And Bonus In Honor Of The Release Of Book Of Boba Fett! The Return Of Little Fang

Tv show AU - gag reel

Jesse: shh! Here comes Dogma.

Dogma: *walks in eating a HUGE sandwich that was NOT in the original script*

*cut take*

Dogma: *walks in with comically large sunglasses like nothing’s going on*

*cut take*

Dogma: *slides in on heelys and eating ice cream*

*cut*

Dogma: *walks in pointing at Jesse* BITCH

*camera pans to Jesse rolling on the floor breathless with laughter*

For the hurt/comfort prompt, would you do 5."C'mere, let me hold you-" with Fox and Wolffe, or Fox and any of his sibling ? Only if you feel like it of course

I really enjoy your writing and your characterization of all the clone troopers, thank you for sharing it

(Content warning for alcohol mention plus a character being drunk.)

Fox stands in the doorway, swaying from side to side just the slightest, hands holding onto the wall on each side. He’s still wearing his full armor and Wolffe can smell the alcohol from where he’s standing.

“Hey, Fox,” he says casually. His fingers tap onto the cup he’s holding. “Can I help you?”

Fox stands straighter. Or, at least, tries to. “Didn’t know you’d be planet-side,” he says, and yeah, definitely drunk. Wolffe wonders if here’s here to pick a fight.

“Fox,” he says. “Listen. I don’t know how you got into this ship in your state, but I’m sure your vode miss you. They’re probably looking for you all over the place.”

He stands and moves to put away the cup of caf he’d emptied. When he looks back at the door, Fox is still standing there.

“Well, do you want something?” Wolffe asks.

“I,” Fox says. His voice breaks. “I wanted to see you.”

Wolffe sighs. “You’ve seen me now. Go to bed, Fox. You’re drunk as shit.”

Fox still isn’t moving. Wolffe turns back to his cup, makes a mental note to go get more caf from Sinker, later. He only turns his head when there’s a sudden sound that almost sounds like a suppressed sob.

Fox’s helmet is off. It’s hanging by his side as he’s wiping his face with his other hand, and—

“Are you crying?” Wolffe asks.

Fox flinches. His face twists. “M’sorry,” he blurts. “I don’t want to cry. You’re right. I’m drunk.” He hiccups, and the helmet drops to the floor. Fox leans down to grab it and topples over, coming up on the floor with a quiet oof.

“Fuck, Fox,” Wolffe says, forgetting about the caf and getting on his knees beside Fox. The door glides shut behind them. Fox groans.

“Are you going to puke?” Wolffe asks. “D’you need a bucket?”

“I—I feel dizzy.”

“Maker, how much moonshine did you have,” Wolffe mutters, taking Fox’s helmet and pushing it into his brother’s hands. “Put that back on. I’m bringing you back to your barracks.”

“I jus’ thought it’d make me feel less bad.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s not a good coping mechanism. You should know better.”

Fox swallows. He’s not looking at Wolffe but he hasn’t stopped crying. Tears glide down his cheeks.

Wolffe sighs. “Why are you crying, Fox?” he asks, almost helplessly.

Fox eyes glide over him, and then he shrugs, swallowing again. “I jus’ miss you. I know y’don’t love me anymore, but I still miss you,” he says.

Wolffe pauses and blinks. “What?” he asks.

Fox looks at him. “It’s okay,” he says, as if to comfort him. “I wouldn’t love me either. Jus’ hurts. Even though it’s my fault. And it’s also kinda—it’s not. But I didn’t wan’ you t’worry. Or do somethin’ stupid. But I miss you.”

He hiccups, and suddenly something in his eyes turns desperate. “I jus’ want out of ‘ere. Wolffe, I don’t want to be here anymore. It’s never enough. I’m not enough. Can you get us out? You’re—you do rescue missions. This one’s a lot bigger. But still the same thing, right?”

“Fox, what the fuck are you talking about,” Wolffe says.

“It’s not safe here. We’re not safe.”

“Coruscant is the safest place for you to be. It’s—“

“No,” Fox sobs, and Wolffe stops in his tracks, because he’s never heard Fox sob like that before. Something in his chest twists. “It’s not, Wolffe. We’re dying. I’m dying. And, and, the fucking Senators… And I can’t protect my family, even though I try. I’m just so tired, Wolffe. Please get us out.”

“You’re dying?” Wolffe asks. Fox doesn’t seem to hear him. He shakes his head, shrinking away.

“I’m sorry, Wolffe,” he whispers. “I’m asking for too much. I know I am. I just wish we had someone like—General Koon. I wish I could fucking do something. But I can’t. Wolffe, do you understand? I can’t do anything. I just can’t do anything.”

Fox is sobbing in earnest, now, babbling incoherently. Wolffe tries to process any of his words and fails miserably, hands hovering above his knees and fighting the urge to reach out. He hangs onto the part of Fox’s drunken ramblings that’s the most unbelievable.

“You think I don’t love you?”

