Gooooood Morning For The Promt Thingy: "i’m Not Leaving You Here" But Don't Stress Yourself!!!! Hope

Humans are weird: Adaptability

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The assembly hall at the institute of learning on Praxos III was one of the finest halls in the entire system. Easily able to handle over a thousand beings it was specifically designed to allow anyone up on stage the ability to speak to the very back of the rows without the need for technology to boost their voice. A rather convenient feature as today the hall was packed to capacity.

A dozen hushed conversations mingled together as those gathered waited for the speaker of the day. They had come from across the planet and even as far away as the outer colonies all for a chance to hear the subject that had captivated their entire species.

As the voices continued to rise and fall like the tide of the ocean the lights began to dim and a lone figure stepped on to the stage. The crowd’s conversations died away and were replaced by the thunderous roar of applause that shook the hall.

Upon reaching center stage the speaker raised up their hands for quiet and the applause slowly pattered out until once more the hall was silent.

“My name is Ozma Dalhime,” the speaker began as their voice echoed throughout the entire hall, “and I hold the position of head researcher of alien lifeforms here at the institute.”

Behind Ozma a large screen slowly descended from the ceiling and the lights of the hall went completely dark save for the lone light on the speaker.

“In my time here I have come to find many interesting and seemingly farfetched life forms that have been discovered across the galaxy, but none as fascinating and frustrating as the one we are here to speak about today.”

At this the projector turned on and a large image of a strange creature appeared on the large screen. Several oh’s and ah’s came from the crowd as the image came into full view.

“This,” Ozma said, “is a human.”

The images began cycling through several different pictures of humans. Some were male, some were female, some had long hair, some had short, some were pale as a ghost, and some were as dark as the starry skies. Dozens of different photos went by, each unique and different from those that came before, leaving many to wonder how such a chaotic species could have survived for so long.

“Born in the Milky Way galaxy on a rather hostile planet they have creatively called “Dirt”,” the professor continued to the amused chuckles of the crowd, “they have survived countless generations of strife to now become one of the most recognizable species carving their way through the cosmos.”

Ozma paused for a moment and looked over the audience.

“Can any of you tell me why?”

The crowd was silent save for a few murmurs between groups here and there, but no one spoke up.

“I hope when you came to my lecture you didn’t expect me to do all the talking.” Ozma replied happily as he walked back and forth across the stage. “Come on, why do you think humans have survived for this long?”

Ozma saw a lone hand rise from the third row and motioned for the holder to stand up.

“Because they can breathe fire?” they remarked, drawing a rousing laughter from the crowd.

Ozma gave no sign of similar mocking behavior and simply nodded.

“They certainly can seem that way when you make one angry, as I can attest from first-hand experience.” Ozma said. “Does anyone else have an answer?”

Another hand rose further back in the crowd and again Ozma motioned for them to stand up.

“Because of their barbarity?” the second speaker said, this time drawing hushed tones of agreement from those around them.

“You certainly are closer to the answer.” Ozma said, motioning for the crowd to quiet. “When provoked an individual human can draw upon fits of strength that often will destroy their own body, but in the moment they wouldn’t even notice it until their body collapsed completely like a puppet whose strings have been cut.”

Many of the crowd had heard stories of human soldiers lost in this blood madness on the battlefield and had continued fighting even after a majority of their body was covered in third degree burns, who showed no fear when facing down a hive swarm single handedly with nothing but a crude slug thrower and harsh language, that even could wrestle a Draxic warrior into submission despite being half their size.

“In my many travels there is one quality of humans that has superseded their natural, and at times unnatural, strength and is the corner stone of their very being and the reason they have thrived amongst the stars.”

The crowd leaned in as Ozma stopped himself for dramatic effect, smiling to himself before revealing his answer.

“What makes humans interesting, is their adaptability.”

Whatever the crowd had been expecting this certainly was not it. Through the bright lights Ozma could see a few of the guests in the front row showing faces of disbelief, full of questions they thought they knew the answers too already.

“Across my years of travel I have never come upon a species that was so capable of enduring the rigorous extremes that the universe had to offer.” Ozma began, pacing the stage once more.

