#mutated gold

[mikittalabs]

second chapter done

it's also the last one. i mean unless i can think of a reason to keep it going, but i don't imagine that happening lol.

[toacody]

Takanuva - Toa of Light and Shadow

A more polarized incarnation.

Source

Creator: BionicleNewAge

[funkbun]

im in a big virtual pet game/sim mood so imagine a flight rising/lioden-like game but with bugsnax. imagine

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 41: Technoscience

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Leo still doesn't know how he managed to wriggle himself away from Raph's mother hen-ing, but here he is now -- wandering the halls alone, looking for that Honey-doctor-whoever.

Maybe he should have stayed with Mikey.... he can't help but worry about him. Yes, he has his ninpo back, but still... This place is a bad place. Leo's not sure how to explain it beyond that. It's like being inside a house you know is the location for a horror movie. It reeks of evil.

Besides, he still has the 'epipen' Mikey handed him tucked safely away in his fanny pack.

Leo wonders what Mikey will do with it. After their whole conversation concerning how Mikey is changed now, and how Leo has been adamant that they've accepted him no matter what... he wonders what Mikey's decision will be. He could still take it and change back into his old self. Get back to 'normal'. Become the person he used to be, become the version of himself he's been fighting so hard to get back to.

Or, he could refuse it. Stay like this, with claws and a giant tail and fangs.

What would life be like after that?

Honestly, Leo hadn't even considered that option until the morning when Donnie said he couldn't figure out a retro-mutagen on his own. He said it was impossible. It was a blow to the stomach back then, a dagger in the heart to think of that. To think of Mikey forever trapped in a body that could barely speak and not yet walk upright, a body tormented by thoughts from another voice, a body broken and pieced back together crudely. At the time, it felt like giving up. But now...?

Now, Mikey can convey himself perfectly and speak clearly. Now, Mikey can walk on two legs with very little assistance. Now, Mikey's head is clear of torment.

Now, Mikey is Mikey again.

So what exactly is his choice?

Leo thinks he might know what his brother's choice will be. But he's not sure if it's the right one...

In any case, now's not the time to worry over it. He's on a search and rescue mission. Leo hobbles his way up the stairs until he feels something in his gut. It's soft, small, gentle. A light pulling sensation he can only describe as a knowing, a connection, or maybe even a reconnection, if that makes sense.

Ninpo.

A few minutes later, he gets a message from Donnie that he's found their weapons.

"Ah, so that's what that was," Leo sighs to himself.

He wishes he had his swords with him now. He usually doesn't mind searching the old fashioned way, but with the injuries he has and the time they're losing... Every extra minute in this place makes him more and more nervous.

Leo starts to heave and pant as he climbs yet another flight of stairs. He figures he's almost at the top of the whole place by now...

He gasps for breath as he leans against a door in the stairwell, which leads to yet another floor.

"Oh... Pizza supreme... I need to work out more... or not get electrocuted so much..."

Leo notices the door he's leaning against has a keypad by the handle. Huh. That's strange, none of the other doors have that...

It's either a really good sign or a really bad sign.

Leo wishes yet again that he had his portal swords... it would make things so much easier...

He glances to the side and notes the stairwell railing. Oh well. He'll have to improvise...

He grips the railing and starts shaking it, testing it for weak points. Raph would be better at this next part, but Leo can manage on his own. He pulls on one end and kicks at the other, yanking as hard as he can. It starts to come loose.

"Almost there... almost... come on, baby...!" Leo groans, wrenching the metal bar as hard as he can.

Finally, it starts to break apart! Leo just needs one good shove... He grips the thing as tightly as he can and pushes it as far as it can go. He hears a crunch of metal. One more go ought to do it! Leo revs up, takes a few steps back, rushes forwards and grips the rail with all his might before jumping over and yanking it down with him. The bar snaps off the rail and falls along with the slider turtle.

Leo concentrates, gripping the rail close to his chest as he falls down the center of the stairwell. The metal bar glows blue, and transforms into a sword.

"Man oh man, do I love my ninpo," Leo chuckles to himself, before slicing a hole in space beneath him.

He ends up tumbling right in front of the door at the top floor again, skidding to a halt as he pants for breath again. He may love his ninpo, but transforming random objects into swords like that takes it out of him. Especially when he already has his own swords... made from garden spades....

The sword flickers softly. Leo has to hurry before he exhausts his ninpo... He remembers what happened the last time he did this -- he portalled himself and Mikey out of their bedroom and into Dee's lab after having a nightmare and promptly passed out from the exertion of transforming a metal ruler into a sword. Not his best moment...

Leo holds the sword steady and prays he doesn't pass out this time...

The runes and markings on the blade shimmer before he slices the air once again. Leo limps and lumbers through the portal, tripping slightly before landing on his hands and knees at the other side of the door. The sword fizzles under his palms and reverts to its former state.

"Well... at least I didn't... faint..." he chuckles airily to himself. "....Yet."

Leonardo stumbles through the hallway, placing all his weight on the walls to support him. He's awfully dizzy, and the pins-and-needles numbing pains that occupy his chest hasn't left either. Leo makes a mental note to get revenge on all tasers and cattle prods in the future...

Maybe he should have had Raph come along with him after all.

But he said he was fine, and he saw how badly Raph wanted to stay with Mikey this time around. He knows that Mikey forgave Raph and absolved him of any mistakes from the past, but even so. This mission hits a little too close to home....... for all of them.

Leo starts to notice that the walls are beginning to have doors. Was that always happening? How long has he been zoned out? Okay, he needs to find Dr. Honeycomb as fast as he can and get back to the guys as soon as possible. The adrenaline rush he got from having his ninpo restored and escaping is beginning to wear off.

Door after door after door... name after name after name. Leo isn't sure if it's the dyslexia acting up, or the injuries he sustained, but with every door he passes, it's getting harder to distinguish the words...

Vitcro Flaco... Rublolhp Crobato... Tlyod O'Foole... Ztayon Hnoyectut...

Wait, what was that last one?

Leo does a double take and stares at the nameplate on the door. Despite his headache flaring up the dyslexia, he deciphers the strange code as Zayton Honeycutt.

"Bingo," he chuckles to himself before kicking the door down with all the might he can manage. He secretly makes yet another mental note to thank Draxum for whatever he put in the ooze that made him and his brothers so freaking strong...

There's a loud yipe from inside as the door falls to the ground. Leo rushes in and finds a fidgety, nervous old man sitting on a pathetic cot in the middle of what looks like a mini lab or workspace. It's even smaller than Dee's traincar bedroom... The man on the bed has a long and frizzy white beard, accompanied by even frizzier white tufts of hair on his balding head. There are deep circles under his eyes, and his thin frame shakes terribly.

"W-who are -- what are --" he stammers, adjusting the glasses perched on his nose.

"No time," Leo grunts, tripping slightly as he runs up to the old guy. "You're Honeycutt, right? Friend of Casey Jones Jr. and Agent Bishop?"

"Bishop?" Honeycutt whimpers, standing to his feet immediately. "Is he okay? And C-Casey, the boy, did the EPF find him or --"

"Casey's fine, he's here actually," Leo says, grabbing the old man's hand. "We're getting you guys out of here."

Honeycutt nods softly before eyeing the rest of the teenager.

"You look terrible."

"How shocking," Leo jokes.

"That sounds like a very poignant joke..." Honeycutt trembles, quickly inspecting the marks on Leo's plastron. "I'm guessing the wordplay has some truth to it?"

"I'll be fine. C'mon, we're heading to the roof --"

"Wait!" Honeycutt interjects, pulling away quickly and running to the other side of the room. "I need to get some things first..."

"What--?! We're kind of on a deadline here!" Leo gripes.

"I know, I understand, but I have to take SAL with me."

"Who's Sal?" Leo asks, glancing around the room carefully. "A pet goldfish or something?"

"No, SAL is my life's work," Honeycutt chuckles. "You see, I've been working to create artificial intelligence -- an artificial lifeform, if you will. A mechanical body with a genuine mind... and maybe even a soul. But that's for the philosophers to work out, I'm interested in seeing if it's possible to create consciousness within a machine!"

"Wait, you mean AI?" Leo clarifies, somewhat taken aback. "Doesn't that usually result in like... killer robots that destroy humanity?"

"Well... Yes," Honeycutt sighs. "My last attempt was quite... violent, to be truthful. I assume you've met Ms. Campbell by now?"

"Not yet, who's she?" Leo asks, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one is in the hall. He thought he heard something...

"Well, she was my last attempt at creating artificial intelligence," Honeycutt explains, as he packs up several irreplaceable-looking tools and gadgets. "But I got impatient with the code and morality matrixes, and I may have borrowed some data from... unfriendly sources."

"Sounds riveting," Leo says impatiently as he goes to push the old man and his oversized tin toy through the door, "You and Donnie should schedule a brunch meetup or something. But we got to go, NOW."

Honeycutt gasps and freezes as Leo tries to shove him again. He hears a click.

Leo looks up and sees a woman standing in the doorway, holding what Leo pathetically hopes is a toy blaster, and not the real thing.

"A-Abigail," Honeycutt gasps, smiling nervously as his entire body starts trembling with fear. "W-what a surprise!"

"Yeah," the woman says, sounding almost as nervous as him. "It really is. What are you doing, Zayton?"

"W-well, there was an evacuation going on, wasn't there--?"

