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slasherscream · 7 months ago

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She Likes a Boy (And I’m Not Just a Boy)

pairing: jordan li x fem!reader

summary: You and Jordan are friends with benefits, and Jordan is trying so hard to be okay with that. Somehow, they still fell in love with you despite their best efforts to not fucking do that. But you've only ever fucked them when they're a guy, so they assume you're only interested in them one way. Just like everyone else. You've never said anything to make them think any different so it's obvious, right? So they take what they can get. Which is only half. And they keep you at a distance, because anything else will kill them.

A/N: flashbacks are in all Italics. some smut.

gif credit: artemidosgifs and stannyramirez

“Oh shit, Jordie, wait-” You can’t catch your breath, legs shaking where they’re thrown over Jordan’s shoulders.

“Stop fucking squirming.” Jordan huffs, licking some of your wetness off your thigh.

Your vision is swimming a little. How long have you been in this position? Or in Jordan’s room? It’s hard to keep track of anything, when you’re with them. His tongue finds your clit again. Insistent, rough swipes. You’re too overworked now for anything gentle to even register. How many times have you cum now?

“You always taste so fucking good.” Jordan moans, voice hoarse and low.

He puts a hand under your back to press you further into his mouth. With only your shoulders pushed into the mattress you can’t move. Jordan’s eyes are always glued to your face when you fuck. As if he’s daring you to shy away from whatever he’ll do to you next.

Considering that his favorite thing to do is overstimulate you, you’re not sure the irritation is fair. What are you supposed to do when he’s made you cum four times and is still going? According to Jordan, the answer is simple: lie there and take it.

Lifting you up. Pinning you down. These are the solutions he’s arrived at. Jordan hates having to chase you just to give you the orgasm you begged him for in the first place.

“You ready for my fingers again?” Jordan asks, but it’s not a real question, because you don’t get to so much as gasp before he’s plunging three fingers into you again.

He’s rough as he rocks his fingers into that soft spot inside of you that always makes your eyes roll back into your head. He knows the angle you like him to use by heart.

“Fucking shit, Jordan!” Your hands fall into his hair, grip like a vice, and Jordan half moans and half laughs against you.

It’s the vibrations that send you over the edge again. The breath leaving your lungs in one rush as that coil inside releases and makes the world go white and your ears ring.

You come back to yourself slowly. Jordan hovering over you, pressing kisses into the side of your neck. You grasp at his shoulders, pulling him down so that he's laying on top of you. The weight is comforting after the overwhelming head rush. You still feel shaky. He goes down easily, wrapping one arm underneath you.

“I can feel you smirking, jerk.” You laugh weakly, hitting his arm.

“You soaked my fucking fingers. Think I'm allowed a smirk.” Jordan says.

He lifts his head from your neck and there's that smug look you love to see him wear. It's enough to make you ready to have him all over again. You settle on gently massaging his scalp.

“I'll tell you what you're allowed.” You tease, grinning at him.

“Hah! Always have enough energy to be a fucking brat, huh?” Jordan rolls his eyes.

You wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer. “I've got enough energy to make out too! Gimme a kiss.”

“Fucking insatiable.” Jordan scoffs, but gives in. Because he always does.

It's hard to think when Jordan kisses you. He kisses like he doesn't need to breathe. Or be anywhere else but with you. One of his hands finds yours, locking your fingers together. You squeeze tight. Try not to imagine holding his hand like this outside each other's dorms. Because that only ever makes you feel empty afterwards when all the hormones from the orgasms should leave you floating.

You get a third wind when Jordan rocks his hips against yours and you feel he's hard again. You reach a hand between the two of you, grasping his dick to angle him back inside. Thank God for Supe refractory periods. You sigh when his tip pushes into you.

“Yeah princess? You want me again?” He tries to sound teasing, nonchalant, but he only sounds like he wants you just as bad.

You rock your hips so that he slides inside fully. Watch him tilt his head back and moan for you as you move. Hungrily taking in the way every sound shapes his mouth. You lean up to kiss at the underside of his jaw. You can't leave any hickies on him but you always kiss him like you want to. God you fucking wish you could. Maybe if you could leave marks people wouldn't chase after them so much. If everyone knew Jordan was yours. But Jordan isn't yours.

You bite him a little harder.

Jordan's hand finds your throat. You whine, the noise strangled against his palm. You go lax as he pushes you back into the bed. Gently. His fingers flex, a little tighter, and your eyes flutter shut.

“Gonna be good for me?” Jordan asks.

You nod your head frantically, legs dragging him closer. It's never close enough. No matter what you do.

“Yeah, I'll be good, Jordie.” You say the words he wants to hear, feeling your head go soft and thoughtless again.

“Fucking liar.” He grinds his hips into yours and chokes you harder when you clench around him.

You’d been fast friends, best friends, since the moment you stepped on campus and met one another as freshman. Talking to Jordan. Spending time with them. Everything that first year didn’t even feel like getting to know one another. It just felt like coming home.

You didn’t say as much to Jordan. They would have rolled their eyes and scoffed at how sensitive you were, if you had. But you knew they felt the same way. You were the one Jordan went to whenever they were sad. When they were excited. When they were coming into themselves, learning to love who they were after a lifetime of everyone else telling them not to.

You were the first person to see them. Before Brink, even, you saw them. All their potential. All their greatness. All of them, and Jordan had never forgotten that.

Jordan saw you too, in turn. You’d never felt like much more than a pretty face, before Jordan.

You were the type of beautiful that made people look twice when they walked past you. When you were a little girl you soaked in all the praise like a flower. Every: ‘she’s so pretty’, and ‘well look at her!’, or ‘oh wow!’ was nourishment to your little soul.

It would be impossible to pinpoint the moment you realized that was all anyone saw. Even once your powers manifested. Advanced healing, advanced reflexes, limited invulnerability, energy manipulation. You were the whole nine yards. Your parents, when you were thirteen, had sent a video of you using your powers off to Vought.

A man and woman showed up a day later in suits, wanting to meet you personally.

“She sure is a little looker, isn’t she?” The man had said, and he’d held your hand for too long before he let go.

They’d come prepared. With ideas for costumes. Which team of teenage Supes you should be placed with. If you should just go straight for television. The adults talked around you. Not paying you any mind as you stared at the costume that would reveal so much skin. You’d never worn a skirt that short before. You hadn’t been allowed, hadn’t even wanted to, really. If you’d come home from the mall having bought anything like that on your own, your parents would have blown a fuse. Now they just sat on either side of you, mile wide grins plastered on their faces.

All the voices faded to background noise. You realized maybe you were too young to be a superhero. You thought it would involve more... saving people. Running into burning buildings. Getting the bad guys. Saving the day. The people from Vought were only talking about magazine spreads. About what persona would fit your look.

“What about school?” You’d asked, quietly, and everyone in the room had turned to look at you baffled.

“What about school, sweetheart?” The woman laughed. “You’ll get a private tutor, of course. But your future is big. You won’t even have to worry about stuff like that anymore. Goodbye lame homework. Hello red carpets!”

You sat very quietly until they left. Your parents were more angry than you’d ever seen them, when you told them you wanted to wait until after high-school to pursue being a hero.

You knew telling them you weren’t sure you wanted to do it at all was off the table.

During high-school you noticed people didn’t listen to you. You would be telling someone about your favorite book; or talking about a movie that changed your whole worldview, only to realize the other person had been staring at your lips the entire time.

You stopped talking so much about things you cared about. No one listened anyways.

‘Bimbo.’

‘Airhead.’

‘Slut.’

Were all things you’d heard before you’d ever gone on your first date. Gotten so much as your first kiss on the cheek. High-school was lonely, and you couldn’t talk about it being lonely without sounding like an asshole, you quickly realized. The few friends you had would roll their eyes when you’d try and vent. You thought it was just playful ribbing. Friends tease each other. It made you feel included! Until you caught them mocking you behind your back to one another.

‘Look at me, I’m Y/N, and life’s so hard because I’m so pretty and popular. Is she fucking serious? Stuck up bitch.’

You stopped venting.

When you got to God-U, you weren’t sure what to expect. College was a chance to reinvent yourself. Even if you weren’t sure you wanted to be a Superhero you knew this could be a chance to find your people. Lifelong friends.

People who you could get coffees with between classes. Who would go to all your birthdays and want to be there. People you would spend hours on the phone with. Fall asleep studying together. Girls who might like you enough to make you their maid of honor. Guys who would high five you when you did something cool and not try to sneak a glance at your chest.

You were imagining it all as you unpacked your boxes. Your stomach twisting itself into knots. Living in a half world between excitement and dread.

Then you met your roommate and she gave you the look. The look you’d gotten all your life from girls, and you knew you’d never be real friends. Girls who looked at you like that kept their boyfriends away from you at parties. And they never shared the secrets that friends share because they thought you’d put them in a fucking burn book. The look alone almost made you give up and just go home.

You went for a walk instead, fighting back tears. That’s when you ran into Jordan. Literally, ran into Jordan. You knocked the both of you to the ground.

When they’d snapped, “What the fuck dude?” at you, harsh and angry and very them, you’d burst into tears.

It wasn’t the perfect way to meet your person. But you were glad you met them at all.

“Stop moving your eyes away from the screen.” Jordan says.

“I’m not allowed to move my eyes away from the screen?” You laugh.

“No, this part is really important. You have to pay attention. I wanna see if you catch it.”

You try your best to keep your eyes glued to the screen, as instructed. But you can’t help the way you keep glancing towards Jordan. She looks good. She always looks good, but right now you don’t even want to look away from her. The colors of the movie flashing across her face, blues and golds, make her look like a painting.

“Are you watching?” Jordan asks, and you smile at the excitement in her voice.

