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thegreatyin · 1 month ago

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The Silverer lazily reclines in the Scoundrel's bed. At first, it is unclear where she came from, but the mirrors in the room look recently tampered with- so the answer is easy to arrive at.

"Fingerkings." she says. "Your semi-loyalty to cats has always been a mystery to me; you've never been the kind to be loyal to any army. Why is it that you scorn my friends so?"

The Scoundrel stops in their doorway for approximately one straight minute. They blink once. Twice.

They promptly skip over and flop beside the intruder with a huff, resting their head on her shoulder as they study their claws in abject boredom. It's surprisingly cuddly, all things considered. They almost seem content in this position.

"One," they hold up a finger, "The cats provide an essential service. They pay us for our time at Port Carnelian. We pay them in kind. We have long-since established a working relationship. It would be a shame to break that establishment now... and thus, their enemies are our enemies."

"Two," yet another finger, "As persons- tja, animals- of noble status, it is only right that they rule Parabola. It's merely the natural order of things. The Fingerkings refuse to recognize that claim, and they should be punished accordingly."

"Three," they bring this finger over to tap at the Silverer's nose, "Your beloved serpents are duplicitous and vile and cats are adorable, delightful creatures, who have never done anything wrong in their lives. Ja, even regarding the Sixth Coil."

Before the Silverer can retort, the Scoundrel raises a fourth finger- and then their thumb, just for the apparent hell of it, patting her cheeks with a satisfied purr. "Four. It is a bother to you in particular. And we do love the faces you make..."

They trail off, meeting her gaze.

Their cheeks flush. Their ears twitch. They blink furiously, then turn away and shove their heel against her shoulder.

"Which is all to say, get out of our spire already!!" they point towards the door with a chirp bordering on a shriek. "You have a perfectly good paramour to steal a bed from!!! He wouldn't even complain about it!!!! This is our room!!!!!! Out!!!!!!!!"

A productive conversation, this was not.

#the implications of this ask meme prompt are driving me insane thanks op #louise breaking into the scoundrel's house. louise potentially being able to break into the scoundrel's house whenever she wants #the fact she broke in and then decided to lounge on their bed waiting for them to walk in for no reason #the fact she chose their bed specifically. the sass. the Drama of it all. they need to strangle each other like putty #who said that #oc ask meme #ask #in-character oc questions are the best kind ever ty. freak to freak communication #it's unfortunately fun writing the scoundrel as this horrible creature with the worst takes imaginable.#i feel like i should put a disclaimer on all of their posts #like ''this guy's full of shit and i dont believe any of what they say'' or something #scoundrelventures

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mirrortouchedsea · 13 days ago

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dark. that was all he had ever known. cold, dark, damp. the boy shivers in the small room, painfully alone, only a book and his magic to keep him company. he tries not to use his magic very often, though. it seemed that the people above knew when he used it and they always always always refused to give him food until he “woke up” next, if they bothered to keep track of that. maybe this time he’ll learn their lesson. the boy whispers his spell, cur memini, and creates a small light in his fingers. this is the only spell he can cast safely, too small to be noticeable by the people above. he holds his hand over the fading book on the floor. the boy can’t read the letters on the page, but this book has pictures. he flips through it again, careful of the pages that were falling apart, admiring the figure in armor who always comes to rescue the figure in the tower, cut off from the world, just like him. the boy frequently dreams of a figure in armor coming to save him, despite the years he has spent alone. dark and cold and damp.

the room the boy lives in, the only room he has memories of, is empty besides himself and the book. sometimes the people above would give him water and stale bread to eat, and then there was a cup and a dirty plate, but otherwise it was just the boy and the book. the boy knows why the people above have locked him away, they told him that he was a freak of nature, unnatural, dangerous. but the boy could only make lights in his palm, and that wasn’t very dangerous at all. he thinks to himself that the people above are the dangerous ones, locking away a child for something like this, but he can’t say that out loud. he doesn’t want to die again.

the boy’s stomach grumbles and he curls in on himself, the light in his palm fades out. he longs to see the sun again, to play with the other children he can hear through the ceiling, to be normal. the people above must have decided to punish him again, though, as he doesn’t remember the last time he had anything to drink, to eat. his stomach would eat through his skin and he would still wake up the next day. why can’t he just die once and for all and be rid of the pain? why is the world keeping him here? why was he even born?

the boy closes his eyes, and falls asleep. maybe this time it won’t hurt so much.

