#{/there were communities for people to share interests; you could add people to circles and share your posts with a VERY customisable group

[blindedguilt]

//Cleared my inbox for the first time since I got it in like 2013, went down from 1,283 messages to 454 and lowering(?) and like //... Jesus fuck, I went so far back I actually ended up looking through the emails from my Google Plus days. Site was fucking horrible in retrospect, but godDAMN the nostalgia...

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 13 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Spanking. Dom!Elvis and dom/sub dynamics. Rough sex. ANGST. Panic attack (sort of?). Jealousy. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 5,073

A/N: Woo baby, here we go again, ya'll! I know some of y'all were feeling lots of things after Part 12, so here's the hopefully-interesting conclusion to that particular encounter. But be warned, Reader and Elvis are very much still going through it with a lot of big emotions and reactions to those emotions.

(Also, the convo about the moon is real *sob*, though of course not to our reader originally.)

You will also notice the addition of the Pink Scarf Series Masterlist! I've pinned it as the top post on my page as well as changed it at the top of all the chapter parts. This will hopefully help end the confusing navigation issues that people were running into. I'm sorry it took so long. I will likely add some fun post links for the playlist and photos from the different eras referenced in different parts for funsies at some point!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to Elvis Twitter, who stumbled into the Pink Scarf vortex and are now with us in the chokehold of '69 Pink Scarf Era Elvis and are supporting and sharing this lil' fic over there--I see you and appreciate you! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!)

Elvis rises from the velvet couch. He looks incredible, powerful, his tan face flushed, those electric blue irises blown black with rage and lust, a combination that sends fear and excitement like a bolt of lightning down your spine.

Your chest begins to heave as he undoes his belt. He is staring daggers into you as he does so. Jaw clenching, those pouty lips in a stern line, he unzips his fly, letting his tailored pants fall down over his narrow hips. Even though you know you can stop this at any time, the way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you pushed him too far indeed, and he is not going to go easy on you, and a part of you is glad for it. You look up at him, eyes wide.

“Open that dirty lil’ mouth for me, y/n,” he orders, one hand pumping his dick. Precum already glistens on the tip, and the way he says your name feels like an admonishment. Your legs go weak at the implication of what he is commanding.

You obey, mouth dropping open, and he guides himself in. Your eyes roll back at the salty taste of him as he fills you.

“No, no, baby, you look at me while I punish you. Gotta see that you’re learnin’ your lesson,” Elvis says, grabbing your hair and pulling up, forcing your eyes to open.

His words have more wetness pooling in your core and at this rate, you’re worried you’ll drip on the expensive, lush couch. You look up and Elvis looks positively godlike and gorgeous looming over you, his mouth popping open and eyes wild with desire as you widen your tongue over the bottom of his cock. You start to bring your hands up to fondle him, but he slaps them away, his eyes smoldering.

“No, you take what I give you,” he growls, then without warning, plunges deep, hitting the back of your throat.

Unprepared, you sputter and gag around his hot length, but he holds you still, his hand strong at the back of your hair. He moans and pushes deeper, and you begin to panic a little, tears stinging your eyes.

“Look at me.” You look up. “Next time you want to use this mouth on anyone else, I want you to think of my cock deep in your throat, just like this,” Elvis whispers vehemently. “I want you to remember that mine’s the only cock you should ever even think about choking on.” He pushes a little deeper for emphasis. You moan, the vibrations making him shudder. He pulls out, strings of your saliva clinging to his dick, and you can breathe again. You take in deep breaths because something tells you this is not over and that thought has your thighs quivering with need.

“Is that clear, lil’ girl?” he says, fingers wrapping in your hair and pulling tightly. He looks down at you like he could eat you alive, drunk with power.

“Yes, Daddy,” you concede.

“Gonna be good for me and learn your lesson?” he says, tapping his swollen head on your lips. You open wide and look up at him again through wet lashes, relishing in the way he makes you feel so small yet also like you’re the only other person in the world.

“There’s my good lil’ girl, so hungry for me,” he praises.

His words have you rubbing your thighs together, desperate for friction, as he pushes into you again. You are more prepared this time, but Elvis is still longer than you’re used to, so you gag around him. He groans low and long, those long dark lashes of his fluttering as his eyes drift closed, as though he is composing himself to continue. When he opens his eyes again, the lust in them is so palpable that it sends a searing heat rolling over you, spreading through your body like wildfire. He begins fucking your face unrelentingly, holding your head fast as he plows in so deep that the hairs at his base tickle your lips. He pulls out enough to let you breathe and checks in with you nonverbally before disciplining you again, his length sliding down your throat, filling you in a way you never imagined possible.

“Relax that throat, honey,” Elvis encourages you. “Doin’ so good, baby, taking your punishment,” he murmurs, looking down at you, eyes inebriated with you as he fucks your mouth.

You know you are a mess, tears streaming down your face, covered in spit, with absolutely obscene sounds coming from your mouth as he uses you in a way that no man has before. But you don’t care because all of Elvis Presley’s attention is on you, you are making him feel good, his dick is down your throat, and god, that makes you want to come undone.

His pace quickens and you feel him tense all over, his legs beginning to shudder, and you know he’s close. His lips tremble and curl as he grits his teeth, those bedroom eyes falling shut as his grip in your hair tightens and stills you.

“You’re gonna hold on to it for me, baby…aw, hell!” he cries out, eyes rolling back, and you feel him pulse, his warm salty cum hitting the back of your throat. You obey, trying not to choke as he fills you up, pumping his frustration and possessiveness into you. Holding his cum in your mouth, you wait patiently as he pulls himself out of you.

He catches himself so he doesn’t collapse on top of you, his gorgeous blues blinking slowly as he comes back down to earth, taking you in. You’ve never seen something so sexy in your life as seeing him come apart.

“Open your mouth,” Elvis commands, looking at you intensely and once seeing the pool of his desire there, he nods approvingly. “Swallow,” he orders, tapping your chin closed with his index finger, and you do, making a show of gulping it down. He grabs your chin, those still wounded eyes trapping you in their gaze. “You ain’t never gonna spit me out, are ya, baby?”

You know he’s referring to what you said you did with Jack. He’s still not happy about it, his voice both authoritative and hurt.

“No, Daddy,” you respond. You don’t want anyone but Elvis ever again, if you can possibly help it, though you don’t know how realistic that is. But you don’t want to think about that now.

He grunts and runs his thumb over your bottom lip. The heated way he looks at you lets you know he’s not done with you yet.

“Such a good lil’ girl for Daddy,” he praises, “Takin’ your lessons so well.” He runs his fingers through your hair, then effortlessly pulls you up to standing. You are so close to him, but not touching, reminding you of that moment a mere week ago in the bar the night of the opening of his show. How you had practically rolled up his body, the teasing tension between you thick but much more innocent than it is now. Now, his assertive essence envelops you to the point of dizziness, your physical need for him slick between your thighs and the rest of you needing him on a level you’ve never needed from anyone.

Elvis looks down at you, eyes heavy but alert, still brimming with passion but unwavering. You bring your hand to his chest, but he catches your wrist before you can touch him with a tsk and a shake of his head. You cannot help but pout, your need growing exponentially the more he denies you.

Instead, Elvis sits on the sofa, kicking off his pants, spread wide for you to see his half-hard dick between his lean, toned thighs. Tilting his chin down and looking up at you in that famously cocky and alluring way of his, he demands, “Take of your dress.”

You blink for a moment, then realizing he wants a bit of a show, you turn and unzip slowly, your dress falling into a puddle at your feet. Your panties are already tangled there, from when he took his hand to your backside, and you step out of them, turning towards him in only your bra.

He just looks up at you through those classic rebellious but boyish eyes, reminding you of a time long ago. You can’t help but see the petulant young man in him, the one that parents hated and teenagers fell over, as he lifts his hand to signal that he wants you completely naked for him. You shiver at the sudden thought that maybe, just maybe, you could’ve had him like this a long, long time ago. That he could’ve taken you in that booth in the diner or on the lawn at his house in the cover of darkness, his young and less experienced hands petting you, luscious lips soft on yours, making you fall apart for him in more innocent ways.

And out of everything that has occurred in the last hour, that is the thought that really has you feeling hot all over, the one that brings you close to shame and the blatant realization that maybe you two were headed here all along. That these games you’ve been playing didn’t start a week ago, but nearly 14 years ago. That as much as you came to love Jack, it might’ve been Elvis who you truly fell for first.

It nearly knocks the breath from you as you remove the last bit of clothing from your body, exposing yourself completely for this mesmerizing man who has the masses in the palm of his hand, who has you in the palm of his hand. He beckons you to him wordlessly; he doesn’t need words, and you go to him as if hypnotized.

You think you knew subconsciously then what you know consciously now—Elvis Presley cannot be contained. He is beyond any other man in that he belongs to both everyone and no one. Trying to tie him down would be like keeping an eagle from flight. Somehow you sensed that in 1955 and let him go before you could even dream to tie him down. And now, more than anything, you want to fly with him.

He stops you as you walk in between his legs, looking over you with controlled hunger. His fingers dance up your thigh, teasing up to the place you need him the most. You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips as his fingers flit over your mound.

Head tilted to the side, Elvis speaks again, his voice soft but commanding, “Are you gonna be a good lil’ girl for Daddy, or are you gonna be a brat?”

You ponder that for a second, because honestly both options are tantalizing, so you try to figure out what he wants. Does he want you to submit or to fight him?

Finally, you decide. “I’m gonna be a good girl, Daddy.”

That seems to be the right answer. His lip curls up in a half-smile. With that, he runs a long finger ever so gently between your legs, barely touching your folds. You mewl at the sensation, body shuddering, desperate for more.

“Christ, baby, you’re soaking and I ain’t hardly touched you,” he smirks, looking at your wetness on his fingertip.

You wiggle a little, needing friction, something, anything. He stills your hips and shakes his head. “Uh uh, I thought you said you’re gonna be a good girl. Good girls ask nicely,” he grins.

“Please, please touch me, Daddy,” you plead breathlessly.

He nods, lust filling his eyes, as he deliberately runs two fingers back and forth through your sopping folds before circling over your clit. The stimulation after so long has you moaning, knees weak, nearly falling over into him. Your hips start to rock of their own accord, but his hand stops again and you whine.

“No, tell me exactly what you want, baby,” he coos, eyes heavy lidded but alert.

“I…please…Daddy, I want your fingers inside me,” you whisper, begging. You barely recognize the breathy sound coming from your lips.

“Like this?” he asks, his left eyebrow shooting up as he slowly slips two digits into your pussy.

You groan and nod frantically, but once inside, he does not move them. Frustrated, you buck on his hand.

“Back to being a brat, huh?” he says in such a way that you think he’s glad for it. He spanks your ass, causing you to hiss in surprise, squirming and clenching around his fingers. “So goddamn hungry for it, huh? Didn’t you learn your lesson, baby girl?” His voice is husky and dark again, and you want him so badly it hurts. You’ve had enough of his teasing.

“I guess I fucking didn’t, Daddy,” you say belligerently, impatiently, with as much sass as possible. Being good isn’t getting you anywhere. No, you want him over the edge.

In one quick move he throws you face down onto the sofa. “Guess I’m gonna have to wreck this pretty little cunt of yours then, won’t I, baby girl?” Elvis snarls in your ear, his hand at your neck.

It’s exactly what you want. What you need.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you gasp into the couch cushion, the soft velvet creasing into your cheek, and you hear him groan as though helpless to contain it.

With a loud smack, he hits your ass again and before you can recover from the sting, he’s got his dick between your legs. He’s already hard again (the man’s stamina is unmatched), which you are grateful for as he finally plunges into your pussy, filling you completely.

You cry out in pleasure as Elvis begins fucking the hell out of you, seemingly taking out every frustration and insecurity he has on you in the best of ways. He yanks up your hips, drilling into you relentlessly, filling you, hitting every spot of satisfaction along the way with his length. Your eyes roll back as you clutch at the velvet fabric under your palms. The squelching between your thighs is punctuated by his thrusts and grunts and growls.

Elvis, needing more of you, pulls out and flips you over. His eyes are wild, too wild perhaps, but it doesn’t matter. Those soft pliant lips of his crash into yours frantically before dragging down your neck, teeth biting at your collarbone. You wrap around him, nails digging into his back, scratching into his scalp as those lips scorch into your chest, suckling welts into your breasts, claiming you as his.

When he enters you again, it’s as though he’s trying to consume you from the inside out. Like he wants every part of you at the same time. His beautiful face rockets from one emotion to another—possessive anger to boyish insecurity to passionate lust to unbridled fear—you can’t keep up. You are along for the glorious ride.

Your pleasure builds but it’s not just chasing the high that has you flying above the clouds. It’s that in this moment, he’s yours, all yours, and there is no doubt that you are his. You don’t care about Jack or anything else. It’s just him. It’s all Elvis.

The closer you come to unraveling the more frenetic he becomes. It’s as though everything is being stripped away, leaving him vulnerable and untethered, so he clings to you. This larger-than-life man clings to you and all you want is to get lost in him. But he won’t let you.

“I’m…close…” you stutter breathlessly, needing the release he’s promising, needing him to shoot you far up into the inky black of the night sky.

“Y/n,” he pants, “baby, look at me.”

You stare up into his endless blues.

“Are you mine?” The question is not possessive, or part of the game, or even leading. It’s so completely honest and innocent you almost forget what you’re doing, the cliff you are headed for.

You don’t even have to think about it, it just comes out. “Yes, Elvis, I’m yours.”

And then your climax hits hard, so hard you’re almost blinded, but the way he’s intimately staring into your eyes keeps you grounded as he rides you through it. Your body tenses and then it lets go, and you can barely breathe because everything you’ve been holding in for the last week seems to release from you all at once, in an overwhelming flood of sensation and emotion.

Elvis is so intensely focused on you that you feel as though you might drown in him, drown in all these feelings. Everything seems to collide within you all at once and suddenly you’re crying as you come down, sobbing as your body gives way under the pressure.

“Baby? Oh, god, did I hurt you, baby?” he asks desperately, sounding frightened.

You shake your head, your shaking hand coming up to cover your face. “No…no, it’s…not…that,” you choke out between sobs.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Satnin,” he whispers in your ear, rolling off you and pulling you into his arms.

Satnin…

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself truly fall apart without trying to cover it up to make someone else comfortable or to push it down and ignore it. You let it overtake you completely, letting yourself be carried away on the flood of uncertainty, of grief over your failed marriage, your inability to conceive, and the feeling that you’ve wasted so much time on all of it. Your fears about opening your heart up again just to be hurt once more also surface, and with them your love, your love for Elvis which has been growing since the day you met, the love you are finally admitting to yourself, which is absolutely terrifying to you because what if it means that everything else was a lie? Was your life with Jack born from a life you knew you couldn’t have with Elvis? And perhaps you are doomed to love yet another man who cannot give you his whole heart?

And then Elvis goes and looks at you like that and asks you if you are his, and of course you are, of course, of course, is all you can think, over and over. But you can’t allow yourself to get lost in another man, especially not this man, but you feel like you have no control. You are being swept away by Elvis, regardless of logic.

You don’t know how long you weep for, wrapped in Elvis’ arms as he pets you and murmurs in your ear, “Satnin, breathe. Breathe, baby.”

You feel like the world is collapsing in on itself, but you anchor yourself to the sound of his voice, that crooning, distinctly Elvis voice, and the feel of his arms around you and you breathe. In and out. In and out.

“That’s it, mama,” he coos, still holding you tightly. “You just get it all out. I’m here.”

He’s here.

That nearly makes you weep all over again, but you continue to breathe through it, through your panic and your doubt until you begin to relax.

Finally, you are able to look at him again, your body feeling strangely light and floaty. Elvis looks at you with a mixture of concern, fear, and protectiveness, trying to comprehend what is happening, but waiting to take your lead rather than asking himself.

“I…I’m sorry. That was…overwhelming,” you breathe out, wiping the wetness from your cheeks.

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?” he asks quietly, brow furrowed.

“No, it wasn’t that, that part felt good…it was more like the physical release somehow broke through a dam inside me and sent this flood of emotion through me,” you try to explain, trying to make sense and reassure him at the same time.

He nods and waits for you to continue.

“I…I’m going through some stuff, baby,” you stutter out, “and I’m rethinking a lot of my life and what’s led up to this, us. My marriage is in shambles, and I feel caught up in this whirlpool of emotions that I don’t know how to piece through.” Your voice wavers and you clutch at him, afraid to spin out again. You can’t tell him more than that, not yet, even though you know he is wondering.

Elvis smooths your hair, resting his warm palm against your cheek, his rings cool against the burning of your skin. You sense that he has things he wants to say, you can practically see his thoughts churning, but he holds them back, not wanting to overwhelm you with them. And for that you are grateful.

“Will you come with me?” he finally says, getting up, putting on a robe, and holding out his hand for you. Confused, you take his hand, glad for it, as you are a little dizzy and unsteady on your feet. He holds out another robe for you, wrapping it around you gently, and then pulls you with him.

He opens a door you’ve never seen, one that blended so seamlessly into the wall, you didn’t know it was even there. He takes you up the dark staircase, your thoughts now running with curiosity, and then he opens another door at the top. It reveals a rooftop patio, clad with lounging chairs and all.

You gasp at the sight of the Las Vegas skyline twinkling with neon lights against the darkness of the desert night sky. You are so far up, you feel like you could touch the moon, and it makes you feel more lightheaded than you already are. You clutch at Elvis’ hand, and sensing your awe, he brings you to one of the lounge chairs and encourages you to lie back. He pulls another right up against yours and lies next to you.

There is silence for a moment as you both take in the night sky. The light pollution makes it hard to see all the stars, but some are still there, twinkling in the infinite blackness.

“Keep your eyes on the moon, y/n,” he says quietly. “Do you remember?”

And suddenly, you do.

*

Memphis 1956

It’s a hot and sultry early July night, and you are glad for the new swimming pool here at Elvis’ house on Audubon Drive. Your swimsuit sticks damply to your skin, despite having been out of the pool for a while, causing you to practically peel yourself off the lawn chair you’ve been sitting in. You managed to finish yet another glass of sweet tea as you watch Elvis, Jack, and Elvis’ relations mess around in the pool, but as twilight turns into night, you feel like you need a moment away from the roughhousing of the boys and the tittering of the girls.

You grab your towel and find a quiet spot on the lawn, enough away from the fray that you can breathe, but not in view of the fans camped out in front of Elvis’ house, wishing and begging for a glimpse of their new idol.

It’s mind boggling how quickly he’s gone from hometown celebrity to near superstardom in a year. This is his first real stay at the new home he was able to buy for his parents in this upper crest Memphis neighborhood—a far cry from the projects he grew up in. You are so happy for him, but he has been going nearly nonstop since the turn of the year. In fact, this is his first vacation from the insanity of touring and television appearances and recording sessions since everything blew up for him.

As you lay down on the towel, head looking up to the stars, you think of just how much has changed in the last year. God, a year ago, you thought you’d be engaged to Ted. That thought makes you scrunch up your nose. And now, well, now there was Jack, who was quickly becoming much more than just a friend. And, of course there was Elvis, your handsome friend-turned-celebrity, playing sold out shows that ended in riots with the girls tearing off his clothes and causing an uproar amongst parents everywhere with his jiggling on national television. He was even starting his movie career out in Hollywood next month.

It was all rather overwhelming. It was a wonder he hadn’t forgotten you all back home, but while he had definitely changed in some ways, fame had not changed his unwavering love for his family or his friends.

Suddenly, water rains down on you from above as a tall and very wet-from-the-pool Elvis looms over you, bending down and shaking his wet hair over your face to get your attention.

“Elvis!” you squeal, throwing your hands up to protect your face, “Ew! Stop!”

He laughs that boisterous laugh of his, pleased with himself. “What ya doin’ all the way over here by your lonesome, doll?” he asks, plopping his wet body next to you on your towel. He’s close enough that the cool wet of his arm brushes up against yours as he leans on his side and looks down at you, those eyes of his sparking in the dark. “Ain’t you havin’ fun?” he asks with concern and honesty, with another shake of his head.

You laugh and wipe the droplets off your face, knowing that making a deal of it will just spurn him on and likely get you thrown in the pool. “Yes, I’m having fun. I just needed a moment away from the fray,” you say, looking up at him.

Elvis eyes wander over you curiously, quietly, and suddenly you feel very exposed in your two-piece bathing suit, lying here alone in the dark with this beautiful yet goofy young man hovering so close. Those eyes of his are so soulful sometimes, so watchful, like he’s taking in every little thing around him, and right now that is you. A warm flush comes over you and you are glad for the darkness.

You want to speak to break the silence, but you can’t think of anything to say, your mouth suddenly full of cotton. While you and Jack have started dating and you are quickly becoming committed to that, you feel very aware of why so many young women are literally throwing themselves at Elvis, why he seems to have a girlfriend in every county from here to Texas. Your heart flutters. You want to shake the thought and the feeling away, but as his too-long wet hair falls over his forehead and his pretty baby face looks down at you, you feel nearly entranced.

Finally, he seems to have gotten whatever he was looking for by staring at you and flings himself on his back with a loud sigh. You let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding and scold yourself for thinking about Elvis in any more than a friendly manner. He is still close to you though, the side of his damp body nearly pressed against yours, and for a moment, you feel a shiver of gooseflesh rise on your skin in response.

“Yeah, I get that,” he says, almost startling you, “the needin’ to ‘get away from the fray’ thing. I feel like I’ve been in the fray so constantly now that I’ve forgotten what bein’ out of it feels like.”

You are both quiet for a moment, just staring up at the stars. It’s not uncomfortable, the silence, but to you, it feels charged somehow. Maybe it’s just your imagination. Regardless, your heart still flutters in your chest.

“What a beautiful night,” he breathes out next to you.

“Yes, it is,” you say quietly, keeping your eyes to the stars.

“Keep your eyes on the moon, y/n,” he says, almost dreamily.

You look over at him, confused.

“Seriously, baby, keep your eyes on the moon, and you’ll see a glowing blue ring appear,” Elvis urges you.

“Okay,” you say incredulously, turning your head back to the sky. Silently, you both stare at the glowing orb hovering above you for what seems like minutes. You wonder if he’s lost his mind a little, or if he’s playing one of his tricks, but then you see it—a bright blue ring, pulsing with the beat of your heart. You gasp.

“Do ya see it? Now, let yourself totally relax, and just focus on the space between the moon and the stars,” he says, his voice almost hypnotizing. “Don’t think about anythin’, just let yourself float. If you can relax enough, you can go right up there with them.”

So you do. You lie there and let yourself float up between the moon and the stars. You feel increasingly strange but also free and unchained from the constant thoughts that usually race through your mind at any one moment. You are enthralled by the night sky, flying high.

“How long have you been doing this?” you whisper in the darkness.

“Since I was a little boy,” Elvis whispers back, eyes still on the moon.

You look over at him, his face full of an innocent wonder. Then, he turns his face to yours, so close in the darkness that you think you can feel his warm breath on your face. “Do you believe me, y/n?”

You nod. With Elvis, anything seems possible.

“I promise you, y/n, I’m serious. People think you’re crazy if you talk about things they don’t understand,” he says, offendedly, as though he has very real wounds from that happening before.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, Elvis. I see it. I feel it,” you say, in wonder. In wonder not just at the night sky and your ability to float to the moon, but at the boy lying next to you, the one who is so much deeper than he appears.

He nods, giving you a vulnerable yet piercing look that shakes you. Then his cool hand grabs yours, as if anchoring the two of you together as you both turn back to float into the night sky.

*

“I remember,” you whisper, answering his question, looking into up into the same sky as before. It is years older and from a different vantage point but nearly unchanged in its ancient, endless beauty.

“Just relax and float, Satnin. Just you and me and the moon and the stars,” he whispers. Then he winds his fingers through yours, anchoring you together and you breathe. You try to let go of it all and just be, knowing that Elvis won’t let you float aimlessly away, lost in the sky forever.

Just you and me and the moon and the stars.

**

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[snailsandpuppy-dogtails]

I wanna talk about the dangerous language that spreads like wildfire every time a character not immediately introduced as queer lets on they're in a same sex couple or comes out on a show. Yeah, this is on my mind because of Tara Lewis. People need to stop using stereotypes as punchlines and "evidence." The only thing that should be said after someone shares that part of their life should be "cool" or "nice" or "awesome" not I knew because you cut off your hair and do this typically masculine thing ha ha ha. Those are gendered stereotypes. Gendered stereotypes are rooted in sexism and misogyny. As in "that's so feminine of you, masculine archetype, you must be gay." And don't even start with stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason. Would you say that if it were about race or sex? No? Good. Don't do it about sexuality. Ever met someone who said, "He's gay, he's so gay, just look at how he walks, talks, holds his hands" ? Yeah. Me too. And it's fucked up. Stereotypes are not helpful, they diminish and they demean, and they're meant to put this physical label on people so we can shove them into boxes for our own comfort. What happens when people don't fit into how society has categorized what that Type should look like, sound like, and what hobbies they should have? What happens when it's so fucking "common" (because people keep saying it is) but they just don't see themselves that way/ aren't interested in that/ don't like that style? It adds to the confusion for people working out who they are. By consistently, jokingly or seriously, perpetuating and spreading gendered stereotypes about queer characters we do damage to the community at large, and to people individually. They're queer because they work on cars or they're queer because they like to wear dresses is not helpful or supportive it's reductive. Often times these are things that also get said to kids in ways meant to mock them and other them and hurt them by peers. I could go on and on about this but it would just spiral as it's already started to circle. So, spn, cm, adventure time, everyone. Let's just be happy for queer characters and queer relationships, not speculate on who knew what how or why unless it's "they showed us or told us."

[psychelis-new]

Hello. I just want someone to talk to about my feelings.

This guy is my classmate since we were freshmen in college. I liked another guy when we were in freshman, until about second half of sophomore (I stopped liking this guy because it was an unrequited feelings) Then, he came to the picture. There is no clear signs of interest coming from him. Our interactions are completely platonic. Yet, I do not know why I felt a strong pull towards him. If I will compare my feelings to the guy that I previously liked, this is calm like a feeling of quiet breeze. My feelings for the previous one was intense and transformed the hell out of me. It was like a karmic connection.

