#i'm not tagging everyone in this and you can't make me

[davebebubidifiersdehumidifierdpo]

to add a few that aren't as common in the tags, in no particular order (coming off the dome so they're probably not verbatim correct):

-first amnesty ep: "what's your last name pigeon?" "oh i don't know i didn't give her a last name" "well you can pick any name you want, griffin, start 'yes and-ing' please"

-somewhere in balance: "how did you roll an 8 on a d6?" "actually that's a really good question, let's dial in on that"

-the boys actively wishing for death when clint mentions having grey pubes

-in suffering game when justin texts griffin and makes him describe dupree the trex. it's the exasperated "oh my god, justin" that gets me

-the ten hour long death of magic brian

-after the aubrey/dani kiss: "we have, once again, managed to find a way to kiss our brother" "yup 😐"

-party points

-the argument about whether or not slime has skin and griffin saying it doesn't and not letting justin cast a thing, then cut to a little while later after justin blows his nuke on the slimes out of spite and griffin is like "man, this fight was supposed to be a lot harder," and justin is like "WELL IF YOU HAD LET ME CAST WHAT I WANTED TO CAST"

-"falafelers stone"

-"you want to do this? you really want to do this now, huh? i have to build myself an exoskeleton out of pillows. i'm not PROUD of it"

-stolen century void fish ep: "griffin?" "yeah?" "i'm not leaving that fish behind"

-balance live show: "I DIDN'T GIVE MARVEY XP!"

-at the beginning of the second amnesty arc when justin rolls shit for his destiny's plaything vision and explains that it means "something bad will happen to you," and griffin says in a high pitched laugh, "OH NO!"

-clint's jetpack stunt:

g: "if you do this i am going to hurt you very badly"

c: "that's all right, i can live with it"

t:"'live with it' is an interesting turn of phrase to use there"

-travis cracking up whenever justin does a "duck can't lie" bit

-justin teaching everyone what a cloaca is

bonus:

-not taz but dimension 20 tiny heist, when griffin asks brennan, "were we supposed to fill [our character sheet details] out? bc bean has no aspirations, but he also has no flaws"

So we all have our favorite TAZ moments, story beats or character interactions or lines of dialogue. But I'm curious, what are everyone's favorite OOC moments. Those little moments where it's just four guys playing games together. Fourth wall breaks or table talk or giving each other hard time. For me it's a tie between Griffin's "oh my god!" when he realizes that Justin is attempting to scam Garfield in episode 50, and the boys reaction to Griffin saying "And then you wake up," at the end of the first episode of Eleventh Hour.

[cinnamongrl2006]

Dick Grayson loves public displays of affection

a/n: I'm back!!! Sorry for the absence, my life has been crazy lately, maybe the fanfic writer curse thing is real. I can't believe I have only ever written one thing for Dick and it's a nsfw alphabet 😭 anyway, I loveeee him he's my favorite Robin, second favorite batman protégé (first is Jason because red hood arc is perfection). cw: public displays of affection, very slight implied exhibitionism, fluff

DICK GRAYSON loves public displays of affection, more so if you're shy. But not just holding your hand, or kissing you a bit too hard for a public setting, no, Dick Grayson loves overdoing things, because for him it's the way your face heats up, the way you try to push him away to no avail when his hands drift lower than they should, and the way his lips move away from the 'safe zones', that get him going. It's the way your ears and cheeks glow red with embarrassment when you hide your face on his chest or in the crook of his neck that makes him pull you closer and laugh against your skin before kissing it again, before moving his hand lower down your back until he's grabbing your ass and you're gasping so sweetly in his ear.

You're standing in line at the movie theater, you'd dragged him there to watch some movie he has never heard about and has no interest in seeing— he would've rather stayed home, resting on the couch, with the air conditioner on, cool air on his face, but alas, he loved you, and he could never say no to his pretty girl— when you feel it start. He's standing behind you, the afternoon sun is hitting you in the face, and it would be uncomfortable if it wasn't for the sunglasses you're wearing and the cool wind hitting your cheek sporadically. That's when you notice him slip an arm around your waist and press his lips against your neck as his hand travels higher up until it reaches the neckline of your top, then he pulls down slightly, your cleavage on display.

"What are you doing?" You whisper, cheeks flushed red as you swat his hand away.

"Taking a peek." He shrugs, "Nice bra, wore that for me?" He whispers in your ear and you swear you can hear the annoying smirk in his voice.

Once you get inside the theater, and you settle in your seats, Dick's hand moves to grip your thigh. It's almost instinctive, a quick movement and then it settles at a reasonable height, just above your knee, thumb brushing the soft fabric of your skirt. He waits until you've let your guard down, until you're no longer huffing and puffing about his actions on the line, until there's no complaints leaving your lips, and then he traces a path up the inside of your thigh, so slow you barely notice.

You realize what he’s doing when his deft fingers are grazing the edge of your panties, and he’s leaning in your ear to ask something about the movie, the movie you're no longer concentrated on and fuck—

It’s not just waiting in lines or at the movies; it’s every time you go out. It’s a hand under the table at a restaurant, gripping your hand, wrist, or thigh; it’s his hand in yours during walks, or his body weight pinning you to the grass as he kisses you silly during a picnic in the park. It’s the constant weight and warmth of him pressed against you, because he needs everyone around him to know how he feels. And even though you’re shy about his advances, he knows you secretly enjoy it.

────୨ৎ────

tags: @laceyfaeryy @cherrycolaheartss @fromrory

[camdunez]

Weaponized Incompetence | m. bannerman

song playing: conspiracy — paramore

paring: manon bannerman x gn!black!reader summary: manon's been making excuses for your cold behavior. the girls think you're mean and coldhearted, just like the roles you play on the big screen. but manon knows the real you.. that’s why she stayed this long. (or she’s made up a version of you that makes her stay longer than she should’ve) genre: angst, hurt, no comfort, established relationship word count: 3.7k warnings/tags: use of “y/n”, cursing, some suggestive content, y/n’s an asshole and manon is kind of an enabler(?), y/n’s an actor (micheal b. jordan influence 👀), manon’s a little delusional, the rest of katseye hates y/n and y/n doesn’t care, and manon does stay. a/n: my very first fic! i know i know.. why would i write angst for my first work on here? cause i'm in love with angst! can't get enough! and y/n will always be black in my works because i am black myself! a/n #: also, i tend to write fics based off of the music i listen to! so if i'm not writing out requests, i'm usually doing that!

"What's good? I'm Ryan Coogler and I'm here with the star of my latest film Sinners, Y/N L/N——"

the apartment was quiet, lit only by the amber spill of a floor lamp in the corner. the TV cast faint flickers of movement across the walls, cutting through the stillness like ghosts. manon sat on one end of the couch, wrapped in one of y/n’s hoodies — black, oversized, fraying at the wrists. it still smelled like them, faint and expensive. a warm blend of cedar, citrus, and the kind of distance that didn’t wash out in a single rinse cycle.

sophia sat curled on the opposite side, half-buried in a knit blanket, idly plucking grapes from a bowl balanced on her knee. she’d offered to leave an hour ago — said she didn’t want to intrude. but manon had shaken her head, said she didn’t want to be alone.

and now, here they were. watching Sinners: Behind the Mask, streaming in full HD. a twenty-seven-minute sit-down with y/n and ryan coogler. manon hadn’t meant to watch it. she’d told herself she’d catch clips later — scroll past them halfheartedly like she did everything else related to the press tour. but curiosity was a disease, and tonight it was terminal.

y/n looked good. maybe too good.

they were wearing a white tee under the brown carhartt jacket manon had helped pick out before they left. but now, it looked like it belonged to someone else — someone sharper, more golden under studio lights.

she used to curl up in that jacket.. now it was stripped away from her. just like everything y/n had given her.

they leaned into ryan’s questions with ease, all dimples and charm, the kind of smile that made people feel special even when it wasn’t meant for them.

manon watched them laugh. the kind of full-body, throw-your-head-back laugh she hadn’t heard in months.

sophia cleared her throat softly. “they look good... healthier than before.”

manon’s voice was flat. “press tour glow.”

she said it like it was a joke, but it didn’t land. Not even in her own chest.

onscreen, ryan leaned forward. “so, tell me about playing the twins. Smoke and Stack... two totally different energies, right?”

y/n grinned. “yeah — one’s open and magnetic, the other’s controlled and isolating. playing them side by side felt like… confronting parts of myself I usually try to keep quiet.”

ryan chuckled. “so which one are you in real life?”

y/n looked away briefly, thoughtful. then: “depends on who’s watching.”

sophia tilted her head, brows lifting slightly. she didn’t say anything, but manon could feel her looking. judging. or maybe just trying to understand.