---

how long has he been here? the boy doesn’t keep track of time. he knows he’s died at least a dozen times, but how long does it take for a dozen lifetimes to pass?

---

a clattering on the floor wakes the boy up. the people above decided he can eat today. stale bread and water again, but better than nothing to the boy. he crawls closer to it, listening to the door. it closes and the voices disappear. where was the sound of the lock? did they forget?

the boy scarfs down his food and water before tiptoeing up the stairs. he doesn’t hear any voices, but he needs to be careful. he doesn’t remember what the above looks like, but he needs to leave. he needs to be free.

slowly, quietly, he opens the door. it’s dark on the other side of it, but still much, much brighter than his room ever was. he closes his eyes but keeps the door open. breathe in, and out. opens his eyes again, blinking the brightness away. pushes the door further open. steps on the hard ground outside the door. he’s so close. closes the door quietly. turns around and holds his breath. where was outside? pick a direction and go. his legs hurt. turn the corner, listen for voices. voices are dangerous, get away from the voices. whisper his spell, create a small light. keep moving keep moving keep moving. window ahead. break it? open it? is he strong enough? lift the window up. too weak. voices coming. hurry hurry hurry must get out now. whisper spell again, hand on window. break the glass and jump through it. cuts on feet cuts on legs deal with that later. voices getting louder voices shouting. run run RUN.

the boy runs away from the building, away from his room. freedom is so close. first get to the trees, then… he hasn’t thought that far, but he will find a way. gunshots from the house. he runs faster, must get to the trees, must hide, must be free. cur memini, he whispers again, crossing into the forest. his spell can make lights and now break windows, but he needs it to protect him at this moment. run run run until the voices are quiet again. his legs are giving out, but he needs to run. he can’t die now or they’ll find him. keep running. bare feet on sticks and stones and sharp things, everything hurts but he can’t stop. he keeps running until the sun comes up. his heart beats out of his chest.

---

when he wakes up he doesn’t know how much time has passed. his heart beats fast and he sits up. did they find him? he looks around. trees, rocks, a gurgling stream. he’s free. he’s free. he sighs and lays back down. how far did he run? he needs to go further. away from other people, away from anyone who might lock him up again. he sits up again and forces himself to stand and walk towards the sound of the stream. he can start there. water is important, and he might be able to get food from the little stream too.

his first drink of the stream water is icy cold, quenching his lifelong thirst in just a few swallows. he washes his face with it, removing years of sweat and grime. he wants to sit by the stream forever if only he could, but the people will find him eventually if he doesn’t keep moving. but he allows himself a few minutes to bathe in the water, savoring the feeling of water on his skin. his stomach still growls, wanting something more filling than the freezing water of the stream, but that would have to wait. he needs to get his bearings.

the light of the outside world is almost blinding, he realizes. the sun and the snow made it almost impossible to see anything. he should get up above the trees. can he even do that? cur memini, he says, trying to get his voice to be louder than a whisper. his feet float a few inches above the ground. he closes his eyes and says his spell again with more conviction. Cur Memini. he feels himself shooting into the air before he opens his eyes. he can see the forest stretch out for miles around him. trees covered in snow in every direction. if the old house is behind him, he should fly straight ahead, towards the forests on the mountains. tentatively, he leans forward and focuses his magic on keeping himself afloat.

it doesn’t take much to exhaust what little magic he has, but he’s put more distance between himself and the old house and the people above now. he should be safe to rest, truly rest. but first he should find something to eat. is there anything to eat out here? something in his head tells him to look a little closer to the ground. to his left. there’s a bush full of berries. he’s never had anything but stale bread, and doesn’t know what to expect as he crushes one with his teeth.