Now, I treat this classmate/friend of mine as my inspiration and one of the source of my happiness. I mean, I am happy with the interactions that we have on whatever time. I cannot call out relationship as very close friends since both of us have different circle of friends. Yet, I feel happy whenever I talk to him. And if this will be another unrequited feeling, it's completely fine with me. I mean, before I completely admitted to myself that I have feelings for this guy, I already have decided that I accept the risk of getting hurt.

Things are smooth and we are doing good until a while ago, I just knew from his friends that he will be leaving to another country in a month. There is only a month left until this school year is finished. And he will be just completing this school year then he will leave this country for good. A month left since we will be seeing each other.

I realized my feelings for him just a month ago, and I never thought that all of a sudden, he will leave. I am starting to love myself more, I am starting to get out of my shell and comfort zone, I am starting to see the bright side of things, I am starting to romanticize my life, and yet, one of my inspiration will be leaving. Now, I am feeling sad :((

Sorry, I just want to pour out my thoughts and emotions, and someone to talk to. I still want to get to know him more, I still want to make memories with him, yet, maybe it will all eventually end in goodbyes :)

Btw, the same anon about the guy leaving in a month, I forgot to add that me and this guy were classmates way back in kindergarten, as stated by our mothers since our mothers are friends and have contact and communication through social media since then. But we only knew personally each other recently, in university, since we cannot remember each other when we were kids hahaha :)

Hello :)

You don't have to be sorry with me, pouring your feelings out is good for your health and I'm honored you chose me as someone to talk to about this. Thank you!

One thing I want to say (my personal opinion, so you may not agree but at least you know my pov) is that not all the karmic connections are "so heavily transforming and passionate and 'negative'": there are also good karmic connections through which we may heal something from our past lives as well and learn a lot. The fact that you knew each other as children and then you met again, is so very cute! And could mean that you had to meet again, even if you forgot about your childhood days.

I'm not sure you really want me to say something or you only wanted to write and let it all out, but... just in case... Having such a person that makes you feel calm and is a source of inspiration, and with whom you love to share and interact, is something very blessed. It happens to feel pulled towards specific people in life, and even if you two are only platonic, you're teaching each other something about yourself. These are the types of relationships (a relationship can be just an interaction between two people, it doesn't need to be labeled in a specific way, imo) that really makes you grow and opens your eyes because you're not aware of it all. It just feels comfortable. Sure, you know its worth and all, but you don't see well how important and changing it is (compared to a more intense and prolly attraction-based feeling as you had with the other guy) until something happens. It happened to me too, with one of my classmates. We were like besties, always searching and supporting each other (probably he was better than me at this, as I was a bit more closed off in "love").

But anyway ofc, to be able to fully love and be loved, accepting the risk of getting hurt and being vulnerable as you did, is fundamental. This is what I am saying: he's teaching a lot more about love and how you love and who you are, than the other guy.

I am very sorry that he will leave but... he didn't openly told you about it yet, right? I think he is probably searching for the right moment, and I am sure you will know more about his plans and you'll find ways to keep in touch :) You know, yes he will leave, but he can still be an inspiration for you even if far away (and it doesn't have to be forever). Keep working on your self love and all the beautiful things you're doing for you to make your life better in the meantime. And remember that happiness needs to be born also from inside of you. The fact that he is leaving is just probably another situation you need to deal with trying to find another pov to look at it. Imo you can still make memories and know him even when you're not in the same room/not in person: we have all the randomest apps that can help you talk and keep in touch with people from all over the world, so take this opportunity. And believe me when I say that physical distance is never a real thing until we make it so, it's souls' distance that matters. And until you keep your souls' distance close as possible, physical distance won't mean anything. If you two share a deep real bond, not even going on the other side of the world would mean a thing. But if you two are unrelated on a soul level, you will sooner or later stop talking to each other even if you live 5 meters away from each other.

I really with you the best and that you can still keep this relationship in your life for as long as you two need. Take care<3 and here I am.

[yegarts]

New Stadium LRT public art offers gathering space for community

Dream (2021) by Michelle Campos Castillo, Becca Taylor, Christina Battle, Tiffany Shaw, and Shawn Tse. Photo by EAC.

As the new plaza opens at the Stadium LRT Station, commuters and community members will be able to take a seat and enjoy one of Edmonton’s newest public art installations. Back in 2020, the public art selection committee recommended artists Michelle Campos Castillo, Becca Taylor, Christina Battle, Tiffany Shaw-Collinge, and Shawn Tse for the Stadium LRT Station public art project. For this project, the team identified an interest in uncovering, listening to and exploring well established narratives of the area and its shifting values of public space with regards to transit and the transitory experience of moving from one place to another.   

Their artwork, Dream, is comprised of 14 individual structures varying in colour and size, that come together to create a playful gathering space. Read on to learn more about Dream from artist Michelle Campos Castillo as she expands on the work and the experience of collaborating with the other collective members.

Tell us more about the concept behind this artwork.    From the very beginning we all seemed to propose building a piece that would serve as a gathering space, a place of interaction. We really wanted to oppose the idea that Stadium was just a place that people passed through on their way to work or a football game.  We settled on a constellation of seating that could accommodate anyone, regardless of age, gender, body type, economic and social groupings. And we especially wanted to give residents something playful and accessible to them at any time. The shapes are meant to flow into each other, inspired by our North Saskatchewan River, constellations and prairie skies.   What drew you and the other artists to apply for this public art opportunity?    It was Tiffany Shaw that brought the group together. We all have different levels of public art experience. Personally, I was really interested in the process of experimenting and creating work together; from the concept stages to creation.

How did you collaborate or engage with the surrounding community during the creation of this project? And how did your engagement shape the final design?    We met with numerous individuals from the community surrounding the Stadium LRT, including residents heavily involved with the Parkdale/Cromdale Community League. They gave us insight into the vibrant community living around the Stadium which validated our approach in creating a space that would welcome all – not just those passing through a couple of times a year to a game or event. We wanted to invite the community to linger and gather. Additionally, the center of the circle is open, as an invitation for those to perform or interact with those utilizing the benches.      We really wanted to give something special to the residents in the area. The station itself is surrounded by parking lots and full of concrete, so adding a bit of colour and playfulness was super important to us.    We hoped that this place would provide a sense of safety when moving around the station, so we constantly thought about ways groups and individual people would navigate around the artwork whether they considered engaging with it or not. Originally, we wanted to add power to two of the objects, but cost was prohibitive for this idea.   How did this group of artists come together to form this collective? What was it like working together on this project? Following this collaboration, does the collective have any plans to work together on future projects?    Tiffany Shaw brought the group together. I think we were generally fans of each other’s work and that’s why we all agreed to join the project. The biggest challenge was trying to schedule meetings between five busy people, but generally we share the same values around accessibility and serving our communities, so things flowed pretty well. It was really fun to share projects and images in the beginning, ones that inspired us to dream big. While the group has no plans of reuniting for future projects, there’s still people from the group collaborating frequently.

How did working as a group shape your work? Were there any surprising outcomes that came from it?     I think working in a group can help you take a concept beyond your own vision and limitations, and that’s really exciting. I think the project would look very different without these five individuals. Everyone offered a unique perspective and asked important questions that pushed the idea further than we would do on our own. I think working collaboratively can be very powerful and effective especially when public art asks to consider literally everyone interacting with the pieces.

Shawn Tse, Becca Taylor, Tiffany Shaw, Michelle Campos Castillo, Christina Battle and fabricator Will Johnson. Photo provided by the artists.

About the artists  

CHRISTINA BATTLE is an artist, curator, and educator in Edmonton. She brings decades long experience in the form of arts administration with a focus on participatory practice. Christina has completed a number of public artworks, most notably for the Blackwood Gallery (Mississauga, 2018), Nuit Blanche Toronto (2019, 2017, 2006), and the Capture Photography Festival (Vancouver, 2019). Her current research is situated around her recently completed PhD dissertation: Disaster as a Framework for Social Change: Searching for new patterns across plant ecology and online networks (2020).

MICHELLE CAMPOS CASTILLO is a graphic designer and artist born in El Salvador. She has completed various public art projects with the EAC; recent works include, Platanos, a set of three sculptures on permanent display at Belvedere Transit Centre, and artwork for the LRT Valley Line in the west end of the city, currently in the concept development stage.

TIFFANY SHAW is an artist, curator and registered architect. Her public art projects include pehonan (2018) at the Indigenous Art Park, Métis Land Use at Markham Transit Station in Winnipeg (2019) and family pattern at Kinistinâw Park. Tiffany was born in Calgary and raised in Edmonton. She has a BFA from NSCAD University and a M.Arch from SCI-Arc. Tiffany is a core member of Ociciwan Contemporary Art Collective. Her Métis lineage stems from Fort McMurray, Alberta via the Red River.

BECCA TAYLOR is an artist, curator and writer, of Cree and Métis descent. Her practice involves investigations of Indigenous community building, through food sovereignty, gathering, deep listening, conversation and making. She has experience curating and organizing community and site-specific interventions in urban and rural landscapes. Notably, in 2015 she organized a series of youth led public art works in Winnipeg’s North end and in 2018 she co-led land-based residency, Common Opulence, in Northern Alberta.

SHAWN TSE is an artist, heritage practitioner, and educator working in the Boyle McCauley neighbourhood since 2016. Shawn’s ongoing connection to Boyle McCauley are known through community centred projects like Film for the Future Youth Camp (2016-2018), Edmonton Living Rooms (2019), and his love for Chinatown in Figure 一二三六八 (2019). He is a member of aiya哎呀, bringing attention to Chinatown’s cultural erasure and displacement through public participatory art like Harbin Gate Remembrance (2018) and Gentrification Party (2019).

[9jaboizgistworld-blog]

What Do CFS Mean On Instagram

What Do CFS Mean On Instagram? "CFS" on Instagram stands for "Close Friends Story." This feature lets you share your Instagram stories with a small group of people instead of your whole following. The daily growth of social media has made it easy for people to talk to each other. But it does get tricky sometimes. Every day, people come up with new terms, which makes it hard to keep up with the changing trends in language. The fact that the same slang can be used on different platforms and in different settings is both interesting and hard to understand. To avoid awkward situations, it is important to know when and how to use these words. "Did you add me to your CFS?" "I still don't understand how CFS works." Have you ever heard someone say "CFS" without knowing what it means? Well, one word for these sentences that are going around is "CFS," which is now very popular on social media sites, especially Instagram. What Does CFS Mean On Instagram, though? How and where could we use it? Is there another way to use this word? Today's piece will look at where this slang came from. We'll also look it up on Instagram together.

What Do CFS Mean On Instagram?

The term "CFS" has been used on Instagram, but you may not know what it means. You have come to the right place. "CFS" on Instagram stands for "Close Friends Story." We were all, of course, familiar with the idea. For a short time, Stories let us share some pictures and memories. Some stories, though, are better told only to close friends. That's why, in 2018, Instagram added a choice for "close friends stories." You've been added to someone's CFS if you see their story in a green circle. You can add as many people as you want to your list of close friends, but they have to be people you are watching. That's it! You now know what "CFS" on Instagram stands for if you've ever heard of it.

Understanding "CFS" on Instagram

A Story About Close Friends "CFS" stands for "Close Friends Story," a tool on Instagram that lets users share stories with a small group of people they consider close friends. This gives people a more private place to share content, making sure that private or sensitive stories can only be seen by a small group of people. Users can change their list of close friends, which lets them control who can see their private posts on the site. Comment for a Shoutout In the Instagram community, "Comment for a Shoutout" is known as "Comments for Shoutout CFS." By commenting on a post, users can get a shoutout from the post's owner, which encourages more contact and community involvement. This strategy works especially well for making brands and users more visible and making them feel like they are linked to the platform. To add or change Instagram Close Friends: - Click on your picture on your page. - Press the three-line menu and pick "Close Friends." - Search for friends or choose from options to add them.  You can change this list at any time to keep it up to date with the people you know well.

How does Instagram CFS work?

On Instagram, CFS stands for "Close Friends Story." It's a tool on Instagram that lets you share your stories with a small group of friends instead of your whole following. How it works: - Creating a Close Friends List: - Go to your Instagram profile and tap on the three horizontal lines in the upper right corner. - Select "Close Friends." - You can either choose from Instagram's suggestions or search for specific friends to add to your list. - Tap "Done" once you've selected your close friends. - Sharing a Close Friends Story: - Create a story as you usually would by tapping the "+" button in the upper right corner of your homepage or swiping right from your feed. - After selecting your photo or video, tap on "Close Friends" at the bottom of the screen before sharing. - Viewing a Close Friends Story: - When someone shares a Close Friends story with you, a green circle will appear around their profile picture in the stories section at the top of your feed. - Tap on their profile picture to view their Close Friends story. Key Points: - Only people you've added to your Close Friends list can see your Close Friends stories. - You can edit your Close Friends list at any time. - People won't be notified when they are added or removed from your Close Friends list. - Close Friends stories have a green ring around them instead of the usual pink/orange ring.

Other Meanings of CFS

But in some areas, like business and even science, CFS means something different. Also, don't use this term when it doesn't belong. Read on to learn more about this well-known English phrase. CFS On sites for social media The phrase "comment for share" is also part of CFS. This is a common strategy that you can use on social media sites like Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube. But what does it mean? By using this word, we ask people to help us spread the word about our content and make it bigger, and we'll do the same for them. This is about how the link between commenters and content authors is growing. This phrase has been used by a lot of people on social media, especially social media leaders and fans. CFS in medicine "CFS" stands for "chronic fatigue syndrome" in the medical world. CFS is a disease that can make it hard to do normal mental and physical things. This long-term illness, which is also called myalgic encephalomyelitis, can make you so tired that you can't do the things you need to do every day. No one knows what causes this sickness yet, and no cure has been found. But it's still possible to handle.  CFS in sports: Do you like Muay Thai? Then you may have heard of the "combat fight series." In 2019, the first CFS event took place in London. There were a lot of MMA fans at this event, and they got to see some of the best fighters, like Lara Fernandez, Bernese Alldis, and Nico Carrillo, fight. CFS keeps growing and making history every day.

Using CFS to measure

"Cubic feet per second," or CFS, is a unit of measurement for how fast and how much water moves through a certain point in one second. You can also find the CFS by multiplying the speed by the size. To be the best at your job, you have to deal with numbers, people, and other companies all the time. If this sounds like you, you have heard of CFS. This is what "CFS" stands for in business. It shows how strong and profitable your business has been and how much it can grow. Stress about money? CFS can help. It tells you how much money you're making and what you can do to make even more. CFS in Manufacturing CFS, which stands for Container Freight Station, is a warehouse where a huge number of goods are kept until they are shipped in a container. You can send goods to buyers all over the world with the help of CFS. If you bought something from another country and heard the term "CFS" while you were getting it, remember what it means!

Conclusion

Finally, if a phrase goes viral on social media, especially a well-known site like Instagram, you should learn what it means and how to use it. CFS became popular on Instagram as you read, but it meant a lot of different things. Like in business, sports, science, and more. At first, it might not make sense, but it will make more sense as you read about it! Read the full article

[doctorbunny]

MILGRAM theory time: Haruka!

This isn't going to go super in depth (famous last words) but there's a few heavily debated parts of Haruka's MV I want to share my findings/thoughts on because I think this is my new special interest and during my quest to get best boy's song to 1 million views I have been looking over his first MV with a fine tooth comb so to speak.

Disclaimer: As the Jackalope said in the "This is the MILGRAM" trailer, we don't necessarily know everyone's crime from just the first video, its possible that a lot of things will be re-contextualized in the second MV, however I am not psychic or bilingual and thus will only be working with content released before August 20th 2021 and translated into English (which could cause some language/cultural details to be lost on me as translation is not a 1 to 1 process).

TW for discussions of ableism, child abuse, murder and animal death. Also this is really long so sorry to all the people that follow me for non-MILGRAM stuff

Firstly, I want to start on the topic of Haruka as a person. He is disabled. He does not have 'the mind of a child' (although he is 17, making him legally a minor in both North America and Japan). He is not just 'child-like'. And he is not mentally ill (well he might be, in the sense that many disabilities like Haruka's have strong comorbidities [where a person has two or more conditions but neither directly causes the other] with anxiety, depression and PTSD, but usually when I see people talk about him 'struggling with mental illness' they go on to refer to aspects of his disability). Sometimes on tumblr, people like myself, will see canonical traits written into a character and identify them as being traits associated with our disabilities/mental illness and headcanon them as such. Sometimes this even involves saying things like "It's basically canon!" Although we understand that these characters were probably not the result of a writer intending to write a disabled person. When I say that Haruka is being written as a person with a neurodevelopmental disability, I mean the writer intended to write a disabled character and wrote them in a way that they wanted the audience to pick up on. As an autistic person (which is one of many neurodevelopmental disorders and also something I probably didn't have to specify because who else would be writing an essay about a series they got into a few days ago at 11 o'clock at night) I really like how Haruka has been written so far. There's definitely some parts of him that have been exaggerated so abled normies can pick up on his disability (namely how his MV 's main motif is really child-like drawings) but the writers also included a lot of smaller details I appreciate like how it is noted he avoids eye contact when talking to other people and is depicted as nervously pulling at his sleeves in official artwork, or how he says he finds his prison uniform (which has tight straps) 'relaxing' and when he gets nervous/tense, he will dig his fingernails into the palm of his hands. (These last two potential being examples of 'self stimulation' [aka stimming] where a person seeks out specific sensory stimuli in order to help regulate their nervous system/emotions, in this case the tight uniform creates a comforting, secure feeling [you may have heard about some people preferring to sleep under weighted blankets for this reason] and digging nails into his palms sounds uncomfortable/painful but is done in an attempt to deal with a greater sensory discomfort caused by the situation/environment) I also appreciate the depth he is written with, he struggles to communicate verbally but in his MV and interactions with other inmates is shown to have insecurities, opinions and a consistent thought process (this is all basic character stuff but unfortunately not always present in disabled characters)

Also I want to add that (in terms of what we've been shown so far) Haruka did not kill anyone because of his disability/mental illness. Disabled people are not inherently more innocent than abled people. But there is no disability/mental illness where a symptom is that you kill people and real people have to live with the stigma when you speak carelessly and suggest things like "Haruka is the kind of mentally ill person who kills people as a cry for help" 🧂 (or at the very least real people have to read BS like that and cringe). TL;DR Haruka is less child-like and more onion-like (as in, he has layers) 🧅🧅🧅

Now is the actual theory stuff, oops:

Every prisoner in MILGRAM is supposed to have committed murder in some way, obviously considering Yuno just had an abortion (which i personally do not consider an act of murder) whilst Mu literally stabbed someone to death, this definition is stretched a bit. But it is not agreed upon yet who Haruka killed/how many people he killed or why he killed.

In his MV he is shown to have chased after his dog into a forest, seen something off-screen, then beaten something into a messy pulp with a rock. Some people think the dog is a red herring and that Haruka actually killed his mother/the girl from the fireworks show/his brother. I do not agree.

First: I believe Haruka when he says he doesn't have a brother. The MV literally starts by Haruka looking in the mirror and then switching between the him now

and a really similar looking younger child who just so happened to be a key feature of his memories (I don't have the vocabulary to explain it but its like cinematic parallels that establish this is the same person at different points of their life)

Its not impossible that this is Haruka's secret younger brother, but i think its unlikely. I saw someone saying they had to be different people because Haruka looks less happy than the child but like, most 17 year olds are less visibly happy than when they were 7 (or however old the child is meant to be). Life happens.

So when Haruka is shown pushing the child around and eventually strangling him, this isn't meant to be literal (homicide or suicide), but a representation of how conflicted Haruka feels about his younger self, who may have committed the murder (if you've ever been kept awake cringing at memories of something you said in the past and wishing you could go slap some sense into your former self, this is like that but 10 times more self loathing). The lyric "I am always repeating yesterday," implies he might think about this specific past event a lot.

Moving on, its pretty well accepted that Haruka's parents were abusive in some way and Haruka internalised a lot of it: he constantly apologises, he says in his interrogation questions that his one wish come true is that "[he] want[s] to be loved" and describes in his MV how when he couldn't find the words he was looking for ("you're unfair") one of his parents "would get angry at me and say “You’re hopeless.”". He seems to know its unfair but also still says he 'loves' his family, possibly mistakenly believing it is his fault, but also showing an awareness of his situation (and how his parents might behave).

Now, the MV is stylised in a way that makes certain details unclear, but there is one clear detail showing that Haruka's dog was killed

This is the first close up of Haruka and the dog. Haruka's mother is just out of frame supervising, but they look pretty happy. Notice how the puppy has a silvery chain for a collar. Somehow, this dog gets out of the house but only Haruka is shown chasing after it (whether his mother was searching elsewhere or didn't bother following her disabled son into the forest is unclear). Either way, young Haruka is now in the forest, unsupervised.

By the time he finds the dog, there is already blood, suggesting it was initally attacked by something else.

is this a sigh of relief from a boy whose finally found his beloved pet or a jealous weakling glad that nature took its course and he is finally free of that meddling mutt stealing all his mummy's attention? /j

I think this shock at the discovery that 'there is blood on his hands' could imply that rather than literally getting the blood from his dog, Haruka has seen his already injured dog and realises that if the dog got out because of him (he is previously shown to be aware his parents seem to blame him for everything) then he is the reason his dog is injured/dying and will be blamed for it. (this scene plays over the lyrics "It’s fine, though it’s really not It’s really fine, though I don’t really think so When I tried to understand it, You’ll make that disappointed face again" suggesting he is trying to avoid making his parents disappointed and letting the family pet escape into danger is something that could make them very disappointed)

now we get into rock murder (this is present-day Haruka implying that this is either: not how the scene really played out; the writers really wanting the audience to know that this was Haruka's doing and not someone else's; or this turns into a separate incident that happened much later [although note that the red sky and blue moon is the same as when young Haruka first appears at the start])

b the corpse is beyond mangled now, but its clearly the dog because the silver chain collar is still there, to the right of the body. (circled in red for your convenience :3)

My hypothesis is: Haruka didn't set out to kill his dog, but upon finding it injured (we don't know the severity aside from bleeding and also it not being able to run away from Haruka kneeling down above it w/ a big rock so it could range from treatable with a lot of vet help to already on death's door, TBH I don't think Haruka would know the difference) He knew he'd be blamed for this; made into a villain who let the poor puppy come to harm. He panicked and killed the dog out of some idea that it would make him the victim here (since he'd be found crying over a dog corpse, which might make a parent go comfort him rather than getting angry about what could've happened to the dog). This is over the lyrics: "I cried, I screamed I wanted to be a pitied and loved weakling I was in denial, I was in denial I just had to make sure I’ve become a victim, I’ve become a victim" (there's another theory that he was also jealous of the dog, which could work here too, since this is not some calculated plot; rather its a rash decision) This ties in with his Japanese song title (translated as Weakness) which is a play on a phrase sort of like "The strong eat, the weak do not" to become "The weak are eaten by society" or "The weak eat each other to survive" [once again I am reminding everyone this is based on second hand information from the youtube comments section (from users mitchki and Alphaistic) because I do not speak Japanese] This second meaning (The weak eat each other to survive) makes sense under the reading that Haruka killed his dog in order to 'survive' making his parents disappointed for the dog escaping.

Miscellaneous points:

We don't know where Haruka's necklace came from yet, it must be a gift since the most expensive thing he's ever bought was cotton candy. The younger child in the video isn't wearing it and neither is his mother or the girl in the purple dress.

Haruka's home seems quite big, at the start we can see a large flower garden outside the window and there's a forest in walking distance. This might suggest his family is quite wealthy

Haruka probably did go to school at some point as homeschooling is not a legally accepted as an alternative to public schools in Japan. (However it is estimated that up to 5000 families homeschool, this is uncommon) A lot (about 62%) of Japanese schools apparently have a 'special needs' classes and there are about 505 schools focused on educating intellectually disabled students (although I do not know which sort Haruka would've needed as whilst intellectual and development disabilities can be comorbid they aren't the same). Now, if children aged 7-14 don't go to school, their parents receive a fine, but its possible that if Haruka's parents are wealthy, they just paid it to avoid sending him to school. (This might imply they wanted to hide him or were generally ashamed of him in some way) However high school education (for students over 14) is not legally required and its likely that even if Haruka went to elementary/middle school, he hasn't been around people his own age in at least 3 years. As he seems quite lonely and glad that the other prisoners give him attention.

I don't think Haruka's parents are divorced and if they are, its not his father who left. Haruka mentions in the 30 questions that he thinks he disappointed his father. But still includes him as part of his family ("My father and mother and me"). A theory I've seen is that his father was disappointed by his son being disabled and left. but developmental disabilities (especially in non verbal and semi verbal children like Haruka) can be diagnosed before the age of 3, so I feel it is unlikely that Haruka would bring up his father if he left that early in Haruka's life

All MILGRAM prisoners have covered one of DECO*27's older vocaloid songs (DECO*27 is a well known producer who composes the music for MILGRAM) Haruka covered 'Two Breaths Walking' (https://youtu.be/puXLfVWrz2Q) which is about a boy's first relationship and how his mother's jealousy set him up for failure as the relationship becomes toxic (specifically it has some very funny out of context lines like "Whose breasts are you sucking on now?") so yeah, mommy issues: the song (Also: some people say in the song, the boy kills the girl at the end, but this isn't literal, TBW is the first of a trilogy of songs about the same relationship, it is followed by Android girl then Two Breaths Walking: Reloaded and the story resolves with the couple reuniting as adults and getting in the relationship again, although its not necessarily as abusive as before, its still implied to be codependant ending on the line 'We should live like oxygen tanks, sucking breathe from the words each of us exhale, until our last breathe')

In all seriousness, the scene where younger Haruka is walking through the city with his mother but it keeps repeating until older Haruka pulls the younger one away might indicate an attempt to focus the happier memories of his parents (since this is also over the lyrics "Why is it breaking? Tell me why? Please don’t change If I tried and couldn’t say it, You would get angry at me and say “You’re hopeless.”" which depict a worse scene) I think both his parents are still physically present but have become far more emotionally distant, not giving him as much attention, which exacerbates his loneliness from not having any friends his own age to talk to

And if one of his parents did leave? I think its likely his mother since she is shown disappearing out of his reach after the dog-incident (inferring she got angry/disappointed in Haruka anyway) This could also be where he got his necklace from: Its something his mother used to wear (although this is 100% a guess) and that's why its shown to be important to him

This one is just me, but i didn't realise until a rewatch that when Haruka is watching the younger him and the girl running together, the background has fireworks. Haruka mentions fireworks being a key memory to him so I wonder if this was one of the first/last times he got to make a friend...

