#a close relative of this phenomenon that i just happen to find more amusing than offputting is expression ref sheets

[mumblesplash]

another art thing that kinda messes me up is how on rare occasions an artist will have a real knack for coming up with unique and interesting character *appearances* without actually Making Characters. i’ve seen design practice sheets full of genuinely impressive variations in facial structure and been unable to get past the sense that the artist was drawing different faces but not different people

[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

[imagine-darksiders]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart.

Chapter 15 - The Storm’s Prelude.

Words: 15,264. 

You can read the rest of the story on AO3 here :) 

Summary: Three heart stones are required to wake the Guardian. Your group manages to find the first two without a lot of difficulty, save for a moment of bleak realisation that rattles your perception of yourself and brings out a side to Death you haven’t yet seen. The Horseman realises a few things about Karn’s perception of you. And then, you find the final stone....

---

The passage of time, if overlooked, can often prove to be a ubiquitous inhibition. Walls can crumble and fall in your path, great swathes of the earth can be torn apart by shifting, tectonic plates. Rivers and streams carve through even the toughest rock, eroding it away over millions of years to form the steep walls of a gorge that impedes your progress when you stumble upon it – a gorge much like the one you find yourself at the edge of now.

You, Death and Karn stand silently on the precipice of the escarpment, peering across it to the far side of a great, long hall. The western wall has completely collapsed in on itself after having suffered through centuries of faulting and erosion, and the stone blocks that once stood so strong have fallen into the wide gorge sitting between you and progress. 

Death's eyes are fixed ahead, occasionally flitting back and forth in search of a way to cross, all the while aware that he's being watched expectantly by a human and a maker. He knows precisely what the pair of you are waiting for, and the longer he fails to come up with an alternative route, the more irritable he becomes, because it means that he'll have to once again reduce himself to a horseman-shaped projectile. 

Still, he does appreciate that you've both stayed quiet whilst he stews. It takes him a few more moments of bitter contemplation before he finally concedes and accepts that if he wants to get across, he'll need the youngling's help. “....Fine,” he growls.

Teeth grit, the Horseman turns his frightful glare onto Karn, who at least has enough sense to keep his lips firmly sealed as he moves to the edge of the escarpment and wordlessly lowers his hand.

“You know,” Death grumbles, clambering into the maker's waiting palm, “I'm beginning to suspect that you two enjoy this far more than I do.”

Karn doesn't reply, merely peels his lips back and flashes you a grin. 

“Hey, I'm just glad it's you and not me,” you say, holding up your hands appeasingly, “I don't have your knack for sticking a landing.”

If he wasn't so certain you'd accuse him of hypocrisy, he'd call you a coward. After all, he'd made it abundantly clear that he doesn't even want you to be thrown by the maker.

Biting his tongue, Death merely expels a weary sigh. “Let's just get this over with, Pup.”

Bracing himself against Karn's thumb, he twists his head around to catch your gaze and holds it firmly, waiting until he's sure you're paying attention. “Stay close to the maker,” he tells you, then as an afterthought, he adds darkly, “And if either of you go wandering off, you'd better pray that the Corruption finds you before I do.”

Then, with that thinly-veiled threat still ringing in your ears, Karn tips his arm back and launches the Horseman into the air like a boulder fired from a trebuchet. 

Admittedly, your heart skips several beats at the sight of Death sailing gracefully over a plummetless gorge, but just as before, Karn demonstrates that he has impeccable aim and judgement, for the Nephilim lands on the far side with practiced ease and little more than a low grunt of exertion.

Only then do you release the breath you'd been holding.

Standing up, the Horseman dusts himself off and throws a quick, backwards glance across the gorge, eyeing his two protégés for a moment longer before he turns on his heel and strides onwards, disappearing through a set of dilapidated, wooden doors.

With Death gone again for the time being and little else to do but wait, you venture back towards the edge of the escarpment and peer down over it, at once noticing the pull of gravity as it tries to tempt you into that dark, fathomless chasm. A stone that had been resting on the very lip is nudged loose by your boot and you anxiously watch it tumble down the side of the cliff, feeling decidedly nauseous that you can hear it bouncing off rocks and debris long after it has disappeared into the darkness below. 

“Heck of a long drop,” Karn chuckles nervously, shuffling a little closer to you.

“Yeah. It is...” Seemingly lost in a world of your own, you're quiet for a minute longer, and the youngling opens his mouth to make another observation, only to find himself cut off when you suddenly ask, “Hey, Karn? Do makers ever feel l'appel du vide?” 

“La.. apple doo... Eh?” 

“It's the call of the void,” you explain with a faraway smile, “A lot of humans get it, I just wondered if the feeling was universal.”

His ears prick forward with interest and he admits, “Never heard of it, what's it do?” 

“Well, mostly it's this phenomenon where you get the urge to jump from high places-”

You nearly choke on your own spit when gloved fingers suddenly curl around you and you're hurriedly ushered back to what Karn deems is a safe distance – right behind his boot. “Don't say stuff like that!” he all but howls, agitation turning his breaths shallow. 

Amused, you raise a brow at the ruffled maker and say, “...If you'd have let me finish, I was going to say it's the urge to jump from high places, but knowing that you never actually would.” 

All at once, Karn blinks hard, and some of the colour rushes back into his cheeks. “O-Oh, right. I knew that,” he tries to save face, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“You didn't really think I was going to jump in, did you?”

“No, no! O'course not!” 

'Liar,' a voice whispers at the corner of his mind. Fumbling for an excuse, he glances around rapidly before his gaze falls on some loose pebbles gathered on the cliff's precipice and he gestures to it, eager for a distraction. “But the, err... The.. the ground's weathered away right near the edge. Don't want you fallin' in by accident, ey?” 

Poking your head out from around his leg, you cast a wary eye over the drop off and hum, “No, I suppose not.” Then, in a more jocular tone, you flash him a grin and add, “I don't think I'll be able to save you from Thane a second time if anything happens to me.” 

Karn's face instantly pulls into a grimace. “Ach, don't remind me of that. Thought he'd never stop yellin'.” 

The youngling hesitates for a few beats and you watch curiously whilst he rolls his tongue around in his mouth, a thoughtful expression drawing his brows together and puckering his forehead. After another few seconds, he angles himself so that he's turned away from you slightly, his stare pointed towards one of the holes in the ceiling. “Actually, I've been meanin' to thank you for that.”