the sensation overtakes him for a brief moment. the berry is sweet, yet tart, and delicious. it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten and he thanks the little voice in his head for the information as he picks several more berries from the bush. the juice runs down his chin and makes him sticky, but it feels good. he feels truly alive for the first time.

once he’s finished picking the bush clean of its fruits, he needs to find a place to rest, to stay warm. he’s shivering in the intense cold of the north, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to. the room was never very warm after all. he listens to the little voices calling out to him, guiding him towards a small cave, instructing him on how to make a small fire to warm himself up. a small rabbit brushes against his leg and he swears one of the voices is coming from it. and with the fire going, he thanks the rabbit before it hops away back into the snow. he would be roasting that same rabbit over the fire a few months later.

the boy can’t stay in the cave forever though. as days turn to weeks turn to months, he worries that the people above are getting closer to him. they’ll put him back in that cold, dark, damp room again. he needs to keep moving. he has been practicing his magic, casting stronger spells, and he needs to be ready to fly. it's been long enough. cur memini he says holding his hand out. a rough stick with twigs tied to the end flies into his hand. it’s a poor excuse for what he understands is a broom, but it will work. he climbs onto it and focuses. cur memini cur memini cur memini. he lifts off the ground and watches as the branches of the trees get shorter and eventually he passes above the treetops.

he takes a moment to gather his bearings. he no longer remembers the direction the house was in, but going up is his best bet of staying away from the people above. he laughs, realizing that he is the one above them now. after a moment, he flies into the mountains. the small voices change into bigger, unfamiliar ones as he gets further into the mountain range. they tell him to hide, to stay away. he doesn’t listen. they cannot be more dangerous than the humans he is running from.

the boy lands, still exhausted from using so much magic, but he was able to travel further this time. that has to count for something, surely. he gathers some sticks and looks for another cave to make his home in. the caves remind him too much of the room he left, so he chooses to stay close to the entrance, close to the light that reminds him he is free. the fire keeps the animals away, but the voices are curious about the new presence in their woods. they make him curious too. he should stay in the cave tonight though and regain his energy. maybe he can get some small game to fill his stomach before settling in for the night. he listens for a rabbit’s voice, or maybe a squirrel, anything that would be small enough to kill with his hands.

at last, a small fox’s voice is heard nearby. he wonders if fox will taste different from the other game he’s eaten thus far. he lifts a hand-sized rock and slinks out of the cave towards the voice. it takes a few minutes to find the source, but the fox is curled under a tree, shivering, hungry, just like him. the boy hesitates before bludgeoning it and slinging the corpse over his shoulders. there are more foxes. he is much more important.

the fox is only the first animal he hunts in those mountainous woods. he spends several years in that forest and eventually humans settle up there as well. the boy, or rather, the man now, has made a name for himself amongst the human populations of the north. he is no longer afraid of humans capturing him and locking him up. they are still terrified of him, but now he is in control of that terror. the hunters that left his territory alive whispered tales of the great wizard owen who inhabited the mountains and terrorized anyone who had the bad luck of running into him.

all of this is perfectly fine with owen. eventually his reputation will grow beyond himself, encapsulating atrocities that were impossible for even someone as strong as oz to commit, but that would be a problem for future owen. for now, he is still young and living in his cave on the outskirts of a small village and scaring hunters who stray too far from their boundaries. the wolves don’t like these visitors either and gladly listen to owen’s lamentations. it keeps his hands clean of the bloodshed if he isn’t casting the spell himself. the wolves don’t care for owen either, but they respect him. and that is enough for owen.

the first of the unwanted visitors was a young man, someone who wanted to provide for his family. he pleaded with owen and the wolves to let him go and he wouldn’t cause any problems. those pleas fell on deaf ears though as owen looked the man in the eyes. won’t your family be disappointed, he asked almost innocently, you don’t have anything to show for your efforts. the man stammered a response, they’d rather i come back alive with nothing than die trying to find food. is that so, owen reached out for the man’s chin, the distance between their faces was almost nothing. y-yes, sir, please just let me go and i won’t bother you anymore. owen grinned. oh i’m sure you won’t be causing us any trouble again. the wolves stalked out of the woods, drooling at the prospect of tearing a piece of that man for themselves. owen snapped his fingers, and they came running forward, only to stop mere inches from the now trembling man. there was a suspicious yellow stain in the snow beneath him. p-p-please sir, anything you ask, it’s yours! then make sure you tell the rest of your little village that this forest belongs to the great wizard owen. the man ran off, leaving behind a hunting rifle and a ratty sack. the rifle would be of use, but the sack became tinder for his fires.