“they always seem different to everyone else,” manon said, eyes still locked on the screen.

another laugh from y/n. another glance full of light for someone who wasn’t her.

sophia shifted. “do they.. ever laugh like that with you, manon?”

the question was quiet, almost hesitant. manon didn’t answer.

because the truth was no. not lately... maybe not ever.

“I think the real challenge,” y/n was saying now, “is knowing when to let people in. one twin wears the mask, and the other is the reason it exists.”

ryan gave a knowing look. the moment lingered — serious, intimate, like something unsaid had just passed between them.

manon’s fingers tightened around the sleeve cuff. she remembered when y/n had told her that line was improvised. “it just came out,” they’d said over the phone, voice casual. “felt real.”

watching it now, it didn’t feel real. It felt crafted. like everything else.

sophia was still watching her. manon didn’t need to look to know.

“you miss them even when they’re right there,” sophia said quietly, not as a question — just a truth, laid bare between them.

manon blinked, slow. her throat was tight. her jaw ached from how long she’d been clenching it.

“all the time,” she whispered. her eyebrows now furrowed in thought. "maybe they're just tired, y'know?" she had said, trying to justify y/n's actions once again.

the interview ended with applause. the screen faded to black. sophia muted the remote with one soft click. silence returned, heavy and absolute.

neither of them moved.

after a long minute, sophia leaned over, rested her head on manon’s shoulder. she didn’t speak, didn’t offer comfort or platitudes. just presence. manon closed her eyes for a second and tried to breathe like that mattered.

“you don’t have to keep loving someone who keeps leaving you behind,” sophia said finally.

manon swallowed. she felt the words land in her chest like a needle slipping through fabric. quiet, precise, and irreversible.

“but what if.. I already made peace with being the one they come back to?” she said.

sophia didn’t respond. there wasn’t much to say.

the apartment stayed dim. the hoodie stayed warm. and the ache stayed lodged right where it always had — somewhere between manon’s ribs, where the versions of y/n she’d invented still tried to breathe.

the smell of eggs hits first. something garlicky. butter browning on a pan. the soft clink of a spatula, and sophia humming something under her breath — maybe lauryn hill. maybe just static.

manon stays curled on the couch, half-covered by the same blanket from last night. the hoodie is still wrapped around her shoulders. her phone rests on her chest like a paperweight, glowing faintly with the time.

9:13 a.m. no missed calls. no new messages.

she exhales through her nose and unlocks it anyway.

sophia’s voice floats in from the kitchen. “you want toast or no toast?”

“toast,” manon calls back automatically, eyes still on the screen.

she scrolls through old messages from y/n. heart emojis. dry responses. one clip of them in a hotel room mirror, smirking into the camera while flexing in their Stack wardrobe — a double image of themselves in character. she’d saved that one.

at the very bottom of the thread, her fingers pause.

she types:

manon [9:14 AM] hey. you sleep okay?

then deletes it. tries again.

manon [9:15 AM] saw the interview. you looked good. miss you.

she hovers. glances toward the kitchen. hears sophia humming, hears the sizzling shift of something hitting the skillet.

she sends it.

the moment it delivers, the guilt slinks in.

sophia appears a few minutes later with two plates — eggs, toast, avocado with a little salt and chili flake. her curls are pulled back in a low bun. she looks like she slept okay. like she can still believe in mornings.

manon sits up and accepts the plate wordlessly.

“you sleep at all?” sophia asks.

manon simply shrugs. “not really.”

sophia waits a beat. “you texted them?”

manon doesn’t answer.

sophia sighs, gently, like it’s not worth fighting over. “you don’t have to explain yourself, you know. I get it.”

“no, you don’t,” manon says. Her voice is too sharp for how soft sophia’s being. “everyone thinks I’m stupid. you think I’m pathetic.”

“I don’t,” sophia says. “I think you’re in love with someone who doesn’t show up for you. that’s not pathetic. that’s just sad.”

manon stares down at her plate. the toast’s gone cold already. she grabs her fork and starts to pick at the eggs, soft pout forming on her lips.

“I don’t see myself with anyone else,” she says finally. quiet. honest.

sophia’s expression softens into something more painful than judgment — pity.

“you could,” she says. “you just don’t want to.”

manon looks away. her phone buzzes on the cushion beside her. she grabs it fast.

my whole heart!!! [9:38 AM] coming by later. wear that outfit i like. i got something for you

no hello. no “I miss you too.”

just the usual — a request disguised as affection.

manon stares at the screen. she doesn’t reply right away. just slides the phone facedown and goes back to picking at her food like nothing’s changed.

sophia sees it. she always sees it.

“you’re not a layover, manon,” she says gently. “you’re a destination. don’t forget that.”

but manon doesn’t say anything. because she already has.

sophia's long gone now. manon had convinced the leader that she'd head out to finally "touch some grass" as megan would put it. manon couldn't believe she actually bought that stupid ass story.

not because she thought the younger girl was stupid herself, but because she was a bad liar.. and sophia could read her so well.

the guilt lingered for a while, clinging to the air like the smell of the breakfast they barely touched. but those thoughts were immediately thrown out the window the second she heard her front door open — soft but certain. confident. like someone who’d never been told they weren’t welcome.

she perked up from the couch instinctively. just like a dog at the sound of its owner’s name.

manon stands up.

heart in her throat. pulse a little too fast. she didn’t check the mirror. didn’t adjust her hair. she wasn’t ready — but she’d never needed to be.

y/n stepped inside like they always did: like they owned the space. hoodie pulled low over their curls, dark jeans, expensive sneakers. their presence was loud even in silence — that cinematic kind of stillness that didn’t ask for attention, just took it.

their eyes landed on her — slow, deliberate. A half-smirk curled at the edge of their lips.

“there she is,” they said, voice low and a little amused. “did you wear it?”

manon nodded before she even realized it. the outfit — an off-shoulder black top, soft shorts that barely covered her thighs, the dainty silver necklace they once clasped around her neck after a premiere party.

a stupid little outfit that they said made her look like “something they could ruin and still respect.”

y/n didn’t say anything else. just walked past her, brushing their fingers lightly along her waist as they moved toward the kitchen. casual. like they stayed here. like they always would.

manon stayed frozen for a beat. then turned.

“you want something to drink?” she asked, out of habit more than hospitality.

y/n looked over their shoulder. “you still got those peach things I like?”

“bottom shelf of the fridge.”

“good girl.”

two words. that’s all it took to bring the ache back. like a pulse behind her teeth. she didn’t flinch. she never did. that was part of the game.

y/n cracked the can open, took a slow sip, then leaned back against the counter. their gaze found her again — slower this time, heavier.

“you watch the interview?”

manon nodded.

they waited. sipped again. “and?”

“you looked good.”