Fox blinks at him through his tears, breathing heavily, and stops talking. He looks utterly confused.

“I know you don’t,” he mumbles.

And Wolffe wants to cry now, too. He stares at Fox face as he feels his body crumble into itself, feels his shoulders slump and his head sink. “Fox,” Wolffe whispers. “Of course I love you. You’re my batchmate.”

“But you’re always angry with me.”

Wolffe opens his mouth and closes it again, and Fox looks at him, with glassy eyes and wet cheeks, and Wolffe finds that there’s nothing he can say. His gut twists.

“Wolffe?” Fox asks.

“Fuck,” Wolffe says, and opens his arms. Fox blinks, frowning.

“Just—C’mere, Fox. Let me hold you, please,” Wolffe says because he doesn’t know what else to do, ignoring the way his cheek feels wet. Fox definitely notices. His face twists again.

When he finally falls forward he crumbles into Wolffe’s arms with a choked sob. Wolffe slings himself around him, holding tightly, and Fox buries his face in the nape of Wolffe’s neck as Wolffe rests his head on Fox’s shoulder, inhaling sharply.

“I’ve got’cha,” Wolffe mutters, stroking his fingers through Fox’s curls. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Slowly, the tension seeps out of Fox, until he’s lying in Wolffe’s arms, slumped over, apparently drained of all strength. His breathing slows.

Wolffe makes a decision.

“You’re staying with me tonight,” he says, and, fuck, yeah, he’s crying. His voice wavers. Fox continues crying softly, and though Wolffe isn’t sure if he can hear him, he keeps talking. “You’re going to stay with me, and in the morning we’ll talk, and I’ll do everything I can to help you. That sound okay?”

Fox nods. Wolffe feels it more than he sees it.

Only five minutes later Foz falls asleep like that, still hugging Wolffe. Wolffe hadn’t thought he’d be this exhausted, but then again, apparently there’s a lot of things he didn’t know.

The thing is, with our skeletons the way they are, humans can bend. We make a point of becoming more flexible, bending this way and that and sometimes it for sure can look like we’ve got no structure. A lot of alien races are fascinated with how we move and bend because sometimes its so fluid. 

Especially in fights. 

They see us thrown against walls, flying through the air, our limbs bending in, what to us is unnatural ways, but the aliens don’t know we aren’t supposed to do that. To them, we seem like ragdolls, our bodies flopping and waving all over the place. They’re not gentle with us, throwing us over their shoulders in the rush to retreat and get back to the base, and even when not in a fight, they tend to throw us around with wild abandon (its usually no big deal, most humans think its hilarious and fun and no one really minds.)

And then they find out about our bones. 

Its a quiet, tense moment. A team had been dispatched to ‘ease the switch in political leaders’ on one of the more difficult inner planets and the current monarch was not having it. In a final attempt to keep control, the monarch had thought using one of the humans on the team as a  hostage was a good idea. They’re holding the human in a way that would look painful, arm twisting too far and the monarch is shouting, demanding that they be left in control. The others on the team are just grinning because if the monarch is threatening to break the human, they’re in for a big surprise. Humans don’t have a structure. They flop around as they please, held steady as simply a mass of meat!

The monarch, it seems, doesn’t like to be laughed at. The pull, and twist and-

SSS-NAP

And the human is screaming, their face contorted in pain. The monarch jerks the arm around. An audible -pop- fills the room, and the team hear it just over the screams of their friend. Then comes the other arm -SNAP- and the leg -CRACK-

The human is bent, but…its in a way that the others have seen often and isn’t that…isn’t that fine? Aren’t they supposed to do that? What was that horrible snap? As it turns out, one can’t hear very well the snapping of bones in the pandemonium of battle. 

Everyone’s a bit quiet, struck by the shouts of pain and sobs coming from their human before finally, mercifully, they pass out. Then all hell breaks loose. The rest of the team dispatch the monarch with unusual ease and entirely too quickly. Then, as gently and slowly as they can, they pick up the human. The angles of their limbs look sickening to them now, and they bring them back to the base where, for once, they actually stay in the medical bay to watch them be patched up and their bones reset. 

From then on, they are much more careful with their human companion and feel the proper amount of horror and concern upon seeing them thrown about in a fight. Still, it takes some time to convince them that yoga is an alright thing to do and that no, Susan is a contortionist, her body CAN do that. 

It’s funny how science fiction universes so often treat humans as a boring, default everyman species or even the weakest and dumbest.

I want to see a sci fi universe where we’re actually considered one of the more hideous and terrifying species.

How do we know our saliva and skin oils wouldn’t be ultra-corrosive to most other sapient races? What if we actually have the strongest vocal chords and can paralyze or kill the inhabitants of other worlds just by screaming at them? What if most sentient life in the universe turns out to be vegetable-like and lives in fear of us rare “animal” races who can move so quickly and chew shit up with our teeth?

Like that old story “they’re made of meat,” only we’re scarier.

Humans are now called “star children”.