“I have seen them create homes for themselves on planets with suns that could melt flesh from bone in minutes, on planets so cold that the liquid of your eyes would flash freeze if exposed for even a moment; even on planets devoid of sunlight and filled with creatures of such horrific nature one would believe they were taken straight from the pages of a children’s book have I found them sitting around camp fires laughing into the night.”

Ozma turned and sat on a waiting stool on the stage to catch his breath. He sipped from a water container under the stool for a moment before setting it back down and continuing.

“When I was in the Gamma Belt I found myself waylaid at a space station waiting for the next shuttle out of the system.” Ozma began, his mind reliving the memories as if it had just been yesterday. “I wandered the hallways for days while I waited and came upon many unsavory characters of questionable intent along the way; safe to say I kept my purse string held close for much of the adventure there.”

“During my third day aboard the station I came across one of the most interesting people I have ever met.”

Ozma couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he recounted that strange man. “Their name was Oliver Reid and he owned a small food kart that was nestled on the lower levels of the station.”

“A scruffy human for sure standing no taller than me and missing a hand and an eye, he served a dish made from fresh Razor fish he kept in a nearby tank and prepared right before your eyes.”

A couple gasps came from the crowd at this. Razor fish were some of the most violent of aquatic life that had been discovered so far. Their spines were covered in long protruding spines so sharp that they could cut through metal when provoked.

“When I first met Oliver I could hardly believe his notion that he could somehow provide a dish out of such a violent creature, which he seemed to take offense to and promptly challenged me to a wager.” Ozma continued. “He said if I liked the meal he prepared that I would pay three times what was asked, and that if I didn’t I could eat it for free.”

“Intrigued by the human’s confidence I agreed to the wager and I bore witness to one of the most extraordinary feats I have ever seen come from the creation of a dish.”

“Without skipping a beat the human pulled out a sharpened wooden fork as long as a forearm and strapped it to his missing limb as he approached the tank holding the razor fish; closing his eye for just a moment and without hesitating stabbed the wooden fork into the pot and skewered a razor fish, killing it instantly.”

As Ozma regaled the crowd with his story they could not help but notice the tinges of excitement dotting the professors voice here and there.

“Here was a creature dubbed one of the most lethal killers of the oceans and a human missing an arm and an eye was able to kill it without even flinching.”

“What was even more impressive was that they were indeed able to create a dish worthy of renown that I gladly paid three times for.” Ozma finished as he saw a hand rise from the crowd.

“What does that have to do with their adaptability?” the guest asked. “Truly it is an impressive feat, but I fail to see how it relates.”

Ozma took in the question before standing back on his feet. “As I was eating the dish I learned that the reason Oliver had lost an eye and a hand was from his previous attempts to prepare the razor fish.”

“The first time he had tried his would be entrée sliced through his hand like it was butter and swiftly ate it before he could recover and reattach the appendage; while he had lost his eye on the thirteenth attempt when a spine punctured his eye after getting too close.”

The crowd collectively gasped in horror, one near the back even vacating the contents of their stomach if Ozma heard right.

“I asked him after finishing my meal why he continued with a practice that had cost him so much,” Ozma said, “and he looked me after rubbing the stump that had once held his missing hand and said “If you give up from making mistakes, then clearly you didn’t learn the right lesson it was teaching you.””

Ozma paused once more for effect now that he had his audience in the palm of his hand. “To say I was astounded by such an inspiring insight and find it in the proverbial armpit of the universe was something of an understatement at the time.”

“He told me that through his trials and mistakes he had learned that the Razor fish was unable to comprehend let alone sense wood leaving itself exposed, and that one of its natural defense mechanisms relied on it looking into it’s would be predators eyes and reading the intent from eye motions.”

“Can you imagine that?” Ozma said. “That through his failures this Oliver had refused to give up and continued to adapt and study his situation to such an extent that he was able to overcome seemingly impossible obstacles as if they were nothing more trifling then crossing the street.”

“In an instant the core of humanity was made clear to me; that when presented with a challenge neigh impossible that rather than retreat from it humans would greet it with a devilish smile and continue to change themselves until the impossible became reality.”