You look back towards the movie, wondering what she wants you to see so badly. You look just in time. A small detail catches your eyes and you gasp, reaching out a hand blindly to shake her in your own excitement.

“Did you see that in the background?” You shake her again, for good measure.

“I saw it.” Jordan laughs.

“That means that he killed the wife!”

“How do you figure?”

You pause the movie, ready to explain where you think the plot is heading. When you turn to face Jordan you have to take a deep breath. You don’t know whether you love or hate that look. Your feelings on the matter change day to day.

Jordan is leaned up into the arm of the couch, relaxed, and she’s staring at you with The Smile she wears sometimes. She started doing it a few months into your friendship. Back when you used to talk and then slowly stop. So completely sure that nobody wanted to hear what you had to say.

Jordan had asked you, back then, why you always stopped telling stories halfway through, or stopped talking about your day, or the latest book you’d read.

You wanted to lie, at first. Eventually you told a half truth, “I never have anything interesting to say.”

Jordan had looked at you for a long time. You were worried that somehow, up until that moment, they hadn’t realized how boring you were. But you acknowledging it out loud had made them think about it, and now they were going to ditch you for a friend who was interesting, funny, and smart.

Instead, Jordan had told you that she loved the way your mind worked, and she’d smiled The Smile at you, for the first time. You hadn’t known how to respond, to the words, or the smile. You turned the conversation back towards Brink’s latest class assignment.

Later that night you’d gone back to your dorm room and cried, but you’d felt happier than you’d ever felt.

It made you feel warm and soft that three years later Jordan still smiled at you like that. It felt like your cue to say anything on your mind, no matter how dumb. Green light means go. The Smile means talk.

“Well?” Jordan nudges you with her foot, still smiling, and waiting for you.

You shake your head to break free of the spell she puts you in, “Well, look at his sense of style for the entire movie. All his stuff is modern and sleek and then the first time we see his bedroom all the rest of the decor is in line with the rest of the house, except that one thing. All the camera shots are so purposeful and they lingered a little, after he walked away. They wanted us to see he was keeping a trophy. He totally killed her, didn’t he?”

Jordan pauses for a second and then laughs. “I don’t know how you always guess right. I didn’t see the twist coming at all the first time I watched it.”

“Secondary super power.”

“Connecting all the dots?”

“Connecting all the dots, yeah.”

“Y/N! Y/N, thank fucking god, you gotta come with me.” Cate grabbed you by the arm, rougher than she’d ever touched you before.

“I was on my way to class.” You tripped over your feet as Cate pulled you the opposite way you needed to go.

“Forget class! Jordan’s gonna get themself expelled.” Cate snapped.

“What?!”

“They’re beating the shit out of Peter in the locker room. Luke’s not on campus. I can’t get close enough to stop them-”

You’d broken into a sprint towards the fighting arena. You didn’t know what the hell was happening. Peter and Jordan had spoken maybe ten times to each other in all the years of attending the same university.

You’d never gotten anywhere so fast in your life. Andre was standing steadfast in front of the entrance to the boy’s locker room, a small group of other students standing outside. You could hear the sounds of fighting pouring out from the door.

“Back it up you fucking vultures.” Andre snipped. He might not have super strength but he was still Number 4, and could look intimidating when he needed to.

“Andre, what’s going on?” You pushed to the front of the crowd.

“Thank fuck Cate found you. You gotta get in there. Jordan’s gonna fucking mur-” Andre glanced at the phones pointed at the both of you, trying to record even a drip of gossip about top students trying to seriously hurt each other and lowered his voice, “Jordan is actually gonna fucking kill Peter. I’ll keep the crowds back. Get in there.”

You moved past him into the locker room and your jaw dropped at the state of the place.

You thought these lockers were bolted down. Apparently not. At least four rows of them were knocked to the ground, heavily dented. A water bottle refilling station had been crumpled to nothing, exposed pipe spraying water across the floor.

“Get off of me you fucking animal.” You heard Peter cry from further in the room and ran.

Jordan had shoved Peter up against the wall. You were surprised Peter was still conscious. He was lucky he healed so fast. You could see his black eye fading even as Jordan broke his nose.

“You fucking stay away from her. You understand? I hear you fucking talking like that again and I take the tongue out of your fucking mouth, you asshole.”

Peter laughs through a mouth full of blood,“Not my fault she gave it up so easy, Li-”

Jordan throws him into one of the last standing lockers and you see that they are indeed bolted into the ground. Evidently, Jordan throws stronger than Supe resistant steel can take. When Jordan moves to lift Peter out of the crater his body made in the downed locker you rush in between them, putting a shield up.

“Y/N?” You can see some of the anger fade from Jordan’s face, just a little, at the sight of you.

“Hey, Jordie. Think Peter has had enough.”

Jordan scoffs, “No, he really fucking hasn’t,” he leans around you to yell at Peter, who’s trying to push himself onto his knees, “He’s still running his fucking mouth!”

“Pussy whipped asshole-” Peter groans.

You glance at Peter on the floor, aghast, “Peter! Stop antagonizing, Jordan. What’s wrong with you?”

“Unbelievable, honestly. You walk in on Jordan kicking my ass and you tell me to stop antagonizing the fucker?” Peter huffs, pushing his nose back into place so it won’t heal wrong.

“Name calling isn’t gonna make him stop kicking your ass. I’m trying to help.” You shoot back.

“Well, no one needs your help, you dumb-”

“Hey.” Jordan interrupts. He’s not yelling anymore, but his voice is the loudest thing in the room. “Watch your mouth, Peter. I fucking mean it.”

You look back and forth between them. They watch each other for a long moment. Jordan looking eerily calm. Peter looks away first.

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought. Come on, Y/N.” Jordan grabs your hand and marches you out of the locker room. Past Andre and Cate, who try to stop you both but Jordan waves them off and muscles his way past the crowd too.

He doesn’t stop until you’re back in his dorm room and he’s shut the door behind the two of you.

“You were fucking that loser?” He asks, clicking the lock into place.

“You’re lucky Andre and Cate kept people out of the locker room so there’s no video of everything! You could get expelled, Jordan! What the fuck happened?”

“He hit me first and he’s not even in the top ten. What’s he at? Number 14? No one’ll give a shit what happens to him. When did you start fucking him?”

“I’m not fucking him! Or… I’m not just, fucking him. I’m… I was dating him. Why were you two fighting?”

“Dating? For how fucking long? You didn’t tell me you were dating anyone.” Jordan’s hair is already a disheveled mess. He yanks his fingers through the strands and makes it worse.

“We’ve been going on dates for like… three months? Kinda? Maybe.” You say quietly.

“Three months?! Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me? What the fuck?”

“Why are you so mad?”

“Friends talk to each other about shit like this! And if you’d talked to me, I would have told you that Peter is a clout chasing piece of shit that’ll never amount to anything. You should’ve heard the shit he was saying today. Fucking piece of shit!”

“That’s why you were fighting?” You wring your hands together, a knot tying itself over and over in your stomach. “What did he say?”

Jordan stops pacing the room, goes still and turns away from you.

“Well? What did he say? It was bad enough to make you two beat the shit out of each other! So what was it?”

“He just… You don’t have to worry about it, okay? He won’t go near you again.” Jordan says firmly.

“Whatever he said he’s gonna keep saying. Just behind my back. I should know.”

Jordan sighs and moves to sit beside you on his couch, knee bouncing with anxiety. “He was… bragging to his shitty friends. About being the first guy on campus to fuck you. About how it didn’t even take that long and… how… he was thinking of recording you. So he could show them how slutty you are. It was…. fucking disgusting.”

“Oh.” You say.

You swallow around the lump in your throat. You’d done everything you could to avoid something like this happening. Had kept your dates off campus, to make sure he actually wanted to date you and not just the hot girl ranked Number 3. You’d spent nights staying up on the phone laughing and talking. You’d put off sleeping with Peter for a whole two months, even though you liked him, because you wanted to make sure he liked you.

You hadn’t even let him call you his girlfriend until a few days ago. You thought he really liked you. But no matter how hard you try… you guess this is it. You’re just something pretty to look at. Even Vought doesn’t take you seriously, despite your powers. You’re the top ranked student in everything. Right behind Jordan. Forensic analysis. Combat. Battle strategy. Still, you only ever get asked about makeup routines and how to maintain your figure in interviews.

You wipe at your burning eyes and try not to cry about something you’ve already accepted.

“Fuck that guy. Fuck him. He’s so far beneath your level I’m surprised you can perceive his plane of fucking existence, okay? He’s a fucking single cell organism. He doesn’t even know what a brain is.” Jordan gets up from the couch to kneel in front of you, tries to look you in the eyes.

“I’m so fucking stupid.”

“No, you fucking are not. Don’t say that about yourself. He’s fucking stupid. It’s genuinely insane you even wasted your time with him. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing anyone?” Jordan asks, voice quiet.

“I just…. I wanted to make sure he was actually gonna stick around before I even brought him up to you. You’re so … important, why tell you about someone who isn’t? It’s not like you write home to me about any of the people you mess around with! We’ve never really talked about this kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, but it’s different. I’m not serious about anyone! You were actually dating, Peter. And I would have told you not to.” Jordan rolls his eyes.

“Well, I wanted to make sure it was serious. Before I even said anything.”

“It wouldn’t have gotten serious if you’d told me about it in the first place. I wouldn’t have let Peter within ten feet of you!”

“We’re talking in circles.” You huff in frustration, pressing your palms into your eyes to stop the stinging.

“Sorry, I just…. Fucking still wish I was beating the shit out of him, honestly.” Jordan says.

“You are not leaving this room for the rest of the day, Li. Even if he is Number 14, you can’t walk away from a fight then go back for seconds cause you didn’t get it all out the first time. That won’t hold up too well in court.”