"Don't play dumb with me, we both know you're too smart for that to work," Abigail growls. She slowly trains the blaster at the two of them, eyes darting back and forth, unsure of who to glare at. "...How could you betray us like this?!"

"B-betray?" Honeycutt stutters.

"Look, maybe we can continue this confrontation at a later date, or maybe never --" Leo attempts.

"You were going to sell us out!" Abigail yells, stomping forward and forcing Professor Honeycutt to take several steps back, along with Leo behind him. "Chaplin told us EVERYTHING! You and that rogue agent were going to go to the police?! With all our work?! All of MY work, Zayton?!"

"I-I'm sorry, Abigail," Honeycutt stammers. "But it was getting out of hand..."

"You don't even understand the meaning of the word!" she screams in his face. "OUT OF HAND?! You were right alongside us, performing your own experiments on the monster! You were using the funding, just like we were! You got your share, and you thought you could just run away?!"

Leo takes several steps to distance himself from Honeycutt, staring in shock. He knew that he worked here, knew he was involved, but... is what she saying true? Did he do things to Mikey??

Honeycutt flinches when he feels Leo move away. He glances back at him, trying to study his expression. Leo figures he must look terrified, because when the old man sees him, he looks remorseful, guilty, and hurt.

"I... I never wanted to... I didn't know what they were..."

Abigail laughs haughtily, tears in her eyes as her hands shake with pure burning rage.

"You didn't know?!" she sneers. "You were the one building the mechs, the training simulators, the ice gun, the extra-strength cattle prods and tasers, the robots -- you built us killing machines, and you DIDN'T KNOW?!"

Honeycutt trembles, shrinking under her accusations.

"And then you have the audacity to switch sides?! Turn Benedict Arnold on us and sell out your associates and friends?!" she screams, bringing the tricked-out laser gun closer to her face and pointing it at the two of them. "You... you traitor. I trusted you. Believe it or not, I trusted you. More than Chaplin, more than Timothy. I always pegged you as the level-headed one, the one person here I could count on not to lose his mind --"

"That's what I'm trying to say!" Honeycutt cries out, throwing his hands in the air. "I joined the EPF because I had a dream! Like you! Probably like most of the people who got sucked into the corporation! But it's not a corporation, it's a #%?!&@$ CULT! It's an insane asylum where the patients are running the show and the only people who have any real thoughts left are the ones in a cage!! Do you have any idea what my existence was like after Chaplin got here?! I was a prisoner loooong before he locked me in my room! And yes, I did what I was told -- because I saw what happened to people who stepped out of line! You know exactly what I'm talking about!! Remember that one guard who assaulted Mikey with the taser?! Do you know, do you remember what happened to him?!"

"Yes I do," Dr. Finn snarls. "His brain is in a jar in my lab."

Honeycutt goes pale.

"Oh. Well, last I heard, he had been mutated and caged... um, but it still proves my point! Anyone who goes against Chaplin or the TCRI --"

"That's different!" Abigail Finn defends. "He attacked the subject and almost damaged the brain --"

"And that justifies experimentation and execution?!" Honeycutt shouts back. "Chaplin is not the law, he's neither judge nor jury! He has no right to do the things he's been doing!! Can't you see how insane this is?!"

Honeycutt sighs and lowers his arms, hanging his head.

"Please... Abigail... You have to see this for what it is. I never wanted to betray anyone, but this has gone on long enough. People are getting hurt. I just... I wanted to leave."

Honeycutt slowly looks back up at her. Her hands shake softly, her eyes burn red with tears. She grits her teeth and grips the gun tighter.

"...Why do you think I came up here?" she growls. "I came to get you out."

Honeycutt's eyes go wide.

"Wait, what? Really? Then what are we even doing here; put the gun down and let's get --"

"NO," Abigail Finn growls, readjusting her stance. "Not yet."

Leo suddenly realizes that the gun isn't pointed at Prof. Honeycutt. It was never pointed at the professor. It was pointed at him.

Leo's hands slowly raise up, and he takes another step back. Dr. Finn takes one step forward.

"Abigail, what are you..?" Honeycutt asks, head bouncing back and forth as he looks between the two of them. "Abby... Abigail, s-stop!"

"You're coming with me, Honeycutt," she growls low. "We're getting out of here. But him?" Her face contorts into a snarl. "He's not going anywhere."

"You're not actually gonna shoot me, are you?" Leo laughs nervously. "You wouldn't -- I'm unarmed!"

"But we both know that you're still a living weapon," Abigail sneers. "Just like Chaplin always said about your brother..."

"Abby, stop! Please! What would you have to gain from this?!" Honeycutt pleads.

"I have everything to lose," she says, voice cracking as she steps closer. "Those turtles will destroy everything I've ever worked for. I'm not about to lose my life's work over a few sewer monsters!"

She points the gun straight at Leo, staring him point-blank in the face. He knows he can't escape, not with the condition he's in. There's no way out of here. Abigail's finger traces over the trigger...

"Just stay out of my way..."

Honeycutt steps in between the two.

"No."

Abigail's brow furrows as she glares at her former coworker.

"Zayton? What are you... get out of my way! This doesn't concern you --"

"Yes it does," Honeycutt says defiantly. "You can't hurt him."

"Watch me."

"No," he says again, guarding Leo.

Leo, who happens to find this whole scenario ironic. Shouldn't he be the one guarding Honeycutt?? But Here he is, watching in fear as a frail old man protects his life from this nutty lady.

"No, I won't move. I'm done being afraid, I'm done pretending like my absence of a choice isn't a choice in and of itself. I've been hiding for too long, letting you get away with everything. No more. I'm taking a stand for once in my life. I can't let you do this, Abby."

"Stay out of this," she seethes, gripping the magazine and handle of the blaster with all her might.

Honeycutt shakes his head.

"I'm done staying out of it."

Bang!

Leo instinctively ducks as soon as he hears the blast, before looking up in shock as the old man defending him doubles over in pain, gripping his chest as Abigail Finn panics and runs away in terror.

"What... no... No! No, no, no!" Leo screams, grabbing the old man by the shoulders and trying desperately to help him. "S-stay with me, okay?! Stay, stay here, I-I'll..."

Honeycutt gasps and gags, choking on his own blood. There's a small but deep hole where a lung is located. Leo guesses that Dr. Finn meant to shoot through the doctor and hit him... but it doesn't even matter now; Leo has to act fast. His hands are already stained red as he attempts to apply pressure to the wound...

Honeycutt grips Leo's fingers with his own, pulling him close as he gasps and fights for air.

"P-please... there's not much time," he wheezes hoarsely. "You... you n-need to get out of h-here. F-find Bishop, g-g-get the... the proof... get it out, s-so n-nothing will ha-happen t-to... to your.... y-your brother... I-I'm sorry for the p-part I played in... in it all..... but... h-hopef-fully this m-makes up for... for everything...... g..go, now......"

"No, I'm not leaving you here!" Leo growls, gritting his teeth. "I'm saving you, I'm getting you out of this mess!"

"I'm already dead," Honeycutt chuckles, before choking and hacking up blood. "I'm lost, kid... just... just go, qu-quick..."

"NO, there's gotta be someway I can save you!"

Leo glances around the room frantically, searching for something, anything he can use --

His eyes fall on the robot laying on the floor by his side. SAL.

"...You said you were trying to put consciousness into a robot, right?" Leo tries, tears streaking down his face in desperation as he runs out of options. "How??"

"The... the port..." Honeycutt manages, his voice fading as he struggles to keep his eyes open. "The... there's a cable... o-on the t...table..... blue ssssstripes..."

Leo sets him down carefully and grabs the large blue cord from the table. The end of said cable has several metal prongs connected inside of it, matching a port opening. Leo finally sticks it in after three tries, then turns to the doctor.

"O-okay, what now?!" he begs. "What do I do?!"

"The... the hel.... th'helmet..." Honeycutt exhales, his finger weakly lifting, falling, and shaking as he attempts to point to a corner cabinet.

Leo jumps into action, practically pouncing on the cabinet and shoveling supplies out as he frantically searches for the device. He eventually finds what looks like a metal bike helmet, complete with blinky lights and switches.

"Okay, okay, I think I've got it, now what?"

Honeycutt doesn't respond. Leo whirls around to look at him. His chest is starting to fall.

"No... No! No, not yet! Not when I can -- NO!"

Leo moves. Fast, desperate, swift, and with very little thinking involved.

"Really wish Donnie was here!" he gripes as he snatches the cable from the desk and shoves it into the helmet. A three-pronged needle sticks out from the other side where the porthole would be. Leo grimaces as he thinks of the pain that will follow. "Sorry, doc, but this is probably gonna sting..."

Leo drops to his knees by the professor and drives the helmet onto his head. The needles click into the nape of the neck. The lights flash, and the old man suddenly screams, his body convulsing on the ground as the device does its work.

Leo has to force himself to keep from covering his mouth at the screams; his hands are still bloody and he doesn't want to get the Professor's blood anywhere it shouldn't be. The professor shrieks in pain as the cable brightens up and blue light flows from the helmet to the little robot laying on the floor beside them. His body jerks, back and forth, the robot begins to tremble and jerk as well. A garbled, staticy shriek starts to emanate from the speakers where its mouth would be.

Suddenly, both bodies freeze and fall limp. The professor goes silent, his skin pale and shirt soaked with blood. His chest falls, his breathing ceases.

He's dead.