On three separate occasions in the interrogation, Haruka mentions not liking animals. Despite this, he is depicted as sleeping with a rabbit plush and on his birthday art (I'd include that too but tumblr only allows 10 pictures per post, so here's a link) he is standing next to a giant blueberry and strawberry cake with two bunny themed biscuits at the side. Through my experiences of seeing Japanese fandom art on pixiv, sometimes rabbits are used to insinuate a character is cute and timid in fanart.

Meaningless details: Haruka sleeps with his necklace on; he sleeps on a bed and not a futon; at first I thought he woke up holding his plush's hand but his hand is merely next to the toy; and considering the state of the pillow and blanket, I wonder if he moves a lot in his sleep or if the is just because in this case he seems to be waking up from a nightmare about the dog incident...

Final note: I've spent so many hours writing this I don't remember if i was building up to any big finale or not but I hope you enjoyed reading this! Feel free to add on in the comments/reblogs.

[nonstoplover]

nightly shared cigarettes ~ ron speirs (band of brothers)

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request: Hello, I’m not sure if you’re up to another Speirs request👀 could you write something of him and the girl that the company has rescued from the german on their way or mission, this is just a loosely prompt that I have in mind haha😉 thank you in advance

pairing: ron speirs x SOE agent female reader

summary: when on patrol in haguenau, soldiers of easy co. find a captured british agent. until further notice she has to stay with them and in the meantime she grows closer with one of the lieutenants, someone who's fully inpressed by how badass she is.

words: 4.9K

a/n: thank you for the request, lovely anon. i'm always up to write anything with our sweet little grumpy kleptomaniac !! i hope you enjoy how i interpreted your request xx

also i just wanna note here how much i honestly respect the SOE agents (special operations executive), i did research on this and i'm- wow.

taglist: @50svibes​ @liebgotttme​

When Webster's eyes fall on the young woman crouching in the corner of the room they've just bursted in, for a moment all he feels is confusion as it fills his mind. He comes to an immediate halt, Martin almost colliding with his back. Soon both their slightly widened eyes move around her - taking in the stains of blood and dirt all around her ripped clothes, the bruises colouring her skin, the disheveled (y/h/c) hair that was probably once in a braid but now is falling in her face, the exhaustion written on her features even as she eyes the newly arrived group of men with careful interest.

Before anyone can say or do anything, she opens her lips and in the loud noise, in a quite rusty voice announces a short sentence. "I'm British."

The paratroopers of Easy share a glance, feeling even more confused than before. Nobody have told them about any British woman being in that building, not even in the whole town of Haguenau. Nevertheless, knowing that they have to hurry, Martin orders his men to get her too, bring her back along with the Germans. McClung leans down to grab her and lifts her up in his arms much easier than he's thought - she's unbelievably weightless, at least compared to the heavy equipment he had to carry around in the past month, or to the weight of his comrades when he had to drag one of them who got wounded out of the firing line.

When they get back to the other side of the river and inside the basement, he places the girl on the ground next to the two German soldiers and then the company seems to forget about her as Jackson's suffering keeps everyone's thoughts busy. Only after the heartbreakingly young boy passes away under the helplessly watching eyes of his comrades is when Jones has the chance to actually get a look at their captured foes - surprised to find a woman sitting there as it's been too dark outside and they've been in too much of a stressful hurry for him to cast even a short glance at the captured three.

He immediately calls Martin over to ask him about it, and after learning all the news the staff sergeant can offer, he sends the closest soldier available to get one of the Captains before squatting down in front of her.

"So you say you're British?"

(y/n) slowly raises her glance at the young man before moving her head in a small, weak nod. "Agent," she mumbles the word almost inaudibly before pausing for a couple long seconds, then adds one more thing. "SOE." And then her eyelids start closing. She's too tired to stay awake. Sleep is a too tempting idea for her to fight it in such a state. Jones calls for Roe, afraid that she might die right there before him - before they get to know any reportable information about her -, but the arriving medic reassures him that she's just on the way to fall asleep.

Speirs comes rushing in soon, casting a swift glance at the broken-looking group of boys as he moves to the back, only coming to a stop when he's directly next to Doc and Jones. They tell him all the - very little - news they're able to and he orders Webster to bring her to the company CP, saying that they'll keep her under watch and that when she eventually wakes up, someone's gonna interrogate her.

As Web's carefully moving with her in his arms to the other building, his ears catch an almost inaudible mutter coming from the girl and he instinctively leans in closer to be able to hear something maybe useful.

"Ich weiß nichts davon- (I don't know anything about it)" her voice cracks and her arm that's not pressed into the man's body jerks violently as she's fighting the obvious nightmare, her head whipping around. "Ich heiße Lotte! (My name's Lotte)"

Webster doesn't know what to do as she shakes unstoppably - should he wake her or not? With his grip tightening around her body to keep her from falling, he tries mumbling a few reassuring words close to her ear in hopes that it would help - and it seemingly does as her twitching around kinda lightens. Arriving to the CP, he lays her on the now free couch - with Lipton finally agreeing with Speirs' words to go to the back and rest in a real bed -, and after moving the blanket gently on her, Web moves back to the other side of the room to sit down there, keeping an eye on her as he was told.

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

The next morning (y/n) wakes up to the voices of several men quietly speaking around her, and for a few seconds the same edginess fills her body as the one she's been almost constantly feeling in the past weeks, but then her mind finally catches up with her ear and processes the words that are spoken in English - not the German she's used to.

She slowly opens her eyes, squinting at the sudden light even in the dim room and trying to remember where she is and how she got there. Just as faint memories of a grenade explosion, shouting American soldiers and being carried in the arms of someone with gunshots slamming into the ground all around enter her mind, one of the men notices her wakefulness and signals to the others to let them know as well.

(y/n) watches one of them rush out of the room while the rest of the group stays where they've been, on the other side of the room, in a loose circle. With her hands finding support on the sofa next to her body, she pushes herself up into a sitting position, her eyes never leaving the men in case they reacted to her movements. But they don't, all of them stay as still as statues right until someone enters through the doorway - and with a glance his way, she can wordlessly confirm to herself it's not the same one that has just left. The men seem to stiffen and stand straighter before the newly arrived one signals them away and except for one of them they tardily leave the room.

The officer - that one's obvious after a second glance at his uniform and seeing the way he communicates with the others - pulls a chair to the middle of the room and sits down on it facing her, while the other - who's face she finds faintly familiar but has no idea as to where from - stays in the back, leaning against the wall.

"I'm Captain Speirs," the officer says and her eyes focus back on him. "101st Airborne Division of the US Army."

He waits for her to answer, but she stays silent, waiting to hear what else he has to say - but it's hard to start this kind of interrogation for him, not knowing what to do with the woman claiming to be British who was captured by the Germans.

"Your name's Lotte?" First it seems like a statement, but the end of the sentence comes out more like a question and (y/n) raises an eyebrow in surprised confusion. How does he know about that?

"Lotte?" She asks back.

Speirs glances back towards Webster for a moment who simply shrugs, then turns his hazel eyes back to her. "You said that yourself in your sleep."

Ah, damn. This will get her in serious trouble one day - speaking in her sleep, chattering around.

"That's my code name," she nods, only hoping that she won't reveal too much with this information. "As an agent."

"Who do you work for?"

"That I can't tell you, I'm sorry."

Ron raises an eyebrow as a response and (y/n) lets out a sigh. "Look, I really can't say more, the most I can is that I work for the United Kingdom. For the Allies."

"You're British?"

"I am. Born in England."

Ron watches her tilt her head to the side as she speaks the sentence with a curious glint in her eyes. All thoughts that it might be a trap start to fade away the more he hears her obvious accent - that can't be learned if she was actually a German and only pretending to be English. Still, all the secrecy surrounding her, keeping her in a metaphorical fog from his eyes doesn't let the slight doubt disappear as well. When he doesn't say a word for more than a minute, another sigh escapes her lungs and she turns in her seat so her feet hangs off from the side of the couch and her upper body is supporting itself against the back-rest.

"My name's (y/n) (y/l/n), I volunteered to join the organisation in 1943 and had jumped into Germany in March 1944. Got captured by a group of German soldiers this January."

"What were you doing here?"

She turns her eyes to the ground, two parts of her mind fighting each other. One says she should answer honestly - these are American soldiers, allies, for Christ's sake, and she's already said a lot of things - and one says she should divert the question because what she's doing is a secret, one that she's swore to keep even if it cost her her life. Barely any people outside the organisation know about its existence.

"Well, since you won't answer, I'm gonna have to guess. Since you're a secret agent who's working for the British government, I'd say you were doing espionage and sabotage actions."

Oh my, she's said too much, everything about her has become obvious... She must be more exhausted than she thought.

Speirs stands up, and raising a hand pushes his fingers in his hair, deep in his thoughts. Though before anyone could say or do anything else, Babe Heffron enters the room and tells his superior how Captain Winters has asked to speak with him. Ron signals at Webster to stay where he is and walks out through the doorway.

"The Germans talked," Nixon announces as soon as Speirs enters Winters' make-shift office in another part of the same building. "They say the girl's a British spy."

"She won't say much, but that's what I figured as well," Ron nods.

"We're trying to get in contact with her superior, whoever it might be," Winters joins the conversation as he's systemizing the papers on the desk with his just finished reports.

"She's a part of a secret organisation, sir, so it won't be easy, I guess."

"Maybe we should let her use our radio to do it herself," Nix suggests with a shrug.

And that's how a couple hours later - during which Doc Roe finally got a chance to attend to her bruises and wounds, and dictate some hot food into her - she finds herself sitting in a different room, feeling much better already as her fingers carefully try to get connection with the HQ of the Special Operations Executive under the watchful eyes of a few American soldiers.

In the end (y/n)'s ordered to stay with the company that has found her until she got better, wounds healed and strength back to normal before getting further orders. They have to check first anyway if it's safe enough for her to go back to her previous position or if the Germans know too much about her already.

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

The next day Easy's pulled back to Mourmelon and she travels in the jeep with the captains - Winters, Nixon and Speirs. Since they've already heard the full conversation she had with HQ and so they know about the SOE, she's more willing to answer their questions about what she was doing in Germany, how she got there, what training she got beforehand, et cetera.

The more he learns about the young woman, the more amused Ron feels. He can't shake the thought that he's never met a more badass woman than the girl sitting next to him. All his life, when he thought about the female part of the population, he knew that if he ever got himself a girl, it should be someone strong, daring and fearless. And it wasn't easy to find someone like that - until suddenly this British spy appeared in his life.

After arriving, the soldiers get a proper meal first, then everyone's dismissed to rest anyhow they choose to. (y/n) goes back to the room they've assigned for her, still feeling the past weeks' exhaustion creeping up on her and after changing into the American uniform Captain Winters got for her - so she doesn't have to walk around in her torn, dirty clothes anymore - she falls asleep on the inviting, soft mattress. When she wakes up drenched in sweat and panting hard, it's sometime in the middle of the night already, everything's quiet around her and only the light of the moon comes in from the darkness through the window.

She stands up, stretching her muscles and trying to calm her shaking body before slipping on her boots again and putting on the probably unused - almost still crispy - jacket before silently moving out of the room. The cold, February night air fills her lungs and cools her warm and sweaty skin under a short second immediately after she exits the building. Slowly starting to walk next to the wall, she lets herself drown in her thoughts again.

"You runnin' away?" A voice asks from the dark after she mindlessly turns in a corner, making her jump and press her palms against her chest, her eyes wide and heartbeat going so fast as if she's just run a marathon.

As she tries to catch her breath, her glance lands on a burning end of a cigarette and moving a bit further up, she meets Ron Speirs' lightly amused, sparkling eyes.

"You scared the shit out of me," she admits, still panting. He says nothing, just continues watching her - a half minute later she gives in, rolling her eyes and answering his previous question. "I'm not running away, just wanted to get some fresh air. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

"Can't sleep," he shrugs.

"Nightmares?" (y/n) turns around to lean with her back against the wall right next to him.

"Maybe."

Glancing curiously at him, she waits for a while for him to say something else, but eventually figures that it's all she's gonna get from the man - he's seemingly not one to speak a lot and admit his true thoughts and emotions.

"You're not the only one," she mumbles, turning her gaze down to the ground under her feet as she mindlessly kicks away at random rocks scattered around.

He still doesn't say a word, and (y/n) starts to feel like she's annoying him, that her company is unwanted here but just as she places her palms flat against the wall to push herself away from it, a hand holding a pack of cigarettes appears in front of her eyes. With a swift, hesitant glance towards the man she slowly reaches up to take one and as she places it in-between her lips, Speirs raises his other hand, lighting the smoke for her.

At the sudden flash of light, he gets a better look at her, and his eyes swiftly move up and down her body, taking in the nearly literally breathtaking sight of the girl wearing a uniform, one that's almost like his. Even as the flame dies out from the lighter, the image is right there in front of his eyes - as if it's painted on the insides of his eyelids.

They smoke in silence for a while, both deep in their thoughts - his mainly consisting of how most men find women in fancy dresses and skirts, wearing high heels and make-up the most beautiful sight on Earth, and how seemingly he's just the opposite of that. A woman in uniform, not dolled up at all, radiating such strength and courageous confidence from her whole body that it feels like it's gonna consume him - that's what makes his mind spin and maybe even his heart skip a beat.

"Where are you from?" (y/n) asks a few minutes later, exhaling the smoke from her lungs.

"Brighton, Massachusetts," comes his answer right away. "But I was born in Edinburgh."

"You were?" She asks back in surprise.

Ron nods, taking another drag of his cigarette. "My family moved to the US when I was four."

The girl hums, falling silent for a few seconds as she contemplates his words. "Is it nice? In Brighton," she adds to clarify any uncertainty about her question.

He takes a breath, thinking over his answer before actually opening his lips and speaking up. It becomes the longest sentence (y/n) has heard from him - and it feels like she's finally able to see a little more through the wall around his heart and soul. By the time they finish their second cigarette, she knows about how he got to the 101st, what training they partook back in the States, and where they've been around Europe, what they've done before getting to Haguenau and - unintentionally - rescuing her.

And even though she feels like she'd gladly listen to him talk for hours, days, if she had a chance, a yawn takes over her features and she feels a sudden surge of sleepiness move through her bones and veins.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I think it's time for me to call it a night. Maybe you should try to get some sleep as well, you deserve to rest properly," she flashes a small smile his way that warms his chest even in the cold winter air.

Stomping out her cigarette on the ground, she raises her eyes once more - only to find him already watching her. "Good night," she nods with the warm look in her glance still apparent, then turns around and makes her way back to her room.

Speirs is left alone with the goosebumps on his skin - ones caused by the way she said his rank - and he stays there for a couple more minutes, thinking about their conversation, about the girl. Then he moves back to his room as well, following her advice - and eventually getting the best sleep he's had in a long, long time. No nightmares, no waking up after seeing his men die over and over again, no trouble falling back asleep with stains of blood and dead bodies appearing in front of his inner eyes. He just sleeps. Peaceful, as he did as a child, with the only dream that appears being one about a woman. Her.

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

The next night when (y/n) wakes up from her sleep, she almost instinctively puts the rest of her uniform back on, not thinking just walking towards the same place she found the young man the previous night. She doesn't even know why, but disappointment sweeps in her body when her eyes take in nothing but his absence. Nobody's there, just her.

"Want a smoke?" The familiar voice of Speirs enters her ears only a few seconds later, making her jump yet again.

A chuckle leaves his lips as he watches her spin around, panting just as much as she did the last night. "Would you stop scaring me every goddamn time? You're gonna be the death of me," (y/n) scolds him with a frown playing on her eyebrows, but he can see the playful glint in her eyes that lets him know that she doesn't mind it that much - that she's just glad to see him again.

"Sorry," he says with his lips curving into a smirk that says the complete opposite. As a peace offering he holds his pack of cigarettes out for her, similarly to the first time just about 24 hours ago, and then lighting it for her.

Conversation starts easier this time, even Ron's more willing to speak his mind, sharing his thoughts, asking questions. Time seems to fly as in no more than a blink of an eye (y/n)'s already stomping out her third cigarette. He hesitantly offers her one more, trying to convince the small voice inside his head that he's not doing it to keep her around for some more time. She shakes her head, but doesn't make a move to leave, just keeps on leaning against the cold wall, opening her lips to ask him yet another question.

Only a little while later, when a shiver moves up her body, leaving her shaking and teeth clinking, is when they suddenly realise how cold it actually is to just motionlessly stand outside, and this time Speirs is the one to offer to call it a night.

From that night, it becomes an everyday thing - or more like everynight in their case - for the two of them, no matter how tired they might be the next day when they talked throughout almost the whole night - until the sky started lightening, signalling the closeness of dawn. They stand there, in each other's company, smoking and sharing stories about their lives, getting to know the other more and more.

It becomes the part of his days Ron looks forward the most - sometimes he doesn't even try to get some sleep, just sits on his bed thinking until their unspoken time of meeting comes. She's always joking around, leaving sarcastic comments whenever she has a chance - leaving him amused by how optimistic she can be from time to time even in such terrible times, after all the things she's gone through.

Her quietly ringing giggle and her full-on, bubbling laughter soon become his favourite sounds he's ever heard in his life and he finds himself trying to make jokes himself, coming up with all kinds of funny stories he can just to be the reason she lets out those angelic sounds.

During the days, (y/n) spends her time with Easy company, joining them in whatever it is they're doing, making friends with the men - just enjoying themselves. One time she's just moving between buildings with Joe Liebgott, Babe Heffron and Chuck Grant when Speirs comes walking from the opposite direction, with about four or five packs of cigarettes in his hands.

"Will you leave some for me too, Captain?" (y/n) calls out to him with a mischievous grin and Ron has to bite back the smirk that's threatening to appear on his lips - both from the playfulness of her sentence and the fact that she called him that again.

The three soldiers next to her turn to look at (y/n) as if she's gone crazy, but then they only get even more shocked when their superior answers - especially when hearing and seeing the unusual merriness radiating from him.

"Sure thing, miss."

The girl bites her bottom lip to keep in the giggle, not turning her eyes from his until they pass each other, her cheeks turning slightly pink in the process.

"What the hell was that?" Liebgott inquires with a frown.

"I asked for some cigarettes," she shrugs nonchalantly.

In the next half an hour, the three paratroopers take it upon themselves to fill her in with all the rumours going around the men about the company commander.

That night when she arrives to their usual spot, he's already there. As soon as her eyes fall on him, her lips curve into a suggestive smirk. "It seems like I'm not the only one you like scaring the hell out of," she announces, drawing his attention to her.

Ron raises an eyebrow in question, and she explains in a couple words what she's heard from her friends in Easy that afternoon. He can't help but grin as his shoulders move in a shrug as the routine-like action of him offering a smoke and lighting it for her takes place - it's become such a habit that they don't need any words or thoughts to do it, their hands moving in instinct.

"If only they knew how not scary you are when someone takes the time to get to know you," she sighs.

"Someone as in you?" The corners of Speirs' lips turn upwards into a sly smirk. "You're trying to get to know me?"

"Hey, I didn't spend the past many nights suffering to get information out of you for no reason," she jokes, a small giggle leaving her lips.

"If it's so bad you describe it as suffering, why do you come back out here every night?"

(y/n)'s cheeks burn and she blesses the darkness for hiding it as he now openly teases her. "I guess I like the company too much to give it up," she speaks quietly.

Ron's heart feels like bursting with happiness to hear that sentence - something he never thought possible before.

"Anyway, I might enjoy them being scared of me," he shrugs again, seamlessly diverting the subject as he doesn't know what to say to her confession - he can't just say that he feels the same way, now can he? Even if he does.

The girl raises an eyebrow with an amused sparkle in her eyes, forgetting about the seriousness of the previous moment herself, more than willing to let him change the subject in her slight embarrassment.

"You do?"

Seeing his nonchalant nod she can't help but laugh loudly and sharply and his free hand swiftly comes up to cover her lips and muffle the sound before someone in the surrounding buildings wakes up. For a couple seconds they stay like this, until (y/n)'s laughter dies off, first into small giggles, then into a content silence. Even then, his fingers don't leave her skin, and the more moments pass, the more aware she becomes of his touch.

It feels like her skin is tingling wherever she feels him gently pressing against and the remainder of her cigarette imperceptibly falls to the concrete that's beneath their feet. Ron can't help but wonder about how hers are the softest cheeks, the softest lips - the softest things his fingers have ever touched. (y/n) slowly, very slowly raises her eyes until the (y/e/c) orbs connect with his hazel ones and she gets lost in the intensity of his gaze.

Hesitantly he starts lowering his hand, letting it fall from her face, back to his side - but he doesn't move further, stays right there, close enough to hear and feel her small breaths as they move the air between them. Time seems to stop between them as they stand captured in each other's eyes.

"Ron," she whispers and his eyes flutter shut, heart skipping a beat. He doesn't even know how she knows his first name, but she has never said it before and now hearing it he can't help but want to hear it again and again and again. By the way his breath hitches, for a moment (y/n) fears she said something she shouldn't have, but then his eyes open again and she's taken aback by the emotions flowing in his sparkling orbs - so the fact she called him by his name was anything but bad.

Heartening up from his reaction she carefully reaches out with her fingers until they touch his, pausing for a moment to give him a chance to pull away. When he doesn't move a single muscle in his body, just keeps on watching her, she moves once more, snaking her hands in his and intertwining her fingers with his. For a second or two that seems like long hours for the two of them they stay like that, then out of nowhere Speirs lunges forward and hungrily presses his lips against hers.

She grips into his hands tighter before not much later they slip out of her hold, only to move up to cup her cheek and the back of her neck. He tilts her head further back to have a better angle - to be able to kiss her deeper, and she sighs into his mouth contently, her own arms moving up his back, clinging into his body.

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

For the remainder of Easy's time in Mourmelon, off the line, the captain and the secret agent don't spend another night talking outside in the cold February night, smoking. Instead, they do the very same thing inside, in his room - lying in his bed, in each other's embrace, sharing passionate kisses every once in a while. Sometimes to kiss the pain of the past or the uncertainty of the future away, sometimes only because they can't help the overflowing emotions in their hearts and minds - the only thing that seems to matter anymore is to feel each other.

.::the end::.

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[vaalthus]

Remthalas Theory/Sort of Analysis: The All-Seeing Idiot God, The Dreaming Chaos, The Path of Omniscience. Oh and like potential Lore Spoilers maybe.

With the conclusion of the Reckoning War, and having bared witnessed to Remthalas’ actions, I believe we have a better idea of what our aquatic Dreamfarer desires and intends not only for themselves but for the inhabitants of Lore as well.

We already know that Remthalas believes that the only way to achieve freedom, to dream, is to not be shackled. To not live out the dreams or whims of others. Unfortunately, this boils down to the lesson Remthalas got out of the idea is that people should not tie themselves down by basic laws or morals people tend to follow. Otherwise, the endless possibilities provided by true freedom are not possible.

This a concept that he has clearly taken to his very core given how angrily or impulsively he’ll react should he feel someone is ordering him around or someone else shirking their freedom in his point of view as demonstrated when he rebuked Notha twice for commanding him and when he killed Mr. Nameless/Twinkles.

So that’s it then, right? Remthalas is just an anarchist drunk on freedom? Wanting all of Lore to break their shackles and live out their own dreams never minding once of those around them, right? Well yes, but there is I think a bit more going on here.

I found a few things concerning about Remthalas in our fight with either Notha or Uaanta. One, is that he found the Avatars more interesting in their reduced orb state. Secondly, he didn’t appear to want to destroy them. Thirdly, is that regardless of who we chose to side with, Rem finds us interesting either way. Fourth, and most concerning is that he only found Uaanta truly fascinating if she merged with the Avatars. Lastly, and most revealing was his desire to see all the events unfold regardless of what the outcome was and then simply bounce when a conclusion was reached.

The reason why I find him being able to see Uaanta as a truly fascinating player in this conflict is to be some cause for concern is that being ‘interesting’ to Remthalas seems to, at first, amount to being someone that can bring about his idea of freedom, freedom from the balance the Avatars imposed. Characters like the Hero and I imagine Notha when he first met her and was introduced to her ideology. However, if this is the case, why find Uaanta interesting? She after all plans to shepherd away the very entities responsible for the very concept that resulted in his abandonment and have shackled so many others and their dreams. Why find someone who still intends to be devoted to the Avatars to be a person of interest then? Are they not still choosing to wear their shackles? To ignore their own dreams in the favor of the dreams of others.

 The answer I think is simple. In the end, it was just less about Remthalas serving his ultimate plan and Remthalas wanting a show. Remthalas has always long been aware of our capacity to come out on top over our opponents, including his own fellow members. Why would he suspect there was any possibility we would lose to our dear friend or even Notha? He didn’t because he knew we would win, but how can he enjoy the play if all the actors aren’t putting in effort for their roles. After all, are you satisfied by the just the ending of a movie or the passionate performances that it took to get there?

You see I believe Remthalas revealed what he plans for us and Lore all the way back when we first met in the Ex Somniis Fabula or The Story of Dreams quest. In his introduction, Remthalas posits the question of whether he’d be able to alter reality if the entities only referred to as “They” dreamed instead of just slumbering. With quite the determined, if not a bit demented, expression on his face I might add. There’s also one other feature to this and it’s the fact that Remthalas points out that we’re in his dream, or perhaps more accurately his dream space, and that it’s basically just a blank white box. (There are also the blue glowing circles on his robes that could symbolize having multiple eyes to see which are only visible when he’s in his dream form, but it could also just represent Kathool’s eyes so who knows) This is ultimately his domain and by the looks of it he can bring anyone into it and determine what is experienced within this tiny space. What the viewer sees could amount to anything but what they ultimately stand is just the box, the blank canvas. Here, Remthalas controls reality, what goes on in the ‘bigger picture’ so to speak. Here, Remthalas is as close to a god as anyone else that can control their own dreams.