“He heals too fast for there to be any marks left on him. It’ll all be hearsay.” Jordan smirks.

You let out a weak laugh. Jordan reaches out, touching the corner of your lips. “Can we shoot for something a little bigger? If I don’t see you smile soon I’ll actually go kill him.”

You roll your eyes and slide to the edge of the couch, so you’re resting your head on Jordan’s shoulder, leaning all your weight against him. He wraps his arms around you, rubbing circles into your spine.

“I really wanted it to work out, Jordan.” You mumble into the skin of his collarbone.

“With fucking Peter?”

“With… anyone.” Your voice wavers and Jordan’s grip gets tighter. “It’s so fucking lonely. I just want to be someone’s favorite person. Not because of how I look, but because they like me. Really like me. And no one fucking does, no matter how hard I try.” The tears start falling now and Jordan pulls back and makes you look up at him, one hand on your cheek.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry. I fucking… I like you. I’ve always liked you.” Jordan says, frantic as he wipes away the tears as they come.

“It’s not the same, Jordan!” You shake your head, and bite your lip. You’d almost said it’s not enough. Because it isn’t. But you can't think about that for too long. It makes the hole in you ache a little worse.

“Yeah….guess it’s not.” Jordan says quietly. He keeps wiping away the tears, dutiful and gentle as he goes.

“You said he hit you first?” You ask, after a long moment of him quietly soothing you.

“Come on, I’m not stupid. Had to let him get the first swing in.” Jordan smirked.

“What did you say to make him hit you?” You ask.

“Told him he was lucky you believe in charity work and giving back to the fucking needy.”

It’s enough to startle a laugh out of you. You smack his arm weakly before pulling him into another hug. He kisses the top of your head so softly you don’t notice it, too busy laughing.

“Y/N, good to see you dear. You keeping our Jordan out of trouble?” Brink asks as he comes out of his office, not surprised to see you perched on Jordan’s desk.

“Professor, we both know that I’m the one getting Jordan into trouble.” You flash the older man your most mischievous grin.

“Ah, my apologies. I assume that means you’re distracting her from doing her work, as well?” Brink raises an eyebrow teasingly.

“Yes.” You say.

“No.” Jordan protests, at the same time.

You throw your head back with a laugh. “It’s a goal I hold most dear to my heart, to distract Jordan from grading these papers. I think I’m succeeding wonderfully, you’ll be happy to know, Professor.”

“She’s joking, Professor.” Jordan smacks your thigh and you glance down just in time to burn the image of her hand on your thigh into your brain. She almost never touches you, when she’s like this.

“You know, Jordan, I didn’t happen to lose my sense of humor after I hit sixty.” Brink waves off Jordan’s concern and leans towards the two of you, whispering conspiratorially, “I know the gray hair gives the illusion of being a boring old fart, but I do like to laugh every now and then.”

Jordan shakes her head with a small laugh and you can’t help but watch, entranced, at the way her hair brushes the olive skin of her cheeks. When you look back towards Brink you find him already watching you, a knowing smile on his lips. You laugh nervously, and look down at the wood grain texture of Jordan’s desk. It’s suddenly fascinating. Is it real oak? Cherry?

“You close to being done, Jordan?” Brink asks casually.

“Uh-” Jordan’s face blanches and you suddenly feel genuinely sorry for distracting her from her work.

“-relax, kiddo. You’re not in trouble. Geez, what am I, a work nazi? Those papers don’t need to be graded for another four days, right? You work too hard. I was just asking cause’ I was getting a little hungry myself and wanted to know if you could use a break? There’s a great new Indian place nearby, apparently. Professor. Karp was telling me about it yesterday. It’s only a twenty minute ride away. Wanna tag along?”

“I should probably finish up a few more papers-”

“She would love to take a break, Professor.” You reach over, saving the work Jordan’s done and shutting down her laptop at lightning speed.

“Brat.�� Jordan mouths the word at you quickly, so Brink won’t see.

You stick your tongue out at her, not caring if anyone sees.

“You should come along too, Y/N. Been awhile since we last caught up.” Brink has a twinkle in his eye that you can’t quite place.

You slide off Jordan’s desk anyways, not willing to pass up any valuable Time Spent With Jordan, “I’m not sure if I trust Professor Karp’s recommendation on restaurants, but I’ll try and be very brave about it if the food is awful.”

“Jordan, have I ever told you how much I love this girl?” Professor Brink shrugs on his coat with a laugh.

“Yeah.” Jordan watches Brink help you into your own coat with a small smile. “Yeah, Professor you have.”

“Fucking fuck me!” Jordan throws her phone onto the coffee table in front of her.

“Are the parental units being emotional terrorists again?” You ask from your spot on her bed, turning the page of your textbook, mindlessly highlighting another sentence that could be important for the upcoming final.

“No, it’s just the whole fucking roster is busy.” Jordan roughly runs a hand through her hair, disheveling her bob.

“Huh?” You look up from your notes.

“The whole roster is locked in for finals but I really need to let off some fucking steam!” Jordan sighs.

“How big is the roster?” You try to sound curious, like a best friend would be, and not irritated, like someone in love with their best friend would be.

“Too big for me to not be fucking someone right now.” Jordan snips.

“We are studying right now. Or I’m studying, and you should be studying too, instead of thinking about needing to get your rocks off.” You say coolly, flipping to the next page.

“I can’t fucking focus.” Jordan groans, but comes back over to the bed and flops down beside you, throwing her arm over her eyes. “What concept are we on now?”

“Theories on limiting public and private property damage in fights with other Supes.”

“There is no fucking way I can focus on something that fucking boring without having an orgasm first.”Jordan groans, again, “It’s not even about limiting loss of human life or injury?”

“Nope. Property damage.”

“Fuck me!”

You both fall into silence. You studying. Jordan, you assume, weighing the pros and cons of downloading Tinder. The thought makes your stomach drop.

Then you get an idea. An awful, horrible, no good, rotten fucking idea.

Your mouth is opening before you can stop yourself, “You could fuck me.”

“Huh?” You’ve never seen Jordan sit up so fast.

“I just mean- … we really gotta focus and I... I mean if you just need to let off some steam we could always…” You try your best to fumble your way into proper usage of the English language but even the thought of fucking Jordan makes that impossible.

“Are you serious right now?” Jordan shifts halfway through the sentence, eyes glued to your every nervous, jittery movement as you sit in front of him.

“Wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t a real offer.” You say quietly, not looking up from the book.

Jordan snatches said book from your lap and tosses it away, ignoring your noise of protest. “You don’t think it’d make things weird?”

“Weird was when I had to take you to get your wisdom teeth removed and you kept saying the green man was gonna get us while you were still high off the good stuff. Sex is just sex, right?” You try to say it casually.

“Would… would it be a one time thing?” Jordan asks slowly.

“It could be more… we could be-” You say, equally as slow.

“- could be?” Jordan echoes, voice sounding oddly tight and expression carefully blank.

The look is so strange it makes you panic, and if you’d thought of saying something stupid and desperate for one second like ‘a couple’, well, that look on his face is more than enough to send you straight back to reality on the ‘my-life-fucking-sucks’ express in no time flat.

“We could be like friends with benefits!” You blurt out in one breath.

“Oh.” Jordan says.

“It was just an idea.” You reach for the textbook again, which landed near Jordan’s thigh. You’re careful not to touch him when you grab it, or sound too disappointed, or heartbroken at the completely lackluster reaction Jordan has to the thought of having sex with you. “A stupid idea, forget it.”

“Why’s it stupid?” Jordan’s brow furrows, tone teetering on the edge of defensive.

“I mean…” You can’t think of a reason fast enough. “We’re probably sexually incompatible.”

“Why do you assume that?” Jordan goes from staring at you, to glaring at you.

You’ve always hated how once Jordan latches on to a line of questioning, you can’t get them to drop that interrogation for shit. A dog with a bone has nothing on a Jordan who wants an answer.

“I don’t… know?” You say, but it sounds like a question.

“I think we’d be compatible.” Jordan states this like he’d state the sky is blue or water is wet.

“Have you thought about it before?” You ask, bewildered.

“What, are you into something really kinky?” Jordan answers your previous question not at all.

“No!” There goes that nervous body language of yours again.

“Only way to really know if we’re sexually compatible is to actually try it out.” Suddenly, Jordan is within your personal space bubble.

You don’t really know how to react, your body freezes up on instinct. Jordan’s hand comes up to rub soothing circles into the crook of your elbow. Your shoulders fall away from your ears.

“Can I kiss you?” Jordan’s voice is quiet, soft as he tilts his head to knock his nose against yours. Playful, teasing. But the look on his face is something you can’t place at all.

You feel his breath on your lips and nod absentmindedly.

“Don’t want you to nod when I ask you a question like this. Yes or no, Y/N?”

“Ye-” The words not fully out of your mouth before Jordan is kissing you, a heavy hand pulling you closer by the nape of your neck.

You pull yourself into Jordan’s lap and try to focus on how good it feels when he nips at your bottom lip, instead of how much you wished you’d asked him to be your boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Partner. Everything. Even if he’d said no, at least then you would have had an answer. Now you’ve only made your life harder.

You stop thinking so much when Jordan puts a hand on your hip and guides you to grind yourself against him.

“Y/N’s right.” Jordan mutters, not looking up from his phone.

“No, she is not. You’re just agreeing with her because that’s your default factory setting. Listen to the context of the argument please.” Andre snaps, drowning his Vought Triple meat burger in ketchup.

“I did. Your grim dark theory on children’s media is lame, and Y/N knows more about the Monster’s Inc universe than you ever will.” Jordan shrugs.

“Hah!” You laugh in Andre’s face.

