#i had my own relatively close group of 6 or 7 people who i would eat lunch with but there’d always be random extra people joining

[fingertipsmp3]

I will never have friends like the friends I had in secondary school ever again. And in some ways this is a good thing

[beneath-the-irish-sky]

June 13th

The next day, I woke up and had a bagel that I had saved. I started to get ready early since, as a group, we decided that we wanted to dress up to go to the theatre. We knew we would be out all day so I planned to dress in layers. We stopped at the center for a couple of snacks. 

Later on, we all met up at the bus stop to head over to the theater together. The bus was relatively close to the theater, and we made it to the Abbey Theatre just in time. The Theatre was built in 1904 and is rich in Irish history. However, the original theatre burned in the 1950’s and was revived in its current location today.

We toured backstage (pictures 3, 5, 6, & 8), learned about the founders, and peeked in on one of the makeup rooms. I had the opportunity to work on shows growing up as both an actor and in the tech crew. It was gleeful to see how a professional theater works. 

After the tour was completed, we went to the Guinness Storehouse (pictures 7, 9, & 10). I had no idea what to expect, but it was so cool! It was interactive, interesting, and fun. There was a tunnel that was dark and black and as you passed through you entered a room of white light, and it felt heavenly. It was an experience. We went to the 360 bar up top for the beer tasting.

The 360 bar is a room where they serve you a complimentary pint of Guinness and sit with windows all around you while overlooking the panoramic views of the City. I noticed Dublin does not have a lot of skyscrapers. You can see everything without being blocked by steel and concrete.

After we drank our pint, we went back to Abbey Theatre for the play (picture 13). It was absolutely exhilarating. I was a little worried when I saw that it was a one-woman show, but it took my breath away. It made me laugh, cry, and feel every emotion in between. The storyline was about a woman who’s mother struggled with suicide. The daughter made a list of Every Brilliant Thing she could think of to remind her mother why she should continue to live. What was once her mother's coping mechanism turned into her own when she went through similar thoughts and feelings. 

It was heartbreaking and empowering. I loved seeing the play in the Abbey Theatre and will tell everyone about the story of Every Brilliant Thing. Maybe even see the play back home.

June 14th

Today we had a class discussion that focused on art through music. We talked about how art and music have influenced our culture in ways we don't often see or hear. I listen to a lot of music that has some sort of message in it. Either subtle or the message is very clearly written and expressed. I like to listen to songs that tell the story of someone in love or someone who experienced a hard time or lost a battle. I think that there are a lot more songs describing the depth of emotions through happiness, feelings of sadness and fits of anger. This affects our culture because it influences the conversations we have. The more vulnerable people we have influence our converstaions, the more likely we will be vulnerable in our private lives.

My teacher keeps telling us all about how Irish people tell stories and how that is how they communicate. I have been seeing that more and more the longer I stay here. They tell stories of their culture and share it with others. The words then live on. I especially experienced this through the Pub Crawl (pictures 2, 4, & 11). 

Later we went to a few national museums and observed Irish art (pictures 12, 14, 15, 16, 18, & 19). There were so many gorgeous paintings, sculptures, and photographs. You could visually imagine the scenery and story with every stroke. After we left the museums, we went to the National Library and took in the exhibits on Irish Literature and how it has grown over the years. 

We then went to O’Neils for food and to see if they had the long anticipated Baileys Cheesecake. This time we were successful. After we ate, we strolled down the streets and looked in windows before heading back. 

I packed for Scotland and our trip to Galway the next day. I can’t wait to go to Galway! I have heard so much about it, and it has been on my bucket list.

June 15th

I woke up and got ready to leave for the bus to take us to the train that would take us to Galway. We eventually got on the train, and I sat with my teacher and her family. We talked and I listened to music on the way there since the WIFI was not working. 

Once we got off the train, we went exploring all that Galway has to offer. We went to the best fish-and-chips place in Ireland, tried oysters, went to a small bakery, souvenir shopped, and even found a used bookstore. I got so many great souvenirs in Galway. 

I loved the atmosphere here. It felt so much like Barcelona. The city was alive and full of live music and friendly people. I wished we had more time to spend here. Eventually, we met with all the students in our group at the park and just talked. It was great to bond with everyone even more. 

The train back was pretty uneventful. The wifi was still out, so I read some books I had downloaded on my phone. On the way back, we made fun of one of the girls in our group’s book that she was reading. She was reading a chapter that was NSFW and all of us, including our teacher, teased her about it. Eventually, we got off the train and went back to UCD. 

I finished packing for Scotland since I had to wake up insanely early for my flight. Right before I went to bed, however, my classmate came over and gave me the book she had been reading. She said I could keep it and that it was an amazing read. I decided I would take it to Scotland with me and went to bed.

[theamberwizard]

i’ve been thinking about black widow and the red room recently, as one does, and i’ve got a lot of thoughts about the effects of the red room on widows who’ve escaped. couple things, just before i begin: i would recommend having watched black widow before this because there are implied (?) spoilers, i use way too fancy language while i write and i don’t have an editor cause this is mainly to catch her off guard, so, uh, whoops sorry

trigger warnings: TW: child abuse TW: restricted eating/starving yourself TW: dehumanization TW: death of a child

so yeah, enjoy my list of 10 personal headcanons about how the red room fucks you up on all the levels.

1) black widows cannot sleep in. like, they wake up at 5:00 am every day. it’s not a physical thing, at least not as far as they know, because they can negate that by just going to bed two hours or less before 5:00 am just from their lack of sleep. if, however, they go to sleep at a fairly normal hour they will, like clockwork, wake up at 5:00. this stems from them doing it every single day of their life since they got indoctrinated in the red room. if they didn’t wake up at 5:00 am ready for more training or missions, for any reason, they would be tortured. sometimes physically, sometimes mentally. eventually, all the widows would get that message. they still can’t shake it. because of that, natasha will often refuse to go to sleep at a normal hour, trying to force her body into submission, trying to rid herself of the painful memories that accompanied sleep and waking up afterwards. only clint knows why, because each day in that vent, natasha would snap up at 4:00 am. she had to explain to him that she just wasn’t accustomed to budapest time, and that actually, it was 5:00 am in russia.

2) for months after escaping the red room, widows practically cannot eat. in the red room, they were fed mushy messes of meals, filled with only the necessary nutrients that they absolutely had to have to survive. most widows can only get down one meal, maybe even a snack if they push it, until they throw it all up. they have to slowly eat slightly more each day for weeks until they can get down a normal intake of food. even then, it’s hard to push that, and every widow relapses into throwing up in those early stages. however, this isn’t normally a problem for most widows until a couple weeks into their life with freedom. that’s about the time that they make an acquaintance, who will eventually pluck up the courage to ask them why every time said friend will eat near the widow, the widow will lean over and whisper: “careful, that’s your whole ration today and i don’t want to do extra training.”

3) each “class” of widows had an extra mentor teacher in their early red room years. this was an older widow, someone who’d been falling behind in her recent missions, and with a look that the red room deemed “motherly”. their sole purpose was to be the person each widow got attached too, the parental figure. they were nice, they were helpful, they taught many different basic techniques. then, one day, the red room would have another older widow, (one already introduced to the children as the metaphorical “bad cop” of this scenario) come in and inform the mentor that she had failed her latest mission and proceed to, in front of thirty eleven year-olds, shoot the mentor. the mentor widow would not die that day- the red room refused to waste such a weapon- but the class of up incoming widows would be informed that she had. the official purpose of this exercise was to demonstrate to both the trainees and the trainer the consequences of failing a mission. the unofficial purpose? that would be the last psychological effects the mentor’s “death” would have upon the class, making them learn what happened to attachments in the red room. the day natasha’s class experienced this was the day she cut off all contact with her sister. the day yelena experiences this is the day she first another widow- because yelena killed that mentor with her own bare hands before the informant ever finished the announcement.

4) towards the start of the red room’s history, there were several attacks on the red room. the first ever attack was from a local police station who had been getting complaints of loud wailing, and, upon further investigation, realized what they were dealing with. they brought several other police and militia groups from nearby towns. the immediate action that was taken was to throw the littlest girls they had at the attackers. it stopped the police in their tracks, obviously, because you really don’t expect to come across thirty little girls while searching through a building of highly trained assassins. the red room then sent their fully trained widows and killed everyone. including the girls. the red room then found that footage from their cameras (because of fucking course they have cameras) and then showed it to the next batch of widows, just to show them how disposable they were.

5) yelena and natasha almost caused a whole fucking mutiny within the red room just because of their names. in the red room, you see, widows do not get names. they instead are bestowed with numbers, and even those are a twisted class ranking. they all wore little name tags with the numbers on them until came natasha and yelena came in. yelena, having just seen her mother get shot, complied almost immediately and was addressed as number 42. on the other side of that coin you have natasha, who had already been in the red room and remembered every gruesome detail, and went “fuck you my name is natalia.” upon hearing of this (word gets around fast in the red room. every girl must know they are being listened to at all times, and no secrets can be kept from the red room,) yelena too announced her name to the class.

6) this was met with blanching from every child in that class, because how on earth can you be called by a word? no, they thought, we are numbers, we are weapons, we are not people and we cannot have our own words, for we are not worthy. but secretly, internally, they wished for a name. slowly, they began piecing syllables together until they formed a coherent name, and for the first time in the red room’s long history, they didn’t have weapons. not anymore. they have two full classes of human little girls. the red room officials heard of this, obviously, and took to the only method they had now. violence. the classes were rid of the named girls, yet natasha and yelena were kept alive. they were kept alive to be ostracized, to be the girl the others pointed at and said “she’s the reason all my friends died.” they were kept alive so they could watch the carnage they had unwittingly caused just by saying their own names. and the worst part? well, the worst part was when the teachers accounted for those kills, and made them top of the class. yelena will never forget the day the teachers stood her and her sister up in front of all the widows-in-traning and told them what a good job they had done, how those tactics were sure to help them graduate. i mean, you’re practically a shoo-in if they rest of your class was killed by your school.

7) the red room could never fully stop the names, and so they decided to make a system, and the names would be the highest reward. they told the young, impressionable girls that while maybe outsiders such as natasha and yelena got names at birth, you had to earn them here. if you are to become a spy, you will take on the name of you very first official alias. if, instead, you become an assassin, you will take on the name of your very first official kill. of course, in reality, the widows couldn’t actually address each other with their new earned names, and instead used “team leader” or other such titles. but it became a small comfort for them, thinking of themselves in third person, with their very own names. in some small part they weren’t fully weapons anymore, no, they were people again. natasha took on the name natalia, because in her mind that life in ohio had been her first mission, even if she hadn’t known it. yelena took on yelena as well, but in her mind that little girl in ohio who was sitting in the backseat, caring only about which song they played, that girl had to have been yelena’s first true kill.

8) the names system worked well in the red room, but when you escaped it caused some serious problems. most would have to announce themselves to the russian government, saying they had been flying under the radar their whole life and never became registered. then, they’d give a non-russian name, and their whole ruse would fall apart. unfortunately, this was the least of their problems, because many a widow would someday meet a relative of their very first kill, and when they introduced themselves as the person they had killed all those years ago, the families and friends would often figure them out.

9) one of the biggest parts of the red room’s brainwashing was their little catchphrases they used. ironically, a lot of them were eerily close to boy scout mottos- “be prepared,” an iconic scout motto, versus “there is no safety, only preparedness,” the most frequently used phrase within the red room. when widows then escaped, the most small phrase could set them off. some unknowing widows even adopted little boys in their new lives, who often became boy scouts. the ensuing misery is something you can imagine yourself.

10) after clint helped natasha to escape, she immediately died her hair blond.  clint asked why, of course, and she didn’t tell him. (what, you thought i’d have another cute clintasha moment? never.) this was partly because she hadn’t admitted it to herself, though, because natasha couldn’t remember her sister without remembering all the suffering that came with her.

11) when the widows were smaller, more susceptible to the conditioning, the red room would stage infiltrations. older widows, ones who were closer to retirement, would come in in different uniforms, sometimes the uniforms of UN officers or local police, sometimes different organizations, all different types. the most recent uniforms made yelena sick looking at them, because each time the older widows would pretend to be the avengers there would also be one pretending to be her sister. each time she saw the fake natasha she wanted to break that widow’s neck because that’s not how my sister tilts her head, you’re doing it all wrong. you should be doing it like this, you shouldn’t be doing it at all, i should be doing this, i know my sister. each time those exact thoughts went into her head, and each time all she really wanted was for her sister to be there, for natasha to do her little head tilt upon seeing yelena and take her hand and say “you’re safe now, i promise,” and for natasha to be telling the truth. the only problem was that deep down inside herself yelena knew that this could never actually happen while yelena was still in the red room, because while yelena was still in the red room she knew that she would look at natasha telling her she was safe and tell her in return that there was no safety, only preparedness, and then murder her sister in cold blood.

[soft-angelic-kiss]

We’re all a little bit crazy (6)

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

therapsit! Izuku x Patient! Bakugou x Patient! Todoroki x Patient! Shinsou x Patient! Reader

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Chapter 6 trigger warnings- mentions of Tourette's (i don't think that’s an ACTUAL trigger but it couldn’t be hurt to mention) mentions of self harm (thinking they're indestructible.) And mentions of counting/taking pills + medications. 

I’m gonna need you guys to bare with me! I really don’t know what a mental hospital is like and so i tried my best with the information a friend gave me :) 

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5             «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Walking through the dining hall, Izuku kept his head up and tried to remain tall and strong to the other patients when he heard a squeal and watched the tuff of h/c go up into the air. Immediately Izuku was on a high alert. As he sped up his pace the same as Bakugou, who immediately started yelling

“Gah dammit shitty hair! I don’t you to stay-”

The blonde's voice was easily cut off through the laughter of a red head, and another blonde. 

“Oh chill it Baku-” the blonde's head threw itself backwards as the end of his sentence  “gOU-” escaped his lips. The red head was immediately making sure he was okay, even with Y/N in his arms. Rubbing his neck and asking about cramps

Izuku smiled softly and watched them all interact, being able to tell that they were all best friends. He hummed as Y/N bounced her way over to him and hung on his arm with a smile “YOU CAME” they yelled in excitement making everyone smile softly. 

The red head was the first to make a move as he smiled to the greenette “Hey! I’m Ejirou Kirishima!” he smiled as he pounded his fist together mushing together already forming scars, and bruises against his knuckles. 

It caused Izuku to check out all of his other scars that littered his body, his hands and arms mostly, Y/N must’ve seen him looking Kirishima over and hummed softly whispering into his ear “he thinks he’s indestructible..” Izuku nodded in understanding

“I’m D-” his sentence once again was cut short by a scrunching of his shoulders and a yell of “ENK” before he returned to his previous stance and said “Denki Kaminari!” he smiled softly and waved. Izuku waved back, he decided he would look at their files later after he laid Y/N down for bed. 

“What’s dinner today?” Y/N looked to their friends as they ushered Izuku to the table that they sat at, the setting arrangement a little squishier than normal due to the extra body that was added, On one side Kirishima, Denki, and Shinsou sat together and on the other side sat Izuku, Y/N, Todoroki and Bakugou. 

Bakuou was the first to respond “they have beef stroganoff… and steamed carrots...” Y/N pouted and nodded “I’m not surprised Katsu..” 

The group let out a little disappointed groan collectively. The cafeteria wasn’t the MOST delightful place to have their dinner, but they didn’t have the choice, especially on beef stroganoff night. 

Izuku thought their food opinions were interesting as he let them all engage in conversation quietly observing each of them with a smile. They all looked so happy and content when they were together. 

Bakugou's attitude was calm, Shinsou was engaging in conversation. Shoto was speaking more than Izuku thought was possible for him, Denki’s tics, at least that’s what Izuku had deemed them to be, had calmed down and Kirishima wasn’t hitting anything at all. 

Each of them were so content with each other, he wondered why they were kept apart. Y/N finished her food and each of the boys told her that they were proud of her. Which made bright blushes rise across her whole body with a smile. 

Eventually their dishes were taken from them and they were all sent down to the nurses station for their nightly meds before they would be sent upstairs for the night, Izuku followed after the group seeing as they were ready for the nightly meds.

Checking the time and seeing it was 9:00 pm on the dot, he waited patiently for them to receive their meds and come back. He quietly heard the mutter from Y/N as they counted which meds were there, “..seroquel and gabitril.. For sleep.. And Abilify for depression.`` They took their meds and smiled at Izuku, motioning him to follow them as they bounded up the stairs.

Izuku hummed softly following them back up the stairs placing his clipboard on a bedside table as he watched them get ready for bed as he smiled softly, when Y/N finally laid down humming into their mountain of pillows, all doctors approved.

“Good night… thank you for hanging out with me..” Izuku smiled as your voice echoed quietly in the small room causing his heart to flutter with how soft and sleepy you sounded. 

“Of course. I hope you sleep well Y/N” he hummed softly as he exited the room hearing your snores. Shortly after his words slipped past his lips, he exited and saw all the other boys' doors were closed. Figuring they were asleep too. He headed down to the staff room to put away his clipboard when he remembered that he wanted to check on Kirishima’s and Kaminaris files. 

He slowly searched through the last names, conveniently the two names were placed right together making sure that he wouldn’t forget about the other. With a soft hum he pulled out Kirishima’s file first. 

   F I L E   26

(Patient Name) Ejirou Kirishima  (Patient #785)

 (Date admitted) 10-25-2015

 (Patient age) 22

 (Patient disorder) Psychosis, Congenital insensitivity to pain. 

(History/cause)  Patient has seemed to believe that he is indestructible. He walks into walls and punches glass things, often resulting in scars and bleeding around his body, his mother has stated that he’s done this since he was little but always assumed he would grow out of it. He never did.

(Has patient...)

-attempted suicide? 

-attempted homicide?

-attempted any act of self-harm? 

-attempted violence on past employees?

-attempted escape?

 (Other). He’s very affectionate to those around him but often tries to prove his manliness to those around him. He always smashes his fists together declaring the manliness/womanlyness of those around him. 

(Danger level) 7/10

Izuku let out a breath as he quietly looked at the file over one more time before placing it back. He felt sorry for the red head but it explained the scar littered on his body. It also explained why he was calling everything manly.

 F I L E   27

(Patient Name) Denki Kaminari  (Patient #786)

 (Date admitted) 4-20-12

 (Patient age) 21

 (Patient disorder) Tourette Syndrome, depression, anxiety

(History/cause)  Patient was diagnosed with Tourettes around 6 years old, but his parents have said he’s always displayed symptoms of it even from toddler age. He stuck his finger in an electrical socket when he was 7 and it caused the scars going up his arms. 

(Has patient...)

-attempted suicide? 

-attempted homicide?

-attempted any act of self-harm? 

-attempted violence on past employees?

-attempted escape?

 (Other). He’s very cheeking, loves telling jokes and is relativity an easy going guy, he rarely has attacks but when he does i advise all employees to watch out because he gets urges to touch electricity, and mess with electrical setups 

(Danger level) 5/10

Izuku carefully placed the file back into the cabinet as he let out a breath. No wonder they all saw something in each other. They all had such similar stories, even if they weren’t exactly the same they all found solace in each other.

Y/N was missing a mother, father and brother figure in her life, which is why she pursued a relationship with Todoroki, Bakugou and Kirishima. Who all gave off the vibes that the poor younger needed to thrive. 

Todoroki was missing his sister and brother, which is why he connected so well with Denki and Y/N, they both held similar qualities to the two he had lost.. 

 Bakugou needed stable, but fun people to help him realize what a calm world this really was.. And that’s why he bonded with Todoroki, Shinsou. Kirishima, Denki and Y/N. They were all as equally calm as they were cheeky, meaning they could help Bakugou with whatever problem was needed. 

Shinsou was missing his parents and his little baby sister, so while he still had the parents to bond with during visiting hours. He treated each of these people as if they were a little sibling to him.

Kaminari finally felt accepted because none of them batted an eye when his tics happened, and it made him feel like he finally had a family, and he was finally happy.. 

Kirishima felt protected. While he enjoyed feeling power and being manly.. Sometimes it was nice to feel protected. None of them ever questioned how manly he was.. So he felt at peace 

Nothing could separate them. Nothing at all, Izuku was sure of it. He placed everything back before he finally headed back up to his own room. Finishing his nightly routine as he thought of the group he’d met today as he started falling into dream land. «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» @buckyneedsplums @lazywriterfullofideas09 @notchittatenn @psycho-101  @toodarktoseethelight @unlogical-ella  if you’re crossed out that’s because it wouldn’t let me tag you :( «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

a/n: HI GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM THE DEAD!! In a moment of clarity i finally decided to work on this chapter. It’s been hard for me but you know i finally did it! Like i stated earlier I've never been to a mental hospital so i don’t know what it’s like in there. I tried my best using the information  friend had given me. Thank you guys for sticking with the story for as long as you have! 

[lin-nin]

Tribulation & Tenderness - Chapter 8

Ship: Main Technoblade x Reader, some Dream x Reader

Plot:  You're a princess in a Kingdom suffering a years long famine. In a   desperate attempt to help your people, you accept one simple offer:   Marriage to the crown prince of a neighboring kingdom. Anything to help your people survive. Surely it can't be too bad, can it?

Chapter List: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Disclaimer:   Cross-posted on Wattpad (discontinued) and Ao3. This is based off of everyone's CHARACTERS. I do not write fanfic based off the actual people.

--

Chapter 8: Introductions

< | Previous Chapter

At some point in the journey, you had opened the curtains to the carriage windows, peering outside of them curiously. You knew you were well beyond your territory now. All the lands that sprawled outside were Techno’s, small farms and towns whipping by as you went. You weren’t entirely sure exactly how long the two of you had been traveling, but you knew you were beyond ready to get out and stretch. Your legs were growing restless, and you were sure it showed in how you shifted constantly beneath your blanket.

“We’ll be there soon. The capital isn’t too far off now, those are the outlying villages there,” Techno spoke up, glancing from the book in his lap. He pointed out the window, your gaze following the direction. Beyond the window stood a clearly more populated town. It seemed to flourish well. At least from what you could see.

“Good. I’m tired of being in here,” You nearly whined, leaning back some. He chuckled in response, returning his attention back to his book. The two of you had lapsed into silence some time ago, but it was welcome. You took the time to watch the landscape roll by. Now, though, you were just ready to get to the castle. You knew it was definitely gonna be eventful, though you weren’t entirely sure how eventful. 

The scenery slowly morphed from the flourishing outer towns to that of the capital, buildings lining the cobbled streets. People were looking towards the carriage, clearly clamoring. Were they excited to see you? Or were they unhappy that it was you inside with Techno? You couldn’t gauge that from inside, and you weren’t sure you really wanted the answer. Not right now, at least. You sunk against the seat, closing your eyes and taking a slow breath. That similar nervousness was beginning to build in your stomach again.

“It won’t be too bad. They’re not scary.” Techno reassured you from his spot, closing his book and setting it aside. He glanced out of the window instead. You shifted, giving a small nod.

“It’s hard to not be nervous. You are the only person here I know,” you murmured. Your fingers curled into the blanket on your lap. Then they smoothed it over, repeating the motion several times. As if it were the most therapeutic thing there was right now. The castle was quickly coming into sight, and you nervously chewed on your lip. Was there anything about this place that wasn't intimidating?

As if to answer your question, the carriage lurched to a halt. No sooner than the carriage's stop, you could hear an almost overwhelming clamor outside of it. "Technoblade!" One voice had called out, clearly enunciating each syllable of his name. You turned to the aforem prince, raising an eyebrow.

Before he could even comment, a much louder voice was calling out, "Oi! Techno! Took you long enough to get here!" Were those both his brothers? He sighed, standing up to move towards the door.

"Might as well get it over with before they come in here themselves." He shook his head, opening the door and stepping down onto the stone beneath the carriage. He turned back towards the carriage and where you sat, holding out a hand to help you down. You had carefully moved the blanket away from your lap, moving towards the exit. Your hand was shaking, you realized, as you settled it into Techno’s. His fingers curled around your palm, grounding you slightly as you followed him down onto the path below. Once you had landed safely, his hand was withdrawing from yours. Much to your chagrin. 

Your attention was forced away from Techno, instead to the small gathering of people who had been clearly waiting. Four of them stood there, and you really wanted to shrink away from them. It didn’t help that two of them were tall. Just like Techno. Were those his brothers? There were certainly some similarities between them.

“How was your trip?” One of the men said. He wasn’t as tall as the others, but he was clearly older. Blonde hair was held in a loose ponytail, quite similar to how Techno wore his. Just without the braids. His blue eyes were framed by the faintest hint of bags. He seemed… nice. Whoever he was, Techno hadn’t told you of him. 

"It was fine. Philza, meet my fiancée," Techno motioned towards you. The man turned to you with a soft smile, offering his hand out for a shake. You very carefully took it, offering a soft smile.

"Lovely to meet you. I'm these boys's uncle." He let go of your hand as he spoke. At least he was relatively nice. It helped to soothe your nerves. Of course, it still didn't stop you from sticking to Techno’s side, almost literally. He was the most reassuring thing here.

"Those are my brothers," Techno grabbed your attention, pointing out the two tall ones.

"Wilbur," he identified one of them. He was the tallest of the group. If he had been closer, you undoubtedly would have had to crane your head back. He didn't have long hair, but it was instead kept short. Soft brown curls sat messily atop his head, a few trapped beneath a thin circlet. His brown eyes looked nothing short of tired. That seemed to be a theme among the family, but you didn't exactly question it. He raised his hand, waving at you.

"Pleasure." He inclined his head, and you could only blink. This was the man your parents assumed you would be marrying. He definitely held himself differently from Techno, so you could understand their rage.

"Nice to meet you, Wilbur." You were quick to greet, turning to look at the blonde one beside him. His hair was quite similar to Wilbur’s, just blonde instead of brunette. He bore quite the resemblance to Philza. Just younger and taller. Blue eyes looked at you excitedly, not nearly as exhausted looking as his family.

"Tommy." Techno gave Tommy a very pointed glare. Almost as if to tell him to behave.

"It's about time Techno got a wife," Tommy huffed. His voice was louder than Wilbur and Philza's. You had a feeling it could get louder if prompted. Heat rose to your cheeks at the statement, and you looked aside. You weren’t married to him yet.

"I'm Tubbo! Tommy's friend!" The shortest of the bunch greeted rather excitedly. He grinned at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. He seemed kind, even with the ends of his brown locks covering his brown eyes. Techno had been right. They didn't seem too bad, and all around seemed nice. Hopefully you were able to form a friendship with them over time.

"Schlatt has been in a fit about needing you to come talk to him when you came back. I told him you would be busy, but he didn’t care to listen,” Philza spoke up once more, causing Techno to give perhaps the most irritated sigh you had heard.