"...D-doc?" Leo whimpers. "Hello? Did... did it work? Please, tell me I didn't just --"

Leo hears groaning. It's robotic, staticy, almost like autotune. It slowly starts to refocus, becoming clearer and easier to understand. It sounds like... like...

"...Professor?" Leo whispers, hovering over the metal body with baited breath.

The robot -- SAL -- stirs, before slowly sitting up and placing a mechanical hand to its head.

"ᴜɢʜʜ… ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀɴ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴀᴛ."

Leo reels backwards from the robot half his size, as it slowly starts to stand.

"ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅɪᴅ… ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴅᴏ…?" it asks, in Honeycutt's voice. "ᴡʜʏ ɪꜱ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛᴀʟʟᴇʀ? ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜʏ ᴅᴏ ɪ --"

The robot Honeycutt halts, staring down at the new body it he has acquired.

"ᴏʜ. ᴏʜ. ᴏʜʜʜʜ -- ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ɢᴏᴅ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴᴇ?! ɪ -- ɪ --"

"You're welcome?" Leo tries, slowly getting off the floor and to his feet as he watches the Professor come to terms with his new form. "If that really is you... Right? Doc?"

"ɪᴛ… ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴍᴇ, ɪ… ᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏʜ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴜꜱᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ…"

"Can you walk?" Leo asks nervously.

"ɪ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ꜱᴏ," he replies slowly. "ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴜꜱᴇʀ ᴍᴀɴᴜᴀʟ ᴅᴏᴡɴʟᴏᴀᴅᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ…"

"Well, read it on the way, okay?" Leo sighs with relief, taking the robot's hand and dragging him away. "We got to GO."

Prev || Next

[theblorboscalledtheturtles]

you've been visited by the money Leo. You don't get any money if you reblog tho but just look at this guy

[goldmanguyperson]

i have unaveragely good knowledge of conditions that affect pigment in animals, and i dont really know why

so fun facts with gold (take with grain of salt):

we all know about the albino condition, but what about lutino? the lutino mutation affects birds that can have a yellow color. it is genetically identical to albinism, but instead of making the bird white, it makes them yellow. Together they are known as the Ino mutation. Other animals can have this too but it most commonly occurs in birds, and the term lutino mainly refers to birds. Other animals are called xanthochromistic.

There is also leucism. In leucistic animals, the pigment cells rack up defects during their growth. Not all pigment cells are affected, meaning that leucistic animals can still have color and often retain color in parts of their skin and eyes. This is where piebalds come from!

Melanistic animals are completely black. They produce an excess of melanin, darkening their features drastically. This is the condition black panthers have.

One bird takes it further: the Ayam Cemani chicken breed. They have hyperpigmentation, which makes their bones and internal organs black as well. pretty metal little birdies

Abundism and pseudomelanism can make an animal appear completely melanistic, but they are not. They will usually have some lighter patches, which melanistic animals do not have.

Melanism and associated conditions are usually much less dangerous for the animal than albinism. Albinism basically means some animals get fuckin cooked real quick by the sun. Gators and crocs with albinism, for example, don’t last very long outside captivity. 24 hours tops.

Also fun bird color fact: The darker a bird feather is, the more resistant to damage it is. This means that albino birds get raggedy feathers much quicker. You might see a lot of birds with black feather tips specifically because that keeps them from getting damaged as easily. You may find that a lot of worn seagull feathers still have the black tips intact, or at least more intact than the rest of the feather.

colors is cool

[asyipyip]

i just DESTROYED 3BC dude

[yesyourstalker]

Candy: hi guy! This is candy!! You're favorite girlyyyy!!!!! So I recently got a job at Rock shock at Barnacle & Dime Mall!! I'm so excited because I am partnering with them and sharing a location! I get to have my own little piercing station inside the store!! He's even letting me paint it pink. Isn't it cute!! It's a business inside of a business. I love it ....... Some you probably already recognize me as piercing princess on Inkstagram!.. I was at wahoo world boardwalk and worked with ink tank tattoos...... Unfortunately the partnership is over....they went back home to Gillsdens..aww It's not the last time we'll see them tho.......haha. Anyway usually I answer your questions on how to take care of piercings and treat infections but today I want to do something different. So recently I got a new client and that client is my boss!!! And you allowed me to do a piercing for him

Neta: hey Candy....

Candy: hi Neta...... so what did you want me to do today?

Neta: I was thinking of a tongue piercing buuuut how about some ear piercings

Candy: ohhhhh couple ear piercings so we talking about an industrial or maybe we can do a rook *gasp* we can do a daith piercing!!

Neta: yeah that sounds great................ hey Candy can we talk off camera.

Candy....... You don't want me to film in here? I understand... I should have asked first

Neta: no, no filming is fine It brings in people plus I watch you all the time....... I just kind of want this conversation about my ear piercing to be a private thing.

Candy: ok yeah That's no problem.

Neta:..........*sigh* ok...... So it's very obvious that my ear is kind of........ jacked.......and .....it how do I say this...... it holds a lot of trauma and bad memories..... Sometimes I struggle to look at it .......when I had long tentacles I used to hide it but now I'm not able to do that anymore and I've been getting a lot of stairs at it and I feel....... ummm........*sigh*.........I just want it to be easier to deal with..... I don't want to look at it and automatically associate it with my past and want people to look at and focus more on the body modifications instead.......you know

Candy: .......... Oh.... ok it's whatever you want and what makes you comfortable..... my clients come before my content....... I'm happy to provide a safe space and am honored to be a part of this journey of healing you're going through......

Neta: thanks candy I'm fine with you filming, I just needed to have that conversation....... thank you.

Candy: It's no problem..... ok.......1...2....3.....ok guys so first we're going to start with the left ear!!................I was thinking of maybe we can do 3 piercings that travel up the soft cartilage of the ear and then add a piercing on the flat and end with a rook....... mmmmm....... On the Right we can do similar but instead of 3 piercings on the soft cartilage I'm going to stick with 2 and an industrial piercing! How does that sound Neta?

Neta: yeah...... that sounds great. Let's get to it

Candy: great!!

[After piercing session]

Candy: ok we're done........ What do you think?...... Usually I like to film my client's first reactions but I feel like maybe this one should be..... personal

Neta:........................................... Wow ah ha .......... I love it!......... I can-i can actually look at it......I can fully look... at myself....... Candy.... thank you....

Candy: aaaaaaaaaaaa! It looks so good!!!....... you're welcome!! You look amazing! Some of my best work!!........am I crying??.... it's fine....What do you guys think? It's cute right?

Mahi: looks nice.....and painful

Neta: yeah the rook part hurt like shit but I think it's worth it.

Mahi: you didn't get the tongue piercing?

Neta: I did. I just got on the bottom. See......laaaaa....

Mahi: damn I should have gone that........ You look so different in the first time I met you. Are there any more changes that you're going to do?

Neta: I might stop dying my hair and keep it yellow...... I think I'll be good as a natural gold

Mahi: ehhh I don't know. Let me see you being green..... It would suit you though

Warabi: yeah, I would match your personality. A dumb bubbly gold bimbo

Neta: ha. Ha. Shut up

Candy: Oh my cod yes we would match!!

Mahi: I don't think Phoebe would recognize you though

Neta:ah man you're right guess I'm keeping it green...

Mahi belongs to @fish-at-fish-fish-resort

[yoonyia]

I'm not gonna tag you because I feel bad but kenon why did you ask about the fish hyper evolution

I had work to do but now I've been studying gold fish DNA for the past hour and a half

I dont need to know any of this

I'm not interested in biology above the nonsense fantasy stuff

why are you making me do this

why

also why the fuck do gold fish have 100 chromosomes

I KNOW WHY BECAUSE IM STUDYING THIS SHIT

BUT WHY DO I KNOW THAT

THIS IS STUPID

ALSO IVE BEEN MAKING DIAGRAMS IN SCIENCE CLASS OF PHILTONIC CONNECTIONS AND ITS DRIVING ME INSANE

yea I should be thinking about electricity circuits and fire safety BUT MY BRAIN NEEDS TO FIGURE OUT THE SPIRITUAL WEB OF CONNECTIONS OF THE UNIVERSE AND MAKE A SPECIES OF FISH

I wish I was peter

atleast then I'd have the brains to do this

I spent 2 and a half weeks on this the first time

I swear to God if it takes more then 3 days this time I'm going to drink soda untill I cry (which is probably like 2 sips because I can't handle the fuzzy liquid death)

I'm gonna drive myself insane

this isn't even complicated man it's just proteins and mutations

it's not that complicated

the Burundi genocide you're studying has more complexity then this

YOU CAN DO IT YOON

I KNOW YOURE BETTER AT POLITICS BUT BIOLOGY ISNT THAT HARD

I MEAN TO BE HONEST PEOPLE CUTTING UP OTHER PEOPLE BECAUSE OF RACIAL DISCRIMINATION AND COLONIAL DIVIDE ISNT THAT COMPLICATED EITHER BUT THIS IS PROBABLY EASIER THEN THAT

YOU DUMB FUCK ITS JUST FISH DNA STOP BEING HORRIFIED OF IT

I give up I'm taking a break

fuck you earth I'll see you all at the picnic

[slidercollider]

Venus's You Live In A Toilet you're so right girl burn them

[mikittalabs]

ok i'm not going to redesign them again i'm not redesigning them after this i'm- (<-daily affirmations)

fr tho i can't see myself adding anything else. i hope.

uhh anyway that crack in mikey's shell am i right?? childhood injuries sure do leave lasting scars.