“Is it really such a flex to be an expert on the lore of a Pixar movie universe?” Cate asks teasingly.

“Yes.” You say.

“No.” Andre says, like a sore loser.

“I agree with Y/N, it’s literally in the explicit text of the movie, Monsters Inc isn’t a post-apocalyptic world. It’s a separate dimension from ours. The monsters come to our dimension to harvest screams of children to get clean, scream energy. God, Andre, pay attention during movie night.” Luke jumps in on the tormenting Andre train, grinning wildly at the other man from across the table. He gets a middle finger for his troubles.

“I’m glad someone pays attention to the intricate lore of the greatest movie of all time.” You sniff haughtily.

“I literally agreed with you first.” Jordan looks at you from over the top of her phone in a way that makes you blush.

“I’m glad two people are paying attention to the intricate lore of the greatest movie of all time.” You clear your throat.

“Thank you.” Jordan’s intense brown eyes fall away from you and you take a gulp of your drink.

“Bathroom alert, Y/N. A stall just opened up.” Cate tells you pointing to the bathroom door right as another girl exits.

“I am kissing you on the lips, telepathically.” You say, sliding from the booth you’re all sharing.

“Don’t you telepathically lip lock with my girlfriend.” Luke calls after you, laughing.

“Get some powers of telepathy yourself and make me, fire boy.” You enter the bathroom, shutting out the sounds of laughter from your table with a smile.

You take the biggest stall at the back and try to go about your business quickly. You hear two faucets turn on, someone washing their hands, and try not to get pee shy.

“So how was it?” A monotone voice asks, you assume one of the hand washers.

“You know I don’t usually kiss and tell, but it was insane.” A higher, more giggly voice answers.

“So they really are good in bed then, huh?” The monotone voice sounds a little more curious.

“Incredible. All the rumors are true. They’re a little… uh, brusque, about the after sex part, if I’m putting it lightly, but the sex itself was great!” The high voice chirps.

“What? Did they throw you a towel and tell you to kick rocks?” The monotone voice asks.

“Pretty much.” The high voice sighs. “But they made me cum so many times I think I’d still pick up if they called me again. You think they might?”

“I say this with all the love in the world: girl stand up.” Monotone voice drawls.

“You wouldn’t be telling me that if you knew how good it felt to sit on her face.” High voice says.

You stifle a laugh, trying not to get caught eavesdropping, but with Supe hearing it really is hard to mind your own business. Besides, they’re not being that quiet about the conversation anyways.

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Or you could experience it for yourself. They were just as good as a boy as they were as a girl. Maybe better. I dunno. She was more aggressive as a girl, which was kinda hot.”

“Jordan Li, pussy eating extraordinaire. Can we go now? Our food is probably ready.” Monotone voice sighs.

“Fine, but I’m telling you, the things they can do with a strap are-”

The voices fade away with the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing.

You find you don’t really want to finish eating your food, when you get back to the table. You spend the rest of lunch trying your best not to look at Jordan, and also ignoring Cate’s concerned gaze boring into the side of your skull.

You pretend to be sick to avoid having to face the reality of Jordan being more than happy to touch other girls as a girl. They just don’t want to touch you when they’re a girl. You wonder what about you is so uniquely off putting. You wonder why it can’t be you. Why can’t it ever fucking be you?

Jordan barges into your room on day three of the silent treatment that you told the group chat was due to a raging fever.

Luckily your eyes, swollen shut from all the crying, and the red nose to match, corroborate the story.

“We got it all. We’ve got tissues. We got soup. We got pain meds. We got liquid meds. We also have all the ingredients for a hot toddy, if you want to mix your poisons a little.” Jordan begins to unpack everything onto your counter.

“I don’t want to take anything.” You say morosely, and a little mean, kind of wanting to hate them but just feeling sad. Jordan’s your best friend before anything else, and you could never hate your first real friend.

“Come on, just a little something. You sound fucked up.” Jordan practically coos, touching your forehead. “Feels like your fever’s gone down a little. Sit up for me.” He says, and pulls you to sit up when you don’t do it on your own.

“I don’t want to fucking-” Jordan puts two pills in your mouth as soon as you open it to bitch at him. He hands you water to help you swallow it down.

“Thanks for that. That was really fun for me.” You snap once you’re done.

“It’s for pain and should bring down the rest of your fever.” Jordan lays you back down, tucking the covers all the way up to your chin. You marvel at the way he doesn’t rise to the bait of your very clear attitude. Jordan, catching the look on your face offers you a small glare. “I’m worried. You usually don’t get sick. I’ll check that attitude when you’re better. Now, do you want the damn hot toddy or not?” He rubs your head soothingly.

“Yes, please.” You try not to pout as you watch Jordan make the drink for you. You really hate how hard it is to hate them. “Sorry, Jordie.”

“Oh, you can go ahead and save that apology for when I make you cry into your pillow, yeah?” Jordan doesn’t even look up from measuring the ingredients.

You pull the covers over your head and leave them there until Jordan pulls them back down.

You almost hadn’t come to the party.

You weren’t in a partying mood, as of late. You were in more of a Shakespearean pining era than a City Girls one. But the group had bullied you in the group chat for a week straight until you’d promised to come. The group bullying hadn’t worked so much as Jordan asking you one single time to go had.

So here you were.

You’d been nursing one drink for the better part of an hour and hadn’t done a single line of cocaine. Jordan had offered you some, but the line had already been placed on the back of his hand. You politely declined, much to his confusion. You only ever did hard drugs with Jordan, and only at big rager parties like this one.

At the moment you’re nearly sober. Because you didn’t so much as want to touch Jordan right now. Let alone do something like snort a line off of him. Then you’d have to do something like lick the residue off his skin. Which would lead to kissing him. Which would lead to making out with him. Which would lead to fucking him.

And you think, for the sake of your sanity, you need to be done fucking Jordan Li.

It’s been about three weeks since you were “sick” and you’d dodged every attempt at getting physical that Jordan tried to initiate since. At first you were able to pass it off as still feeling icky. That excuse worked for a week. Now, you didn’t hang out alone with them and pretended not to see Jordan’s ‘you up?’ texts until morning.

Your friendship just needs a hard reset. This time spent not having sex will do it.

Besides, it’s not like Jordan isn’t swimming in fucking choices. What does it matter if you’re one less body off the menu? There are plenty of hot girls at this school. Jordan’s probably already fucked half of them.

You throw back the rest of the drink you’ve been nursing all at once.

“Are you okay?” Cate puts a hand on your arm and you offer her a blinding, completely fake smile.

“Yeah!” You say, as chipper as possible.

“Jesus christ.” Cate replies, face going all sad and concerned. “What did Jordan do?”

“Huh?” You blink, confused.

“You are the most pissed off I’ve ever seen you. What did Jordan do? You’ve been avoiding them for like two weeks. What gives?” Cate pulls you closer by the arm so that she doesn’t have to shout over the music.

“Nothing!”

“Can you try to lie again but do it better, this time?” Cate frowns.

“Jesus Christ, does everything have to be about Jordan? Must my whole entire goddamn life revolve around Jordan Li?” You snap, the way someone who isn’t mad about anything does.

“Okay.” Cate says slowly. Like she’s trying to placate a wild animal.

The tone alone makes you roll your eyes and move to disappear back in the crowd of drunk twenty-somethings. But she firms her grip on you, the leather of her glove digging into your skin.

“Y/N-”

“I’m fine, Cate. I just have to get over it.”

“Get over what?” Cate narrows her eyes at you. That shrewd look she sometimes wears when she knows something before someone else falls onto her face.

You wonder if you’re completely transparent about your pining or if Cate missed a dose of her medication. Is she starting to hear the buzzing of your frantic, angry, miserable thoughts? Or is she just naturally perceptive?

“So, this is where the real party is hiding!” An arm is thrown around your shoulders suddenly and you are careful not to sigh, because Jordan may not be as perceptive as Cate, but they’re pretty damn close. Especially when it comes to you.

You’ve never moved away from them holding you close like this before, so you can’t do it now. You try to just be still. Don’t lean into his warmth, but don’t cringe away either. You probably used to melt against him, when he touched you. Pathetically. Desperately. A sunflower following rays of light across the sky.

“-Princess?” Jordan gives you a gentle shake and your head snaps to the side to look at him. “You okay?”

“Yup!” Apparently, you didn’t say that convincingly because he starts to scowl at you. Surprisingly enough, the thought of withstanding a Jordan interrogation does not make you want to be at this party for much longer. “I’m gonna head out, though.”

“What?!” Twin exclamations of confusion form Jordan and Cate both.

“Not feeling it. I think I need to get some more sleep. I got a headache, or… something.” You shrug.

“Or something?” Jordan echoes.

“You are not going anywhere, yet, dear friend.” Andre throws his own arm around you, appearing from thin air, and tugging you away from Jordan. You’ve never been more grateful to him.

“How do you figure that?” You laugh.

“We’re about to play truth or dare in the other room and you dodged playing last time. You can leave after you’ve played. You can’t get known as the truth or dare dodger.” Andre says.

“You say that as if being a party game dodger is like being known for dodging the Vietnam draft.” You snort.

“No, it’s worse. People that dodged the Vietnam drafts are heroes. Truth or dare dodgers are cowards. Come on.” Andre begins to drag you towards the other room and you go along with minimal dragging of your feet across the floor.

The room is crowded, but all the faces are familiar. They’re all within the top twenty, or the groupies that hang around everyone in the top twenty. You pull Andre across the room to a spot on a raggedy couch you have to squeeze the both of you into. No room for Jordan, who you want to avoid. Or Cate, who is too fucking perceptive.

You wish you’d grabbed another drink for yourself. Jordan winds up across the room from you, in an optimal position for trying to catch your eye and give you a concerned look every ten seconds.