 What I’m getting at here is that Remthalas doesn’t just want freedom he wants to see possibilities and the process it takes to getting to an outcome. What he wants is to dream and for everyone else to be the actors in his never-ending play of entertainment. To see the big picture change from one point to the other. These are details that I think were touched on when he mentioned that he enjoyed the dreams of children because of their ability to imagine possibilities to fill in gaps left behind by a world they are still very new to. Or when he appeared genuinely disheartened at the idea that he was not at rest. Or when he finds dreams to be not interesting enough when pointing out that Voyna can only ever dream of dragons due to her trauma with them. Or even when we fought him in the dream to save Sally and he noted that our dream was “Fierce, but one dimensional” Or the rather basic nature, in comparison to whatever else he wanted to show us, of Notha’s backstory and memories.

 What he wants is for Lore to be his dream. To fit all of existence in that little box of his and to watch things go wild. Which is why I called him ‘Idiot God’ because if true then Remthalas is basically trying to become Azathoth, the Blind-Idiot God from the Lovecraftian Mythos who created the entire universe in that series by simply dreaming, and who will kill it if he ever wakes up. A character/concept I still believe was being referenced when Remthalas asked what would happen if “they” woke up and questioned if the world would stop existing if “they” did. However, unlike Azathoth, Remthalas intends to be aware of all that happens when he finally dreams.

Azathoth is not the only eldritch god that Rem appears to share similarities with and to be honest it the one that makes him perhaps the most untrustworthy. The god I’m referring to of course is Nyarlathotep: The Crawling Chaos, The Dweller in Darkness, The Haunter of the Dark. These are just a few titles of Nyarlathotep, but I believe they would fit Remthalas for the similarities they share with the Outer God. For one thing is how both Remthalas and Nyarlathotep communicate through dreams to any of their unaware victims and pass on information that might shatter their world view. Furthermore, much like Nyarlathotep, Remthalas seems take more enjoyment in the dreams of others being messed with in a way that is typically nightmarish in nature. The most important similarity here of course is that both entities are more driven by spreading chaos and madness through people as opposed to their utter annihilation like other eldritch gods such as Cthulu. The reason for this is because in the case of both characters, I believe in Rem’s case anyway, their enemies isn’t so much other people but rather boredom, in addition to their own stagnation.

An interesting contrast I just thought about between them however is how Nyarlathotep and Remthalas spread chaos. As mentioned, Nyarlathotep does so through dreams by revealing, in typical Lovecraftian cosmic horror fashion, how utterly pointless the lives of his victims are in the face of the sheer overwhelming forces at play in the infinite and unknown universe and how they should just succumb to madness and/or become one of his followers, to amuse himself. Remthalas kind of does something similar when he suggests that morals and the lives people are currently living don’t hold much weight in the face of the grander schemes and roles of the Avatars. 

However, unlike Nyarla, Remthalas would do this so that others cast off their rules, still to amuse himself with the chaos that would thrive from that but in his view, they’d be getting something out of it. A sort of “You and everything you’ve known don’t matter so succumb to despair and madness and entertain me” vs “You and everything you’ve known don’t really matter so do what you want and entertain me” Chaos vs Chaos but different philosophies on how to get it.

The connections that can be drawn to other well known eldritch entities does make me wonder if when we see Remthalas next he might be trying to elevate his power on the material plane to that of the Primordials (Kathool, Uthuluc (probably not Uthuluc out of all of them to be honest), The Witness, Sciuridaehotep, the latter of which is just a Nyarlathotep reference) or is somehow going to get them involved in some way when his plans really start to get under way. If he does somehow involve Kathool in what he intends to pull off I imagine we might see Aquella again given that she’s supposed to overwatch his bedtime and I think it would fit to have a water take on another that was devoted to Kathool. I’d suspect she, or potentially another water elf, could reveal more of in-depth info on Remthalas’ servitude to the Avatars and later Kathool.

This brings us to the question of course of how exactly Rem plans to pull this all off. Obviously, we fit into those plans. However, with what just happened with the Avatars now being out of the picture and Myalos also being out of commission, what’s the next step? Where does he take us from there? The answer goes back to those “They” entities being referenced. Remthalas has brought them up, but he wasn’t the only one I believe. Celeritas mentioned them once when Sinnoncence made his move. I believe, I’m certain, that our dear Big Daddy named dropped them for us a long time ago. 

The one and only Aequilibria, the true gods of existence who are said to be slumbering even now. How Remthalas intends on exerting power over these beings is unknowable, but it would appear the best time to do so before they awake once more.

Which brings us to the Hero and the interest Rem has taken in them. It is clear the main reason that Remthalas has taken an interest in us is because of how capable we were in comparison to Uaanta at the time he was scouting us both out. We are an invested tool…and yet. I cannot help but wonder if Remthalas continued engrossment of us isn’t just because he knows we’ll be useful to his plans but also because Remthalas is straight up looking for a plus one when his plan would be theoretically completed. He did offer us to see where the currents of existence could take us.

  After all, why look at and enjoy multiple paintings in a vacuum or go to the movies by yourself when you can have someone watch it all with you. Then again, as I mentioned earlier, he could simply be viewing us as just another tool to pull off his plans and that is join the others later once everything falls in place

All of what I stated is more speculation than anything but if any of it’s true then we are in for a ride.

[xlehukax]

Thank You For The Music

Foreword: This is for the Sanders Sides Gift Exchange! Analogical Soulmate Au, as requested by @romantichopelessly! Happy holidays. And there’s also a playlist!  @sanderssidesgiftxchange! 

Ships: Logan x Virgil, (Background) Patton x Janus 

Word Count: 8374 

Warnings: SelectiveMute!Virgil, like one fight scene, Cursing, Logan’s ignoring feelings, it’s mainly the Logan and Virgil show... I don’t think there’s really anything! 

Summary: Logan’s been asked to assist a local student on campus. Having nothing else to do, he agrees: and so starts a connection that he would’ve never expected, and one that flowers more beautifully than he could ever imagine. (Soulmates can hear each other sing in their heads: Italics are either singing or sign language) 

~~~~~

Somehow, Logan thought his fourth year in College would feel different. Like he’s gone on some sort of journey: like he’s learned in the education manner but also in the lifestyle sort of way. 

It doesn’t appear that way. It seems like Logan’s the same. 

No friends. 

No challenges. 

Nothing to be excited about whatsoever. He’s going to college for the degree at this point, and the title alone. It’s why when the professor for his Microbiology class asks him to stay after, it shocks him. Especially so close to the end of the semester. 

Is he not doing enough? A quick inventory of his mind ensures that he hasn’t forgotten anything. The professor must need something: she’s taken a shine to him anyway, it probably isn’t bad. Logan gathers his things and then places them carefully in their individual places in his bag: once everything is where it belongs, in pockets and folders and sections, Logan presents himself to the professor. She smiles at him over the top of her laptop, eyes sparkling with mirth before shutting the lid of the machine. 

“Thank you for seeing me, Logan,” she grins. 

“I’m going to be blunt here: why have you asked me to stay? I assume that there is nothing out of order.” 

“No, no… your grades are impeccable, participation is great, and you’ve been fantastic. It’s simply that you’re so outstanding that I want to ask a favor,” his professor asks shrewdly. Logan hums for a moment, debating, before wincing in pain and clutching his temple. 

“Logan! Are you alright, dear?” 

“Ah, yes. It’s merely my soulmate,” he says by way of explanation. The professor smiles broadly. 

“How fantastic! Anything good?”

Logan quickly takes stock of the song: his mystery mate sang Overkill yesterday during Office Hours, and Sally’s Song the day before that while he was at his college apartment. He only knew because a) these were repeating songs, and b) he’d looked them up right away. Listened to them after the music fades to hold them close. 

It’s funny that he never once thinks that the original is better in any sense than the sweet song of his soulmate. His (Logan’s assumed it’s a he, based on his own sexuality and interests) music is so sweet: his voice is lilting and beautiful and it makes Logan feel so guilty. So guilty, because he must be the most beautiful man in the world and Logan hasn’t given him anything. Logan does not… sing. 

And in a world where you hear your soulmate’s singing in your own head, it’s a betrayal. 

“So? What is it?” the professor’s voice snaps him back to reality. 

“Oh, I’m not sure. It seems to go… oh, oh, oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting. Oh, oh, oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting. I’m a lonely boy, I’m a lonely boy,” he repeats the song in a monotone. The professor snaps her fingers. 

“Ah, The Black Keys. Lonely Boy, a classic!! It’s a good song, your soulmate has some bloody good taste. And, what are you doing, letting them be lonely like that?” she winks at him, “It’s quite the song.” 

“I do not see how this is relative to our conversation,” Logan deadpans, tired of this discourse already. If it has nothing to do with academics, he doesn’t want to hear it. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I got off-topic. Anyway, you know ASL right?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Perfect,” she smiles gently, getting up from the desk and dusting herself off, “There’s a student at the school, it’s his second year: he’s mute and uses primarily ASL to communicate. So far, he’s been surviving by being with his brother. But the brother is changing schools after this semester to go to a better nursing school and… well, we need someone to look after Virgil. Virgil Williams is the name of the student and Patton Williams’s the brother. There’s not a lot of students who know ASL here, and from what I’ve heard you don’t really participate in extracurricular activities. This would be not only a great way to flesh out your resumé but also simply a great thing to do, you know, humanitarian wise. Would you be up for it?” 

Logan considers for a moment. It’s true, he doesn’t do a whole lot outside of schoolwork: he does tend to have too much free time spent re-reading books. It doesn’t have to be anything special: it’s only helping this kid when he needs it. No problem whatsoever: he’s tutored people before, it’ll be similar. 

“I don’t see why not. Do I have an opportunity to meet with them before I agree completely?” 

“Oh, of course! They should be at their dorm now… here’s the dorm number,” she passes him a slip of paper and what this job will entail and waves him off. The dorm’s only a short walk away: it’ll be less than a ten-minute walk from the lecture hall if he crosses the Courtyard. 

Logan walks briskly: he doesn’t require the extra exercise due to his rigorous workout schedule but it’s always nice to stretch his limbs. He breaks into a light jog, his bag bouncing slightly on his back as he moves, and makes it there in exactly 8.7 minutes instead of 10. Logan wipes the sweat from his brow with a cloth before entering the dormitories and heading to the shared Williams dorm. It’s on the third floor, right outside the elevators. 

Logan takes the stairs. 

He combats a sudden influx of nerves at the door: swallows it deep and regulates his features. Professional, he thinks to himself. Be professional. 

His knock is answered immediately as if they were standing at the door. Logan’s presented with a man who breaks out into a broad smile immediately: his hair is pulled up into a small bundle at the top of his head, sparse brown curls sticking out haphazardly. He’s quite large and strong-looking: he’d be intimidating if his eyes didn’t have that same sort of sparkle that the professor did, his large circle-rimmed glasses hiding absolutely nothing. 

“Oh!! You must be the guy the Prof knew!! Hello! I’m Patton!! It’s so great to meet you!! Agh, I’m so excited! Well, Virgil too,” he grins. Logan blinks. He is… a lot. 

“Greetings. I am Logan,” Logan signs the words alongside the verbal words to demonstrate his fluency. Patton squeals and Logan winces. 

“Haha, sorry about that. Again, eee! So excited! I’ll introduce you to Virgil,” Patton holds the door ajar for Logan to enter, gesturing to the small pile of shoes to remove his. Logan gently unties his trainers and places them beside a pair of Doc Martens and Toms. They’re about as different as they could be: one is black and bulky with thick purple laces, the others a sky blue with little paw prints. Polar opposites. Logan diverts his attention to Patton, who’s been jabbering on about something or other. 

“-and there he is! Virgil, come on out kiddo- meet Logan!” Patton coos at what at first glance seems to be a shadow but in reality is a man who practically hides by the door of the conjoined bedroom. He’s encompassed by an oversized hoodie. 

“Hello, it is nice to meet you, Virgil,”  he signs out silently. Patton bites his lip to stop himself from speaking, but his noises of excitement escape anyway. Virgil signs back a meek hello: his hood falls off in the process, and Logan scrutinizes the face that he’s apparently going to be assisting for a while. 

Virgil has long dark hair: unkempt and uncut, old dye lingering stubbornly on the tips of it. His eyelashes are long, drooping over his cheeks, as he avoids Logan’s gaze. He possesses dark circles under each eye- so dark it seems intentional. Virgil tugs his hood over his head the moment the silence stretches a bit too long, and he’s gone: a rabbit ducking into a hole. Logan wishes he’d put the hood back down. 

In all regards, Logan means to say that Virgil holds palpable beauty. 

The idea within itself isn’t strange: Logan understands the various societal norms and standards that society adheres to beauty and usually makes deductions off of that, but there is… something about Virgil. Virgil’s not muscular looking, or overly lean, or anything of the sort. He’s simply…  enchanting. 

“Well, say something!” Patton shouts, breaking the silence. “Or, I mean, sign something, Virge. It’s too stifled in here: do either of you want something to drink?” 

“Water?” Virgil signs. His hands are shaking.

“I’ll have one of those too,” Logan adds on. Patton smiles at the two of them and finger guns. “You can hear, correct?” Logan asks, keeping his tone easy. He makes sure to enunciate each of his words, just in case. Virgil blinks up at him moonishly. 

“Yes,” Virgil says, worrying at his lip. 

“You don’t need to be afraid. I’m only here to help you,” Logan attempts to smile at him comfortingly: judging by Virgil’s expression, it seems more like a grimace. “Let’s sit down and talk about this, alright?” Logan sighs. He pulls out a chair at their small table and lets Virgil sit in it, pushing him in. Immediately after, Virgil pulls his legs to his chest and wraps his arms around them. He’s vanished completely into his hoodie. 

Logan sits next to him, rather than across: he doesn’t want to make him feel like he’s being interrogated. 

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for?” Logan replies, more of a question than an assurance. “My apologies Virgil, but you’re not trying to impress me. I am simply here to introduce myself so that I can begin to help you. I am here for you. You can take as long as you want.” 

Virgil peeks out from under the hoodie like a prairie dog emerges from a hole. Hair first, then curious eyes, then his hands. 

Logan smiles. 

“Now, let’s draw up a contract here, to outline what we’ll be doing this year. I do believe,” he retrieves the papers the professor had given him, “that you already have a solution for classes, so you will not require my assistance there. It’s more after school hours and personal activities, no?” 

Virgil nods meekly. 

So… Virgil just needs a… friend? A friend who knows ASL? Logan’s heart swells in his chest: Virgil just needs a friend. 

Logan doesn’t let his excitement show: because deep down, deep enough that he’ll never admit it fully- let alone say it aloud- he’d truly like a friend too. 

And as Virgil glances over the contract and bites his nails and spares him the smallest glance before Patton returns with two glasses of water and a plate of supermarket cookies… Logan can’t help but feel like this will become more. 

The contract is solidified: Logan will go to Virgil after his classes end, assist him with homework or anything else he needs at the time. Logan will be on speed dial for him if talking to people if needed. Logan will be paid a small sum per day, as well as the equating service hours. 

Patton can’t stop thanking him with tears in his eyes. Virgil doesn’t look at him once, spares him no glances. Rather, his eyes are downcast for the next hour that Logan’s there. He has a little fidgeting toy and presses it in his lap. Logan exchanges cordially with Patton, Patton cheers animatedly, and Virgil is silent. 

“If I may ask… why now? Is this not your second year of college? Why would you leave now?” Logan asks. Patton’s expression saddens. 

“Oh… well, I’m transferring to a better medical school after this semester and- I couldn’t leave Virgil here without any help- he waited for me so we could go here together and… I can’t leave with no safety net for him,” Patton says tearily. He wipes at his eyes and goes to squeeze Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil sinks deeper into his hoodie. Logan feels deeply uncomfortable. 

“So thank you, Logan: you seem so nice, and so smart, I’m sure that I’ll be leaving him in capable hands,” Patton assures him, and then looks at the time mounted on the wall, “Oh! You must be going now, huh? I’ll walk you out,” 

“Goodbye, Virgil. I look forward to seeing you soon,” he says curtly, before letting Patton lead him back to the door. As he ties up his shoes, Logan opens his mouth hesitantly. 

“You are… you are a good brother, taking care of your younger sibling like that,” he does his best at comforting. Patton laughs at him. 

“No, no! Virgil’s my older brother by two years. Technically, he should be at your level: but he waited for me to go. We’re really close and we help each other out so… Goodness, that’s the reason why I’m doing all this, reaching out to the teachers and organizing things for him. I want to -no, I need to- help him out. Like he’s helped me,” Patton explains. Logan blinks. This means two things. 

Patton feels guilty. He feels oh so guilty, and Virgil probably feels betrayed. Betrayed and alone. 

Virgil and Logan are the same age. 

~~~~~~

The end of the first semester comes quickly. It was only a few weeks away, and Logan spends minimal time with Virgil: giving the brothers space to make amends before he comes between them. 

On the last day of the quarter, Logan makes his way to their dorm room. Music had been stuck in his head all day: his soulmate singing the same song over and over again. It’s beautiful, of course, but nagging as he tries to focus. Logan debated singing a little “shut up please” but even that little snippet of musicality makes him nervous. 

And what would his soulmate think? What would he think, after years of silence, that the first thing he gets in return is a demand for silence? Logan shivers at the thought of it. The song goes: Time is an illusion that helps things make sense, so we’re always living in the present tense- it seems unforgiving when a good thing ends, but you and I will always be back then. 

Logan likes the scientific simplicity of it, and finds himself humming along as he swiftly walks across the courtyard to the dorms. His soulmate’s voice rises with the music: piano, he thinks. His soulmate is playing the piano and singing over and over and over again. In his mind's eye, Logan wishes he could comfort him: do the soulmate things that soulmates do. Embrace him and calm him and quell his fears. The music fades in time for him to get to the dorms: Patton’s already outside, bags packed. 

Logan is giving, or rather attacked, with a hug from Patton. 

“You are leaving now, yes?” he says, trying to make it seem like he’s not worming out of the embrace despite his discomfort. Patton releases him after a moment, worrying at his lip. 

“Yeah! I’ll visit as often as I can, call me if ANYTHING happens, and-” 

“Patton,” Logan grips his shoulders, “I can handle this. Go on now,” Patton nods tearily. 

“You promise you’ll take good care of my brother? You have to- to pinky promise, because if anything happens to him it’s going to be my fault,” Patton wipes his eyes, and there’s that intimidating that he always knew Patton had the potential for: “You have to promise. I love Virgil more than anything or anyone in the world. He is the kindest, most thoughtful person. You may not see it right now, but he is. Virgil is the best person I know. You have to help him when he needs it, even if he doesn’t want it,” 

“I promise, I’ll perform to the very best of my ability Patton,” Logan says steely, “I promise. You go and pursue your dreams.” Logan and Patton both glance up to the window of the dorm that Virgil’s in: the curtains are closed, and Patton sighs. Gives Logan a meaningful look. 

Patton juts his pinky in his face, and Logan exasperatedly links his. Patton’s face brightens, and leaves to the nearby road where a taxi awaits. In Logan’s head, a new song begins. It starts with a guitar and then continues with his soulmate’s angelic voice: “Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe-” 

Logan watches him go for a moment: and then he starts walking into the dorms to check in on Virgil. Logically, he’s probably feeling due amounts of stress and uncertainty in the new situation. 

“Nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world…. images of broken light, which dance before me like a million eyes, they call me on and on across the universe,” 

Logan’s heart feels full, an odd feeling: there’s something about the music and the situation that blends and rushes into his chest so wonderfully. Perhaps this is what it’s like to be with your soulmate: life and soul singing together in perfect harmony. 

“Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box, they tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe,” 

Logan takes the stairs step by step, enjoying the music as long as he can. 

“Nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world…” the music stops all at once, guitar too: Logan misses it for only a moment, before he remembers that it’s no passing street musician but rather his soulmate. His soulmate who sings so perfectly. The soulmate he’ll never meet. 

He arrives at the Williams’ dorm- err, now just Virgil’s, and raps on the door. He waits for a “coming!” but then realizes his mistake. He waits patiently for Virgil to open it: and when he does, it’s only a crack. Logan stares back at the scrap of Virgil’s face he can see. 

His lips purse. 

“Would you like to let me in?” Logan asks gently. Virgil’s face tightens nervously, and he signs something quickly. 

“I’m not okay right now,” he says. Logan swallows. 

“Can I help with anything? Or should I leave?” he keeps his voice as soft as he can. Virgil’s head shakes a vehement ‘no’. 

“Virgil… I-” he tries to come up with a reason, a real reason for him to stay. There is none. If Virgil says he doesn’t need any help then there’s no reason to stay. Logan swallows. “If you have no need for me… then I… I should leave,” he sighs. The door closes shut behind him with a click. 

Logan’s moving to leave when he has a new idea. He raps on the door once more. Virgil’s face peers through the crack in the door again. He rolls his eyes at Logan. 

“What is it?” he signs. 

“Fancy a game of chess?” 

~~~~~

Unsurprisingly, Virgil is a silent but deadly good chess player. He’s forward thinking and takes no risks that he can’t counter the backlash of. Logan is thrilled to play with someone so astute. 

“Checkmate,” Logan announces, after a long and difficult game. Virgil huffs in mock indignation, and knocks down his own king. “You’re quite proficient at this, Virgil. We should play more often.” 

Virgil blushes, signing a quick “Thank you” and then zipping his hoodie up further. Logan finds himself smiling at him. 

“Would you like to go again? Or do you have work to do that I can help you with?” 

“Again,” Virgil signs, hands quivering slightly. Logan chuckles and resets the board for another go. Virgil bites at his nails and waits. It’s too quiet without Patton’s incessant yammering. Logan decides to ask the first question that comes to mind. 

“Do you have a soulmate?” 

Virgil makes sweater paws and ducks into his hoodie more. 

“Oh- I’m sorry, is that a bad topic-” 

“No. I do not have one.” 

There’s been cases of people ‘missing’ soulmates: only to find that they were dead, or that they didn’t want a soulmate and merely ignored them. Or like Logan, who don’t sing whatsoever. 

“Ah… well, that’s a shame, Virgil. You’d be amazing to have as a soulmate, I’m sure,” 

Virgil flushes deeper, if it’s possible, and hugs himself. Logan finds himself smiling again: Virgil’s cute. 

Perhaps he said it out loud, because then Virgil’s growling at him and signing a “Fuck you, I am not!” 

“Maybe just a little bit?” Logan teases, he teases, such an odd and different thing for him to do. But teasing Virgil is different. It’s like another game and Logan doesn’t feel out of place or silly: it’s still serious.

“No! No!” 

“I think you are,” 

“No! What? No!” 

“Hmm,” Logan merely says, finishing the chess board. 

~~~~~

His soulmate has a crush. A sort of crush that’s teetering constantly between deep pining and attempting to squash it. 

It’s apparent, between the lines of “Fly Me To The Moon” and “despair”. In other words, I love you. Cause it’s not romantic, I swear. Fill my heart with song and let me sing forevermore. I want you to be here, but please don’t come near. You are all I long for, all I worship and adore. It’s not love, I swear. 

Today’s song is “Raincoat” (according to the internet) and if that’s not appropriate, Logan doesn’t know what is. Once more, Logan wishes he has the confidence to thank him for the soundtrack that’s been accompanying his life as it rises in joy each day. 

These songs… they’re a quick change from the dreary songs that had been going on a few weeks ago. Logan, ironically, doesn’t mind the sappiness, actually. Usually he would, but it fits his recent joy. 

Virgil’s exactly what he wanted, what he could’ve never hoped for. He’s smart, he’s clever, he’s shrewd, he’s not touchy, he respects boundaries… 

It’s perfect. Logan goes and sticks with him each and every weekday after classes end. They work together, they read together, they watch True Crime shows, they eat dinner together, they play chess and cards and backgammon and Clue and everything possible. They talk: and miracles upon miracles, Virgil seems to like him. 

Today is different. Today is a weekend: there’s no real reason that Virgil should need him, he’s never before, but he was invited to have lunch with him anyway. Even though it’s going to be snowing! Even though it’s freezing! Even though in any other instance Logan would be curled up at home with a good book and Star Trek. And rather… rather they’re going to get Hot Pot at the small university town in Logan’s ramshackle car. It gives Logan the strange feeling of hope rising in his chest that Virgil wants him around as much as he does. That Virgil enjoys it as much as he does. 

Enjoys the company, the quiet, the whole thing. 

He doesn’t even have to go up to the dorm: Virgil’s waiting for him outside the building. Logan waves after he gets out of his secondhand car: Virgil offers a small one in return and walks up to him. He’s all bundled up in several mismatched layers: though he still wears aggressively ripped jeans with skinny knees peeking through, he’s wrapped in several warm coats. 

Logan gets a sudden urge to press a kiss to his shaggy hair and hug him tightly, the slouching man at the ideal height. He squashes it quickly, blushing anyway at the mere thought of such romances, and lets Virgil into the passenger seat without looking at him. Virgil taps his hands on the front of the car, a rare grin donning his features. Logan swallows. 

Virgil has never looked more beautiful than he does right now. With a smile and all of those layers and his hood just barely adorning his head. Logan notices now that his makeup is different today: a sparkling purple rather than the usual dark tones. 

“Where to, Virgil?” 

“I do not care!” he signs excitedly. Logan chuckles. 

“How about sushi, then?” 

Virgil smiles and nods. Logan sets the car into reverse, and then drives out of the parking lot. Virgil fiddles with his fingers. I should say something…

“Would… would you like to listen to any music, Virgil?” Virgil’s head bobs an exuberant yes, and Logan gestures to the old car radio: Virgil fiddles with it, and finally ends up with a channel that’s not staticy. 

‘You’d be like heaven to touch… I want to hold you so much,’ At the beginning of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ Virgil sinks into his hoodie: Logan casts his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at Virgil- the scrap of his face that he can see is ruby red. At least the car isn’t silent anymore, he thinks to himself. Virgil’s quiet (well, not signing), and the song plays to completion and fades into “This Guy’s In Love With You”. Virgil, if it’s possible, seems to hide even more. 

“We’re almost there, do you want me to turn it off, Virgil?” Logan suggests. 

“It’s fine.” 