It is common knowledge that all lifeforms, regardless of origin or existence or if they still exist, come from long-gone stars. By all accounts, there is no single existence that is not a “star child”, even thought there are many beings that do not believe they will ever deserve the title of being born from a star.

However, as the years and decades since humanity first discovered that they were never alone came by, the friends from other planets - or, for a better words, aliens - came to stop merely calling them human.

That did not happen on the span of a decade or two. It took maybe a hundred years for the first little one to decide that “star child” would be a name better fit for the common human. Slowly but surely, the title stuck, but not everyone will be able to tell you why that happenned.

Maybe it was because of their crooked hands, able to do so much with so little. Maybe it was their fascination for documenting everything, or maybe it was because of the hundreds of star patterns they loved to wear and decorate their spaceships with. Some even believe it was because of the human soul, and how it would stick to the physical plane even after death because it couldn’t understand that it was dead and it was time to say goodbye.

No, no. It wasn’t because of that. You see, they are not called star children for bringing wonder to everything. They are not called that because of their endurance, or their wits, or their imprudence. They are not called star children because their nature is extraordinary or so fantastical that the word “human” cannot fit it all inside. Every single creature, regardless of their intelligence, should be called a “star child” if that was the case, because every single living being is fantastical by merely existing.

There are aliens just as smart, just as strong, just as enduring and just as weird as the little humans and their crooked hands and their millions of libraries and their star patterns.

But when they invented a way for stars to live longer by harvesting their energy, and when wars arrived and they volunteered to take every single one they could to safety, and when they decided to dedicate their entire lives to caring of others, and when they terraformed planets that were too far gone, and when they documented every single living creature they ever found and when they debated the best ways to classify and understand them, and when they shared their art and when they made inventions so anyone could experience said art, and when they despite everything choose to keep their hopes up…

Oh, dear. That was a moment in which some of the aliens decided that “star child” would be a proper title, for only someone who remembered their origins and how they connected to other forms of existence, without ever thinking that they are better than the rest, could ever have been so stubborn to help.

And, soon enough, the humans accepted the title. They decided to stop arguing, for it was the better course of action, and embraced it. Now, the star children are most well-known for caring for their distant siblings. Not for how, many centuries prior, they once killed their own planet.

But star children are quite old, compared to the rest. And, as the oldest sibling, they must make sure no one will ever do the same mistakes they once did.

———-

Thank you for reading this! If you liked it, consider giving me a ko-fi or commissioning me! Links are in my fixed post. Have a lovely day! <3

headcanon that once when the 501st was on coruscant between missions a group consisting of echo fives jesse kix and rex all decided that they were gonna play as spies and figure out where the fuck skywalker was going every fucking night

like, they have a whole plan: we gotta be stealth, we are speed, we are the shadows. they have to wait outside the jedi temple for hours on end because anakin's schedule is whack and he's really unpredictable and they all have to station themselves at five different exits because anakin always changes it up and they still lose him for the first week

that is, until one night. The group is arguing outside the temple about who is gonna guard what exit (fives really wants to go to the front so he can talk to the hot jedi he saw earlier) when suddenly the window above them slowly slides open and all five of these fully armored clones just swan dive behind garbage cans as anakin dramatic skywalker scales the building from one hundred feet up

they all just look at each other like. wow. it was that easy.

and the thing is is that anakin is so focused on making sure no one is able to see him from a distance that he doesnt even clock in the five clones in bright blue literally five feet away

and they're off, with rex leading the boys on their play away adventure

and it gets really tricky. Anakin walks the entire way ("honestly we should just quit now" -fives) and he's constantly doing his jedi jump tricks and launching himself onto fifty foot buildings so the clones have to make a human ladder and send kix up on comm so he can continue to track (kix is actually the best climber out of all of them due to the fact he always has to scale fucking cliffs to get to skywalker whenever he does something stupid) and they eventually realize exactly where anakin is beelining to. the senate building.

and then anakin just waltzs into the senate like its nothing and all the clones stop and are like "can we do that?" and they agree to just send kix in again to follow like hes on duty and then the rest of them climb using the grappling hooks fives convieniently forgot he had

after kix manages to track anakin to like the millionth floor the clones all meet on the landing deck to this random senator's room (kix had to jump out a window two hallways down and crawl along the window ledges) and then theyre like well whats the worst that happens we get fired?

so they argue and eventually it gets physical to the poitn where jesse and echo straight up launch fives through the window into the room where anakin is sitting watching padme cook on the counter

fives looks up like "heeeey guys whatchu makin?" and anakin immediately force throws him back out

but then the other clones bring it up to just go in so they walk in and as echo is writing down the details of the trip in his notebook jesse is like "are you fucking kidding me skywalker" and rex is shifting on his feet because yeah he knew but he didn't know that was what anakin was doing every night

and then padme sees kix and is like "oh hey kix! are you staying again tonight?"

and thats how kix manipulated his friends into basically breaking and entering when they could have just knocked

Look, if it helps y’all feel any better, try imagining Actor AU.