This does not make Truth or Dare more fun to watch.

Vulgar dare from one classmate to another. Forcing someone else to admit an uncomfortable truth. One humiliation after the other. Pick your poison on whether you want to debase yourself through the damnation of your own words or a physical act. All challenges of self-mortification being doled out by people who secretly don’t like each other very much, but all call each other friends anyways.

“Earth to Y/N the space cadet.” The girl sitting next to you gives you a playful shove. You try not to glare at her. Her name escapes you. You think she hangs around with number 6. Or something.

“What?”

“Cate picked you. Truth or dare.” She says the words ominously, causing teasing jeering to rise from the entire group.

“Well, Y/N, what’s it gonna be?” Cate raises her eyebrow at you challengingly.

“She doesn’t have to play if she doesn’t want to, guys.” Jordan rolls his eyes.

“Dare.” You say, wanting to get this over with.

The room erupts into excited noise. You don’t know why. Cate, of all people, would never force you to do anything humiliating. Or truly scandalous. It’s why you trust her enough to say dare, instead of truth. But you never pick dare, because anyone else would abuse the power. Everyone looks too eager to see Number 3 do something embarrassing.

As if Cate isn’t your closest friend beside Jordan. As if she’d abuse the trust you place in her. It makes you sick. You don’t wanna be here. At this party, or at this stupid fucking school.

“I dare you…. to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”

“What?!” Jordan turns to give Cate the nastiest, most disgusted glare you’ve ever seen.

“She doesn’t have to do it if she doesn’t want to. You know I’m all about consent.” Cate shrugs innocently, crossing her legs together and giving you a smirk.

You sit for a second, contemplating your next move. There are plenty of pretty girls at this party. In this room. If nothing else, the top twenty and their groupies are photogenic (hell, some of them are only in the top twenty because of their looks to begin with. You hope you’re not one of those.) But there’s only one girl you want to kiss at this party.

There’s only one person in the world you want to kiss at all.

You take a shaky breath, feeling like the walls are closing in. Andre nudges you subtly, catches your eye, as if to say: ‘you okay?’ but there’s something else in the look too. Something that says it’s not just Cate, who knows. Probably your whole friend group knows how you feel. Probably the whole school. Probably anyone but Jordan sees it. And Jordan probably does see it, because they’re too fucking smart not to, and they’re choosing to ignore it. Because it’s easier that way. Because your feelings are probably too inconvenient. Because you’re not their type. Because you’re clingy, and stupid, and not good enough-

You stand up. The room is a wall of noise, and smell and sound pressing in on you. You see Cate smirk. You see Jordan looking away. You see every girl in the room sit up straight. Delusional, if they think any of them could ever be anything, compared to Jordan.

You walk past every other girl in the room, and stand in front of Jordan, who still isn’t looking.

You kick his ankle with the toe of your heel, to get him to look at you. His head snaps around, the curls of his hair sticking to his forehead, and he looks comically confused. And it’s really too fucking much, for someone as smart as Jordan to look so confused. So fucking baffled, about what’s happening here. But it’s a pretty convincing act. That only makes you more angry.

You make an impatient motion with your hand. A ‘do it already’ movement of your wrist. The same way you’d crossly signal for another driver to go first at a fucking four way stop.

He just blinks up at you, owlish.

"Well? Are you gonna let me kiss the prettiest girl at this fucking school or what, Li?" The room has gone a little quiet, or maybe the blood is rushing in your ears so bad everything is quiet in comparison.

Jordan stares up at you for a moment longer than is comfortable. And you really start to feel the eyes of everyone in the room on you. You don’t let yourself shy away from the attention. Not Jordan’s, not anyone else’s. You straighten your spine and look down your nose at him, and tap your foot. Try to look like the mean girl everyone expects you to be because no one cares who you actually are.

As if you could care less if Jordan leaves you stranded right now. As if it will be their loss, if they don’t kiss you, instead of the worst moment of your entire life.

Jordan shifts.

You try not to think of how desperate you must look, when you reach out at a speed that isn’t human to hold her face and angle it up, so you can finally fucking kiss the girl you love.

You wish you could kiss her like it didn’t mean anything. Like she’s nothing. Like you hate her. But you don’t know if this is the only time you’ll ever get to kiss Jordan when she’s your girl, and not your boy. This might be the last time you kiss Jordan ever.

It has to be.

You close your eyes tight. Try to ignore the way they’re stinging. You kiss Jordan slow and tender. The way you’ve always wanted to. You tangle a hand in her hair, to bring her closer. You try not to marvel at the way the longer strands tangle in your fingertips. She gasps against you, and her hands find your waist and you are too sober to cry over Jordan touching your waist above your clothes. Like a fucking middle-schooler.

But the tears start falling anyways. You let out a quiet sob against her lips that you try your hardest to stifle, and Jordan may not have kissed you like this before. But she’s kissed you plenty. She pulls back, startled, like an animal. Big brown eyes full of concern.

And the spell is broken, and you are standing in front of about thirty of the world’s worst, most unsympathetic human beings, crying, because you kissed your best friend who doesn’t want you back.

You’ve got ten seconds to leave before someone pulls out their phone and records you. If they haven’t already started.

So you run.

Through your tears the layout of the house becomes unfamiliar. You try to hide your face a little, and hope people don’t recognize you as you pass them by, sobbing openly.

Years of pent up feelings are bubbling out of you. The relief. The grief. The way you hate yourself for falling in love with the only person who has ever loved you. Wondering why you couldn’t just be grateful for the kindest, most understanding friendship you never even thought yourself worthy of. Why couldn’t that have been enough?

Why did you fall in love with them?

A hand closes around your wrist and you try to yank yourself away but you’re pulled into a bathroom and the door slams shut behind you.

You wipe your eyes so you can see who’s tried to save you from embarrassing yourself any further.

It’s Jordan. Because of course it is.

You burst into tears again.

“Are you fucking drunk? What the fuck was that? Y/N what the fuck is happening right now?” Jordan sounds on the verge of a mental break.

She’s probably wondering what type of things people are gonna start saying about the two of you on social media. She’s probably mad at you for giving her a PR mess to clean up.

“I’m not drunk!” You protest, sounding a little like someone who might be drunk.

“Are you high? What did you take? Lemme see your pupils.” Jordan reaches out to grab your face and you swat her hand away.

“No one fucking drugged me, Jordan. I’m just a stupid fucking idiot who’s in love with you! There! Are you happy?! Why don’t you go laugh at me with one of your stupid fucking girlfriends. You’ve got so fucking many of them.” You wail, sinking down to the floor, and hiding your face in your arms.

The room goes quiet, besides the sound of you crying. Loudly. You think you might be having an anxiety attack. You can’t breathe right. But maybe that’s just from the heaving, toddler-like sobs.

“You’re in love with me?” Jordan asks, quietly.

“As if you don’t know!” You snap your head up to glare at her. She kneels down in front of you, and puts her hand on your knee and you try not to get distracted by how pretty she is. “I follow you around like a puppy dog. Like your little shadow. And everyone notices except for you, because you don’t want to notice, because you don’t fucking want me. I got the message, Jordan. I got it!”

“What message?!” Jordan grabs you by the shoulders, voice fraying at the edges, and looks like she wants to shake you.

“You don’t touch me!” Your voice raises to the edge of a yell, and the sound of it echoes in the small room.

“What are you fucking talking about-”

“-don’t be cute, Jordan. You don’t touch me when you’re a girl! I thought… I thought it was maybe just that you didn’t touch girls when you’re a girl but it isn’t. Apparently you have plenty of fucking girls that you touch and fuck, when you’re a girl. It’s just me, that you don’t! What’s so fucking bad about me? Huh? What’s wrong with me? Why don’t you want me?” You demand.

You think you might sound like an insane person, and you wish you could pull the words back in but the hurt is bubbling out. A river relishing that first burst of freedom when a dam breaks, no matter how much damage it causes.

Jordan is staring at you like you’ve grown two heads. Mouth agape. You wish you were dead, a little.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jordie.” Your voice goes small, and you sniffle. “I really tried to stop. But I can’t, I love you. I’ve probably loved you from that very first day. Because you’re wonderful, you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met and I don’t know how anyone…” You trail off, fanning at your eyes to try and pull yourself together. “...I don’t know how everyone else knows you without being in love with you. I wish I wasn’t in love with you, please don’t be mad, please don’t fucking-” You sob, again.

You find yourself pulled into Jordan’s lap this time. It’s a foreign feeling, to be touching so much of Jordan when she’s like this. You bury your face into her neck and cry, and let her black hair block out the fluorescent lighting. She shushes you, cheek pressing against the side of your head, and that’s familiar. The way she soothes you. Your hands wrinkle the fabric of her jacket, clinging to her tightly.

“I’m sorry. I can get over it, I promise. I just needed to tell you. I’ve never kept anything from you before. It was killing me, but I can get over it, Jordie, I promise-”

“Hey, hey, hey, no-” Jordan’s turning you to look at her suddenly. “Don’t fucking… I’m not… I’m not mad at you or fucking… gonna leave you, Y/N. What the fuck? I love you.”

You could start crying from the relief of hearing those words come from her lips again. You thought she wouldn’t ever speak to you again. She grabs you by the chin and kisses you, hard, your teeth clink together and your noses mush and you go completely still and frozen, like a scared deer.

“I could see the words not fucking register in your brain the way I meant them. I am in love with you. Romantically.” Jordan barely pulls away, you feel her lips brush against yours, every other word.

“What?”

Jordan laughs, “Good, now you’re just as confused as I fucking was. Why the fuck wouldn’t I want you? I’ve always wanted you. You’re…you.”

“I’m me?” You echo.