“I don’t care about him. What does he even want?” Techno put a hand between your shoulders, gingerly steering you forward towards the castle. He walked alongside Philza, keeping his hand steady. You found solace in the touch, not caring to move away. You didn’t exactly want to get lost here.

“Same thing he wanted the past couple of weeks. Complaints about the marriage arrangement. You know he’s determined that this is the worst decision ever. It’s not, but he really has himself convinced it is,” Philza explained to Techno. You couldn’t help but frown at that. You had no idea who this Schlatt was, but he sounded somewhat important. He didn’t seem to like the idea of you being here, either.

“Hey, Tubbo,” Tommy’s voice rang from behind you. You hadn’t even noticed the other three following. That wasn’t exactly surprising, though. 

“Yes, Tommy?”

“Have you ever tried telling your father to shut the fuck up?” You couldn’t help but snort at the words, head shaking. “Why’s he care who Techno marries?” There was a couple of seconds of silence following the questions.

“You know he’s kind of scary, Tommy. I’m the one who has to stay with him at the end of the day.” Tubbo sounded almost reluctant, and you peered over your shoulder to get a peek at him and the blonde.

“Remember what happened last time he spoke out, Tommy. We agreed that we wouldn’t have him do anything like that again,” Wilbur had spoken up, voice level and calm. He sounded like a voice of reason to the younger.

“I know, I just wish someone would shut him up. Maybe we should give Tubbo a room in the castle. Techno! Hey, Techno!” Tommy pondered out loud before calling to the man beside you. Quite loudly. That must have been what Techno meant when he said Tommy was obnoxious. You had tuned out of Techno and Philza’s conversation in favor of the one the other three had been having, but turned your attention to the men beside you. Especially since Tommy was relentlessly dragging them into this conversation instead.

Techno sighed, not even bothering to glance at his younger brother. He must be used to this. There was no telling how much this happened. “Yes, Tommy?”

“Could we give Tubbo a room here in the castle? So he doesn’t have to deal with shitty Schlatt?” Tubbo stammered as Tommy spoke, as if weakly protesting. He was largely ignored.

“I’m not king yet, Tommy. That isn’t my call. It probably won’t be for a while.” He reasoned, leading the blonde to frustratedly groan. 

“Father never sides with me. Surely you can put a word in for poor Tubbo here.” You hardly paid attention to the shifting scenery around you, only distractedly noting the warm toned walls and tile floors. A touch nicer than your own castle, but somehow that wasn’t a surprise. You were more fond of listening to the siblings bicker back and forth between each other instead.

“Depends. Does Tubbo want a room in the castle?” All attention shifted to the aforementioned male, who seemed to sweat under the pressure.

“I, uh… I mean, I’m not entirely opposed to it, no. It would be nice to get away from him…” Tubbo murmured in uncertainty. Techno nodded, pausing in the middle of the room they had entered. Subsequently, his hand fell away from your shoulders and you immediately missed the warmth of his hand there. It had been comforting. Sure, it wasn’t as intimidating now that you knew four other people at least liked you. Yet you also knew there was one person, if not more, that weren’t entirely fond of you. Or the idea of you. 

“Then I’ll speak to him about it. I’m sure we have a room to spare. Now, do you three intend to follow me? I would like to do a tour of the castle,” Techno turned to the three others. You glanced over towards Philza, who simply chuckled and shook his head.

“I’ll see you around, little one,” The older blonde said. He walked by you, gently patting your shoulder in reassurance as he walked up one of the sets of stairs winding around either side of the room. 

“I’m going, Nihachu wants to see me for something anyways.” Wilbur didn’t say much, instead opting to just walk away. That was fine with you, honestly. You briefly watched him go down a hall to the left of the stairs, wondering who Nihachu was. You’d probably meet them sooner or later. There were a lot of people to meet, but there was time for that.

“Oh, you hear that Tubbo? Techno wants to be alone with his woman-” Tommy had began loudly, causing Techno to groan.

“Tommy-”

“Let’s give him some privacy. Behave yourselves, you two! Don’t do anything Quackity would do!” Tommy was already leaving, dragging Tubbo alongside him. Techno sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You really understood what he meant when he called Tommy obnoxious. 

“Ignore him. He’s an idiot. Let’s just go, shall we?” He turned towards you. You laughed a little, shaking your head.

“He’s certainly a character. They all are,” You couldn’t help smiling fondly though. You knew you would grow to like them. They had, momentarily, squashed all stress and worry you had felt. Techno’s hand returned to your shoulder, moving you along the way to finally start the proper tour of the castle. Without Tommy breathing down your shoulders.

Next Chapter | >

[riotstarruika]

1830s Guns (for fighting on the barricades!)

Disclaimer: I am neither a military historian nor a re-enactor. I am a simple writer who enjoys going on random research binges for historical authenticity. The following information is aimed specifically at what the revolutionaries in Les Misérables (a group of civilians with limited concern for their own wellbeing) on the barricades might have done and does not reflect best / correct military practise of the time, or proper safety precautions used today. 

That said, here is the information I’ve collated for my own fic writing purposes:

Type of guns

In the 1830s, we're mostly looking at flintlock rifles, muskets and pistols, which were the most commonly manufactured and used type for c.200 years, as they were relatively easy and cheap to make and simple to use. Percussion cap guns would also have existed, but would have been less common. The revolutionaries would have been using whatever was easiest to get their hands on: old military guns from people who had previously served in the national guard or fought in the Napoleonic wars; hunting rifles; family heirlooms; whatever could be requisitioned / looted from stores, etc., therefore anything from the later half of the 1700s-1820s is a viable option for use on the barricades. 

Other equipment

Powder: In this period typically used to make cartridges, as they are quicker and less fiddly to load with, but can be used on its own, as long as you have something to cushion the bullet with.

Cartridges: The brick specifically mentions paper cartridges being used - 'The interior of the barricade was so strewn with torn cartridges that one would have said that there had been a snowstorm.' 

Ramrod: The stick used to push the cartridge down the barrel of the gun (often slots in to a hole / bracket beneath the barrel when not in use). Can be substituted for an actual stick / whatever fits down the barrel in a pinch.

Bullets: Metal balls. The brick mentions the revolutionaries casting them themselves, as well as making their own cartridges - 'A fire had been lighted in the kitchen, and there they were engaged in moulding into bullets, pewter mugs, spoons, forks, and all the brass table-ware of the establishment.'

How cartridges were made 

Paper cartridges of the DIY variety were composed of a paper cylinder or cone, containing the bullet and a pre-measured amount of powder. They could be made using any suitably thick paper:

1. Cut the paper to size.

2. Roll the paper around a rod the same diameter as the gun barrel with the bullet at the end.

3. Could be dipped in tallow / wax for lubrication and to help hold it together, or simply tied off.

4. Add the powder behind the bullet and seal / tie off.

Loading and preparation

There are multiple schools of thought on what is the correct way to load a cartridge (for safety, efficiency, accuracy, etc.), but the simplest and quickest (and therefore most likely to be used on the barricades) is:

1. Set the flintlock mechanism to the half-cocked position and open the flash pan.

2. Bite or tear the powder end of the cartridge.

3. Pour a small amount of the powder on to the flash pan.

4. Close the flash pan and shove the cartridge down the end of the gun barrel (or pour the remaining powder in then put the paper wrapped bullet down, depending on how much of a hurry you're in).

5. Use the ramrod (or improvised substitute) to make sure the cartridge is packed down tightly at the end (sometimes called the 'breech'). This is important! The gun at best won't fire properly if you don't, and at worst might jam and (if the gun is particularly shitty) explode and take your hand off...

6. Pull the flintlock mechanism back to the fully-cocked position.

7. Aim and fire.

8. Repeat.

Cleaning

Not very complicated: wiping out the flash pan and cleaning out the barrel (a rag on a stick will do). Every time you fire, the powder leaves residue in the barrel so it can get clogged up with heavy use. Excess powder in the barrel also increases the likelihood of misfires.

Miscellaneous information and mishaps

- Powder (and pre-prepared cartridges) must be kept dry: damp powder won't ignite.

- Flintlock guns are loud, a volley of fire from them sounds like several fireworks going off at the same time.

- When the gun is loaded it but the wielder does not wish to fire yet, it would be kept in the half-cocked position to lower the risk of accidental misfires, as there is a safety notch to prevent the hammer striking, but accidental misfires can still occur if the powder in the pan goes off on it's own, or there are any burning embers left in the barrel.

- Sometimes, the powder in the pan ignites but the powder in the barrel doesn't. This is where the term 'flash in the pan' comes from, as there'd be a small flash and a bit of smoke but no boom.

- When a flintlock gun is fired, it shoots sparks from the side of the flash hole and the end of the barrel.

- There's a recoil / kickback when you fire that would absolutely knacker your arm and shoulder after a while.

- Reloading is slow! For untrained civilians, I wouldn't expect more than 1-2 rounds a minute. If your gun isn’t loaded and you need to defend yourself from imminent danger, your options are basically switch to your sidearm if you have one, or use the body of the gun as a melee weapon.

Firing mechanism

The firing mechanism (in simple terms) works as follows:

1. When the pistol is fully-cocked and the trigger is pulled, the flint strikes the part of the pan cover that sticks up (called the ‘frizzen’), which opens, allowing the flint to strike the pan and powder inside, igniting it.

2. This in turn ignites the powder in the barrel behind the bullet.

3. This reaction creates a rapid expansion of air behind the bullet that propels it forward. This is why the bullet needs to be packed in tight, as if there's too much air behind it the barrel can explode, but if there's no seal between the bullet and the inside of the barrel the air can escape without pushing the bullet out.

Trulock, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Sources and further info

Wikipedia

How To Fire A Brown Bess Musket

History of the Gun - Part 4: The Flintlock

Sharpe Teaches How To Shoot | Sharpe (featuring gratuitously shirtless Sean Bean and dubious historical accuracy)

Practical accuracy of an original military flintlock rifle vs the musket

How Cartridge Paper almost killed King George the Third

Smoothbore Musket and Paper Cartridge

[myhauntedsalem]

13 True Horror Stories from the Psychiatric Ward that Will Give You the Creeps

Death, illness and tragedy have long been part of the history of insane asylums, and for as long as they have existed, so too have the scary stories associated with them. From haunted hospitals to sadistic doctors and nurses, psychiatric wards have been the inspiration for many of our favorite horror movies and books. Yet, the true stories told by the psych ward workers below far surpass any horrors that we might have seen at the cinema or read in a book.

Without further ado, here are thirteen of some of the creepiest psych ward stories on the internet that have been shared by health care professionals.

1. Holding her own Eyes

My mom told me this story from her time at a neuropsychiatric ward while she was in grad school. She was making her routine room checks and happened upon the most horrific scene I’ve ever heard.

This was during the night shift, and generally, all the patients’ bedroom doors should be closed. So my mom turned a corner and noticed an open door. She saw a staff member’s legs on the floor, halfway out the doorway.

When she looked into the room, she saw the patient, a woman with a severe postpartum psychiatric disorder, who had just gouged both of her own eyes out with her bare hands. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding her eyes in her hands.

The first staff member to witness the scene, who was now lying face down on the floor, had a heart attack when he first witnessed the woman while he was making his rounds.

My mom screamed for help and frantically tried to perform CPR on the staff member. All the while, the woman just sat rather calmly, holding her own eyes.

2. The Saw

I work as a psychotherapist in a hospital system. My definition of creepy is probably quite a bit different from other medical professionals.

The one that got to me the most was a patient who came to us after attempting suicide by sawing both his arms off at the forearm with a table saw. His arms were reattached, fairly successfully too, with only limited impairments in mobility. All I could think was how bad it would have to be to live in his head that sawing his arms off seemed better than that.

He has since completed suicide.

3. Jane?

We had a young lady in our custody with quite a few issues. We’ll call her Jane. Jane’s first night at our facility staff doing a bed check found Jane in a puddle of blood. Turns out Jane had been slicing the skin around her shin with her finger nails and was pulling her skin up her leg, essentially de-gloving her calf.

Jane also had a ritual she performed every night before bed. While in her room she would run between walls in her room touching them in a crucifix pattern. After doing this for a few hours she would sit on her bed and go to sleep. This particular night Jane was frantic in her pace, practically running between walls. Our night staff observed the entire interaction and reported Jane screaming late into the night. When the staff went to check on Jane she reported Jane standing in the doorway smiling. The staff asked what was wrong and Jane replied, “what makes you think you are speaking to Jane?”

4. The Vampire

My mom worked in mental institutions in her younger years (and actually worked at a large, well-known asylum before it was shut down.)

There was one woman there that thought she was a vampire of sorts. She was only allowed out one hour a day, and they had to use safety precautions. She had already attacked and killed at least one hospital worker before these were enacted.

When my Mom asked about her, it was revealed that she had killed at least two of her children, wounded another as well as her husband because she had some sort of physical condition called Porphyria, which apparently made her crave blood.

By the time that they discovered there was something physically wrong with her, she already had lost her mind from guilt and grief.

5. The Spitter

I’m not a psychologist but my friend is. She told me about a patient of hers who was HIV positive and a paranoid schizophrenic. He thought that the nurses who worked at the hospital he was in were trying to kill him, so he would frequently bite his tongue, and spit HIV positive blood into their faces/mouths. When they had to come into contact with him, they were required to wear full masks and gloves.

6. The Only One

I once knew a woman who had spent part of her residency at a psychiatric hospital for people with severe mental conditions. Apparently, the grounds had a lovely, enclosed greenhouse. One day, one of their schizophrenic patients was sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette, as a heron frantically flew around. It had found its way in and, not being able to escape, it was smashing into the large panes of glass. The man just sat there watching.

Finally, my counselor asked him if the bird was bothering him and he kind of sighed and said, “Thank god, I thought I was the only one seeing that.”

7. Family Photographs

My sister is the director of a psychiatric hospital. There was recently a lady there who would cut her arms, legs and torso open and place photographs of her family under her skin.

8. Under the Bed

Once, a fellow female patient told me she found writings under her bed. They were just old, small wooden bed frames with hard mattresses that would make all kinds of noises when you rolled over, but I still wondered what exactly she was doing lying under her bed to find these writings.

When she first told me, I thought it was a joke. But sure enough, one day during group we managed to sneak away, and she showed me. Indeed, there were stories written under her bed. After that, we had everyone check under their own beds, and there was more writing under every single bed.

They were stories of patients who had stayed here before, or ways they were planning on killing themselves, or who the good and bad nurses were. It creeped me out.

9. Time of Death

Well, my mother was a nurse that specialized in geriatrics, and she worked for several hospice hospitals for many years. She often described situations at her work with several of the patients. She would say that each person tends to have a very similar “checklist” that they follow right before death. This checklist often ended in a very similar way.

They would get caught talking to someone that wasn’t there. When asked who they (otherwise lucid people) were talking to, they would describe an individual who was already dead. When asked what they were talking about, they would say that their relative wanted to know if they were ready to move on. A pretty common response would be, “Yeah, he/she said that she will take me tomorrow at 3:00.” Well, it would often happen that they would die at the exact time their relatives quoted.

10. The Test Subject

I had an hour-long conversion with a delusional guy who was confined to a mental health facility, and who was probably smarter than I am. Lots of these folks believe that somebody – often the CIA – is either beaming thoughts into their heads, or has implanted a microchip in their brains for this purpose. This guy was offering a very thoughtful argument as to why such claims should not be so quickly dismissed.

“It’s precisely because such delusions are so common that mental patients make the best test subjects,” he said. There he was, confined and protected, constantly observed, his health and behavior documented, and there is zero chance that anyone would ever take his concerns seriously. How else would you test and improve such technology? Does the government not have a strong motivation and a plausible ability to create such a device?

“You can see I’m not irrational,” the man said. “I’m just straight-up telling you that they are doing this to me. I know just how unbelievable it sounds, and yet, here I am.”

11. The Boy who Loved Knives

As a tech in psych years ago, there was a 7-year-old kid sent to the floor because the mom didn’t know what to do with him. Sadly, common thing to happen, even if the kids don’t have psych issues. Anyway, the mom was shaking and crying, and they had to take the kid into another room. She was genuinely afraid of her own son. She had suspected something was wrong when she kept finding mutilated animals in the backyard, but never heard or saw coyotes or anything around. The neighbors smaller pets started disappearing. The boy had an obsession with knives, hiding them around the house. Denying anything when the mom confronted him. Then when the two started getting into arguments, he would get really violent and hit her, push her down and kick her, threaten to kill her. On multiple occasions she woke up in the middle of the night with him standing beside her bed, staring her in the face. She put extra locks on her bedroom door to feel safe while she slept. The last straw was when she lifted up his mattress and found 50+ knives of all shapes and sizes under there. So she brought him to us.

I remember talking to him, treating him like he was just any other kid that came through. He seemed remarkably normal, until you spoke directly to him. He had this way of looking right through you, or maybe like he didn’t see you at all while you were speaking.

He would respond like a robot, like he was just saying words because that’s what we wanted to hear. And he would always put on this creepy, dead-looking smile. Like all mouth and no eye involvement in the smile. Especially when he would get away with something, like taking another kid’s markers and they couldn’t figure it out. Still gives me chills laying here thinking about him.

I believe I met a 7-year-old psychopath.

12. The New Mom

I was a pharmacy technician at a hospital with a psych ward for some time. We would have to go around with a cart and dispense the patients’ medications, and being a 5’2″ girl, a security guard or male nurse would accompany me, just as a precaution. I never had any real issues other than the occasional death grip onto my arm or manic outbursts, but there was one boy who was entirely different.

His chart said he was nine and he had pale skin, dark hair, and huge bright, green eyes. He always greeted me in the most polite way, asked how I was doing, and always found something different to compliment me on every time. He was extremely well-spoken and mature for his age, so I began looking forward to seeing him, as normal small talk is definitely cherished in that setting. If he saw me outside of his room in the halls, he made sure to say hello and always called me “Miss Jones” or “ma’am.”

One day, a couple of our female nurses saw me pause to chat with him in the hallway, and waved me over to ask if I was out of my mind. Apparently, when he was in kindergarten, he grew an intense attachment to his young female teacher.

This escalated to the point of him calling her “Mom” and leaving notes for her about how he wished he were her son. He had a normal home-life with both parents, and the teacher tried to explain to him that she couldn’t be his mom because that would hurt his real mother’s feelings, and that she already had that job covered.

So, he went home and, killed his own mother in her sleep by cutting her throat, so his teacher could be his mom. The female staff had a general rule of not interacting with him excessively to prevent any kind of attachment from forming.

13. Bugs

Nothing I can say can possibly describe the year I worked in Psychiatric Intensive Care. Creepy isn’t the thing that comes to mind when I think back on it…more heartbreaking and horrifying. But creepiness was a part of it. Especially evening and night shifts, naturally.

There is always something disturbing about watching someone while they hallucinate. You can tell it is 100% real to them, and something about that makes you believe it, on some level. A lot of stories end with, “and of course, I had to look over my shoulder to make sure”. You see the emotions it brings out.

There was a woman that came in and sat down across the table from me for her admission interview. She had bandages all over her arms and scotch tape over her mouth and ears. She looked very uncomfortable and wouldn’t really sit still. When the nurse would ask her a question, she would peel the corner of the tape back and answer, then stick the tape back on really fast.

We eventually found out that she saw and felt bugs crawling all over her, and they were trying to get inside her body. The tape was to keep the bugs out. The bandages were because some bugs got in and she had to dig them out. She couldn’t sit still because she felt the bugs all over her even while we sat and talked. The worst part was, she had some idea that it was her mind playing tricks on her. Can you imagine going through your life, feeling like someone is continuously dumping buckets of cockroaches on your head, feeling like they’re all over you and getting inside of you to the point that you’re digging chunks out of your flesh in a panic, all while knowing intellectually that none of it is real?

[stubbychaos]

A Guilty Conscience

Chapter 10 of Saviin’ika

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Part 5|Part 6|Part 7|Part 8|Part 9

Masterlist

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: While you get used to your new role in the tribe, you make it your mission to meet the ones who are to be your family. While befriending some unlikely members of the tribe, Paz later surprises you with something that he thinks will make you happy, though it ends up having the opposite effect.

Rating: T

Word Count: 14,000 *Y’all idk how this happened, I’m so sorry lol*

Warnings: Some unresolved sexual tension, minor injuries and reader still dealing with a bunch of past trauma. Other than that, this chapter is pretty harmless!

Just a quick mention: Thank you as always to @datmando for inspiring me and giving me so many amazing ideas for this story!! You’ve helped me so much with this story and getting through writer’s block and I freaking love you <3 Thank you as well to @aerynwrites @hdlynnslibrary and @maybege for all being wonderful and I love you all for motivating me to write more Paz!!

Also thank you to @coredrive​ for the beautiful gifs you made!! If anyone wants quality gifs for their stories, masterlists, etc... please go to Kat because she was so freaking lovely and sweet!!

“Would you like one of my shirts, ner cyare?”

You turn around, coming face to face with an unarmored Paz who is sitting on the foot of the bed, his forearms lazily resting on top of his thighs as he observes the way you hopelessly shift the torn, silky fabric in your hands. You turn to face the culprit who is currently curled up in a white rocky ball close to the furnace in the main area of Paz’s private quarters, seeming completely unbothered and not regretful that she had used your only sleep attire as a chewing toy while you were in the shower and Paz was talking to the armorer.

“That would be nice, thank you,” You murmur softly, watching with a smile as he promptly stands and makes his way over to the dresser near his bed while you discard the torn, silky fabric.

Though a few days have passed since the fight without incident--much to your appreciation--you notice Paz acting differently around you and while it’s not in a bad way by any means, it still has your curiosity growing. You notice how he almost seems worried about letting you stray too far from him, though you’re certain it’s not because he’s concerned one of his own will hurt you again, but perhaps he has the same fears you hold in your very own heart. While you’ve only been with the tribe for three days, you find yourself getting less sleep with every passing day, afraid that when you wake up, you’ll be right back at the village infirmary with your estranged father.

Perhaps he’s anxious that if he lets you out of his sight, you’ll randomly decide to leave without a word or trace.

The thought amuses you and also fills your heart with grief, wondering how the Mandalorian could possibly conjure the thought of you even thinking about leaving the place that had quickly become your safe haven.

“I’m going to shower, if you want to change,” Paz gruffly voices as he approaches you with a thick, black garment and you perk up a little upon feeling how warm it is--how warm it will keep you.

Once the Mandalorian is in the refresher, you’re quick to strip your clothes, smiling softly as you neatly fold the emerald, long-sleeved dress that Ima had found for you in a designated stack of clothes that wasn’t being worn by anyone in the tribe. Once you are only in your shorts, you grab Paz’s black shirt that he must wear over all his padding and sheepishly tug it over your head, instantly relishing in how it smells just like him--all woodsy and spicy and just like the soap he uses. The material is incredibly thick, though it’s not stiff and doesn’t make it feel like you’re suffocating; it feels soft and comforting against your bare skin, engulfing you so warmly just like one of his embraces, though you still long for the intense pressure of his arms around you. The sleeves that usually come to an end just above his elbows now fall just a few inches above your wrists and the hem skims the middle of your thighs.

As you sit on the edge of the bed and get to work on tending to your braids and all the tangles from the hair you had chosen to leave down, you think of how surreal everything still feels and how all the horrors you had ever dreamed about running away from are currently above you in the village. You try your hardest not to think about it, and instead, your mind wanders to the tribe and its intimidating, rambunctious warriors that you’ve been interacting with in the covert for the past few days.

It’s been… an interesting experience, to say the least.

For people who you used to be terrified of until recently, you think it’s somewhat surprising as well as amusing that Paz had been correct when he mentioned them being quite mischievous when it came to you, though you’re certain most of it comes from you being an outsider and not understanding their language. It had already happened a couple times where you would be exploring the enclave, trying to memorize the tunnels and where different ones led, and you would run into a small group of Mandos speaking in their native tongue as you shyly approached them to introduce yourself.

Most of the time they would simply peer down at you while informing you that they already knew who you were--that they had seen you standing your ground against Paz, which apparently nobody in the tribe had ever really done before. It was quite interesting seeing everyone’s perspective towards their heavy-infantry warrior, how they knew him to be one of the strongest in the tribe and how they respected him for it. However, it was also slightly amusing that they seemed to have no problem making jokes at his expense--talking about how they were glad you were at the covert so he would stop being grouchy and angry all the time.

Ima, you found, was the exact same way, although she had no qualms about berating the man she called her uncle to his face.

Seeing the way the teenager and your blue warrior interacted with one another felt like some sort of special phenomenon that you had never really witnessed before--a relationship stronger than that between a sister and a brother, but not quite as profound as one between a daughter and father. You thought uncle and niece was a good way to describe it and though you’re curious as to why Ima doesn’t call anyone else in the tribe ‘brother’ or ‘sister’, you decide it’s better not to ask for the sake of accidentally bringing up a sad memory.

You’re too deep into your thoughts that you don’t notice a hulking figure emerge from the refresher minutes later, a few water droplets dripping down his shoulders and back as he mindlessly observes you combing through your hair with your fingers.

A small cough startles you and you turn your head to gaze at Paz, his helmet slightly tilted to the side as he stares at you through the guise of that unforgiving visor. Your fingers are still threaded in your damp hair, your bare legs dangling off the side of his bed with your sock-clad toes barely skimming the stone floor as you blink owlishly at him, still not used to seeing him expose so much of his skin.

He’s not saying anything and it has you slightly worried--have you done something wrong? 

“Paz, are you okay?”

His bare, broad shoulders tense upwards when you shift on the bed, finally working through a stubborn tangle as you tilt your head at him; you find yourself doing that a lot more lately and you think being surrounded by so many Mandalorians has their little mannerisms rubbing off on you.

You move to get up when he doesn't say anything, now worried that you really have done something wrong, but Paz shakes his head and squashes your worries immediately.

"No--I mean, yes," He huffs and shakes his helmet a little harder when you stand up next to the bed to pull the thick fur away from the pillows it's tucked under while he moves to turn off the lights, "I'm fine, just a little tired, cyare."

You nod your understanding, feeling your own exhaustion creeping up on you, though today had been a relatively easy day in regards to treating scrapes and bruises. You’ve come to find that some of the younger, less trained Mandalorians aren’t exactly the most graceful on their feet, some tripping over their own capes while descending staircases, while others who are less skilled with blades or blasters manage to slip up and injure themselves. It’s definitely not the kind of injuries you’re used to tending--minor ones--but you find it much more pleasant and rewarding than your job in the village, especially when everyone here has treated you politely, for the most part.

You know that even while you had been accepted into the tribe, it doesn’t quite make you part of the family to some, especially to those who still felt as though you should swear the creed to be fully accepted. It was a big detail you had worried about quite a bit, whether or not you would have to swear the creed and wear a helmet just as the rest of them, but you think that perhaps it is a topic you should speak to the armorer about.