“Thank me?” you echo, “For what?”

Rain trickles down from above in sporadic patches all across the chamber, allowed in through the gaps where the ceiling has eroded away. Karn just watches it fall for a while before his shoulders raise into a shrug and he lets them drop heavily again, sucking in a breath that seems to glue his throat shut. Still, he manages to admit, “For stickin' up for me - against the Horseman, and against Thane.” Pausing to scratch at his chin, he stammers, “I – uh... I've never really.. had a – a friend who'd do that for me before...”

He still won't look at you, but you can't hold that against him. So, rather than try to catch his gaze, you instead follow it up to the ceiling whilst one of your hands lifts surreptitiously and gives the side of his leg a few, companionable pats. “Well, you've got one now,” you tell him, “Just... please don't go riling anyone else up for a while, yeah?” 

“Ha! You're one to talk! Maybe I’ll tell ol’ Eideard about you standin’ so close to cliff edges, eh?” he retorts with a smirk, at last dragging his gaze down to look at you, finding that you're already peering back, the corners of your eyes forming pretty crinkles that seem to hold a boundless supply of sincerity.

“You would not,” you challenge.

Without really knowing he's doing it, Karn's face slowly tries to mimic your expression in the hopes that it might convey to you the immensity of the gratitude he wishes he could say out loud.

All too soon though, movement on the other side of the hall draws your attention and you break eye contact with the maker to squint across the gorge, your face brightening at the sight of Death as he emerges from the far doorway. “Hey!” you wave, raising your hand high into the air before the stretch sends a twinge of pain down to your side and you wince, trying to casually lower your arm again.

From his relatively safe distance, the Horseman allows some of the tension to seep from his shoulders when he notices that you and the youngling are still standing where he left you, and in one piece, to boot.

“Didj'ya find a way around!?” Karn hollers.

“No luck, in that regard!” Death replies, “We'll have to turn back and try a different path! The heart stones must be elsewhere!”

His response elicits aggravated groans from the pair of younglings and he finds himself letting out a chuckle that comes dangerously close to the realm of fondness. Snapping his jaw shut, he's quick to catch it and stuff it back down before he clears his throat, continuing, “Just stay where you are – I'm coming back across!”

He sees you share another confused glance with Karn, then you turn back towards him and shout, “Um – How're you going to get back over here?! It took a maker just to get you to that side!” 

Death doesn't seem nearly as perturbed as you think he should be. “Let's just say... this wasn't an entirely wasted journey!” Beneath his mask is a self-assured smirk and it remains plastered on as he takes several, calculating steps backwards, away from the precipice he stands upon. 

“Wait!-” he hears you call, “ - You're not going to?! -” 

Before you can even finish your sentence, the Horseman is on the move, darting forwards into a reckless sprint and garnering a yelp of alarm from the other side of the gorge. 

“Death! What are you doing!?” you can't help but shriek, throwing your hands up to bury them in your hair, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

The Horseman leaps clear from the edge, sailing out over the gaping maw that lays in wait below him. 

Then, he begins to drop. 

Blinded by panic, you dash around Karn following some, misguided thought that you could stop Death's fall. Even the maker jerks his arm up, stretching it towards the descending Nephilim, although he at least has the presence of mind to throw his other hand out in front of you to keep you away from the edge.

Whilst you watch, your stomach drops alongside the Horseman, plunging into your shoes and you wonder if this is the kind of panic that Karn had felt when you mentioned the Call of the void.

All of a sudden, to your astonishment, a brilliant flash of purple light erupts from Death's outstretched hand. 

You'd almost think you were seeing things if you weren't already standing in a different plane of existence next to a giant. 

What looks to be a large, ethereal hand explodes out of a gauntlet strapped to Death's wrist and stretches up towards the roof, riding on threads of coiling, purple smoke. Translucent fingers wrap around one of the ceiling beams and the room fills with the sound of creaking wood as Death launches himself across the vast gap, thrusting his body forwards at the apex of his swing and you gasp when the purple hand abruptly lets go of the beam. 

The Horseman's momentum carries him the rest of the way and you stare agape as he lands lightly on the plateau in front of you, straightening up without a care in the world. 

For several, quiet moments, both you and Karn blink owlishly at him, whilst he merely peers back until at last, his brows dip into a frown and he snaps, “What?” 

With the spell of shock broken, you shake your head rapidly from side to side and adopt a scowl of your own. “What do you mean, 'what!?'” you bark, gesturing to his arm, “Why didn't you tell us you could do that? Karn and I nearly had a heart attack!”

At that, the maker clears his throat, picks his jaw off the ground and breezily attests, “Ah, I knew he had somethin' up his sleeve the whole time.” 

“Quite literally, in this case,” Death muses and holds up his arm, showing off the new accessory adorning his wrist – a gauntlet carved into the shape of a screaming, silver skull.

Unnerved by the blank-eyed face staring back at you, you drag your eyes away and turn them to Death, softly admitting, “I thought you were going to get seriously hurt.” 

“Yes, well...” He pauses to shove aside an ensuing burst of warmth and folds his arms tightly, partially obscuring his gauntlet from view, “I hardly think you're in any position to be casting judgement after some of the stunts you've pulled.” 

Your mouth opens despite having nothing of any real substance to say in your own defence, and the flat look he's giving you is enough to extinguish the fire in your belly. Biting your lip, you glance away from his pointed stare and mutter, “Touché.”

With a smirk, the Horseman claps you on the shoulder, steering you around and giving you a guiding nudge back in the direction you'd come in from. “Now then, if you've finished sulking, I'd like to get a move on,” he says firmly, “We need to hurry if we want to get these heart stones before nightfall.” He strides ahead of you to once again lead the way, leaving you sandwiched between himself and the maker at your rear. 

“I reckon we'll manage,” the latter pipes up, “Should be easier now that you've gone and found yerself a new toy.” Struck by a sudden thought, the maker trails off, frowning down at his boots for a few steps before he murmurs, “S'pose that puts me out of a job, eh?”

Craning your head over a shoulder, you shoot him a quizzical look and ask, “What d'you mean?” 

“Well-” He gestures to Death “- He's got that fancy new trick now. He can get about on his own just fine. Won't be needin' me anymore, will you.” 

“Of course we'll still need you, Karn,” you assure him, smiling when you see his ears perk up at your words, “You're the group muscle, after all.”