[toacody]

Bionicle MOC: Ekimu and Makuta

♫When logic and proportion Have fallen sloppy dead!♫

Source

Creator: LordObliviontheGreat

[elflutter]

— guard dog

kinktober 01 → dom/sub dynamics

sub!logan x dom mutant fem!reader

synopsis

Nobody would believe how his masculine bravado fell as he let you take control. They didn’t notice how you could dismiss him with a nod of your head, how he would immediately back down from a fight if you told him to drop it. Like a dog with a bone. That’s the thing about Logan. He is protective like a guard dog is  protective. And he is submissive like a guard dog is submissive. Oh, you so enjoy training him.

wordcount: 4k+

tags/warnings below the cut

tags/warnings: explicit (18+ mdni), dom/sub, light pain kink, light praise kink, porn with feelings, hurt/comfort, logan calls reader ma'am, reader wears a dress, pet names (incl. baby, pretty boy, kitty cat), degradation, oral sex (f. recieving), mutual mast., unprotected p i v, fingering, come eating, logan is compared to a guard dog (non-sexually), one (1) mention of collar play, no use of y/n. i'm sure i've forgotten something, please let me know if i have!

a/n: i have no excuse for this omfg. i'm a slut, ok!! and i am allergic to writing smut without including major feels what's up with that

thank you to the lovely @eupheme for looking over this before i posted!

You love seeing Logan like this. On his knees, eyes glazed over, beard drenched in your slick. Fingers tangled in his hair, hard grip pulling his head away from your cunt. You are bare beneath your dress, hiked up to your stomach, but Logan is completely naked. Looking down at him from where you sit on the edge of the bed, thighs spread wide. In complete control as he whines at the loss of his mouth on you, completely drunk on your taste. Candlelight and the Autumn twilight illuminating the planes of his face like liquid gold. Your core throbs where his tongue was just a moment ago. 

You hush him, your free hand cupping his jaw. “You miss my pussy, baby?” Your brows knit together in mock pity at the desperate sound he makes in affirmation. He grinds feebly at the side of your mattress, neglected cock aching for something, anything. Maybe it says something bad about you, that you get off on seeing him so pathetic. But you know he craves this too. 

He was embarrassed about it, at first. Being submissive. Getting hard when you called him your sweet baby, your pretty boy, voice dripping with condescension. But you could tell that he needed to unwind the second he woke up after you dragged him into the X-mansion with Jean and Scott. You could feel it, the emotions pouring from him. 

Your mutation is a difficult thing to control. To turn off. Sometimes, you feel like a creep. A trespasser. Knowing the deepest emotions of a stranger, ones they may not even recognize themselves. You think Jean and Charles are lucky, with powers rooted in thought. They can tease out feelings too, but their power is fundamentally different from yours. Thought is intention. Emotions are energy. 

“You can’t force your retinas to stop sensing photons just because the light bulb does not know you can see it. Even if you close your eyes, my dear, you will still be able to see its light, however dimmed.” Charles’ words from your first day at the mansion help to curb the guilt; when you feel like an intruder. 

You certainly felt like an intruder months ago, when Logan woke up in the lab, lit aflame like a wildfire. Fear and rage, as he shot up from the table. Confusion, as he pulled the IV from his arm. Idiot. You tried to ground yourself in something tangible, anything, to keep yourself from feeling him. So much him. The buzz of the fluorescent bulbs. The vent blowing cool air against your skin. The weight of contact where your feet met the floor.

You taught mindfulness and meditation to the students and your teammates. Helped them to guard their emotions from people like you. For you, meditation was like closing your eyes. You could still sense those around you, it was just easier to tune out. Like hearing music through cotton in your ears. When others meditated, it was like switching off the light bulb. Leading students through exercises in your class was your favorite time of the day. Sweet silence enveloping you like an embrace from an old friend. 

Later on that first day, when you introduced yourself to Logan properly, he grumbled, “Stay out of my head, bub.” His frustration butted against you like a battering ram. And you stood against it, the feeling piercing your heart just a little. Powers standing tall as a wall of stone as you told him that it wasn’t that simple. You wished they could have just crumbled. You couldn’t help but feel guilt eat away at you like it always did. You wouldn’t blame him if he hated you. 

Over his first few weeks in the mansion, you taught him basic mindfulness in one-on-one sessions. He had trouble taking it seriously; thought it was silly. A bit out, “No way this’ll work, bub,” as you led him through meditation in the training room, sat cross-legged on the mat across from him. You told him to close his eyes, to focus on the feeling of his breaths. “Now you’re just makin’ fun’a me,” as you told him not to fight his emotions. After twenty minutes, you could still feel the anxiety gnawing at him. Just as bad as at the start of the session. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze met yours— bright hazel making your breath hitch. His fear and anger and self-loathing were banked for a moment, and you felt something else. Understanding. Desire. You weren’t sure if it was his, or yours. Maybe both. He ended up in your bed that night. 

Your first few times were pretty vanilla. Him on top, pounding into you, sweat from his brow falling against your cheek. After a month of him fucking you into the mattress at least three times a week, he was still tense as he took you. On edge, knowing he was unguarded from your mutation. It wasn’t that the sex was bad. It was some of the best sex you’d ever had. But you could feel it, whether you wanted to or not. His anxiety. Curled up like a viper behind a bush, hiding just beneath his pleasure. Never fully letting go. 

He didn’t even hold it against you, anymore. Your mutation. Knew how it felt to be hated for something you couldn’t control. Maybe that’s what had drawn him to you in the first place.

But when your nails scraped down the side of his bicep, barely even hard enough to leave a mark, you felt the rumble of his moan, deep in your chest. Couldn’t feel that viper anymore, lurking just below the surface. Like it was carried away in the beak of a hawk as you marked him. He begged. 

“More.” 

You shuddered. In control, after that. Flipping your position so he was on his back, body pliant beneath yours as you rode him. Your breath was hot against his ear when you leaned down, bare tits tender where they pressed against his chest, to whisper. “Gonna let me take care of you, baby? Gonna let go?” 

Nobody would believe how his masculine bravado fell as he let you take control. From the outside, he seemed like the dominating personality in your relationship— undefined as it was. How his hand would reach in front of you protectively during missions, how he would bristle with a clenched fist if anybody talked a little too much shit during an exercise in the Danger Room. They didn’t notice how you could dismiss him with a nod of your head, how he would immediately back down from a fight if you told him to drop it. Like a dog with a bone. 

That’s the thing about Logan. He is protective like a guard dog is protective. And he is submissive like a guard dog is submissive. Oh, you so enjoy training him. 

And much as you tried to teach him to meditate over months since he arrived, empty his mind more conventionally, it never quite worked for him. But when he’s beneath you, eyes glazed over as you bounce up and down on his cock, and you can’t sense a single thing from his pretty little head? You know you’ve done your job well. Given him what he needs. 

“Such a good boy, making me feel so nice,” you croon, in the moment again. He sat on the floor between your legs, eyes desperate and wanting when you thrust your hips up in the air just a little bit. Teasing him with the movement, more than yourself. Your hand is still tangled in his hair as he tries to lean forward to bury his face in your cunt again. 

“Stay,” your voice is hard, careful that you don’t betray the fluttering in your belly at how badly he needs you. “I thought you were a good boy, but good boys follow orders.” You pout, mocking him. 

“’M sorry, baby, just wanna make you feel good,” he pants, eyes 

glistening in the dim light of the waning sun. Golden leaves rustling just outside the window. “Wanna make you come.” 

You smile, maybe a little meanly, your free hand squeezing his cheeks together. The other uses its grip in his hair to pull his head back farther, exposing the sweet column of his neck to your greedy eyes. He looks so pretty like this. If he hadn’t been so naughty, you would’ve told him as much. Instead, harsher words leave your lips. 

“Already so pussy drunk you forgot your rules, kitty cat?” You let your hand loosen its grip on his hair, the other still pressing into either cheek, forcing his gaze to yours. “You will make me come when I let you, hm? Can you handle that, darling, or do we need to stop?” The pet name is saccharine sweet on your tongue, mock sympathy dripping from your voice. 

“No ma’am,” he croaks out— words muffled by your grip on his face. You finally let go, comforter plush against your skin as you lean back on your elbows. Nothing but the weight of your gaze keeps him frozen in place beneath you. You wait for him to continue, expectantly. 

“Don’t need’ta stop,” he pants. “Just need you.” 

You love how the words fall from his lips. How he lets them. Tracing his jaw tenderly, the soft touch so at odds with the mean glint in your eye. So at odds with the swell of your heart, knowing he can let go with you. 

“I know you do, baby.” Your thumb strokes his bottom lip, “Now ask nicely.” 

“Please.” The way he begs has your core throbbing, the heat of your desire spreading down each limb like a flame. You almost give in. Almost. 

But you can’t have him getting spoiled. 

He knows he’s fucked when one side of your mouth lifts in a cruel smirk. You lean down so your lips brush against his ear. “I’ll let you lick my pussy clean after you fill it. If you’re good.” 

He whines; the sound a desperate thing. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” you guide as you tease your fingers at your entrance. Soaked, from your slick and from Logan’s mouth. Your first finger slides in easily, as Logan’s hand grips at his cock. He sighs at the stimulation, the relief, though you know he’d rather his face be buried between your legs. His tip is flushed, weeping. He ruts into his fist as your finger begins to move within you. Already so slick that you make room for a second. 