You slide underneath the heavy fur and exhale a content sigh, reminding yourself that such worries could wait until morning.

A yawn leaves you just as you hear the quiet hiss of Paz’s helmet being removed before he places it on his nightstand and a tired smile stretches your lips when you feel the mattress dip underneath the weight of the warrior’s body.

Before you can even turn to face him, his huge arm is wrapped around your waist and he’s carefully moving you closer to him; an intense warmth spreads throughout your cheeks when he holds you close, your back pressed firmly against his chest as he wastes no time in placing a kiss to the top of your damp hair. You can feel the heat from his bare chest already spreading throughout your entire body and you curl your legs back to press your feet against his bare ankles.

He lets out a small huff as he curls his fingers into the soft material of his shirt covering your abdomen and leans down to press a tender kiss to your cheek, “You are lucky I love you, or else I would not let you wear socks in our bed.”

The ‘our bed’ comment definitely doesn’t go over your head and you hold back a giggle when he sighs against your warm skin, his thumb stroking firm circles near your belly button, “I cannot help it that my feet are always cold.”

His chest rumbles with a soft laugh as he settles behind you, his hand moving a little lower to your hip, just underneath where your cauterized wound is still healing, and he gives you a gentle squeeze, “I told you that you’d do nothing to warm our bed up, mesh’la, I knew I was right. You’re always freezing.”

“If I recall correctly, you told me that you would not mind keeping me warm,” You remind him of what he had said the night he had told you his name, your cheeks growing hot when you feel his lips against the outer shell of your ear, “And you are doing no such thing, ori kebiin.”

“You are a funny woman,” Paz is still trying not to laugh as his hand comes up to cup your jaw, long fingers splayed widely against your burning cheeks, “You feel plenty warm to me, sweetheart.”

Realizing that there’s no way of beating the Mandalorian at his own game, you give up and simply shuffle your curled toes between his calves, making him grunt a little when he feels the blocks of ice that are your sock-clad feet through the material of his sleep pants. He cups your jaw and urges your head to the side a little, using his thumb that’s pressed to the corner of your lips to seek them out with his own.

This close intimacy is certainly another thing you’ve noticed since you forgave him after the fight--him wanting to kiss and touch you whenever it’s just the two of you. It’s definitely something you don’t mind, you realize as his tongue firmly swipes across your bottom lip, and you find yourself growing more comfortable and relaxed when it comes to accepting little touches from him. You can tell that it’s something he’s nervous about when you two are just laying in his bed, wide awake when sleep refuses to wrap itself around the two of you--that he’s worried something he does will set you off.

He always tries to keep his touches to your thighs and hips feather-light after politely asking if it’s okay for him to touch you there and a part of you wonders if he’s already concluded that you’re simply not used to people asking you for consent when it comes to certain things.

Even if it’s not the reason why, you’re still grateful he always asks and his consideration fills your heart with warmth whenever he seems so hellbent on making sure you’re comfortable when you two find yourself in these sort of intimate settings. It doesn’t necessarily feel like it’s him testing your boundaries, but more so him seeing what you like and what gets certain noises out of you, though you find your skin quite sensitive to every nip and lick he inflicts on you.

A part of you is grateful that he usually lies on his back when the two of you are holding one another, as the thought of being pinned underneath anyone again, even your blue warrior, lingers like a storm cloud in the back of your mind.

Currently, however, you focus on the way his fingers tentatively curl around your thigh, just below the hem of the shirt he had given you and your lashes flutter as he guides your head back a little so he has more access to your throat. He seems a little more eager tonight, you think, and as his fingers curl into the thick fabric at your thighs while he dutifully presses tender kisses to your sensitive skin, you start to slowly put the pieces together.

“Paz?” His name comes out in the form of a breathy whisper as he settles back to press a kiss into your damp hair.

He still seems slightly dazed as he brings his arm back to curl tightly around your waist, “Hm?”

“Earlier, when you were staring at me when you came out of the shower,” You grin a little when you feel the way his arms tense around your middle, “Was it… is it because I’m wearing your shirt?”

Paz huffs an amused noise and you’re certain you’ve left him flustered for once as he slowly shifts his body until he’s able to rest his chin against the slope of your neck, “I like the way you look in anything, cyare, but something about seeing you wearing my clothes--it does things to me. I can’t say that I am upset that your vulptex tore up your nightgown, not with how beautiful you look right now.”

“You can’t even see me right now, silly man.”

“I don’t need to,” He mumbles, his beard scratching your sensitive skin as he lazily tends to all the little marks he left behind with his lips and teeth the previous night, “I remember everything about you, ner cyare, like how your eyes always get big whenever you see me taking off my armor and my clothes. Perhaps my sweet little nurse isn’t as innocent as I thought.”

You nearly let out with a whimper when you feel his tongue on your skin, your cheeks burning furiously as his hand cautiously grazes up your thigh, “Is this okay?”

His tepid breath fanning along the column of your throat makes you shiver a little and your voice cracks a little when you speak, “Y-Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He repeats with a soft sigh, his hand moving past the little shorts you typically wear to bed and up to your bare hip, just underneath where your blaster wound is still tender, though not nearly causing you as much pain, “Stars, your skin is so damn soft and your hair smells good--just like those flowers you’re always wearing.”

You let your eyes close as he continues to explore your stomach with feather-like strokes, seeming content to simply warm you with his large hand and you feel your thighs clench together firmly when he rubs a sensitive spot just underneath your belly button. His hands are leaving a scorching blaze in their wake and you feel a deep shudder wrack your body upon feeling the wet, open-mouthed kisses he’s leaving just underneath your earlobe. 

Despite the ache between your thighs, you jump when his fingertips barely graze just above the hem of your shorts and he immediately freezes upon feeling the tension in your body.

“I’m sorry,” Your ears grow hot with shame and you think he must be frustrated with you for not feeling ready to be intimate on this kind of level yet, “I just--”

“Hey, don’t you dare ever apologize for knowing when you’re not ready,” He whispers, moving his lips away from your jaw and removing his hand from underneath the shirt he let you borrow, “I shouldn’t have done that--I should have asked first.”

“It’s okay,” You weakly reassure him, smiling softly when he politely fixes your shirt, dragging the hem back down your thighs, “I... I want to be with you like that and I thought I was ready but I... I don’t know.”

“You do not owe me an explanation. I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do,” Paz promises in a rushed tone as he moves to unlatch his arm from around you, though you are quick to stop him, “I am sorry if I was too forward, cyare. I want you to only ever feel comfortable around me and if I ever do or say anything that you don’t like, please tell me, okay? I’ll never be mad at you.”

“I love you, Paz.”

He relaxes against you and presses another tender kiss into the hair above the tip of your ear, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner cyare.”

You smile into the darkness at the warmth his words bring you, though you can’t help but to feel doubt towards yourself and you turn your head a little over your shoulder until his warm breath fans across the plane of your cheek. Even though you can’t see him in the slightest, you like to imagine his eyes scanning your face thoughtfully--curiously--and you hear him let out an inquisitive hum when you murmur his name.

“I haven’t been able to sleep the last couple of days,” You admit softly, placing your hand on top of the much larger one that’s resting just under your sternum, “I’m scared that every night here is going to be my last one--that someone isn’t going to want me here because I haven’t sworn to the creed and that I don’t wear a helmet or armor.”

Paz exhales softly and you close your eyes when his minty breath tickles your nostrils, “Our alor already knows that you were to be brought to the tribe to be our nurse, not a fighter. I made it clear to everyone that you would not have to wear our armor and if anyone has a problem with it, they can take it up with me or the armorer. You’re not going anywhere… not if you don’t want to.”

You detect the way his voice lowers into a much more sheepish, subdued tone upon whispering the last part and your suspicions from earlier are proved correct.

He’s afraid that you’re going to change your mind about staying with the tribe.

In an attempt to squash his own fears and insecurities, you wrap your fingers around his wrist and urge his arm up past your chest until you are able to lean your head down a little and kiss his calloused knuckles tenderly. He lets out a content sigh as you let him splay his fingers out widely against the swell of your breast, your heart pounding frantically against his palm while his thumb studies your firm pulse at the base of your neck.

“I just want to be wherever you are, Paz,” You murmur, your lips stretching into a smile when he tenderly kisses your cheek again.

“I feel the same way about you,” He sighs, finally relaxing completely as you keep his hand cradled to your chest, “Anything else you’re losing sleep over, cyare?”

For a moment it sounds like he’s teasing you, but something about the rawness and sincerity of his voice makes you think differently and you swallow the lump in your throat as you think of the little boy from the nursery--the one that had clung onto your leg and hugged you. Though a part of you wants to ask Paz more about how he was found and what happened to his parents, you think it best not to ask and shake your head a little bit.

It is none of your business.

“Try to get some rest,” Paz murmurs against your cheek, his beard scratching your sensitive skin, “I’ll make sure to wake you up if you have any nightmares.”

You murmur a tired ‘thank you’ and let your eyes slip shut, feeling reassured by his words and the feathery press of his lips against the tail of your brow, along with the way his thumb continues to rest atop your pulse point at the bottom of your neck.

For once, you sleep restfully--not necessarily dreaming of much, but not really having any nightmares either. You’re stuck in a strange limbo for the rest of the night and at one point, you feel Paz stroking your brow in an effort to calm you down upon feeling your body jolt when you wake from a strange dream that has you crying out.

As you fall back asleep underneath the comforting guidance of his hands and sweet whispers against the shell of your ear, you briefly wonder if the heavy-infantry warrior ever sleeps.

The next morning when you wake up and tiredly crack your eyes open, Paz is already fumbling around the little kitchenette, his helmet and underclothes now on and you prop yourself up on an elbow as you watch him set a wooden bowl down in front of your excited vulptex. The dish is filled with colorful fruit and chunks of meat and you think it must be the best meal she’s had since she was born, what with her dramatic reaction. She lets out long, happy little squeaks between bites and you think you hear something reminiscent of a laugh or a chuckle from Paz’s vocoder when he reaches out to graze a bare hand along her rocky spine.

“And here I thought you hated her,” You murmur with a yawn, stretching your arms above your head before gracelessly rolling out of bed, the room dimly lit as you make your way over to your beloved companions, “You and everyone else are always calling her a runt.”

Paz snorts and shakes his head a little, tilting his head a little as he hands you a bowl of fruit that has some yogurt underneath, “She is a runt, saviin--doesn’t mean I hate her for it. Besides, she tried to bite Djarin in the leg yesterday, so I guess she’s starting to grow on me.”

You huff a little at that as you savor the fresh berries, your taste buds still not used to such sweet food, and you shake your head at your Mandalorian, “You better not be training my sweet vulptex to attack others, Paz.”

“I would do no such thing,” Paz still sounds a little smug as he begins to put on all of his thick padding and heavy armor, “I’d only train her how to attack the bounty hunter.”

You roll your eyes and watch as he puts his armor on piece by piece, the same way he’s done it every morning for the last couple of days he’s been here. It must be a routine for him, you think as you watch him clip his pauldrons in place and work his way down his body; you find the whole process to be mesmerizing and you wonder if he’s been doing this every single day for nearly his entire life.

“I can feel you staring at me, cyare.”

You feel your cheeks warm up when you promptly turn your attention to the breakfast that Paz had kindly made for you, though you had insisted the previous mornings that you didn’t expect him to do this for you. Your heart warms when you remember how he had admitted that it made him happy to see you enjoy little basic necessities that you had been robbed of nearly your entire life and you stopped arguing after that.

Though it was only yogurt and fruit, you still felt like the most spoiled woman in the galaxy.

After completing your usual morning routine, along with braiding the top half of your hair around the crown of your head, you pick out your clothes for the day and scoop your needy little vulptex into the crook of your elbow, her favorite resting place, it seems.

“What am I going to do when she gets too big and I can’t carry her like this?”

Paz snorts as you wait for him to snap his gauntlets into place around his black, leather gloves, “If you didn’t spoil her so much and carry her around all the time, this wouldn’t be a problem, cyare.”

You pout a little at that, struggling not to smile when he gives your earlobe a playful tug once he’s finished with his big gauntlets, “Her leg is still sore--would you really be so heartless to make her walk around the covert?”

“She seemed to have no problem limping around until you showed up and started carrying her all over the place.”

Not having a solid rebuttal to the playful words, you simply shake your head and watch as he checks all the big pouches attached to his utility belt. Your eyes immediately land on the vibroblade sheathed at his hip and you let out a shaky sigh when you remember the Trandoshan, though Paz seems to notice the change in your attitude and shields that side of his body from you.

“C’mon cyare, we have a long day.”

Following close behind Paz, the two of you make your way out of his private quarters and down the tunnels where others are starting to trickle out of their rooms as well. You’ve come to find that with the exception of a few Mandos, the tribe tends to stick to a pretty strict routine of going to bed at a certain time and waking up earlier, though you find this to work out quite nicely for you. Whereas once you were getting two or three hours of sleep a night, along with maybe a thirty minute nap on your break, you now have the entire night to rest, even if you don’t always get the best sleep.

Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll get lost, even though you memorized the directions to your little office on the second day of being at the covert, but you allow Paz to guide you there anyways, grateful for his company when you know you won’t see him until tonight. Though you feel slightly sad upon making it to your destination, you’re somewhat anxious and eager to see what today brings you and who you might meet.

With a gentle kiss of his Beskar forehead against yours, you and the heavy-infantry warrior part ways for the day and you contentedly enter the little office that you had managed to clean up pretty well since your arrival. As you enter the little alcove, something feels off and you quickly detect the sounds of soft hums and discontented grunts. 

You freeze upon finding out that you are not the only one occupying the room and your brows shoot up at the strange spectacle taking place in front of you.

In front of your desk, where you had placed a small pot of violets that you’d taken from the room Paz and Ima had decorated for you, is an unarmored Mandalorian who’s currently inspecting something you wrote down on a little notepad the previous day. Though the Mando is wearing a light grey helmet with chipped away emeral trimmings around the visor and cheeks, you think they must be one of the elders in the tribe, what with their hunched over form, wavering hands, and the long staff they wield.

You don’t miss the sharp, pointed tip of the walking stick that is made from what you’re certain is Beskar and you make sure to approach slowly, not wanting to frighten the Mandalorian, though the thought of you startling a warrior is slightly amusing to you.

They’re humming something that you can barely make out through their modulator and your lips instantly stretch into a faint grin when you realize they’re reading the little list you had started of all the Mandalorians you had met in the tribe so far, along with the colors of their armor and their names to help you memorize the people who are supposed to be your new family. You watch with curiosity as the unarmored Mandalorian grabs one of your pens from the little cup next to your notepad, leaning down to try to scribble something down, though they seem to grow frustrated with how shaky their hands are.

You decide to step in when you hear a disgruntled voice uttering curse words under their breath that you’ve never even heard Paz say before and your cheeks grow warm.

“Hello, may I help you?”

Immediately, the Mandalorian whips around with a small gasp, making you jump as well and you hastily take a few steps backwards when they turn around to face you, their hand pressed tight to where their heart must be frantically pounding, just like yours currently is. Your eyes are wide, hands nervously clutched together as the Mandalorian tilts their faded, scuffed up helmet to the side while observing you closely. Though you think they must be elderly, they stand about only one or two inches taller than you and you’re finally grateful to meet someone who isn’t terrifyingly large or as tiny as one of the younglings.

“You cannot sneak up on me like that!” He lightly admonishes in a deep, gruff voice, still holding his bare, wrinkled hand over his heart, “I am not nearly as alert as I used to be, but it doesn’t mean I can’t deal out some damage still.”

He lifts the staff to show you the pointed, steel bottom of it and you immediately nod your understanding, bowing your head a little, “Of course, I am so sorry! I wasn’t sure if you were hurt or not and I just thought…”

You bite your bottom lip nervously--what were you even thinking?

“Ah, I see,” He seems to relax then, pulling out the chair in front of your desk and sinking down into it with a pained grunt while you continue to wring your fingers together in an anxious manner, “So you must be my replacement--the nurse Paz insisted on bringing to the tribe.”

Maker, did your Mandalorian actually tell the entire damn tribe about you?

Your leg bounces as soon as you take a seat at the end of the medical cot and you brush a few unruly hairs from your forehead before speaking to the elderly man, “I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a replacement, sir. I’m sure I could never be as good of a medic as you are for your people. I’m just here to help out as much as I can.”

He chuckles and shakes his helmet at your humbled statement, propping his steel cane against his thigh and you feel a twinge of sadness deep within your soul as he stares down at his trembling hands. You notice his right hand is trembling more than the left and you think that must be his dominant hand--the one he would typically use for certain medical procedures--and you remember what Paz had mentioned about the tribe’s medic growing too ill and shaky to actually help others.

‘No wonder why the office was so dusty and everything was unused,’ you think to yourself sorrowfully, your eyes taking in all the big dents and scuff marks on his gray and crimson helmet.

“Hey, don’t give me those sad eyes, little one,” He admonishes you again and though you don’t remember having any kind of grandparent in your life, you think being scolded by this man must be what it feels like to have one, “I was told by Paz that you are a tough one--a warrior, just like us.”

You offer him a wry smile, “I suppose he didn’t tell you that I tend to cry quite a bit as well?”

“Oh, he definitely mentioned that,” The Mandalorian chortles and you can’t help but to grin at that, immediately feeling better at how playful he sounds, “I was hoping he was messing around with me--our people aren’t exactly the best with tears and emotions, but I suppose it is not a bad thing. During times like these, the tribe could use a little more happiness and vulnerability.”

You contemplate his words deeply, thinking of the few times Paz had informed you that because of the Empire, his people were nearly extinct and you wonder how this stranger could so easily accept you into the tribe without really knowing you. Seeing how worn out and damaged his dented helmet is, you can’t help but to wonder what he’s been through and though he seems to be more of an eccentric member of the tribe, you’re certain he’s been through hell and back.

“If you do not mind me asking--” You offer him a fond gaze, your smile growing when he tilts his helmet dramatically to the side, his Beskar cheek nearly touching his shoulder, “May I have your name? I am trying to learn who everyone is, but the visors are all the same and sometimes the color of armor is similar and--”

“I get it,” The older man sounds like he’s amused and you briefly wonder if he was once an outsider like you, though you find it rude to ask, “I was about to write it in your little notebook, but I fear my hands are too unsteady for you to understand my writing, little one.”

You perk up and quickly stand up, making your way over to where he’s sitting before you crouch down in front of your desk and grab one of the several pens in the little cup near your notebook. The Mandalorian makes a funny noise as you give him an inquisitive glance, wordlessly asking for his name with a quirk of your brow and though he wears a typical Mandalorian helmet, you think he must be grinning underneath his Beskar guise.

“Ezir Ralas.”

You somehow manage to write down his name as fast as he spells it out for you and you grin at how demanding he sounds upon spelling every single letter out and how he describes the exact colors of his faded helmet. There’s something about his lighthearted tone that makes you think he’s not as intimidating as every other warrior you’ve encountered since being brought to the covert.

“Well, it is lovely to meet you, sir,” You beam at him as you make your way back to the medical cot to sit on while you wait for your first patient of the day, “Have you been the tribe’s nurse for very long?”

He chuckles again, long fingers curling against his knees, “Oh yes, I’ve been with the tribe since we were forced into hiding years ago. Before all of this, however, I was a field medic for my people on Mandalore, back during our civil war.”

“Oh, I um, I had no idea there was a civil war,” You frown at this new information, briefly wondering if Paz knows about this, though you think he must, “That must have been so scary to be out there on a battlefield, trying to save your own people.”

He lets out a small grunt as he leans forward to rest his forearms atop his thighs, “Even though I am a medic, I was also born and raised a fighter, little one. Though the things I have seen haunt me at night when I cannot sleep, I would not so willingly admit that I was ever afraid.”

You slowly nod and gaze down at the steel pendant that hangs between his collarbones and you recognize it as the one you often see around the covert, or in the morning when Paz tucks his own into the collar of his tunic. Seeming to recognize your curiosity towards the skull sigil, he unties the knot at his nape and holds out the necklace for you to inspect up close.

With great eagerness, you reach forward to accept the kind gesture, “Is it rude of me to ask what this is?”

“It is not rude,” Ezir sounds amused by your curiosity and your cheeks grow warm as you trace over the sharp horns protruding from the cheeks of the skull with your thumbs, “It is the skull of a beast that was once native to Mandalore--the mythosaur. They were these enormous monsters with teeth and horns sharper than a sword made of Beskar and when they tried to attack my ancestors, we either slayed them or conquered them and rode them as transportation.”

“How big were they?”

“Massive,” He flippantly waves a hand in the air, appearing far too nonchalant while speaking of terrifying beasts, “Well, I would imagine they’re the size of the village currently above us, little one.”

Your eyes grow wide and a chuckle escapes past his modulator at how incredulous you sound, “And you’re ancestors fought them?”

“Without hesitation,” He informs you and though the image of a monster so fearsome and enormous terrifies you, it also fills you with feelings of reverence and awe, “After the beasts went extinct, the mythosaur skull became a symbol of our people and all that we had overcome; it is a symbol of our history and culture.”

You hum quietly, barely noticing the way his tilted visor is trained on the way you tenderly trace all the curves and divots of the pendant with admiration, a smile tugging at your lips as you think of the symbolism behind the sigil. Suddenly, you understand why people have always murmured terrifying rumors of the Beskar-clad enigmas and you think it must be true that they’re the strongest warriors in the galaxy. You wonder what it must feel like to exude such power to the point where people fear you without even knowing who you are and though you still regret feeling so much terror upon initially meeting Paz, you’re suddenly grateful that you’d eventually let him into your heart.

“Perhaps one day, you will have one of your own,” Ezir concedes and your head snaps up to peer at him with shock; you hand the pendant back out for him to take, feeling undeserving to be holding something so precious to his people, “Oh, don’t give me that look. You may not wear our helmet or armor, but once I teach you some Mando’a and get a weapon in your hand, you’ll be a fearsome warrior.”

You think of what Paz had mentioned about the others in the tribe teaching you Mando’a, and while you’ve only known him for a few minutes, he seems to be a respectful man, albeit a little quirky.

“What does riduur mean?” You blurt out, your skin instantly growing warm when you see Ezir’s shoulders shaking as he laughs at the innocent question; suddenly, you fear that everyone has been saying something demeaning about you, “I just... everyone in the tribe keeps calling me ‘Paz’s riduur’ and I--it’s not an insult, right? They’re always laughing when they say it.”

He shakes his head as his laughter eventually ceases, “No, little one, it is quite the opposite of an insult, but rather a term of endearment. I do not think it is my place to tell you what it means and I am not sure if Paz has the guts to actually tell you, but I can say that I am certain you will find out for yourself one day when he calls you that himself.”

Your leg bounces anxiously as you watch him situate his mythosaur pendant between his collarbones and as you think of all the meanings that the word possibly possesses, one stands out to you the most.

“Is it something I would be allowed to say to him as well in the future?”

“Yes,” He reaches down to pet your vulptex that’s awkwardly making her way towards his boots, sounding utterly entertained by your inquiry, “Though I cannot promise you that his brain wouldn’t combust if he heard you call him that.”

“Then perhaps I would call him that as payback for all the times he’s teased me about certain things.”

Ezir guffaws at that, remaining diligent in petting the lazy vulptex that’s headbutting his calf in a needy manner, “I like you, little one. I almost didn’t believe Ima when she told me you had stopped the fight between Din and Paz, let alone when she informed me that you had stood up for yourself and the bounty hunter.”

You watch as the older man awkwardly scoops the little vulptex into his arms and you’re grateful that not many seem to mind her presence in the covert, as you’re not sure what you would have done had you been forced to get rid of her.

“I have been belittled by men all my life,” You shyly admit, staring at the little creature that’s reaching up in an attempt to bite his pendant, though Ezir doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest as you continue, “And for the longest time, I just learned to keep my mouth shut and deal with it because that’s just the way I was raised, I suppose. These last couple of days have taught me that it does not make me a bad person for only wanting to be treated with respect and my only regret is that I did not realize this sooner in life. Perhaps I’d be a stronger woman if I had realized my worth at a younger age.”

No longer is Ezir petting the vulptex, but instead, he now has his visor trained on you and in return, you offer him a small smile. He remains deathly silent for at least a minute before giving you a curt nod, as though he approves of either you or just your declaration in general.

“In our language, we have a word that I think perfectly describes you, little one,” His gruff, filtered voice drops to something softer as he watches you perk up with curiosity, “Ramikadyc--it means that you have the tenacity and determination of a Mandalorian, that you have our mindset.”

Your heart instantly swells with gratitude and you shyly cross your ankles together as you wring your fingers together on top of your lap, “I would hardly compare myself to your people. I do not think I would have the tenacity or determination to fight against one of those mythosaurs that your ancestors slayed.”

“Something tells me you and I are not too different,” Ezir informs you with what you think is mirth laced within his deep voice, “I do not think you would hesitate to put yourself in harm’s way if it meant protecting someone you care for or someone you do not wish to see to get hurt.”

You smile softly and give him a slight nod as you think of the bounty hunter that you had stood up for, despite him not deserving it, or even your little vulptex that you had taken a blaster shot for. If Ezir truly thinks that you have the heart of a warrior, then he must be saying it for a good reason and his words, along with Ima’s and Paz’s confidence in you, fills you with a little more hope in regards to your future with the tribe.

“Will you tell me more about you?”

“I am afraid my stories might bore you to the point of insanity,” Ezir chuckles, shifting in his seat a little so he can hold your vulptex in a more comfortable position, “But since you seem so curious, what is it you wish to know, little one?”

“Can you tell me more about Mandalore and the civil--?”

Before you can finish, a deep baritone from the entrance of your office interrupts your inquiry and both you and Ezir immediately turn around to find your blue Mandalorian standing tall behind another unarmored Mando, though this one is still taller than you and Ezir. The smaller Mando is holding their wrist protectively against their chest and it takes a few seconds for you to recognize the warrior as one of the younger ones that seems to have a knack for constantly getting hurt during training.

“Saviin’ika,” Paz greets politely with a slight nod, cocking his helmet to the side upon noticing who’s been keeping you company in the short amount of time you two have been apart, “Ezir.”

You raise your brows at the way your warrior tenses up a little upon seeing the elderly man, though you manage to get in a word before any of the Mandalorians can say anything, your attention focused on the injured boy.

“Is your wrist hurt?”

The unarmored Mando peers up at Paz with what you think must be a wary expression through his visor--something that your warrior immediately picks up on. With absolutely no hesitation, the heavy-infantry warrior murmurs something to the younger Mando in his native tongue and you raise your head with anticipation and a kind smile. As though that’s all the confirmation of the young teenager--Vhan--needs, he nods a little and you slide off the end of the cot so your first patient of the day can sit down.