Death can practically hear Karn's chest swell up with pride and he stifles a scoff at the notion that a youngling could be stronger than the eldest of the Four.

“Huh. Reckon you might be right there,” the maker agrees, hooking his thumbs into the straps of his pack, his ego adequately stroked, “We adventurin’ types tend to carry muscle more than most, y’know.” 

The Horseman's low, grumbled comment is lost underneath your ensuing chatter. 

“That must make me the brains of this outfit....” 

Fortunately, neither you nor the maker seem to hear him and he lets out a sigh, shaking his head as he continues to lead you through the Foundry, back in the direction of the Guardian.

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

Your journey through the enormous structure's depths soon brings you to another, dead-end chamber. This one however, unlike the first, at least contains one of your sought after quarries.

Stretched out before you lies a long, marrow catwalk that stands mere meters above a roaring moat of lava, and at the far end, suspended high above the ground by a vast, metal clamp, is the first heart stone.

Unfortunately, much to the Horseman's chagrin, it doesn't look to be quite as accessible as he'd assumed it would be... 

Upon stepping through the doors of the chamber, the heat encompasses you like a heavy blanket and you let out an audible gasp, instantly raising your hand to fan yourself. “Ugh, god, it's like hell's sauna in here!” you complain, earning a chuckle from the maker behind you. 

After taking just a few steps into the room, you stop in your tracks and begin to fight with the hem of your jumper and Karn's amusement swiftly turns to a grunt as he's forced to come to a dead-halt as well, lest he trip over you. Curious, he tips his head to the side and blinks down at you, watching you tug the fluffy garment up and over your head... 

….And then, he promptly swallows his tongue when your tank top is pulled up as well, giving him an uninterrupted view of your midriff. For a few, glorious seconds, the sounds of the chamber, nay, the whole world seem to dip to a graceful hum.

Perhaps it's because this is a part of you he's never been privy to before. Perhaps it's because the flash of skin he catches sight of feels so... intimate, as though this is something he shouldn't be allowed to see, and now that he has, his heart has set to pounding like a war drum on the brink of a fearsome battle.

Then all too soon, your head pops out of your jumper and you breath a sigh of relief, and Karn is given no time to regain his composure.

If he thought your midriff was entrancing, he's wholly unprepared to see the rest of you.

In the rich, golden and orange light cast by the churning lava, your skin glows like it's on fire, every pore seemingly beset by thousands of tiny jewels that sparkle when you move and the sweat beading on your collar bones appears more like a cloak of shimmering stars to the young, awestruck maker. 

All the magic in the realm couldn't have held his attention the way you do when you twist your head back to smile up at him and he catches the delicate bob of your throat, his ears twitching forwards in anticipation to hear the sound of your voice. 

“Hey, would you mind hanging onto this? It's way too hot to wear it, even if I tie it around my waist.” 

Seconds tick by and all you receive as a response from the maker is a long, dazed blink. 

“Karn? You... don't have to if you don't want to...” 

“PUP!” 

The two of you jump at Death's abrupt, authoritative bark and you whip your head over a shoulder to find him glaring up at the maker with a look that's cold enough to send icy fingers dancing up your spine, despite the heat surrounding you. 

“I believe she asked you a question,” the Horseman drawls, his casual tone a million miles away from matching the rigidity of his stance. 

Raising a brow at the unexpected hostility rolling off him in waves, you turn back to Karn and see that he's giving his head a hard shake, blinking back into focus. Fumbling over his words, he reaches out and takes your proffered jumper between two, colossal fingers, gingerly lifting it out of your grasp. “A-aye, sorry.” 

At his stumbled apology, you put on a heartfelt smile and say, “Thanks, Karn.”

The youngling only manages to gulp, “Yup,” in response. 

You try to catch his gaze again, but the effort is futile and your confusion only grows when his lips tug into a troubled frown that he punctuates with a sigh, flipping open a pouch on his belt and carefully tucking your jumper inside as though it were made of glass. Giving a mental shrug, you turn back towards the heart stone and you can't help but notice that Death keeps his glare trained on Karn until you pass him, and only then does he tear his eyes away from the youngling to watch you instead. 

“So,” you declare loudly, eager to ease the unplaceable atmosphere that has descended over the room, “How in the world are we going to get that stone down from there?” 

At your side, Death regards the heart stone with equal perplexity. From the corner of his eye, he notices that Karn has sidled up next to you as well, the youngling's face now a rather satisfying beet-red and his eyes fixed on the ground at his feet. It's almost laughable that the look of quandary plastered on his face has nothing to do with the heart stone's inaccessibility. Death only hopes he doesn't hurt himself by thinking too hard on it.

The Horseman is no fool, and unlike you, he can see all too clearly that the young maker is struggling to get to grips with his fondness for you. Actually, after having witnessed the conspicuous glances that Karn has been shooting you every five minutes ever since he first laid eyes on you outside the Cauldron, Death is inclined to believe that this may have surpassed the realms of fondness. 

No... unsettlingly, the territory being trodden upon here has begun to border the realm of something far stronger, something the Horseman can no longer ignore. 

Karn is immutably, unflinchingly besotted with you...

The very idea causes Death's lips to curl in distaste. After all, the foolish notion has only come about because you've been overwhelmingly kind to the youngling, and now, what he thinks he's feeling is nothing more than an intense need for companionship, garnered after such a long time spent being lonely.

However... Now is not the time for Death to let himself be distracted by such matters, he reminds himself sternly, not that he should ever have been distracted by them in the first place. What does a Horseman care of the tender friendship being cultivated right before his very eyes?

Brushing the thoughts aside, he focuses on the heart stone dangling high overhead and narrows his eyes, musing, “I could knock it loose, if I could get up there.”

“What about using your new gauntlet?” you ask, but the Horseman only shakes his head. 

“It's reach is impressive, but I don't think it'll carry me that far....” Trailing off, he swivels his eyes around to contemplate the maker, humming deep in his throat as his mind begins to form an idea. Seconds later, he barks, “Pup, don't move.”   “Eh, what-?” The youngling goes rigid when Death begins stalking deliberately towards him, his concern mounting with each step that brings him closer. Still, he remains obediently still, only just suppressing a shiver as the Nephilim suddenly scurries up his back and onto the bewildered youngling's shoulder where he straightens up and smirks at the look on your face.

“You know, if you wanted a boost, Horseman, you only needed to ask,” the maker huffs, though he finds his complaint largely ignored by Death, who simply lifts an arm over his head. 