despite the warning from that first man, hunters continued to enter into owen’s territory. and one after the other, they ran off screaming with their tails between their legs. this should have annoyed owen, that people would ignore all of the warnings and stories that had started popping up about him, but it doesn’t. their fear feeds into his magic power, only making him stronger, and that is all fine with owen. he is no longer a weak child locked in the damp, dark basement, and he never will be again.

#shay writes #mahoyaku #promise of wizard #mhyk fanfiction #owen #owen mhyk #owen mahoyaku #character study #my wips #okay putting. disclaimers in the tags bc formatting. i am still new to reading everything #i'm almost done with the ballads. i have one left and its the proud hunter one #and then i'm hoping to start the first anni story #so uhhhhh if anything past the ballads is wrong no its not #jk jk i just havent gotten to it but i also like to take creative liberties with some things #and i definitely have already #trust me this is going to be way longer than it already is #like this is 2.5k words and i'm only posting all of it now bc its owen's birthday #i have several more scenes i want to write out as well that will add probably at least #another 2k words to this #if not more. its gonna be a time #but i did force myself to get to a decent place to end where it wasnt like. the middle of the scene #or a sentence. which some of my wips do accidentally end midsentence. i need to get better at that #but yeah. okay i should go to sleep i am actually sick and need to sleep and pray #i can go to work tomorrw. though if i'm feeling worse thats fine w me #i can sleep in for once #anyway happy birthday owen my mippy <3

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tragedykery · 6 months ago

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english is so correct for the word “moon” that’s exactly the right word for it. double o for visualising the roundness (x2)! u/ʉ vowel similar to the sound of a wolf howling! & I can’t explain it but a word for moon simply Needs to have a nasal consonant in there, and the english one has not just one, but two of those thangs. my sincerest apologies to other languages but english really wins this one

#dutch has the double nasal thingie but fails on the vowel front (sorry but that thing needs a rounded vowel at the very least. get out of #here with that a!) luna is better but not as good as moon. lune is worse. it’s too short idk. mond is terrible sorry (though that may #just be bc it means ‘mouth’ in dutch so like Connotations for me. it just feels like it should mean ‘month’ even though I know that’s #‘monat’). what else. uhh that’s all I know off the top of my head #elli rambles #disclaimer bla bla this is all light-hearted & mostly a bit I don’t actually think words can be the ‘correct’ word for something et cetera

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gregmarriage · 1 month ago

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CATEGORY FIVE DYKE MOMENT™️: i want kissie 🥺

#this is not bait but also it isn’t not bait #thinkin thots #i’m in a mood and my dykery is a hurricane and it *will* blow through this place #ever so slightly being like ‘are we just close friends 🤨’ in a classic display of lesbianism #like we’re not together technically but also like we *might* be in the future?#soi guess technically we’re friends?#but my brain is like ignoring all the shit that has been said to me that has made it pretty obvious that we are probably gonna be more than #friends in the future #bc i am a useless lesbian unfortunately #godddd i am such a huge dyke #i need them here saying things to me in that way that completely calms me down in like five seconds #this isn’t a spiral or anything i’m genuinely just like 🤨#‘but what if they’re just really nice?’#lesbians be like ✌🏻🤪✌🏻#was gonna be like ‘should i post this/leave it up but also i think it would be really funny for the future if something does happen for real #scott pilgrim i’m in lesbians with you type shit #and i’m over here like ‘haha gal pals!’#SHUT UP YOU STUPID DYKE #i feel like none of this needs confirmation and it’s not even serious imaoooo #anywayssssss #disclaimer: this is a funny haha no one needs to come in my asks being like ‘you’re over reacting’ it’s not that deep babe x

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torchickentacos · 5 months ago

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taylor idk who chappell roan is i think that makes me disqualified from being queer forever (←sapphic girl)

She's a musical artist! She's pretty up-and-coming right now and is seen as a wlw queer icon in the music industry, but I've never been able to get into her music even though tons of other sapphics love it. I probably just haven't given it enough of a chance. Casual is a good song though!