“I didn’t…. I didn’t want to make you feel… like everyone else has. Like I was just fucking waiting around for a chance to date you. Or fuck you. As if your friendship doesn’t fucking matter. Or was a consolation prize, if I couldn’t get you to date me. It isn’t a consolation prize. It’s the most important thing to me in the fucking world.” Jordan laughs, and the sound is suspiciously choked up.

“Oh.” You say, and are crying. Again. Jordan laughs and wipes the tears away with her thumb.

“But what about when we started having sex? You still… never touched me when you’re like this.”

“You’ve never said anything about liking girls.” Jordan says quietly.

“You’re not just a girl. You’re the girl. And guy. ” You say, holding her hand against your face and kissing her palm fiercely. She laughs again, and puts her forehead against yours.

“So what? I’m the one girl you’re into?” Jordan raises a brow and doesn’t look very happy saying the words, oddly enough.

You tilt your head trying to puzzle out why, slowly, you arrive at a conclusion. “I literally talk about girls all the time.”

“When?!”

“I’m constantly pointing out pretty ones!” You snap.

“I thought you were just being sweet!” Jordan snaps back.

You close your eyes and breathe in the smell of her cologne.

“You make me so angry I don’t know how to think.” You say, and kiss her bottom lip softly. “You’re not an… experiment, if that’s what you’re asking. You’re the…” You trail off, realizing this is not one of your romantic daydreams where you’ve thought of the words you’d tell Jordan over and over again.

In real life you can’t tell people that they’re the love of your life if you aren’t their girlfriend. Unless you want to look crazy.

Jordan, who is your best friend, before she’s anything else, melts. Because she knows you well enough to know what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah.” Jordan nods, sniffling once and trying to look very tough even though her lip is quivering a little. “I… I love you too. Or whatever.”

“If it makes you feel better I’ve slept with other women before, to make sure I wasn’t just in love with you.”

“Weird fucking thing to tell me after I say I love you, but go off.” She glares at you.

“I think you could do with feeling a little jealous. Why am I hearing stories about how good you are at fucking other women while I’m trying to piss at Vought Burger in peace?”

“What?” Jordan’s brow furrows.

“Three weeks ago I heard-”

“-I fucking knew you’ve been mad at me!” Jordan grabs your waist, pulling you closer.

“You would have been pissed too, if you heard the shit I was hearing!”

“If I hear anyone talking about fucking you ever again I’m going to go to prison.”

“Hot.”

“Shut up and be my girlfriend.”

“Shut up and be my everything.”

“You’re gross.” But she kisses you, and it’s gentle, and no one else is there to see it.

And it’s perfect.

A/N: this is my first time doing full on smut for a fic! it beat me the fuck up. if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writers fuel is engagement. and this fic took too damn long to write. xoxoxo

#jordan li x reader #jordan li imagine #black!reader #hey bee are you ever gonna do a non force field power having reader?? great question! answer is no adjkl #forcefields are THE coolest thing you can have #aside from the song she likes a boy i was thinking of hate that i love you rihanna and neyo while writing #if you see a fucking grammer error point it out i need to get this posted so i can MOVE ON adjkl this one has been kicking my ASS

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crispyjenkins · 3 months ago

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mandalore the young cont.

original post/discussion here! it was just getting really long and i for one hate scrolling so far, so. here's this. have also added this au to my masterlist in my pinned post!

@malcontent-crow

#i had a whole wall of tags and it didnt save! lets try this again#i am loving this. the potential for world building and the consequences of knowing more than you should (literally)

#i had forgotten that DW wasnt in peoples thoughts as a threat during the Clan Wars#and the idea that Pre was so far underground with the movement is a very good thing to remember as well! #on one hand you have this driven and spirited young verd that is inspiring Clans to start reassessing who they are fighting and why#on the other you have this clanless outsider that knows waaaaay too much about all the potential major players and is saying#that this major threat isnt really as gone as everybody thought and hoped. sith parallels out the wahoo for ppor obi#and hes standing there watching them all argue over his head about this threat that he KNOWS needs to be dealt with#he is seeing himself as pretty on par or above with the Old Guard in terms of mental age or prowess or large scale battles#so he sees them doubt him maybe even to his face and knows he'll need to get things started on his own

#and becauae everything in the galaxay has at least one person watching it from the outside... how quickly does the news of a jedi padawan#going off the rails on this mission get out? whos keeping track and who points fingers at the jedi for attempting to control the outcome#of the war of their historical enemies in their favor? the senate (read sith) want mandalore defanged before their war but what does it look#like the jedi want? how does the council answer for his actions? do they condemn or condone him? do they try to stay out of it?

#the world building potential of the Manda and the Ka'ra is delicious.#what does it mean to be a mando or darmanda? can you walk around and have people look at you and know you have failed in your oaths?

#and ouch! Obi-Wan considering the fact that he has never been allowed to be his own person.#from padawan to knight/master and then a general and councilor and sheesh. hes really never had the chance to see who he is as a person#outside of his responsibilities to everybody around him and right now hes a war worn adult in a war worn teens body#hes always had somebody else there. as a battle companion a teacher a student as somebody to protect and guard and guide#and now he has this entire culture looking at him and waiting for his next move. and im guess it still feels like less than a burden than#the care and raising of an entire child on his own. sure he had the temple resources and other jedi to lean on but anakin always looked to#him first to solve any problem or teach him something new or cuddle him after nightmares as hes trying to hide his own dreams#and grief and flounding to find his footing as an independent adult

#so right now hes looking around at the entire mando population and realizing thats he might need to reshape himself again for somebody else#to make himself what others need and knowing he can and will do it if it means saving somebody else

#and when exactly did he come back from the war? did he have satine die in his arms and see the ruin that is madalore after a pacifist reign?#does he see the potential for that ruin to happen right now if he doesnt succeed? where does he see himself in regards to the jedi?#has he considered the consequences of stepping up to be the Mand'alor to this culture he has never seen as his own?#has he let himself think about the choices he needs to make and how some things you cant always come out the other side the same as before?

(following the trend of each of these getting longer, this has hit just under 5,000 words, so just a heads up lol? so much world building is happening in this one)

sorry you had to rewrite so much! that last exchange was cursed, it seems lmao

it's so easy to write Obi-Wan as prescient, or the route I'm going with in Dha Kar'ta, so i think it's a fun change-up to have him knowledgeable for completely different reasons! I'm actually going to avoid visions almost at all for this Obi, but everyone else certainly won't know the difference, and he doesn't tell them otherwise (though he won't encourage it either. I do actually have a Naruto time travel where Nart pretends to be psychic à la Shawn Spencer, so that isn't the route I wanna go for this Obi). the consequences of knowing too much, indeed

hmmm many of these questions depend on how deep into Jedi and galactic politics I wanna go, and I'm not sure it's very deep at all. or at least, not very dragged out. i'll explain in a mo

SO first: yes, this Obi is from after Satine dies, in 19 BBY, maybe a month or so after, but before the bombing of the Temple so before Ahsoka left the Order. He was back on the front, no time to properly mourn, though he was doing his best, and was meditating on the whole war, but especially the Sith and their hand in everything that happened on Mandalore. It went deeper than Maul, he knew, had been going on longer than Maul and even Dooku, and it occurred to Obi-Wan that the Sith either wanted a Mandalore that will side with them but not be too much a threat, or they wanted them not a threat at all. He realised his hand in that, in helping put the New Mandalorians on the throne that led to the demilitarisation of the entire sector. Obi-Wan had practically teed Mandalore up for Dooku and then Maul's interference, and if the Republic won the war, he could all too easily see them doing another excision. won't get too much into it to save it for the fic, but he is mediating with something beskar, and he gets a lil too deep into the Force, and of course this is post-Mortis so...... 👀

so this Obi-Wan, back in time, is helping Mandalore to prevent any more Sith machinations in the future, to change the future for the whole galaxy, but even before he's Chosen, he realises he's also doing all of this for Mandalore. for his own hand in its destruction, for the Jedi's hand in the Excision, for his personal connection to Satine drawing Maul to it. it's for atonement, for reparation, and also because Mandalore deserves to be saved, and Obi-Wan is in a place he can help do that. it isn't just about the health of the galaxy, anymore.

I usually shy away from having Obi-Wan leave the Order, no matter what AU I'm throwing him in because I believe in the fundamental goodness of the Order and the people in it, and Obi-Wan is fundamentally a Jedi, one of the best, one of the best. however, in this case, I don't think he can have his cake and eat it too. if Dooku had to leave the Order to accept his countship, then Obi-Wan would have to leave to become Mand'alor. Jedi are (supposed to be) politically neutral, and Obi-Wan is all too aware he'd nullified his own neutrality the moment he decided to go for Keldabe to find Jango.

one of my favorite... tropes? in time travel fic is Obi using his future fellow councilmembers' access codes to get into things he shouldn't, and he certainly knows how to work the Order's internal systems in his favor, so he

wait so i was gonna have him go in and tender his resignation from the Order directly into the systems, and backdate it for before the Mandalore mission, so that anything he's done on Mandalore so far cannot be blamed on the Jedi BUT WHAT IF he just. deletes himself. like completely. from admin to the Archives to the crèche's own internal systems to the Shadow's private servers, Obi-Wan Kenobi was never a Jedi, was never a Temple bastard, was never Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan. his mission records are all in Qui-Gon's name now, his medical file simply doesn't exist, his crècheling clan is listed as simply having been a person short compared to other clans that year. he goes so far as to delete comm histories with him or mentioning him, it's like Obi-Wan Kenobi just doesn't exist anymore.