Sparks light up inside your belly, already sensitive from Logan’s work, but your touch is nothing compared to his. Your fingers are smaller, not reaching nearly as deep as his would, when you curl them. But you savor the control— as you fuck yourself on the bed and Logan touches himself on the floor. Almost feral for you. 

Locks of hair pulled from their little tufts where you mussed them, falling in front of his eyes. A bead of sweat glistens on his brow, before sliding down his cheek. His lips part; the sounds of his desire falling from them. Sweeter than any melody. 

And your mutation? Couldn’t sense a damn thing. So blissed out that his mind went blank. Letting each sensation roll over his body like a wave against the sandy shore. 

That’s the toughest part about this. Seeing him like this and maintaining your resolve, composure, control. To tease him instead of fucking him like an animal. And you will— fuck him like an animal. He just has to work for it first. 

You spread your legs a little wider, pumping your fingers in and out. Using your thumb to circle your clit. Teasing Logan with what you wouldn’t let him taste. Yet. You draw out his little torture, watching you get yourself off, so close that your heady desire is all he can smell. Climbing closer and closer to the peak of your pleasure, eyes hooded as they meet Logan’s, letting the sounds of his panting fill the air until you finally come undone. Feeling terribly vulgar as your walls pulse around your fingers. Growing even slicker, then. 

“Stop now, little prince.” 

Logan stops moving like he is bound to your will. You smile. He doesn’t even talk back when you call him little. Four hundred pounds of muscle and adamantium wrapped around your finger. You bring your hand, wet with your arousal, to meet his lips. 

“Open up.”

Logan lets his jaw slacken, his tongue jutting just above his lower lip to taste what you give him. You hum, as your fingers slide into his mouth and he hollows out his cheeks to suck. Your other hand moves to play with his hair, gentler now than it was before. 

“Such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” 

You think that the noise Logan makes is in affirmation. Your fingers remain between his closed lips. 

“Gonna make you come now, baby.” 

Logan bites back a moan, glossy eyes wild with need. 

Fingers slip loose with a slick pop as you guide him up to the bed. You finally let your dress pool on the floor around your feet. Logan sits back against the headboard, flushed cock at attention. You climb atop him, hard muscles so at odds with his lolling head and hooded eyes. Feeling his length press against your belly as you admire the view. Such a pretty thing, sprawled out on your bed, waiting for you with a leaking cock. 

“So needy. Need me to fuck you good, baby?” You ghost a touch across his sweat-slick forehead. “Need me to fuck all the thoughts out of this pretty little head?” 

He nods. But no words escape his lips. You angle your head to the side, patient. 

His voice is rough with desire as he croaks, “Yes, ma’am. Please.”

You feign confusion.  “Please what, sweetheart?” 

Swallowing his pride. “Fuck me, baby. Please” 

You line up above him, palms resting on his toned chest, thick length prodding at your entrance. 

“Mmm, only because you asked so nicely.” 

You sink down on him in a quick, brutal thrust that steals your breath— his cock brushing that perfect spot your fingers couldn’t quite reach. Your mouth finds his neck, where your teeth nip and lips soothe. Inhaling his scent— cigar smoke and whiskey mingle with the musk of his sweat. Undertones of cedar from his shampoo as vanilla wafts from your candles. Your hips remain still, his tip nearly brushing your cervix, savoring the slick, sweet stretch. Logan lets out something between a growl and a whimper when you clench your walls around him, teasing. 

His desperation finally spurs you on, lighting a sweet fire in your core. Angling your hips up before sinking down again. And again. Slow, at first. You let yourself enjoy his thick length dragging along your walls, stimulating that spongy spot that makes you see stars. 

“Y’fill me up so good, baby.” 

Logan’s muscles tense beneath you, eyes squeezed shut as he fights the urge to move his hips. Aching to meet you as you slowly pump, to rut up into you hard and fast. You click your tongue in admonishment as his eyebrows knit together. 

“Eyes on me, sweet thing.” 

His lips move, searching for his words, but all that comes out is a garbled moan. His hazel gaze meets your own, brow heavy with the effort you know it takes to follow your rules. Your mutation still can’t sense anything from him. The strain purely physical, as his mind floats through the bliss of your command. Your chest grows heavy with the trust that Logan has given to you so freely. 

“So good for me, Logan. So good,” you purr. 

Finally, you pick up the pace. Raising up before gravity brings you back down, hard. Logan sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, eyes rolling back in his head. Quickly darting them back to your face. Tender flesh gripping him to the hilt, before lifting yourself again. A few thrusts like that, as the impact of your ass on his hips fills the room. If it hurts at all, you know he’ll savor it. 

You think fucking like this might break another man’s hips. There are benefits to having a lover made of adamantium. You can play hard, and never break him. He always has his safe word, if it becomes too much. 

Changing your pace again, more for your benefit than for Logan’s. One hand tangles in his hair, pulling. Your arm rests by his head, face hovering just above his. Each of his pants ghost across your lips. Thrusting quicker now, as you rock your hips up and down. Gaze locked on his. The sound of the leaves rustling against the window is drowned out by the bed frame squeaking. 

His velvety length dragging against your sensitive walls brings you closer to the edge of your release— his tip brushes right where you need it with each thrust as he splits you open. The burning tension coils tight, tight, tight in your belly; until you can’t stand it anymore. 

“Lo, fuck, t— touch me,” the command comes out breathier than you intended. But Logan obeys just the same. His hand moves between your bodies, fingers circling your swollen clit as expertly as your own. 

Molten heat races through your body as you tumble over the edge. Waves of warm pleasure sweep you away, Logan’s palm resting against your tummy. You can feel your walls flutter around his cock, rolling your hips as you come down from your high, lips ghosting against his ear. 

“Come for me, Logan.” 

He moves up to meet your thrusts, then. The pressure verges on overstimulation as his cock plunges deep inside. But you savor it, savor giving him exactly what he needs. 

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.” 

Your grip on his hair weakens to a caress as he spills inside you. You still your hips, letting Logan fuck you through his climax. Once he stops moving, your bodies go limp, enjoying this moment of closeness. The way his skin sticks to yours, damp with sweat. The sound of his heartbeat. The rise and fall of his chest. He lets out a contented sigh, and you finally roll off of him. You enjoy the softness of the mattress against your back for a moment. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you finally spread your legs— making room for Logan to settle between them. 

“C’mere, baby. You know I’m not done with you yet.” 

Logan grins, wasting no time as he positions himself between your thighs. There is a mischievous little glint in his eye, face hovering above your cunt. 

“Finally somethin’ to eat. Had me starvin’ down there, baby.”

Bratty little shit. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you then, rolling your eyes. 

“You talking back to me, bub?” You grab him by the chin, digging in your fingernails hard enough to leave little red crescents in his skin. But there’s a smile on your face and mirth in your voice. 

“No ma’am.” His chin angles down, looking up at you with hooded eyes. His smirk is devilish as he bats his eyelashes. Fucking bats his eyelashes. You don’t think anybody would believe that the Wolverine packs a mean doe-eye. 

Shaking your head in disbelief, the ghost of a smile on your lips, your hold keeps his greedy mouth just beyond his treasure. 

“You wanna rethink your tone, kitty cat?” Head angled, as you watch him through what you hope are stern eyes. You try to add a hard edge to your voice, but he’s so damn cute. 

It seems to work. His smirk melts away, and only hunger remains, desperate and glossy-eyed. “Yes ma’am. ‘M sorry.” 

Victory is sweet on your tongue, at his concession. The heady weight of control in your palms. Electricity snakes down your spine, each pant of his breath teasing you between your thighs. 

“That’s it, baby. I forgive you.” You pout at him, mocking. Maybe you’re a sore winner. You can’t help it when he’s so needy for a taste of himself on your pussy. “Now be a good boy and clean up your mess.” 

As soon as you loosen your grip on his chin, he buries himself between your legs. Stroking the flat of his tongue from your weepy slit to your swollen nub. Licking and sucking at your puffy folds, swallowing the mix of your slick and his milky spend like it’s the only meal he’s had in weeks. The squelch of him lapping at you and you moaning his name are all that fill your ears. You toy with the hair at the base of his neck, the roughness of his beard against your thighs making you shiver. 

“F-fuck— Lo, baby,” a lewd whimper escapes you, breath stuttering. “You wanna make me come?” 

He somehow buries himself even deeper between your legs, then. Nose pressing against your clit just right, as he devours you. Fucking you with his tongue, before moving up to lick quick circles around the bundle of nerves.

“That’s it, Logan— fuck!” 

Words are lost to you, for a moment. Taken by the pleasure swelling in your belly as he slides a finger inside. Pressure builds in your abdomen when it curls against that sweet spot. You grind against him, eyes closed and mouth agape. 

“Know you can do it, baby,” you pant, spurring him on. Logan adds a second digit, bending to hit the spongy flesh. “So good for me, so—” you are interrupted again, choking out a sob as your core tightens with your impending release. 

Logan brings his lips to your slit, fingers still moving inside. His mouth falls open, ready to drink down your essence when the dam within you finally bursts. The pressure behind your navel gives way to warm wetness between your legs. You fall apart on Logan’s thick fingers, throbbing while he swallows the mix of your come and his. 

His fingers slide out of you, suddenly empty, and the milky ring around them could be his spend or yours. Hopefully both. Bringing them to his mouth, before he licks them clean. He goes limp when you finally relax onto the bed, his head resting against your tummy. His legs must be hanging off the bed comically, but you can’t bring yourself to lift your head and check. You choose to ignore the wet spot beneath your ass. The remnants of your climax and Logan’s inevitable drooling as he ate you out. Something to worry about later. 