“I always look good,” they said, not cocky — just certain. Then, after a pause: “you okay?”

the question sounded like mock concern. performed. like it didn’t matter what she answered.

still, manon gave them a quiet, “yeah,” because anything else would sound like begging.

y/n walked back toward her, peach drink still in hand. “missed you,” they said, dipping their head down just enough to ghost their lips against her cheek.

it wasn’t a kiss. not really. it was a claim.

manon stood there, not moving.

this was what she did. let them come in. let them touch her like she was familiar. like furniture. like memory.

she didn’t ask how long they were staying.

she never did.

the sheets were a mess. manon’s legs tangled with y/n’s, her body still slick with sweat and something worse — something like surrender. the bedroom was dim, lit only by the lazy wash of mid-morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. y/n lay next to her, arm draped over her waist like it belonged there.

for a moment, it felt perfect. for a moment, she let herself believe.

y/n brushed their fingers along her jaw, slow and indulgent. “you been sleeping okay?”

manon hummed, eyes closed. “not really.”

they kissed her temple. “guess I’ll have to tire you out more often then.”, their kisses travelled down to the side of manon's neck. that spot they knew would make her melt.

she smiled despite herself — weak and automatic, like a muscle reflex. y/n always knew how to make her feel small and precious after they took what they wanted. this was the part that hurt the most: the softness that followed the chaos. the whispered I missed yous, the forehead kisses, the way they pulled her against their chest like she was sacred.

like she was theirs.

her phone buzzed once. then again. then six times in rapid succession.

she ignored it.

y/n noticed. and backs up from the girl. “you gon' get that?”

“it’s nothing,” she mumbled, pressing her face into their collarbone.

Buzz.

Buzz buzz.

THE GIRLS I KINDA LIKE 🙄

fiafia! [11:41 AM] manon.

larz [11:41 AM] don’t tell me you let them in.

megan [11:42 AM] and you better not be answering the door in that little black thing again either!

yoonchippy [11:42 AM] girl WHAT is going ON

dani [11:43 AM] just say the word and we’ll jump them

fiafia! [11:44 AM] manon. seriously. answer.

her heart thudded a little harder. the screen glowed hot in her hand, but she still didn’t respond.

y/n shifted beside her, pressing another kiss behind her ear. “you’re quiet.”

“I’m fine.”

“you don’t sound fine.”

manon rolled onto her back, cradling her phone to her chest like a secret. “I just don’t want to think about anything else right now.”

y/n smiled — that devastating, lopsided smile that always undid her. “good. you shouldn’t. not when you’ve got me.”

they dipped down, brushing a kiss against her stomach, then looked up at her through their lashes.

“you know I’d give you anything, right?”

manon’s breath caught. she looks down at y/n, licking her bottom lip. “yeah?”, her hand running through y/n's hair.

y/n nodded, their hums rumbled in the back their throat. “you’re my girl... I’d spoil the hell out of you if you let me.”

the words sank in slowly — sweet poison. she swallowed hard, holding back everything she should be saying.

O\outside her bubble of warmth and sheets and too-late apologies, her phone buzzed again.

larz [11:46 AM] this is what they do, manon. they don’t love you. they love control.

fia!fia! [11:47 AM] you deserve better than table scraps and pillowtalk.

manon locked the screen. threw the phone face-down on the nightstand.

y/n pulled her closer, hand sliding along her waist. “you’re so pretty when you’re mine,” they whispered. “and you’re always mine, aren’t you?”

manon nods, muttering a soft uh-huh before closing her eyes— allowing y/n to drown her in their lust once again.

even though she wasn’t sure anymore if it was still love… or just a habit she didn’t know how to break.

I've lost my power..

[dingodoodles]

i've been really really enjoying fools gold sands, and considering making fanart, where would be the best place to post it? i am in the discord but there doesn't seem to be a section for fools gold or sands fan art specifically, so i'm a little lost on where everyone has been sharing their fanart

There is a section called #art where you can post it! Also I have seen people posting it in the #sands-chat for sands specific fan art as well :3 You can't really go wrong. As a tumblr user you can post it here too of course! I always love to be @ tagged in it so I can see it :D You don't have to though, that's really just me being excited haha ANYONE WHO WANTS TO JOIN THE FOOLS GOLD DISCORD: JOIN HERE <<<<<

[vixenscratch]

Me right now is basically big wet eyes emoji.

That's all so incredibly sweet of you, I can't believe you went and read my fic so you could tailor your advice! I appreciate that so much you have no idea. Thank you so much!!!

It really helps to see how you reason around these tags, too. I can see where the "found parents" vibe comes from; Nate's definitely taken on a caretaker/protector role at this point in their relationship. I'm going to have to think about where (if) I'd want to go with that, as the progression of the series does take them from & to / down the line. (Then again the / is in the fucking series name so maybe that's me overthinking. It's probably me overthinking.)

And yeah, you're probably right that a lot of it is imposter syndrome. I am... very good at that. Maybe with how nice you and everyone else in the notes have been I'll manage to find a bit more confidence. I need to shake the little (metaphorical) voice in my head that says there's a Right Way to do this and everyone has the instruction manual but me.

;_; Nice to me. It makes me really happy that you enjoyed my writing. Thank you so much, again, for taking the time!

(At this point it's more than anything "fandom by technicality" - the Wolf's Bane crew have an askblog (currently on hiatus), but I'm the only one who's posted fic. I'd be feral about Nate even if I weren't friends with the guy behind him, though. We became friends because I saw Nate and liked him so much I couldn't not say something.)

I know "I'm bad at summaries" and "I'm bad at tags" are not sentiments to voice in the summary/tags of a fic. But, genuinely, I don't consider myself good at either. (This is background.)

The actual question is, how do I learn these? Especially tagging. My fandom background is sparse, at least far as participation in broader fandom culture is concerned, so I wasn't part of fandom when current tagging practices on AO3 evolved. It's difficult for me to grasp, and I suspect I end up treating the tags more like CWs than search terms as a result.

Great for people who want to filter out particular unpleasant elements. Not so great for people who can't find my fic because I didn't think to tag something someone else might see as obvious. I have severe social anxiety so joining e.g. a Discord to ask for help isn't really a viable option. Tagging fic isn't worth panic attacks.

Tagging fic isn't worth panic attacks.

100% agreed!

When it comes to being "good at tagging" that definition is going to vary from person to person. It will also vary depending on what your goal is.

I'm a fairly minimal tagger myself. I'll tag the fandom and the major characters, the general vibe (e.g. humour, smut etc) and then anything else I might think of. I don't personally like to tag smut fics with all of the various sex acts in them, but I've done it before because I thought I was supposed to. Since it doesn't really feel like "me" though I've since stopped doing that. If folks want to avoid my fic as a result, that's totally fair. If folks who would like it can't find it 🤷‍♀️ maybe it'll be a rec someday.

All that is to say that tagging is not a thing it's possible to be perfect at, so just aim for accomplishing whatever your goal is.

I get what you're saying, though. I wrote a fake dating fic once without tagging it as fake dating because I didn't realize that fake dating was a trope. It was only when a couple of friends started referring to it that I realized and added that tag to my fic.

One way to learn about those kinds of tropes is to pay attention when you see them tagged on other people's fics. You can browse through tags that are similar to ones you already use and see what else people add to their fics and whether those would work for yours or not.

You can also visit Fanlore! It's another project by the OTW (the people who run AO3) and it's a great resource for learning about fandom. You can look up a common tag like Alternate Universe, and it will give you examples of different types of AU and link out to pages that will link out to pages that will... you get the idea. It's wikipedia but for fandom stuff.

As for summaries, there are a lot of ways to go about that too. I'll let folks add ideas in the notes. The way I do it is that I include the name(s) of the major character(s), and outline the inciting incident for the fic. Since I post as I write, I might or might not tease something that happens later on (because I might or might not know yet).

The way to get good at doing it is just to keep practicing. When I was in university, I took a Russian Lit course where we had to write a summary of each novel in 200 words or less, 10 sentences or less - and semicolons were cheating. I did that 13 times in 8 months, and by the end of that I was really good at writing summaries. Add in the fact that I started posting fic back on FF.net where there was a character limit on summaries and you can see why I keep them pretty short.

That's another thing that you can analyze in others' fics, though. Find a summary that you think is well-written for whatever type of summary you like and then look at that author's other fics to see if you can spot a pattern to how they do it. Once you find the pattern, it's a lot easier to replicate it and then it's just a matter of repeating it until it feels natural.

[crimsonhydrangeavn]

Addressing my little social media break

Hey everyone!

I know I haven't been super active on my social media in a hot minute. I've just been dealing with a lot of stuff IRL (getting laid off, moving, finding work, etc) and I haven't had much time for anything else. I also ended up taking a mini hiatus from Patreon / Crimson Hydrangea VN in order to get my life together and take a small mental health break.