#big ol' personal opinions disclaimer down here in the tags. also lisia this is soooo unrelated to your question sorry lol #i also kind of hate a very specific subset of chapelle fans and i can't listen to her without thinking of them dkjfsdkjfnkdsf #which is a really stupid reason to not listen to her music and i know it but alas brains work in weird ways #i don't judge her by her fans! but i just have that tainted association. like how sometimes you feel ill after eating something #and even if that didn't cause you to be sick- you still refuse to eat it afterwards? it's like that #it's not her. she did literally nothing wrong. it's just an unfortunate little brain link that i can't get rid of #saw a couple of fans talking about toxic bisexuals and their 'inferiority complex' and that put me off of her music as a whole tbh #in regards to debates about her sexuality #one was talking about how bisexuals 'marry the patriarchy'.#quote-'bisexuals have freddy mercury. that alone is all you need' :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))) i'm going to bite someone.#it's like these few specific fans were tailor made to put me off of her #unfortunately i have not gotten past that yet but if i ever can undo that brain association and enjoy her music i will let yall know ksdjks #unfortunately as of right now i am programmed to see her name and think of the (probably very few) jackasses in her fandom #just kinda made me feel unwelcome when i was trying out her music a bit more sadly #it was never her as an artist or a person. just a few idiots but it was enough #idk. i should try again though. chapelle fans. which songs should i try to start again with?#anyways i should probably stop swinging the bat at the biphobia nest lest it come back to bite me but dkjfdksjf yeah tldr she's a musician #a very talented one! just one that i cannot enjoy quite yet. i hope i can kinda defrost about it though

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cavityinmybrain · 6 months ago

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people are coming onto my post about parts language and going “but remember, pushing parts language on people is never okay!!”

when did i say that. like please. i said that parts language shouldnt be vilified and treated as lesser because some people self elect to use it. nowhere did i say that people should have it forced onto them if they dont want it.

the point of the post was to let people self elect the language they use without making one seem bad or worse.

#sadie #im angry and might be making a big deal about nothing #but idk ive seen a couple people be like ‘dont forget parts language shouldnt be forced on anyone though!!’#i know. no certain type of language should be forced onto anyone #parts language made us able to talk about our system with others #it made us have internal communication better #it made us feel like we were able to begin self electing our own choices for ourselves individually #and it just frustrates me that on a post saying ‘this language shouldnt be seen as bad’ people are interpreting it as needing the disclaimer

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fisherrprince · 1 year ago

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>sees miqo tail pov post>it claims duskwight elezen have tails >me, duskwight main eggman voice "WHAT ARE YOU TWO FUCKING TALKING ABOUT" ( jk I just thought of that bc of the header lol. But really what does that does that point of the post refer to? it is an inside joke? just curious : o )

I have given you a tail. Congratulations! You have no choice in this matter

#no if you go back in my posts I decided elezen should have them because it’s cute #it’s a headcanon of mine! Just like drawing Miqo’te with paws. No one else has to do it but I’m going to bc I think it’s cute <3 #this is an oddly loud ask. I feel like I’ve been recognized at a con. But no it’s not a joke it’s headcanons #I feel like I need to put a disclaimer on things bc ppl just come across them w no context. but im too lazy to do such a thing #ask #anon #im not actually forcing a tail on you that’s a joke. but u deserve one if you want it. u deserve any extra features you want #I think duskwight have mothlike tails by the way. in contrast to the jerboa tails #any wing tail or antennae that might be on a moth could be their tail shape

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wormtoxin · 7 months ago

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ok i don’t think im gonna get the chance to make anything out of this for a while so lemme just make it a tumblr post

i want to make a story about two assassins who fall in love, and one of them has the callsign Proxy.

he’s a deaf man with cochlear implants, except audio input from the world around him routes through his handler. Handler gets all the audio input from the implants, and gives Proxy instructions. But he never gets the actual audio from the implants- only handler’s interpretation or description of the noise.