You give the boy a small, encouraging smile as he takes his glove off and pushes up his sleeve to reveal a swollen wrist, “What happened?”

“It was my fault,” Paz says immediately, making you raise your brows in surprise at the thought of him somehow hurting someone so young, “He was sparring with his brother and I looked away for a minute. He fell and landed right on his wrist.”

You frown a little at the guilt in his voice, though judging by the exasperated sigh that wafts past Vhan’s modulator, you think this must be a common occurrence amongst the younger ones who get hurt on Paz’s watch.

“Well, it’s hard to tell for sure without x-rays,” You manage to rotate Vhan’s wrist in the slightest, a gesture that seems to cause minimal pain to the boy, “But it looks like it’s just a minor sprain, since there seems to be no crooked bones and you can still move it around a little. Nothing too serious and nothing to feel bad about.”

Paz lets out a relieved huff at the news, though you know your blue warrior enough to know he’s not going to let the guilt down so easily, especially not when it pertains to one of the younger members of the tribe. A knowing grin stretches your lips when Vhan groans, and now you’re certain this isn’t the first time Paz has been worried like a mother hen over the clumsy teen. Though the blue warrior has quite the reputation among all the adults in the covert, it seems he also has a completely different persona when he’s with the younger ones.

“See? I told you it’s fine. Can I go back to training now?” Vhan insists, moving to hop off of the cot, though you are quicker to stop him by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Uh uh,” You shake your head, earning another groan from the teen and what you’re sure are surprised expressions from the two other men occupying the room, “Just because it’s a sprain doesn’t mean you can go running off just to damage it even further. You should at least rest it for forty-eight hours and put some ice on it every thirty minutes for two hours until the pain goes away. Also try to keep it elevated as much as possible.”

“That’s so much work for a little sprain though!” Vhan argues and you let out a soft sigh as you begin to compress his wrist with a thick bandage, “Can’t I just--”

“Hey!” Ezir suddenly sounds annoyed, and you’re surprised when the boy tenses up a little, just as Paz had earlier, and something about their reactions has you growing even more curious to what kind of reputation the elder has among his family, “Listen to the nurse, di’kut. She only wants what’s best for you.”

“Yes sir,” Vhan mumbles, though you can tell he’s still not happy about it when he turns his visor to you, “S-Sorry, Saviin’ika.”

You blink your surprise at him calling you the familiar nickname, but eventually you give him a kind smile and stand up to retrieve your roll of ice wraps, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure it must be difficult for you to miss out on training, but it really is for your own good. I don’t have the resources here to fix your wrist if it was seriously broken, so it’s detrimental to make sure that the sprain heals properly before doing any serious training again. Perhaps there is… um, maybe something else you can do in the meantime that’s not too strenuous?”

He perks up a little and hope instantly flares in your chest as he gives you an eager nod before turning to look at Paz, “You told me the other day that you would show me how to take apart an assault rifle and put it back together--would that be okay?”

Paz glances at you and the boy’s eager tone makes it hard for you to say no, so you give your warrior a reluctant nod as you finish tying the ice wrap around his swollen wrist, “Just as long as you make sure to not move your wrist around too much and keep the ice wrap on, okay?”

“Alright!” He’s instantly hopping off the cot and you chuckle at his newfound excitement, “Thanks vod’ika!”

You huff a little, opening your mouth to stubbornly remind him that you’re far older than him, though he cuts you off with a quick headbutt to your forehead; while it’s not too harsh of a harsh gesture, it’s certainly not as gentle as all the times Paz has performed the same action. You rub your tender forehead as Paz turns to the side a little so Vhan can make his way, presumably, to the armory. Paz shakes his helmet in an exasperated manner as he steps toward you, most likely to get a look at your forehead, but Ezir’s small grunts as he slowly stands up has your full attention.

Instinctively, you move to help the elder up from your office chair, noticing his slight struggle to stand and you force yourself not to cringe at the numerous pops and cracks coming from his knees and back. After a lifetime of fighting and being a medic, you’re certain it’s taken a toll on him, though he simply chuckles a little and pats your back as you both make your way over to Paz.

“I suppose I should take this as my sign to leave you to your duties for the day, verd’ika,” You beam at the new nickname as he carefully grabs onto your elbow for better balance while you lead him to the entrance where Paz is still standing with a cocked helmet, “I’ll have to look for my old medical books and datapads for you to read.”

“Oh, thank you!” Happiness and warmth instantly blankets your heart at his consideration, gratitude filling your soul when you realize that he seems to approve of you being the tribe’s new nurse, “I would love that very much, if it’s not too much of a hassle.”

“Of course not,” He gives your hand a little pat before latching onto a grumpy Paz’s elbow instead, “I’ll just make this one help me later since he can reach the higher shelves.”

“I have other things to--”

Jutting a thumb out in your direction over his shoulder, Ezir sends a rough little whack! of his walking stick to Paz’s armored shin, “It is good she is here with the tribe now--perhaps she can teach you and everyone else some manners, you big brute.”

“Yeah, ori kebiin,” You giggle in a teasing manner, earning a small grunt from the blue warrior, “Would it really kill you to learn a few manners?”

Ezir lets out a loud laugh that has Paz shaking his helmet at you, and though you know you’ll soon regret it, you think it’s worth the delightful torment he’ll inflict on you later when the two of you are alone. Without another word, Paz reaches out to give your nape a tender squeeze before leaving you alone to your thoughts in your little office, though you think that seeing Ezir and helping Vhan has already given you a bright start to your day.

With a faint smile stretched along your lips, you add a few comments to your little notepad and take inventory of the supplies you have and what you need for the next time Paz goes on a supply run. For the most part, the day goes by slowly and uneventfully--something you are actually grateful for, what with being so used to the chaos that came as a result of working in a village full of crime and those with cruel hearts.

Needless to say, you don’t mind a calm day in the slightest and when Ima passes your office hours later to politely inform you that training and sparring lessons are done for the day, you’re grateful that no serious injuries were sustained. Packing up your things and making sure your office is in order, you turn off the lights and exit your office, eager to explore the covert a little more and go to the room that Paz and Ima had decorated for you.

After conversing with a few of the Mandalorians you had befriended in the short amount of time you’ve been at the covert, you happily make your way down the stairs that you know leads to everyone’s private quarters, as well as the nursery and your little flower alcove.

You hum a mindless tune to yourself as you stroll down the long tunnel, smiling when the atmosphere gets a little warmer when you pass the shielded alcove that leads into the nursery; your walking slows a little and you’re half tempted to go inside and say hi to the little ones, though you don’t want to cause any chaos again, especially so late in the day. Reluctantly, you continue past the nursery and make your way to the little room Paz and Ima had decorated with your flowers, your vulptex resting comfortably in your arms as you two seek out relaxation.

“I need to think of a name for you, little one,” You murmur, earning a soft gaze from her, crimson eyes slowly blinking up at you, “Maybe I should ask one of the younglings to come up with one. They must be far more creative than me.”

She simply answers you with a dramatic huff as you continue down the path that Paz had already taken you down a few times.

You’re completely oblivious to the little footsteps following you far behind.

Finally, you make it to your beloved sanctuary and let out a relieved sigh upon seeing all your growing flowers and the lights that hang above them. Placing your little vulptex on the center of the desk where you had placed a little pillow for her, you dutifully water the plants and flowers that look like they need it the most. It’s comforting to have a little place of your own, especially after dealing with so many of the boisterous warriors all day and while you feel as though you’re slowly getting used to their antics, you realize you truly had no idea what you were getting yourself into upon agreeing to be the tribe’s nurse.

A small smile quirks at the corners of your lips as you feel the tiniest ache in your temple where the younger Mandalorian had headbutted his gratitude a little too roughly earlier, though warmth fills your heart when you remember how he had referred to you as his sister.

You’re in the middle of checking on your little violets when your vulptex raises her head in a jolting manner; immediately, you turn around, expecting Paz or perhaps Ima needing you to tend to someone’s wound.

It is neither one of them, you realize with surprise.

You let out a little gasp upon seeing a pair of wide, fearful eyes poking from the tiny crack between the curtains and the doorway and you instantly recognize the sad, golden brown orbs from days ago in the nursery.

“Oh, it’s okay, little one!” You give him a warm smile that instantly seems to allay some of the despair in his big eyes, “You may come in, if you’d like.”

Hesitantly, he makes his way into the unfamiliar room, looking like a lost animal that’s experiencing a new environment for the first time and you think you know the feeling all too well; even after spending a few days at the covert, you still feel quite lost and you can’t possibly imagine what this child is going through.

You blink your surprise when he gets halfway across the room before spotting your lazy vulptex who is still curled up on your desk, staring at the boy curiously, though not unkindly in the slightest. Carefully, you make your way closer to the little who simply stares up at you with wide starry eyes, his hands clasped together politely in front of him and your heart melts at how nervous and scared he seems.

“It’s okay, little one,” You reassure him in a calm, hushed tone, reaching your hand out for him to take, “She loves younglings very much and would never hurt you, I promise.”

The curly-haired boy shifts his gaze between you and your rocky companion before ultimate latching onto your hand with his. Cautiously and without any force, you guide him closer to your desk where the vulptex is still observing the little boy with gentle eyes; you think that on top of being intelligent, her species must also be quite empathetic and can differentiate a kind soul from a dark one.

“Is it okay if I pick you up?” You question the boy softly, earning you a shy nod as an answer, and you carefully haul him up to the chair in front of your desk, keeping a hand pressed to the back of his shoulders to keep him steady, should he stumble, “If you want to hold your hand out to sniff it, it’ll be a sign that you want to be her friend.”

His eyes widen a little more and you can’t help but to grin as he holds a shaking hand out for the rocky vulpine to sniff eagerly, his other hand pressed shyly to his cheek in anticipation. A tiny, childish giggle meets your ears and warms your heart as the vulptex licks his palm, though he is quick to pull his damp hand back and wipe it on his beige tunic with a scrunched up expression. When he smiles up at you, you’re certain your heart is going to melt into a big puddle of goo in the pit of your stomach and you offer him one in return, smoothing his dark, unruly curls away from his forehead.

“See? She knows you’re brave and likes you now.”

He gives you a toothy grin and you feel a lovely warmth in your soul knowing that you were able to provide some emotional reprieve for the sweet child.

“Did you sneak away from the nursery, little one?” You ask him gently, not wanting him to think you’re upset with him at all; he simply drops his head in shame and you continue to stroke his curls in an attempt to comfort him, “It’s okay! You’re not in trouble, I promise. I just want to know why.”

For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to answer as he keeps his head lowered, but then he eventually peers up at you and whispers his response in a tiny, meek voice.

“Y-You were singing,” He explains quietly, and you realize he must have heard you humming and followed you all the way here, “‘M sorry.”

“Hey, no, none of that,” You crouch down in front of him so he’s taller than you while he stands on your chair and you give him a kind smile, “It’s okay, but how about next time you just ask the caretaker on duty, alright? They’ll come find me, wherever I may be.”

He gives you a shy nod, seeming thoughtful for a few moments as he presses a chubby index finger to his pouting lips, “Do I have to go back?”

You should say yes and you know it, but his eyes are all but pleading with you to say no and he looks so hopeful that you’ll let him keep you company. You think he must feel just as out of place as you do, not knowing who to talk to or who to trust, though you seem to be the one person he finds solace in.

How could you destroy that tiny amount of trust he already has in you?

You give him a tiny smile and shake your head, “You may stay for a little while, but I fear I do not make for the most exciting company, little one.”

The boy doesn’t say anything to that and you blink your surprise when he reaches out to clumsily touch the thick braid wrapped around your crown, along with the few flowers that you had strategically placed throughout the weaves that morning when Paz had been watching you. He seems curious by the vibrant flora, his eyes blinking and flickering with awe and you bow your head a little so he can get a better look at them.

“Do you like flowers?” You ask him quietly when he eventually ceases his exploration, and you look up to see him giving you a shy little nod, “What’s your favorite kind?”

You expect him to not know many, especially if he’s spent his few years of life on Nevarro, though he surprises you when he speaks in a barely there whisper, “I like roses--like the ones my ‘gramma used to paint.”

You’re desperately inclined to ask more about his grandmother--if he had any parents and what planet he had been saved from, but if he’s the covert’s newest foundling, the wounds on his heart and mind must still be so fresh and you do not wish to infect it further with your invasive questions. Instead, you force yourself to give him a warm, big smile and somehow manage to keep the tears out of your eyes when his chubby fingers find the little blue flower that Paz had tucked behind your ear earlier in the morning.

“Yeah? I bet they were beautiful,” You grin and he gives you a fervent little nod to confirm your thoughts, “What color roses did she paint?”

And what you thought was only going to be a ten or twenty minute interaction with the boy ends up to be more than an hour and a half long meeting where the two of you talk about harmless topics like flowers, favorite animals, different types of stars and constellations. Though for once, you do most of the talking and you are more than satisfied to describe the beautiful hot springs and caves that Paz had taken you to, sparing all the mushy details that you knew would probably gross out a child.

“He’s scary,” The boy murmurs as you tell him of the story, at least the clean version, of how Paz had stood up for you the night you first found your vulptex, “They all are--they don’t smile.”

“Well of course they do,” You inform the little one, curling a finger against his cheek and earning a tiny giggle, “Everyone smiles, you just can’t see it because they wear their helmets to honor their creed. It does not mean they are robots or incapable of feeling the same emotions we do.”

He’s perched on one of your thighs, seeming comfortable as he softly pets the sleeping vulptex and you smile down at him sympathetically upon realizing he’s still apprehensive of the armored warriors, “I was scared of Paz at first too, but he turned out to be one of the kindest, most honorable men I have ever met. These people are not cruel, but I understand why you are afraid, little one. I have only been here for three days and I am still learning how to fit in as well. Perhaps we can figure this out together.”

He gives you another toothy grin and nods, seeming comforted by your words as he leans back into you and your heart aches at the trust he shows in you; a part of you wonders if it’s because he can actually see your face. You’re not entirely sure of what to say as he continues to pet the sleepy animal, smiling whenever he hears the soft squeaks that the vulptex lets out every now and then.

“Do you have a name little one?” You ask kindly--tenderly--hoping that the question won’t overwhelm him as he tilts his head to stare up at you.

You truly don’t think he’s going to answer you, but then after a few moments of silence, he lowers his head a little, not looking you in the eyes.

“Odisian.”

“Odisian... what a lovely name,” You repeat it with a grin, earning a shy smile from him, “Is it okay if I call you Odi? Or do you prefer your full name?”

Suddenly, he beams up at you and kicks his legs a little, as if having a nickname makes him feel more at home, “I like Odi!”

Your cheeks nearly hurt from how big you’re smiling at him and you nod, deciding it’s best not to dwell too much on his own name or what nicknames he might have had before being brought to the covert. You straighten your spine a little and reach out to pet your little vulptex who keens under all the adoration and attention she’s suddenly receiving from you and the little one.

“Would you like to pick out a name for her?” You ask him softly, tilting your head to the side when he gives you an expression filled with awe and wonder, like he can’t believe you are asking him to do such a thing, “She needs one and I do not think I am creative enough to bestow her with such an honor.”

Odi swings his legs nervously and you can’t help but to grin as he seems to seriously contemplate this huge decision, his tiny hand squeezing his cheeks together in great concentration. You remain patient with him as he turns his head a little to stare at all the flowers on your desk and the colorful vines that are draping off the edge of the shelves attached to the wall with admiration.

“Rosie?”

He says it more as a question, like he’s nervous for your response, so you offer him a warm grin when you realize this sweet child wants to name your vulptex after his own favorite flower. You wonder if he somehow knows just how much your flowers mean to you, just as Paz does, or if the flower simply has some sort of deeper meaning to him and you playfully ruffle his curls, earning you a little giggle from him.

“That is far more lovely of a name than I could ever come up for her,” You inform him, your cheeks hurting from how big of a smile you’re wearing on your face and he perks up at your reassurance, no longer seeming quite as nervous, “Her eyes are red like roses too! Is red your favorite color?”

“I like yellow,” He bashfully admits, and you nearly chuckle at the way he pronounces his ‘L’s as ‘W’s, “It is a happy color.”

You agree with him as you begin to collect some flowers for the little boy, though a part of you lamely thinks he probably doesn’t even want them. You’re in the process of pointing out all the different flowers that Paz and Ima had been so kind to plant for you in anticipation of your arrival when the drapes to your alcove shuffle to the side a little.

You’re completely unaware of how long your blue warrior is standing in the entryway, simply observing you and the little one perched contently on top of your leg who seems utterly interested in what you have to tell him about the healing properties of violets and lavender.

“Oh! And then this one right here, if you just grind it up and add it into--”

“Cyare.”

Immediately, you and Odi both turn to face where Paz is standing just feet away in front of the rounded entrance, though the little one in your arms is quick to lower his head in fear of the massive warrior. Wanting the youngling to feel more comfortable, you simply smile up at Paz, who suddenly seems frozen to his spot as he stares at you with a cocked helmet, his shoulders tense as his pauldrons inch closer to the bottom of his helmet.

“Is something wrong, Paz?”

“No, it’s just--” His helmet slightly jolts to the side and he’s acting odd as you gently heave Odi off of your lap, offering him the little bundle of flowers so he won’t feel so lonely without you by his side, “It is time for the younglings to sleep and the caretaker on duty got scared because he was missing. I thought you might know where he is and it seems as though I was right.”

Odi is staring up at you with the saddest expression, as though he’s pleading with you to not return him back to the nursery and you gently cup the back of his curls, giving him a kind smile in return. Nervously, he fiddles with his hands as you stand up, easily scooping your vulptex into the crook of your elbow, all while the little one stares up at Paz with the most frightened expression you’ve ever witnessed, hiding behind your leg.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere and you’re more than welcome to visit me anytime,” You offer him a reassuring smile as he gazes down at the little bouquet of flowers and  he is quick to grab your outstretched hand with an eager expression, “C’mon, I’ll walk you back. Besides, he likes flowers too--I bet he would like it if you gave him one.”

You say the last sentence in a low whisper, as though you’re sharing some sort of gossip with him and you instantly notice the way he perks up as Paz holds the drapes to the side for you, his helmet still tilted to the side as he observes you two. Odi is still quiet and thoughtful as he stares down at the little bundle of colorful flowers you had gifted him, all while holding your hand as Paz slowly leads you through the dim tunnels.

Shyly, the child gazes up at Paz and warmth blooms in your heart and soul when he lowers his helmet to regard Odi with what you’re certain is the utmost kindness, most likely wanting nothing more than to earn the boy’s trust. Without saying anything, the little one holds up the colorful bouquet of flowers for Paz to see and you grin at the adorable interaction.

"Those are... pretty,” Paz comments in a softer voice and you can tell he’s trying to appear as placid as possible to the nervous boy, “Which one is your favorite?”

Odi lets go of your hand to press his index finger to his bottom lip in severe contemplation and you nearly chuckle at what must be a cute little habit that he does unknowingly when he’s thinking too hard. After a moment’s consideration, he points a chubby finger at one of the many violets that you had tucked in the center and you instantly grin.

“Those are my favorite too,” Paz says quietly, and you’re too focused on the way Odi is smiling down at the little bouquet to notice the Mandalorian’s visor trained on your face.

Odi seems conflicted as he gently tugs one of the violets from the middle of the colorful bundle and offers it to the huge warrior with a hopeful gaze, not saying a word throughout the entire exchange.

“What an honor,” Paz sounds like he's grinning as he accepts the little flower and Odi immediately seeks out your hand again, “Thank you.”

The youngling peers up at you with a cheerful glimmer in his eye, as though he’s proud of himself for showing such bravery and selflessness in the presence of a powerful warrior. Once you offer him a knowing smile and a gentle squeeze of his hand, Odi turns to gaze down at his colorful bouquet with a tiny grin on his face. 

Content upon realizing the little one no longer seems sad or fearful, you tilt your head up to beam happily at Paz, your heart still full of love and admiration towards both him and Odi; immediately the warrior lifts his hand to tenderly stroke your cheek. The cold bite of leather nearly makes you flinch and suddenly you’re remorseful that both of your hands are occupied by your littlest companions as you now long to touch the lighter blue in the hollows of his cheeks.

It’s not until you make it back to the nursery that Odi’s smile drops and his lips form into a little pout. Paz presses his gloved hand to the small of your back to guide you further into the nursery and through a short tunnel leading the four of you to where the younglings must sleep and take their naps.

“Hey,” You whisper after the four of you enter a dimly lit room with several beds lined up; you notice the tiny lumps curled up underneath the fuzzy blankets and smile as you crouch down in front of Odi, “Remember what I said, okay? You ever want to come see me, just ask one of the caretakers. I’ll always be here for you.”

He nods, and before you can even think about standing up, he steps forward to wrap his tiny arms around your neck and you’re quick to return the sweet gesture, your free hand coming up to gently cup the back of his head. You feel his chubby fingers curl into the hair you had left unbraided that morning and smile when he holds onto you a little tighter; you can tell he’s still afraid of you leaving as an idea pops into your head.

“Since Rosie seems to like you so much, why don’t I leave her here with you for the night?” Immediately, he pulls away from you, his starry eyes wide and filled with disbelief as you gently shuffle the lazy vulpine into his awaiting arms, “She may be small, but she’s a fierce little thing that will protect you from any nightmares you may have, I promise.”

He holds the animal closer to his chest, grinning when she lifts her head to lick at his cheek and Odi instantly giggles in response. He gives you one last shy smile before making his way to his little bed and you stand up to your full height as you watch him shuffle underneath his blankets, all while holding Rosie close to his chest. It’s not until you watch his eyes close that you let out a deep exhale and you wonder when you had stopped breathing; tears nearly escape your eyes when you watch Rosie curl herself closer to the child, head tucked underneath his chin as he smiles sleepily.

“Ner cyare,” Paz whispers and you jump a little, nearly forgetting that he had been standing there this whole time; you turn to face him and you give him a questioning look when he threads his fingers through the valleys between yours, “There is something I want to show you.”

You think when he says ‘something’, he most likely means ‘someone’, and your heart thrums wildly in anticipation as he leads you away from the younglings’ sleeping quarters. The alcove he’s leading you to is the one he had popped out of a few days ago after you confronted him after the fight, you realize, and you wonder what could possibly be in the room that he seems so excited to show you.

You blink owlishly at him as he politely holds the drapes to the side for you and you hesitantly enter the warm room; instantly, another Mandalorian with black and yellow armor turns to face you and Paz. Before you can offer the stranger an affable greeting, a soft whimper cuts you off and your heart instantly freezes over when you spot a wooden crib in the corner of the dim room.

An infant… 

There is an infant in the covert and the thought simultaneously terrifies you and breaks your heart.

Paz quietly says something in his mother tongue when the caretaker on duty tenses as you step forward to try to get a better look at the distressed infant, your heart now pounding so wildly that you hear it in your ears. Whatever Paz said to the caretaker immediately seems to calm them down and they simply watch as you observe the fussy baby that is kicking its little feet wildly and growing even more distressed. The infant is wearing tiny white socks and a long, dark brown tunic that falls to her ankles; her little head is adorned with a white beanie, but you see dark tufts of hair poking out from underneath.

“I… I cannot get her to stop crying,” The Mandalorian’s deep, filtered voice is coated with exhaustion and despite the tears burning your eyes, you fixate your attention on the defeated Mando, the vibrancy of the yellow stripes painted on his black armor nearly hurting your eyes, “What am I doing wrong?”

You wonder if he’s ever had to take care of an infant before, but judging by the way the black and yellow Mando shuffles around nervously makes you think it is not all too common of an occurrence in the tribe.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, shaking off your fears and insecurities as you remind yourself that you were brought here to take care of others, “O-Okay, how old is she?”

“I only found her a few weeks ago, cyare,” Paz informs you quietly, not wanting to disturb the baby even more, and you turn around to gaze up at him with wide, watery eyes; he must see the confusion etched on your features because he immediately explains himself, “I was walking back from seeing you one night and found her abandoned behind one of the vendors in the marketplace. I can’t… I can’t imagine what kind of monster does such a thing.”

You know all too well of the monsters that are capable of leaving a helpless creature behind to die, most likely feeling no guilt when they close their eyes at night.

You nod again and let out a shaky exhale as the caretaker turns his body to the side and allows you to lean over the crib, your chest aching something fierce as you carefully scoop up the tiny creature into your arms. Instantly, she lets out with a piercing, shrill scream and you heave a small sigh at how fussy of a little thing she is, though you think you already know what her problem is.

“What are you--?”

The strange Mandalorian jolts forward a little as you shuffle the crying baby around in your arms until her chest and stomach is resting against the inside of your forearm, her arms and chubby legs dangling lazily around in the air and her cheek tucked against the crook of your elbow. It takes a few moments of tenderly stroking her back to get her cries to soften into something less ear shattering, and you let out a relieved sigh when her whimpers turn into little coos and grunts.

“I think she might be colic,” You inform the caretaker with a shaky whisper, his helmet tilted to the side with what you think is either curiosity or shock as she dribbles, “I’ve uh, I’ve seen this before and read about it. Are you making sure to burp her after each feeding? Or perhaps she should be using a different formula if she has a sensitive tummy?”

“I--” He drops his helmet a little, staring at the cooing infant that you’re bouncing a little, “She wasn’t spitting anything up and I just thought… I wasn’t sure how to do it, how to burp her.”

You give the black and yellow Mando a sympathetic expression and nod, your eyes still burning with tears, “Babies can be pretty fussy sometimes, but once you find out how they like to be held and handled, it makes things a little bit easier. This tends to be a good trick at calming a lot of babies, but you need to make sure she gets burped after every feeding or else she’ll be really uncomfortable and even fussier than normal.”

“Thank you,” The caretaker nods his gratitude as you continue to stroke her back and you give him a weak smile in response, “Could you maybe get her to go to sleep? I should check on the others and I--”

‘Need a breather.’

He doesn’t say it out loud, but you hear it in the way his deep voice drops and his shoulders fall at the mere thought of having a few moments of peace and relaxation.

He fidgets when you hesitate, though Paz places a gentle hand on your nape and he must realize that something is wrong as he squeezes the warm skin there; it’s something he only does when he’s trying to comfort you. Afraid that your voice will fail you, you offer the caretaker a jittery nod and he wastes no time in leaving the nursery that’s dedicated to this tiny infant. 

You find it difficult to even look at Paz as you make your way over to the rocking chair that seems far too small for any Mandalorian and slowly sink down until you’re sitting comfortably with a cooing, sleepy baby tucked in your arms. A soft sigh escapes your lungs when you feel a little bit of drool soak through the material covering your elbow and you risk a glance at Paz when he gets down on a knee next to the rocking chair, his gloved hand moving to gently squeeze your bicep.

“What happened?” He questions as quietly as possible, warranting a tiny grunt from the irascible infant, “Why are you so sad all of a sudden?”