Personally, my idea of Actor AU includes:

Hunter’s actor is actually goofy and leans in hard to the dad vibes. His hair is, in fact, quite real, much to the dismay of his cast mates. Omega may have recorded BTS snaps of everyone and his included attempting to play dad rock on a guitar he keeps in his trailer.

Wrecker’s actor is actually the Smart Guy, having a degree in something complex like biochemical engineering or something. He’s also quieter and a lot more gentle than the character he plays, preferring to spend his time off-camera reading.

Echo’s actor likes to crack jokes a lot, specifically about how he’s the guy who always has to be in the makeup chair “at the crack of dawn’s ass”. Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair get an earful of playful fussing if he hears them whine about sitting still for their tattoo or scar makeup. Actually has a prosthesis, though his is for one of his legs.

Tech’s actually got a degree in English (“Why else would I be acting?”) and while he’s also on the spectrum, he’s a bit less rigid than the character he plays. He sometimes wishes his character was more forward about things but ultimately respects the sass. His Kiwi accent is a bit stronger outside of the role.

Crosshair’s actor … is ironically nearsighted. Initially, the reason he always seemed to be glaring was because he was trying to get used to the contacts he was given for the first shoot the Batch ever appeared in and it just suited him. Surprisingly chill guy otherwise, very aware of how intimidating he can come off as by looks alone.

Omega is the most like her on-screen character. Just a really cheery, outgoing girl! She brings her homework to do on set sometimes, and asks Wrecker for help since he’s the one who’s best at math and science.

Everyone is always joking about the hair situation: Hunter’s hair is real, they keep having to shave Echo’s hair, Wrecker prefers to be bald, Tech’s hair is actually curly and he hates how it constantly must be jacked up for the sake of his character (think Cillian Murphy’s feelings a la Peaky Blinders), and Crosshair made jokes about how he was so used to dyeing it that he no longer remembers what his hair color actually is. Then when they made him bald (even if by use of a bald cap), Echo and Wrecker chanted “One of us! One of us!” Omega’s hair is naturally blonde and cute so the costumers left it that way.

Once, Omega snapped a pic of Echo in the middle of his makeup regimen all powdered up. Fans saw and quickly began to compare him to a baby covered in powder. Echo liked the image and comparison so much that he printed it out and taped it to his mirror. Now, a common meme that he happily plays around with is “Echo is Baby.” Sometimes, he’ll even deepen his voice and go, “I  a m  B a b y” just to get a laugh out of someone.

Interviewer: So one of the things that makes the Batch stand out is how they’re generally unafraid of experimenting with their appearances, tattoo-wise in some cases. Are there any tattoos you’d perhaps like to get? Anything like the characters you play? Hunter: Oh, not at all! A face tattoo?! That big!? I’d pass right out right in the chair! Crosshair: Same. I think Crosshair’s tattoo is more about intimidation, and frankly I think I’m scary enough. That, and I don’t know what the guy was on to be able to withstand a tattoo to the face, but I don’t have any of that on me so I doubt that’s ever gonna happen. Hunter: Yeah, the closest thing I think I could do is maybe something on my arm. Maybe my child’s hand print or something of that nature. Crosshair: Ooh, a good old dad classic. Hunter: Yeah! Wrecker: I actually haven’t thought about getting a tattoo since, like, my university years. But hey, who knows? I’ve been told I have plenty of real estate for it! Echo, sheepishly laughing: I like the idea of tattoos, but needles freak me out. Yeah, I know it’s a different type of needle but like?? I don’t like pain!! I think the best I could do is just keep applying one of those temporary tattoos to the same place over and over to create the illusion of having actual ink on me. Maybe mess around with people and skip a day or two. Or better yet: Change out the design! One day there’s a dolphin on my neck, the next day it’s a tiger! Omega: Mum says no tattoos until I turn 18. But I’d like to get a Batcher helmet as commemoration! Tech: I actually have a tattoo! I mean, it’s nothing like what Tech would probably have. I feel like if he ever got any ink, it’d probably be something geeky like his favorite equation, or something symbolic of the galaxy bottled up into a formula of some kind. I imagine that if he wanted something artsier, he’d probably outsource to someone with more artistic skills. Tech: Anyway, my tattoo is of a turtle! Everyone: *is either looking at him or snickering* Crosshair: …  A turtle. Tech: What’ve you got against turtles?

Omega convinces the guys to participate in some TikToks and such “for media purposes”. This ends in Wrecker, in character, saying, “Hunter: Omega’s trying to sneak around. But I’m dummy thicc, and the clap of my butt and meaty fists keep alerting the guards!”

Yes: Everyone wishes they could have a lightsaber. Yes: Everyone would most definitely make the lightsaber noises if they had one. And yes: Everyone makes do with their blasters, but they do revert into children who go “pew pew!” every time they pull the triggers. Even Crosshair’s actor, who more so goes “pow” or “bang”.