#like a cyberpunk body horror killer #uhhh the abuse here should be obvious i don’t really feel the need to disclaimer that #“yeah so now that we’ve finished deadening you into a cold-blood killer we’re going to give you implants to give one of your senses back.#welllll…. kinda. ok so here’s the deal-

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notthestarwar · 1 year ago

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Have another snippet of my writing that I like. This one prob requires a bit of set up so,

This is a modern au. Jaster raises 10 of Jango's kids in his absence, before Cody runs away at 16. Years later, Jango is murdered and it turns out that he's been living in the same city as Cody all along, and so have Wolffe and Fox, each living completely different lives.

Excerpt from: the Last Days of Jango Fett

Cody’s gaze sweeps over the exterior of the gym and he wonders if he's making a mistake. He spent a lot of his time, growing up, in gyms like this. The faded lettering of the sign declares the gym’s official name to be ‘Koon’s training gym’ but scrawled over that, in grey lettering, is its true name ‘Plo’s bro’s’ he bites his cheek, wondering at the identity of Plo. If he’ll find him inside, or if the sign serves as only a fond memorial. He crosses the threshold and he may as well have stepped back in time.

He can hear a familiar voice, barking orders, corrections. But his gaze skips straight over the set of strong shoulders, the back of a head so much like his own, and instead he only has eyes for the ring, because inside, there is a boy who for all appearances could be Cody’s own; who could even be Cody himself, had you a loose grip on temporal structure.

Boba is good, better than a boy of his age should be, clearly Jango’s been training him. He still wouldn’t have stood a minute in the ring with Cody at the same age, not that that’s any fair comparison; Cody could have beaten them all. They said he was born with a golden ticket in his mouth. A right hook to end all right hooks and with it, a way out. For them all.

Cody had spent all his teen years training in a gym like this, just down the road from Jaster’s, born ability or not, he wasn’t given an easy ride. Jaster’s old buddies rallied together for one last go and they gave it their all. Within the walls of that gym, they lived again, they gave it all they had to train Cody like it were 30 years previous and they still had a chance in hell of winning. For a moment, it seemed like they would.

Cody in the ring had been a sight to behold. He and he only, could retrieve their last chance, lost to anyone else because no-one knew where it fell. But Cody and Cody only, he would rise to the top and he would reach and he would hold it in his hands. Glory. Lost and abandoned, left to gather dust from the day it had fallen from Jango’s hands. Theirs, once again. Cody could have saved them all.

But. Cody couldn’t be that for them. He had the talent, sure. He had the drive to make it to the top, for certain. More than all of that, he had that magic, that thing you can’t quite put a word to, that made him a sight to behold in the ring. Like pure gold. But there was one thing Cody didn’t have, the wherewithal to be his Fathers keeper. Cody did not have it in him, to live his life for a man that did not want him. Glory in the ring; that was Jango’s dream, not his.

Born on a cool November, against the odds, Cody entered the world a healthy 9'5 with a healthy set of lungs to match. Jango did not know of this, Jango was not there.

Cody, healthy and round, had been placed in to the arms of a woman who had looked down upon her son and immediately known that she could never, quite, be what he needed and so she hadn’t tried to be.

Once when he was young, Cody had overheard Jaster speak of her. Only the once and not of the woman herself but of her, as Jaster put it, ‘sentimental bullshit’. Jaster was a strong believer in facing up to your problems and the woman who had given birth to Cody, did quite the opposite.

That woman had looked in to her babies eyes, and had delivered that baby, quite promptly, to Jaster’s doorstep. An undetermined amount of time later, Jaster had answered the door to find two bottles of milk and Cody, laying on the doormat.