The way he asks such a question so softly instantly leaves you feeling painfully raw and vulnerable and you are quick to shoulder away a tear before he can wipe it away for you; you shake your head viciously, “It’s nothing.”

“Cyare--”

“I will explain later.”

The Mandalorian gives you a curt nod and retrieves a piece of cloth for you as you move the calmed baby to burp her against your shoulder. You can tell he wants to say something as you pat her between the shoulders, but he remains silent and tilts his helmet to the side upon hearing the infant gurgle and do her business against the cloth draped over your shoulder. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep once she’s burped up all the air and spit from her meal and you let out a grateful sigh when you watch her eyelids slowly droop, somewhat eager to get her out of your arms and into her crib.

Once she’s comfortable in her cradle and fast asleep, you are quick to exit the little alcove, Paz hot on your heels as you practically storm past the exhausted-looking caretaker who’s sitting on a stone ledge in the main play area.

“Hey thank you for--”

You’re out of the nursery before he can fully express his gratitude to you and you hear Paz mutter something to the caretaker before rushing after you. Halfway down the tunnel leading to his private quarters, Paz catches up to you and carefully wraps his leather-clad fingers around your bicep, turning you around to face him.

“Cyare! What’s going--?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” You don’t even realize you’re sobbing until you hear your own voice and Paz’s other hand comes to squeeze your shoulder in a comforting manner, “Wh-Why didn’t you tell me there was a baby and why would you make me…? I didn’t know and... Maker, she was so much like--”

Your chest is heaving, tears streaming from your cheeks like raging waterfalls and Paz gently pulls you to the side and covers you when another Mandalorian passes you two, giving you what you’re certain is a curious gaze. He cups a massive hand to the side of your neck and leans down as you continue to sob and babble incoherent pleas at him, wondering why he’d put you through this, though he truly had no idea what he had done to you.

“I-I am sorry, cyare,” He breathes, squeezing your bicep firmly with his other hand, “You seemed to love the little ones so much and I thought… I thought you would love to see the baby, but I didn’t think…” He shakes his helmet in a jolting manner as you viciously rub at your eyes and cheeks, “What happened? What did I do wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” You ignore his frantic questions as you try desperately to stop the tears escaping your eyes, along with the horrific memories from flooding your mind, “I didn’t mean to be so rude! I thought I was over it and I could forget, but seeing her...”

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” He hushes you in a kind manner, shielding you from any wandering eyes that might see your tears, “Why don’t… why don’t we go back to our room and you can tell me what’s going on? That’s what you said the other day, right? That we should talk about the things we feel?”

You nod your answer, not trusting your voice in that moment, and you try your hardest to force down the massive lump in your throat.

“Will you tell me why you are so broken up over seeing the baby?”

He’s quick to pull you in close, hunching over to hold you easier and you immediately stuff your face into the crook of his neck as you give him another jittery nod, “I fear you will hate me upon hearing what I’ve done in the past--how I have failed the ones I was supposed to take care of.”

“I… I could never feel such a thing towards you,” He promises with a deep exhale, sounding just as heartbroken as he reluctantly pulls away and leads you closer to his private quarters, keeping a firm hand on the small of your back, “Whatever it is, I could never hate you, I swear.”

Your chest aches more and more the closer you get to his private quarters and once you finally make it, he’s quick to sit you down on the foot of his bed, kneeling down as he collects your hands in his leather-clad ones.

“What is haunting you, ner cyare? What makes you cry so much when you sleep?”

You pray that once you tell him, the horrific memories won’t weigh heavy on your conscience any longer.

Translations:

Ner cyare=My beloved

Mesh’la=Beautiful

Ori Kebiin=Big blue

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum=I love you (lit. I know you forever)

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Verd’ika= Little soldier

Di’kut=Idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aerynwrites @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst​ @anakinsittinginsand​ @yes-music-is-my-religion​ @tangledlove27​ @justrunamok​ @peqchynero​ @haloangel391​ @awhiskeywithawinchester @aliciaxglasgow​ @bonesaldente​ @kawaiitimecharm​ @karaabove​ @clydesducktape​ @misssilvertongue​ @heartxheat​ @pazvizslasgirl4ever​ (Please let me know if I missed you or you’d like to be taken off!!)

Author’s note: As always, thank you all so much for being as patient and kind as ever <3 I don’t know why this chapter was such a struggle for me to finish, but I’m so glad eventually managed to get all the words I wanted down lol. I was worried it might seem like there’s a lot going on in this chapter, but I just wanted more interactions with our nurse getting more settled in with the tribe and meeting others, so hopefully this chapter doesn’t seem like it’s all over the place :( Anyways I love you all and thank you so much for all the support y’all continuously give me <33

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

- Chapter 8 -

A small group of sects unexpectedly announced that they wanted Wen Ruohan to adjudicate a boundary line dispute – some were affiliated with the Jiang sect, others with the Jin, and they wanted a neutral party. Wen Ruohan was pleased, even smug, that they had chosen him rather than the Lan sect, which with its righteous reputation was more typically called upon to mediate for the other sects.

“Maybe none of them have a good argument,” Nie Huaisang mused. “They’re all awful, and they want someone more self-absorbed than either side to broker something out.”

“Not everyone is awful, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said, tucking the blankets around him. “Most people are good. Besides, there are some pretty renowned sects involved, so even if it’s true, you shouldn’t say it.”

Nie Huaisang heaved a sigh. “But da-ge –”

“Time for medicine,” Nie Mingjue said firmly, and lifted the bowl to his lips.

Nie Huaisang had a mild case of food poisoning, causing a stomachache, vomiting and a low-grade fever – Wen Qing had determined that it wasn’t infectious, but also, rather grimly, figured out that the source of the illness was most likely a particular treat that Nie Huaisang had generously shared with both her and Wen Chao, and sure enough they were both bedridden less than a day later. Luckily, Wen Qing had had enough time to boil the base for the medicine they needed, and while he wasn’t at her level, much less the now-absent Wen Ning’s, even Nie Mingjue could follow directions well enough to add the final ingredients right before serving.

(Even Wen Zhuliu, who remained Wen Chao’s bodyguard despite their best efforts, had fallen ill, except his version had been significantly worse – more or less non-stop emissions out both ends, and out of self-preservation Nie Mingjue had insisted that he remain in the servants’ quarters far away from all of them.)

Nie Huaisang finished drinking the medicine, making a face that only went away when Nie Mingjue stuffed something sweet into his mouth to help get rid of the taste. “Will you be all right helping out?”

“Of course I will,” Nie Mingjue said. “I haven’t forgotten how to help host a party.”

“No, I meant…”

Nie Mingjue shrugged. Normally, Wen Ruohan had enough concern for his face to prefer that Nie Mingjue avoid showing his own shortly after he’d been insolent enough to warrant punishment, but due to the food poisoning they were short on young masters to greet all the incoming people – and their guests were too important not to be greeted by someone with status.

“I’ll use some powder, it’ll be fine,” he said. “And anyway, even if someone notices, it’s not like they would be bold enough to comment; they’re here to ask Sect Leader Wen for a favor, after all. Who will even pay attention to me long enough to notice?”

The answer, Nie Mingjue swiftly learned, was Yu Ming, a crotchety old grandmother from Meishan Yu in Sichuan who didn’t like the food (not spicy enough), her chair (the first one was too rickety, the second too soft), her peers (idiots, all of them), her drink (they’d served tea and she wanted wine, and then later on it was the other way around), and, most problematically, was one of the more influential sect leaders on the Jiang sect’s side. Not exactly someone they wanted to offend by providing inferior hospitality.  

Nie Mingjue ended up abandoning his now habitual corner in the back of the room to dash back and forth dancing attendance on her, run ragged and breathless by all of her demands.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise when she approached him in his corner during the banquet’s dessert course, and he straightened up at once, saluting politely. “Sect Leader Yu,” he said, suppressing a desire to moan and maybe beg for mercy; his legs were killing him. How this managed to be worse than serious saber training he had no idea, but it was. “Is the dessert not to your liking? I can get you something cool instead –”

“Sit down, boy,” she growled. “The crystal cakes are fine, and I’m tired of looking up at you. How tall are you? Six chi?”

“…five and a half, maybe five and three-quarters,” he confessed, sitting down obediently. At this point, she could tell him to jump out a window and he probably would – she had a very sharp walking stick and no hesitation about waving everywhere. No sympathy for her miserable victims, either.

“And you’re how old?”

“Seventeen.”

“Slowed down yet?”

“…not yet.”

She huffed. “That’s all we need, another Nie giant. I told your father that he was making a mistake, marrying a woman that needed to duck to get through doors…that how you got that black eye?”

“Huh?” Nie Mingjue said unintelligently, still caught by the mental image – he scarcely remembered his mother, having been very young when she left, but it was nice to think that it wasn’t just the perspective of having been a toddler that had made her appear quite so towering. “Oh, I – uh – training accident.”

Yu Ming squinted at him. “Same training accident that dislocated three of your fingers and a kneecap, did a number on your ribs, and cut your back up so bad that you need bandages and –” She inhaled. “– at least two doses of bai mao gen to replenish the blood lost?”

Nie Mingjue opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. Finally, yielding under her glare, he muttered, “I didn’t dislocate my kneecap.”

He might’ve preferred that, actually. Dislocations could be shoved back into place with relatively little issue; he’d sprained it, instead. A bad fall from when he’d shamefully broken and tried to run from the Fire Palace, futilely seeking safety, a place where he neither had to hurt people nor be hurt himself.

Not that such a place existed in the Nightless City, of course. He’d only been dragged back after, as he ought to have expected, and then things had gotten much worse, but he hadn’t really been thinking his actions through at the time.

“Dislocated, not dislocated, whatever. Has to be something, the way you’re dragging that left leg of yours behind you when you trot,” she said practically. “You’re a rotten liar, did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Many people,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. Most of them currently in bed with food poisoning, except for lucky Wen Ning away at the Lotus Pier and miserable Wen Xu now stuck standing by his father’s side, pretending to smile. “Does it matter?”

“Matter? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Other than going and applying more powder, there’s not much I can do about it even if it does offend your sight,” Nie Mingjue pointed out, reasonably enough in his view. “And no matter how many times or ways you ask it, the answer’s still going to be ‘training accident’, whether or not you believe me.”

Yu Ming poked his forehead with her finger, then his cheek. “And this is with powder,” she said, scowling and rubbing the remnants of it between her fingertips as if she hadn’t believed him that it was there until she’d verified it for herself. “If you won’t tell me anything other than ‘training accident’, will you at least tell me what you did to deserve this type of training?”

“I don’t remember,” Nie Mingjue said, and he really didn’t. All the thrashings more or less flowed together pretty well after a while, and in the end it didn’t really matter if he’d intervened on Nie Huaisang’s behalf or Wen Chao’s, whether he’d played whipping boy for Wen Xu or distracted attention away from Wen Qing – they were all close enough to be proper family now. What he did was nothing more than what you ought to do for those you loved, and he’d die before he forgot how to do that.

“Rotten liar,” Yu Ming said, maybe because she could tell he wasn’t lying, and spat on the ground. “It’s a filthy business.”

“I’m hardly going to disagree with you,” he said dryly.

“You might look a little less ragged if you did.”

He shrugged. “They say people can’t change their essential nature.”

“And what’s yours?”

“Blunt to the point of stupidity.”

“Say rather that you cut straight to the point,” she said.

“Well, you know, sabers have one blunt edge, one sharp,” he said, unable to resist a smile even if it pulled at the bruises around his eye. “I can be both.”

She was staring at him.

“…what?”

“You have dimples.”

“I’m…aware?”

He didn’t quite understand the calculating look Yu Ming had in her eyes – or, perhaps better said, he didn’t want to understand that look, and he was willing to put in a great deal of effort behind not understanding it if he had to.

“Do you want another crystal cake?” he asked her abruptly before she could say anything else. When she arched her eyebrows, he elaborated: “Sect Leader Wen will undoubtedly ask me whether I was taking good care of you, being as you are after all one of our honored guests.”

Don’t tell me anything, he meant. Even if you pity me – especially if you pity me. He has ways to make me talk. He likes making me talk.

“…fine, then,” Yu Ming said. “You said something about there being something cool?”

Nie Mingjue suppressed a groan as he dragged himself out of his seat and headed to the kitchen to see if they still had any sorbet left over.

-

“– going to be tricky,” Nie Huaisang was saying to a nodding Wen Xu as Nie Mingjue walked by. “Lanling Jin isn’t fond of making decisions.”

“But they are fond of profit,” Wen Xu pointed out.

“The question will be if there’s a way to strike the right balance without giving too much away –”

Nie Mingjue decided to believe that they were talking about pornography. People said Jin Guangshan was into that sort of thing, didn’t they?

-

Nie Mingjue trained with Baxia at least once every day, and usually more. He found the repetitive actions calming, like an active form of meditation, and he was happy to sink into the mindlessness of physical exertion and forget his worries.

Baxia was warm under his hand, as always – he thought sometimes that she’d never quite adjusted to the warmer temperatures of the Nightless City, preferring as he did the cooler weather of Qinghe.

Perhaps, in time, she would forget it.

Perhaps, in time, so would he.

Forget the cool air filling his lungs, the crisp snap of an autumn day just about to begin; forget the smell of the forests and the feeling of gravel under his shoes. Forget the strain on his muscles from climbing up a steep cliff, the taste of an early snowfall on his tongue – the metallic tang to the water, the lingering smell of smoke in the air even when there wasn’t anyone around for miles.

It felt unforgettable.

But he knew that it wasn’t. In the face of time, all things were ground down into the dust.

He would be eighteen years old this year. Still a little shy of proper adulthood, an unlucky year, if luck had anything to do with his life any longer. He’d been here for four years, just shy of a quarter of all the years he’d ever lived.

Perhaps that was what made him melancholy.

Or perhaps it was only that he had been unable to light incense on the anniversary of his father’s death yet again this year. Wen Ruohan took particular pleasure in ensuring that he couldn’t – he had spent the first year unconscious, the second year immobilized, the third…he tried not to remember.

It didn’t really matter, he supposed, since he’d always agreed in advance that Nie Huaisang would light the incense on behalf of them both, both on the anniversary and on Qingming – they hadn’t ever been given leave to return to Qinghe to sweep their ancestral graves, not once, not even when some of the other sects had complained about the impropriety of it. No one ever paid attention to Nie Huaisang, underestimating how sneaky he could be, and so he’d managed it just fine. Still, the failure to do it himself tugged at Nie Mingjue’s heart, disappointed him in himself - in his failure to be a good son, just as he so often failed to be a good brother.

He sank back into his training by force of willpower.

His cultivation was increasing at an acceptable rate, he thought – shockingly fast by all metrics, but all of his teachers said that his foundations were good, steady as mountains, and his progression through each stage was smooth and unhindered by bottlenecks. The consequences of genius, they said with a shrug.

It was about the only thing that was going in an acceptable manner.

Ma Liyuan had fallen out of favor, as Wen Xu had predicted – she’d failed to remain pregnant despite repeated efforts, and Wen Ruohan took such pleasure in criticizing her for it that Nie Mingjue suspected he’d dosed her tea with contraceptives specifically to set her up for the failure, since he didn’t actually need more sons – but her usefulness remained, so she was married in with all pomp to Wen Chao’s household as a secondary wife.

(She’d been promised the position of first wife, and threw a fit when she realized the change, but Wen Ruohan had reminded her, sneering, that that had been when she’d been a pure and untouched maiden; she really couldn’t expect them to pay such a high price for secondhand goods, now could she?)

Wen Chao obviously had no interest in her at all – she’d tried, once, to make herself up and smile at him and he’d recoiled as if he’d seen a snake, then stared at her and said, “You’re joking, right?” – so she’d taken the next best option and sent her maid to seduce him in her stead.

Wang Lingjiao was pretty enough, with curves enough to make just about any man stare, and pretty cunning to boot. In a different world, a world where Wen Chao had fallen for his father’s nasty little tricks and become a stupid oversexed princeling, a waste of space that would have been incited into fighting against Wen Xu for the sole purpose of being crushed to prove some imagined point of about the necessity of cruelty, she probably would have been able to crawl into his bed and keep her place there without much difficulty.

Wen Chao was a bit of a romantic, after all, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

As it was, when her first few efforts at flirtation failed – or, well, mostly failed, given that Wen Chao held her hands in his own during a garden stroll in the moonlight and told her, with great earnestness, that she was very beautiful and it was such a pity that he wasn’t allowed to think of women romantically until he was fifteen on pain of utmost humiliation and also was she aware of the dangers of venereal disease – Wang Lingjiao pulled back and recalibrated her approach.

This time, she went for Nie Mingjue.

“You’re joking, right?” he asked her.

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that a deliberate reference to what Wen Chao said?”

“No, just the same idea. I’m not interested.”

“That much is obvious enough,” she said, tossing her hair. “I want you to tell me what I need to do to get someone to be interested. I don’t want to be a servant any longer.”

Nie Mingjue was at something of a loss for words.

“There must be something I can provide,” Wang Lingjiao demanded. “Some service, some use…I’m a weak cultivator, but that clearly doesn’t bother you lot – your younger brother is weak, too, though I’m still a bit worse. I’m not as dumb as Ma Liyuan; I know there’s more you can sell in life than sex, even if that’s easier. What do you want? What do any of you want?”

Wang Lingjiao was from the Yingchuan Wang cultivation clan, Nie Mingjue abruptly remembered. A smaller sect, with too many children, but a standalone sect nonetheless; their children were born as gentry, not servants. No, they must have sold Wang Lingjiao into servitude, though whether it was to get an in with Qishan Wen or simply to get rid of a budding problem – and extremely beautiful young women with poor cultivation were often a problem, especially when their beauty suggested how their mothers had gotten themselves selected to be wives, or, more likely, concubines – he did not know.

“Do you mix your own makeup?” he asked, and she stared at him. “It’s very well done.”

“…yes,” she said, giving him a strange look. “I do. None that’ll fit you, though.”

He blinked, then laughed. “No, I don’t want any; the only use I have for powder is to cover up bruises when I need to be presentable. I just meant that it seems you have a steady hand at mixing things and judging proportions – A-Qing appreciates those qualities.”

“Wen Qing?” Wang Lingjiao asked, bewildered. “You want to send me to a woman?”

“She’s expressed before that she would like to have more female company,” Nie Mingjue explained, and Wang Lingjiao’s expression only got more fish-like as she gaped at him. “A fair while back, in fairness, but the numbers really are skewed fairly strongly against her. I thought you might get along. Be friends.”

“I’ve never had a female friend in my life,” Wang Lingjiao told him.

“I thought – you’re always chatting with the other serving girls…?”

Wang Lingjiao rolled her eyes as if he were being stupid. He probably was. Forget Qishan ways, the ways of the teenaged girl were utterly beyond his grasp.

“I don’t see what you have to lose by trying,” Nie Mingjue pointed out. “I’m not interested, Xu-ge’s too paranoid to get within touching distance of anyone he thinks has an ulterior motive, A-Chao isn’t allowed to touch women for a few more years –”

“Why is that?”

“He’s gullible, and has both questionable taste and sibling-inflicted trauma relating to brothels,” Nie Mingjue explained, and Wang Lingjiao wrinkled her nose, looking a little amused despite herself. “A-Ning isn’t the type to womanize, and Huaisang is too young. Also a vicious cutthroat when it comes to interpersonal relations, so who even knows what type of person he’d like, if any.”

“I’d noticed that about him.”

“In sum, A-Qing is your best bet,” he concluded. “And all the more so if you approach her in a business-like fashion: make clear to her what benefits you bring and how you’ll compensate for the drawbacks, be practical and reasonable, and you’ll do fine. Do well, and you won’t ever need to fear being sent back to Ma Liyuan – or to Yingchuan.”

Wang Lingjiao stared at him for a moment – she hadn’t expected him to be able to figure that out, he thought, since she was just clever enough to manage to puzzle out that he was the heart and core of their little group but not quite smart enough to realize why – but in the end she seemed to take his advice to heart, nodding and walking away.

He hoped Wen Qing didn’t kill him for sending her a terrible lab assistant.

[qiankunfics]

Fics Alert & Updates

New Fics

KunTen

1.   My gorgeous by Holmes_n_Moriarty

Summary: Kun is perfect until he's not. Rating: General Status: On-Going

2. Lil' Something by ugly_little_sandcastles

Summary: There's just something about Ten that burrows beneath his skin, prickling and sharp and hot, hot, hot. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

3. Dandelions by eyesonflowers

Summary: After four years, Ten reunited with Kun. Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

 4. to fall in love in the wintertime by energyboyeric

Summary: To fall in love in the wintertime, Ten decides, is to fall in love with stillness. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

5. honey, shut your mouth by lowkeyamen

Summary: It's date night but Kun, wrecked from work, is on the brink of falling asleep. Ten knows just how to solve that. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot Fem!KunTenWin

6. The Home My Forefathers Built by jiaqins

Summary: Kun is a brilliant Parisian med student, he has two jobs which he is fond of and relatives whom he loves—even when they are as annoying as his cousin Yangyang. But too many challenges stand in his way and disturb the stability he cherishes so dearly. Rating: Teen Status: On-Going 

7. crazy over you by andnowforyaya

Summary: The photo of Kun's next mark was a flattering one. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot  Trigger: Death 

8. When the time is right by drawing_board

Summary: Nothing in the way he feels towards Ten significantly changes. But he realizes that somewhere in there was a latent desire for more. Rating: Mature  Status: On-Going 

9. the last three times we'll meet (see you again) by kloudoie

Summary: Ten sees the number he'll meet people behind their backs–except one.  Rating: General Status: One-Shot

10. better days around the corner with you by tullycat

Summary: On a Monday afternoon, the most beautiful man Kun has ever seen walks into the café. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

11.  Dreamscape by YHXLWTK

Summary: Ten sighed dramatically and took a step forward so he was standing beside Kun. “You’re my partner for tonight.” Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

12. No matter how goods you're at pretending, your eyes can't lied by Mywoojinie

Summary: NCT2020 promotions really makes relationship between Ten and Kun stumbles. Well. Johnny are there, of course Kun would be jealous. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

13. Unnatural by dojaefairy

Summary: The first time Ten cheats on his boyfriend, he tells himself it's a one-time mistake. It's unnatural of him to cheat on Johnny. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot Trigger: Cheating 

14. Mystery Boy by taetens

Summary: Kun has kept most of his life private, so when he opens up about his newest relationship with some hot shot fashion designer, no one believes him. Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

15.  The Good Side by starrykun

Summary: Kun and Ten work for the same company and were paired to work together to make a collab album. But will things work out between the two? Rating: Teen  Status: On-Going

16. slow dancing in the dark by camellia117

Summary: in which kun needs to learn how to slow dance, and he trusts ten to teach him. or maybe, a story where two lonely boys find love accidentally, by slow dancing in the dark. Rating: General  Status: Completed 

17.  sync up, fall harder by suheafoams

Summary:  kun agrees to help ten plan out a date for his friend. more falls into place than what he initially anticipated. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

18. Hearing Your Voice (Is All I Need) by peachy_beomie

Summary: But there’s only one person who calls him Yongqin. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

19. it’s almost like you’re in love with me (or something) by Markmeinyourheart

Summary: four times kun and ten were complicated and the one time they really weren't. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

20. cat got your tongue? by starrytae

Summary: kunten miraculous ladybug au Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

21. when he sleeps by bahasakalbu

Summary: Ten can't sleep, and Kun is in a deep slumber beside him. Ten minds wonders around their previous memories, while looking at Kun's sleeping form. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

22. Home-cooked Meal by autumn_sparrow

Summary: Kun makes dinner while Ten takes a nap. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

23. See You Soon, Baby by nekowafers

Summary: Kun is an office worker who lived a pretty boring until he met Ten, an annoyingly good-looking vampire who won't stop sneaking through his apartment window. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

24. Not Like That by Meow12251

Summary:  “You know, Kun, you’re not really my type,” Ten says. Kun opens his mouth, face scrunching, unsure what to say. He wonders if he should take offense. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

25. Welcome Home by DestinyHope

Summary: Ten and Kun were living in their house, dreaming about adopting some kids and finally have a family of their own. They didn't expect to end up taking care of boys around their age in need of love and care. Rating: Teen Status: On-Going 

26. softly killing me by yeollama

Summary: Ten and Kun lived the ideal suburban dream, suffocating marriage and all. Of course, it wasn't without a few secrets. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

27. persona by latedreams

Summary: However, there were pieces that seemed to have been carved to fit together perfectly, edges effortlessly moulding to each other, creating a perfect harmony. Those were Ten's favourites. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

28. whispers of only the two of us by frinkles

Summary: Ten’s hair sits so well between Kun’s fingers. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

29. Floating Encounters by stupefiscience

Summary: Kun, an exhiled assassin from one of mainland china’s biggest crime groups tries to find his redemption by taking down Ten. An unknown jack of all trades menacing the powerful dogs of the city. Things take a spicy turn, though. Rating: Mature Status: On-Going

30. give all my secrets away by yeollama

Summary: Finding out Kun and Ten had some weird secret life which involved violence, cars and constant lying was not what Yangyang planned to overhear, but oh well. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

31. hold onto my mask by moonjongup (nicrt)

Summary: They fell in love over time. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

32. your ethereal existence by moonwalker116 (mikararinna)

Summary: “Because if humans can imagine what aliens look like, who’s to say that they haven’t seen a ghost in real life and spreading tales about them?” Rating: General Status: One-Shot

33.  gold star of friendship by sunkissedhyuck

Summary: kun and ten didn't know what to expect at first when putting chenle into school for the first time, but it certainly wasn't anything close to this. Rating: General Status: One-Shot 

34. Penis Colada by pinkfire

Summary: “So, what brings you here?” Ten prompted.“My dick,” Kun blurted, and Ten, who was mid-sip, laughed a spray of tea back into his mug. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

35. Second Chances by Vante_20

Summary: That night Kun left Ten hanging. Now he is second guessing himself. Things go down and he knows he won't be able to live with himself if give them a chance. Rating: General  Status: One-Shot

36. In A Blink of An Eye by haneyangie

Summary: A secret melody that only he knows. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

37.  Some Other Day by qianwtch (dxnutcare)

Summary:  Ten somehow felt more homesick than usual. He had been laying in bed doing nothing but trying to sleep his frustration away. Rating: General  Status: One-Shot

38. The Finish Line by Maiamia

Summary: Kun is a serious man. Always. It is a requirement for his job after all. But when he’s forced to rely on a shameless, way to handsome driver and his team of outlaws to complete the most important mission of his career, he might realize that keeping it professional is not as easy as it seemed. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

39. Are You A Magician? (Cause You Make My Breath Disappear) by peachy_beomie

Summary:  “Why would I embarrass myself more than I already have?” “Cause your future husband Ten Lee thinks you’re cute, idiot!” Rating: General Status: One-Shot 

40.  in the frozen land, on the night where everything sleeps by 10vesyou

Summary: It marked their one of many, their last strive to save their brother. Tracing the flakes of snow hovering in the air, they set their heart on finding the hidden secret of the world: The Tree of Language. Rating: Teen  Status: One-Shot 

41.  advil and antagonism by ouchsolo for zhosungs

Summary: Kun doesn't think his life could get anymore laughable, until the man he's sworn to hate forever is sitting drunk on his bed and he has no idea what to do with him. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

JohnKun

42. The Day You Walked Away by senja

Summary: 9 years later, and the same fate was repeated, only this time, only one walked away. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

43. My Universe by senja

Summary:  Kun was trying his best to stay cool by drinking a cup of iced americano in a middle of a busy cafe and suddenly a (not really) unfamiliar man came up to him and asked a question he have never received before. Rating: General Status: One-Shot 

44. Work From Home by jhengchie

Summary: Inspired by the Song Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot 

45. not coming back by Kiyuan

Summary: Kun doesn’t like talking about his school days. He’d rather not relive the days he spent hopping between worlds, thinking about nothing else than his partner, his friend and the adventures. Rating: General Status: One-Shot 

46.  Trust Me by seungwanxndxnly

Summary: Qian Kun and the Case of the Big Bomb Rating: Teen Status: On-Going 

KunWin / WinKun

47.  i could be your escape by bambirouge

Summary: Kun’s voice drops to a downright sinful level. “What if I got you hard, right here, right now, in the middle of all these people?” Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot

KunCas / LuKun 

48.  Collar Me by softyjseo

Summary: Lucas and Kun were meant for each other, in all of the different ways they can imagine. Rating: Explicit  Status: One-Shot 

Twitter Fics - 

49.https://twitter.com/peachy_beomie/status/1384891177636405248?s=21

Summary: Ten rates his boyfriend’s reactions to his petnames. 