From his gauntlet, spectral, purple limb bursts forth and flies up towards the ceiling. Ethereal fingers snag around one of the clamp arms that hold the heart stone in place and then, Death kicks off from the maker's shoulder and zooms into the air, dragged up by his unconventional grappling hook. Just before he crashes face-first into the stone, he throws out his real hand and catches the flat top of it in a vice-like grip. 

Fascinated by his feats of acrobatics, you watch raptly as he braces his boots against its side and dangles there, one hand keeping him suspended far above your head whilst the other pulls his scythe off his back, and he flips the weapon upside down to use its blunt edge like a hammer, slamming it violently down on top of the heart stone. Each strike produces a resonant chime that rings in your ears. 

At first, you don't think Death's strength alone will be enough to dislodge something so well-secured to the ceiling, but after a few more hits, the whole thing suddenly comes loose and falls at an alarming rate to the ground far below. With a deafening 'WHUMP', it lands, and not a second later, Death follows, though his impact is carried out with far more grace and poise, thankfully.

“I've got it,” Karn declares, stepping around you and sauntering up to the heart stone. He crouches down beside it and wraps both hands around each side, his teeth grit together tightly as he lifts the gigantic load up, throwing it up and onto his sturdy shoulder, one hand keeping it steady whilst the other is free to use his hammer, should he come to need it.

Death rolls his eyes at the maker's obvious peacocking, but you at least seem entertained, clapping your hands appreciatively when Karn checks to see if you witnessed his impressive display of strength. 

“All right, enough showboating, the pair of you,” Death grumbles, placing his scythe back on his hip and striding past you along the catwalk, “We need to get this stone back to the Guardian.” Pausing mid-step, he casts the youngling a sly, appraising glance, “Or... we could head straight for the second stone... if Karn thinks he can carry two of them at once?”

The youngling seems to visibly wither under Death's cool observation, but he still sputters, “O'course I could!” all too aware that your gaze is also trained on him. 

To his relief however, he's let off the hook after you rather kindly suggest, “One stone at a time, Death. Karn needs a hand free to fight constructs, right?”

Putting on a dramatic sigh, the Horseman replies, “Ah, but of course. Sensible as ever, aren’t we.” Sarcasm drips poignantly from his lips and he half expects you to offer a retort, so it's somewhat disappointing when you don't, at least to his knowledge. With his back to you, he misses the obnoxious face you pull, though he does have to wonder why Karn suddenly begins to snicker.

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

You can't ignore the strange feeling that the Guardian has been awaiting your return as you all stroll across the courtyard and between its legs before coming to a stop in front of it once again. 

No lights bloom in the construct's carved-out eyes sockets, but in contrast, the heart stone begins to pulse with a dazzling, blue light, as if it knows its purpose is just moments from being served and its host is finally, finally within reach after centuries spent apart. 

There's also a sense of anticipation in the air whilst you wait for Karn to raise the stone from his shoulders. 

“So... what happens now?” you ask, wondering how you're ever going to scale the Guardian to fit the first heart stone in place. 

All you get in response is a secretive smirk from Karn and a whisper of, “Watch.” He doesn't tarry any longer though. 

Lifting the stone into two hands and heaving it over his head, the maker offers it up to the Guardian, and while at first you regard his antics bemusedly, your jaw promptly drops open when the stone is simply lifted out of his hands by an unseen force.

It floats gracefully through the air and eventually slows near the construct’s left shoulder where it snaps into a carved hollow and seals itself in place with a flash of dazzling light. 

“Magnets?” you blurt out, so busy trying to rationalise what you're seeing that you momentarily forget the magical occurrences you've already witnessed. “Sadly, no,” Death sighs, “Only magic, Plain and simple.”

It's a strange reality you've found yourself in where magic is considered run-of-the-mill.

At the look of of perplexity on your face, the Horseman snorts and jerks his head towards one of the remaining doors you haven’t tried to enter yet.

“Shall we?”

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

“Okay. Let's try again. Ready, Karn?”

Death's thumb and forefinger reach into the sockets of his mask and he indulges himself in a moment of massaging his twitching eyelids. As much as he's privately grateful that Karn had set you upon his broad shoulder after you started falling behind, he wishes you hadn't taken it as an opportunity to entertain the youngling by teaching him one of your juvenile 'earth games.'

Keeping to the head of your bizarre group, the Horseman tries to focus on the twisting cavern path that stretches out ahead, eyeing the corruption that grows from its walls in the form of pustule-yellow crystals, each one oozing rivers of glistening, black liquid. He picks his way carefully around a puddle of the vile substance and tosses his head over a shoulder to check that Karn is keeping his eyes peeled as well. 

A scowl darkens his glare when he notices that the youngling barely gives the puddle a fleeting glance and just steps lazily over it in one, gigantic stride before returning immediately to the human on his shoulder. 

You have an arm stretched out before you, fingers curled into a loose fist and after regarding your appendage closely, Karn lifts his hand and does the same. Giving him an approving smile that turns his ears beet red, you begin yet another round of the strange game, exclaiming, “Rock, paper, scissors, GO!”

On the word go, your fist bursts apart and you thrust it in the maker's face, your fingers pressed together and held flat like the 'paper' you're trying to emulate. At the same time, Karn lifts his bulky arm and holds his own fist up for you to see, earning himself an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, now I think you're just letting me win.”

Perplexed, the maker lowers his hand and frowns down at it. “How come I lost that time?” he asks.

“Because!” you laugh, “That's the fifth time you've chosen rock!”

“Aye, 'cause rock's the strongest,” he retorts matter-of-factly, crossing his arms and tipping his chin back.

“That's not – I mean, that isn't really how the game works.” Pausing to chuckle at the absurdity of explaining the logic of such a simple game to someone who'd never even heard of scissors five minutes ago, you continue, “Okay, so the rules are, scissors cut paper, paper covers rock, and rock breaks scissors.

“Aha!” The maker's exclamation is so abrupt, you can't help but flinch as his head whirls sideways to look you in the eye. “There, you see? Rock breaks scissors! Rock's stronger!”

“Yes, but I didn't choose scissors, I chose paper,” you explain, patiently.

“....But... rock could just tear through paper!” The pitch in Karn's voice raises a little alongside his mounting confusion, prompting Death to finally interject.

