boba fett's childhood is such an untapped goldmine of uncanny existential horror, even before he loses his father.
like, imagine growing up never seeing another child except those that are identical to you—carbon copies in every way, except their heads are shaved, they're plugged into machines all day, and they never stay children for very long. the ones that survive turn into men who look like your father, but your father calls them cattle, cannon fodder.
you're a clone, too. you should be cattle like them, but your father doesn't call you those things. he says you're his real son and that he loves you.
your father loves you. this is what distinguishes you from the cattle and the canon fodder. your father loves you and that's what makes you a person.
and :) then :) he :) fucking :) dies :)
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The first few weeks Din had the little green womp rat on his ship, the little bugger kept waking him up in the middle of the night
Din was a bounty hunter, a Mandalorian, he was no stranger to his ship being raided or having to be a light sleeper in anticipation of sneak attacks during the night.
In was in their blood.
What he wasn't prepared for was the little green monster the size of a porg to be body slamming him in the middle of the night.
Din slept with his blaster, there could've been serious casualties.
After the ninth time his sleep had been disturbed, Din grabbed the creature. "What? Why do you keep doing this, you little womp rat?"
It's ears lowered to the sides of his head, making a keening sound unlike a young foundling in need of attention.
Din observed him quietly, setting him down on his lap. "Don't tell me you're scared of sleeping up there?" he glanced at the overhanging cot, confused.
It was made of durable leather and skins, it had enough space for the little green monster, so why was it so scared?
The green porg whimpered again and his small hands wrapped around Din's shirt, trembling slightly.
He didn't understand its language, but Din did understand its intentions.
It was scared.
With a heavy defeated sigh, Din fell back on his bed, if one could call the slab of collapsible ship wall covered by a blanket a bed, and closed his eyes.
He felt tiny hands grab at him and push a little body upward, until the creature nestled itself into the crook of his arm and chest.
With a gesture Din convinced himself was either instinctual or accidental, his free hand rested protectively over the boy, feeling its body relax under his weight.
Din settled back into a light sleep, mildly aware of the tiny face nuzzling deeper into his chest.
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"I can't file these."
"Why not?"
"These...well l...they're not considered people to be adopted."
"How do I change that?"
"You have to lobby with the Senate, and after that it's up to them. You're a very kind Jedi, and I wish you luck, but unfortunately at this moment you can't file."
"Thank you for letting me know."
Plo Koon walks about of one of the major adoption centers on Coruscant and looks at the carefully filled out flimsi-pads in his hands. His initial displeasure of learning the men that fought and died for the Republic weren't classed as people has returned triplefold, and he grips the paperwork with a frown.
No one was going to stop him.
However, he knows that fighting the Senate will take time, so he conspires with Bail Organa to do the closest thing he can in terms for his men.
-----
Wolffe looks at the small box in his hand, eyes flickering up to his equally confused men all around him. They'd been out training and returned to find wooden boxes for each of them sitting on their bunks, and none of them had to ask who they were from. No one seemed to want to open theirs, so Wolffe slowly does to reveal a leather braided bracelet with an inscription dotted along the woven strands. No bracelet is the same, some braided while others were inlaid with little slivers of colorful metal, but the base of each one is almost the same.
For my son's, my wolf pack
"Is..." No one is sure what to say, but Comet is not tearing up as he slips his bracelet on, admiring the touching gift from their buir. The boxes are all handled with care as the troopers slowly begin to slip theirs on, an excited chattering filling the room as they proudly show off to each other the differences.
Wolffe doesn't have to look to know that Plo is watching them from the hallway, and swells with pride as he slips his own one on.
While they may not be his in a legal sense, Plo hopes this small gift shows the care and love he holds for his children.
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Ahsoka *smiling*: We are gathered to celebrate the best man I know.
Anakin *preening to Padmé*: This is all for me-
Obi-wan *rolls his eyes*: Obviously you are mistaken, this is about me.
Ahsoka *hits spot light controls*: Master Plo Koon!
Wolffe *holding a cake that says #1 Dad General*: This was her idea.
104th *cheering*
Anakin and Obi-wan *blink dumbfounded*: Ah.
Taglist: @soliloquy-of-nemo @jiabeewrites @staycalmandhugaclone @nekotaetae @sexy-rex
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Lil Plo Koon sketch he’s looking at the way Obi-Wan is sitting in his chair at the council meeting.
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