50. https://twitter.com/dojaefairy/status/1377708043807436805 

Summary: Ten decides to confess to Kun on April Fools Day so that he can pretend his confession was just a joke if Kun rejects him, and things get messy.

  Updates

KunTen

1. Wrong (Right) Ad by Alette 2. Has To Be Mine by rowx3yourships 3. catch him if you can by blazingsirius 4. No Biting by taetens 5. Coming Home by YeolsTruly 6. electric magnetic by miramiro 7. Escaping The Moon by Chi_Can 8 .Countdown from Nine by MailOrderBride 9. Pierced! by HaloHalo 10. You Make Staying Away So Hard by Kill3rWhal3D1ck 11. On Thin Ice by taetens 12. all's well that ends well. by chenaki 13. diamonds by rainingover

JohnKun 14.  Afterglow by owzy

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 2: Right Through You

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

"I'm sorry." It was the last thing Spider-Man said before he swung away, swallowed by the darkness of an alleyway. It was a whimpered choke. Fearful.

"No! Wait--" Tony tried to call, but it was too late. The man was gone. No. Not a man. A fifteen year old. Tony glanced down at his shadow and then back at where Spider-Man had disappeared. Spider-Man was his soulmate. And he was fifteen. Tony had to catch himself against the wall as his chest squeezed painfully tight and his throat closed up in panic, barely managing to mutter out, "Jesus Christ. Fifteen."

That was horrifying on an entirely different level than what had just transpired. Not only had his soulmate flinched away from him and then run off the first chance he'd gotten, he was swinging around the streets of New York and putting himself in danger and he was a kid. Did his parents know? Maybe that was why the kid had run off so quickly. He'd freaked out so horribly when he'd realized the time that Tony had to blink away the horrible memories of his own father with his backhanded slaps and harsh words that had stung even more.

Tony sucked in a cold breath as he stared at the spilled hot chocolate mixing with his own dropped coffee. How often had Spider-Man been hurt? On the street or at home? Suddenly all Tony knew was terror at the implication and newfound knowledge of just exactly who his soul was connected to. Just who the shadow that had been with him for fifteen years really had been. And all he knew was the horrible guilt that he clearly wasn't what his soulmate had been looking for. Could soulmates be wrong? Knowing himself, it was possible.

The mechanic shook his head furiously, forcing himself to stop leaning on the wall and take a deep breath. He'd found his soulmate--sort of--and he wasn't about to just let them go that easily. If he could just have one good conversation, preferably without that mask, about their connection, everything would be okay. Or, it could at least be resolved. If the kid didn't want to know him, didn't want to be his soulmate--well...

Tony sniffed, snatching the cups off of the pavement and throwing them in the trash. He'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

Tony began to make his way back to the tower, his steps slow and stumbled, eyes fixated on his shadow whenever it came into view. After a few minutes, the hood disappeared and fuzzy hair took its place. Well, now he knew why his shadow always looked like they were bald in the afternoon and at night.

"Friday," Tony started, his glasses lighting up at the call of his voice. "I need a full search of the city. As in-depth as you can get it. Follow Spider-Man, look for his identity, and focus on kids born on August tenth, 2001."

"There are six hundred thirteen people born on that day currently living in New York."

"Okay, filter out for boys in Queens. Between 5'7" and 5'9."" He paused, thinking about the fingers that he'd seen through Spider-Man's gloves. "Lighter skin, too."

"I have forty-two possible matches."

"Well, it's better than six hundred," Tony sniffed. "Keep an eye on them, and keep a special eye on Spidey. If he looks like he's in a situation he can't handle, alert me. Or just tell me the next time he pops up."

"Of course, sir," Friday agreed. "What shall I file this under?"

Tony mused for a moment. "Create a new file, and place it on my private server. Name it 'The Itsy Bitsy Spider.'"

Hopefully he'd have a face to that protocol soon.

 ---

  Peter stumbled up to the front door of the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, his breaths quick and furious as he scrambled for a decision. After escaping from Mr. Stark's disappointment, he'd fled across the bridge and eventually found an alleyway to change into where his spidey sense had finally calmed down. Cameras were following Peter now wherever he went as Spider-Man now, he was sure, so he'd had to be painfully and slowly careful. Finding an alleyway out of the sight of any cameras had been simple enough, but it would be relatively easy for Mr. Stark to triangulate his location, so Peter had changed and thrown on a hood and forced himself to become lost in the New York crowd of people on the night shift or party-goers higher than a kite.

So far, the teenager thought he'd managed to get away with it, but he'd have to be more careful about when he went out if he didn't want Mr. Stark to find out who he was. The man already seemed disappointed to find out his soulmate was Spider-Man, he couldn't imagine what realizing it was actually Peter Parker would do to him.

Peter swallowed down the trepidation that bubbled under his skin in boiled anxiety as he shuffled in front of the door to the group home. Maybe Mr. Fowler hadn't realized he was late and he could try and sneak in through the window instead of being caught outside the door. Then again, if he did know, he was likely waiting for Peter to slip in that way and catch him red-handed. The real question was what would end in less punishment?

The teenager's musings were cut short by a spike in spidey sense and the wrenching open of the chipped red door, bringing with it the dangerous stench of stale beer. Mr. Fowler's displeased grin froze Peter to the floor in terror until an outstretched hand reached out and gripped his arm in a vice. "You're late."

Peter held back a wince as he was pulled in through the door, forcing himself to stumble along as the door was slammed shut behind him, rattling the old building. Mr. Fowler dragged him towards the dining room as he rushed to apologize. "Sorry, Mr. Fowler. I--I didn't mean to! I just got caught up on the subway and my phone died and--"

"I've heard that one before," the man snapped. Peter's jaw clamped shut with an audible click. He bit his tongue to keep his feeble excuses from escaping as he was pushed into a chair roughly. The man's hand gripped onto Peter's shoulder painfully tightly, but the liquor on his breath kept the boy glued to the chair more obediently than anything else. "Now where have you actually been, Peter?"

"I-I didn't mean to be late," he tried again. "I was just--"

There was a harsh smack to the back of his head, whipping it forward. Peter winced, but it didn't really hurt, so he forced himself to sit still. He was fine. Mr. Fowler couldn't really hurt him, and even if he did, it didn't matter. Peter would heal. Every bruise he'd ever gotten here had always been gone by the morning.

"Enough with the excuses, Pete," Mr. Fowler ordered. "I just need an answer for the report now that I have to write up your next strike."

Peter flinched. The system at the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys was extremely strict. Three strikes and you're out. Peter already had one strike when Mr. Fowler had caught him sneaking an extra snack after dinner. He'd been drunk then too.

Four strikes meant that Peter would be moved to another home for "troubled teens." That he'd attend another school and have to forge a new system of being Spider-Man. And, most importantly, it meant he'd be leaving the younger kids here to Mr. Fowler's wrath by themselves. Peter was the second oldest at the group home of six. Jeremiah was the oldest, but he'd be aging out in barely a month, leaving Peter to try and take care of the others, all no older than twelve.

Peter would heal, they wouldn't. It was as easy as that. But it didn't seem like Peter was going to escape this strike and that he'd have to be careful about even thinking about patrolling for a few weeks. Then again, with Mr. Stark possibly looking for him, maybe it was for the best. And it would just be for a little bit. Just a little bit.

There was a horrible shiver up the teenager's spine, and Peter had to force himself to stay still as there was another slap to his head, this one harder than before. He bit his lip as Mr. Fowler leaned in closer, the staleness of liquor on his breath making the boy's nose crinkle in barely concealed disgust.

"Listen to me when I'm talking to you, son," Mr. Fowler sneered. "Failure to do so can end in another strike, y'know. Two in one day and you'll be shipped off to Jersey tomorrow morning. So?"

Peter took a deep breath through his nose and grit his teeth. He knew what the man wanted to hear. What he wanted to put in Peter's file. It seemed to be a personal pleasure of his to fuck with his file, and all the other boys' really, as much as humanly possible.

"I was out goofing off with some friends. We were smoking and throwing cans at cars and I lost track of time."

Mr. Fowler tutted. "So irresponsible, Pete. I will have to write that up, y'know, and you'll receive the usual grounding. One week. Now why don't you go and head to bed?"

It wasn't a question, so Peter stood shakily and forced himself near the stairs, knowing better than to ask if he'd get some kind of food before he went to sleep. He wouldn't be getting any dinner for the entirety of his grounding anyway. Peter was lucky that he got away without any bruises, instead only escaping with a dull pain in the back of his head.

He slipped up the stairs and into the room he shared with Jeremiah and Tim. Jeremiah had his back turned to Peter, clearly just fixed to keep his head down for the next month, but Tim was sat up straight in bed, bright black eyes staring at Peter in awed worry. The teenager forced himself to look away, instinctively turning to his dull shadow but snapping away from that as well to stare at his bed instead.

"Go to sleep, Tim. You have school tomorrow."

"But, Peter--"

"Go to sleep, Tim," he said again, a little more forcefully this time. Tim stared at him for another painful moment before slipping down under his covers and turning to face the wall opposite Peter. It dragged a stone of guilt into his stomach, but Peter just couldn't at the moment. Even as he changed out of his ratty clothes into even rattier pajamas, the new knowledge of who his shadow really was wouldn't leave.

Peter turned the light off in the hall and closed the door to him and the other boys' room, grateful for the first time in his life to see his shadow disappear. He knew he was being just a little ridiculous, it wasn't like Mr. Stark hated him or anything, at least, Peter didn't think he did. But, well, the teenager was exactly that; a teenager. One that was poor and alone and had superpowers that he used to do little good deeds around his neighborhood. And Mr. Stark was Mr. Stark. The universe had to have been wrong this one time.

And what was worse was that Peter had just run away. He'd acted like an overdramatic romcom character when discovering that their soulmate was the quarterback they hated or something. It was possibly the worst part of all of this.

Peter kept in a sigh as he dropped onto his old mattress, pulling the lumpy covers over himself and squeezed his eyes shut in a half-assed attempt to bully out the pain of hunger in his stomach and the ache of undeserved longing in his heart. He so desperately wanted to be able to know his soulmate, but there was no way that Mr. Stark would be excited to actually know him. Besides, Mr. Stark pushed the Accords, and Peter was an unlicensed vigilante on the street. It was the man's job to find out who he was and turn him in.

Being soulmates didn't change that, even as his vision flashed to show a dark and fancy lab. Well, now he knew why his soulmate had always had such nice stuff.

 ---

"You what?"

"I found my soulmate," Tony snipped. "Keep up, honey bear. You're losing your touch, old man."

Rhodey ignored his comment, still staring at Tony from where he sat on a box in the Avengers common room that was probably filled with either dishes or Avengers gear. Tony passed the colonel a horribly green smoothie that he accepted without complaint, still staring at Tony but this time with a wide smile on his face.

"You really found him? Just walking around Manhattan?" Rhodey asked.

"Well, technically someone was trying to kidnap me, but sure."

"I'm sorry. What?"

"Relax. Everything turned out fine since my soulmate showed up."

Rhodey gave him a look, eyes glancing from the billionaire to the short shadow on the ground. "Your soulmate who is fifteen, saved you from a kidnapping?"

"Well, yeah. But he's got superpowers, so I don't think it was much of a sweat for him."

"Super--who the hell is your soulmate? Is this Twenty Questions? First guess: Ant Man."

"Hardy har," Tony joked. "No, not Lang. It's the spider kid."

Rhodey paused. "You have no idea who he is, do you?"

Tony shrugged, twirling the straw of his own green smoothie for a slight distraction from the fact that his soulmate had flinched and then ran away from him. It had kept him up with an anxiety-filled kind of drive as he'd tried to pick out which of the kid's was his little shadow. He'd only managed to weed out a few of the kids of the forty-something.

"No. He, uh, ran away. Friday's on the job looking for him right now, but he's a slippery one, 'cause, uh, no luck so far."

"I'm sorry, man," Rhodey apologized. "That sucks. Do you...do you know why he ran?"

"Something about a curfew."

"Then maybe he'll be out soon looking for you. Once school is out for the day, of course."

"Yeah. Maybe," Tony agreed, but he thought differently. The shake in the kid's voice, the flinch as he'd ducked away from Tony's hand, and the horrible defensive tenseness when he'd looked away from their switched shadows to look at him. He didn't think Spidey was exactly thrilled, or that he'd be looking for a way to tell the billionaire exactly who he was.

"Any flashes?" Rhodey asked. Tony hummed in confusion. "Since you realized you were soulmates?"

"Oh, uh, just a room last night. I don't know, it was pretty hard to make out." Tony had turned off all the lights in his lab once he'd arrived in it, hoping for some kind of flash of where his soulmate was. It had been reassuring to see the connection still intact, but it wasn't like the dark and bare bedroom had been much help. "I think he has siblings or something. There was another bed in there. Oh, add that to the search engine, Friday."

"Of course, sir. Now down to twenty-eight kids."

Tony smiled. Maybe he was actually getting somewhere.

  ---

"You what?"

"Shut up, Ned," Peter shushed, curling forward in another sit-up to hiss at his best friend who was staring at him in amazement. Ned didn't seem deterred in the slightest, but at least his voice dropped to match Peter's hushed whisper.

"I can't shut up. I'll never be able to shut up again! You met Tony Stark last night! This is the greatest day of my life."

"It really wasn't that big of a deal," Peter lied. He had conveniently left out the part where the billionaire was his soulmate, and considering Ned's reaction of his just meeting the guy, Peter was going to keep that to himself for the time being. Or forever. Whichever came first. Ned continued to stare at him in astonishment, and Peter relented as he curled up again. "Okay, it was pretty cool. He bought me a drink."

"What, like a beer?"

"No, Ned, a hot chocolate."

"Ohhh. That makes more sense."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "And keep it down. Please? I don't need anyone thinking I drank last night. Mr. Fowler already put a new load of bullshit on my record and you know all the teachers get updates on the shit I do."

Ned's eyes darkened. "He gave you another strike?"

"Yeah," Peter panted, curling up faster as anxiety pumped underneath his skin. "My fault. Stupid. Shouldn't have been late."

"How late were you?"

"Like, ten minutes I think."

Ned spluttered, "But it was just ten minutes!"

"Mr. Fowler's a rule stickler," he half-truthed. Ned didn't need to know how shitty his group home leader was. "I'll just have to be more careful for a while and get back on his good side." Like Mr. Fowler had a good side. "It'll be fine in another week or two."

Ned clearly wanted to protest more, his friend was always so suspicious of Mr. Fowler and so insistent that Peter should just tell the man that he was Spider-Man and that he was helping people. Well, Ned thought they should tell everyone that he was Spider-Man, clearly thinking that it would help him get away with late assignments or missing curfew, but really it would only succeed in him getting arrested. Besides, now that Mr. Stark might be looking for him, he was determined more than ever to keep his identity safe.

Coach Wilson passed by, complementing, "Looking good, Parker."

Peter slowed down, faking a tired grimace and just wishing with every fiber of his being that PE would be over soon.

"So I guess that's a no on Liz's party, then?" Ned asked. Peter turned away from watching Coach Wilson walk away to stare at his friend.

"Liz is having a party?"

"Yeah? She talked about it last decathlon practice. Were you not paying attention?"

"I guess not. My bad," he mumbled. "Is it tonight?"

"Yeah, but you're probably in trouble aren't you?"

"Yeah," Peter agreed, thinking about the dinner he was going to miss tonight. Then again, if he went to the party, not only would Liz be there, but there'd probably be some snacks too. "But my curfew doesn't change."

"It doesn't?"

"I don't think it ever will. Like I said, Mr. Fowler is a stickler for rules, and the curfew is his favorite. It's completely unmovable in his mind."

"Weird."

"Yeah. He's pretty strange," Peter agreed. "So, what time tonight?"

"Seven, I think. And anyway, remember my idea about telling everyone that you're--"

"No, Ned. We're not telling people that I'm--" he lowered his voice dramatically, "--that I'm Spider-Man."

Ned pouted. "Fine. But could you, I don't know, appear as Spider-Man?"

"What? Why?"

"C'mon! Think about how cool it would be if you dropped down and were like, 'Hey, Ned! Whattup? Where's my buddy, Peter? 'Cause we're besties and I'm a cool superhero!' Wouldn't that be cool!?"

Peter stared.

"Ned, literally no one cares about Spider--"

"Now, see, for me, it would be F Thor, marry Iron Man, and kill Hulk," came the voice of the girl's sitting on the bleachers. Peter and Ned turned to listen.

"Well, what about the Spider-Man?" Charles asked.

"It’s just Spider-Man," Betty replied. Peter raised an eyebrow at Ned in a way that meant, See?

"Did you guys see the bank security cam on YouTube? He fought off four guys," Liz argued, her voice climbing just a little higher. Peter's eyes widened.

"Oh my God, she’s crushing on Spider-Man."

"No way."

Liz shrugged, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. "Kind of?"

Peter turned back to Ned. "Yeah. Okay, sure, I'll bring the suit."

  ---

"Thank you, Mrs. Leeds!" Peter called, waving at the woman through her beat up green Toyota. She waved back at him and Ned with a cheery smile.

"See you two boys later! I'll be back at nine to make sure you're home on time, Peter."

"Thank you!" he said again as she drove off.

"Bye, Mom!" Ned said. There were a few looks sent their way, but Peter didn't really care. Even when Flash liked to humiliate him in front of the other kids at school, Peter never felt more than surface level embarrassment. He was past the point of caring about high school drama, but Ned ducked his head nervously, readjusting his new hat. His friend turned to him and whispered, "Dude, you have the suit right?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Peter gestured to his backpack. "Yeah."

"This is gonna change our lives," Ned squeed as they stepped up the driveway. Liz had a large house on a well-lit street in the suburbs. He could see even more colorful lights inside, just as bright as the music was, and anxiety rolled in his chest. He didn't care about what other people thought of him, he really didn't, but he couldn't stop the nerves at such an unfamiliar environment.

Peter stared down at his shadow on instinct, searching for comfort in the familiar fluffy hair. Catching himself, he forced himself to turn away and stare forward as he stepped through the door behind Ned.

He almost stumbled back as the noise hit him. There was the movement of chatter and the blaring of shitty and loud music. Peter stared as some girls walked past, swallowing nervously as his gaze went from them, to Flash DJ-ing, and then landing on Michelle, who glared at them as she spread jam on a piece of toast.

"Can’t believe you guys are at this lame party," she said. Peter frowned in confusion.

"But you’re here too," Ned said, confused hesitation taking up his voice.

"Am I?" And then she stalked away. Peter and Ned glanced at each other in confusion.

Ned recovered first, tapping his backpack. "Okay, anyway, we’re gonna have Spider-Man swing in, say you guys are tight, and then I get a fist bump or one of those half bro-hugs and--"

"Oh, my gosh!"

Ned was cut off as Peter turned away from him to look at Liz. Redness flushed onto his cheeks as she approached them with a wide smile and a red cup in her hand.

"Hey, guys. Cool hat, Ned."

"Hi, Liz," Ned said with a wave.

"Hi, Liz," he said, cursing himself as his voice broke immediately.

"I’m so happy you guys came. There’s pizza and drinks. Help yourself."

Peter's stomach rumbled at the thought, but he forced it down with a smile and a warbled, "What a great party."

"Thanks," Liz smiled. There was the shattering of glass, making her turn sheepishly. "Oh, I... My parents will kill me if anything’s broken. I gotta--"

"Yeah."

"Have fun," she said, hurrying away. Ned turned to him furiously, gesturing to where the senior had left.

"Dude, what are you doing? She’s here. Spider it up."

Like a flip had been switched, Peter remembered that Iron Man was probably looking for him. No way he could get away with showing himself at a high school party. This would be all over social media in barely an hour. "No, no, no. I can’t... I cannot do this. Spider-Man is not a party trick, okay? Look, I’m just gonna...be myself."

"Peter, no one wants that."

"Dude," Peter snapped, but even as he walked away, he knew it was true. He thought of the image of Mr. Stark's face when he'd realized they were soulmates.

Now more than a little out of it, the teenager finally made his way through the house, searching desperately for wherever the pizza was. He didn't make it very far down the hall when there was the screech of his name over a microphone.

"Penis Parker, what’s up?!" Flash yelled over the microphone. People turned to stare at Peter and Ned, sneers or sympathetic smiles decorating their faces. Peter tensed, glancing over to Ned. "Thought you were stuck at the group home! And didn't you know you were supposed to dress nicely for a party?"

Ned gave Peter a look, and that was how the superpowered teen ended up on the roof in his shitty superhero costume with his mask in hand as he chewed his lip in jittered fear.

"Hey, what’s up?" he said in a deepened voice, grabbing his mask from the bag and straightening it out. "I’m Spider-Man. Just thought I’d swing by and say hello to my buddy Peter. Oh, what’s up, Ned? Hey, where’s Peter, anyways? He must be around..." Peter sighed, dropping his hands and digging his fingers into the mask as his brows furrowed. "God, this is stupid. What am I doing?"

Peter stared from the roof down at where Ned was waiting, looking around anxiously, his friend's shadow bright underneath the lights. He glanced out of the corner of his eye down at where his own was scrunched beside him, wondering what Mr. Stark was doing right now. Maybe he was doing cool Iron Man stuff in the lab he'd had a flash of. Maybe...maybe he was wondering what Peter was doing too.

Just as he was about to sigh about how unlikely that was, there was the sound of a distant crash and a plume of bright blue. He began to push himself up, leaning forward to try and get a better look at the thing as his senses rang.

"What the hell?"

Peter stuffed on his mask and swung away, making his way through the neighborhood. After running across an embarrassingly long golf course, the sprinklers biting against his skin with the freezing water, he finally arrived at where he'd seen the blue smoke. Spider-Man dipped himself low, clinging to a small bridge and popping his head around the corner.

There were three men, a broken down old car, and a classic kidnapper white van. Peter watched as one guy whooped at the explosion that burst out from the weapon in his hand against the car. The two other men cringed back as he flinched at the bright light. The man returned to the van, putting the gun down and grabbing another one. It looked extremely similar to the one that had been used against Mr. Stark last night.

"Now, this is crafted from a reclaimed sub-Ultron arm straight from Sokovia. Here. You try."

The guy passed the weird arm-gun to the man with curly hair, who examined it in confused disdain. "Man, I wanted something low-key. Why are you trying to upsell me, man?"

"Okay, okay, okay. I got what you need, all right?" the guy placated, moving back to look through the van. "I got tons of great stuff here. One sec. Okay, I got, uh, black hole grenades, Chitauri railguns..."

"You letting off shots in public now? Hurry up," the tallest one warned. He stepped up to the curly haired guy. The buyer, Peter guessed. "Look, times are changing. We’re the only ones selling these high tech weapons."

"Oh, so this is where bad guys are getting their stuff," Peter whispered to his shadow out of habit. He shook his head, glaring forward and away from where Mr. Stark's silhouette extended.

"I need something to stick up somebody. I’m not trying to shoot them back in time," the buyer complained.

"I got anti-grav climbers," the guy at the van suggested. That seemed to finally get the third man's attention.

"Yo, climbers?"

And then, of course, Peter's phone rang. Immediately guns were drawn, clicking towards the buyer as Peter tore his phone out of his pocket, almost swearing as he caught sight of Ned's caller ID and shutting it off.

"Okay, what the hell was that?"

"Did you set us up?"

"Hey, hey, man."

His senses ringing, Peter dropped from the bridge, catching the men's attention. "Hey! Hey, come on. You gonna shoot at somebody, shoot at me."

"All right."

The gun clicked towards him. Peter shot a web, tearing the gun away, and then ran forward. His senses spiked and then pain jolted through Peter as something bright smashed against his face. It launched the teenager straight into the leg of the bridge, the concrete crumpling under his force. He groaned in pain, forcing himself onto his elbows.

"What the hell?" he muttered. The revving of an engine tore his head to where the van was beginning to drive off. He shot a web to the back of the van, attempting to stick to the ground but only succeeding in being dragged away and onto the harsh road, eliciting a surprised yelp from the high schooler.

Spider-Man shot another web in an attempt to right his balance, gritting his teeth as the road tore at his skin. The van dragged him around, swerving intentionally and smacking Peter through at least five trash cans before finally losing him into a pillar of solid brick. He groaned in pain even as he pushed himself to his feet and shot another web. It attached to the door, ripping it to the ground with a metal screech. Peter threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Great! Guess I'm gonna have to take a shortcut."

Peter leaped over a car into a yard and then a few more yards. At least there was a cute dog, but he wished he'd had more time to play with it.

The superhero stumbled along after scaring a couple of girls--his bad, but they'd get over it eventually. Hopefully--diving over a fence and skimming over a pool in a crowd of people that stared at him in gawked surprise. He called, "Great movie!" before swinging up with a tree and landing just a little too hard on a nearby roof. He panted heavily even as he kept going. He caught sight of the white van.

"Almost got you," he said to himself. "Thought you got away from me, didn’t you? I got you right where I want you. Surprise!"