“Perhaps, Y/n, it would be sensible to stop this game before the amount of brainpower it requires to play literally kills the Pup.”

Sticking out his lower lip, Karn glowers at the ground, but the quick pat you give his neck is enough to put the maker's smile back in place. “Don't worry,” you assure him, “There are plenty of other earth games I can teach you.” 

“All of which will have to wait, I'm afraid,” Death quickly interjects, shuddering at the prospect of another minute spent listening to Karn fail to grasp even the most basic of concepts, “Whilst I understand that you two are having... ugh, fun, we can't afford to lose focus in this place.”

Like a switch has been flipped, whatever good mood had taken hold of you is promptly snuffed out. 

'...Fun?...' 

Something uncomfortable accompanies that word. It hits you more jarringly than it logically should, and your laughter tapers off to an uncertain chuckle, which in turn becomes a smile that fades slowly until an invisible weight settles itself over your heart and wipes any semblance of enjoyment clear off your face. 

'I'm having fun...' 

It doesn't seem... correct, somehow. Fun implies an instance of happiness. ...And happiness... Well. The term sits like a bad taste in your mouth and you can hardly believe it took the Horseman’s throwaway comment to draw your attention to it. You can't be happy, can you? How can you be happy after...

A ball of anxiousness starts to form in your stomach. 'Y/n,' your horrified mind seems to whisper, accusing and cold, 'Are you getting over them so quickly?'

“Oi?”

 Your leg is given a gentle shove and you flinch, startled to see Karn's finger slowly pulling away. He has his sights set on you, his jaw hanging open in a way that radiates concern and when you  flick your eyes ahead for a second, you notice that Death's head is twisted to the side, just enough to give you a glimpse of white bone behind his ebony hair.

“You okay? We lost you there for a moment,” the maker urges, quietly adding, “...again.” 

It comes far too easy, the knee-jerk reaction to throw yourself into an overenthusiastic response. Kicking your heels against his shoulder, you huff out a quick laugh that grates at your ears. “I'm still here, buddy. Just thinking about how you and the others are going to react to Monopoly.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“Seriously, Karn,” you chirp, the grin stretching at your lips uncomfortable and awkward, “I'm fine.” 

God, isn't that just becoming easy now? Far easier than it ever used to be. 'I'm fine' rolls off your tongue like a lie that you're desperate to convince yourself is in fact, a truth. Still, it at least seems to have placated your gigantic companion, whose smile has returned within moments of seeing your own, so ready to accept that his friend really is okay. 

Or perhaps, he's just desperate to believe it, like you are. You wish Eideard was just as difficult to lie to, thinking back on the conversation you'd had with the Old One in Tri Stone yesterday. 

Stalking ahead, Death is once again turned away from you, but you aren't sure if he's ever been an easy man to fool.

The network of vast corridors finally come to an end as you turn another corner to see dull, grey daylight pouring in up ahead.

With you still sitting astride his shoulder, Karn follows the Horseman through an arched entryway and out into a spacious, grandiose courtyard, where you're pleasantly surprised to note that the rain has finally started to let up, leaving you all doused in little more than a light drizzle. 

Shielding your eyes, you squint up at the blanket of clouds overhead and spot the pale suns hiding behind them, trying to break through. You appreciate their effort, but the courtyard is still bucolic without the suns' rays shining down on it.

Like its sister, the stone is held fast to the gazebo's roof by a great, metal claw. “How come you makers all put the heart stones in such hard-to-reach places?” you gripe, raking your gaze over the area to search for anything that might be lurking in the shadows, unaware that Death has already done the same and found the coast is clear. 

Karn's boots splash through puddles as he stomps after the Horseman and replies, “If a maker lives long enough, their soul gets too old to pass through the Well. N'when that happens, they'll seek out an empty vessel - like a heart stone. And what would you do if you had your hands on a stone that held a human's soul, hm?” 

You consider the question carefully for a moment, then lift your arm in a shrug. “I... guess I'd try and keep it as safe as possible?” 

“Exactly!” Karn grins, snapping his fingers, “Those heart stones ain't just powerful artefacts – they carry the life force of our ancestors. We keep 'em up high like that for their own protection. S'a way to stop wee beasties from scratchin' em up, and the like.” 

Up ahead, you fail to notice that Death's fingertips are creeping up to gently touch at the wound on his chest. He ascends the steps into the gazebo and comes to a halt directly beneath the suspended heart stone, tipping his head back to regard it pensively with half of his attention on the surrounding area whilst the other half idly hones in on the faraway voices that whisper in the dark recesses of his mind. To quiet them, he brushes his fingers over the amulet's remains that are imbedded in his skin, just above the spot where his heart used to beat. 

Suddenly, the Horseman is yanked from his thoughts by a loud splash and a cold spray of rainwater spattering on his leg. Cranking his neck around slowly, he glares hard at the human who has appeared unexpectedly next to him.

Evidently, Karn had lowered you down from his shoulder and – like a human would – you'd elected to jump the last few feet to the ground, landing squarely in a puddle beside Death. The Nephilim's icy glare has you ducking your head and pressing your lips together.

“Pup,” he growls, never taking his eyes off you, daring you to let a grin slip onto your face, “Come over here. I'm going to need another boost.” 

The young maker strides forwards, raising his boot as he passes you and giving it a threatening jerk towards the puddle you're standing in, causing you to let out a gasp and leap backwards, shooting him a playful glare once you're safely out of the splash zone. 

Showing off his tusks, Karn stops at Death's side and offers his hand. It shouldn't have been a surprise that the Horseman gives it a dirty look before he eventually steps onto the glove, his pride taking yet another hit. Karn however, is beaming from ear to ear as he lifts Death up past his head, more than likely glad to be of help. 

The Horseman's scowl recedes ever so slightly at the young maker's expression and with a bit of difficulty, he manages to swallow some of his pride and dips his head in an almost imperceptible nod, as close as he'll ever come to admitting thanks. He doesn't see the maker's reaction, but he does feel Karn bounce excitedly on the balls of his feet, prompting him to turn his eyes skyward and heave a sigh as he sends his phantom appendage up to snag the heart stone.

As soon as the maker's hand is free, he shifts his gaze down and sweeps it across the ground at his feet, heart rate spiking when he doesn't immediately spot you nearby. Opening his mouth to call out, he raises his head and suddenly, your name catches in his throat. 