“If you say so… seems like you’re hiding but…” 

“Fuck you.” 

‘Say you’re in love, in love with this guy… if not, I will just die’ 

Logan turns off the radio as they turn into the parking lot of the local sushi joint. He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to Virgil. 

“Eat in or take out?” 

“To go,” he signs. Logan hums: maybe one day, they’ll be able to go out together for a meal. Virgil doesn’t like public places due to his anxiety, and Logan doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable and he’d never push him but… it is a classic ‘friend’ activity to go out for dinner together. It would be nice, but having a friend generally is nice and he’s not about to lose him over some stereotype. 

Virgil’s not ordinary, so why would their friendship be? 

“Come now, Virgil, let’s order,” Logan gets out of the car, helps Virgil out, locks the car. It all feels very normal, very quaint. He has to admit that he enjoys it, despite what one would think if they met him. 

Walking into the restaurant is normal. Ordering food (ordering for both of them)? Also normal. They wait for their sushi in the front, Virgil warming his hands by blowing on them. 

“Do you enjoy spending time with me?” 

The question bursts out of Logan with little warning: he doesn’t even register that he said it until after it’s out of his mouth. He’s about to rescind the words when Virgil responds. 

“Yes. Yes. I love spending time with you,” He blushes slightly, looking away, “And you make me feel safe.” 

Logan blushes: he grabs the newly presented food and goes back to the car- but Virgil grabs his sleeve. 

“Do you want to sit in the park?” Virgil asks, nervous after the flurry of hands.

“It’s freezing outside,” 

“I know,” he signs, his expression saddening slightly.

“There’s no one out here.” 

“I know, I can see. I’m mute not blind,” Virgil rolls his eyes, heading for the car already. Logan chuckles and clasps his shoulder: Virgil stiffens under his touch.

“I don’t think I said I didn’t want to,” he teases. Virgil’s eyes widen, and then a smile creeps up his lips. 

“Okay!” Logan and Virgil walk right next to each other into the park: Virgil signs quite fast that he rather likes the cold, and that the skeletal trees remind him of his favourite movie, and does Logan like Nightmare Before Christmas, and what about stop animation? And halloween movies? 

Logan chuckles and answers all of his questions, slowly fielding them back to him. Virgil never talks this much when they’re in public. It’s nice to see him opening up, Logan thinks to himself pridefully, Is this my doing? 

He doesn’t mean to preen, but it happens anyway. 

“Why are you doing that with your chest?” 

“Oh, apologies, Virgil. It was accidental.” Logan reels himself back in: it’s so strange to have to do that. He’s never done anything like that, something that breaks his front stage appearance. It’s odd: like there’s another, smaller, smiling, animated Logan inside of him. A little Logan that’s been ignored and malnourished for a while now. Virgil giggles though, and Logan stops amidst his musings to stare at him. 

That was… cute. Why was that cute? Genuinely cute, not teasingly. 

Virgil catches him staring and glares at him, though his cheeks flush. 

“What are you looking at, nerd?” 

“Ah- it’s nothing. Would you like to sit down here and eat?” Logan points to a random bench: Virgil shrugs and sits, holding his arms open for his food. Giving him his food and sitting down next to him is a battle of wills: if it was another other person, in any other situation, he’d excuse himself and leave. But it’s Virgil, and the man looks so thrilled to just sit with him: it’s his friend. He’s not abandoning him. Even if his emotions are crawling up his throat. 

The silence is amicable as they eat. The first flakes of snow start to fall, and Virgil’s attention is drawn to them immediately. He watches the snowflakes float down slowly, enraptured. 

“You’d think you’ve never seen snow before,” Logan chuckles. 

“Fuck off,” Virgil signs fluidly. He doesn’t even look at Logan, simply eats his sushi and quickly stands to spin in the snow. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Yes,” Logan agrees, as he watches Virgil laugh quietly and kick the powder around, as Virgil’s eyelashes are decorated with snowflakes, as he holds his tongue out like a child, as Virgil looks so free and unafraid in his lonesome company… “It’s quite beautiful indeed.” 

~~~~

Patton’s coming back in two weeks. The second semester is almost over, spring finally showing her colours after a frigid winter, and Logan’s almost nervous. The music in his head doesn’t help whatsoever to calm him. What if something changes? It’s not like Patton’s staying, he’s allegedly very happy at his new school, but… Logan can’t help but worry at the idea that something in their dynamic will change irreparably if Patton reenters. 

There’s nothing you can do about it, he assures himself once again, Just keep doing your job. Logan’s class lets out early, and he takes a brisk jog to meet Virgil outside his class. By now, Logan knows his schedule by heart and knows where to meet him. 

He waits outside the lecture hall, student after student exiting… he waits until it’s fifteen minutes after his class has ended. Frowning, Logan peeks inside: it’s devoid of people, even the professor. 

“Virgil?” he calls out into the empty room fruitlessly. Panic starts to rise inside of his chest as he calls for the anxious man. “Virgil? Virgil, where are you?” 

He searches each aisle of the lecture hall, calling Virgil’s cell phone. Virgil hates it when he calls him, but if he’d just pick up, it means he’s okay. Logan feels incredibly antsy as he runs out of the room, sprinting at full force (he’s a strong man) around campus calling for Virgil. He wipes at his face: he can’t have the budding tears block his vision. He needs to find Virgil. 

“Virgil, where are you? Virgil, I need to find you. Virgil, please please be okay,” he dashes around a corner and drives his heels in to stop. 

Virgil. 

His beloved hoodie in a secluded alleyway. 

Logan reaches down and grasps it: he’d never leave it alone, let alone in a public place. Logan shakily picks it up into his hands, feeling the fabric: it’s dirtied. He gently folds it and puts it under his arm.

He’s starting to walk away when he hears the muffled shout and the sound of a punch’s impact. 

“Oh, so you want to talk now, huh?” Another punch. “Fucker.” 

Logan walks purposefully in the direction of the noise: two large women and one large man are whaling on Virgil, kicks and punches and spit, who’s curled up on the paved ground in the fetal position. Logan takes out the first buff woman with a strong punch to the side of her face, the second with a well placed kick and shove. The man runs away, pulling his fellows along with him. 

“Virgil, they’re gone now. Are you alright?” 

Virgil makes a broken sob, holding his midsection with his eyes downcast, and spits out some blood. Logan sighs and bends down to Virgil’s level, and wipes his mouth with a handkerchief from his book bag. He gives Virgil his hoodie (which he takes to immediately) and rubs his back. 

I should’ve gone after them, made them pay- 

“OH MY STARS, are the two of you alright?” a fanciful voice calls out from the entrance of the alley way. 

“We just saw a trio of assholes running away with some wicked bruises-” 

“Remus, that’s not the point!” The two boys walk into the alley, one worrying with a red letterman’s jacket and coiffed hair, the other (Remus) morbidly interested with a large denim jacket and wild hair sticking up every which way. They have the same face, unnervingly, though the wilder one sports a partially-grown mustache and the other has a scar though his eyebrow. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll bite. Are you okay?” Remus asks, extending a hand to Virgil. Virgil looks away and tucks into Logan more. Remus retracts his hand with a shrug. Logan gives the both of them steely looks. 

“If you’re here to promote any more harm or mockery, I advise you to leave concurrently.” 

“Ooh, put those big words away, Daddy,” Remus mocks. His brother elbows him roughly. 

“Remus, be nice. They’ve clearly been through quite the ordeal! Greetings, I’m Roman, this is Remus. We’re in Virgil’s class, and we saw him being… escorted, one could call it-” 

“Forcibly swept away!” 

“-Thank you Remus, out of class so we followed along after reporting it to the professor. He seems to be in quite a state: is there anything we can do?” Roman finishes, rolling his eyes at his twin. Logan sighs and adjusts his glasses. He doesn’t want to accept their help. He can take care of Virgil by himself. But…

He takes a closer look at the poor beaten man, at his bloodied mouth and shirt and his bruises and scrapes and thinks beyond him. 

“I thank you for reporting it to the teacher. This is a heinous act, and I loathe to think of what would’ve happened if I arrived later or not at all,” he attempts to look thankful, but judging by their expressions, it doesn’t work. Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Could you alert the on campus clinic that we’ll be coming? One of you? The other can make sure they don’t come back as I take Virgil there,” with that, Logan takes a deep breath and gets to his feet, holding Virgil tightly in his embrace. Virgil turns into him, making a pained sound. 

It breaks Logan’s poor heart. My friend, my friend, my friend- he’s hurt. 

“It’s alright, Virgil. I’ve got you, you’re safe now,” he whispers to him. 

“Cute!” “Ick.” 

“Oh come on now, Remus, they’re precious!”

“I came over here for the bloody beat down! Not touchy feely lovey-dovey!” 

“I will never understand you. You’re absolutely vile,” 

“Ah, look in the mirror lately?” 

“Excuse me,” Logan growls, diverting their attention from their bickering, “Are you going to help or not?” 

“Ugh,” Remus rolls his eyes, “I guess I’ll go to the clinic.” 

“Goodbye, Remus- you see, he’s a bit of a pain, always been that way,” Roman sticks his tongue out childishly at Remus, who returns the gesture in a more lewd fashion. “Alright, let’s help the emo up,” Roman extends his hands to help: Logan turns away, holding Virgil alone. 

“He is not emo. Virgil is a selective mute,” Logan frowns at Roman. 

“Aha, it’s just a mere quip!” 

“Oh,” Logan swallows. They walk in near silence to the infirmary: How weird it is that the silence with Virgil seems familial and warm but with this Roman it feels charged and uncomfortable. 

“You aren’t a very funny guy, are you?” 

“Excuse me?” Logan glares at him through his glasses, holding Virgil tighter. 

“Take no offense, but I mean… you’re very uptight! Serious. Grumpy. Straight to the point. I’ll stop prattling on synonyms, but I think you get the point now,” Roman explains. 

“I- I’ve never thought about it that way. I presume you’re right,” he frowns. Logan’s never felt like any of those: he just likes working. And now he feels foolish: perhaps that’s the reason that he’s never gotten anywhere socially. Is it his inability to “quip”? 

Would Virgil be happier with him if he could? 

As if he heard his thoughts, Virgil winces in pain in his arms. 

“Oh! Virgil. Should I hold you differently? Are you uncomfortable?” Virgil looks up at Logan blearily: his eyes open in recognition and a full-face blush breaks out all over his face. Virgil takes a bruised hand to hide his face. 

“Awe look at ‘im! Debbie Downer is shy!” Logan whirls over to glare at Roman’s almond eyes angrily. Virgil turns away. 

“Don’t talk to him that way,” he growls. Roman flushes and stammers. 

“It was only teasing!” 

“It was hurtful, and the last thing he needs right now is that. So do me a favor and leave those quips to yourself,” he reprimands. 

“Yes, sir,” Roman salutes. Logan looks away from him and back to Virgil. 

“Hey. Why did those thugs hurt you anyway?” he questions. Virgil frowns. “You don’t have to tell me-” 

“No- I will. I was- I was singing in the bathroom,” he signs shyly. 

“Wait- how could you-” 

“Sometimes I talk when I’m alone. Or sing. I’m nervous around people, when I’m by myself it’s okay,” 

“Oh,” Logan shouldn’t feel so betrayed, he knows he shouldn’t: this is the way Virgil is, after all. He’s a selective mute. He can speak when he wants. And if he doesn’t want to speak around Logan well- it’s fine. It’s his choice. 

It shouldn’t bother Logan. 

“So those jerks beat you up purely for the angelic music of your soul? Their cruelty knows no bounds, if they were to hurt you for communicating with your soulmate! How dare they, those vile, disgusting, cotton headed ninny muggin ruffians!” Roman supplies, filling Logan’s silence with declarations of war. Virgil laughs slightly at Roman, rolling his eyes. Logan swallows his questions, his pleas for “what about me?”. 

Virgil can like whoever he wants. It doesn’t have to be just Logan. 

~~~~

Virgil had asked Logan to drive him to the airport to pick up Patton. Logan wanted to say no, to say that he didn’t want to, hell, just leave him at the airport but… Virgil’s face betrayed his excitement, and Logan couldn’t put him down. 

So now he’s waiting in the pick up zone with his car, waiting for Virgil to come back and completely ignore him again. Logan blinks.

Is that what this is about? 

Does some part of Logan, some illogical part that manipulates his feelings, worry that Patton would mean Logan’s out of the picture? Logan grips the steering wheel. It’s Virgil’s choice! If he wants to hang out with Patton, sure. Sure. It’s fine. 

Logan makes a low growl. 

It’s not fine. 

~~~~

And… there was nothing he could do. He stopped coming to visit Virgil during the mid-semester break: why should he? Virgil was with Patton. He’s happy. He doesn’t need Logan around… 

Logan hates it. He hates not going over each day, each class ending with Virgil’s tiny smile. 

He hates his soulmate, whoever he is, for singing so sadly whenever he wakes up. 

“What's the name of the game? Does it mean anything to you? What's the name of the game? Can you feel it the way I do? Tell me please, 'cause I have to know… I'm a bashful child, beginning to grow…” 

“Shut up,” Logan tells him quietly each time he goes at it again, “Shut up. I don’t want your questions, I can’t answer them.” 

Logan, for the first time in his life, isn’t happy doing his work. There’s no gratification from finishing something: there’s no hunched over man beside him gesturing wildly as he finishes so quickly. There’s no giggle as he presses his glasses higher on his nose: there’s no smack on the shoulder when he corrects his work. It’s so… so bland. Was it always like this? 

Before Virgil, was it always like this? 

Logan finishes his test and hands it in at the front: his professor gives him a confused look. Logan twitches as his soulmate starts to sing: “It's you I like… not the things you wear…” 

“Is everything okay, Mr. Adleman? You seem… listless, lately. Distracted. And you took all of the allotted time to finish your work- quite out of the ordinary, I’d say,” 

“I assure you, sir, everything is normal,” he merely says, before adjusting his bag and exiting the classroom. 

“Not the way you do your hair… but it's you I like,” 

“Shut up,” Logan murmurs under his breath, walking stiffly with his head down down the hall. His soulmate’s voice is beautiful, as beautiful as always… but Logan can’t bear it. He’s already dealing with so much! To hear his soulmate’s longing notes doesn’t help. If anything, it exasperates his issues. Logan is grumbling under his breath when he hears it: and suddenly, all his issues get worse. 

Patton’s in a classroom, with his teacher and a few students, singing to them: 

“The way you are right now… way down deep inside you…” 

“The way you are right now… way down deep inside you…” and his soulmate croons at the same time. 

“Not the things that hurt you, not your toys; they're just beside… you,” 

“Not the things that hurt you, not your toys; they're just beside… you,” 

They both stop at the same note, and Logan swallows. 

Patton. 

Patton, smiley, hazel-eyed, exuberant, talkative, Patton, is his soulmate? Patton, the Patton he’s been mildly despising for the past few days.

 I can’t believe it. But I presume… he has a right to know. And maybe we can make this work? 

“Ah… Patton,” Patton’s face whirls to Logan’s in the door, and his face lights up. Logan can’t help but set his face: aren’t soulmates supposed to elicit some kind of joy in their partners? When they finally figure it out, isn’t it supposed to be some revelation? 

“Logan!! How nice!! I haven’t seen you this whole trip, what a delight! Virgil’s been all out of sorts without you around, it seems,” Patton grins, sliding off the desk he was sitting on and walking over to Logan. 

“I- I think- I think you’re my soulmate,” he stammers. 

“What?” 

“I- I heard your singing, in my head, as you were singing in here-” 

“Oh my god. No, no, Logan,” Patton smiles at Logan tearfully, his hands landing on his shoulders, “That was Virgil. I started singing that song because Virgil was singing it again when I left.” 

“That’s- that’s impossible how-”

“If you need any more proof, then just look at my soulmate: I met him at school, he flew in after me,” Patton smiles dreamily and waves at a man sitting in the corner, typing on his phone: he has two black forearm crutches and deep burn scars  across the left side of his face. 

“Hullo,” he greets from the other side of the room, “I’m Janus. Pleasure, fellow Patton soulmate,” Logan’s mouth dries as Patton giggles. 

“It’s really Virgil. That- that makes a lot of sense but- I can’t believe it-” 

“Okay, how about this, Lo?” Logan’s nose scrunches at the nickname, “I’m going to send a message to Virgil: and you go sneak back to the apartment. He’ll sing. It’ll match up. Then you have to confess. He’s thought he’s been alone… for so long. He’ll be so happy: so thrilled to have a soulmate… even more so if it’s you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Patton shakes his head, chuckling. Logan looks away: his teary eyes are too much for him. Logan clears his throat. 

“Let our third go, Pat!” Janus calls, his voice smooth. Logan casts him a glare, though he blushes, and walks off. Thousands of thoughts swirl through his head, clouding his vision. He almost loses his way to the dorms. His mind is so full, so so so full, and then a voice breaks through it all. 

“If I could ride a bike, I’d zoom around the world, with you sitting there behind me…” 

Logan’s breath hitches. If that’s Virgil, he hates not seeing it before. Meeting him and not loving him right away. Not beating around the bush. But embracing him with everything he is, using all he knows to help all he needs. 

“I’ll take you to places, past several faces… just livin life so carefree. If I could sail a boat, I'd cruise across the seas, a sweet adventure for us two,” 

His pace increases as he gets to the dorms: he runs up the stairs maybe a little too fast. The music increases in volume but perhaps it’s in his head. The door to Virgil’s room is cracked open. 

“I'll be Jack and you Rose, just please don’t let me go, cause I'll be nothing without you. Oh when you call me… I'm drifting on clouds, like I'm dreaming,” 

Logan’s footsteps falter as he peers through the door. Virgil, with a guitar, singing those notes so sweetly. It matches up in his head, it matches perfectly, and despite himself, Logan starts to er up. It’s perfect harmony, it makes his heart swell and the whole world brightens. 

This is what it’s supposed to be like.  This is my soulmate. Virgil’s voice rises and falls, and it becomes so mind numbingly soft. 

“But in the morning, I'll wake up and see that you're stuck… here with me,” Virgil sings, his voice sad, “If only you knew, what I would do for you. I'd jump up and hold you… so tightly…” Virgil sobs, “Logan. Logan. I’m sorry. Whatever I did. I’m sorry. I miss you.” 

Logan’s chest pulls. His voice is like an angel. Virgil, his soulmate, wants him back. Everything he thought… was wrong. He needs to tell him, he needs to- 

No. No, it would embarrass both of them, and Virgil’s anxious. He needs to do it in a way that would make no room for error, no room for suspicion of any foul intent. 

Logan… needs to sing. 

~~~~ 

It’s all planned out, only a few days later. The sun is out, the weather is warm. Patton has Virgil entertained, introducing him to Janus in the front lawn. Roman and Remus are keeping people away in their respective fashions so that they have privacy. Logan adjusts his tie, getting ready in their apartment. He wants to have the song at it’s apex before meeting him as his soulmate. 

Logan clutches the ring in his pocket: a customary soulmate ring, black and fitted to Virgil’s finger. They haven’t been together, and he doesn’t have to accept it of course but… he wants to do this right.  

This has to be perfect. 

He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to sing. 

“I'm nothing special, in fact I'm a bit of a bore… If I tell a joke, you've probably heard it before,” Logan sings softly. He chuckles- something so foriegn to him, so averse to what he wanted to do just a week ago- and he doesn’t sound bad. As he sings the next few lines, he runs out to the window by the elevators and can just barely make out Virgil on a picnic blanket rising to his feet and looking around confusedly. Logan carefully walks down the stairs, taking his time as he goes: 

“So I say- thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing. Thank you for all the joy they’re bringing: who can live without it? I asked in all honesty, what would life be- without a song or a dance, what are we? So I say thank you for the music, for giving it… to me,” he sings, breaking out into the fresh air. Logan sings the next few stanzas under his breath, making his way to Virgil’s picnic spot. Virgil’s standing up, shaking Patton’s shoulder and signing wildly. 

“I've been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair: I wanna sing it out to everybody…. What a joy, what a life, what a chance!” his voice rises as he nears the grass, heart beating wildly. 

Virgil’s fallen to his knees, his crying sounding even from where Logan stands, dozens of feet away. 

“Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing. Thanks for all the joy they're bringing. Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty… What would life be? Without a song or a dance what are we? So I say thank you for the music,” he’s suddenly close, standing at Virgil. Virgil looks up, tears running down his face. He gasps: he smiles: he laughs. “For giving it to me.” 

Virgil stumbles to his feet, and wraps his arms around Logan’s middle. He chuckles, and hugs him back, squeezing him tightly. Virgil cries into his chest, hiccuping and laughing all the same. 

“So I say,” he rubs his back, and presses a light kiss into his hair, “Thank you for the music, for giving it… to me.” 

There’s no fanfare, no wild confetti or cheering. It’s quiet, as Patton and Janus laugh and Virgil tearily accepts his ring before digging back into his chest. It would be perfect like this but then… 

“Logan,” Virgil whispers, hiding in his chest, “Logan.” It’s so quiet, but it makes his heart burst in joy. Virgil didn’t have to say anything, he would love him anyway, but it shows. It shows the trust. 