Thankfully I've managed to figure things out for the most part and I have a bit more bandwidth to dedicate to Crimson Hydrangea VN again.

I can't promise I'll ever be super active on social media, but I do want to try and be better and post a bit more often.

If you want monthly progress updates as well as semi-regular content, I'd recommend checking out my Patreon. If I do end up taking a break, I always make sure to pause that month so you aren't charged whenever I'm inactive. It doesn't happen often, but if it does, I make sure to let you know and handle it accordingly.

I also wanted to thank all of those who sent asks while I was away, both with questions and especially those showing concern about my disappearance. It really means a lot that you reached out with care and concern. You all are such kind and wonderful people, I'm so incredibly thankful that you're interested in my silly little Yandere VN.

I also wanted to send a special shout out to those who created content/art while I was gone! It was so nice coming back and seeing everything you made for Crimson Hydrangea VN! I have a little bit of a backlog to repost, but believe me when I say I'm excited to go through everyone's posts and share them! If you made something for Crimson Hydrangea VN and I missed it, please tag me or dm me! I love sharing the work others have made and it always puts a massive smile on my face.

Thank you all for your patience and interest in Crimson Hydrangea! You're all so wonderful and I'm lucky to have you guys interested in Crimson Hydrangea VN!

[onlyangel4]

cuffed. la knight. smau.

la knight x singer!reader

synopsis: your boyfriend is more than happy to be involved in the theatrics surrounding your live shows.

faceclaim dua lipa

espresso

y/ninsta posted a story

written: final rehearsal before the first show of the european leg of tour

wrestlersightings posted a story

written: la knight spotted arriving at wembley ahead of his girlfriend's sold out show at the stadium

reallaknight posted a story tagging y/ninsta

written: so proud of you, can't wait to watch you smash it tonight

y/nupdates posted a story

written: y/n has just started her biggest ever show in london. we are so proud.

the lights dimmed, and a hush swept over the crowd, anticipation buzzing like static in the air. you strutted centre stage in your glittering, custom-designed fit, mic in hand, the spotlight catching the gleam in your eyes.

you gave the audience a coy smile.

"okay", you purred into the mic, your voice sultry and playful. "before we get into the next song i need to address a serious issue."

The crowd leaned in.

you took a slow, deliberate scan of the first few rows before your eyes locked on him.

la.

he sat there with that smug, devilishly handsome grin on his face, arms crossed, the sleeves of his shirt hugging his biceps in a way that was absolutely illegal. sunglasses on. like he owned the place. like he owned you. and, well, he kind of did.

you clicked your tongue and shook your head dramatically.

"i'm sorry", you said, pointing directly at him. "you, sir you’re under arrest. for being way too hot."

the crowd lost it, laughter, screaming, camera flashes going off like fireworks. your dancers knew the cue. two of them, dressed as faux security guards, flanked him and began theatrically pulling him up from his place. he played along, of course, la knight never met a spotlight he didn’t like.

"me?" he shouted over the chaos, feigning innocence. "you're arrestin’ me?"

"you heard me!" you said, strutting to the edge of the stage. "get him up here."

with a dramatic sigh and exaggerated swagger, he climbed onto the stage, flanked by your dancers, who "cuffed" him with fuzzy pink handcuffs you’d had made just for this bit.

you walked up to him, heels clicking against the stage floor, and looked up into those maddeningly beautiful eyes.

"you think you can come to my show" you murmured into the mic, now just inches from his face, "sit there lookin’ like that, and not face the consequences?"

he smirked, head tilting.

"and what exactly are the consequences, baby?"

the crowd screamed again, your fans lived for these moments.

you leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and whispered just loud enough for the front row to catch, "i could list ‘em, but they’re all r-rated, and i’ve still got a show to finish."

his breath hitched just slightly, you caught it and that was your favourite game to play: getting him flustered in front of everyone.

you stepped back, gave him a wink, and turned to the crowd. "don't worry, folks. i’ll handle him later."

the crowd howled.

he barked out a laugh, then leaned into the mic. "yeah, you will."

you rolled your eyes playfully, gave his chest a little shove, and motioned for the dancers to escort him offstage. but before he left, he tugged you back by the wrist, just close enough for one final kiss, nothing obscene, but enough to make the entire audience scream like they’d just witnessed the hottest moment of the century.

and maybe they had.

reallaknight posted a story tagging y/ninsta

written: i'd let you arrest me any time

[undermine-the-instinct]

BUT OH, HOW YOU BREAK ME

Prison!Vi x reader

CHAPTER TWO: HELLO SUNSHINE

Masterlist..... Read on AO3..... wc: 2K

Tags: Fem coded reader, foul language, weird uncle vibes from an Adult, Vi calls reader a bitch

“Rule One- Don’t touch my shit. Don’t touch dont look dont even breathe in the same direction of my shit. Got it?”

You peek a look to the toilet, with its murky, rank waters.

“Um….”

“Two–I don't need your help, or your company. Stay out of my way.”

“I-”

“Three-I don't like small talk. Don't talk to me even if you're dying. I dont fucking care.” She throws her towel-one of her few possessions, to her bunk after her sentence, huffing as she pulls herself up by the thin rails. Fancy.

“I'm taking top bunk. Tough luck princess.”

“I have a name,” you say. You lift your chin and your nostrils flare a bit.

"And I dont fucking care."

You make an affronted sound, a word underneath your breath, and Vi sits up to bear down at you.

"Got something to say princess?"

"Yeah. Thats not my fucking name," brave, and stupid, you dont back down.

"So cut it out with that bullshit right there." Vi fully sits up, swings her legs in front of you, where you barely dodge. She folds her hands in her lap, loosens her shoulders.

"It's either princess, bitch, or your number, so your choice, newbie."

There's a shake in your eyes, a gleam as you persist. "My name is--"

“Doesn't matter. Not here. You might get a nickname in this place, but you'll always just be a number here."

"I'm more than that."

"No, you're not. You're stuck down here with all the rest of us now. So remember your number, because that's all people’ll ever see you as.” She turns to lay back down, and looks over her shoulder to give you a glance.

“You better hope it stays that way. A pretty face can get busted up quick here.”

"Yeah? And you would know, huh?"

She has to pause, before a low laugh pulls out her teeth like a wince. A hiss. "What? Are you saying I'm pretty?"

"I'm saying you looked fucked up," You cross your arms, and it looks like a barrier put up between the two of you.

"And shouldn't there be gendered sectors here? Why is this a co-ed prison?"

"If we start making divisions starting with gender, next you'll have age and then species divisions, and then gangs, and then people start fighting, and everyone starts thinking their special," she laughs without humor. "Better to keep it as is."

"There's just...so many kids here. All ages. It's, it's crazy." And she feels her back tense again.

"That's the way it is here. So mind your business, and keep your head down. You're Benny's kid, one way or another, so don't give the old man any grief, alright?"

"So you know Uncle Benny?" You pull up till she can feel the breath of your words a second after they leave your mouth.

"Did you know him before this?"

This. This. What is this anyway.

Vi just snags her head into a tighter crook of her elbow.

“...Rule number three, princess,” she says, just as the guards shout “Lights out,” and the world goes dark.

Almost instantly, when the lights go out, so too does sound. She ignores you as you continue to stand there, before you sigh in defeat. She hears the sounds of you slipping into a hard mattress, tissue thin sheets.

It's a while later, and Vi is sure she isn't supposed to hear it, but she does. Tiny, aborted gasps, the kind where you're trying to be quiet, but you can't breathe.

Vi blinks in the quiet. It doesn't matter if her eyes are open or not, it's always been dark. But even the underground was never this suffocating.

--------------------------

The tomfoolery doesn't stop though, because before she can barge out of her cell in the morning, a burly guard blocks her way.

“Hold on. You're forgetting something.” She tips her head to you, wide eyed, fixing your sheets like an overly polite guest in a hotel.

“What?”

“You gotta escort her. Warden's orders. Show her the layout, the ins and outs…keep her in one piece.” She grins at the hard set of her jaw.