he does this first thing after leaving Jango, he spends the entire week back to Mandalore ensuring he's been completely erased from absolutely anything relating to the Jedi, and then uses his future councilmember knowledge (and lessons from Quinlan) to erase himself from Republic systems, too. any planet he'd helped as a padawan will suddenly have no records of him as having been there with his master, so the senate or Order can't subpoena them for the info, though Obi-Wan knows he can't have gotten everything (such as any planet not in the Republic, or who don't have holonet access to their files, or both, like Melida/Daan), but he figures he's done enough to absolve the Order if anyone comes knocking about what he's doing.

he buries his lightsaber in the deserts of Mandalore, not knowing that in his old future, he'd have done the same on Tatooine.

so as far as the Jedi are aware: Obi-Wan went on a mission with Qui-Gon that (predictably) went to hell, got separated from his master for weeks to months, then suddenly changed, at the same time their Jedi with the highest prescience collapsed due to his visions, which have also changed. Obi-Wan left Qui-Gon behind to hightail it through the Mandalore sector, and Qui-Gon couldn't catch up or find him, and then Obi-Wan disappeared from anyone's radars for two weeks. then Qui-Gon senses him reenter the Mandalore system, right before breaking his training bond with him, and the Order wakes up to Obi-Wan completely erased from their systems like he never existed in the first place. everything is going so so wrong, and yet. and yet.

and yet the Force is telling them all that this is right, that this is the least Dark course of action, that whatever Obi-Wan is doing is indeed the Will of the Force

so the Order mourns one of their own, and tells Qui-Gon to let him go. and then the Order ups their cyber security because what.

i think he leaves an unsigned letter/comm message for a few people. Bant, Quinlan, Mace, Feemor, his old crèchemaster, Yoda, maybe Jocasta Nu. it's short, basically thanking them for their hand in his upbringing (Feemor hasn't even met him before so is very confused by this), apologising for leaving abruptly, but to follow the Will of the Force, he had to leave; the first part of the message is all the same, but ends with little individual notes. he apologises to Madam Nu for fucking with her archives and hopes she can one day forgive him; he asks her to keep her friends close and to mend the tension between her and Dooku, that Obi-Wan should not know about. He tells Yoda that the future is always in motion but they must move with it; he asks Yoda to meditate on his dwindling lineages and learn to accept all that he cannot control. He reminds Quinlan to wear his gloves and asks him to thank Tholme for looking out for him when Qui-Gon wouldn't or didn't; he thanks him for their years together, and asks him to check in on Feemor every now and then. He apologises to Mace for all the shatter-points he likely caused and will continue to cause, and suggests he put a permanent reminder in his comm to remember to refill his migraine prescription that sixteen year-old Obi should not know about. He asks Bant to look out for a young Togruta initiate that will join in seven years, and suggests Bant might like the healer track rather than the knight corps; he thanks her for being his longest and most dearly-held friend. He thanks his crèchemaster for realising his visions were more than dreams (which will inadvertently lend credence to that theory for why Obi-Wan changed so suddenly), for supporting him when Bruck was at his nastiest, and for always being someone he could turn to even after he became a padawan. For Feemor, Obi-Wan apologises that they hadn't had the chance to meet before then, and for the relationship they won't have anymore; Feemor has no idea who this message is from, until he starts hearing the gossip that Obi-Wan Kenobi has left the Order again. He too mourns never getting to know his padawan brother.

and Obi-Wan sends Qui-Gon a message, of course, thanking him for his teachings, apologising for "leading him on" as an apprentice, leaving and coming back so many times only to permanently leave this time. he reminds Qui to reach out to his friends and his support system, asks him to at least consider talking to a mind or soul healer about Xanatos (knowing that once it gets out that Obi-Wan is a planetary leader, it will likely badly trigger Qui-Gon), and asks him to at least try and mend his relationship with Dooku, though understands if that's not something Qui-Gon is willing to do. asks him to keep Satine safe, but to deeply think about why the Republic is so intent on helping her faction, and why Qui-Gon had questioned so little of the New Mandalorian ethos.

so by the time Obi-Wan finds the Old Guard, he's broken from the Order completely, has buried his saber, has broken his training bond, has cut his braid. I think he shaves his head entirely to let it grow out at the same rate, because the padawan cut is *Eliot Spencer voice* Very Distinctive. he paints his armour white for, yes, his men, his vod'e, but also for cin vhetin. he can't be the man he was before, nor the teen he was before, neither are who Mandalore needs, and as long as he can stay true to his morals and upbringing, he will be what Mandalore needs him to be.

okay now onto the Manda vs. the Ka'ra vs. the Force. the Force is a scientific concept of an energy connecting absolutely everything in the universe, and the Jedi have a religious view on the scientific concept. for both purposes, the Force just is. I really like the idea of other non-Jedi ideas just being different aspects of the Force, different religions and cultures based on the same scientific concepts. for Mandalorians, their "aspect" of the Force is the Manda, the collective souls of every Mando'ade that's ever marched on. just what it means to be Mando'ade has varied greatly through history, and is varied between different groups even now, but none of that changes what the Manda is, which is an aspect of the Force only Mando'ade can touch. sort of like their beliefs of it being separate from the Force have made it so?

now I haven't really talked about this before, but from the beginning of me writing Mandalorian related things, i've separated Ka'ra from ka'ra, which was a little bit me misremembering there was another term for "stars", and then it became it's own thing. kar, meaning "star", with it's plural kar'e or kare, to me, means physical stars, the way we'd call our sun a star. ka'ra, uncapitalised, is the more poetic and/or spiritual "stars", the way we might say something is "written in the stars", which actually aligns with how jate'kara is spelled; for my writing, i've used this form for Mandalorian Force-sensitives being Star-touched ka'ra-touched. Ka'ra, capitalised, is that "ruling council of fallen kings", the Mandalorian myth and it, the way I've always interpreted it, is a separate part of the Manda made up of specifically the souls of every Mand'alor already marched on. So, Tor Vizsla could have joined the Manda after death, but not the Ka'ra; make sense? all that ka'ra vs Ka'ra worldbuilding was done very early in my writing for star wars, and has since expanded to include the idea of the Manda as something separate, and I would now actually consider Manda-touched over Star-touched to describe Force sensitive Mando'ade, because that's really what I think Mandalorians would consider causes their supernatural powers: ancestors rather than the stars.

so what does that mean for this fic? the Manda is directly influenced by all those that consider themselves Mandalorian, Force-sensitive or not. it is, however, not affected by New Mandalorians, unless they worship the Manda in some facsimile, and I think many, many, many do not, not the way they were raised to. this worship looks different for every clan and every individual, and I've always interpreted it as more of a broad spiritual practice across the whole culture rather than a religion, per se, the way a real-world broader culture might pray at shrines at New Years even if individuals themselves or their family aren't religious. this is what I'm referencing when I say the Will of the People: the alive Mando'ade and their choices and emotions affecting and influencing the Manda, the collective amalgamation of every passed-on Mando'ade, and it's when these two are in tandem that they "pick" a Mand'alor. HOWEVER, such a pick is also up to the Ka'ra, the Mand'alor'e that have all marched on; to one day enter the Ka'ra themselves, a Mand'alor must be "picked" by both the People/the Manda, and the Ka'ra. Tor would be "picked" by a significant part of the People and the Manda, and so would Jaster have been, but (according to me, myself, and i, obviously), only Jaster had been chosen by the Ka'ra. Pre is "Mand'alor" only in name, only in a tenuous loyalty existing in House Vizsla and Death Watch, not even by the Manda; just simple human (et al) loyalty. Jango had a weaker "pick" from the Manda than Jaster did, but was picked by the Ka'ra, meaning if he did not declare himself dar'manda (even just internally; I don't think he's ever said it out loud), he would have joined the Ka'ra after death; if he ever reconnects with himself as a Mandalorian, I like to think he'd have that chance again. Canon Jango, though, who went on to make the clones? Absolutely not.

what does this all mean for Obi-Wan? he'd spent weeks inadvertently drumming up support in the people and therefore the Manda, and maybe most haven't really looked at him and thought "sure I'd follow him as Mand'alor", but they have looked at him and thought "that one has mandokar, that one wants what's best for Mandalore, that one is touched by destiny". I dunno, man, like. Obi-Wan is their hope before he is their leader. That will make all the difference when he does end up uniting them. His searching out Jango had made Jango finally confront that he feels dar'manda, until then he hadn't really lost the Ka'ra's support, but that severs that connection. and now the Ka'ra are without a Mand'alor, but look at that, there's a mandokar'la little idiot right there, already strong in the Manda, already rallying hope and purpose, already so invested in the nurturing and the future of Mandalore, how could the Ka'ra not choose him?