For now, your fingers find their way to Logan’s scalp once again, touch featherlight and tender. You can’t help it when he sighs like that beneath your touch. If you had it your way, your hand would never leave its place here. Holding him to you, gently claiming him as yours. 

Your mutation is quiet, still, in the afterglow. At peace. And so is Logan. Head still floating in the clouds, blissed out and dazed. Somewhere nobody can reach except the two of you. As much as he needs this, the way you give him respite even sleep never offers, you need it too. The silence, after. As you lay with him, in tenderness. 

You’re struck with a sudden truth. Not sure how you’d overlooked it, all this time. A low whisper, as the sun finally rests beneath the horizon. Flickering candlelight and the faint fluorescent glow creeping beneath the bedroom door. The aged wood all that separates your little world from the rest of the mansion. If you weren’t so focused on that strange heaviness in your chest, you would have the presence of mind to hope nobody heard the two of you. 

“I love you, Lo.” 

Breath held in your lungs, as you wait. Just a beat, before he answers. 

“Love you too.” His palm rests on your waist, rubbing tender circles. His face nuzzles a little closer into your belly. “My baby. My girl.” 

The stinging behind your eyes catches you off guard. But, so do his words. You feel the truth in them. You never thought you’d have this with someone. Never thought anybody would trust you. An interloper. An unwelcome visitor, eavesdropping on the devotion of strangers, destined to feel their love for each other. But never for you. It was never going to be for you. 

But you feel it, now. Yours. Unsure why it hadn’t cross your mind before. 

Like a wolf, when you met. Wild, feral. Lashing out to bite any hand that got too close. Tamed, with your compassion. Firm as it was. You always thought he was like a guard dog. Faithful. Trusting. Once you’d earned it. Of course he would love you like one. 

You felt heat creep up your ears, at the thought of getting him a collar, stifling a laugh in the crook of your elbow. 

His hum vibrates against your torso. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah, baby. Think I just need some psychological help.” The words are muffled against your arm. 

Logan is still packing plenty of sass, even in his fucked out state.

“That’a surprise?” He looks up at you, a single eyebrow arched. You can’t help but laugh. Smiling, as you rebuke. 

“Asshole.”

a/n: aaah thank you for reading!! i'm nervous about this one, if you liked it please let me know!! 🫣

dividers by saradika-graphics

[yoditopascal]

Cocoa Butter

bodyguard! logan howlett x boss’ daughter reader

summary: He’s the best there is at what he does but what he does isn’t always very nice.

content warning: mutual pining, scenting, scent kink, age gap, size difference smut, p in v, slight innocence kink towards the end??, violent behavior (logan beats a guy up for you and it kinda turns you on), MINORS DNI

a/n: This was definitely inspired by that one gif of him from DOFP

Logan swore he wouldn't fall to his knees for a pretty little young thing like you. With your big doe eyes, soft curves and that cute little ass o’ yours that you always had wrapped up in those tiny little short shorts. He couldn’t, you were the boss’ daughter after all, but when you swayed your hips and batted your lashes at him like that… god was it tempting. You were just so inviting and deliciously sweet.

Like heaven wrapped in gold foil and lip gloss. Your dad’s guys used to joke to him about you, that is until he beat the shit outta one of them.

Now most of them don’t even make eye contact with you.

Good, he preferred it that way anyways.

His heart beat rapidly in his chest, the possessive streak he felt for you flaring up as he watched you converse with the guy at the bar that had been buying you drinks all night. The guy no doubt had no idea who you were, or who he was for that matter.

Five drinks in and he was practically itching for a fight, hoping that the motherfucker you were laughing with like he was the funniest bastard in the world would slip up and do something so he could take him out back and show him what happens when you mess with what’s his.

His.

You weren’t anyone’s you liked to remind him.

He knew you could handle yourself, you were more than capable of holding your own and you’ve told him plenty of times that he hovers too much, so why was he getting all antsy over this guy?

Logan swore he wasn’t a jealous person, never had a reason to be, until he met you, but watching everyone watching you for the past few hours while you smiled and laughed and danced like you didn’t give a shit about anything, had him ready to kill the next guy who breathed at you wrong.

Maybe it was the few drinks he had but he could have sworn he saw you look over at him a couple of times too.

Like you were doing this on purpose.

What he didn’t know was that he was the reason you were so confident and carefree. His presence alone was your peace. He was your scary dog privilege. It was nice to know that someone had you.

One of your dad’s men annoying you? He’ll handle it.

Some guy at the bar can’t take the hint? Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Logan’s got it.

He was your dad’s most trusted guy and he was the best there is at what he did and what he did? Well it wasn’t always very nice.

Ignoring the growing urge to go over there and drag you away, Logan throws back the rest of his drink, whiskey on the rocks, and flags the waitress in the black cocktail dress down for another.

Taking a drag from his cigar, the ones he’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to have in the club but who the fuck was brave enough to tell him he couldn’t have it, he tears his eyes away from scanning the room when he hears you.

Your voice is soft as you politely reject the guy, so soft you almost couldn’t hear it over the shitty music and the buzz of people in the crowd around him, if it wasn’t for his mutation.

Apparently this greasy ass clown can’t take the hint as his hand clamps down harshly around your wrist pulling you closer to him as you try to pull away.

He’s on his feet before he can register what he’s doing.

He tries to tell himself you’re totally capable of holding your own, you can snatch your arm away and tell the guy off yourself but when he sees the shit stain lean in to kiss you and raise a hand as if to strike you when you turn away, Logan is seeing red.

In the blink of an eye he’s already across the room dragging the guy off his stool and out the back. His fist meets his mouth first, teeth cutting the skin of his knuckles but he doesn’t care. Bone crunches on bone as Logan continues to beat the guy into an unrecognizable barely conscious mess.

He doesn’t stop until he feels your delicate hand brush up against his back, and he turns to look at you.

You stand behind him as he turns until you’re damn near chest to chest, pupils blown wide as your eyes bore up into him from below his chin. Even in your highest heels you still don’t quite reach him. The guy groans in pain from the ground beneath your feet but neither of you care, far too wrapped up in each other to even notice he’s still there bleeding out.

"Can't make my job easy, can ya kid?" He smirks down at you wiping at his nose with a bloody hand.

He goes to say something else but it catches in his throat when he catches a whiff of something in the air.

God he could smell you.

“You doin ok darlin’?” He asks, voice sultry as he leaned closer to you inhaling.

This is dangerous territory, he knows it and so do you but neither of you can bring yourselves to care in the moment. It’s one you’ve both been skating around for months now.

“Y-yeah I just-“ you start biting your lip as you lose yourself in thought for a second.

“You ready to take me home big guy?” You ask, still biting that god damn lip between your teeth as you look up at him through your lashes like you always did when you wanted something from him.

“Always.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you get to your apartment he’s already on you, not even giving you a chance to get through the door fully. His mouth carving a path from your neck to your mouth as he walks you backwards towards your room, pushing you down to the bed beneath you as he wraps himself around you.

He clings to you, hands grabbing your hips as he grinds himself into you, nuzzling his nose into your neck, taking in deep greedy draws of your scent. Shea and cocoa butter mixed with the tantalizing aroma of you. Always that goddamn cocoa butter. He could cover himself in your scent if he could and it still wouldn’t be enough for him.

You're a whiny squirming mess as he kisses up and down your neck, one of his hands squeezes at your tits. He’s barely touched you and could already smell how wet you were, just for him.

Pulling away Logan looks down at you, eyes half lidded as he strokes a calloused thumb over your soft swollen bottom lip.

You had dick sucking lips, one of the guys had told him his first week here. He shattered his bones with just his fists, now the guy walks with a limp.

He didn’t want the think about that now, not when your hands we’re tangling themselves in his shirt. With a latch he pulls his shirt over his head as he watches you fumble with his belt biting your lip. He leans down to take it in his mouth once more before he’s shedding himself of his pants and underwear pulling yours off with them.

He wraps a heavy arm around your back bringing you to his chest as he puts you on his lap, the hem of your pretty little dress hiked up over your ass, as he nestles his big cock deep inside you. He sinks his teeth into your neck and the flesh of the slopes of your chest as the straps slip further down your shoulder with every thrust of his hips.

“Logan...” Your voice came out as a whimper as he trails his hand down to grip your ass.

“You doing alright sweetheart?” Logan asks between thrusts. He knew it was too much for you, but it was what you asked for, and who was he to deny you anything you asked for.

Reaching behind you he unzips your dress before he’s yanking it over your head, your bra soon joining in the growing pile of both your clothes on the floor. Never missing a beat as he kept plunging into you.

He’s so fucking big, and he knows it too as smirks into your mouth. He’s moving like a younger man. Not that you really even wanted anyone your age. Guys your age didn’t know what to do with a gal like you.

“Easy princess, eyes on me.” He said as your eyes start to close as you lose focus, he knew you were close by the way your gimpy walls kept fluttering around him. Grabbing your face with one hand he forces you to look him dead in his hazel eyes as he keeps up his pace. He pulls you into a searing kiss as he releases your face with a dark chuckle before grabbing both your hands in one of his.

“Keep ‘em here for me.” He says placing your hands over his shoulders as he lays you back on the bed as he locks in, the bed’s frame creaking beneath you at the strength of his thrusts, the headboard hitting the wall behind you with equal force.