“Take it up to the Warden if you have a problem.”

“Or maybe I should just shoot the messenger, here and now?” You raise your voice when the guard's grin drops.

“It's fine. I don't need an escort.”

“Didn't look that way yesterday princess.”

“Not my name. And that doesn't count because that's family-”

“You're family with Widows?” Oh, you dumb, stupid bitch. Why did you have to open your mouth? Common sense says that you keep your mouth shut, and eyes straight.

You seem to catch your mistake, the way the guard and Vi are looking at you.

“....You know I'm Zaun. No fucking clue they're family.”

“...Huh. A Piltie calling herself a Zaun. Alright.” Dumbass. The guard steps aside, and not too soon before Vi was going to push her out and catch another case.

“Remember your orders five-sixteen.”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” she mutters under her breath.

“...Are you coming or what?” Stupid, stupid, stupid. Because you stare at her dumbfounded, before finishing folding the towel you used for an extra blanket. You follow her with a hasty nod.

--------------------------

“Here, you, take your problem.” She waits until Benny looks up, before she turns on her heel and storms off.

“Hey, hey hey! Don't go?” He yells after her with a hint of audacity, and she ignores him, and whatever he says to you that has you running after her.

“Hey, um, you? Unc-” Vi whirls on her heel so fast she sees the words die in your mouth with a grimace.

"Damn, I forgot, my ba-"

“Rule number four, princess-keep your mouth shut. This isn't a work office this isn't some random street or fancy theater. Connections here can kill you just as easily as they keep you alive.”

You take a step back, a frown pulling your face down.

“Benny's calling you.”

“Don't care. I don't answer to Benny.”

“Aren't you guys like, colleagues? Coworkers? I think it's worth hearing him out.”

Vi’s already turning in her heel and walking away. “No.”

“You know, you're rather bristly.”

Huh? She stops. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said. Bristly. Like an alley cat. It'd be cute if you didn't get tired of it quick.”

“What are you getting at?” She turns and presses into your space, nose to nose. “Don't play with me.”

You don't back away, but you do shy. Vi follows. “I'm not. I'm just reciprocating a tiny bit of the energy you're giving me."

She pulls in closer, eye to eye. Your eyes flicker between her pair, before you settle and stare her down. You're actually taller than her, with more weight on your frame. Three square meals a day for years probably did you some good.

"You're a smart mouthed princess, aren't ya?"

"Better than a feral animal running around like its tail is on fire."

"The fuck? You-"

“And how are we doing today my flowers?” A booming voice, well, booms off the walls and Vi feels herself go ramrod straight.

The Warden's steps make the ground tremble, and when he walks with that fatass body of his, he takes up most of the hallway, trusty weapon always in hand. His grin is never friendly, it's sharp.

“Well? I asked a question.” He stops in front of them, and peers down at the both of them.

You wilt. “Um…Flowers?"

Oh, he laughs. HAHAHA so funny. "Well, pretty thing you are, I think yours is pretty self-explanatory. Five-sixteen here-"

"Warden--"

"Is named Violet," He continues on despite her angry protests. "Odd for such a prickly girl, right. So? How are we doing."

You look between her and the Warden, but she refuses to look at you.

"We're- doing as well as can be, sir.”

“Is that right? Well, we don't want you having a good time here, this is a prison after all,” he leans down and winks like he's telling a joke, and your face twists like you're not sure whether you think so to.

“And, you are here for a reason.” He straightens with a sigh.

“How is our resident five-sixteen treating you? You looked like you were arguing, though you don't look much worse for wear.”

“I-”

“What were you expecting sir?” Vi lifts her eyes, bright.

“Broken bones? A bloodbath?”

“Certainly a little more blood,” he peers down. “You're not known for your love of Pilties, flower. Or Zaun goons. Or anyone except that Powder you keep–”

“Sir.” She grins, tries to forewarn with her eyes but he just laughs.

“I'm still surprised you dont join the Vapers, but you are more solo than anyone else here.” He pays her head, none too gently, and she tastes blood on her tongue.

“Still, I need you to be on your best behavior for our newest member, alright flower? Pilties are fragile, so go easy on the young thing, won't ya?”

“I'm not Piltie,” you frown. And something about the way your eyes shine, like something pretty and adamant and pitiful.

"But you're a halfie."

"But I don't claim Piltover. I'm Zaun."

The Warden, he sees this too, because he laughs, again. He reaches out and pinches your cheek, shaking you side to side like a rowdy puppy. You whine in protest like one too and it sounds fucking annoyingly pathetic.

“Ha! Adorable! Really, try not to rough this one up! We'd hate to lose such a pretty one.” He lets you go, leaving your cheek red and smarting.

"I havent had to check up on you for a while, so the beds and blankets were a courtesy gift. Don't mess this one up, Five-sixteen. You might earn back some privileges again." And he turns, and he walks away.

Vi stands there, waiting and watching until his figure disappears around a corner and the world stops going blurry at the edges.

She breathes, and exhales in a sharp burst. Once, twice, until the blood stops ruching in her ears. You're still there when she opens her eyes.

"...Flower?"

Red. Red red red. “I swear to fucking--"

"Ay, he called me that too, okay? I'm just questioning." You sigh, putting your hands palm first to your forehead.

“You know what? I'm hungry. You want to eat?”

Vi stares at you. “...Breakfast is over. They don't let latecomers in.”

“They'll let me in.”

“What? Why?”

“So show me the way to the kitchens,” you nod, ignoring. “Come on. I'll get you something too.”

…What the hell are you talking about? “Listen, I don't know if you know this, but this isn't a fucking playground. Did you hear what the Warden said? Do you know what he means?"

Its irking her, how your expression barely changes besides a few muscles movements.

"I'm not stupid, or naive, I know Vi."

"So whats not fucking clicking?!" She jabs a finger to her temple with each word.

"You cant act like a fucking princess, act like things are supposed be one way or the other because you expect them to be. You don't act a certain way without people expecting something from you."

"I know that."

"So you're okay with that then, with this?!" She looks around the drab walls. "All of you Pilties think shits so sweet, when-"

"I'm not dealing with this, or with you. You seem to be going through something, so I'm out."

"Huh?"

And just like that, you turn on your heel and you're making your way over to a random person. She watches you in bafflement as you stop in front of this man, tatted in blue ink. “Hey. I'm new around here. Do you mind showing me the way into the kitchen?”

“What the fuck are you–” Vi and him speak at the same time, but you reach into your pocket and stick your fist out. “Here. I'll get you something more if you take me.” He looks down at Vi, then you suspiciously, before placing his huge hand under yours. You open your hand.

She has to hold back the small gasp when you hand what was in your fist–sugar packets. Sheer fucking gold in this place. Not some cheap syrup or the glop in the kitchens, actual, fucking, sugar.

The man's eyes widen too, and he looks again between you and Vi before shoving his pay into his pocket. He nods his head, and starts to walk. You take one look back at Vi, before you turn too, and follow him.

He is going in the way of the kitchens, but he could be leading you to an empty corner to run your pockets. Stupid girl.

Vi turns and goes the other way.

Taglist: @sevikas-whore @autisticratbagtm

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Bullets & Claws | Chapter 17

By the way, you guys, if any of you catch me misusing the few Spanish words that I include in this story, please correct me!

I avoid relying on translator, since there are a lot of words that mean different things with different context and many of those translators don't tell me that. So I strictly use language articles and/or reddit posts, but there is, of course, always the risk that I'm still doing it wrong!

Previous chapter - Next chapter

Word count: 5.3k

Tags: gun violence, blood, injuries, missing body parts

Angelo Bronte's words echo in your head, as you stumble your way down the flight of stairs. Ice cold sweat clings to your skin and you practically rip open the double doors, that lead out to the garden. Although you inhale a good amount of fresh air, you still feel like you're suffocating. His voice alone has left you with the sense that a hand is tightening around your throat.

Infront of you, you see Dutch at the reiling and overseeing the crowd, so you do your best to compose yourself. Hoping to seem somewhat calm, you make your way over to him and his head immediately snaps in your direction. For a brief moment, there's nothing but confusion written across his face, but that's quickly replaced with worry.