I posed the question previously whether or not Mando'ade can tell who has been chosen to be Mand'alor, and I think I've ironed out what that'll mean for this fic. non-Force sensitive Mando'ade will have this sense when near their Mand'alor, a subconscious and inherent trust in them, and indeed, some will be disturbed by this and fight it. that's alright, that's their right. Some never clock this extra sense, some are aware of it always, some just chalk it up to "gut feelings" and the like. The more spiritual or religious Mandos maybe put a little more stock in this feelings, I think especially goran'e and other spiritual leaders, but the fact that the Manda can technically pick more than one person at a time (like Tor and Jaster, and then Jango), this extra sense isn't a perfect indicator of a properly chosen Manda'lor.

now. what about Force sensitive Mando'ade? Well, the Manda is an aspect of the Force, and is in fact how said Force sensitive Mando'ade connect to the Force, by going through the Manda, first. their relationship with sensitivity is inherently different from others in the galaxy, at least those that connect to it directly. they are the ones that can sense or see if someone is chosen by the Ka'ra, depending on their sensitivity. Some see the ghostly line of previous Mand'alor'e stretched out behind them (like the Avatar cycle lmao), some see a wavering crown of stars around their head, some just sense there is a duplicity (/neutral) to their Force presence that doesn't exist in anyone else. how common is Force sensitivity in Mandalorian space? not fuckin very. Jaster had three in his entire faction of aprox. 2 million (fanon number), at least that were aware they were sensitive. Jango only had a few more, and only because he had gained a couple hundred thousand more followers before Galidraan. so i'll make the nearly-arbitrary number that Force sensitive Mandos are 1 in 1,000,000, across the entire sector. by some calculations, in the whole galaxy at around the time of the Clone Wars the number of Force sensitives is 1 in 5,000,000 but these calculations do not generally include societies and species with a near or 100% chance of Force sensitivity, because we simply don't have the data for it. does this all make Mandos slightly more likely to be Force sensitive than others, by my own numbers? sorta. which i'm making an issue of underreporting, based on Mandalore not being a part of the Republic, and also contention with the Jedi and Sith; they don't consider those Manda-touched to be Force sensitive, and with the way I've built this, they aren't exactly wrong.

for the purposes of this story, there are maybe eight Manda-touched Mando'ade in the Mandalore system at this time, and all but one are goran'e. that single non-armorer is part of the Old Guard. I have the roster for the Old Guard decided, so I'm debating whether the Manda-touched one is Cort Davin (a journeyman protector), or one of the women. Instinct wants Vhonte Tervho, but I have plans for her to be related to the goran Obi-Wan got his armour done by, who I wanted to be one of the seven Force sensitive armorers, soooo. lmao how fucked would it be if Isabet Reau is the Force sensitive one? I like the angst of that, since I definitely do not plan on redeeming her, but I kind of want the only Old Guard that can sense Obi-Wan is Chosen by the Ka'ra to be really quiet and accepting of it, while everyone else is arguing. hmmm I have an unnamed Wren as part of the Guard, that I haven't fleshed anything out for yet; perhaps them?

okay I think I've solidified what it makes a Mandalorian, at least for the function of this fic. it is tied to the Resol'nare, and following it, which does allow those who had Chosen Tor Vizsla as their Mand'alor to technically still be following the Resol'nare, and are therefore not dar'manda. at least not for that. but part of the reason the Resol'nare is even able to determine who has a Mandalorian soul, is because they believe it does. Those alive and those dead influence the functionality and reality of the Manda, which also allows for those pre-Resol'nare to still exist in the Manda. What causes someone to become dar'manda, if they are technically following the Resol'nare?

maybe it's reductive, or over-simplified, or maybe even too broad, but it makes sense to me and allows for many many different types of people to still fail, and this is obviously not the only way to become dar'manda, but one thing that will always strip someone of their Mando soul? treatment of children. caring for children. not harming children. this allows many of Death Watch to still maintain their Mando souls, but still be fucked up awful people in other ways. It allows even True Mandalorians to have lost their souls and not realised it because they otherwise adhered to the Resol'nare, because they'd chosen to interpret "defending oneself and family" and "raising your children as Mandalorians" to not include other peoeple's children. Or maybe they were abusive in the belief they were caring for their children. This would also make every single one of the Cuy'val Dar dar'manda, which I think is a fascinating concept.

to answer your question directly, no, one cannot look at someone and know they're dar'manda, even the Force/Manda sensitive ones. one will only know in death, whether or not they have a place in the Manda.

NOW what does this mean for New Mandalorians?? well, by technicality and the way I've set the Manda up, one can interpret the Resol'nare in ways that could align with New Mandos. Perhaps they interpret "armour" as more than specifically "beskar'gam", maybe they wear armourweave or other protective fabrics. Maybe they interpret "defending one's family" as putting down arms instead of raising them, in order to create a peaceful future for their children. I think there are plenty of New Mandos that technically tick off all the boxes, and believe in themselves and their fellows so much that the Manda is like "yeah sure why not, we'll make that count". I think some tenants are more easily... bent, like swearing to the duchy in place of the Mand'alor, but I think an easy one New Mandos miss, is "speak Mando'a." I think many New Mandos were all too quick to switch to Basic for everything except religious and spiritual ceremonies, and I think those already in the Manda would find that very hard to forgive. I actually get into this a little in Dha Kar'ta very soon, but for this fic, i'll have Satine not outright outlawing Mando'a, but it is socially heavily discouraged. you're not allowed to speak it in the palace unless in aforementioned ceremonies, you cannot fill out paperwork in anything but Basic, you're not allowed to use Mando'a titles (including Mand'alor), you're not allowed to teach it to your children. no outright like. punishments for speaking it in public, but if your kids are caught, there are repercussions, including investigation into how else you're raising your kids, and if you're found to be doing anything else, they can take your kids from you. not every New Mando agrees with this, of course, and go about adhering to the Resol'nare as best they can in secret, but so many do give up the language by convincing themselves it's not as important as the other tenants and, well, the duchy hasn't steered them all wrong yet, has it?

okay so on the subject of what the outside galaxy is seeing. I like the headcanon/trope/idea of like. the one thing all factions of Mandalorians agreeing on is fuck everyone else. oh, the New Mandos will emulate the Core and the Republic, but they aren't the Republic nor want to be, and this animosity extends to keeping as many internal Mandlorian issues just that: internal. no faction can keep news from leaving the system or the sector, obviously, but there also isn't a lot of interest in Mandalorian news? "oh look all the Mandos are fighting again", except that's been the standard for like. actual thousands of years. I like when fic have people outside the sector not evening knowing there are different factions, so I'll be doing that here, too, and I like the idea of non-Republic sectors having their own holonets, separate from the Republic one. so like, if Obi-Wan happens to go a little viral during his mad dash to Keldabe, that would be on the Mandalorian holonet, not the Republic one, so even if Obi-Wan was visibly still a Jedi (and he wasn't), actual news of him wouldn't reach the Mid and Inner Rims until like. possible years after it happens.

could this maybe be expedited by Sith machinations? absolutely, though I'm not sure I want to go that route, since I don't think the Sith are overmuch interested in Mandalore at this point, at least not in any hands-on capacity. I'm unclear on whether them funding Death Watch is fanon or not, but it is a headcanon I subscribe to, and I think they'd have stopped funding DW after Galidraan, to cause worse infighting and prevent DW from gaining enough power to actually restart their imperial conquering days. Palpatine has been senator for about ten years by this point, but has very little political power overall, and Demask would be looking basically anywhere but Mandalore at this point in time, both of them having written it off until they actively need something from the sector. if anyone had clocked Obi-Wan as a Jedi, this all would have gone very differently, news would have spread much further and quicker and I think undoubtedly would have reached Palpatine, but since I have Obi-Wan just... cutting ties to anything Jedi, news of him remains in-sector. is this perhaps unrealistic? maybe, but I kind of want to focus on Mandalore and not worry about galactic-wide politics for once, lmao, actually very much like Obi-Wan is doing. however, he will clock a lack of Sith interference and thinks That's Very Weird.

haven't decided how he finds Palpatine out yet, but I think it'll have to do with his Manda senses being different than his Force ones, maybe the Ka'ra even gives him a few tips or gifts to sense Sith since they've allied and fought with them so much in the past. regardless, that'll be after he's become Mand'alor and united the clans.

now to actual plot progression! Obi-Wan meets up with the Old Guard, they don't know what to make of him other than "he's kriffing weird. and young. and creepy. and probably Manda-touched." whatever other verd is Manda-touched will see him blessed by the Ka'ra, which causes them to look inwards more closely and realise they trust Obi-Wan inexplicably, which means they're blessed by the Manda and the Will of the People, too. they wonder if Obi-Wan has noticed, if any of the other Old Guard have noticed. they are one of a few that notice Obi-Wan sneaking back out while everyone is arguing.

Vhonte Tervho is another. She's at this lil summit to represent clan Tervho, tho isn't the clan head, because her ba'vodu, a Manda-touched goran, had sensed she needed to be at the summit. said ba'vodu is of course the armorer who reforged Obi-Wan's armour (need to find a name for them hmm), who had told their clan they were to cease fighting until their new Mand'alor called on them. Vhonte sees Obi-Wan, realises at the same time as everyone that he's the Kih'Manda, the Mand'ika that the entire system had been gossiping about for weeks, and she thinks of what her ba'vodu said. she looks inwards, like they had taught her to, and finds, yes, she trusts Obi-Wan, just like she used to trust Jango. And, well, her Mand'alor is obviously leaving to go do something, and she isn't going to let him go it alone.

the Manda-touched verd doesn't go with them, wanting to see what comes of this, but they already know Obi-wan is Ka'ra Chosen. they will come when he calls.

#prequel trilogy #time travel au #obi wan kenobi #star wars #crow i love the way you breakdown everyone's characters and expand on what i'm putting down #like in the two blocks of tags that i've italicised #they make me feel all warm and fuzzy that you're getting so much out of what i'm doing and also they're just a DELIGHT to read #and have informed later characterisations and changed how i've thought about stuff i've already written #mandalorans #world building #vhonte tervho #will be pulling many characters from repcom obv #but fuck karen traviss as both a person and an author so there's that heads up #also!! anyone can ask questions or comment or reply #would love to hear y'all's thoughts and ideas and i LOVE answering #this au would not exist without crow asking me all these questions. just straight up wouldn't exist #malcontent crow #still trying to figure out if i can work in luminara in a way that doesn't feel shoe-horned #several people have voted QuinObi which i am very much not against #it would be SO easy to have Quinlan just. book it to Mandalore #at first to convince Obi-Wan to COME BACK but then he sees what Obi is actually doing and realises he can't do that to Obi or to Mandalore #does Quinlan... STAY on Mandalore with him?? 👀 👀 does he accept he needs to let Obi-Wan go?#does he stay as a Jedi Shadow and help out or does he leave the Order too??#many questions many thoughts

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