Interviewer: How are you like the characters you play, if at all? Hunter: I’m a cool dad with awesome hair. Omega: We’re both very curious! Wrecker: I don’t think we – Oh, you know what? We both love Lula! Echo: You mean aside from a prosthesis? Uuummm … Ppprobably … We both love a godawful pun! Tech: I think we both like to collect knowledge for the sake of it. And also, we drive like crazy. Crosshair: We can both be a bit catty

Tech’s actor is constantly fumbling his lines simply because of all the technobabble he has to say.

I do not know why but the image of Crosshair’s actor being a surprisingly good juggler haunts the cinema of my mind’s eye.

And also … They are most definitely Maori or of Maori descent, so jot that tf down.

Don’t know how it’ll help, but Actor AUs are simply The Best™️ so that in and of itself has my stamp of approval for cheering up!

AU where whenever Anakin starts goin Dark Side, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Padme or Rex hand him a tablet with baby sensory videos on it and he calms right the fuck down. He even drooled that one time. His favorites are the meilooruns that bounce back and forth. It feels like his happy place. It feels like his brain is dying and that’s just fuckin fine with him. Sometimes Rex will hug him super tight instead and he gets all needy and cuddles into his neck cause that’s some good freaking pressure Omfg. Eventually the clones build him a sensory hammock in his quarters and now Ani misses the hugs. Someone’s gonna have to get on that. Cuddle him plz. Someone asked Obi-Wan how he kept Anakin sane through his teen years and he just shrugs and mentions they have a sensory gym at the Jedi temple. The clones then realize he’s got the autism and needs calm down times. Mood. Sometimes Fives joins him with the baby sensory videos. Lmao. Obi-Wan’s version of baby sensory videos is feeling interesting textures and Ghost company keeps bringing him home new cloth textures to feel. They made him a texture blankie and now he willingly sleeps wtf. Ahsoka is jealous and would like some of this fun shit. They give her fidget toys. She deserves to press buttons.

It was a ship wide rule to never interrupt human’s movie night. It was a quiet and safe group activity to strengthen their pack bond, and it was normally a movie that other species couldn’t understand. I knew this rule, but curiosity got the better of me.

After watching the entire movie with the humans, I went to the ship’s biologist. He allowed me inside.

“What troubles you Cannan?” Ghro asked.

“I joined the humans’ movie night. I had always heard their movies were more, fantastical. The feats were certainly impossible, but there appeared to be no discernible story. The humans seemed very intense while watching, so I know I must be missing context.”

Ghro nodded. “Many human movies require specific context to understand. Tell me, what is the name of the movie and I will research it for you.”

“They called it Olympic.”

Ghro paused. “Cannan, this is very important, did they call it only by Olympic or was there something else?”

“The Olympic maybe. Does that matter?” I asked.

Ghro nodded, and pressed a button to page a medic.

“You’re scaring me,” I said, glancing instinctively towards an exit.

“What you saw was not a fictional movie. You were watching The Olympics, a quadrennial competition of human athletes all attempting to best previous human limits.”

I laughed. “No, of course not. One human ran 100 minsecs in 8.97 seconds. You can’t possibly expect me to be so foolish as to believe you.”

Ghro said nothing. I frowned.

“This isn’t funny Ghro.”

“I’m not joking.”

I stood up, aggravated. “I know humans are absurd but they aren’t super beings. They have limits. Humans are meant for land and climbing, so the female who swam faster than a frullo is not real.”

Ghro said nothing again. I shook my head.

“Take it back! It’s not real! Humans cannot lift as much as a Helvsparr! Four arms are stronger than two!”

Ghro glanced at the page indicator. He wouldn’t tell me the truth. I felt anxiety rise. I grabbed my arms.

“Humans aren’t capable of that. They just aren’t. Their bodies can’t handle it.” I insisted.

“Those humans in the Olympics train their entire lives to reach these limits and push past them. You are not the first to fail to understand how their body allows this. Many scientists have been retired because their minds could not grasp the lunacy of human biostats.”

I had to know. I had to know. I turned and ran.

-

I knew Cannan was not prepared for the truth. Unfortunately his species, Faetatia, can identify lies with frightening accuracy. I had no choice but to give him the truth.

He could not handle the truth, and so his instinct to run kicked in. I got up and followed him, keeping a safe distance. I also alerted the medics to find us in the halls.

I found Cannan gripping a human, Mario, and screeching for the truth. Mario looked concerned and unsure.

Medics came and used a gas to render Cannan unconscious and carted him away. He would undergo testing to be sure his mental functions were still well and then reassigned to a ship without humans.

“Ghro, what happened?” Mario asked.

“Cannan watched the Olympics and could not believe that humans are capable of such things.”

“Oh. You told him those were extreme cases right? Not every human is like that?” Mario asked.

“I could not, because every human has the potential. That thought frightens many, too many.”

“I guess the Olympics are gonna be banned on ship wide movie nights then, huh?” Mario asked.