"My dear, are you alright?", he asks and turns his entire body to you. "Where's Arthur?"

Right, he must have watched you follow the staff members inside the manor, together with the outlaw. Before you could answer him, Arthur appears by your side as if summoned by the mere mention of his name. He too looks quite puzzled.

"I got pulled away.", you answer Dutch's question, your mind running several laps in order to come up with a decent explanation.

"It was one of Bronte's men.", Arthur adds, making the older man's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"What did he want from you?"

His gaze is piercing through you, as if he's attempting to grasp the answer straight from your soul.

"Asked me to do his bidding. The same thing he asked of you earlier.", you curtly say, hoping it will satisfy his curiosity.

"That man can't take 'no' for an answer, can he?", Dutch grumbles through gritted teeth and shakes his head. "Did you accept the job?"

The question has you widen your eyes in near terror. Bronte might have given you the most tempting offer imaginable, but even you aren't foolish enough to instantly jump for it.

"Who do you hold me for, Dutch?", you gasp, visibly upset and offended by his doubts.

A proud smile graces his lips, as if he didn't expect any other answer from you, which makes you relax in an instant. It only makes sense for him to want to be double sure and all anger inside of you evaporates.

"I'm sorry. I should have kept a better eye on you.", he comments to which you firmly shake your head.

"You couldn't have known."

Immediately after, Hosea shows up, his gaze drifting over each and everyone of you. Sensing the tension in the air, he raises an eyebrow.

"What happened?", he questions, but Dutch waves it off with a grim crease on his forehead.

"Best we talk about it later. Let's wrap this up, gentlemen."

With that you all make your leave, but not before he asks Arthur about the Cornwall papers. As an answer, the outlaw simply pats his chest, indicating that the documents are in his pocket. Once you retrieve your guns and climb back into the stagecoach, you debrief.

You quickly sum up your meeting with Angelo Bronte, obviously leaving out all the supernatural details and you don't utter a single word about Ann and Jo either. To explain his sudden interest in you, you mention the large bounty on your head and your rough reputation.

"He must have thought I'd be the type to bite.", you end your recap and gauge Dutch's reaction.

So far, it doesn't seem like he has any suspicions towards your story. Quite on the contrary, he rather looks like he's ready to tear the Italian into pieces.

"Arrogant son of a bitch.", he snaps, his voice sending a cold shiver down your spine.

You've witnessed Dutch's wrath a handful of times, like his outburst back at the Braithwaite's manor. He can be a scary man, when he wants to. Hosea steers the conversation onto a lighter topic, mentioning the city bank, claiming that it's a promising target.

Dutch continues by talking about the trolley station, that Angelo Bronte had suggested to him and a ferry, where apparently high stakes poker games are being hosted regularly. Saint Denis, seemingly a hotspot for high risks, high rewards. One wrong move and you could burn your fingers, but if you execute your plans well?

The gang could end up swimming in cash by the time you're done with this place and then you can kiss the law goodbye. Thoughts and images of a better and brighter future flood your mind and you let them. Welcoming the positive distraction, you allow yourself to banish Bronte out of your mind and lean back.

By the time you make it back to Shady Belle, your limbs feel heavy and your muscles are aching. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, you're hit with a wave of exhaustion and all the champagne you've thrown into yourself, isn't helping your current situation. The conversation with Bronte has sobered you up alright, but you feel a tad sleepy from the alcohol.

You're the last one to leave the coach and when you do, Arthur extends his hand out. While mumbling a quiet 'thanks', you take it and climb out. His calloused fingers are warm, as they intertwine with yours and he gives your hand a light squeeze.

"Sure you're fine?", he asks and you take in the expression on his face.

Watching him like this, has you recall Hosea's words from the party.

'He cares about you.'

Arthur often times comes off as rather brutish and mean, but now you remember all the times he's been nice. Like when he took you back to Blackwater, even though Dutch was against it. Or when he went along to save the abducted German. In those two moments, he could have easily put down his foot and refused to do these things.

Even tonight, with his peace offering after what he had said to you at Jack's party. There was no reason for him to suggest you as the fourth person to come along, nothing he would have gained out of it. Thinking about it, you begin to wonder if you should maybe go easier on him.

The two of you have more fights than civilized chats, but you can't blame it entirely on him. Pushing his buttons until steam leaves his ears, has become one of your favorite pastimes after all.

"I am. Just tired, is all.", you lie, but he nods, believing it.

"Well, it was fun.", he murmurs, earning a lopsided smile from you.

"Was it though?"

"No."

That gets a laugh out of both of you and you give his arm a friendly pat.

"See you tomorrow, Cinderella.", you say and raise your brows when he plants a quick kiss on your knuckles.

"My lady."

Annoyed by this wannabe gentleman role of his, you swat at his chest.

"Oh stop it!"

With that, he leaves for the house and you make your way to the main campfire. Your eyes fall on Javier, who's strumming away at his guitar, seeming to be the only person awake at the moment. With a tired groan, you plop down on one of the chairs and kick off your shoes.

Leaning forward, you massage your aching feet and contort your features at their soreness. The dress hangs heavy on your body now and the pungent smell of perfume still hasn't left your nose. Before, you were quite delighted by the makeup on your face, but now that it's mixed with your sweat, it feels more like a layer of dried mud on your skin.

A pair of dark eyes are set on you, trailing along your figure from top to bottom and you find yourself rather shy about it. So many emotions are swirling in his deep brown eyes that it has your throat clog up.

You would have preferred for Javier to see you this way before you left for the party and not now. Not when the high society of Saint Denis has trampled you into the ground like a horde of bisons.

"I know. I look like a mess.", you speak up, before he could point out the obvious.

The melody he's been playing up until now, abruptly seizes and he studies you with an expression of pure confusion.

"What do you mean?", he asks and you vaguely gesture to yourself.

"I look like shit.", you answer in a matter of fact way.

Shaking his head, he puts the guitar aside and pulls one of the crates closer to your chair before sitting down on it. He reaches up to the collar of your dress and traces along it with a finger. Every now and then, he brushes over your skin, leaving a burning trail behind.

"Don't talk about yourself that way.", he murmurs, eyes glued to the curve of your neck.

The entire interaction has heat shoot up into your face and down into your abdomen. Tonight has been shit, having to go through the torture that is small-talk, only to be reminded by a man of Angelo Bronte's caliber, that you're only safe when he allows you to be.

Your eyes fall on Javier's lips and you imagine having them on yours. That's exactly what you need right now, an escape, a distraction. Just one night in which you can forget yourself and all your problems. One night in which you give yourself to him, both body and spirit entirely his to take. Your heart, it seems, already belongs to him.

Then, as quick as his hand was on you, he pulls it away and you have to stop yourself from whining. Instead, he folds them together on his lap and stares into the fire. The look on his face is odd, sort of strained, something you don't remember ever seeing on him.

"So you had fun with Arthur and the others?", he asks and you wrinkle your nose.

"I wouldn't call that fun. The people there were so insufferable, so full of themselves, you get me?"

That seems to directly fly over his head.

"But it's nice of him, no? To take you to a fancy party.", he comments instead and you shrug.

"I guess. It was his way of apologizing after being such an ass."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

There's a long stretched pause, the tension radiating off him in waves, making you squirm in your seat. Something is definitely off, you just can't tell what.

"You were holding hands."

His gaze drops down to your hand and you follow it. With a thumb, you trace over your scarred knuckles, right where he had kissed you. But that was a joke, his role for tonight, the same way you had called him Cinderella. Suddenly, Javier's behavior makes sense to you and you bite down on the inside of your cheek to stifle a chuckle.

"Mr. Escuella!", you exclaim in feigned outrage. "Are you jealous?"

Your teasing only deepens the frown on his face and he sends a menacing glare your way. Others might have stepped down a little, but not you. Not the insufferable piece of shit that you oh so enjoy being. No wonder Arthur and you argue so much.

"Enough.", he grumbles under his breath, that single word carrying a very obvious warning.

Deciding that it's absolutely not enough, that you want to keep poking the bear with a stick, you push your finger against his shoulder.