“Surprise,” he whispers back, pulling him in closer. “Thank you. For everything, Virgil.”

~~~~~

The End! Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed! 

Taglists:

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[bakubabes-and-ramble]

Headcanon: The Gundalian culture is based on individualism, the Neathian culture is based on collectivism

Race interpretation part one: Neathia

Summary: The Neathian culture is built on the core values of communities and collective thinking. While conformity within the society is of a high level, they pursue a 'closed gate' diplomacy towards other races - resulting in a 'bubble' phenomenon and becoming vulnerable to losing their sense of belonging. Centralised urban system, with regional reciprocity and redistribution, whereby the Queen plays a coordinator role, and exists as a unifying symbol along with the military.

(Wall-of-text warning ; with block-breaker illustrations, but a huge amount of information ahead.)

Okay, this topic is something I was thinking about for a long time, and I finally hit the point to collect my thoughts and write them down. I've seen a lot of people trying to build up/further and enrich the cultural and social-political features of the alien races we've seen in the series (namely Vestals, Neathians and Gundalians), and I felt some inspiration to put my take on these things into words.

It's not only intriguing to try one's hand on the world-further-building, but I felt, I have to explain how I imagine the build-up of the Neathian and Gundalian culture and society to make the story of the 'Neathian Special Squad' ('NSS') more understandable 'symbolically' and from the aspect of a 'cultural clash'. /For those, who follow the NSS: This is something that definitely happens later on, you just don't know about it yet./

I have to put a small disclaimer here: This entire piece of writing was conspired out of fun and passion towards the series. It was not meant to be a 100% professor approved scientific research, but a seemingly logical untangling of my personal train of thoughts concerning the fantasy creatures of the third season. And this means, there is going to be some personal opinion mixed in as well (especially at the rewriting parts).

I wish the readers to enjoy reading it regardless. You are always free to disagree or not to take it seriously. :) To me, headcanonizing and imagining things always meant to be fun.

Side note: I'll add canon elements as examples or refer to the events of Gundalian Invaders, although I have to admit, I'll do this mostly from memory. So If I get anything wrong, or just remember incorrectly, you are welcome to add-in or correct me! :)

Season: Bakugan: Gundalian Invaders (and Mechtanium Surge)

Language: English dub

Okay, let's go!

Gundalian Invaders - Slightly rewritten

The first and foremost reason I actually started writing this post, is because I had some issues with the characterisation of the Gundalians and Neathians in the third season. One side is depicted blatantly, purposelessly and one-dimensionally evil, while the other is portrayed to be the goodie-two-shoes victims with no backlashes. I wanted to swing over this simplicity and make an attempt at explaining, how I imagined these races to function. These interpretations were explored with the intention of both keeping the main features of the races, staying canon-compliant where possible, but change canon elements/propose ideas to turn the races into interesting (and on a theoretical level functioning) societies.

For these added or assumed ideas to work, some lore elements have to be changed or removed: For example the way Bakugan got to be on the planets. For this explanation see: a further point below.

This post discusses only Neathia for now. (Gundalia will probably get it's own post, as there is much more canon-divergence to be talked about.)

Neathians

1. The beginnings and core values

Due to the power of the Sacred Orb, almost the entire planet have relished in a lush fertility since the beginnings. (And this is why there are huge plants in their jungles. The wildlife also experienced a great upsurge by the life-force of the Orb.) This prosperity quickly enabled the Neathian race to organize into a peaceful and sharing society, because the wars over resources became redundant and unnecessary. The established racial mindset reallocated the focus from the individual needs to the communal efforts, and gives a ground for the Neathian values and collective thinking up to even the days of the season.

Neathians think mainly in groups: Let those be pairs (e.g. Fabia and Jin as fiancés; Linus and Neo Zipperator as brawling partners), teams (Neathian Special Squad; Friendship circles), communities (Castle Knights), and the biggest of them all, their entire race. These are all bigger or smaller communities within communities, and they play a major role in how Neathians perceive the world and themselves. Being in these relationship structures defines their place, grants them their basic mental frame, which they are able to think in, and not only their resources, but also their goals are shared with each other. This kind of goal assimilation is what makes them really efficient team players, and also provides them a strong social support from a mentalhygiene perspective. This important role of the sense of belonging makes Neathians both empowered while being in close social constructs , and extremely susceptible to losing these connections.

Thinking like this, when Fabia lost her fiancè or Linus lost Neo, their grief extended further than their deaths or the traumatic events. Losing strong bonds like these put Neathians in a technical identity crisis, as it is a part of their personal perception and mental frame which were dismantled through these events. We have seen Fabia going to extremes to retrieve Aranaut - and to retrieve that part of her, which was lost with Jin. Just as when Rubanoid was handed to Linus, a new connection was formed to either replace or continue the old one in a different form. Fabia's communal bonds were successfully restored, when she also became a member of the brawlers.

The Neathian society is based on caring and cooperation to achieve a collective well-being. This is why communities play such a major role in their self-perception and world-perception.

2. Open-sources, but enclosed diplomacy

For most part, I've always imagined the Neathian race as an although proud and generous, but closed society. They share commodities with each other - within their society -, but it is very important, that only within it. The outside world (meaning outside of their habited planet) is fundamentally shut out of these transactions.

I often refer to this phenomenon of enclosedeness as the 'Neathian bubble':

Not only their mindset operates in closed communities, but their diplomacy too. They are generally passive towards other races, missing trust and a reason to pick up the communication /Up until the Gundalians came and the war started/. This perspective could be applied to understand, why could they be more insistent on and better at operating defensive mechanisms (layered shield generator), than initiating communication with the rest of the universe (Unlike Gundalians, Neathians have no ships or bigger means of transportation. Yes, teleportation is accessible for them, but I don't think they use it that often outside of Neathia.)

I treat this as an explanation for why Neathia had only asked for outside help after the second shield generator went down - the situation became desperate and already being involved in the conflict, it was time to try and reach out for aid. According to these headcanons, I also think, Serena wasn't putting - or at least shouldn't have put - faith in the Brawlers so easily. The reason they weren't tested to prove their trustworthiness further than one question, is because she trusted Fabia's judgement. Without the support of a Neathian, outlanders are almost automatically dismissed. Their (or their Queen's) empathy and compassion may overwrite this code, but even by then they have to be made certain by proving the cause.

Just as when Fabia accepted Ren, because she had seen how much he tried to prove himself. Winning Neathians’ trust is supposed to be a big and determining moment, because they ‘internalise’ you into their scoiety.

Neathians are capable of empathy and kindness (this is something they actively practice among each other), even towards outsiders, they just need time and proof to accept them. Trust is just not automatic towards them, and even so they keep their distance until they get used to it.

3. Personal paralel counterparts - Night elves and the Highborne of WoW

When I think about Neathians, I often put them into paralel with the Night elves and the Highborne from World of Warcraft. For most part, I use their artistic motives, architecture, fashion and cultural approach as an inspiration for Neathians, as they are recognised as 'The pretty space elves' in my book too.

Beside the above mentioned, what could be imported from their WoW counterparts is a rather matriarchal social apparat. For example, Neathians traditionally having a Queen, and women being present in the military or in higher positions, playing important roles. //Just as by the Night elves leadership, religious and military roles being traditionally occupied by women (priestesses, wardens, sentinels).//

Another elven impression, which is more or less universal, is their sense of pride (I like to say it as the expression of 'Neathian pride '). Highborne in World of Warcraft are a quite prestigious race and are usually said to be a little 'aristocratic'. I can imagine the Neathians being lightly less, but somewhat similar on these terms, when it comes down to interacting with their own or other races: For example being proud of their appearance (Emphasizing their unique V-shaped forehead with adequate clothing and accessories), structuring buildings and constructs based on aesthetic instead of real functionality (using diamond as the main material of construction, structuring buildings with elegant but futuristic shapes), or being confident and showing immovable standing and opinion on things (towards outsiders).

As far as I know, the Warcraft elves used to be similarly passive and uninitiative - even mistrusting - towards other races too. And in this, it played part, that they also had exclusive access to a powerful source of power and prosperity, the Well of Eternity (an almost one-on-one counterpart to the Sacred Orb).

While the half-tribal connections of the Night elves derive from their ancient bonds with nature and druidism, the Neathian society feels more likely being based on a futuristic envisionment of these social relations. A civilisation that perfectly blends technology (teleportation technology, communication devices) with classic fantasy elements (knights), while still remaining tribal in the core (shared communality is just put into a modern environment). /Although I like to lean more into the fantasy setting, the technical advancement is undeniable there./

4. Overall economy

If we wanted to negotiate about their economy, I would say reciprocity and localised redistribution are the dominant mechanisms of it. The basic definition of economy builds on the premise of distribution of scarce resources. In this case, resources are not scarce, in fact, due to the Orb they are very much prosperous and renewing. This accessibility discounts the value of the traditional market trading, and supports the establishment of semi-centralised recollection and redistribution. The semi-centralisation here means regional production and consumption, whereby the accomodation of the population happens mainly territorialy, but these regional centres still have a connection to each other and the capitol. This economy is based on caring and well-being, and the high level of conformity and trust within the collective society results in a lack of currency usage (so, my headcanon is basically, that they don't use money).

5. Urbanisation and territorial layout

The reason we talk about a more physical apsect of the planets, is because the core values of the races both play a role, and mutually affect how I imagine their civilised hubs being developed. Communities form hubs and cities with strong connections - just like their society!

When I mentioned localised redistribution, I was also refering to the urban structure of the Neathian planet. Important to note, that Neathia is not just a city, or a country - just like Gundalia, it's the entire planet. What we've seen in the show is the capital of their urban system - which makes sense to be technically built around / in the immediate enclosure of the Sacred Orb, for it's the source of the relishing power. Assuming this, along the capital there could be a centralised territorial layout with rural areas (cities, villages), and untouched wilderness (due to the overflourishing flora and fauna; the urbanisation doesn't affect the entirety of the planet, there are a lot of uninhabited/uncharted areas).

Here is a simple schematic illustration of the above.

The rural hubs not having physical connection with other centres due to the dangerous and untamable wilderness (see: Giant plants in the show) could have lead to the advancement of the teleportation technology. The cities are connected through this port-system, and also with the capital, which serves as the centre of the network.

6. The role of the queen and the military

The main purpose of the current Queen is an overall governance with the direct help of a council consisting of the local leaders of the hubs. The queen bears not only a political, but a symbolical importance to the people. The concept of the Queen is a unifying symbol, someone who watches over the nation. The Neathians can stand behind her and being represented by her. But it's important to note, that her status is not as glorified as to be a despotic being, and her power is not extending much further than overall policies, diplomatic representation and helping the transactions of the local leaderships. There is much more power and independence shifted into the regional governance, rendering the Queen's position to be an effective coordinator between them and unifier, who keeps the nation together. /Still thinking about the way the queen is chosen/comes to the throne, but I had the idea of the next Queen being elected by the current Queen, so the order of succession is not based on the Queen’s family, nor being a community vote of the people./

The peace-oriented existence in itself doesn't require a military to exists, therefore I treat the Castle Knights as a mainly defensive organisation. This military serves as Neathia's defenders, bearing symbolic and community building purposes. Among the Castle Knights - just as the name itself suggests - the traditional medieval knight values show up primarily, such as loyality, humility, courage, faithfulness and the act of mercy. In their comprehension, being a Castle Knight is an act of service towards their country and the Queen, and is not mainly for warfare reasons. (To some extent, I assume martial arts and other forms of fighting - even brawling - is essentially a spiritual activity, which they pursue in order to keep their inner- and physical balance.)

As we've seen it the show, I assume the Palace also functions as the military's operation base. The head of the military is the current commander (formerly Jin, recently Elright), and under them operate several divisions with captains as division leaders. The separate divisions are Physical Fighting (both with weapon, like those defensive shock-sticks the guards are using - formerly offensive melee weapons until the fall of NSS - and hand-to-hand combat, e.g. used by Fabia), Technical staff (operating the shield generators and overseeing their areas) and Bakugan Brawling (this headcanon part is still under construction, but Elright used to be the former leader of this, and the reason he was promoted to commander after Jin’s death, is because the Neathians' realisation of the war swinging in favor of the Bakugan fights, so it was logical to put him as the next 'general leader'). /There may be other divisions outside of these, I just put out some ideas here./  Every guard receives education to some extent in all of these fields, but they end up specialising in something.

//The Neathian Special Squad (NSS) had it’s own divison under Captain Pyrehart, they were a special strike team with a unusual task: Staggering, forcing back or just divide the Gundalian leadership’s attention from focusing on their assault. Basically poking them with melee weapons until they either go away, or can’t concentrate on helping their Bakugan on the field and their monsters get defeated. According to the story - made up by me of course - after a tragedic mission this unit wasn’t restored, and the war effort shifted onto long-range fighting with Bakugan, Gear and Bakugan Assaults.//

7. So...where are the Bakugan?

They have been mentioned here and there, but I'm sure, whoever made it this far into this theorising information dump, may wonder at this point: 'But what about the Bakugan?'

My simplest answer is, that I firmly want to believe, both Gundalia and Neathia had a civilised and established culture before the Bakugan appeared there.

According to the original lore, Bakugan existed on the planets since almost the beginnings. Now, this is part of those lore bits I would definitively change during a rewrite: I want to believe, Bakugan only appeared in their very recent history, almost as recently, as on Earth and Vestal itself.

Perhaps a Bakugan lore- and GI rewrite explanation deserved it's own post, but for the further understanding allow me to explain here a little: A similar event of raining cards - what the first season started with - occured on Neathia and Gundalia too, caused by the dimensional boom of Michael Gehabich and his transporter. The twist on this - and the effective solution to the problem of possible timeline inconsistencies - is that although the explosion caused this interference at one point in time, across cosmos and universes time flows differently. So technicaly the result of it - the raining cards and Bakugan being transported into the particular worlds - could happen at different point of their relative times - even years earlier or later! On Neathia and Gundalia it could happened a few years before on Earth, which covers most of the questions of the timeline-consistency /such as Ren being assigned to watch over Linehalt as a child etc./

Bakugan coming to these places has only an added effect: Just as on Earth, they are not (yet?) integrated into the society and culture of the planets so deeply to be any kind of pillar of their existence or basic civilisation. There could be a start (as having specialised researches, technology revolving around Bakugan, taking part in the war,..) regarding this internalisation process, but it still runs on the surface, and not in the 'veins' of the culture.

I hope this breakdown made sense in some form or another. I just felt an urge to pour out the content of my head. Looking back,this became longer and more detailed, than I originally intended, while also surely missing things because there is no worldbuilding without holes or further questions. The attempt to lay down the basics was made regardless haha!

As always, feel free to disagree and follow your own visions concerning the races and worldbuilding. :) This post was made to reflect back my personal interpretation of Neathians - just for fun and thinking out loud.

For the very end, I leave a disclamer here, which was supposed to go at the beginning, but it felt redundant to put there, so here it is:

I tried to approach it from a more sociological side, as focusing on a bigger, overall picture, common features, than create exact statements. (I would rather call this a speculation regarding the features of the races themselves, their core values, common attitudes, mindset - and this doesn't mean other questions are fully out of the picture. We are just discussing things, which can be derived from the features of the society itself, and make up a more or less coherent chain of thought for now. Other 'for fun' or miscellaneous headcanons, like fashion or physical traits will be covered another time.)

Thank you for coming to this TED mambling!

[writingwithcolor]

Patrilineal Jewish girl, Sephardic culture

@feminismandsunflowers said:

hi! my character is a patrilineal Jewish girl in the usa, she didn't convert but still considers herself Jewish. her mom is Christian. her g-grandmother/father were undocumented refugees from Europe (antisemitism) and her g-grandmother was v closed off abt her origins but my character's dad thinks she said something abt being Sephardic. her fam has a fair amount of Sephardic culture. but could she claim Sephardic culture to any extent if they don't know? trynna get a handle on how to present her.

"My character's dad thinks she said something about being Sephardic"

and

"her fam has a fair amount of Sephardic culture"

are inconsistent statements. 

The first statement sounds like the only indication Dad has of which Jewish culture they are is a statement he's not even sure about ("thinks"?) and the second statement sounds like Dad considers himself Sephardic and practices Sephardic traditions.

So, to me personally, this would depend on the level of Sephardic cultural practice she grew up with. If she grew up with those traditions and Dad sharing them with her, then yes, that's who she is. If Dad isn't even sure he's Sephardic and what she practiced in her upbringing wasn't distinctively Sephardic in any way, I have a hard time seeing why she should claim the culture if she's not even sure if her ancestors were Sephardic.

Disclaimer that the Reform position is to 'count' patrilineal Jewish people as long as they were raised in the traditions. This is not the Orthodox position but I am Reform.

--Shira

I'm also a bit confused about this situation. I think it would be helpful if you start by specifying where in Europe the family comes from and what anti-Semitism they were fleeing from. I'm Ashkenazi and not the most knowledgeable about Sephardi history, but as far as I know it wouldn't make sense for a Sephardi family to be seeking asylum from the pogroms in Russia or Poland, for example. I guess it could make sense if they were from Spain, France or Italy, but we would have to know more, and I'm wondering if this isn't a 'trace your logic' situation. Why do you want them to come from Europe? *Quickly cracks open a Claudia Roden book* Sephardi Jews have origins in many North African and Middle Eastern countries, such as Morocco, Algeria, Libya, Syria, Iran and Iraq just to give a few examples. If you want Sephardi characters, why not represent those cultures instead of re-hashing the same Euro-centric Jewish stories?   

In terms of whether she could claim Sephardi heritage of any sort if they don't know, I'm interested in what Sephardi followers think. Religion-wise, I don't think there would be too much of a problem with it. Yes, Sephardim are more lenient on some things and stricter on others, so by picking the wrong one she may be following some of the rules wrong, but that's just a matter of tradition really. If someone was a ba'al teshuva and had no way of finding out which population their family came from, I imagine a rabbi would advise to choose one and stick to it without worrying too much about which one. I don't know 100%, though. 

Culture-wise, I don't know if this is what Shira was getting at but I wonder if it would be cultural appropriation due to Ashkenazi Jews being more likely to be white-passing and getting more media representation. Is Jewish lineage enough to claim Sephardi traditions and culture, or do you need to know for sure that you're Sephardi - that will be for Sephardi followers to decide. 

To build on Shira's disclaimer:

I'm Modern Orthodox and I would describe your character as someone who is not halachically Jewish, i.e. not in Jewish law. In most situations, this would be a technicality for me and I wouldn't hesitate to treat her as Jewish if she identifies as such. In particular, with her family history it makes sense that she considers herself ethnically Jewish and the legacy of discrimination is part of her identity - that's not something we can erase or overlook. It would be different if my kid wanted to marry her, I think (not that I ever plan to be one of those parents who would disown their kid or something for marrying out but I'm not going to pretend I completely wouldn't care, either). Then I might be hopeful that she may formally convert, especially if she had always lived as Jewish anyways.

 Other things she may experience if she hangs out in Orthodox circles: a few people might act like jerks and be iffy around her like she's 'not really Jewish', probably the same people who are pro-Trump and mansplain why women's exclusion from parts of Orthodox worship is actually protecting us. On the subject of women's exclusion, if you have any male characters with a similar parental background, they can't get an aliyah in shul or count towards a minyan - the character you're describing couldn't anyway, though. 

Hopefully if your other Jewish characters are nice people, they take to heart the teaching that you should rather throw yourself into a fire than humiliate someone else in public. When I was a student, there was a patrilineal man in our community who once entered the shul just in time to be the tenth man, making a minyan. A Chasidic man in the congregation quickly stood up and said "Oh no, I left the gas on!" and left. That way no one had to make a whole song and dance about the other guy not being allowed to count. Patrilineal Jewish followers, feel free to add more! 

-Shoshi 

I'm going to add some things here, about the terms Sephardi and Ashkenazi, that I think might be partially tripping the author up.

Sephardi and Ashkenazi are terms used to describe the traditions that a person follows. Those traditions are heavily linked to the land where they rose up, and to parentage, as people are typically encouraged to follow the traditions they grew up with. However! Converts exist, and converts are usually encouraged to join in on the traditions in their community. So, as an example, a person can be from anywhere in the world, of any racial or ethnic background, convert in a Conservative synagogue, and follow Ashkenazi traditions. A person can be from a place that is usually seen as very Ashkenazi-heavy, like Germany, and then end up converting in an esnoga (synagogue) in Spain, and practice Sephardic traditions. Either of those converts might have children, and those children will take on their minhagim (traditions), and will be a part of the culture their parents joined just like their parents were.

It can be confusing for many people because the terms are so often conflated with ethnicity, which is in turn conflated with genetic lineage. The trouble is, the groups they describe are older than the modern, western conception of race, and ethnicity,  and we don't completely fit into these categories. Ashkenazi Jews don't all come from Europe, even their ancestors might not. In the US it's been estimated that at least 12-15% of American Jews are Jews of Color, and those JoC are very, very often Ashkenazi. Some converted, some didn't, but they are still following the traditions, and are still Ashkenazi.

So it's fair to say that the traditions of Sephardim grew in the Iberian peninsula, and North Africa, but they also moved along with those Jewish people as they dispersed, and were expelled. Jews from Portugal fled to the Azores, but also to the Netherlands, where there is a large Sephardic presence, right in the middle of a space that is assumed to be all Ashkenazi! Scores of Jewish people from Morocco moved to France. Then too, people marry folks from other groups. Often they will pick one family's traditions to follow, but sometimes they mix and match, and sometimes they end up moving somewhere else and taking on those traditions.

Because so many people have traditions that match their genetic background we've begun using the term Ashkenazi to mean strictly white, European Jewish people. Sephardi we have taken to mean strictly white, Iberian Jewish people (which doesn't even include the massive number of North African Sephardim). We've forgotten entirely to cover Mizrahim (a tradition associated with the Middle East), or the Romaniote, or Cochin Jews, or any number of other groups. Yes, genetic background accounts for a large portion of those people, but it doesn't map completely, and it's important not to forget that.

This complexity is why the statements Shira drew attention to:

"My character's dad thinks she said something about being Sephardic" "her fam has a fair amount of Sephardic culture"

Don't make sense. You would know you are Sephardic, because it's something you do first, and may be, secondarily, directly linked to something in your ancestry.

Finally, since you are showing a patrilineal Jewish person, I really encourage you to show them consistently engaging with their Jewishness, and actively participating in Sephardic culture. I'm the Conservative one here, and my movement, and Sephardi tradition (there are no movements for Sephardim, just varying observance) don't allow patrilineal descent to give a person Jewish status halachically. This is not something I endorse. Patrilineal descendants really struggle outside of Reform communities, to be seen as Jewish, and often to just be treated with respect, so it's important that you give this character every opportunity to participate, and show who they are.

-- Dierdra

[piratewithvigor]

Eldritch Horrors Anonymous: A Wrestler Fic

Dr. Shelby's led plenty of support groups before and helped plenty of people in them. But these people aren't exactly people...

(I spent the last two days binging matches and assorted other videos to try and get the characterizations right, so let's see how this goes)

Plenty of bad crack below

When Dr. Shelby had been approached with the idea of running this group, he’d been… unsure. Possibly even apprehensive. He’d led groups for violent individuals before; anger management was the most memorable, but the coordinator nearly begged him to start this one. She’d had some of these individuals in other groups, but none of their problems truly seemed to stem from the focus of the groups they tried. They had a unique problem. A unique struggle that needed support from others just like them.

It was the night of the first meeting and he wasn’t quite sure what the outcome might be. The community center had been advertising it for the last few weeks and he’d heard about some interested parties, but the exact number was a little unsure. He’d been told a ‘handful’, which wasn’t frustrating as an imprecise number until it came time to set up the chairs in the room. Six seemed like a good number. A couple, but not too many. Colder drinks were set out on a table along the edge of the room. Nothing too hot. A lot of those coming had problems with heat. As well as with machinery. Some of them had habits with… well, with making it explode.

God, he hoped nothing exploded during this meeting.

The flyer stapled to the bulletin board said the meeting started at 6 and it was 5:55 when Dr. Shelby sat down in his chair opposite the semi-circle. The noticeably empty semi-circle. A part of him was disheartened that the room was empty, but a much more selfish part was deeply relieved. He’d spent a few days reading articles about these individuals and how best to help them. Unfortunately, not much research had been done besides describing the pain they inflicted in such gruesome detail that Dr. Shelby had felt the need to make himself a cup of tea.

But those were laboratory settings. This was a friendly support group. No one was being forced to be there, or even being paid. They were coming because they wanted to.

By 6:03, he was tempted to just start packing up. Maybe no one was coming. Maybe the group was a bad idea in the first place. He’d been told to wait until 6:05 for people to arrive, but even just two more minutes seemed like too many to just sit there.

He was shaken from his thoughts by the large metal door on the other side of the room creaking open slowly. A hand gloved in black leather wrapped around and Dr. Shelby tensed for a moment until the owner of the hand appeared. A pleasantly-dressed gentleman in a neat sweater, a short beard and his hair pulled back looked around the room before spotting Dr. Shelby and seeming to relax.

“Excuse me, is this Eldritch Horrors Anonymous?” He asked, smiling warmly.

“Uh, it’s supposed to be,” Dr. Shelby nodded. If anyone had shown up, he wanted to add, but bit his tongue back.

The man’s smile widened and he turned back from the room to call over his shoulder. “Found it, guys! We’re supposed to be in here!”

Guys? There were more?

Maybe the night wouldn’t be such a bust after all.

The man stepped inside the room and pulled open the door politely. Dr. Shelby couldn’t see the people until they entered, but it didn’t truly matter; no amount of time could have prepared him for the group joining him.

The first one to nearly skip through the door looked like a child at first glance. Definitely not an eldritch horror. She wasn’t much taller than one and with her long blonde hair pulled into pigtails and a doll clutched to her chest, she looked even more like one. She paused long enough to thank the man holding open the door before taking a seat in the middle chair of the semi-circle, directly across from Dr. Shelby. It wasn’t until she was fully seated that he got a proper look at her face. Her strikingly icy eyes were surrounded by thick black rings and every time the hairs in front of her face moved, Dr. Shelby swore he saw black liquid dripping from her scalp. The chill that went down his spine was either negated or enhanced by her wide, jubilant grin. He wasn’t sure which.

The man who sat beside her also seemed confusingly normal at first glance. A plain black t-shirt and leather jacket. Perhaps a little more… edgy than Dr. Shelby would have preferred to dress, but he seemed like an equally charming young man.

Unfortunately, a pattern of three seemingly normal people did not necessarily mean the group would be.

