankie’s reply crackles through the speaker. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” “You’re calling me from a bar. You are literally addicted to cocaine, smoke too much weed, and rarely go more than 24 hours without getting piss drunk. What do you want me to say?” “I don’t know, man.” Dieter trails off. He drains the last few ice cubes in the tumbler. “Reassure me? Make me feel better? You’re my fucking sponsor.” “We’re both losers, Dee. We met in NA for fucks sake, it’s not like I’ve always had my shit together.”  “Will you come get me?” Dieter’s voice is pathetically whiny. He feels stupid for even needing to call, and now he’s asking for this.  “Course. Give me 15. Don’t order another drink.” The line goes dead and Dieter saunters up to the bar to order another and wait for Frankie. 

Din/Ez Mandalorian rewrite (to be titled later)

(this would be the end of episode/chapter 1) “Well. They said 40 years old.” “This does look to be our target,” the droid quips.  IG raises his blaster as if to shoot the sleeping man.   “No. We'll bring him in alive.” “The commission was quite specific. The asset was to be terminated.” He raises his blaster again, but Din is faster. Before the IG unit can even register his movement, there’s a hole in its head.  The bounty is sleeping on the floor, a pile of ragged blankets serving as a bed. He’s missing an arm, the stump wrapped in dirty bandages. Din toes him with his boot, keeping his blaster trained on him. The man doesn’t wake up. Din kicks him a bit harder and he still doesn’t stir. He picks the man up and heaves him over his shoulders. He carries him out to the blurg Kuill let him keep and ties him to its back like a saddlebag.  It’s a long walk back to the ship.

Step two: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on

Step three: Every vote is one minute you put on a timer to work on that fic (ex. 15 votes = 15 minutes of writing)

Additionally, if you want to pick my brain about either one, I have a decent bit of lore planned out. Feel free to shoot me an ask or drop a comment <3

Tags: @chronically-ghosted @sp00kymulderr @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @burntheedges @beskarandblasters @pedgito @covetyou @jupiter-soups @toxic-seduction @futuraa-free @nerdieforpedro @kennysbellbottoms @valoxwayward @qveerthe0ry @rhoorl @party-hearses @rebel-held @dancingtotuyo @sin-djarin @littlegrungegirlaf @perotovar @javierpenaispunk @magpiepills @whatsnewalycat @schnarfer @heareball @always-andromeda @bitchwitch1981 @mothandpidgeon @all-the-way-down-here

[fanfic-obsessed]

Hi! Hope your August is off to a good start. Could I send a prompt for Talk Shop Tuesday?

Feel free to ignore the prompt if not!

Some or Several of the trainers look at the babies with their alor's face that said alor wants them to train for a war and go "we think the fuck not.

@somestorythoughts Sorry I did not answer yesterday, it took me a bit to get my thoughts in order for this.

Look there is never a bad time for me to receive a prompt,  a question, or a random message.  It brings me great joy.

Now For the Prompt:

Some or Several of the trainers look at the babies with their alor's face that said alor wants them to train for a war and go "we think the fuck not.

My first thought, before anything, is that Mij is the ringleader. There is no doubt that the medics would be the ones to spearhead this and Mij, of all of them, best remembers both Jaster and little Jango.

I also think that the medics do not really know what the babies are really there for at first. If we think about the Psychology of Jango Fett- Orphaned twice over, a leader too early, the death of his people (that he 100% will not face is partly his own fault-as he shot first) and his own enslavement, semi forced addiction to Spice from the aforementioned enslavement. While none of these things makes Jango evil, they do make him a bit broken. I do believe that in this one he is lying to everyone. 

He is telling the Kaminoans that he is training what will be the GAR (it does not matter if they know the full plot or not, Jango thinks they don’t). He is telling Dooku that he is honing the clones into a weakness for the republic and a wake up call for the Jedi while knowing Sidious’s actual plan for the clones. Of the trainers, he is telling some that the clones will be a trap for the Jedi, others that they will be getting some enormous payment, while telling still others (like Mij) that he is planning to steal the clones to rebuild the True Mandalorians, assuring the interested groups that he is working for the best of Mandalore. 

Most of all Jango is telling himself that he has not become worse than any of the crimes committed against him. 

It is all lies. 

For the first year, this house of cards remains standing. Jango has convinced most of the groups he is lying to that he is lying to everyone but them. Not that all of them care, but some do.  

It is such a small thing, in the grand scheme of things, that tips Mij off. Jango has managed to explain away the numbers (to give the clones a chance to name themselves), the lack of armor (that much armor is expensive), and other such discrepancies as necessities for ‘tricking’ their employer. 

It starts with a single look. A microexpression when Mij asks Jango to hold the toddler A-17 during a routine check. Disgust. It stuck in Mij’s mind all the harder, as he had just witnessed Jango with Boba not 10 minutes prior. 

Mij started to, discreetly, poke around. It takes him all of a week to find the chips. The slave chips embedded in the heads of babies. The babies with Jango’s face and slave chips in their heads. 

Mij has made an error. Mij.exe is also experiencing an error.

Everything is an error. 

Now Mij has a choice, and both those choices involve breaking a vow he swore so many years ago to Jaster Mereel, and later to Jango Fett. He could choose ignorance, and follow his Alor, convince himself there is a good reason for what he is seeing; pretend that there is any good reason for slave chips. And thus dooming untold children, untold babies, breaking his moral code irrevocably. Or he could choose the babies, could undermine his Alor, betray the trust that Jango had in him. Be one more person to abandon Jango, the boy that Jaster had adopted and loved. 

The choice was not an easy one, and it hurt. It hurt worse at how careful he had to be, gathering allies. The remnants of the True Mandalorians were bound by trauma and shared hell. It was excruciating, having to keep secrets, but Mij knew that not everyone would make the choice he had. Not everyone would choose the babies. He could not begrudge them, but he could not trust them either.

It took another month of wrestling with their choices before Mij and his allies, 14 other former True Mandalorians, came to a decision.  There were not enough of them to wrest control of Kamino, not enough to take the 10s of thousands of babies away and keep them safe. They debated going to the Jedi, having realized that the Jedi ordering the Clones was just another lie, but the Jedi were bound to the Republic. They could not protect or free the babies. 

There is only one group that could, politically, if not physically. One that Mij did not want to go anywhere near. Knew that he would have to give up what made him Mandalorian; that he would have to give up the Mandalore Jaster Mereel had envisioned.  By the end of the month, all 15 were in agreement that there was no other way.  

Though it took time, and careful planning, Mij makes sure to be holding a now toddler A17 when his call finally connects to Satine Kryze. He can feel her gaze slip to the baby in his arms as he pleads his case to the Duchess of the New Mandalorians. As he agrees to whatever hoops she wants them to jump through, if it would mean that the children are safe and loved. 

His Ancestors who marched ahead would be angry that he would give up their culture, but they would despise him for abandoning the babies to their fate.