Your neighbors were definitely gonna have something to complain about in the morning.

A chill runs down your spine when you feel him exhale a strangled breath into your neck, as he reaches down to rub fierce circles into your clit. He was getting close too.

Glancing down, a smile settles on his lips at the sight of your dripping cunt gripping him in its tight wet hold before he pulls away and settles back in again. He could watch himself disappear in and out of you all night if he could. He teases you as he continues his assault, calling you all types of sweet nothings as he watches your face contorts in pleasure as you clumsily try to keep up with him.

Your moans become muffled as you press yourself against him. That tight coil in your stomach tightening ever so slightly threatening to explode. Goosebumps prickling your skin as you shook violently against him as you finally let go dragging him along with you with a harsh grunt, nails digging into him desperately, most likely drawing blood.

“I know, baby. I gotcha.” He coos rubbing at your sides as you cry out, eyes glazed over with fresh tears. He pauses his movements for a moment to give you a minute but literally only for a minute before he’s back on you kissing and sucking down your neck before he pulls away.

“Hey look at me, kid.” He huffs as he leans down to kiss you. “We’re not done yet.”

“B-but you already-!” You start but are cut off by a moan that’s bubbled up into your throat as you feel him, still hard, as he starts back up again.

“We’re done when I say we’re done.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan’s ripped from his sleep by the sound of your front door opening and closing. Before he even has a chance to attempt to get up, your bedroom door opens suddenly, hitting the wall behind it with a soft thud.

“What the fuck!” Said one of your dad’s men as he stared at the two of you in shock. Another one came flying into the room behind him, gun drawn, until he catches sight of you, he looks back and forth between the two of you before he casts his eyes to the ground, going to pull the other guy out of the room with a visible limp.

“You wanna keep your mouth shut?” Logan hisses voice still laced with sleep as he pulls the sheets further up to cover your back. Thank fuck you were a hard sleeper when you were really tired.

“I-I’m sorry man it just-“ the first man starts to stammer as he asks unceremoniously “Did you really have sex with her?!” Smacking a hand over his own mouth just as shocked, but definitely not as pissed as Logan, was that he had said that, he stumbled to follow his companion out the room.

It’s here at your little table in the middle of your kitchen, that Logan finds the two goons. They both jump to their feet at the sight of him, one albeit faster than the other.

“What the fuck are you two clowns even doing here?” Logan said gently, closing the door behind him. His pants resting haphazardly on his hips.

“She never checked in last night after leaving the club like she usually does,” the other guy says, turning away as Logan went to zip up his pants. Of course, how could he forget how much of a good girl you were. “Boss was worried, gave us a key and everything.”

“Yeah sorry man! If we woulda known-“ the other chimed in, his voice was starting to grate on his nerves.

“Did you really sleep with her, Logan?” The other guy cuts him off. He’s staring Logan dead in his eyes to answer him so he could run off and tell the boss, like he actually had anything on him. He was challenging him and he’d be damned if he let him get away with it.

“I did yeah, the fuck are you gonna do about it?”

[evilminji]

Actually? You know what would be darkly hilarious?

If, when the GIW can't get ghosts declared both malicious AND non-sapient/sentient? They push for "dumb animals" instead.

Which is accepted. Ghosts are animals. Checks out, says scientists everywhere.

HOW "dumb"?

What? Says the GIW, mid-victory high fives. They did not expect a follow up question. They SHOULD have, as this is the SCIENTIFIC community and that is literally their job, but here we are.

How. "Dumb"? The scientists repeate slower. What methodology did you use? What is your sample size? Are their different sub-species? Is this dimension like ours? Is Ghost the equivalent to Mammal? It says here their are humanoid ones.

What IQ are we talking about here and HOW DID YOU TEST??

A goldfish, parrot, and dolphin are all animals. WILDLY different levels of intelligence. You can't treat them the same. Technically speaking, WE are animals.

The GIW does not like where this conversation is going. Tries to shut it down.

.......well NOW the scientists are both offended AND invested. How DARE you try to push faulty science and hide the Truth from them! They're gonna do their OWN studies! *picks up the phone and dials that one embarrassing spiritualist friend they had in college* Hey! You still think you can summon ghosts? I'll pay you to try it for Science!

And like? As a Ghost? It's degrading as hell. But ALSO these fuckos just Whoopsie'd you into having both protections under the law, since animal abuse IS illegal, AND just put the ENTIRE planets scientific community on their asses.... by accident.

So you take a deeeeeeep breath you don't even need. Remember you're doing this for the little ghost babies and fluffy ghost animals. And show up at a research facility like "yes, hello, I am Ghost. Here for you to poke and prod at. Please ask me to name the object on the flash card or whatever IQ tests do these days."

Should you HAVE to prove your own fucking sentience? No. But? You do it. You're even polite about it. Ask for a copy of the study they plan to publish so you can BEAT some mother fuckers with it. The scientists nod in understanding and use the BIG font for your copy so it'll hurt more.

They've been there.

And just? Shitty people getting what they wanted only to have it blow up in their faces?? I see all these angst "but what if they were declared ANIMALS" prompts and I just?? Are we talking PARROT or goldfish!? One has the average intelligence of about a human 4yr old and the other is a FISH! People get RIGHTFULLY furious when you treat INTELLIGENT animals badly.

And would, in fact, adapt pretty easy to discovering one of said animal has become HUMAN lvl intelligent. It's easy to grasp the idea of human intelligence lvl dolphin or monkeys. Maybe there was some mutated strain, maybe in uetro tampering. Who knows. But if I tried to sell you a human intelligent housefly? Gold fish? Lizard?

You wouldn't believe me. There is some kind of trick at play.

So if GHOSTS are seen as animals? Everyone nods and then later? Someone comes in TV and very excitedly informs you "we found INTELLIGENT LIFE amongst the ghosts!" You'd believe it. Probably be really excited by your conversation starter for the day. Get a taco and move on with your life.

But? Having to willing sit for a barrage of testing? Is going to suuuuuuck so bad. Poor Danny. SATs all over again. For HOURS. At multiple facilities, just to be CERTAIN it's not a one off. All because he not certain he can insure good behavior from other ghosts and This Is IMPORTANT. He ALSO can't be certain it's even SAFE.

Might be a trap.

But if he has to do it again and again and again? Mexico to Bavaria to China to the Maldives? If this is what it takes for the scientific community to bitchslap the GIW into ORBIT before the UN? Hand him that pencil.

He has no where more important to be.

@hdgnj @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation @ailithnight @the-witchhunter

[crispyjenkins]

@catamaranthenonnewtonianfluid

#i am a sucker for both creche clan pals (adoptees included) and the force strands philosophy/functionalities <3#wait im already going two directions #nevermind third one: theres something absolutely delightfully speedrunner about obi landing in the past while thinking#about what he'd change and SWISH here you are off you go#yeah i read the manual (future knowledge) and there's actually a ton of corners you can cut#plus its not a cheat if it was already coded and now i have Shielding Plus and also who the big names are#and theres this glitch where if you go after fett early you can bork the mand'alor title and reset it onto your avatar yeah #ANYWAY i love the update and lumi and obi binding over their visions and their slightly heartbreaking divergence in how theyre handled#(did i imagine that clown makeup meme with yoda and the other Very Set InTheir Ways masters going “physical and living force are the ones#that can be specialised in we know stay in the present but not that present you must)#yeah i did#and now lumi AND quin AND vhonte AND obi have very chaotic meetups incoming #vhonte do you feel better about following this spindly teen now that he has Plans cause i would#but the intensity of 'who hurt you' would go through the roof#these are not the plans of a kid these are P L A N S and hell yeah but how long have you been building up the corkboard with string#oh weeks *from a certain point of view* kid why is that qualified like that#dont say its complicated#the manda know what theyre doing but just an offhand about time shouldnt be this complicated#oh no i dont like that laugh #i really really love the#unseen and unseen present#and the looking at whats changed versus what is changING#love your writing <3

and then also to preserve some of my own tags from the last round:

#this is HEAVILY pro jedi just in case there's any confusion#but also have you ever met a bunch of academics with differing opinions about the same subjects?? fuckin nightmares the lot of them #thank y'all for all the love on this i'm havin a blast#anyone can ask questions or offer ideas!

been thinking about your speedrunner analogy for DAYS. am not funny enough to add to it, but just know the mand'alor bit has been making many a rotation even as i took a small break to read for a different fandom

so glad Vhonte's "who hurt you" vibes are comin' across 'cause that is absolutely the crux of her early relationship with Obi-Wan

like just. here's this teenager in brand-new but slightly-big armour (he knows what his future measurements are, and Vhonte's ba'vodu armorer, who I'm naming Oyia Vha Tervho, just sort of rolled with it, 'cause it's not like they can't adjust his armour in the future if he's wrong, though Oyia Vha doesn't think he's wrong), whose Mando'a is strangely accented as though a mix of Kalevalan and something else, who really is too skinny for his age and isn't afraid to admit he's been on the run for an extended period of time, who wears battle and violence like a veteran verd and not like a bounty hunter, who speaks of the Duchess by casual name and a seemingly-personal disdain; what is Vhonte supposed to think, honestly?

ooh ooh ooooh maybe Vhonte starts thinking Obi-Wan is the late Duke's bastard. which is a concept that most Mandos really don't care about considering how loose the idea of bloodline is, but Vhonte can all too well imagine the New Mandalorians caring about it. she isn't exactly wrong on that front, but obviously Obi-Wan just laughs at her when she asks about it

anyway, he can't talk about the Clone Wars, obviously, but does admit to some things about Melida/Daan, though maybe doesn't name it just yet, and some part of Vhonte is... relieved? that Obi-Wan has at least passed a facsimile of a verd'goten, though it should have been a controlled hunt with the support of his clan, and not actual open warfare, much less alone. having his solider birth gives him much more claim to being Mando'ade, though Vhonte can't get his clan name out of him, which only further convinces her that Obi-Wan renounced them, because like. he is educated in Mandalorian customs and culture, just... not all of it? with weird gaps or, far more often, just different ways of doing things than most Mandos, so Vhonte files away the idea of him being from some sort of covert for later consideration.