The next one to enter the room had to quite literally duck to pass through the door. Dr. Shelby guessed him to be seven feet tall, give or take a few inches. He was wearing a black suit that covered most of his body, save for his face, which had its own covering of a deep red mask. He didn’t smile like the others had so far. Not even a polite half-smile of acknowledgment. Just sat down in one of the chairs that looked like it might prove to be a little too small.

Dr. Shelby had been so focused on keeping his expression steady while watching the masked member of the group that he hadn’t noticed one final member sneak in through the door and sit on the other side of the circle. He had an oversized alarm clock clutched in one hand, a paper bag in the other and a steady, intense smile in Dr. Shelby’s direction. Though his face was just as covered in red, he seemed to be the exact opposite of the stoic masked member.

“I think that’s everyone,” the man holding the door declared, taking one last glance down the hall before starting to let it go. He was intercepted by a gloved hand pushing back against the door.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” A final member slid in, face covered in white and black paint and a long leather coat stretching to his ankles. “All the hallways here look the same.”

“We had that problem too,” the man holding open the door nodded. “Kept walking around in circles trying to find the room. And it didn’t get much easier after the flyer got a hole burnt through it right where the room number was listed.”

“I said I was sorry,” the masked member grumbled.

Oh God, he burnt things unintentionally?

“Don’t worry about it, you’re all on time,” Dr. Shelby interjected, hoping to avoid any conflict between the members before the meeting had even technically started.

The final two men took their seats. Six? Not a bad turnout. Might as well get started.

“Welcome everyone, my name is Dr. Shelby.” A collection of polite nods came his way. “Now, you’re all here because you face the same struggle every day and you wanted to meet people like you. Am I right so far?” Everyone nodded again. “Good. I’ve led a lot of support groups just like these and almost everyone in them has felt major improvements knowing that they have a safe place to share their feelings every week. Why don’t we go around the circle and introduce ourselves and share what brings us here?”

It was always a risky move. Especially with brand-new groups. Some of them were bound to be a little more shy or wouldn’t really want to participate until they felt more comfortable with the other members. Dr. Shelby hoped there would at least be one outgoing one amongst them.

Dr. Shelby knew he wasn’t masking his fear very well. He’d perfected the perpetual smile; it was necessary when leading support groups, but he couldn’t always control his eyes.

The group all looked amongst themselves before the man in the sweater held up his hand.

“I can get the ball rolling,” he smiled, standing up. “My name is Bray and for the last few months, my body gets periodically taken over by my dark half named The Fiend, an entity whose sole objective is to cause as much pain and suffering to those around him as physically possible.”

“Thank you, Bray,” he tried to say with as even a voice as possible. “Who’s next?”

“I’ll go,” the girl smiled, standing up with a flounce. “My name’s Alexa and this is Lilly.” She spun the doll around to reveal the most grotesque face Dr. Shelby had ever seen. He wasn’t certain from across the circle, but it looked like the teeth sewn into the mouth were real. “The Fiend showed me the way into the darkness, and Lilly took it from there.”

This is normal for them. It’s not going to help anyone here if you start looking like you’re scared.

But darn, is that doll ever creepy.

The man with the red face paint stood up next.

“I’m the Boogeyman!” He grinned with wide eyes, looking around at each member of the circle erratically. It was only as he began to move around that Dr. Shelby noticed the paper bag he was clutching seemed to be dripping some kind of dark liquid.

“Thank you for introducing yourself… Boogeyman. If it’s not too personal, do you mind if I ask what’s in your bag there?”

“Worms.”

“Worms?”

Boogeyman unrolled the bag and pulled out a handful of dirt-covered, very much alive earthworms before shoving said handful into his mouth. No one around the circle seemed all that disgusted. Like it was a regular Tuesday evening for them. Except for the man with the white face paint who seemed like he was as pale as a ghost underneath.

“I’ll, uh, that’s fine for this week, Boogeyman, but I’ll please ask you to leave your… worms at home next week. We’re not really supposed to have food in this room to keep it peanut-free,” Dr. Shelby explained, holding back the sick feeling knotting his stomach. “But if anyone is thirsty, I’ve got bottles of water and juice boxes on the back table. Feel free to help yourselves.”

Boogeyman nodded and carefully put his worms back into his bag as he sat down. The man with the white face paint immediately raised his hand.

“Yes, your name is…”

“I think I might be in the wrong place.”

Dr. Shelby looked him over. He didn’t look eerily normal like Bray, and he didn’t seem to have brought a bag of worms as a snack. Looked like he fell somewhere in between.

“You seem like you’re in the right place. This is Eldritch Horrors Anonymous; I don’t know where else you’d be tonight.”

The man’s expression changed from nerves to sheepish understanding. “I thought this was Troubled Goths Anonymous. I couldn’t find the flyer and followed Boogeyman in. My mistake.”

Dr. Shelby nodded understandingly. “Right room, wrong day. Troubled Goths Anonymous is Monday nights.”

The man stood to leave with his hands up apologetically. “It was great to meet you all, but I don’t belong here. Best of luck to you… eldritch horrors.”

“Oh, be careful when you come back on Monday. That’s also when they host Troubled Punks Anonymous. Very similar groups, but people seem to have very strong preferences of one over the other.”

The man nodded and left the room as Dr. Shelby turned back to the remaining members. “Some of you came here from those groups, right?”

“Troubled Punks Anonymous kicked me out a few days ago,” Bray sighed, his perpetual smile dropping for a moment. Everyone murmured their sympathy and Alexa patted him on the knee. “It’s alright, though," he continued. "You all seem like a much better fit so far.”

“That’s the point of this group,” Dr. Shelby smiled. “Now who’s next?”

The man in the leather jacket looked towards the man in the mask before shrugging and standing.

“M’name’s Finn. Sometimes the rage o’ battle brings out the Demon King Bálor from within me ‘n with the openin’ o’ his great eye, enemies are laid to waste a’ his feet,” he explained, about as casually as one would talk about what they did over the weekend.

“Glad to have you here, Finn.” It was getting easier to digest the stories of the people around him as he heard more. Maybe he’d even be able to hear the last one without faking the comfort of his smile. “And last, but certainly not least…” He turned towards the masked man expectedly. There was no smile, polite or otherwise. But he also didn’t seem like he was hesitating because he was shy. Just… grumpy.

“You don’t have to introduce yourself if you don’t feel comfortable, but we’re still a small group and as far as I can tell, all very friendly,” Dr. Shelby pushed a little further. The other members nodded in agreement. Even Boogeyman, who had snuck another worm from his bag into his mouth.

“Fine,” he grumbled, standing up. “I’m Kane. I’m the devil’s favorite demon. I grew up in a basement, suffering severe psychological and emotional scarring when my brother set my parents on fire. From there, I shifted around a series of mental institutions until I was grown, at which point I buried my brother alive... twice. Since then, I’ve set a couple of people on fire and abducted various co-workers. Oh, and I once electrocuted a man’s testicles. Years ago, I had a girlfriend named Katie, but let’s just say that didn’t turn out so well. My real father is a man named Paul Bearer who I recently trapped in a meat locker. I’ve been married, divorced, broke up my ex wife’s wedding and attacked the priest and for reasons never quite explained, I have an unhealthy obsession with torturing Pete Rose.”

Okay, maybe they can get weirder.

“Thank you… Kane.” He paused a moment before remembering back to the list that he’d been given a few days before. “That name sounds familiar; I think I was told to expect you, but they said you might be coming with your brother.”

“Probably won’t happen.”

“Why not? Is he not an eldritch horror?”

“He is. He just won’t come. Has better things to do.”

“Like what?”

“He said ‘watching paint dry’.”

“Maybe when you see him again, you can tell him we’re more fun than watching paint dry,” Alexa suggested, bouncing Lilly on her lap.

“That’s right. And that goes for all of you,” Dr. Shelby mentioned. “If anyone knows someone who might need a support group like this, go ahead and invite them. This isn’t Fight Club; it doesn’t have to be secret.”

The group chuckled a little at his attempt at a joke. Even Kane cracked a small smile.

Dr. Shelby relaxed a little in his seat. These people might dress strangely and have bizarre interests, diets and backstories, but deep down, they were just like anyone else. Maybe he could help them after all.

[alwaysthinkingoutloud]

Hannibal Episode-by-Episode Meta/Analysis: Episode 1, Season 1 (Apéritif)

The series start with Will Graham in a crime scene doing what he does, which is resurrecting crime scenes for further evidence and possible insight into the criminal’s mind and motives. What is interesting about this first scene is that for a first-time viewer, for the first a few minutes, it is not clear if what we are watching is a possible reenactment or it is actually a memory. That doubt gets cleared in a minute but until then, we don’t know if he is imagining or is he remembering. Is he a guy with a powerful imagination helping FBI who literally puts himself into the killer’s shoes or is he the killer itself, hiding in plain sight? To my thinking, the very first opening to the story does say a lot about the end of it all as well.

“This is my design”

Why not say plan, but design instead? Planning is something mechanical, strategical. It is the result of motive and effort of a rational brain rather than an acted-on urge. There is no much room for subjectivity or creativity since efficiency is the ultimate goal. However, design has a more artistical ring to it. It is like, its prior aim is not to be useful, but to be beautiful. Designing is done when aesthetics is of concern. We would say, Michelangelo designed David, plan would not look right there. It would be accurate as for explaining the mathematical part of it, the disciplined and patient hours that has been put into it, but it would not do justice to the inspiration, passion, and desperate need of the artist for his creation to materialize. A planner would not adore his work, but a designer would. And Will understands the difference a bit too well.

Later, talking with Jack Crawford, we learn that Will finds the name of Evil Minds Research Museum “hammy”. I do not think there is anything hammy about the name, it’s quite literal. It is not an ennobler name but why does Will find it so though? Does creativity and originality need to be perceived as abhorrent just because it was given birth by someone evil? This all-cautious way of approaching and overthinking things is a reflection of something dark within. Afterall, what is seen has at least a little to do with the seeing eyes, if not more.

Jack exhibits a disturbingly dominant way of communication with Will. He corrects Will’s eyeglasses, the guy who he knows is not comfortable with any kind of interpersonal interaction, within the minutes of their chat and holds down his bag to slow down his moving on. He is trying to make sure that Will feels Jack is the alpha and also that deep down, Will does not have the option to not cooperate. And more Will gets convinced to help for one step, stronger Jack drags Will into it for one more.

The first time we see Will interacting with any victim-related people, it is confusing. Being an empath and claiming that he can not only relate to narcissists and sociopaths but anyone, he does not seem to empathize much with the victim’s parents, cutting into the conversation about parents’ doubts on their daughter’s likelihood of being alive with a non-emotional, case related question. It almost makes you question if his ability to emphathize is just stronger with the dark side of the force than it is with the light one. Yes, the primer focus is to catch the killer and stop whatever malice is going on but after all, Jack came to Will with the need of help, so Jack must care about the case resolving more than he does. Yet, Jack seems more understanding of the parents’ feelings than Will, although Will is an ultimate empath. We even see Jack’s disapproval when Will cuts into the conversation. It is a brow mover.

Next, we get more insight about Will as he meets Winston. He finds him on the road roaming, tries to get close to him but cannot, so he drives all the way to his home to get something to lure him with and comes back to the dog. He is willing to go lengths to add a new dog to his pack, to his ‘family’, to his ‘social circle’. Something he is not willing nor comfortable to do for a person. Will's preferring an animal's company to a person's may say more than obvious. Afterall, he chooses Hannibal over Jack too, doesn't he?

Will who has already started to get traumatized by the case, is ambushed in the bathroom by Jack with an unforgiving mobbing, forcing ideas out of Will and stirring him up in the expense of his stability. Later on in his little chat with Alana, Jack’s intentions and priorities are further put into perspective. The way he talks about Will shows that for him, Will is more of a means to an end than an actual colleague. His insistence about ��putting Will out there” despite Alana’s warnings and his admission of not being absolutely capable of protecting Will’s mental health just crowns that he does not genuinely care about Will. In fact, he even knows the risk of what he is doing, and he is trying to draw Dr. Bloom in to share, if not all together blame it on, the responsibility if something may go wrong.

We finally meet Hannibal in his office in a therapy session with his patient. The look Dr. Lecter throws when Franklyn blows his nose and places the dirty napkin onto the table… Up to this scene, we were not given any clue to suggest that Hannibal Lecter is a killer but after all, we do know who he is. And him being the first actual predator in the series we meet, we do not see him acting on brute violence or inelegant butchering. His first reaction depicted is unrest against rudeness. So the audience is welcomed into the mind of Lecter with an easily apprehensible act that can be shared by almost anyone. Almost to suggest that, this act of Franklyn’s may be enough to justify a wrath that may come upon him.

Jack shows up in Hannibal’s office unannounced and mistakes Franklyn with Hannibal. Hannibal, of course slightly annoyed, tells Jack to wait in the waiting room and invites him in with his own timing. Being a bossy and dominant guy he is, this takes Jack by surprise and it also tells us that there is an even stronger alpha here. So Jack realizes he cannot dominate Hannibal into his will like he did with Will. He may have to try something else. As Jack asks questions that are getting more specific and personal as they come, we see Hannibal getting cautious. Taking his scalpel into his hand and eyes widening. He lowers his guard only when he learns that he was referred to Jack by Dr. Bloom, his eyes visibly getting smaller, which are almost the only window to his thoughts anyway. So after seeing the sophisticated aura leaking not only out of Hannibal but everything around him, Jack chooses to sweet talk him into cooperation.

When Jack, Hannibal and Will first come together in a room, it is the first time in the show where Will makes such a long, non-blinked eye contact with someone, that being Hannibal. And we see mixed emotions and thoughts on Hannibal’s face. He is amused, intrigued and curious at the same time with the way Will thinks. He makes a quick analyze of Will which results in making him fling out of the room. Being the controlled, non-impulsive, strategic guy he is; even Hannibal himself is a little surprised with the sudden blurbing of his perception of Will. So maybe this first scene having Will and Hannibal together is another kind of first as well with both men doing something not typically them.

Hannibal, telling Jack that “he may help Will see the cannibal’s face”, he copies the crime of Minnesota Shrike. At the first look, this looks like an attempt of toying with the FBI and confusing them. But considering Hannibal’s last conversation with Jack, this feels more like a tribute, a helping hand for Will. Hannibal knows that Will would know that this is not the same killer the second he sees the crime scene. As Will later says to Hannibal, this was done to show Will a negative so that he could see the positive. So, we see from this point on that Hannibal’s wit does not focus on FBI, it does on Will. We see Hannibal eating and smiling, joyous of the fact that he now has an object of interest. Will imagining of a stag right after this, as stag will be the subconscious symbol of the Chesapeake Ripper / Copycat Killer before Will knows who he is and later when he does, of Hannibal; it shows that Hannibal literally entered his life and mind in more than one way.

Hannibal shows up in Will’s house very early and obviously very impatiently. So he does not only plan to interfere Will with being the Copycat Killer but through his ‘person suit’ as well. Feeding Will the meat of the girl he killed is also exciting for Hannibal as this manipulation game he has set to play with Will gets to be sicker for a normal human perception.

The breakfast scene is also the first time where Hannibal is looking for some ill-intent or killing inclination in Will, while Will denies having so. He wonders how much being able to empathize with killers say about Will’s own potential to do so. Hannibal suggests that Jack is treating Will as he is “a fragile little teacup, only used for special guests”. And that he himself sees him as “a mongoose that he would want under the house when snakes slither by”. He suggests that Will is not a pray that should be afraid to get hurt, that he is the predator. By that Hannibal does not only encourage the destructiveness Will may be trying hard to keep buried to come alive, but also the false perception that Will’s mind is strong enough to take any challenge Jack may throw his way.

Hannibal warning Garret Jacob Hobbs is literally setting the pieces in position of his will to get Will where and how he wants. He does not know what will be waiting in Hobbs’ house for Will but in the end, it does not matter so much since he just wants to see what happens.

When they arrive at the house, seeing Hobbs leaving his wife on the threshold her throat cut, Hannibal stands still. Is it because he is so confident that Will will be too frantic to ever look back and notice that, or is it because deep down he just does not feel like putting his person suit on in front of Will? I think both. When Will shots Hobbs and tries to tend Abigail on the floor, Hannibal walks in and sees Will caring hard for the girl. Hannibal’s face looks curious about what is going on but more than that, again, his focus is on Will more than it is on anything else. He sees all these humane emotions that Hannibal himself has always been somewhat stranger too on Will, those emotions that he thought, cannot come in a package with all the destructive ones. But maybe they can. And those emotions may even look nice. Because it almost does on Will. Although how the events would turn out Hannibal did not know, it was certain that the way he pushed things, there would be blood and there would be Will doing something that will change him one way or the other. After all, they have undergone a traumatic (for Will) and exciting (for Hannibal) circumstance together and it is a known fact that people who experience a significant situation together tend to develop emotional bonds. Maybe this was the least of what Hannibal hoped for. If that was the case, he got more than he wished. Will got to kill someone even if it was for a just reason and there happened to be an orphaned girl that Will desperately bonded the moment he killed her father, who maybe a manipulative tool for Hannibal in his game. The last scene where Will finds Hannibal holding Abigail’s hand in the hospital room highlights this perfectly. Now, Hannibal and Will has a mutual asset that Hannibal may use to draw Will closer to himself despite of Will’s initial reservations to do so.

[dinandgone]

The Turncoat.

Part Six of the ‘Blood and Beskar’ series.

The Mandalorian x Fem!Reader

Word count: 6.78k

Warnings: Language, brief mention of adult themes, so 18+ just in case, if you are a child please turn around and go back from whence you came thank you :). Violence, Canon with a little bit extra sprinkled in. Very dialogue heavy

A/n ~ Hi, as promised here’s chapter 6. I feel like this chapter isn’t the best because of how dialogue heavy it is :/ But I don’t know what else to do with it so here it is I hope you like it. Feedback is always welcome :) Enjoy xxx

Update (25/07/21): I have indeed decided to continue writing this fic. So there will be more to come very soon :)

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Mando had managed to gracefully land the crest in the hangar at Mos Eisley. The puff and spatter of its engines rattling as it powers down. You hoped it wasn't obvious to whoever had to fix it that you'd been in a shootout less than an hour ago. Things like that lead to questions and questions lead to mistakes.

Mando turns and stands from the pilot's chair.

"If anyone asks about this," He gestures to the ship "Make something up, the less people know the better,"

You nod, moving out of the cockpit doorway to allow him to pass, turning to the child who's babbling happily in his container, you pick him up and place him on your hip, cradling his head in the crook of your arm.

"Maker, how you keep smiling all the time buddy I don't know," you sigh making your way from the cockpit down to the hull.

Dropping down the ladder to the hull, you look for the familiar shine of beskar. Your search is interrupted by a single blaster shot and shouting. You quickly place the child in Mando's cot and sealing the lock on the door, quietly moving closer to the ramp.

"Hey...Hey!" a sharp voice sounds from the back of the hangar, your hand hovers over your holstered blaster as you move towards the Mandalorian at the end of the ramp.

A small woman with tightly curled almost frizzy hair stalks into view towards you and Mando.

"You damage my droid, you pay for it," she states pointing her finger at the Mandalorian's chest.

"Just keep them away from my ship," Mando responds roughly.

Ah droids, another thing you could add to the ever-growing list of things the Mandalorian didn't like, right next to conversation and you. The conversation between the woman and Mando when back and forth, haggling on how much the hangar and repairs would cost.

"Would you look at that," she shouts assessing the damage "You've got a lot of carbon scoring up top, and a fuel leak, if I didn't know any better I would think you were in a shootout!"

You tense turning to look at Mando who just simply shakes his head. You expect the stranger to inquire further but she doesn't, she continues assessing the damage and starts walking back to you and Mando, wiping her hands on a rag.

"Your ship is a mess, and since I ain't using droids then it's going to cost you extra," she smiles, her gaze drifting between you and the Mandalorian.

Mando shifts, grasping the small pouch of credits from his belt and holding it out.

"I have five hundred imperial credits," he states plainly tossing the pouch to the woman, clearly he wasn't in the mood to haggle.

"That's it?" She scoffs "That'll just about cover the hangar,"

You roll your eyes, typical you thought to yourself. You knew the price was steep but the crest needed its repairs and you'd be damned if you had to spend more time than you had to on Tatooine.

"I'll get you your money," Mando assures the woman turning to walk away from the ship. You follow him hearing the woman mumble a faint "Yeah I've heard that one before,"

Before you can make it out of the hangar Mando stops causing you to walk straight into what you could only describe as a beskar clad wall.

"Ouch... What are y-" you begin to ask.

"You need to stay with the kid," Mando orders, crowding the exit.

"The kid will be fine, I made sure to lock the bunk," You respond quickly, rolling your eyes at his bossy tone. He raises his shoulders, breathing in to answer you.

"And before you say anything, I need clothes and essentials which I recall is your fault because you wouldn't let me go back for my bag on Felucia," you quip standing your ground, prodding your finger into his beskar clad chest. 

Mando considered your argument, then looked into your eyes. They flickered with defiance and determination. Saying no to you was becoming increasingly difficult, he couldn’t quite place why. Nodding he moved aside, allowing you to walk past him and out of the hangar.

Tatooine held first place for your most hated planet on the outer rim. The first thing that hits you is the heat, the stagnant sweltering kind that dried your throat. The second thing you notice is the sand the tiny grains of misery that always managed to filter their way into your clothes, making sure to provide infuriating irritation in their wake. The third thing you notice is the people, Tatooine was infamous for its abundance of criminals and unsavoury types, many of which had bounties on their heads. Its the third prospect of this planet that creates an uneasiness in your stomach.

As you’re walking Mando notices you’re uncharacteristically quiet. He would have thought you’d be complaining to your heart’s content or finding some way to get under his skin, but you remain silent, shuffling along quietly behind him, your discomfort emitting off you in waves. 

"You've been here before?" he asks. The sudden start in conversation takes you off guard. 

"Of course, bounty hunter remember," you chuckle pointing at yourself.

"You don't like it here?" he asks a genuine interest in his voice.

"It's a skugpot full of criminals and it's got sand, I don't like sand. Correction. I hate sand," you ramble "You find it in places you didn't even know you could for days,"

Your response earns a low chuckle, if you weren’t listening you would have missed it. 

"You know I'm starting to think you find me funny," you smile nudging into him playfully. He doesn’t respond, just continues walking towards the marketplace in the centre of the town. You smirk to yourself, he didn’t need to respond for you to get your answer. He could deny it all he wanted but the big bad Mandalorian found you his ex bounty and resident babysitter, funny. 

The marketplace is bustling, vendors from every stall calling out to potential patrons urging them to invest in the goods they had to offer. You’d never been scared of this place as your time as a bounty hunter, the place was known for its dubious characters often willing to sell out anyone to the highest bidder, that’s what made your job just that little bit easier when it came to hunting bounties. However, the atmosphere was different, now you were the bounty and it felt like someone always had their eyes on you. 

Staying close to Mando you push through the crowds towards the stalls you needed, you glanced over at the clothes the stalls had to offer each item highly overpriced but you didn’t expect anything more from this planet. Fully engrossed in the prattling vendor in front of you, you don’t hear the Mandalorian mumble something to you and you don’t see him walking away in the opposite direction.

After a little deliberation, you settle for some simple shirts, a tunic for the cold weather and a pair of combat trousers. Your mind wanders to the shirt you were wearing, his shirt, the smell of him had worn off over time but as ridiculous as it sounded it still made you feel safe. Would he want it back now you had shirts of your own? This was pathetic, you were a badass bounty hunter, and you’d survived this long by yourself, you didn’t need to ruin that now by gaining an attachment to someone who tolerated you out of convenience and definitely would not feel the same way. Did you? 

You selected some soap and shampoo, notes of citrus and sandalwood drifting into your nose. It was similar to the ones that the Mandalorian used because it was easier to share right? You paid the vendor, almost grimacing at the amount you had to shell out, you sigh, everyone had to earn a living somehow. Realising you hadn’t asked Mando if he needed anything you turned, opening your mouth to speak. But he wasn’t there. When had he left? 

Your senses heightened, low-level panic searing through your chest. He was just right there, and now he was gone, he hadn’t said anything, had he? Your attention had been on what the vendor had been saying. You took a deep breath trying to remain calm. Now was not the time to panic especially given the place you were, people here prayed on vulnerability. You silently cursed that walking pile of beskar for dragging you to a place you despised and then leaving you. Bastard. 

You slung your newly purchased pack over your back and stalked around the stalls hoping to see the familiar glint of beskar. How in makers name could you lose him, he stuck out like a sore thumb. The bazaar was still bustling with people shouting and laughing, the faint sounds of music permeating through the air. It felt like you were going in circles the stalls all seeming familiar and the buildings the same tan exterior. You started to walk back to the hangar, trying to remember your steps, taking a left or was it right? You continued walking the alleyway only littered with a few stalls the proprietors much less boisterous than the ones before. Yep you’ve definitely taken a wrong turn. You think to yourself, you pivot on your heels and begin walking back the way you came stopping when you hear an unknown voice speak behind you. 

“Well, well, well, you seem to be a little lost princess,”

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

“I’m going to find something, stay here,” Mando mumbles behind you, turning to walk towards the junker’s yard adjacent to the market stalls.

The shop was quiet, dust settling in a thin film over everything and ship parts piled high.

“Can I help you?” a voice asks, presumably the shop’s owner.

“I need of long-distance communication devices,” Mando explained.

“Ah follow me,” the owner states, turning and shuffling towards a crate in the corner of the yard. Thinking back to you Mando turns to look back at the market. Thankfully you seemed to have listened to his directions, still nodding at the vendor talking to you. He notices you choose some shirts from the stall, somewhere in the deepest part of his brain he had hoped you’d keep his shirt, even though you weren’t his it roused something within him to see you wearing it. Snapping out of his train of thought to the sound of the junker’s ramblings Mando walks to where the junker is stood with a pair of comms, still making sure you were in his line of sight.

“How much?” he asks shortly, he wasn’t in a negotiating mood.

“Two Hundred,” the junker states, clearly like everyone else on this planet extortion seemed to be his only form of income too.

“Two Hundred? That’s steep, I could find a pair brand new for a hundred on the Mid rim,” Mando grunts bluntly.

“Hate to break it to you buddy but you’re on the outer rim, things are a bit more pricey out here,” the junker smirks, stretching out his arm to shake on the purchase.

“One fifty?” Mando pushes, anxious to get back to the market. To you. 

“I...” the proprietor goes to argue “Ugh fine, one fifty,” he shakes Mando’s hand and exchanging the comms for the pouch of credits. 

Without another word, Mando walks towards the entrance of the yard looking at the stall you were stood at. Except you weren’t there, the vendor now harassing someone else. 

“Osik...” Mando huffs stepping out into the bustling marketplace. 

He’d asked you to do one thing and you weren’t capable of doing that. Typical. He thought to himself, you were too rebellious for your own good. He cursed to himself as he looks around the waves of people, you could easily blend into the crowds, unlike him, you didn’t stand out. For the first time the Mandalorian doubts you, he contemplates that idea you’d taken the initiative to run, to get out of here and escape capture. From the times he’d raced you to capture a bounty or encountered you briefly on Nevarro he gathered you were like him, alone, independent. He can’t ignore the sinking feeling in his chest that you’d so willingly leave. He pushes his doubt to the side, you wouldn’t leave without saying something. You always had something to say, a quip or smartass comment. Pushing through the crowds he searches for you, mentally grumbling about how you couldn’t just follow simple instruction and stay put. 

After the fourth circuit of the marketplace, Mando starts to worry, though he knew you could look after yourself, there was still a danger especially being on Tatooine, it wouldn’t be surprising if someone from the guild was here. Mando begins to make his way back to the hangar, maybe you’d gone back to the kid, or stopped by in the nearest cantina. Taking a left to the quieter part of the market place his helmet picks up on a loud conversation nearby. A male voice and another, that sounded unmistakably like you. The conversation becomes more heated as Mando moves towards the source, then a flurry of blaster shots sound through making his heart drop and his feet break out into a sprint. 