It turns out you haven't wandered far at all. You've only moved several steps away and turned your back on the maker, currently busy staring down at your reflection in a puddle. Curious, but erring on the side of caution so as not to startle you, he carefully leans sideways and tries and get a look at your face, hearing the telltale ‘shing’ of scythes being drawn above him. 

Your eyes are heavy-lidded, yet they remain transfixed upon the water, its placid surface casting a grubby and hazy reflection back up to you, and Karn wonders what you must be seeing in there that has caused your face to grow so haggard. 

Are you merely seeing yourself? From his angle, all he can see is the vague shape of a human.

Just then, a loud clang shatters the peace of the moment and you suck in a gasp, snapping to attention once more.

Death raps his scythes mercilessly against the heart stone until it comes loose from its metal bindings and plummets to the ground just as the first had, causing Karn to grimace at the treatment. Whoever's soul has inhabited the stone, he only hopes they don't take umbrage. 

“Well, Pup,” Death grunts as he drops down beside it again, bending his knees as he lands, “I believe you know the routine by now.”

Brushing a thumb under his nose, the maker nods and waddles over to hoist the stone up into his grasp whilst the Nephilim begins to head back the way you’d all come from, only faltering in his step when he finds you staring down into the puddle once more.

Karn doesn't notice this time. He's too focused on digging some dirt out of the heart stone's notches with the tip of his forefinger and then using the back of his hand to sweep it clean.

It's only when you finally speak up, your voice quiet and subdued, that he tips his head towards you and begins paying close attention. 

“Can... can I tell you guys something?”

“Well, o' course you can!” Karn booms eagerly. In contrast, Death merely spares you a curious, sideways glance.

Picking absentmindedly at a nail on your left hand, you try to speak, only to find the words aren't coming as easily as you thought they would, so you let your jaw fall shut again and swallow thickly before making another attempt. “It's just something that's, uh, well, it's bothering me. I feel guilty about it, but – Christ, I hope you guys don't think less of me for saying this but – I think I… I'm actually having a -.... a good time?”

The heavy weight of their stares presses upon you until, after a moment, Karn's face brightens and he announces, “Well that's great,” moving the heart stone further up his shoulder so he can beam down at you, obviously failing to see why your having a 'good time' might be causing you distress.

“No, it's not, Karn! It’s wrong.” Sighing roughly, you rake your hands through your hair and try to explain in a way the young maker would understand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, I just... I’ve been feeling a bit guilty lately.”

“Guilty?” he asks, “For havin’ fun?” 

“No, no. Well, kind of but... I mean, It’s only been a few days. How can I be feeling happy after losing so much? It just doesn’t seem....” Fishing your hand through to air as if you might pull the right words out of nowhere proves futile and you eventually give up, letting your hand drop back to your side. 

“...Right?” Death's voice flutters into your ear and you pull your gaze up off the ground to stare at the swaying, ebony hair in front of you, uncertain whether he'd intended for you to hear him.

All the same, you answer. “Yeah... Exactly.” 

You fail to notice that Death's jaw has set into a hard line, teeth clenched tighter than a vice underneath his mask.

The Horseman remembers vividly how he'd been nigh inconsolable the day he took Absalom's life. His own brother... Every fibre that made up his wretched, twisted body had come alive with a rage unlike anything he'd ever known. 

Creator... He'd been so angry - at the Nephilim, at Absalom, at the Charred Council and his siblings... It had taken centuries before he'd been ready to admit that all he was doing was distracting himself from the real target of his ire. Death always liked to believe he was above falling victim to guilt, yet there it was – still is, in fact - settled in his chest like shards of glass, and no matter how much time passes - centuries, eons or a hundred thousand years – it will never be enough for the Horseman to escape the shadow that guilt casts upon him. 

It bears no significance how often he tells himself that his shame is foolish and unnecessary, that he and his brothers and sister did what had to be done. The Nephilim could not go on the way they were. They had to be destroyed, or else the rest of Creation wouldn't have survived. 

They had to be. 

In moments that are few and far between, Death catches himself wondering what his un-life would have been like if someone else had taken up the mantle of 'Kinslayer.' No, he doesn't regret what he did. He would never choose to go back and change the past... But that doesn't spare him from experiencing the residual shame of what he'd had to do, even so many years down the line. 

He almost envies you, in a way. 

How easy had it just been for you to admit that you're haunted by guilt? What kind of bravery is that and where in the nine hells had it even come from? How could you say – out loud – something that had taken Death centuries to even admit to himself? 

Well, at least in that regard, you're less of a coward than he is.

“It sounds as though you’re clinging to guilt,” he murmurs.

His words strike you hard in the chest. “Clinging?” you echo, “Death, I don’t like feeling guilty!”

“No,” he concurs, patient as ever, “But you don’t like feeling happy either. Because feeling happy makes it seem as though you’re coping. And feeling you’re coping is almost worse, because who could possibly be coping after they’ve lost so much?”

The Horseman’s question is rhetorical, you know, yet still your mouth falls open to respond, though you soon find nothing emerges other than a silent breath in place of words. When you don’t offer up a reply, he turns to the entrance and tilts his head over a shoulder, regarding you from the corner of his eye, adding, “You think being happy after a tragedy makes you a bad person?” 

Swallowing down past a thick lump in your throat, you give a hesitant nod. 

“Well...” he huffs, “From what I’ve seen, I think I can safely attest that you’re not.”

“Definitely not,” Karn agrees with a decisive bob of his head. 

You have to blink hard a few times to chase away the tears that threaten at the back of your eyelids. “Thanks, guys... Doesn’t make me feel any less guilty though.”

“And it likely never will,” Death says matter of factly. 

“That’s a bummer.” 

The human colloquialism is lost on him but he gets the gist of your expression and lets out a soft snort before he replies, “Perhaps. But grief and guilt do become easier to bear.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“Well, maybe not for a long, long time, and perhaps, every so often, they will rear their heads and strike with a vengeance, but it does get easier, because you will learn to live alongside it. I’ve seen it time and again in humans. You’re nothing if not a resilient little species. You will live with anything, if you give yourselves time to learn how.”

And with that, he faces forwards again and begins the long trek back across the courtyard to the tunnels that brought you here. It isn’t long before you catch up to him and keep stride for a few paces, followed, as always, by the loyal maker at your back.

“Huh... thanks, Death,” you smile earnestly up at him. The heaviness hasn’t shifted at all from your chest, but you find that it isn’t quite as difficult to carry as it had been moments ago. “I think that’s one of the most comforting things you’ve said to me yet.” 