Obi-Wan doesn't care too much what conclusions she's coming to, because he knows she won't find anything about him, because so many of his quirks are from the clones. Bits and pieces of Mando culture warped by either the grand game of telephone of having 75 different Mandos teaching different groups of the clones different things, and also just... grown from the clones making their own culture, based on what the Cuy'val Dar taught them. Obi-Wan had some broader context from what he'd learned during his Mandalore mission the first time, and what he'd researched afterwards, and of course taught the 212th anything they wanted to know, but holds the clones' form of things even more personally. what he's showing on Mandalore the second time is a good mishmash, because he acknowledges the importance and necessity and respect of following the culture of the current Mandalore, of the people he seems chosen to lead, but he also won't abandon the parts of the clones that were theirs (their mourning rites being different, their naming rites being different, the subtle differences in their armour culture ["ownership" being much more aligned to their specific colours and symbols/patterns rather than the armour itself, since they'd have to replace broken parts or when new versions of the armour came out], the colloquialisms and slang on Kamino and between different battalions being so diverse, even their own mythos based on the little mythology taught by the Cuy'val Dar and just what the early batches came up with for ghost stories and to lull the cadets asleep [i imagine them steeped in ocean, rain, and sea monster imagery; as well as long empty white halls, too-bright lights, death in disappearance and death in losing one's memories, devils with too-long necks and saviours sharing their own faces rather than those of natborns, etc]).

and Obi-Wan knows he can't allow the clones' creation this time around, not if he wants to prevent the war. so he keeps all these pieces of them alive as best he can, because he needs them to still be alive, he can't conscience erasing them from the galaxy completely. his armour is covered in little pieces of Ghost Company, the patterns that made their armour theirs; he'll call babies tubies and never explain why; he'll murmur the little pre-battle prayer Waxer once taught him that preemptively mourns all the vod'e about to march away; he'll call droids clankers and any EMP device a droid popper; he'll change the sheets on a fallen comrade's bunk one last time, because the clones never got funerals and it was one of the few ways they had time to honor the fallen; he'll keep track of kills by notching them into the barrel of his rifle. he'll call going to medical "going to see Wupi (or Kix)"; he'll call Force-pushing someone "Rex-launching"; he'll call bacta "seppie snot"; in his head he still calls Jango "Prime"; he'll have a clip on his belt that he never hangs anything from; he'll use the clone's version of dadita/morse code (my own creation, gadi dadita, "wrist" dadita, affectionately called didi, which would have been used alongside battle Sign Language). and he will never once explain any of it, to anyone, and his people will assume it came from Melida/Daan or his old clan, and they'll end up adopting little bits and pieces of it because, well, he's their Mand'alor

hmm does make me wonder if i'll actually have him tell anyone about the time travel. in my alt idea for this, where Jaster lives, i have Obi-Wan tell him about it all, but i'm really not sure if that's a route i want to go in this version. i typically prefer my time travel to keep the secret as long as possible, i just vastly prefer that tension instead of multiple people or even everyone being "in the know", though i have of course read many amazing fic where that isn't the case (@batsutousai's fullmetal Reverti Ad Praeteritum is one such fic that i think did this really really well), but my preference has always been "as few people as possible know" (my all time favorite time travel fic, and easily top three fic of all time is the Batfam story Time (to Protect You) by Blueseabird2, which does this BEAUTIFULLY and even with everyone finding out at the end, they keep the tension of literally three people knowing SO WELL until then). what does this all mean for my own writing? feck if i know

i have also done NO thought to how the Jedi reveal goes. there's no way to avoid it, but it absolutely has to be after Obi-Wan has been accepted as Mand'alor by most people. Luminara and Quinlan (and Tholme) ending up there will obviously be hard to excuse without revealing everything, but hmmm........

maybe. okay so MAYBE Luminara actually manages to find Obi-Wan once she reaches Mandalore, or maybe he senses her and seeks her out, flabbergasted that she's chased him down, and she just sort of freezes as she looks at him because she. she can't see him in the Force. visually, she can see him, she can feel him, feel their bond that she had spent weeks strengthening on her way to him, but he just. doesn't seem to exist in the present, the way that everything around her always has. and of course future!Obi had been so much more comfortable with his use of the Unifying Force, but by consequence was a little less attuned to the Living and Cosmic than he had been as a padawan the first time, so her reaction initially surprises him, but then he thinks about it and is like "no wait that makes sense considering i'm not from the present". he's like this empty spot in the fabric of the now, seen or unseen, even though Luminara knows he's there, and Obi-Wan realises he can't not tell her, not when she can literally tell he's out of place in the universe

i also like the idea of Quinlan not being able to sense anything from him with his psychometry. which maybe should be aligned to the Unifying, but i think it'd be funky and actually more connected to the Physical, so that's where Quinlan is aligned, just because psychometry is weird and doesn't play by most Unifying Force rules. but it is still connected to time, and therefore connected to both the Unifying and Cosmic, and i think it'd be funny if psychometry just... doesn't know what to do with Obi-Wan, the same way Luminara's present-sight (should probably come up with a name for that) doesn't know what to do with him. like if Quinlan had touched something back at the Temple, he'd have gotten past!Obi-Wan's echoes, but anything future!Obi-Wan has touched since his time-hop just. doesn't register to Quinlan's psychometry, despite Obi-Wan's Force presence definitely being strong enough to leave echoes on anything he's touched

hmmm so I think Obi-Wan will need to tell Luminara and Quinlan, and then would include Tholme because Obi-Wan knows better than to think he couldn't use the help of another Jedi Master (and Tholme finds it so so weird to think of Obi-Wan as another Jedi Master, but it just rolls off of him, in the Force and in speech and in presence alone, Tholme often forgets he's talking to a physical sixteen year old, but his brain does short circuit a bit thinking of Obi-Wan, Quinlan's best-friend-since-they-were-actual-toddlers as that other Master). i kind of like the idea of Obi-Wan never telling any of his Mandos abt the time-hopping, though? like is there really any reason for him to? i don't know, i haven't fleshed out his relationships with everyone yet so i'm not sure who he'd end up close enough to to consider telling without absolutely needing to (Vhonte will be one of his closest friends, absolutely, as well as one of his staunchest supporters as Mand'alor, but hmmm i dunno) Silas, maybe? as the one closest to his physical age of the Old Guard?

ANYWAY: Keldabe. it's in ruins at this point in the clan wars, but i'm having Death Watch have a little holdout there, and obviously Obi-Wan had already swept through to get info on Jango, but he's not telling Vhonte that because he doesn't yet know how to handle the minefield that is the subject of Jango and his status as a Mandalorian. he offhandedly says DW is based off of Concordia, and Vhonte is definitely like "how could you possibly know that, and also DW is dead" and Obi-Wan is like "then we'll get to Keldabe and there won't be a base there where they're keeping backups of all their intel and is also where most of the DW commandos on Manda'yaim are" and Vhonte wants to know how he plans to take them all out if that's the case.

and he just sort of rolls his eyes like "no, we're gonna steal all their intel, and then leave" because he doesn't want to lose their element of surprise just yet, though he does know they won't keep it for long. he doesn't want DW knowing Obi-Wan is going after them specifically just yet, and knows better than to think just the two of them could take on a base of this size on their own, even hidden as it is.

the mission is... too easy. Vhonte is a mess of nerves by the end. she'd been nervous at first, of course, and vowed to make sure Obi-Wan never got in over his head, but he just. never got in over his head. he knows exactly where to go like he's been there before, and it occurs to her that maybe he has, though she can't fathom why he would have. they only end up killing two DW commandos that they absolutely can't avoid, and Obi-Wan knows just where to drop the bodies so it doesn't look like their killers made it into the base. it all goes too well, and Vhonte is a seasoned verd but she's still freaking out a little bit even as she flies them back to the homestead where the Old Guard had their summit, and Obi-wan is just. so fuckin calm. chill as a cucumber, even as he sorts through the mountains of information they'd stollen from Death Watch (and if the blue and gray commandos hadn't been proof enough for Vhonte that DW is still a threat, the sheer volume of intel they'd gotten certainly was), and he just super casually asks if any of the clinics that Jaster had set up to deprogram kids indoctrinated into DW are still around.

they're not, but Mij had been at the summit representing a small guild of doctors, field medics, and surgeons, and Vhonte figures he knows a few mind heale— wait why does Obi-Wan need a deprogramming clinic?

and Obi-Wan is confused like "where else are we going to take all the kids we save?"

and Vhonte is like "what."

(was also just reminded of tholme's fancast being Danny Trejo so like that is ABSOLUTELY a part of this au now)

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.