The projector that had died down during Ozma’s speech sprang back to life again and showed a new series of pictures. Human settlements on the frozen moons of Jkin VI, roaming human tribes riding massive desert sliders as they crested the roaming dunes of Hava Prime, and even and most astoundingly of the professor standing next to the one handed one eyed human Oliver smiling together over a razor fish dish.

“Humans have the uncanny ability to adapt themselves to whatever situation they come upon and despite the odds rise above the challenge and claim victory; and that is why I find them the most interesting species to observe in the universe.”

Thanks for the tag @chopper-base ! I love doing these!

1. I love my drawing ability. I may get burnt out from it from time to time but I love looking back on the characters I’ve made and seeing how far I’ve gotten.

2. I like how I can come up with a full short story right off the top of head just by thinking about how characters would interact with each or how they would react in a certain situation.

3. I like how I can ramble about certain topics for a long time and still get my point across (usually).

4. I like that I can make friends fairly easily. I might not always feel like it but I think I’ve made quite a few!

5. I like being able to understand people with really thick accents. I had been told by some friends in hs that they couldn’t always understand a girl we knew who was from Egypt but I never had that issue in communication. I have my grandparents to thank for that one lol.

This was harder than I’d like to admit yet easy at the same time??? I don’t know how to explain that 😅

No pressure tags!

@spicylasat @worm-in-a-trenchcoat

And I don’t have that many followers so here’s just some people I follow to spread the self love.

@amikoroyaiart @catawampuscorner @cyareclones

When you get this you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)❤️❤️❤️

agggghhhh ty for this 🥹♥️

hmmmmmmmm

i uh. write good?

i have impeccable taste in music

my hands look nice I guess

i have a brilliant collection of hug gifs

I HAVE KRIFFING AWESOME TUMBLR MOOTS

tagging bc I’m lazy @one-happy-silent-geek-girl @void-of-erebos @im-someone-i-guess @fierreth-who @metalhusbands @twelve-kinds-of-trouble @kazoo-the-demjin @saltyfortunes @confused-as-all-hell

Can time travel AUs finally give Obi-Wan that therapy????? He has PTSD and deserves a Service Boga thanks. I’m aching

cliché but classic trope: when the person who almost died wakes up in a hospital bed, looks around and sees the object of their affection sleeping uncomfortably in the chair next to them because they haven’t moved in days.

A Different Kind of Clone War (1)

Wolfpack Mayhem

"Wolffe!"

"Yes."

"Sinker took my spare pack of ammo!"

"Well tell him to give it back."

"I did! He's being a- oof!"

Wolffe sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, finally turning around to face the chaos that was his squad.

Sinker had jumped on top of Comet and Comet now had his arm in a choke hold, trying to pry his fingers off of The pack of extra ammunition. Sinker was trying his damn hardest to hold on to it and reposition himself so Comet didn't snap his arm. Boost ducked to avoid a boot to his head and Warthog laughed.

"Just- give it- back!" Comet grunted, wrestling his older brother onto his back.

"You two are acting like children." Wolffe said. Anyone else would have heard the tone as disapproving, but the pack knew he enjoyed watching them at it and could hear the underlying affection.

"Hah! Haha!" Comet jumped up with the ammo in both hands like a trophy and made for the compartment to Wolffe's right.

It had been a long many weeks and he needed a break from all the stress. Wolffe couldn't help himself.

Faster than thought possible, he lunged at the youngest squad member and Comet toppled over from both Wolffe's weight and the surprise.

Wolffe pinned the kid on his back and straddled his waist, locking his arms to his sides with his knees.

"This is for wrecking my moment of peace." Wolffe growled before scribbling his fingers over Comet's stomach.

Comet SCREAMED. Maybe it was because he'd been taken completely by surprise. He hadn't thought the commander was even capable of pulling such a thing.

Sinker gawked at Wolffe as he tickled the young clone to hysterics. Warthog and Boost glanced at each other.

Comet bucked and writhed under the commander but he wouldn't be moved.

"WOHOHOLFFE!!"

"Yes?"

"STAHAP!"

Wolffe gave a rare grin. "Are you giving the higher ranking officer orders?"

Comet squealed as Wolffe's fingers fluttered over his navel. "No! Nohoho!"