“I’m not sure. They do just as good a job of pacifying humans as they do frightening other species, so it is the Captains call.”

sometimes family is you, the cute kid you met on the flight, and his mysterious dad

The last thing Boba expected, was to meet an utterly adorable child on the flight home, and then get mistaken for the child's buir and the riduur of the child's actual buir.

Rating: G

Pairings: Boba Fett & Grogu; Din Djarin/Boba Fett; brief Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Warnings: reference to past near-fatal jellyfish stings

Prompts: @bobadinweek 2021 day 4 | family & this

“Give us a call when you land, ok?”

Boba rolled his eyes exasperatedly at the third reminder. “Yes, O’buir.”

Obi-Wan smiled fondly at his child’s antics through the screen. “Sure you don’t want us to pick you up?”

“Yes, O’buir,” Boba sighed theatrically. “I’m 25. I can make my way home from the airport.”

But he couldn’t help the instinctive face he made when Jango appeared in the frame only to drape his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and hook his chin over the other’s shoulder to kiss his cheek.

“Buir!” he said exasperatedly. “Stop doing that every time I call home, for Force’s sake. You can be sappy when I’m not there!”

Jango merely smirked at him while Obi-Wan hid a laugh behind his palm.

Oh Boba just knew his buir was doing it on purpose to get a rise outta him! He scowled at the pair, not that it did anything to stop them. No, they had been that way for 15 standard years already, and would be that way till they joined the ka’ra.

(And he wouldn’t have them any other way. He only hoped that he would one day find a riduur who would look at him the way his buire looked at each other.)

The hall speaker came alive with a chime, interrupting any further conversation.

“That must be your boarding call,” commented Obi-Wan. “Have a safe flight, dear. Love you.”

“Safe flight, Bob’ika. We’ll see you when you get home,” added Jango.

“Mm, yeah. Love you, buire.” Boba waved back at them before ending the call.

Sighing, he slid the datapad into his jacket and shouldered his carry-on before pulling on his buy’ce again. At the boarding announcement of the rows including his, he joined the others making their way onto the aircraft.

“Welcome aboard, sir,” greeted the Togrutan flight attendant, glancing over Boba’s documents. “We wish you a pleasant flight.”

Boba tipped his head briefly in acknowledgement. Ahead of him, the mass of people slowly inched their way to their seats. Lowering the audio input of his buy’ce to reduce the audible hum of the craft, he joined them, squeezing his way past people until he arrived at his row.

More preoccupied with getting his carry-on into the overhead cabin space, he did not fully register the presence of his row-mates until a cheerful chirp caught his attention.

“Oh,” he breathed out, sliding into his seat which was thankfully an aisle one. “And who might you be, ad’ika?”

Big brown eyes stared back at him curiously from an impossibly tiny body, floppy green ears twitching ever so slightly. The kid was swaddled in thick robe-like clothing and had a child’s seat belt fastened neatly over its body where it sat in the center seat. Tipping its head, the child cooed at Boba.

“His name is Grogu.”

Boba looked up at the person sitting by the window and his breath caught at the sight of the unpainted pure beskar buy’ce.

The mando was clad in an unassuming, loose-fitting outfit of a shirt, jacket and jeans. But Boba had grown up around ori'ramikade, his buir being one himself, and had seen them in all sorts of attire.

He knew an experienced combatant when he saw one.

(Not to mention beskar was still incredibly rare. Not even the ramikade owned pure pieces of beskar’gam. So for the mando to be wearing the pure unpainted metal and as their buy’ce no less, they had to be talented enough to still keep it even with all the aruetiise who would gladly slaughter them for it.)

“I see,” he murmured. Straightening up slightly, he offered his forearm. “Boba Fett. Clan Fett, House Mereel. He/him.”

The mando clasped Boba’s arm, a silent strength in their grip. “Mando. He/him,” he replied, offering no more information.

Boba merely nodded as they let go. It wasn’t the first time he’d met a traditionalist.

(And it elevated his opinion of the man’s skill even higher. Though it did also raise the question of why he had given out his ad’s name. Perhaps the child was not used to being addressed otherwise.)

“Well met, Mando.”

The child squeaked, waving his clawed hands at Boba. He laughed softly at the adorable cry for attention.

“Well met, Grogu,” he said seriously, gently grasping one tiny hand.

As the pre-flight announcements began, the mando distracted the child with a shiny silver ball. The kid was happy enough to play with the item, rolling it back and forth between his hands.

Meanwhile Boba pulled out his own datapad and busied himself with a few interesting research papers he’d not had time to read while juggling his semester’s course load. The 9-hour flight would give him more than enough time to make a sizable dent in his reading list.

He connected his buy’ce to the in-flight entertainment system easily enough, and was soon absorbed in his reading, strains of warbat trance playing over his internal comms.

Engrossed as he was, he barely registered the passing of time until a soft insistent patting of his thigh caught his attention. He looked down from his datapad to find the kid tapping the outside of his leg, wide eyes fixed on his buy’ce.