“Hmph. Yes. Well,” he grumbles, “Don’t get used to it.”

---

With the second heart stone offered up to the Guardian and sealed into place, the three of you turn your attention to the third and final tunnel - the one you’ve yet to travel down, and not least because, emanating from the entrance is an eerily familiar, yellow glow. 

Still, with little other option, the three of you gradually make your way through the open doors and find yourselves in a lower subsection of the Foundry. Karn is almost suffocatingly close to you, causing even the maker-intended tunnel to feel cramped and claustrophobic, although you have to admit that having a giant walking so near to your heels does leave you feeling adequately protected from behind, that is, until you come upon a relatively small, nondescript chamber. Or, it would be nondescript and wouldn't even particularly stand out from many of the Foundry's other chambers had it not been for the dozens upon dozens of corrupted, crystalline growths that burst like a fungus from every, available surface. 

Death's eyes narrow upon them. “Stay close,” he warns, leading the way down the narrow staircase and keeping as far from the crystals as he can, more for the sake of the two younglings behind him than any sense of self-preservation.

He hardly needs to tell you twice.

The light from those terrible growths of corruption almost seems to burn at your skin as you pass them, and for a moment, you begin to wonder if it's radiation that causes the unnatural glow. Then, you decide you don't know enough about chemistry and put it from your mind. There are far more pressing matters to worry about, after all.

“Death?” you hum, feeling the familiar, winding knots of unease begin to coil around in your stomach. 

The Horseman's eyes zero in on a dead construct sitting slumped in one corner. “Stay close,” he growls, but even then, he reaches a hand backwards and blindly grabs the hem of your shirt, tugging you until you're very nearly stepping on the heels of his boots. 

On an unspoken whim, Karn closes the distance to an even more claustrophobic degree. 

Dangling from a clamp set into the ceiling overhead just like its brethren, you spot the third and final heart stone, and from just one glance, you know you'd been right to worry about things that come in threes. 

“Uh, isn't that supposed to be blue, like the others?” you ask, nodding towards it.

“Aye.... It is,” Karn mutters darkly, ears flattening to his head, “There's somethin' very wrong with this one...”

The heart stone glows the same, pus-like yellow as the crystals growing all around it. Black gunk oozes from within it, dribbling down the patterns carved into its surface until each rivulet converges right at the stone's pointed tip, forming one, big globule of corrupted liquid. Eventually, it grows too large and you watch in horrified disgust as it finally relinquishes its hold on the stone and drops to the ground with a loud, wet 'Plop!'

“Ew,” you declare. 

“At least this stone doesn't require that I use you as a springboard, Pup,” Death remarks, rolling his shoulders and lifting his arm towards the ceiling.

Recognising the steadily increasing glow emitted by the gauntlet around his wrist, you dart out a hand and snatch his arm back, earning yourself a fearsome glare in return. With the Horseman's golden eyes boring down into you, your nerve begins to waver until you eventually pull away, yet the question bubbling up inside your throat still manages to find its way out. “What are you doing!?” you blurt, “The stone's corrupted!”

“I can see that,” Death coolly replies, making to raise his hand once more before he catches the fleeting look of alarm that you send up at the maker beside you. Sparing you a brief sigh, Death forces his glare to soften, if only a fraction. “Y/n, if we stop here, we'll have come all this way for nothing.” 

“But if we put that thing in the Guardian, something could go wrong!” The Horseman subjects you to his most uncompromising glare, one he's often been driven to use on his petulant siblings. 

“And if we do nothing, then nothing will change. Corruption will continue to spread across the Forge Lands, Tri Stone may eventually fall, and we'll be no closer to the Tree of Life.”

“But-” Hesitating, you chew on your lip and glance up at the maker. “- But Karn will have to carry it... You said we shouldn't let Corruption touch us!” 

Death's expression turns grave and you can see the pinch of his brow, hidden as it is beneath his mask. “I know,” he admits quietly, “It’s a risk. But unless you can think of another way to get it to the Guardian -” 

“I don't mind carryin' it!” Karn interrupts, jabbing a thumb into his own chest, “Corruption'll have a tough time gettin' under this thick skin.” 

You tip your head back to look up at him, worry laying heavily across your brow. “But, Karn-” 

“Oi, don't you go worryin' about me.” The unexpected gentleness of Karn's voice is anything but typical and reminds you more of the dulcet tones you might hear from the soft-spoken shaman, not your zealous and excitable young friend. “I'll be all right.”

Helplessly, you turn a pleading look onto Death, but you find no reassurance in the Horseman's calm and enigmatic eyes. 

Your acquiescence comes in the form of a resigned sigh, and once he's satisfied you won't protest further, Death hums approvingly and raises his hand once again towards the heart stone.

It seems so baffling to you that the ghostly appendage that flies from his gauntlet can be so strong and solid. Long, skeletal fingers latch easily onto the stone's uneven surface and clamp down, hard, seconds before Death is pulled up towards the oozing stone and clings to it, withdrawing his scythe. 

As he knocks the stone loose of its clamp, you can do little but hold your breath and watch, hands jumping into closed fists when it suddenly crashes to the ground with a dull but tremulous 'whump!' and a moment later, Karn is using the back of his gloved hand to nudge you away from it, giving him enough room to step protectively between you and the corrupted heart stone.

Death drops down to the earth beside it and moves around the maker, keeping a close eye on him whilst he bends down and slides his hands around the stone, braced and ready to react should anything begin to happen. After a few moments of regarding it as though he expects it to spring to life at any second, Karn sets his jaw and with a strained grunt, he hefts the cumbersome load up and settles it upon his shoulder. 

The tension in the chamber is thick and oppressive enough that you can almost feel it lend a heaviness to the breaths that enter your lungs. Whatever time-stream this realm rides upon seems to grind to an abrupt halt and you're all left in perfect stillness, watching.... waiting.....

… But nothing happens. 

One of Karn's eyes cracks open, having been squinted shut after he first touched the heart stone, and he glances down at himself, letting out a muted 'oh,' of surprise. 

“There, you see? He's fine,” Death tells you, “Now, let's get this stone back to its host.” 

Barely needing to be told twice, Karn begins to pick his way around the crystal growths and heads back toward the entrance whilst you and the Horseman walk in line with one another, following his path.