"What in Cerridil is going on in here?"

All five of them looked up to see Commander Cody in the door way. They hadn't heard the door hiss open over Comet's laughter.

"Cody. We been redeployed?" Wolffe started to get up from his hold on Comet on the floor.

"Oh no, carry on.. I didn't mean to ruin your fun." Cody said with a grin, taking in what was happening. "I simply heard a scream."

"Aw man!" Comet groaned, trying to free his arms. "Wolffe!"

Wolffe smirked down at him. "What? Tired out already?"

"Maybe he is a shiny, yet. Just doesn't have the strength." Sinker chuckled.

Wolffe's smirk got even wider and he released Comet. Then he spun and pounced on Sinker, who yelped as he went over backwards.

"And what does that make you?" Wolffe wondered as he started pinching at Sinker's sides. Sinker immediately started giggling trying to grab the commander's wrists.

"Wow, Commander's really in a good mood today." Boost chuckled, grabbing Sinker's arms and prying them up above his head.

"Hey! No- hehehey, wahait!" Sinker squirmed as Wolffe started his assault. "BOOHOHOHOST! YOU TRAHAITOR!"

"Don't worry, I got 'em." Warthog said, burrying his fingers under Boost's arms. As a result, said clone snapped back with a shriek, letting Sinker's arms go.

Cody watched the Wolfpack wreak havoc on each other. Comet had rejoined the fray and payed dearly at Boost and Sinker's hands. Warthog was already in hysterics as Wolffe had lost Sinker and had chosen him instead.

Comet tried to get at Wolffe but got no reaction from the commander and, again, payed dearly for it.

Cody decided it was time Wolffe got a taste of his own medicine. Being from the same batch, Cody knew exactly what to do and understood why Wolffe's men hadn't figured their commander out yet.

Cody crouched behind Wolffe and prepared himself for the consoquences of his actions. Oh, there would be consoquences.

The 212th commander latched onto Wolffe's hips and Wolffe yelped and lost his concentration on Comet completely.

Cody knew how to break his brother's defenses, knew how they worked.

His men didn't know he was ticklish because he could hold out much longer than any of them. That's exactly how it had gone, back when they were cadets. So it took a solid 5 seconds of Wolffe and Cody struggling (mainly Wolffe) before Wolffe made a sound.

The rest of the pack fell still.

Cody grinned as Wolffe's giggling increased in frequency and in volume as he twisted and squirmed, trying to free himself from Cody's grip. Cody just pinched and tickled over his hips more, the grin growing wider on his face. Finally he sat down right there on the floor and pulled Wolffe into his lap, never letting up. At that point, Wolffe was writhing and laughing hysterically, a sound that made the rest of his team smile.

Cody drilled his thumbs into the dips of his hips and Wolffe arched his back and then curled in on himself, pushing himself against Cody's stomach in an attempt to get away from his hands.

With a chuckle, Cody relented and rested his arms on the shoulder in his lap. Wolffe gasped for breath, still giggling.

Yeah, it had been a long many weeks. Cody knew Wolffe was one to constantly stress and was more than happy to have contributed a distraction.

Even if he'd have to watch his own back for a while. Revenge was absolutely going to be taken by the 104th Commander.

Cody chuckled as Wolffe shifted and grumbled about him getting the upper hand but made no moves to remove himself from Cody's lap. This made him grin and run his fingers through his brother's hair, watching him all but melt.

Yeah, the commander was deffinetely in a good mood today.

This was fun!

@worm-in-a-trenchcoat @catawampuscorner @chopper-base and anyone else!

Make your own here!

No pressure tags: @letterfromvienna​ @acrossthesestars​ @jadore-andor​ @lowlights​ @the-ginger-hedge-witch​ @jazzelsaur​ @astroboots​ @leslie-lyman​ and YOU!

reblog if you think sign language should be taught as a language in schools.

🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

Pong krell, Wolfee and Plo koon

The local frog population is about to have terrible associations with the sound of bells. But at least they’ll have warning.

My favorite part of this comic is Luke in the background going “Why is that child ringing?”

[  Patreon  |  Ko-Fi |  Commissions  ]

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.”