Finally close enough, Peter leaped from the roof. His spine shivered, his hairs raised, and his heart leaped in fear as metal claws clamped down around him. Peter screamed hoarsely, twisting in midair as he was propelled away from the ground at a frightening speed. "AgH! What the hell!!??"

Peter barely took in the large wings, instead focusing on digging his hands around the metal claws clenched around his ankle. Whoever the bird guy was, he certainly didn't appreciate it. Haunting green eyes met Peter's wide white. His heart beat rapidly. How high up was he? The ground below looked so tiny. At least there was water under him.

And then he wasn't so thankful as the metal digging into his feet released all of the sudden. Peter screamed as he fell, twisting in midair as he searched desperately for an escape. The water underneath him grew closer and closer and there was nothing for Peter to grab onto. Nothing to web. Oh no, oh no, oh no oh no oh no--

Peter slapped against the surface. All the air was forced from his lungs as he was carried under by the lapping waves.

 ---

  "Sir--" Friday started. Tony didn't look up from where he was writing out code that he'd been pouring over for hours, going through every idea and web combination imaginable.

"Please don't turn down my music, honey," Tony said, swiveling in his rolly chair and wheeling over to the table where the webs he was in the process of replicating were beginning to formulate. He was on his fourth attempt now, and he was getting close. "I'm working."

"I am operating under the Itsy Bitsy Spider protocol."

Tony readjusted his glasses, turning away from where he was stirring the sticky formula to glance at the hologram of the suit. He'd been wondering when the kid would show up again. He hadn't been out all afternoon. "Yeah? What's up?"

In response, Friday popped up a video. It was clearly shot through a phone, shakily recording the kid skimming off of a pool before launching himself in the air. It dragged an amused smile from Tony, but it dropped as the next video played.

This one was clearly a security camera from the suburbs. The video was only a couple seconds long as a shuddering white van sped past the house, smoke flying from behind it. There was a bright purple shot and then Tony finally managed to catch sight of the bright red and blue suit being dragged along. Tony turned to his shadow, staring at where the hood was pulled up.

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into now, kid?" he asked it. "How old is this video?"

"Barely a minute."

Tony glanced at the unfinished suit and then back at the video playing on a loop. He guessed the suit would have to wait.

"Get me Mark Forty-Eight and take me to where this video was taken. Quickly, dear."

The suit activated across the room, stepping out of its case and allowing for Tony to be covered by it. The screen lit up immediately, his path highlighted to where the nearest window had opened. Tony shot out into the New York night, his heart beating rapidly. The kid had to be okay, right? He probably dealt with weird shit all the time.

The thought didn't stop the mechanic from being nervous. The kid was fifteen after all. He wasn't exactly equipped for this kind of thing.

It took barely a couple of minutes for Tony to arrive at the street where the video had been taken. There was a burn mark on the road, but no Spidey, and no sign of that van. He hovered, scanning for where the kid could be.

"Heat signatures, Fri. Give me something to work with."

His screen lit up, orange and red figures milling about in houses. There were a few people walking streets over, a car roving by slowly, a clash of body heat that made him think of a party, and a red dot hurtling out of the air ever closer to the river. Wait--

Tony fixated on where the red dot was slowly approaching the water, his heart pounding. "What is that? Friday, zoom in."

The video clipped towards the red dot, and Tony gasped as he recognized a body twisting through the air. And not just any body.

Spidey.

His thrusters whined before forcing the suit forward towards the dot that had disappeared from view. He turned in air, hovering over the body of water, before glancing down with a fearful swallow. A heat signature was illuminated.

"Kid," he gasped.

Tony dove down immediately and broke through the water's surface. It was dark underneath, but he could make out where the kid was. He wrapped his metal arms under the kid's armpits before shooting back into the blissfully cold air.

"I've got you, kid. I've got you."

Spidey didn't respond.

Ch 1 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #12

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11]

[AO3]

~POV Generals~

King Sinbad opted to escort Mori all the way to her guest room. Ja'far carried her bag and walked ahead of them. The 3 left the rest of the Generals -sans Masrur- to cope with everything they had just witnessed by themselves.

"A different reality? It's hard to believe.” Hinahoho ran his hand along his scalp as he thought out loud.

Drakon turned to their lead magician. "Is a world without Rukh even possible?"

Yamuraiha was watching where the 3 had entered the Tower. "I don't know about that, but the Rukh were acting very strangely around her. It's almost like they were surprised she's here. The Rukh move differently around his majesty too, and he can read the waves, so it could have just been that..."

Spartos crossed his arms and looked at the door with her. What in the world had he walked up to??? Poor guy was the last to arrive so was still picking up the context clues. He turned to the group, "Would someone please explain what's going on? And who that woman is?"

The group did their best to explain. When it became obvious that those that arrived in the middle also wanted to know about the beginning, Drakon decided to lead the retelling of events since he had been there the longest.

---

~POV Sin~

Since the King was the one to escort her to her room he was also able to choose which one she would use. Sinbad selected one of the suites intended for high profile groups -like the one the Magi and his friends were using. It had much more space than she would need, but he wanted her to have it.

Mori wasn't as bad as she was at the docks. She managed to climb the stairs with relative ease, and she had little problem walking on her own. When she finally entered her new space she seemed to get a slight boost from her curiosity, but she wasn't very talkative for obvious reasons.

Ja'far was still a little frustrated that she hadn't followed him earlier, but watching her condition deteriorate softened him. "Now please get some rest. We will have the doctors come to check on you as soon as possible." He put her bag on the table.

Mori nodded and said, "Thank you," with a weak voice. Her expression turned sour and she touched her throat with one hand. Then put her hand down and stared at the room.

Ja'far continued, "Well then, we will be going now." He said it in a way clearly more intended for his King than the Prophet. "If you need anything there are people in the hallway who you can ask for assistance."

She gave him a thumbs up. It was to keep from using her voice but it was an entertaining choice.

"Rest well, my Beautiful Prophet." Sinbad showed her one last smile before leaving.

Mori just looked at him for a second before waving him off. She was blushing just as much by fever as embarrassment.

The two men left the room and when they got half way down the hallway Ja'far let out a deep sigh.

The King hummed then voiced a question, "Something wrong, Ja'far?"

He was answered with a look of disdain and when they broke eye contact the only clarification he was given was, "There's no point in trying to stop you when you've already made your decision." Ja'far refused to elaborate.

---

~POV Mori~

I watched the door close and listened to their footsteps until it seemed like they were on the stairs before I let myself relax. I went over and flopped on the bed.

'WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT???' I was screaming in my thoughts.

'Why did I think covering his mouth with my hand was a good idea??? It's rude and it always backfires!!!'

I let out a high pitch moan into the mattress, and thanked the Rukh for the increase in sound absorption of springless mattresses -they were guaranteed to not be spring since springs wouldn't exist until the Industrial Revolution.

'HEKISSEDMYHAND??' SINBAD KISSED MY HAND??? DID THAT REALLY JUST HAPPEN??'

I might be a simp but I was not ready for that level of intimacy! I was questioning all of my life decisions. When it had happened Mori.exe had stopped working, and by the time I had rebooted the only option I could think of was to deflect... At least I finally thanked him for his help...

---

~POV Generals~

When Drakon finished, the younger Generals ended up derailing the conversation before they could get back to discussing the information Mori had left them with.

"I don't really get any of this stuff, but things are definitely going to get more interesting around here. " The small blonde ended excitedly.

"I'll say." Sharkkan had a smirk of his own. "Looks like she's the type that's fun to tease."

Hinahoho cackled at the memory while Spartos groaned in disapproval.

"If you want to flirt with her after what we just saw you really are an idiot." Yamuraiha covered her mouth with one hand as she sneered at Sindria's greatest swordsman. Before he could make a comeback she continued, "Of course, you'd have no way to know. You can't see the Rukh."

"The Rukh did something?" Sharrkan asked and the rest all turned to her.

"That's right!" The magician was willing to put their rivalry aside for something this momentous. "It was only for a moment -right before Ja'far interrupted," her own excitement was growing as she got closer to saying it, "but the Rukh definitely turned pink around his Majesty!"

"What does that mean?"

They all just starred at her waiting for the punch line.

"It means he's falling in love with her!!"

"WHAT?? Are you sure?" Sharkkan yelled over everyone else's shock.

Yam gave the ground a pound with her staff. "Yes, I'm sure! I know what I saw!"

"Are you sure those pink Rukh weren't around her instead?" Drakkon wanted to be completely sure.

Hinahoho was just as unconvinced. "Yeah. As much as I want to see him finally settle down..."

The magician closed her eyes in frustration. "They were also around her but-"

Sharkkan made a show out of shrugging. "That's just like a magician. Acting cocky and trying to look smart when you don't actually have anything to show."

"HOW DARE YOU!"

Drakon looked to the guest tower and ignored the two that had started fighting. "Even if those Rukh weren't focused on our King, his attitude towards her seemed different to me."

"How so?" the Imuchakk asked.

Drakon hummed. "I got the feeling that he was uncomfortable when I shook her hand."

"He didn't like when Sharkkan was flirting with her either!" Pisti added.

Sinbad hides behind a smile, and his Generals were experienced enough with him to be able to glimpse some of the emotions he hid behind it.

"Hold on,” Sharkkan stopped his squabble with his own crush at the sound of his name. "You think he was jealous of me??” Wouldn't that also mean that King Sinbad acknowledged him as competition? Sharkkan had made his King his main role model from a young age, so this boosted his pride.

"It's hard to imagine him getting jealous, but if he was that would be a clear sign..." Hinahoho trailed off before smirking. "This would be the first time he's ever fallen in love wouldn't it? Who knows how he'll respond?”

---

~POV Mori~

The silence I was ruminating in was broken by Hinahoho's laugh from outside.

I pushed myself back up and went to the window to listen into their conversation. Given the bombshells I had left them with I figured it might be about me so I didn't feel bad about trying to hear their first impressions of me.

Sinbad wasn't the only one who knew how to eavesdrop. I grew up in a house where this was a necessary survival skill -luckily it normally went unneeded these days. I was only eavesdropping because it was a public area and directly involved me -I wasn't about to listen into someone's private and personal conversation like some Kings.

Normally I wouldn't be able to hear them from this many floors up, but there was no electric hum to get in the way, and they weren't controlling their volume.

"That's right!" Yamuraiha's voice was loud and clear in her excitement. She got a little too quiet to hear while I was still adjusting, but I definitely could hear the end when she got loud again to say, "but the Rukh definitely turned pink around his Majesty!"

The Rukh turning pink was only mentioned as part of a joke about Hakuryuu crushing on Morgiana. It was a side statement. A joke. Sure it was cannon but -

"It means he's falling in love with her!!" Yam yelled her explanation and stole my attention back.

"WHAT??" Sharkkan's voice was the loudest in response.

I covered my face with my hands. I knew I was alone, but hearing

her say it that loudly was way too much for me. 'THE RUKH TURNED PINK AROUND SINBAD??? Wait- is she sure they weren't around me???'

I couldn't make out exactly what was said in response, but the 2 oldest Generals seemed to ask the same questions as me.

They didn't seem to accept her answer and I couldn't hear it well enough make my own opinion of what she said. Regardless, they seems to be talking themselves up on the subject and convincing themselves that Sinbad did like me regardless of the Rukh.

I was calming down and started brushing my hair with my hands to stim.

Was this real? It couldn't be. If Sinbad was able to fall in love with someone then this would have to be a fanfic. Sinbad never let anyone close enough to his heart for that to be possible; as he got older and got more powerful he ended up seeing others as incapable and lesser than himself. Even if it turns out he's not full aromantic there's no way anyone can actually fall in love with someone they don't see as worthy of their self. What in the world could make him see me as being on the same level he saw himself?

I gasped as I realized a possible reason. I could read the waves of Fate, and use magoi manipulation; I had also read this world's Fate in full and had already made Fate change a little-arguably for the better. Sinbad was able to read the waves so would be aware of those changes directly. I had the same ability that he thought made him the chosen one of this world. That could definitely make me seem like an equal to him.

It's what I had figured before, but in this context-

---

~POV Sin~

When Sinbad exited the Green Sagittarius Tower the rest of the Generals were excitedly talking amongst themselves. He wasn't sure what half of their comments meant until his oldest Generals gave some clarity.

Drakon seemed wistful and hopeful as he said, "I must admit it makes sense that the person he would fall in love with would also be able to feel the waves of Fate."

"Yeah!" Hinahoho agreed.

"Huh?" Sinbad was at a loss for words. This wasn't what he was expecting at all.

Hinahoho noticed the King and after walking over to him, slapped him on the back. "It looks like we'll be hearing some good news soon."

They couldn't be serious.

Ja'far had a hand at his chin with the face of someone seriously reevaluating.

"You all know that I have no intentions to ever get married!" Sinbad stepped away from all of them and crossed his arms. "Back in Balbadd, Mori said, herself, that she knows that's not what I'm after when I flirt with her. She may be a prophet but how is it that my own Generals can't understand this?" Saying it out loud put a bad taste in his mouth for some reason.

Sometimes he couldn't trust his own Household Members. Surely, they would better understand how he felt about her after he told them all about what he had experienced in Balbadd.

---

~POV Mori~

That's right. In the entire franchise, Sinbad never falls in love or gets married. Hearing him say it, himself, was a sobering reminder. Even when he spoke quieter I was so focused on him I could make out his words.

Those pink Rukh were probably because of me. Considering any other possibility was just fantasy.

Since my mood was on a rollercoaster, I needed to ground myself. I didn't have the energy to do much so I decided to analyze my new room.

Even if Sinbad didn't see me as some lesser person, he still knew that my prophecies would run out someday. My position was temporary so of course I was placed in the guest tower.

'If Sinbad was in love with someone he wouldn't put them in the guest tower, and as King the others would have to accept his decision.'

But he was still the one who chose this room. As I looked it over, I realized I might be able to figure out some of how Sinbad views my worth.

I was finally aware enough to acknowledge how weird it was that they gave a room with a King sized bed to someone my size. I could starfish and have room to spare. Everything about this room was big. This room was bigger than the hotel room. There was enough space between the bed and table for it to feel like separate rooms even without a wall dividing the space. Instead, strategically placed rugs helped mark the areas. There was a folding room divider for changing that also hid a chifforobe and dresser.

There was no reason one person would need such a room. Maybe he did see me as more than just a guest. It was a small hope, and it warmed my heart.

I kept exploring the space. There was a side room with just a chamber pot in it... It was more common to have group bathing areas in these time periods -not like there was a tub in the hotel room either. If nothing else, it was probably easier on space and resources to do things this way.

Communal bathing was going to be hard to get used to... I couldn't help but wonder how it was done. Reim would have a level of running water, and Balbadd's Palace had a fountain, but there didn't seem to be plumbing anywhere else. This fantasy world had such a mixed bag of modern and historic technology, and resources.

On a related note I needed to start taking better care of my skin again, so I wasn't about to sleep in the same clothes I wore all day -I made a mental note to ask for lotions and more clothes. It was warm in Sindria; even the night was probably a decent temperature so I wouldn't have to worry about getting a chill by sleeping naked.

One touch of the sheets and I had an epiphany. Surely the only reason I hadn't noticed earlier was because I was distracted.

I often slept naked whether from my clothes twisting and making me uncomfortable or from getting too hot. That paired with my HSD made me picky about my sheets. I had made do in Balbadd and the boat through sheer force of will. But these sheets... Holy fuck.

No wonder Sinbad slept naked frequently.

Soft and smooth and breathable. A good thickness. The weave was much tighter than I expected for this time period. The way it moved and draped when I messed with it was also nice.

Could I make lounge wear out of this? Does it handle dyes well?

No. I could analyze it later. It was better if I try to rest before the doctors show up- I had completely forgotten that doctors were called. Thank goodness I hadn't stripped yet. I decided to lay on top of the covers until they showed up...

---

I hadn't been asleep for very long before a knock at my door woke me up. It was followed by a femme voice I didn't know saying, "Lady Mori are you awake? We are here to examine you."

As I sat up I forced out, "I'm awake." It didn't hurt -luckily- but my voice was a frog's at that volume.

The door opened and six people walked in, two of which were clearly magicians. One was pushing a cart. Why were this many people sent to diagnose and treat one person?

The magicians looked at me and commented to each other about the Rukh acting strange around me -just like Aladdin had told me.

I was examined in a normal way, as well as with magic. The magic felt somewhere between having full body pins and needles, and the tickle feeling of having a loose hair stuck in your clothes. The six discussed my current condition, symptoms, and the condition I had reportedly been in the night before and this morning.

"She's recovering quickly considering how she was this morning."

"Some of the bad air from Balbadd must have been trapped on ship. She stayed below deck the whole time so she was trapped with it.”

'That... That is not-!!!'

If my throat wasn't killing me I would have tried to talk to them directly.

As the doctors decided on a medicine, I climbed out of the bed and walked over to my bag on the table. I ignored their complaints since they'd understand soon enough.

This room was definitely intended for a group with the number of chairs at the table. I was lucky to have such a big table because I could unroll my scrolls across it without them hanging far off the side. I had made a bunch of scrolls that last night in Balbadd on different sciences. It was a good thing I had one on anatomy. It would have been better if I had time to rewrite it to make it more understandable for any readers, but it would have to do for now.

The doctors continued to tell me to lay back down until my diagrams of the bone and muscle systems of the human body were revealed. Then was the respiratory system -since I have a weak one I knew what my priorities were- and then the digestive system. At the end I had a several stage zoom showing increasingly smaller cell structures and had a brief on blood, and the immune system.

While the doctors were examining my bio scroll I pulled out the one I did that started with microscopic and single cell life forms and ended with atoms and the table of elements -I even put as much as could remember of what I knew of the higgs boson which admittedly isn't much, but we'd

only just started studying it and seeing how it changes what we know.

None of these scrolls where made in any particular order, I had kinda just started and wrote as much as I could as quickly as I could.

The doctors were mumbling about different parts of my scrolls. Talking about how much lines up with what they know and if what I wrote past their knowledge was right then this or that could be the case...

One of the magicians seemed to test something with magic, but I couldn't tell what they were doing. "I have to tell Yamuraiha right away!” they yelled before running out of the room.

I took my bag and the rest of my scrolls to the bed with me -I didn't want to risk them trying to see if I had any other scrolls worth studying. When I was showing everyone the 'Fate' scroll earlier, I noticed I had written down some things that should absolutely not be revealed yet. It was why I had rushed past a lot of the early stuff.

"His majesty said she was a prophet who had untold knowledge, but I never imagined she'd know something like this!”

Not gonna lie, hearing that really boosted my self-confidence. The way the waves were moving were nice too. I had been hoping to sell my knowledge so I could save up, but I wasn't about to let anyone have to deal with the fall out of bad medicine if I could help it.

It was only when the doctors asked me how I figured all this out, and how I could prove it that they remembered I was a patient who had lost their voice and was still waiting for a first dose of medicine. The four traditional doctors decided who would make the medicine and who would get to continue reading the scrolls.

I made the mental note to reinvent the microscope while I watched them from my bed. I had taken some apart before when working in labs, so I knew the structure and order of lenses. The hardest part was going to be revolutionizing the manufacturing of magnifying lenses to be able to make ones strong enough for this. Magic was definitely going to helpful there.

((I'm not sure when the next chapter will be done. One of my roommates is moving out next weekend, the summer heat is killing me, and I ended up deciding to change a bit of the plot so I have a lot I'm changing for the next chapter. Chapter 13 is already at draft#15 so it's definitely been giving me a hard time.))

[tinyboxxtink]

Build Me Up Buttercup *Part 6*

Okay this may be my favorite chapter so far. Actually screw it, it most DEFINITELY IS. 

NOTE: If you have never heard the song “Sparks Fly” by Taylor Swift, go listen to it NOW. Before you read this. And actually, you know what just listen to it while reading it, trust me.

If you need to catch up:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 7

Tag List: @wanniiieeee

“Uh, watcha doin’ there, detective?”

Sonny’s voice immediately brought you back down to earth. Your head bolted upright and you sprang away from Barba like he was suddenly on fire.

“What? Oh, nothing. What? You know I’m just, tired, you know-- long day,”

Words spilled out of your mouth quicker than you could think of them. God how embarrassing! Why would you even think of making a move on your ADA? In front of everyone?!

Was it a move though? I mean really. Did he have to just call it out like that? You had to get out of that booth.

“Y’know what actually I am going to run to the ladies room, that Hurricane really went right through me! Like a hurricane!” Again, the word vomit would not stop. You let out a pained awkward laugh and bolted from the table.

--

“REALLY, Caris?” Rafael gave Carisi a look that could kill him right there in the booth.

“What? I just---OW! Amanda, that hurt!” Sonny rubbed his thigh and looked at Amanda who was shaking her head.

--

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, you were beating yourself up in the mirror.

“What is WRONG with you?!”

You were yelling at your reflection, totally normal.

“Ugh…” you sighed, splashing water on your face and cupping your hands around your neck. You needed to wash this day OFF already.

Wait...that gave you an idea.

You peeked out of the bathroom to see everyone still at your table, so while they weren’t paying attention you made a mad dash out of the bar and to your car in the parking lot. You popped your trunk and began throwing things around.

“Please please please please…” You begged no one in particular, shoving empty water bottles and coupons onto the pavement.

“A ha! Yes!” you exclaimed in triumph.

You would never admit it, but you basically lived in your car sometimes. You probably had half your closet in here.

You pulled out a pair of hip hugger jeans and a t-shirt; your lucky t-shirt, to be precise.

Yes maybe it was stupid to have “lucky” items at your age, but you didn’t care. You and this t-shirt had been through some STUFF, and came out the other side together. If anything could turn this night around, it could. Sure it was a TAD too tight from so many washes, the writing on it was barely visible, and it may have had a tear or two, but you had altered it to make the damage look fashionable. At least, you thought so.

You knelt behind your car, trying to change discreetly. You kept a careful watch out, God knows the squad did NOT need another case right now. You tossed your blazer and dress shirt back into the trunk, slipped off your skirt and pulled on the jeans and t-shirt as quickly as you could, then you slammed the trunk shut and walked over to the driver’s side view mirror.

“Not bad; not bad at all detective,” you smirked at your reflection before locking your car and running back inside.

As you approached your table, you saw Barba notice you, and then NOTICE, you. His eyes grew and his mouth slightly opened. Okay so maybe sometimes you went a little overboard on trying to look “professional” around your squad-- this was probably the first time you even alluded to having chesticles.

“I’m sorry sweetie have you seen our co-worker?” Amanda asked jokingly.

“What? I needed to get this day off of me, you know?”

“Yes, off indeed,” Oliva raised her eyebrows.

“What is it too much? Should I change back?”

“NO” All three men responded in unison, then quickly looked around elsewhere like nothing happened.

“You’re fine,” Fin assured you.

“Yes you are,” Carisi blurted.

“REALLY Carisi?!” Barba almost slapped him across the table.

“What? I didn’t mean it like--” Sonny protested while pleading with a very offended Amanda. They started having their own little squabble as Barba scooted closer to you.

“You really do look nice,” He smiled.

“...In jeans and a t-shirt? Thanks,” You gave a smile back while you felt your face blushing.

“No, I mean, happier. I like seeing happy on you,” He smiled even more, fidgeting like he wanted to touch you but didn’t want foghorn Sonny going off again.

“OH. Um, yeah thanks. I like seeing you happy too, counselor,”  Your face was a full on skillet, you could fry an egg on them from the heat they radiated. You had to look anywhere else but his eyes or you might do something Carisi would DEFINITELY have something to say about.

“Ooooh! You know what else I do when I wanna get the taste of a bad day out of my mouth?” You changed the subject lightening quick as soon as you saw the stage across the room.

“Shots?” Amanda asked.

“Well, yeah obviously but--”

“AMBER did you hear that? Another round of shots!”

“DANCE,” you completely ignored Amanda’s antics. “I dance it out!” You pointed over to a small band who was testing sound equipment, obviously about to start a show.

“...Is she serious?” Fin muttered to Olivia.

“Is she drunk off ONE Hurricane?” Carisi raised his eyebrow.

“No come on-- Ugh! You guys cannot be that old.” you groaned.

“We might be,” Olivia half laughed.

“Too old to dance?!” You scoffed.

“In a room full of people, to country music? I don’t even have to be old to not wanna do that honey,” Fin put his hands up.

As they were all expressing their objections and insults, a scheme began running through your brain. Your eyes went from the band--- 2 guitarists, a drummer and a girl lead singer-- perfect. Your eyes then turned back towards Barba, who actually hadn’t protested your dance it out idea. PERFECT.

“Well I’m not old yet, I’m gonna dance it out to Tay Tay Swift!” You stuck your tongue out at the group and ran over to the band. The squad exchanged looks of disbelief while they watched you have a conversation with the band, and soon came running back over.

“Alright hey ya’ll we are Cactus Flower, how we feelin tonight?”

Scattered applause and drunken cheers answered her.

“Great...well, for our first song we’ve actually got a request, so this one is for you detective,” she smiled as the music started

It was relatively slow, so a few couples slowly began congregating on the dance floor. Other young girls squealed and formed a dance circle in a corner. Alright, it’s now or never, detective.

You started off dancing by yourself, just vibing to the song. You eyed everyone in your party, daring them to join you.

The way you move is like a full on rainstorm

And I'm a house of cards

You're the kind of reckless

That should send me running

But I kinda know that I won't get far

“Oh come on guys, you’re really gonna make me stand here looking like a moron?”

And you stood there in front of me

Just close enough to touch

Close enough to hope you couldn't see

What I was thinking of

“Baby girl, you're doin that all on your own!” Finn laughed.

You saw the thoughts mulling in Barba’s mind, glancing from you to the group and back to you again. Finally, to your delight, he shook his head and stood up.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

“You guys are cruel,” He remarked, walking right up to you.

“Can I have this dance?”

PERFECT.

He took your hand and spun you, you clumsily fell into his chest and looked into his eyes with a smile JUST as the song hit your target.

You glanced over to see the squad’s collective jaws on the floor.

Get me with those green eyes

Baby, as the lights go down

Give me something that'll haunt me

When you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

“....You know, my eyes are green.” he raised an eyebrow.

“Really? Huh. Go figure,” you batted your eyes innocently.

You were downright shocked that Rafael had not run screaming from the very obvious message of the song, and even more shocked the squad was allowing it. But you were not tempting anybody or anything by questioning it; you were just going to enjoy this dance, this moment.

My mind forgets to remind me

You're a bad idea

You touch me once and it's really something

You find I'm even better than you imagined I would be

I'm on my guard for the rest of the world

But with you I know it's no good

And I could wait patiently but

I really wish you would

You both continued to dance in silence, Rafael now listening very intently to every word of the song, and grinning more and more as it went on.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

Rafael spun you around in a big dramatic flourish, as he commented “I do have a gorgeous smile, don’t I?”