“What is it, ad’ika?” he asked quietly, switching off his music.

Grogu cooed at him and raised his arms up. Boba glanced over at the mando, but the man seemed unaware of his ad’s antics. The silver buy’ce gave no hint of what could be happening beneath, though Boba figured there was a good chance the man was fast asleep.

Truthfully it was highly unlikely that the mando would be willing to let his guard down enough to fall asleep on public transport, especially around so many strangers and with an ad to protect. But it was even more unlikely that he would let his ad interact so unreservedly with an unknown, even a fellow mando’ad, if he was aware of such interaction taking place.

At Boba’s prolonged inaction, the child grew more and more fussy, his whines getting louder as he smacked his hand forcefully against Boba’s leg.

Making his choice, Boba stowed away his datapad and unbuckled the kid’s seat belt, carefully lifting the child and settling him on his lap.

“Shhh, ad’ika,” he whispered, gently stroking one ear. “Your buir is sleeping.”

Grogu easily settled down, having gotten what he wanted. Boba wrapped a protective arm around the tiny body, cradling the kid close as he had his fill exploring Boba’s clothing, fiddling with the many zippers, pockets and buttons.

Perhaps it was the “buir instinct” that was often joked about by the mando’ade, but Boba found himself unconsciously smiling as Grogu played with the folds of his clothes, unbothered by the number of times he had to carefully disentangle the kid’s claws when they caught on the fabric.

“Patoo!” Grogu exclaimed softly. He lifted his hands up, straining towards Boba’s face.

Boba bent forward to let Grogu skitter his hands over the buy’ce’s cool surface, heedless of the strain in his neck at the awkward position. After a few gentle pats Grogu frowned, ears dipping down, then tapped the side of the buy’ce insistently.

“Do you want it off?” Boba asked curiously.

Grogu’s ears perked up. “Patoo!”

He tapped the buy’ce once more.

Sneaking a look over at the mando to make sure he hadn’t woken, Boba lowered the tray-table and helped Grogu onto it, making sure he supported the table with his legs. The child was incredibly light, but he’d rather not risk breaking the tray and/or endangering the kid either way.

Grogu watched him eagerly from his perch, and Boba huffed a laugh before pulling off his buy’ce and placing it on the kid’s empty seat.

“Patoo?” the kid whined, ears drooping as he reached for Boba.

“It’s ok, ad’ika,” Boba murmured, bending slightly to let Grogu run his hands over the scars on his face. “It’s ok, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

The child looked at him sadly, tipping his head in silent question.

“It was an accident,” Boba replied, running a finger across the kid’s ear. “My buire and I were freediving in the ocean near our house one evening a year ago. We didn’t see them, but I ended up swimming into a couple of jellyfish.”

“My buire were terrified,” he added quietly. “I nearly died that day.”

Grogu shuffled closer to hug Boba. Running his hand down the kid’s back, for a brief moment, Boba could’ve sworn he felt an almost familiar surge of warmth engulf him.

“Hello sir, is there any food or drink option you would like to have?”

Tensing, Boba pulled away and turned to the flight attendant, an arm wrapped protectively around Grogu. He relaxed slightly when the Twi’lek female smiled down at the child and greeted him softly.

“Do you have any broth for the kid?” he asked when Grogu turned pleading eyes on him.

The attendant briefly consulted her datapad. “Yes, we do have bone broth suitable for your child. Would you like it in a toddler-friendly cup?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The attendant handed over the cup. “Anything for you or your partner, sir?”

Boba choked, quickly disguising it with a cough as the Twi’lek looked at him in concern. “Ah, no. We’re good, thank you.”

As the attendant moved away, Boba could still feel the heat that had rushed to his ears and the back of his neck at the mistaken assumption. Grogu squeaked at him, patting at his chest.

“She thinks your buir is my riduur and you’re my ad,” he told the kid incredulously.

Grogu simply tipped his head and cooed.

“Ok, fair enough, I can see why she might think you’re my ad. But your buir's riduur? I could be a vod.”

The kid merely squirmed forward, attention fixed on the cup Boba held rather than what he was saying. Sighing, Boba helped the child off the tray-table and onto his thighs before handing the cup over. Grogu chirped happily and snuggled into Boba’s stomach, clutching his prize triumphantly.

Boba watched him absently, mind drifting back to the attendant’s words.

He’d never thought about having an ad of his own before, not seriously at least. But as Grogu sipped at the broth, perfectly content to sit on a stranger’s lap, he could slowly paint a picture of a future for himself - one with a tiny green child and an intriguing man with a pure beskar buy’ce.

He shook his head to get rid of the fanciful idea. “Di’kut,” he cursed under his breath. “I really need to get out more.”

A thump of the cup against his chest had him firmly back in reality.

He took the offending item. “Done, Gro’ika?”

Grogu nodded seriously at him. Then to his amusement, a large yawn escaped the tiny body, almost causing the kid to topple over if not for Boba.