As he turns around the corner he’s met with a surprising sight, a large man pressed up against the wall of the building, arm pinned behind his back and howling in pain as he tried to move, by none other than you. Relief flooded through Mando, relief that was quickly replaced by that deep feeling he had felt the first time you had worn his shirt. He couldn’t ignore the fact his cock twitched in his pants at the sight of you fiercely subduing your opponent. He’s brought out of his trance by the familiar ring of your voice. Clearing his throat he turns his attention to you. 

“Ah, just when I thought you’d left me,” you shout, pressing your opponents arm up his back earning another groan of discomfort. 

“You’ve got to help me man, I was only having a little fun I meant no harm,” the man muffles against the wall. 

“Let him go,” Mando reasons turning his attention to you. You look at him a scowl on your face, then finally releasing your grip from the man’s arm. 

“Yeah that’s it do as he says, bitch,” the man spits pushing off the wall. 

Without thinking about it you propel your fist forward, connecting with his nose, you hear a crack and you’re not sure if it’s your hand or his nose. But he grunts in pain, clutching his nose as blood begins to trickle down his face. Before you can take another swing the Mandalorian moves past you, fast enough his movement could almost be described as a streak of beskar. He clutches the man by the collar and propels him back into the wall. 

“You ever say anything, come near her or touch her again, you’ll have me to deal with, Understand?” He growls, earning a fast nod from the wide-eyed man as he slips away clutching his nose. 

“I had it handled,” you huffed, wincing at your split knuckles. 

“Why do you always attract trouble?” Mando sighs, pacing towards you grasping at your hand to assess the damage. The touch of the leather gloves on your hand makes your skin prickle, but you were too pent up from the anger that you’d felt at the man before you didn’t dwell on the feeling. 

“You’re the one that left me, I was looking for you!” You shout pulling your hand from his grip. 

“I told you where I was going,” Mando grunts moving away from you 

“No, I...” you stammer. Had he said something to you? 

“Weren’t listening as usual,” Mando stated bluntly. Making you pull a face. 

“Whatever, weren’t we supposed to be finding a job today?” You ask quickly changing the topic. Starting to walk back to the main marketplace. 

“The guild used to operate from a cantina not far from here, they might have something,” Mando grumbles before taking the lead, walking in the direction of the marketplace.

Now the conversation had died down, you were left to reminisce on what had just happened. Mando threatening someone shouldn’t have added fuel to the spark already ignited deep inside your stomach, but something about it made your heart stop and your breathing slow. You didn’t like feeling like a damsel in distress, you could’ve handled it yourself, but you’d be lying if you hadn’t enjoyed Mando threatening a man for you. The way he had done it radiated possessiveness and it made you shiver, you knew you were reading into the situation but a girl could dream right? 

The walk to the cantina took a lot less time than you had expected, you were less lost than you thought you were as the marketplace began to look more familiar. You followed Mando through the door into a building that you presumed was the cantina he’d been looking for. The cantina was quiet, only a couple of patrons, keeping their business to themselves or too fully engrossed in a quiet game of Sabacc, but as you and Mando walk through the doors eyes raise onto where you’re stood. You knew it was Mando they were looking at, if it was you in their situation you would’ve too, he was hard to ignore. Silently, Mando walks to the bar where a droid is cleaning glasses. 

“Hey droid, I’m a hunter, I’m looking for some work,” Mando says quietly leaning on the bar. 

“Unfortunately the bounty guild no longer operates from Tatooine,” 

“We’re not looking for guild work,” you chip in, earning a steeled glance from the Mandalorian, you shrug your shoulders in response. 

“I am afraid that does not improve your situation, at least by my calculations,” The droid stares blankly, continuing to clean the bar. You sigh, looking to Mando for direction, this was your only shot at getting the credits to pay for the ship. This place was a skughole, the perfect place for dodgy jobs and suddenly there wasn’t any. 

“Think again, Tin Can,” a smooth voice calls from a booth to your left. You turn with Mando, observing the owner of the voice. A man sits with his legs propped against the table, he looked about your age, maybe younger. To put it simply he looked like trouble. 

“If you’re looking for work, have a seat, my friends,” he smiles, keeping eye contact with you. You almost cringe in disgust, but you look to Mando for his next move. 

“Name’s Toro, Toro Calican,” the stranger speaks again as Mando moves towards the booth. 

“Mando I don’t know about this,” you argue, but Mando was already taking a seat at the booth. 

“Relax, sweetheart, sit,” Calican states smoothly, gesturing to the seat next to him. Reluctantly you move towards the table opting for the seat next to Mando, you felt the stranger’s eyes running over your figure as you sit seemingly a complete disregard for your company. Before you can protest his use of nicknames the stranger places a bounty puck onto the table. 

“Picked up this bounty puck before I left the Mid Rim, Fennec Shand, an assassin,” Calican explains. You almost laugh at the guy, was he serious? 

“I know the name,” Mando states nonchalantly 

“I followed this tracking fob here, the positional data suggests she’s somewhere out beyond the Dune Sea, should be an easy job” 

“Well good luck with that,” Mando nods at you, a queue for you to stand. 

“Wait, wait, wait, hey. I thought you needed work?” Calican turns as you both begin walking out of the cantina. Mando stops. 

“How long with the guild?” he asks walking back to the table. 

“Long enough,” Calican retorts 

“Listen, clearly you’re new to this profession,” You scoff turning to look at the stranger, “Fennec Shand is an elite mercenary, the best of the best,” 

“She made her name killing for all the top crime syndicates including the Hutts, If you go after her you won’t make it past sunrise,” Mando interjects. You subconsciously shiver at his sentence, the uneasiness of past memories pooling in your stomach. If the Mandalorian noticed, he didn’t say anything. Mando turns again heading for the door, you follow suit. 

“Wait! This is my first job, you can keep the money, all of it. I just need this job to get into the guild, I can’t do it alone” Calican pleads. Mando stops and turns again, the helmet tilting, the sign that he’s thinking. 

“Wait, you aren’t seriously thinking about this! Mando it’s a suicide run!” you hiss. 

“Meet me at hangar three-five in an hour, bring three speeder bikes and give me the tracking fob,” Mando orders, you shake your head in disbelief. So now was the time you got included. The time that almost certainly had only one outcome...death. Before you can say anything, Calican brings out the tracking fob and smashes it against the wall. 

“Don’t worry I got it all memorised,” Calican smiles tapping the side of his head. 

“Half an hour,” Mando orders before turning out of the cantina door. You follow hot on his trail. 

“Are you crazy? First, the guy wants to take down Fennec Shand and now he smashes the fucking tracking fob!” you snap, hastily walking alongside him. 

“We need the credits,” Mando states bluntly like the mission was no big deal.

“Yeah we need the credits Mando, but I’d also like to live to see the next cycle,” you argue 

You don’t have time to argue before the Mandalorian’s figure crowds your space, stopping you in your tracks. You try to walk around him but he places a firm grip on your shoulders. 

“What are...” you begin 

“You wanted to be included, I’m including you, I chose to do this, we need the credits, anything else you’ve got to say, save it,” he asserts, letting go of your shoulders turning to the hangar’s entrance. 

You stand there mouth agape, his dominance leaves your brain blank, the argument simply melting away, and embarrassingly a wetness forming in between your thighs. Your heart was thundering against your chest, leaving your breathing short and staggered. Nothing could have prepared you for what just happened. Annoyance simmered in the back of your brain, how could he do that? From a simple touch or just a sentence, reduce you to an incoherent mess. You needed to pull yourself together, this was entirely unprofessional. 

Calming yourself, you make your way into the hangar. You’re met with the sound of Mando shouting something and the familiar voice of the woman from the Hangar. Stepping through the door you see the woman cradling the child. You walk over to the Mandalorian’s side.  

“Have you any idea how long it took me to get it to sleep?” the woman complains 

“Give him to me,” Mando demands pointing at the woman. 

“Not so fast,” she turns the child away from you both. “You can’t just leave a child alone like that, you know you had an awful lot to learn about raising a young one,” 

Mando turns to you, “I thought you said you locked the bunk,” he questions bluntly. 

“I did,” you scoff “It’s not my fault he escaped, I double checked it was locked,” You crossed your arms. 

The woman looks between you and the Mandalorian for a second before resuming her conversation.

“Anyway, I started the repair on the fuel leak, had a couple of setbacks I wanna talk to you about,” she begins “ You know I didn’t use any droids as requested, so it took me a lot longer than I expected,”  She turns her attention to you as Mando walks onto the crest. 

“But I figured you were good for the money seen as you have a couple of extra mouths to feed,” she adds. You roll your eyes, of course, it was going to cost extra, did you expect anything less. You barely had enough credits to pay for the hangar. You had no choice but to do this job. You turn to Mando who grabs his bag and walking off the ship. 

“Thank you,” he nods making his way to the door. 

You and the woman both raise your eyebrows. So he is capable of gratitude you thought. 

“So I guess I was right you got a job didn’t you,” she pushes following the Mandalorian out of the door. 

The woman continues to prattle on about money and droid expenses which you ignore, as your attention is now focussed on the two speeder bikes in front of you, clearly, Mando also noticed the discrepancy in the agreement. 

“Hey, Mando, what d’ya think, not too shabby huh?” Calican smiles proudly 

“I said three speeder bikes, there’s only two here,” Mando states pointedly, placing his pack on the speeder bike on the left. 

Toro turns his attention to you, “ Well it looks like you and me get to share princess,” he replies, perching himself on the speeder bike smugly. 

Your anger surges you forward, taking your knife from your thigh and holding it smoothly to his throat, causing Calican to stumble back slightly. 

“Call me princess again and I’ll make sure you get real acquainted with the end of my knife, understand?” you growl, pointing your blade to his throat.  

Mando chuckles at your remark, smirking as he swings his leg over to sit on the speeder. After Calican seems to understand your point, you go to join Mando on his speeder, lacing your hands around his torso. You could feel him tense at your touch, but then relax a couple seconds after. Starting the speeder bike and following Calican across the dunes.

Mando tries not to focus on your arms around his waist or your warmth against his back. The closeness of you was enough to stoke the embers slowly flickering in his stomach, leading him to think how pretty you would look holding onto him, with him on top of you. No. He shakes his head deciding to focus on the land ahead, and keeping in front of Calican’s speeder. 

You roll your eyes at the fact two grown men were racing speeders right now, engrossed in their own little ego competition. After a while Mando signals for the speeders to stop. 

“What’s going on?” Calican asks looking at Mando.

“Look. Up ahead,” Mando nods to a spot in the dunes where a group of figures moving.

Calican dismounts his speeder and walks towards the edge of the dune. Reluctantly, you let go of the Mandalorian, getting off the speeder and walking towards where Calican is stood with binoculars in his hands. 

“Tusken Raiders,” he points out “I heard the locals talking about this filth,” You frown at his reference to the figures.

“Tuskens think they’re the locals, everyone else is just trespassing,” you inform, Calican scoffs in response. You feel your anger rising again at the ignorant stranger. 

“Well, whatever they call themselves, they best keep their distance,” 

“Yeah? Why don’t you tell them yourself?” Mando asks turning his helmet to a pair of raiders to your left. Calican steps back, reaching for his blaster in its holster.  

“Relax,” he eases, placing himself in between you and the raiders. Looking at the raiders he begins to sign. 

“What’s he doing?” Calican asks looking back and forth from the raiders to Mando. 

“Negotiating,” you quip, paying attention to the Mandalorian’s hand movements. Your Tusken was rusty but you could vaguely make out what Mando and the raiders were saying. 

“What’s going on?” Calican interjects again. 

“We need passage across their land,” Mando explains “Let me see the binocs,” he asks, Calican questions earning a glare from your and a tilted helmet from Mando, reluctantly he passes them to Mando. You have to stifle a laugh when Mando tosses them to the raiders and Calican protests. 

“Those were brand new!” Calican whines.

“Yeah, they were,” you chuckle walking back to the speeder with Mando before he starts up the speeder again. 

After a while you sense the speeder slowing, you look forward. A large shadow moved across the plains ahead. This was not good. Following Mando, you scramble off the speeder and onto the dune below. 

“Get down,” you and Mando order simultaneously, crawling to the ledge of the dune.

“Alright, tell me what you see,” Mando prompts. Before you can answer Calican cuts in. 

“Dewback looks like the rider’s still attached,” 

“Mando, I don’t like this,” you say, the feeling of uneasiness increasing in the pit of your stomach. 

“Is that her? Is that the target,” Calican asks 

“I don’t know, I’ll go. You cover me, stay down,” He orders looking at you, pulling his blaster out of its holster. 

“Mando..” You start “Be careful,” you look at him, earning a nod in response before he disappears over the ledge. You pull your blaster out from its holster and watch the dunes for any other signs of movement. The air was tense, something wasn’t right, there was no way Fennec Shand was that rider, she was too skilled to be caught off guard so easily. Your concentration is broken by the sound of Calican shouting to Mando. 

“Is it her? Is she dead?” he asks lifting his head higher over the ridge. What part of stay down did this idiot not understand. 

“No, it’s another bounty hunter,” Mando replies as he inspects the corpse. The bad feeling in your gut increased. This was bad. You notice Mando look up then turn. He manages to shout get down before a flash of red hits him right in the back. 

“Mando!” You shout pushing off your elbows in an attempt to get up, but Calican pulls you down just as another shot rings out, hitting Mando in the beskar as he tumbles over the edge of the dune. He hits the ground with a grunt. 

“What happened?” Calican asks, peering over the edge. 

“Sniper bolt.” Mando points out.

“Only an MK modified rifle could make that shot,” you looked at him in shock “Are you okay?” you ask trying not to sound too worried. 

“Yeah. Hit me in the beskar,” Mando breathes heavily “and at that range, beskar held up,” 

“Wait, I don’t wear any beskar,” Calican points out, looking at Mando with wide eyes. 

“Nope,”

You chuckle at Mando’s reply. 

“You see where that shot came from?” he asks

“Yeah, it came from somewhere on that ridge,” Calican guess.

“Approximately three klicks north-west,” you huff pointing to the exact ridge, your answer earning a glance from both men. You smirk as Mando explain his plan. 

“I’m gonna rest, you take the first watch, stay low,” Mando orders walking back to the speeders. 

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” Toro winks, you scoff before turning around and walking back to the bikes. 

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

The suns set pretty quickly on Tatooine, but it feels like forever with Toro’s incessant nattering, you even contemplated talking to Mando, his shortened responses would be infinitely better than Toro’s failed flirtation techniques. But he seemed to be asleep, propped up against the speeder bike silently. 

“Alright, suns are down, time to ride Mando,” Toro projects walking over to where you’re sat. 

“Come on, wake up,” he pushes before stopping a few feet in front of Mando. You would have interjected and told him to shut up, but a little part of you wanted to see how this went. 

“Look at you, asleep on the job, old man,” Calican taunts “After this is done sweetheart feel free to trade-in for a newer model,” he smirks. You roll your eyes and scoff

“I’m afraid you’d be out of luck there, see I prefer men, not little boys trying to act all rough and tough,” you sneer. Toro’s eyes widen for a second before he turns back to Mando pulling out his blaster, pretending to quick draw. You roll your eyes, his actions just proving your point. 

Mando smiles underneath his helmet at your comment, the feeling of pride blooming through his chest. He shouldn’t feel this possessiveness over you, you weren’t his. But the feeling that stirred inside him was involuntary. He needed to ignore it, he needed to keep your relationship professional, but as the time spent with you increased he found it harder to suppress that feeling.

“You done?” Mando asks bluntly before standing, clearly, this throws Calican off guard as he re-holsters his weapons and rubs the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, yeah you know I was just waking you up,” he stammers. 

“Get on your bike, ride across to those rocks as fast as you can, Y/N go with him,” 

“What?” you start “I am not-” 

“For once just do as I ask,” Mando lets out an exasperated sigh.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed Mando but we’re not a walking talking pile of beskar like you, she’ll snipe us right off the bikes!” you hiss, crossing your arms in defiance. In return you get the cold star of the dark visor, you huff and climb onto the speeder. 

Mando reaches into his pack and tosses two objects at you and Calican. 

“It’s a flash charge, we alternate shots, it’ll blind any scope temporarily, combine that with our speed and we’ve got a chance ” he explains climbing onto his speeder. Toro opens his mouth to question the plan but before he can Mando interjects. 

“Hey, you wanted this. Get ready,” Before you can say anything Mando speeds off towards the ridge. You mentally curse at how bad a plan this was, you’d be lucky if you made it out. 

What happens next is all a blur, the rush of the speeders and the bright light of the alternating flash charges was blinding. So far, the plan seemed to be going well, both speeders managing to avoid the sniper shots from the ridge. Almost as if you couldn’t have spoken any sooner the speeder dips just as Toro goes to ignite the flash charge, causing the light to fall in the wrong direction. Fuck. You watch as a flash of red pulses straight into Mando’s speeder. 

“No!” you shout, dread fills your body, turning back you see him sprawled out on the desert floor, thankfully you see him sit up to let off another flare. As Toro slows the speeder you launch yourself off the bike before it could stop moving, you stumble towards the Mandalorian before another sniper shot hits him square in the chest sending him flying. 

“Mando!” You cry out running to where he was lying. He grunts and sits up brushing off the sand that had gathered on his flight suit. 

“I’m fine, are you okay?” he asks the visor looking at you intently. 

“What do you...” you start  “I’m fine, you just got shot are you okay?” Before he can answer your question, you hear a blaster shot from the cliffs. Turning to look at each other, you both run. By the time you’d got to the top of the ridge, you were surprised to see that Calican was still alive, yes he was being choked to death by an assassin, but he’d still made it that far. 

“Nice distraction,” Mando commends, pointing his blaster at Shand, who releases her grip. 

“Yeah, ow, good work partners,” Calican groans crawling away to sit. 

“Cuff yourself,” Mando orders, throwing the cuffs on the ground. 

“Why don’t you go find your blaster,” Mando suggests to Calican, he nods walking away. 

“A Mandalorian, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of your kind,” Shand states smoothly as she stands. 

“Ever been to Nevarro?” She asks smiling smugly “ I hear things didn’t go so well there but it looks like you got off easily,” 

“You don’t have to worry bout getting to Nevarro or anywhere else, once we turn you in,” Toro re-enters the conversation dusting off his blaster. “ You know, I really should thank you, you’re my ticket into the guild,” Toro taunts. 

“You know, I thought Mandalorian’s were warriors of honour, so why are you hanging around with a wanted ex- bounty hunter?” Fennec asks slyly turning to you, and then Mando. 

“Oh, she hasn’t told you?” Shand smirks 

“Tell me what?” Mando asks, you close your eyes, hoping that she doesn’t push this further, but your prayers are squashed when she opens her mouth. 

“Why she has a twenty thousand credit bounty on her head...” Fennec sneers, smiling when she’s met with silence. 

“Let’s just say my previous employers aren’t best pleased with you are they?” Shand turns to you. You can feel the Mandalorian’s cold stare on the side of your head. You wait, the anticipation thick in the air.

“You pissed off the Hutts, one of the biggest crime syndicates in the galaxy!” Mando hisses

“Yeah, but Jabba is dead, it’s not that big of a deal,” you shrug trying to calm the situation. 

“Twenty thousand credits, is a big deal, y/n, what did you do?” Mando insists 

“It doesn’t matter,” you grit. 

“What. Did. You. Do?” he pushes, his persistence hits a nerve. 

“You know if you’d actually have bothered to ask me why I had such a high bounty on my head then maybe I would’ve told you my side of the story, but it’s all business with you isn’t it tin can,” You growl pointing your finger at him. 

“I didn’t know how high it was, you know how it is, don’t ask questions,” Mando begins but you cut him off, rage piercing through your words. 

“Oh no, you don’t get to act all high and mighty now bucket head, I did the exact same thing as you did with the kid, I didn’t follow through on a job that I knew was wrong!” you shout all your past frustrations lacing into your words. 

You walk ahead to the bottom of the ridge where Toro is already waiting. You ignore him and walk straight to the speeders. 

“Uh oh, looks like one of us is going to have to walk,” Shand says in a sing-song tone. Before Mando shoves her to the ground. 

“Or we could drag you,” you hear Mando suggest lowly. Usually, you would have laughed at his remark, but all you felt was anger. 

You watch as Mando and Calican walk away talking about a plan. Before Mando begins to walk away. 

“Watch her keep her away from the bikes, she’s no good to us dead,” he states plainly before ignoring you and walking off into the desert. Oh, real mature you thought rolling your eyes. So now you had no idea what was going on. 

“Where’s he going?” you ask 

“To get the Dewback we saw earlier,” Toro informs you keeping his eye on Shand.  You nod before propping yourself up on one of the bikes. 

“You take first watch,” you instruct as you lean against the speeder, dismantling your blaster to reassemble in the hope it would help pass the time. Slowly, you begin to drift off the soft sound of the breeze lulling you to sleep. 

The sound of conversation rouses you from your sleep. 

“Bringing you in will make me a fully-fledged member of the guild,” Toro explains 

“You already have something that the Guild values far more than me, you just don’t see it, ” Shand says smoothly. Toro looks at her in confusion. “The Mandalorian and the girl,” she explains “A Mandalorian shot up the guild on Nevarro, took a high-value target and went rogue, the girl is responsible for the death of a high ranking member of a crime syndicate, think what it would do for your reputation, your name will be legendary ” Shand negotiates. 

You feel could almost hear the cogs turning in Calican’s head as he mulled the offer over. 

“Take some advice kid, you wanna be a bounty hunter, make the best deal for yourself and survive,” As Shand raises her hands to be uncuffed you stand ready to protest. But before you can say anything a flash of red hits her straight and her body falls to the floor. You stand there eyes wide, looking over at Calican who’s now pointing his blaster at you. You go to reach for your blaster in its holster but you curse yourself as you remember you’d taken it out to reassemble it, you look down to see it lay on the ground next to the speeder. You raise your hands in an attempt to mediate the situation.

“Wait...” you plead. But as quickly as the words leave your mouth, the world around you goes dark. 

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[krisingtons]

Happy Birthday Toshinori Yagi / All Might!

To celebrate the Symbol of Peace's birthday, here is my take on Toshinori's potential astrology natal chart, complete with explanations and reasoning. Buckle up for the highly specific, mashing up two niche interests post that literally no one asked for.

For BNHA Fans:

I will do my absolute best to explain the chart below step-by-step. If there's anything you want to know more about, feel free to ask or consult an online resource with the terms I used.

All the placements I've chosen are based on what we know in canon. Any new information we receive in canon may change this post.

The only official astrology information we have in canon is Toshinori's Sun sign, which is Gemini based on his June 10th birthday. (I'll get into this.)

After looking at some of the Sun signs Horikoshi gave to different characters, I'm convinced the man knows at least a little bit about astrology because they're very on point for everyone.

For Astrologers:

I only focused on the seven personal planets, even though I believe the generational planets have a big impact on the BNHA universe. It was just more than I could focus on.

I did not bother with the decans other than to vaguely have a sense of it, especially for the angles. I messed a few up slightly.

I also did not bother with retrogrades, even though I suspect Toshinori has one or two (I suspect Mars in particular).

I use Whole Sign Houses. To calculate houses, start with the AC, then move one sign counter-clockwise for each house. (Here, Leo is the 1st, Virgo is the 2nd, etc.)

For the moment of truth...

Toshinori Yagi's Astrology Natal Chart

(Yes, I drew it by hand. I'll zoom in for specific parts)

Sun, Moon, Rising

Since the only piece of information we have to work with from canon is Toshinori's Sun sign, let's start there.

The bigger circle surrounding the smaller circle represents Toshinori's Sun. Born on June 10th, this makes him a Gemini Sun. The Sun represents the ego, how the outer world sees us, and Geminis are very talkative, sociable, playful, and charming, but can be reluctant to engage with deeper feelings and are often restless for activity. As far as an astrological starting point goes, well done, Horikoshi. These themes clearly show up in Toshinori/All Might's external identity, and as I'll share, it plays a big part in his career, too, since I put it in the 11th house of community and serving others. (Note that conjunct MC, astrologers.) Next, let's talk about Toshinori's Moon.

This is the symbol for the moon. I feel pretty strongly that Toshinori has an Aquarius Moon. The moon represents our emotions, our inner life, and sometimes our mother. Aquarius is all about society, community, an unconventional way of doing things, and an idealism for what could be. Aquarius' often feel a push and pull between needing independence and needing to connect with others emotionally and intellectually. Not only does this seem to cover Toshinori's inner life well, but his mother figure served those ideals, too. Let's move on to the Rising Sign, also known as the AC. The Rising Sign indicates what sign was on the horizon at the time someone was born.

I placed his Rising Sign in Leo for two reasons. First, Leo is ruled by the Sun, and since Toshinori clearly embodies many of the traits of his Sun sign, it made sense to double down on that. Second, Leo Rising perfectly places his Sun in the 11th house of friendship, community, hopes and wishes, and social goals.

Mercury and Venus

Moving on to Mercury and Venus, these two planets go well together because they have rules about their distance from the Sun. Mercury can never be more than one sign away from the Sun, while Venus can never be more than two signs away due to their physical proximity to the Sun from our viewpoint on Earth.

First, Mercury.

Mercury is the symbol next to the Sun that (ironically) looks like it has bunny ears. Mercury indicates how we communicate things and how we learn. It is at home in Gemini, and people with a Gemini Mercury are often witty and knowledgeable. With it so close to the Sun and the Midheaven (which we'll get to later), it indicates how much his words were a part of his "brand" in his career, both through catchphrases and through frequent media appearances.

Now, Venus.

This was probably the toughest one to place for me (and for the astrologers paying close attention, I probably placed the degree too far from the Sun, my bad). I decided to put it in Aries in the 9th house for a couple of reasons.

First, Venus rules Toshinori's 10th house of career, and the 9th house represents, among other things, international travel and higher education. All Might's career was largely based on his time studying abroad and branding himself with symbolism from a country other than his own. Venus also represents things we love and our creative energy, and All Might clearly has a love of all things American.

Then, I placed Venus in Aries because Aries is ruled by Mars. It's a sign and planet of action, demonstrating Toshinori's drive in his career. However, Mars is also a planet that is considered violent, symbolizing war and things that literally cut. This pairs well with where I've placed Mars as shown below.

Mars

Alright, Mars is important canon-wise. As I just mentioned from Venus, Mars is a planet that cuts, which indicates war. And I've placed it in Cancer, which is Toshinori's 12th house. The 12th house, among other things, indicates service, sacrifice, mental health, and enemies. Toshinori literally sacrificed himself, his body, his life, by fighting a long-time enemy, an enemy he trained years to fight (hello again, 9th house Venus). Cancer is ruled by the Moon, which pairs well with his sense of service, too, since it's in Aquarius.

Jupiter and Saturn

Here's where we get into the meat of canon.

Jupiter first.

Jupiter is at home in Pisces, a sign that's all about dreams, saving the world, charitable giving, but also elusiveness. Jupiter, meanwhile is one of the best planets in Toshinori's chart, not only because it's in Pisces, but because Jupiter is all about good fortune, blessings, and opportunities. I've put it in the 8th house, which, among other things, signifies things that are inherited. That's right, my take on Toshinori's astrology indicates him getting One for All.

Planets in the 8th house can also indicate how someone handles a crisis, and Jupiter gives Toshinori the strength and positive attitude to handle a crisis well.

Finally, Saturn.

Saturn is like the Dad of the sky, indicating structure, discipline, and order. I've put it in Sagittarius, which is Toshinori's 5th house. Jupiter also rules Sagittarius, doubling down on the power of Jupiter in his chart. More importantly, the 5th house represents children and other ways we leave our legacy in the world. Saturn in the 5th house often indicates people who raise children that are not their own. This can be through adoption, step-parenting, or... mentorships. Hello, Izuku!

People with Saturn in the 5th house also are not inclined to relax, choosing to work more in lieu of leisure time.

What about all those lines?

Alright, I admittedly don't want to get too much into the aspect lines (the red and blue ones) because that goes more in-depth than I wanted, but they are purposeful. If you're interested in aspects, I encourage you to look up Squares, Trines, and Oppositions in particular.

I will mention the Midheaven, though. The Midheaven (MC) is the highest point in the sky, but not an actual physical body.

The MC represents a person's calling or vocation. If the Midheaven is not in the 10th house of career, it imports the themes of the house its placed in into someone's career. I've placed it again in Toshinori's 11th house of community since that's obviously a big part of his career. I also did that because the MC is always countered by the IC, which indicates someone's home and family life. Tumblr won't let me add another image, but if you go back up to Saturn, you can see the IC is also in Toshinori's 5th house, doubling down on the idea that mentor/mentee relationships play a big part in his sense of family.

As one final note, some of you may have noticed that I did place the north and south node in Toshinori's chart in the 5th and 11th house respectively. I won't get into detail here, but I wanted to give you the term in case you wanted to look it up. It's actually pretty significant this year, though, because the nodes indicate which signs eclipses happen in for that year, and it just so happens that there is a Solar Eclipse in Gemini today!

There you have it! I hope you enjoyed my wildly specific birthday post for Toshinori Yagi, better known as All Might. I'm wishing the happiest of birthdays to our favorite sunflower!