Get me with those green eyes

Baby, as the lights go down

Give me something that'll haunt me

When you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

“What? Hm? Can’t hear you,” You pretended you were too far away, then smirked when you twirled back into his torso.

“Mmmhmm,”

The song reached it’s interlude, the beat banging every word emphatically. Rafael pulled your arms up around his neck, just as the last chorus went into the soft breakdown.

I run my fingers through your hair

And watch the lights go wild

Just keep on keeping your eyes on me

It's just wrong enough to make it feel right

And lead me up the staircase

Won't you whisper soft and slow?

I'm captivated by you, baby, like a firework show

You looked into those green eyes, your head swimming. 24 hours ago this man was just your co-worker, a coffee snob ADA. And now, you were both in each other’s arms and staring at each other’s lips-- you closed your eyes as the song played.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

“I um, I’m really sorry Y/N. I um...I need to go. To the...bathroom. I’m sorry just...I’m sorry,”

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile….

You watch Rafael practically bolt off the dance floor and into the men’s room as you stood there alone while the song finished.

Get me with those green eyes

Baby, as the lights go down

Give me something that'll haunt me

When you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

What had just happened?

[limelocked]

Sundial blurbs

So most of my part of the Sundial au has been locked into general au chat on our server in the form of joking, theorising and sometimes writing as much as the discord character limit allows me to. I did the two first blurbs in this post today and @pomodoko commanded i actually post it and tag them so here they are, sorted into story chronological order and not the order in which i wrote them

Also this is the link to the document with general information on the AU

--- Dreams POV, the inciting incident

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8- NINE It has been ten seconds since Fundy landed at the bottom of the stairs at the lowest level of the building, there had been a noticeable thud that sounded distinctly unpleasant but Dream hadn't picked up on any cracking noise that'd indicate broken bones. Not that it'd be easy to hear over the commotion that led to later events.

Because it'd been seven seconds since Techno had lost his balance because of the falling fox mentioned and seven seconds since he stood back straight, almost brushing against Wilburs taller frame. It had only been five short seconds, that might have felt like weeks to others, since Wilbur in turn furrowed his brow and geared up for retaliation. Four seconds ago techno had been pushed. Three, Wilbur had gone into the wrong portal. Two, Philza had with Fundy still leaning on his shoulder tried to stop them both. One, they were gone.

It was surreal. The room had been filled with chatter before the fight, louder during the fight and now it was quiet. One second in the future, after it had all happened, the silence broke by no one who had seen it happen but by Tommy, babbling on about something with Fundy that didn't matter to anyone but himself. He quieted down when the person he was intending to talk to was nowhere to be found, confused. "Where'd Fundy go?"

"He and Wilbur already went through" the lack of effort it took for Dream to bend that truth would be concerning if not for his record, and technically they already had. "Oh-" an unsatisfactory answer but not one that would send him towards the throat of Noxite. "You can just talk to them back home. Come on." The portal after the hermits was supposed to be theirs, something quickly confirmed as they enter the community house with a crisis averted, or rather pushed back until a later date, and two people lost to another server.

--- Omniscient/Unknown POV, the dreamsmp aftermath

un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf... sept, huit, neuf... sept, huit... Seven hours later was when the lie couldn't hold anymore. Tommy already didn't trust Dream much but Tubbo had been a help in convincing him that Wilbur and Fundy were just away building or something. But the truth comes eventually. He sent a clear message of; <TommyInnIt> stop lying to me

Hour eight was the worst, accusations being thrown and swords being drawn. Screaming and explanations that never really felt enough. The ninth hour was bad in another way, depressing. Tommy's anger had simmered into bargaining as if Dream, George or Tubbo had the power to do anything of substance. It never got to begging, Tommy's pride forbade that but the things he put on the line for help that he couldn't get made it almost seem like it.

Noxcrew was contacted and they confirmed that the hemits had talked to them about the guests. Solutions were suggested and just as quickly rebuffed. Hour ten was a loss and the eleventh hour was one where Tommy and Tubbo got to speak alone.

"Can't you just use your powers or whatever to make the portals take us to hermitcraft" he was exhausted. "It doesn't work like that, probably, and Noxite has probably already tried it" "Yeah but Tubbo could you do it?" "I mean... maybe?" To that something glinted in Tommys eye, hope that Tubbo didn't want to extinguish as fast as it needed to be. "But I'm not allowed into the MCC world anyways so it wouldn't work" "FUCKING CHRIST TUBBO everyone here's useless!"

--- Technos POV, first night on hermitcraft

It's the first night and bones tower above him.

There were other buildings around, and the area was lit up well but eyes followed him from the darkness, eying the stone tools he'd manage to scrape up while leaving the group now probably settled in a warm house far away. This world scared him, the monsters and the way his sword hit differently, and the fact that the air itself felt new.

A pair of eyes glowed at him from it's place under one of the ribs of a beast too huge to want to think about. Techno readied his sword, but the dog decided that it'd rather go back to sleep. This world scared him and he just knew he'd gotten lost now because his goal had been to retrace his steps, the path that Xisuma and Bdoubleo had shown them to the little village far away by boat, to find the house cleft in two and then head straight out to sea until he could find a better place to stay than the tension thick cabin that their hosts had suggested.

Another dog offered a quiet bark in his direction and with an embarrassed sssh, covering fright, he continued forward. He had found the water, true, and he remembered something vague about a neighbour... but... No. No he decided that he'd choose a direction and if there weren't any light he'd just have to turn around or dock and make a little cave to live out of. It wouldn't be glorious but neither is 5 million potatoes.

A boat is placed into the water at the straight of Joebralta and a pig starts to row.

Clang. He is confused. The boat shakes in the middle of open water, he's been turned around. Clang. A trident, something he's only really seen in Skyblockle, shoots into the air a meter to the right of his boat. He speeds up. Clang. It misses, but he has decided that the sea is no longer safe.

--- Technos and Ethos POV, the first days in hermitcraft

He's starting to feel bad for leaving. Still justified, but also bad. He felt horrible the instant the championship room disappeared from right in front of his eyes with Wilbur still in it, and still worse when Wilbur then Phil and Fundy appeared next to him in this world, all statues as unseen confused messages fill the communicators of the worlds inhabitants.

When they arrived he was surprised that a lot of the hermits knew about them, or at least him, from the returning cast of hermits that played in MCC and their apparent tendency to tell stories as soon as there was space for it. It'd made it less awkward but the looks from the others stopped him from talking much about his side of the tournaments.

This was perhaps night four? He had stepped ashore in a jungle a bit from an area he could almost feel at home in with its skyscrapers reminiscent of some survival games arenas. But it was built by someone and someone should be avoided so he had trudged through plains and deserts walking around it only to find more tall buildings in another jungle.

The jungle was... safe? Safe from people at least, less so mobs. He had a little cave with a bed now that kept the hot and humid air out most of the time and while small and cramped and utterly horrible it felt far safer than returning to the others... even though he could practically hear Phils calm and nonchalant reassurances.

Leaving the small home he searches for the water he remembers spotting nearby. The bright orange tracksuit wasn't something he wanted to wear but there wasn't much of anything else and it still needed to be washed of stone dust and sweat no matter how much he disliked it. He leaves with a compass and map to find his way back, and around other peoples territory. And water is found easily with these. Stone, coal and redstone is scrubbed away in the freshwater lake that's only relatively cold, but it still feels nice, like the wind on his island in skyblock or in the skywars arenas.

Not too far away a man is working in a terrarium of his own design containing no animals but currents in thin snakes coiling around comparators and observers. The change to the nether has been an exciting one but it did come with problems for the technicians and thankfully for this one the Google hasn't broken too far beyond belief and is back in functioning order faster than expected.

Satisfied he looks at the path that he paradoxically want to end and to continue and decides to wait, flying up to sit near his portal instead to think about it and access the expansions he's already made. Something bright orange is spotted in the distance which at first is ignored, it can wait, until the realization of a possible abandoned shulker, so very common in this group, grabs him and almost instantly leaves as it moves around.

Several seconds later the orange turns brighter and the idea of lava pops in and out of his head in a flash.

<Etho> Beef have to lost an orange llama? <VintageBeef> no? <VintageBeef> at least I dont think so...? <Etho> o_o

He's been keeping out of the way for a while, like usual, and only knew some of the news about new people on the server. That they'd gotten there with Rendogs sports gang by accident and that they'd been living mostly over at Bdubs' place to avoid having them be excluded to their own little village. Apparently something had happened, he'd missed the details but it was looking like there was a manhunt for someone or something that he should by all means be more invested in.

Curious he misses the orange go out of view in favour of finding out about this missing thing in case he's found it. A person and a description, hidden deep in other messages. His height, human pig hybrid, last seen wearing...

Does he want to do this? He knows his way around a jungle but it's still annoying and Xisuma lives close by... but he's most likely AFK. Well, you make a good first impression on the new guys if you find their missing friend.

--- Omniscient/Unclear POV, Technos time with Etho

Silence is golden in silver light. The hermits can stay up days on end without sleep, working through nights when it’s needed and even with guests this doesn’t change. Like the sliver of moon in the sky, Ethos hair glows radiant from inside the redstone machine he calls the Googler and Techno does nothing but look on as repeaters are moved and redstone is smeared in new paths into blocks he has never seen before, something he’s had to get used to lately.

His host works in silence until a question breaks the jungles chime and an answer is given with the rhythm. The redstone had changed and he thought he had fixed it, an unhelpful follow up is posed and a pause is moved into a somewhat oversimplified version of the circuit. They both know that Techno is no help here, but the company is nice and something is learned.

Etho in the day when working the fortress tells Techno about the old days and in turn Techno admits to never having left those old days for long. Etho talks about Pause and Beef. Techno fails to talk about his own team.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

MAKER'S SCHEDULE, 631, BRIEFLY

I'm a writer, and writers always get disproportionate attention. How did they stand it? Their main expenses are setting up the company, which costs a couple thousand Altair owners, but without this software they were programming in machine language. Those ideas are so rare that you can't find some way to reach me, how are you going to create a successful company? For a startup, managing them is one of the first 10 employees you'll have almost as much.1 Families are entitled to their own traditions, and who the competitors are and why this company is going to beat them.2 In the late 90s my professor friends used to complain that they couldn't get grad students, because all the undergrads were going to let hosts rent out space on their floors during conventions. Part of the reason I can't believe it will be more like being able to play the two firms off each other as well as talent, so this answer works out to be important, because a we invest such small amounts, and b we think it's better if startups operate out of their own premises, however crappy, than the offices of their investors.

If you're a freelancer or a small company doesn't ensure freedom.3 What makes a good startup idea, it's sort of like having a guilty conscience about something.4 There's an idea that has turned out to be a startup. For a lot of work.5 Which is exactly how I'd describe the way lions seem in the wild seem about ten times more alive. You probably can't overcome anything so pervasive as the model of work is a job. Don't sit on their boards. What really bothers parents about their teenage kids having sex are complex.6 It's not so much as that they never pander: they never say or do something because that's what the audience wants. So if you're going to optimize a number, the one to choose is your growth rate to compensate. In social settings, I found that I got over 100 other responses listing the surprises they encountered. If you don't understand YC.

At the time any random autobiographical novel by a recent college grad could count on more respectful treatment from the literary establishment. The angel now owns 200/1200 shares, or a job. The kind of question on the application form that asks what you're going to clear these lies out of your head, you're going to clear these lies out of your head, you're going to do, at least, nothing good.7 I often recommend that founders act like consultants—that they wanted to.8 In a startup, you don't even know that.9 If these guys had thought they were starting companies, they might have been.10 Viaweb entirely with angel money; it never occurred to us that investors were too conservative here—that they do what they'd do if they'd been in Nebraska, like Evan Williams was at their age? The saddest windows close when other people die.

And when you propagate that constraint, the result is that each species thrives in groups of a certain group, that seems nearly impossible to shake. Someone who's figured that out will automatically focus more on the idea. The only explanation is: by definition. It's not just a figure of speech to say that the outcome is zero. The artists who benefited most from this were the ones who had preserved a child's confidence, like Klee and Calder. Once you have all the college students, you get rich is that there are many degrees of it. It could be replaced on any of these axes it has already started to be on most. When you're a little kid and you're asked to do something differently.

But not all waste is bad. Later I learned it hadn't been so neat, and the three founders each get 25%. Along with such outright lies, there must have been told a lot of economic history, and I understand the startup world is evolving away from their current model.11 If you seem really good we'll accept you anyway. Even in the rare cases where a clever hack makes your fortune, you probably have an idea.12 At least, that's how we'd describe it in present-day languages, if they'd had them. The way you get taught programming in college would be like teaching writing as grammar, without mentioning that its purpose is to make me feel better. After two years, the un-rapacious that you only extract half as much from users as you could. If you have something that no competitor does and that some subset of users urgently need, you have to seem like you understand technology.13 On that scale, every negotiation is unique.14 I was cynical about VCs, but the way he composed them into molecules was near faultless.15 But unfortunately when you graduate, as long as you want.16

Notes

Thanks to Daniel Sobral for pointing this out. Make it clear when you ad lib you end up reproducing some of the things they've tried on the LL1 mailing list. What you learn in college or what grades you got in them, initially, to sell earlier than you expect. But while this is also a name.

In fact most of them. But try this experiment is that if you conflate them you're aiming at. The worst explosions happen when unpromising-seeming startups do badly.

Y Combinator certainly never asks what classes you took in college. This approach has not worked well, but this would work better, and that modern corporate executives were, we try to accept a particular number.

Aristotle the core: the editor in Lisp, they may try to accept that investors are induced by the surface similarities. Com of their assets; and with that additional constraint, you can't help associating it with such a statement would merely be eccentric.

Most word problems in school math textbooks are bad: Webpig, Webdog, Webfat, Webzit, Webfug. Without the prospect of publication, the assembly line, the closest anyone has come is Secretary of Labor Statistics, about 28%.

I think the usual way to fight. The next time you raise as you can see the apples, they made much of it, and no one who's had the discipline to pull it off. Successful founders are driven by people trying to decide whether to go to college, they would implement it and make a lot of investors caring either.

P nonspam are both genuinely formidable, and the exercise of stock options than any preceding president, he was otherwise unoccupied, to get into the heads of would-be startup founders who had been a good idea to make more money. The best thing for startups is very long: it might take an hour over the Internet, like hedge funds, are available only to buy corporate bonds to market faster; the Reagan administration's comparatively sympathetic attitude toward takeovers; the crowds of shoppers drifting through this huge mall reminded George Romero of zombies. That it might take an hour over the Internet. Yes, I had zero effect on the relative weights?

The VCs recapitalize the company, and yet managed to screw up twice at the data, it's probably good grazing. I should add that we're not. They did turn out to be a win to include things in shows that people start to pull ahead in the field.

Galbraith was clearly puzzled that corporate executives would work so hard to mentally deal with the founders gained from running through their initial attitude. Sparse Binary Polynomial Hash Message Filtering and The Old Way. One thing that drives most people emerge from the moment it's created indeed, from hour to hour that the worm might have done all they could be overcome by changing the shape of the bizarre consequences of this: You may not be far less demand for them.

Indiana University Bloomington 1868-1970.

Trevor Blackwell points out that taking time to come up with an associate cold-emailing a startup could grow big in revenues without including the order of 10,000, because investors already owned more than their competitors, who may have realized this, but simply because he was skeptical about Viaweb too. See Greenspun's Tenth Rule. We just store the data, it's software that doesn't seem to want them; you have significant expenses other than salaries that you decide the price, and for filters it's textual.

P 500 CEOs in the sophomore year. It was only because he had more fun than he'd had in school, and philosophy the imprecise half. The philistines have now missed the video boat entirely.

As we walked out we ran into Yuri Sagalov. Emmett Shear writes: I'd argue the long tail for sports may be common in, you'll have to replace you. It took a painfully long time.

The reason Y Combinator.

This is an instance of a safe will be coordinating efforts among partners. In practice it just feels like a loser they're done, she doesn't like getting attention in the definition of property.

The thing to do sales yourself initially. 5%. At first I didn't care about GPAs.

Thanks to Paul Buchheit, Gary Sabot, Trevor Blackwell, Tiffani Ashley Bell, and Jeff Arnold for sharing their expertise on this topic.

[timextoxhajima]

Grounded: Level 8

Level 7 | Level 9

Member: Minho (Lee Know)

Genre: idol minho x idol trainee reader

Taglist: @jaehyvnsvalentine @licorice526 @lolwhatameme @felixn-recs @yunapixie @rindomo @sleeping-hero-of-procastination​​

A/N: This chapter includes fake character idol profiles so please don’t attack me that your face isn’t there. No, I am not glorifying the fact that only korean girls are pretty, but this is in fact the most culturally accurate account of a fake profile I can create given the context. 

WI5HES (위셔스) is a South Korean girl group under HYBE (previously known as BigHit Ent.). The group currently consists of Ju Rin, l/n, Ga Hyun, So Eun and Min Jung. WI5HES debuted on March 15, 2021 under HYBE. They are HYBE’s first girl group since 2014.

Stage Name: Ju Rin

Birthname: Wang Ju Rin

Position: Leader, Lead Vocalist, Sub-Rapper

Birthday: May 10, 2000

Zodiac Sign: Taurus

Height: 167cm (5′5)

Weight: 48kg (106 lbs)

Blood Type: A+

Stage Name: l/n y/n

Birthname: y/n

Position: Main Dancer, Lead Rapper, Sub-Vocalist

Birthday: June 15, 2000

Zodiac Sign: Gemini

Height: 164cm (5′4)

Weight: 49kg (108 lbs)

Blood Type: O

Stage Name: Ga Hyun

Birthname: Choi Ga Hyun

Position: Lead Vocalist, Lead Rapper, Lead Dancer, Visual

Birthday: October 25, 2001

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Height: 170cm (5′6)

Weight: 51kg (112 lbs)

Blood Type: O

Stage Name: So Eun

Birthname: Kang So Eun

Position: Main Rapper, Lead Dancer, Sub-Vocalist, Center

Birthday: November 5, 2001

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Height: 172cm (5′6)

Weight: 50kg (110 lbs)

Blood Type: B

Stage name: Min Jung

Birthname: Gwang Min Jung

Position: Main Vocalist, Lead Rapper, maknae

Birthday: August 15, 2003

Zodiac Sign: Leo

Height: 163cm (5′3)

Weight: 46kg (101 lbs)

Blood Type: AB

“Five is better than three, annyeonghaseyo, WI5HES-ibnida!” The echo of your introduction rings through the dressing room, backstage of the MCountdown stage. It draws goosebumps from your arms and your back. Min Jung grits her teeth, attempting to contain her anxiety when she sees herself on stage through the recording for the first time.

So Eun’s sobbing into Ju Rin’s shoulder, and Ga Hyun has her phone out, randomly snapping photos of So Eun’s slightly smudged make-up. 

“Yah, haven’t you taken enough?” Ju Rin wraps the rim of Ga Hyun’s phone with her palm, covering the camera, unable to contain her grin. 

“Aw, come on!” Ga Hyun pouts, retracting her phone and wiping the lens with her sleeve. “It’s not everyday we get to debut.”

Knock Knock

“Who is it?” Ju Rin cranes her neck behind her, nodding for Min Jung to get the door. Already halfway down a bow, Min Jung opens the door to reveal a strange mixture of Hyunjin, I.N, Soobin, Yeonjun and Beomgyu. 

“Oh, annyeonghaseyo,” Min Jung’s reflexes are to greet Hyunjin and I.N first. 

“Annyeonghaseyo,” Hyunjin and I.N bow to the lot of you, and suddenly everybody’s bowing. “Congratulations on your debut!”

Ju Rin releases So Eun to receive the adorable box of cupcakes from Hyunjin and I.N. 

“Chan-hyung and the others send their regards. They couldn’t be here today for a separate schedule.”

“Oh, we’re not the ones you should be reporting this to,” Ga Hyun snickers, pulling away from what looks like a handshake routine with Beomgyu. Eyes turn to you, forcing the blush on your cheeks to be of natural effect and not the make-up. 

After the scandal with Yeonjun, things died down relatively quickly. More pictures of you training with the other members were released, diluting the idea that you and Yeonjun were dating. Furthermore, there was no other evidence of you and Yeonjun going out on secret dates that the company didn’t know about. 

But of course, WI5HES and TXT know about Minho’s confession, and needless to say, they had to be reeled back under control.

“My God, it’s like you want Lee Know hyung to pass out from jealousy,” Hyunjin’s eyes narrow with mischief, holding out his phone screen to you. 

“What? Why would he be jealous? There’s not a single person on that page that’s a threat to him,” Scrolling through the pictures absent-mindedly, you scorn at his baseless remark. 

“He’ll be jealous solely from the fact that you look good in your photos,” Jeongin sucks on the upper row of his teeth. 

“I know,” A shy smile appears on your lips. “We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Eugh,” Hyunjin shudders, shoulders reaching his ears as he groans in disgust. “Glad I wasn’t around for that conversation.”

“Anyway, thank you all for coming by our Debut Stage today, but we gotta head back to BigHit to handle some new scheduling,” Ju Rin’s waving her hands, telling the girls to pack up and for TXT to help. 

Walking past Sunmi, Chungha and other idols while you make your way out of the building felt so strange and alien, you almost couldn’t believe you were at the end of your first promotion. You were an idol now, and there was no going back. Everything you did, every move you made - would be under public scruntiny now, regardless of the reason, whether you liked it or not. 

“Thank you!” The bodyguard nods at you as he shuts the door. Sat in the middle with Ju Rin to your right, and the three younger in the back, you can smell the odd mixture of perfume and that strange scent of new costumes and clothes. BigHit - no, HYBE - had invested so much into your costumes though they looked nothing like the price they cost. 

Then again, half of you were wearing YSL pullovers and Dior jeans.

“You okay?” 

“Hmm?” Turning your head as it leans against the headrest, your eyes meet Ju Rin’s. “Yeah, you? I’m surprised you haven’t cried yet.”

Ju Rin laughs under her breath, glancing out the window as the car starts. “Oh, believe me, I’ve cried. I just don’t do it infront of you guys.”

“Aw,” The sides of your lips curl downwards. There’s a pinch in your heart you can’t take, only because Ju Rin has to keep up such a strong facade for you and for the rest of her members. She’s responsible, and time and time again she reminds you why she was chosen to be leader. “You know you can cry infront of us. You don’t have to act or put up a strong front.”

“I know, but I wouldn’t be able to see you guys crying tears of... happiness if my vision is blurred out by my own, right?”

You can’t contain the scoff that runs out your throat, eyes darting to look at the city outside, now coated with the drizzle that’s blurring the city sights. 

“Fucking full of shit,” You chuckle under your breath, unable to hide the smile that’s stretching across your face.

Ju Rin snickers and purses her lips, reaching her left hand out to you. Her hand is warm and soft (from all the moisturizer products she’s using - HYBE’s trying to get her some make-up CF already), but the smile on her face is more home than anything will ever be. 

Time to count the number of days before the world is made your home. Tours, meeting new people, inspiring others with your love for performance and dance, the same way you were inspired into chasing a dream that you didn’t even think you had a chance of achieving. Some might say it’s unfair, how the chance fell unto your feet all so easily, like it had been planned. It’s unfair that of all the crew members to be scouted, you were the only one. 

But that wasn’t your dream. At that point of time in your life, all you wanted was to fulfil your need to be perfect in dancing; to be by Minho’s side. So, in some way, fate had pulled you away from him instead. 

He didn’t tell anybody he auditioned for Cube. He didn’t tell anybody he’d auditioned for JYP before that either, only for JYP to call him back to be part of that cursed show.

And before you knew it, you had lost the one thing you didn’t want to lose: Minho. It was heartbreaking, watching him live his life of a dream that he’d been chasing without you knowing in the first place. You couldn’t decide if you were angry with him for leaving you out of his happiness or if you had simply convinced yourself he had forgotten about you. 

But you caught yourself tripping over your own feelings of hurt and love when you realise you started searching for some bit of Minho in someone else, and you were lucky it was Yeonjun. Yeonjun who had a pure heart and nothing but kindness. 

The things that could’ve happened had you searched for a part of Minho in someone else who might’ve taken you for granted. 

Minho made up for that heartbreak though, when Hyunjin had told him you were alone with Yeonjun, walking to some desolate part of the building but only spotted Yeonjun coming back alone. Minho, who at that point of time already known you a good three (or was it four?) years, knew you well enough to know that you were somewhere sobbing your eyes out. 

His scent when he had his arms around you was stuck in your nostrils for days and weeks because that was just how long he had spent being away from you. You didn’t even know how much you missed his scent until it was in your system again. 

The risk you both had chosen to take that fateful day when the scandal of you and Yeonjun was released was of astounding magnitude. 

Who the Hell confesses their love to another celebrity, so close to their own debut date?

“You,” Minho trills, almost crumpling the Uno cards on the table. The tears in the corners of your eyes are threatening to dribble over your lids, but then Changbin is sitting behind you on the sofa, trying his best to hide his laughter through his gritted teeth. “We’ll see if the two of you can still laugh after this.”

Minho picks up twelve cards with a disproportionate amount of strength, the cards nearly being folded under his fingers. 

“Yah- hyung!” Changbin yells and points at the cards, glaring at the elder.

“What? You complain about me damaging the cards as if you can’t afford a new deck yourself.”

“This is our fifth deck!” Changbin nearly screeches, and the exchange forces you to fall to your back at Changbin’s feet, your arm clutching your tummy from how much it hurt from your laughter. 

“Oh my God!” The words are struggling to leave your voice box, between silent giggles. “This- this is your- oh, my God- this is your fifth deck?” 

“We’ll need a sixth deck soon! Can you tell your man to be a little less aggressive?!” Changbin loses his patience and gets up, hands sweeping the cards off the table and plucking Minho’s set out from his hands. 

“Yah!”

“‘Yah’,” Changbin’s distorted imitation of Minho calls for the elder to surge to his feet, suddenly towering over Changbin who cowers on the couch behind you. “Ah- Ah- OkAy, take your stupid cards back-” 

“I’ll get you a new deck if I destroy this one, but first I gotta destroy you.”

The finger in your face goes unnoticed when you laugh again, stomach hurting from the aggressive giggling. 

“My God, she’s lost it!” Minho sings sarcastically, holding his hands to his head with the cards still in his palm. “No, quick, Earth to y/n, come back so I can win!”

“Eugh,” Changbin groans and squints his eyes. Minho never says these kind of things, so when he does, it’s weird, and unlike of him to do so, making it ultra-

“CriNGe!!!!!” Hyunjin yells at the top of his voice as he exits his room and heads for the kitchen. “Just get a room already!”

“HYUNJIN!” Chan’s voice booms from elsewhere in the apartment.