"I really didn't think you were the type, with how level headed you always pretend to be."

With one swift motion, he grabs your wrist and locks eyes with you. Your name leaves his lips in an almost dangerous manner, the last hint he's willing to give you. Oh, if he only knew the effect that has on you. A long time ago, you would have bared your teeth, upset at his poor attempt at intimidation.

Now? Now you're left feeling hot, burning up under his fiery gaze and the pressure on your wrist. Like the fool you are, lacking any and all self-preservation, you want to throw oil into the flames and oil you throw.

"Seriously, if that's all it takes to get you to act up, then-"

"Ya basta!", he barks, the final straw.

You've seen or rather heard it a few times. Whenever Javier would get agitated, excited or mad to a certain point, he switches to Spanish, his mother language seemingly conveying his emotions in a more efficient way. You do that too sometimes.

Would the old you have still continued? Even after the outburst? It's hard to tell, since it's so familiar to have these deeper feelings for him. So natural, as if it has always been the case. Back in Colter, you didn't mind leaving him angry, though. If you remember correctly, then you had thought of it as a small price to pay.

Seeing him like this now, glaring at you, directing all his frustration your way, pains you. You don't want to be the source of this. If anything, you want to get the exact opposite out of him. Sighing in defeat, you reach out for his hand and relief washes over you, when he doesn't avoid your touch.

"Sorry.", you mumble, watching him hang his head low. "Arthur was just comforting me back there."

That catches his attention and all irritation seems to vanish into thin air. Now he looks concerned.

"Why?"

Looming around, you notice that there are too many ears that could listen in on you. Sleeping or not, you don't want to take any risks and stand up, signaling him to follow you. So you lead him away of the fire and into the protection of the night, into the parts of the camp that no light touches.

Engulfed entirely by a blanket of darkness, you stand by the fountain. Javier stands close, close enough for his breath to hit your cheek and you almost forget why you're here. Recalling the smug grin of Angelo Bronte is enough to snap you out of it and you explain in great detail what happened at the party.

When you finish, a grim silence hangs in the air and if you'd have enough light, you guess that you'd find your own sorrow reflected in your friend's features.

"What will you do?", he asks the question, that's been stirring in your head for ages now.

"I don't know.", you admit, face burning from both fury and shame.

It's agonizing, being this powerless, but you feel better than you did at the mayor's house. Now with Javier by your side, the situation doesn't seem that damning. Back at the staircase, you were convinced that the walls were going to crush you alive.

"You can't accept his deal.", he says and you let out an outraged noise.

"I wasn't even thinking about doing that!", you immediately argue, accidentally raising your voice in the process. "You know, that I stand by Dutch's code. Our code. I ain't no hitman. Or hitwoman. Whatever."

"Of course. I know that, but I know how you feel about Ann and Jo too."

Frustrated and exhausted, you bury your face in both your hands and almost let out a choked back sob, when a pair of arms wraps around your shoulders.

"Listen.", he starts, voice low and comforting. "You should go to sleep, you need it. Tomorrow we can talk more about this and don't beat yourself up, hm? Now we know they're somewhere in Saint Denis."

He's right. Unbeknownst to him, Bronte has dealt you a decent hand, has put you in a position that allows you to decline the deal. More confident than before, you break away from the hug and manage the ghost of a smile.

---

The next morning, you wake up with a start, unable to tell if the sweat on your brow comes from the heat or your nightmare. In your dream, you were back at the mayor's house, but the balcony where Bronte had stood with his bootlickers had been transformed into gallows. Two coyotes were hanging on nooses.

Before going to sleep, you had scrubbed off all the makeup and changed out of the dress. With the entire camp awake now, aside from the people who stood watch last night, you pick up the dress that you had left neatly folded on a chair. Walking up the flight of stairs, that creak under your steps, you enter the room that Molly and Dutch share.

She doesn't react when you enter, even though the door let's out an earpiercing squeal that should alarm everyone in Lemoyne. Her red hair falls over her shoulder in a braid, some strands of it framing her face loosely. Black circles are beneath her eyes, standing out quite a bit next to her pale skin.

Everyone knows that her and Dutch are going through a rough patch right now and you remember her yelling at him during Jack's party, drunk and furious. Though, you had no idea it's taken such a toll on her. Sure, the two of you have never gotten along particularly well, but you still feel a pang of guilt at the sight.

She has no one in the gang and the only person she did have, seems to be ignoring her. Rather awkwardly, you clear your throat to make your presence known and she subtly turns her head in your direction. Not enough to look at you, but at least you know that she has taken notice.

"I'm here to give you the dress back.", you tell her and much to your surprise, she waves it off.

"Keep it. I can't wear it anyways."

"What? I don't think I could. It's such fine material."

For the first time during this interaction, she looks at you.

"No, have it. You looked good in it."

"I...okay. Thank you, Molly."

It doesn't sit right with you to simply leave her to herself like this. You stand in the doorway for along time, pondering over what you should do until you come to a conclusion.

"Have you had breakfast yet? I was thinking we could grab a bite together, if Pearson has prepared something already."

The offer leaves your lips in an uncertain manner and you hope that you don't seem insincere.

"No, thanks."

"Sure?"

"Can you just leave me alone?", she snaps, making you jump in surprise. Then she adds in a more softer tone. "Please."

With only a nod, you close the door behind you and walk back to your bedroll to store the dress away. Maybe it will come in handy again, if Dutch decides to send you along to that ferry job he mentioned yesterday. You're not too sure how well you'll fare in a high stakes poker game, but some extra guns wouldn't hurt.

Well, all these new potential jobs would need some prepping first, so you have to find a way to kill time differently. Stepping out onto the front porch, you find Sadie sitting there and cleaning her rifle. She lifts her head when she hears you walk up and a smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

"Hey, you.", she drawls and her attention drifts back to the gun.

"Morning.", you respond and lean against the wall, gaze set out at the front of the property.

You crack open your mouth for an audible yawn.

"Someone's tired.", she points out and you wave your hand around in the air.

"It was a long night. We came home pretty late."

An amused snort leaves her throat.

"I can imagine how hard it must have been, surrounded by fine food and liquor. Poor you."

A sarcastic retort is on your tongue, locked and loaded and ready to shoot it at her, but movement in the corner of your eyes catches your attention. A lone rider, a rather short man, enters the camp on horseback. He's so far away, that you have to squint your eyes in order to catch a better glimpse at his face. Could be one of the gang members.

Then you realize why the guy is so short and that no matter how hard you focus to get a proper glance at his face, it's futile. His head is missing, at least at first glance. It's quite easy to find it at the second attempt and you let out a choked back gasp. Tension fills your muscles in an instant and you push yourself off the wall, as you gawk at Kieran's corpse, tied onto the saddle.

His eyes have been gauched out, leaving two gaping holes in his skull. The way his head is tied to his body, makes it look like he's holding it in his hands. Then you recall Miss Grimshaw's words back when you went to rescue Tilly. That poor bastard has been missing for days and nobody in camp even bothered to look for him. Including you.

A guttural scream cuts through the air, grabbing everyone's attention. Mary-Beth has one hand clasped over her agape mouth and points with the other at the headless rider. There's no time to process the horror infront of you, as a small army of armed men suddenly barrels out of the tree line.

A lead storm follows shortly after and everyone jumps behind cover. Cursing through gritted teeth, you press your back against the nearest pillar and fish out your pistol. There's no denying it, those assholes got you all cornered and too stunned to retaliate in time. Too many people are caught in the front and your gaze falls on Jack and Abigail, who are cowering behind stacked up sand sacks.

Suddenly Jack starts sprinting towards the house and your heart sinks to your boots. Before you could react, John shoots out from his position behind the fountain, picks up the boy and carries him back to the sacks. Someone shouts, demanding for everyone to retreat back into the manor. While the people at the front make a beeline for the house, you peak out from behind the pillar and fire shot after shot.

Once everyone makes it inside, you too crash through the double door and help Arthur barricade it with a closet. Looking around, you count your numbers, checking if the others managed to get to safety. For a moment it seems like the entire gang is here, but then you notice that someone is missing.