Cody had been left quite alone, with nothing but a blanket, and a note; explaining that his mother, having looked in to her son’s eyes’, had immediately known that she could never contain quite the amount of love that her son would need and was therefore, leaving him to his Father, a man she was sure was more than capable. Jaster, who at this point was already responsible for two of Jango’s progeny, suspected otherwise; as he had told the milkman that day after he had kindly knocked and asked if Jaster was quite aware there was a baby sleeping on his doorstep.

That day, standing there speaking to Jaster as a baby laid between them, the milkman, in a moment of startling honesty, had looked down to the babe and told Jaster that upon the birth of his first son, he had worried that he wouldn’t be suited to fatherhood, but had since realised that all the little ones really needed; was loving. Jaster, not having slept through the night in about 2 years by that point, had bluntly retorted that love would not feed yet another mouth and so, he would be needing another bottle of milk, before sweeping down to gather the child to his chest, the note laying unneeded on the doorstep.

Cody had heard Jaster reason, through that crack in the kitchen door, that the last thing any child needed was a bit of paper telling them their parent didn’t have it in them to love them enough. Jaster had known, from that first glance at Cody, as all parents do, that upon finding that Cody needed more love, he might only ever meet such a thing with carving out just a bit more space in his heart or wherever else love is kept, to hold it.

To Jaster, parenthood was not about biology, it was simply about being needed and being the kind of person, that would change themselves however necessary, to meet that need.

That day in the kitchen, Jaster’s friend had shortly weighed him up to be a ‘soft fool’ who ‘only had it coming’ ‘what with all these doorstep babies’, but Jaster hadn’t seemed to mind. In the following years, Cody had rarely heard him talk like that again, but the sentiment lived on with him all the same, carried with him until he was old enough to understand what such a thing really meant.

Not that Jango ever stopped by to see it for himself, but everyone who met Cody declared him to be the spit of him. Cody was Jango’s second coming for sure, it didn’t matter that Jango was still walking the earth. Everyone who saw Cody in the ring was sure that he’d been delivered upon them to finish what Jango could not.

Cody often worried, that he wouldn’t quite weigh up in the eyes of Jaster, who had afterall, known Jango the best. Cody rather worried, that he instead, might take after his maternal side. The type to run from problems rather than face them. Because of this fear, Cody spent his whole life rising to each and every problem until one day, he did quite the opposite.

In the early hours of the day Cody’s big match was to be held; the one that was sure to shoot him right to the top, so high that his eyebrows would brush the stars and the rest of them, they’d all be able to fall on clouds; the big match that wasn’t just Cody’s ticket to a kinder life but everyone’s, his showstopper, Cody had found himself with a bag over his shoulder walking the track out of town.

When he reached the end of that track, where the old road met the big one, he’d found Jaster sat waiting for him.

Jaster had offered Cody a small smile and, told him he was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t come. Then, he had met his eyes and wished him luck. Jaster had said that he was proud of Cody, for having reached the same conclusion that Jaster himself had; Jaster knew that Cody was not put on this earth to right Jango’s wrongs, Cody was here, only to be Cody , and besides, he never had to worry about turning out to be the kind of person that Jaster might not like, because the thing about raising someone, is you keep loving them no matter who they might turn out to be.

Later that day, as one by one the fields passed him by, Cody had looked out the window of the coach and known with a surety that sometimes, the only way you can face your problems, is by leaving.

That day, Cody left the memory of Jango Fett behind, in search of a life where there was a bit of room to be Cody Mereel, and he had never once looked back.

Cody had left the memory of Jango behind, in the pursuit of himself, but now, here was Boba.

Boba had not left Jango behind as he hadn’t been given time to, Jango was only a ghost in Cody’s childhood but he was something more real to Boba. That is at least, until one day, when he was just gone.

For the first time, Cody looks behind himself and there, following, as he always has been, is the boy he left behind. Cody had to leave that boy in order to become the man he is today. he doesn’t regret it, he likes who he is, who he allowed himself to become, by leaving. But now he can see that in order to help Boba, he needs to be both the man who’s risen above the ghost of his father and also, the boy who could never quite live up to the memories his father left behind.