“Looks like it’s nap time for someone.”

Grogu yawned once more in agreement. Burrowing himself back in Boba’s arms, he blinked tiredly a few times, and was soon out like a light. Boba tucked the folds of his jacket around the kid and leaned back against the headrest.

It really wasn’t so bad - taking care of an adiik.

The dim light and low drone of the aircraft quickly had Boba feeling the exhaustion of the day. And within minutes, he too unintentionally slipped into sleep.

“Hey,” a low voice called as someone shook his arm. “We’re landing soon.”

Boba’s eyes snapped open, body tense, only to meet the dark T-visor of the mando. A surge of discomfort coursed through him as his bare face was reflected back at him.

Then he remembered the child.

“I-” he spluttered, looking down at the kid who was still fast asleep in his arms. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” the mando cut him off, the smooth metal of his buy’ce giving no hint of true emotion. “Let him sleep. He’s had trouble doing so the last few days.”

Boba couldn’t help the flush that crept up his neck. Here he was bare-faced (the ugly scars criss-crossing his visage exposed) and cuddling a traditionalist’s child without their express permission, and somehow he was still alive and unharmed.

It was a kriffing miracle. His buir would’ve killed others for less.

Really, the only saving grace of the situation was that his aliit was not there to make fun of his massive misstep, for which he sent a quick thanks to the ka’ra.

Then he hastily grabbed his buy’ce off the seat between them and shoved it on. And just in time too, because the flight attendants were making their landing rounds.

“Good morning sirs,” greeted the same flight attendant from before. “Could you please have your child seated with their seatbelt fastened? We will be landing soon.”

Boba’s face was on fire under his buy’ce. He was already in deep enough osik with the mando, and now the attendant’s misunderstanding was putting him in an even worse spot!

He opened his mouth to hastily correct the attendant when the mando spoke.

“We understand. Thank you.”

Boba’s jaw dropped. As the attendant went down the other rows, he numbly placed Grogu back in his seat and watched as the mando carefully fastened his kid’s seat belt.

Mando was definitely one of the strangest traditionalists he’d ever met.

“Sorry,” he finally spoke. “About the attendant, she-”

“I know. I was awake,” replied Mando. “Since Grogu started trying to get your attention.”

“Oh he was no trou- Wait. You were awake the whole time?”

Mando huffed a laugh, a warm sound that not even the vocoder could completely disguise.

“He’s fond of you. It’s… unusual,” the mando said slowly. “He generally doesn’t like others very much.”

“I see,” Boba replied faintly.

They remained in silence as the aircraft landed and everyone around them began to disembark. Boba stood as the mando unbuckled his and Grogu’s seat belts.

“Do you have a carry-on?” he asked, pulling out his own bag to sling over his shoulder.

“Elek,” said the mando. “Same compartment.”

Boba nodded and pulled out the only other bag as Mando picked up his child. When the other reached out to take the bag, Boba shook his head. “It’s fine, I can take it.”

“You have an ad,” he added when it seemed like the mando would argue.

That seemed enough to convince the mando, and the two began the long process of going through customs and collecting their luggage.

By the time they finally exited the arrival hall, Grogu was wide-awake and happily cooing at all the new sights and sounds, eagerly pointing things out to both the mando and Boba. They came to a halt right outside the taxi stand.

The mando handed the silver ball to Grogu, and the child quietened, content to play with the item.

“Vor entye, Boba Fett,” he finally said.

Boba immediately shook his head. “There is no debt between us. Children are the future.”

“This is the Way,” replied the mando quietly.

They stood in silence for a moment longer.

“Do you have a place to go?” Boba asked. “Because, you could come over for a while if you want. My buire love kids, and-”

Grogu startled as a taxi sped by, dropping the metal ball with an upset squeak, which then bounced onto the road.

“Grogu,” the mando began, when the child lifted his tiny hand and the ball zipped back into it.

Boba inhaled sharply. “A Force-user.”

Beside him, the mando went still, a predatorial calm that sent klaxon sirens ringing through Boba’s head.

“Udseii, Mando,” he said evenly, making sure to keep his posture calm and unthreatening. “I will not harm you or your ad.”

At his side, the edge of a blade threatened to slice into him. “You’re not the first nor the last to say that.”

“Haat, ijaa, haa'it!” Boba swore readily. “My buir and some of my vod are jetiise, Mando. I promise you, neither my aliit nor I will harm you or your ad.”

At that, the mando finally relaxed. For the first time, Boba could see the exhaustion that threatened to swallow the other whole, and he found himself instinctively reaching forward to steady the man.

“Your buir, could you- could you take me to them?” the mando asked. “I was told to find a Jedi. I- I can’t- The child, he’s not safe. There are people hunting him.”

Grogu whined, sensing his buir’s distress. Boba’s heart, already firmly in the kid’s grasp, ached as the mando tried to sooth the child.

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, I can take you to him. You both will be safe with us.”