In a frenzy, you grab Arthur by his sleeve and yank at it to get his attention. His eyes are wide, chest heaving, visibly unsettled by the ambush. If the gang's enforcer looks like that, then you know that you all are in some serious trouble.

"Where's Sadie?", you ask and his gaze searches the lower floor, but can't spot her anywhere either.

"Stay here. I'll go look."

"Check the back.", you tell him, remembering that you haven't seen her at the front porch when everyone sought out shelter inside.

Nodding, he runs to the back of the house and you crouch down at some of the windows. Using your elbow, your break the glass, the sound of it shattering being drowned out by all the gunfire. Another person joins your side and relief washes over you, when you lock eyes with Javier.

This somehow always happens. Whenever chaos breaks out, you always end up together. One could claim that you're simply drawn to each other, because you tend to work as a duo all the time on jobs, but you know the truth. In a crowd or during danger, he's the first person you look for and you'd bet all your money that he does the same.

You never fail to end up side by side, because when push comes to shove, you both know that you're the closest ally the other one has. It always has been like that and you doubt it will change in the future.

"Just can't go without me, huh?", you ask, scared he might not find the energy for some banter in these dire times, but he smiles.

"Have to make sure that you're not about to get shot again, lobita."

Little wolf?

"What did you just call me-"

Before you could finish the sentence, a bullet pierces the wooden frame of the windows you're crouching at, sending splinters flying around. None of them thankfully find their way into your skin, but you feel them scratch and cut your cheeks. Lifting your arms to protect your face, Javier pushes you down onto the floor.

Using his body both as a shield and as a weight to pin you down, he catches most of the damages that follows. You hear him grunt into your ear and if the situation was a less shitty one, your thoughts might have drifted off to more lewd places. Now, on the other hand, you quickly shove him off you and bend over him to inspect him for any wounds.

"Are you hurt?", you yell over the sound of gunfire and his features contort in a pained way.

His hand moves up to his side, where his ribs start.

"I got hit by something, but I'm fine."

You stare at the spot for a long time, scared that it might have been a bullet, but there's no blood. It could have been a blunt object then, most likely a piece of the window frame or something along those lines. Letting out a shaky sigh, you help him back up and find a better spot to hide behind.

"Is anything broken?", you ask, fighting the urge to rip his clothes off and take a better look.

"Don't think so.", he hisses through gritted teeth and a tirade of Spanish curses.

After what feels like eternity, the shooting seizes, but you don't allow yourself to relax quite yet. You wait a few heartbeats before pushing the closet out of the way, together with Javier's help. Although you've tried to shoo him away, saying you can handle the furniture by yourself just fine, he does not let you.

Once you step out into the sun, you take in the mess. Bodies lie scattered all over the place, but thankfully none of them belong to any of your own gang members. Upon closer inspection, you find that all the men that have ambushed you, are wearing the same green bandana. They're O'Driscolls.

It only makes sense that they were the ones who kidnapped Kieran. Oh, Kieran. You spot him laying by the fountain, guessing that the commotion must have frightened the horse and it had bucked him off in the process. The head is still tied firmly to his hands and you force down a gag at the macabre sight.

You can't help but wonder if he was alive when they took his eyes and what other horrors he must have endured. Colm O'Driscoll certainly does not forget or forgive and has proven yet again how much he can hate. The loss has shaken up the entire gang, even the ones who haven't been on good terms with him.

It takes all day to clean up the camp, having thrown the O'Driscolls into the river for the alligators to feast upon, and preparing a proper grave for Kieran. Burying fallen members has never been something you participated in, but you're there for him. You'd have done it for Sean as well, if Hosea hadn't sent you out to track down Jack.

By the time the place is somewhat cleaned up again, you go look for Javier. You find him alone, behind his tent, where he has a little bit of privacy between the canvas and the makeshift wooden wall. His red neckerchief hangs loosely from his neck, his blue vest neatly folded and left aside. The white button up shirt is halfway off, dangling by his left shoulder, as he inspects something to his right side.

To announce your approach, you step on branches and dried leaves and he quickly looks up. When he recognizes you, he immediately relaxes and goes back to what he was doing before your appearance. As expected, there's a large bruise over his ribs and you lower yourself down onto your knees to get to eye level.

"You might wanna get this cooled.", you murmur, carefully tracing the blue skin with your fingertips.

A shudder runs through his body, though you can't tell if it's because of pain or your touch. You're barely making contact with the bruise after all. When you look up, you catch him staring at you, dark eyes boring into yours. His throat bobs as he swallows and you can't help but feel strangely intimate right now.

It's hard to navigate this extreme shift of dynamic between the two of you. Not too long ago, you always were at ease around him. His presence had never made you this nervous. Now the air around you is crackling with tension and unspoken words, each gesture and touch heavy with hidden meanings.

Slowly, you get up to your feet and he follows your movements with his gaze. It leaves you feeling like he's the wolf now, not you. Javier follows suit, now standing infront of you and sliding his free arm into the sleeve of his shirt. The buttons are still left open though, his upper body free for your gaze to explore.

It takes every ounce of willpower not to gawk at the man as if he was a meal, and so you keep your eyes glued to his face. If he notices your internal struggle, then he doesn't let it show. Instead, a frown is etched into his features and he lifts your chin with his hand to get a closer look at you.

"You're all cut up, lobita."

There's that nickname again. Before, it caught you off-guard, but you don't want to complain about it anymore, out of fear that he might stop. You like it, relish in it, in fact. You're used to him calling you friendlier names, the ones he uses for others within the gang, the people he's close to.

This one, lobita, is specifically reserved for you and you'll be damned if you let anyone take that away from you.

"I don't mind a scar or two. Makes me look mysterious.", you reply, happy to find your voice firm and strong.

"So you like scars, hm?"

Immediately, your eyes snap up to the one at his eyebrow and you know what kind of answer he's hoping for.

"They can look good. Sure.", you respond, aware that it's too vague to satisfy his curiosity.

All playfulness then leaves his expression and is replaced by something more serious.

"But you should get it checked out. They don't look too deep, but still."

"Sir, yes, sir."

An amused half-laugh-half-snort leaves his throat and he waves you off. After leaving him be behind his tent, you wash off your face and go check on the damage inside the house. Drawn to the window where you had hid behind, you stop dead in your tracks. The floor infront of it is littered with shards and the frame is all shot up.

Not only that, but part of it is hanging down, right where Javier had thrown himself over you. The frame piece must have been the thing that hit him and you take a closer look at the broken end. It's pointy and a mortified shiver runs down your spine. That thing could have easily impaled him and then he'd have been beyond saving.

Surely he must have known that when he had pinned you down. Was he that much of a fool? No, that's not it. Javier saw it fall down on you and took a calculated risk.

He was willing to lay down his life for you.

Taglist: @zizizi-blogs

[rin-rin-kururin]

do you too look at your travel companion with silent longing or you're normal

i have this urge to crop my image this particulare way and leave it as it is. but I feel bad so here is a full image

anyway sifdile stay winning and I actually did normal drawing of these two wow

[hopeinthebox]

bts + reductress headlines pt.14

[sunnymainecoonx]

I know damn well I misunderstood the assignment but we roll, I'll understand it some day

It's killer and dust btw. If you couldn't tell. Which you probably couldn't.. forgor to say but shhh 🤫 Killers having a convo with himself..

..I kinda wanna change my url but idk to what

[bread-is-my-life]

Big shout out to @tekitothemagpie and all the stainmight fans for cheering me on and motivating me. I love all of you very much so consider this animation a big thank you gift for y'all (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🎃👻🍬

[babacontainsmultitudes]

OUGH call me Big Shane Silva the way that episode had me falling over and torn into pieces fuuuuuuuuuck oh the Trudy and Francis heart-to-heart... The group hug... The gunkata... The middle-aged witch yuri... The hole in the stars... MAN.

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

Just finished watching the Death Note anime for the first time after reading the manga a decade prior and. How did no one tell me. How did no one tell me that in the anime the last thing Light sees. Is L

[crispyjenkins]

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.