For the first time in his adult life, Cody remembers what it was to be the son of Jango Fett and then, against better reason, he holds on tight to that memory. When he looks back over his shoulder once again, there isn’t anyone there. That boy is looking forward as Cody looks forward and when he takes his next step, they take it as one. Cody is whole and he is his self, he is as he always has been, wholly and completely.

In the gym that is in every way, both the same and nothing like those of his childhood, Cody takes another step and then another, until his toes are almost touching the side of the ring.

Boba sees him first, just a glance and then, Cody sees the moment that his face registers. Boba just stops in space, he blinks wide eyes at the sight of him before tilting his head, letting those same eyes trace over Cody.

Now that he’s seen Jango Fett, Cody knows precisely why he might garner such a reaction, Cody didn’t have a dad so he has no idea what it is like to lose one. He can’t quite imagine what this must be like for Boba, it’s just you and your dad and then, he is murdered. Your dad dies and you are 10, and then, almost identical men start spilling out of the cracks of the city.

Boba has been distracted for long enough now that Wolffe has given up on trying to call his attention back, he turns to see what has the boy’s attention caught and soon comes up short himself.

Cody looks up at his big brother for the first time in 20 years and swallows.

“Hi Wolffe.” He says quietly.

Wolffe is frozen, even more so than Boba, not even his eyes move and now Cody looks at him, he isn’t sure if they can. One side of his brothers face is heavily scarred, like something long ago scraped across the surface, even from here Cody can see that the eye on that side is clouded.

His brother takes in a loud breath, “Cody?”

And then before Cody can even think to answer, Wolffe is moving, rolling out of the ring until he can engulf Cody in his arms.

Cody is the same size as Wolffe now but somehow it doesn’t feel like it, he feels dwarfed, finally back in his brothers arms and why did Cody ever think he could live without this? Wolffe’s arm is cradling his head and the other is bracing Cody’s back and he can feel his head tucked against Cody’s own and Cody has been alone for 20 years and he didn’t have to be, he knows this now, as well as he knows anything.

Cody doesn’t know what he expected. He doesn’t know what he expected from any of this. The past week has been a storm. An uncontrollable thing that you can only watch happen.

Had he thought maybe that upon seeing him, Wolffe might hit him?

Maybe that he would berate him for leaving?

Cody didn’t know who the adult his brother had grown in to really was. Maybe he had expected him to be cold, distant in the face of the brother that left them all? Cody had showed them all that it was possible to leave, that such a thing wasn’t only the purview of Jango and from what Rex had said that had left their family fractured. It had never been the same again after Cody left and showed everyone that they could leave. One by one, they had each followed him in to the unknown, lost to each other thanks to him.

Had he thought any of that, he would have been wrong. The man holding him isn’t any of that, he is just Wolffe, he is just Cody’s brother.

They are together, once again.

#Commander Cody #Jaster mereel #commander wolffe #modern au #star wars fic #fanfic #mywriting ntwyw #the rest of the fic is OK i guess but i don't like it nearly as much as i like this one part #there's one other part i really like of it so maybe I'll post a bit of that here #but as a whole I'm a bit conflicted. it's a police au and while i really like reading completely removed from reality police au's #writing them is kinda difficult cause i didn't want to create like copaganda.the parts of police au's that are fun are all the bad policing #but when i was writing about bad policing i felt like i needed to keep adding disclaimers like: if a irl police officer does any of this #its not OK. one of my fav ways to write about characters is to explore the inadvertent hurt humans can cause each other #they aren't bad people but that doesn't mean they cant do bad things without meaning to. anyway turns out that's hard when ur #writing a police au. cause as characters i want them to be sympathetic but i feel all kind of ways about writing a #bad police officer that's sympathetic. i felt like i needed to be like. as a human they are sympathetic. as a police officer?#none of these ppl should be doing this job #ended up being a lot harder than i thought #was also difficult writing a whodunnit that wasnt actually about the murder.#the case is closed but its like. thats not what the stories about #so yeah ended up being more difficult to write than i was expecting #my writing ntwyw

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