“So,” Death starts, folding his hands behind his back, “Are you learning to trust me yet?” 

“I already trust you, Death. I mean, it took a while but, I am there.” You're too busy admiring the broken construct you pass by to notice the shock that flashes across Death's eyes. 

You trust him?... 

And you really think a few days is a while? 

He drags his gaze off your face and elects to frown pensively at the straps of Karn's boots. At his silence, you continue, “Just because you trust someone doesn't mean you don't think they can be wrong sometimes.”

The old Nephilim huffs, uncertain of whether he should be insulted that you think he makes mistakes, or impressed at the philosophical side to your argument. After all, he himself would trust his siblings, but is more than aware that they're capable of erring from time to time. 

Appraising you thoughtfully from the corner of an eye, Death opens his mouth to accuse you of spending too much time around the puzzling and sagacious Eideard when, all of a sudden, Karn lets out a startled cry, disturbing the relative peace that's fallen over you.

Yelping his name, your eyes snap up to the maker, whereas Death's immediately land upon the reason for his alarm. 

From deep within the heart stone, Corruption's hideous consciousness had sensed a fresh, unwitting host, and temptation spurred it to send an insidious part of itself forth in search of the body it yearns to inhabit.

Blood rushes into your ears at the sight of the black, oily tendrils that stretch out of the heart stone and you barely register that you've taken several steps towards Karn before a hand is suddenly hauling you back and you soon find yourself gaping up at the bristling shoulders and jutting spine of a predatory Horseman. 

However, much to your shock and dizzying relief, Corruption’s target isn't the youngling. 

The heart stone lurches in Karn's grasp and he digs his fingertips into its callouses to keep it steady as the tendrils detach from their main cluster and drop to the ground near his feet. Rankled, the maker back-peddles up the steps and away from the writhing mess of darkness, whilst all you can do is watch from behind Death's guarding arm as corruption slips and gurgles its way across the room like a grotesque slug, heading straight for the broken-down construct slumped in the corner.

By the time Death realises its intent, he's too late to stop it. 

The flailing ball of corruption reaches up with its tendrils and slides them underneath the stone plates that make up the construct’s chest.

“What is that thing!?” you exclaim. 

When Karn takes in the pieces of stone on the ground, his face turns pale and he sucks in a sharp breath, his stomach sinking like a stone. “It... it’s a custodian,” he utters, his horror lending to your own. 

“Karn!” Death barks, and you suddenly find yourself grabbed yet again and shoved none-too-gently towards the young maker, “Get her out of here!” 

Acting swiftly, Karrn drops the heart stone and dashes back down the steps, clumsily curling his fingers around your torso and ushering you back to the entrance, away from the shuddering custodian. 

A pair of brutally strong hands that look well-equipped to dish out some serious, blunt-force trauma pound into the earth, gripping fistfuls of stone as the thick and undulating strands of corruption knit the broken body back together. The arms are first, dragged across the ground and slotted into the shoulders whilst a blocky head is set into a round, open cavity on top of the custodian's torso, which in turn, is lifted onto the last component; a rotating, stone sphere. 

Suddenly, the crevasses where its eyes would sit fill with the sickly yellow light you've come to know so well, and they lock straight onto the Horseman, who stalks backwards further into the room, deliberately drawing the construct away from you and Karn.

With his quarry's attention fixed wholly on him, Death whips out his scythes and splays his shoulders out wide, offering himself up as a challenge, though you can't help but think that bait would be a more appropriate term. Eerily, the hulking beast doesn't utter a sound from its stony maw, it merely pivots its body towards Death and begins to roll like a charging bull across the room, carried by its spherical base. 

It reaches him and rears itself back, arms thrust high over his head, ready to pummel the Nephilim back to dust. You're ashamed of the way his name leaves your lips in a helpless, desperate cry.

Less than a second before he's flattened however, Death strafes expertly to the side and skirts around the custodian, leaving mere inches of space in his wake as its fists obliterate the ground where'd he'd been standing. 

Lightening-quick, the Horseman strikes out at its exposed back, though it doesn't stay exposed for long. 

The custodian's size and weight give the impression of a creature that should be slow, it's movements cumbersome, yet the ball that bears its mass allows for a much broader range of movement. Namely, within a split second, the custodian whirls around on its axis to face Death, swinging its arm out in a wide arc, a move that would have bowled him clear off his feet had he not leapt back out of the way in time. 

Even from halfway across the room, you can hear the growl of frustration that escapes from underneath his mask as he makes another attempt to get close enough to the wildly swinging construct to even land a single blow on it, yet every time you start to think he may have found an opening, he's sent careening back by a sweep from one of the custodian's fists. 

“We have to help him,” you realise after the construct once again bludgeons one of the yellow crystal growths to smithereens in an attempt to reach Death. Glancing up at Karn, you find him staring grimly out at the battle with his lips peeled back over gritted teeth and it soon becomes evident that he hadn't heard you. 

Jaw setting, you turn about and begin to falteringly make your way down the steps. No sooner have you made it to the bottom than Karn suddenly snaps to attention and he lunges after you, throwing out a hand and slamming it to the ground right in your path, blocking the way forward. “What're you doin!?” he barks, frantic, “You tryin' to get yerself killed!?”

“We have to help him, Karn!” You attempt to sidestep his hand, but the maker is persistent, moving to stop you wherever you go. Grabbing his leather-bound thumb, you pull yourself up onto your toes and peer over the appendage, catching sight of Death just as he deflects a particularly savage blow that sends him skidding backwards for several yards until he's able to regain his balance. 

Now borderline hysterical, you cry, “He can't do this alone!” 

“He's Death! He's always done things by himself!” 

Even as Karn speaks, a foul curse is spat from the Horseman's mouth as he tries and fails to sever the beast's hand as it makes a clumsy grab at him. You twist your neck around and peer up at the maker behind you, causing his heart to thunk down into his stomach when he sees tears welling up in your eyes. 

“He shouldn't have to, though,” you utter, your fingers curling tightly into his glove, “Please, Karn?” 

The youngling stares back at you. There's not a force in the universe that could move him to action quite like the sight of your tears. Hesitating for all of a second, he sets his mouth into a determined line and his eyes grow as hard and unyielding as the stone underfoot. 

“I'll help 'im. You stay here,” he growls, nudging you back and standing to his full height. 

You get the impression that he's not asking. 

Death's scythes are battered by the custodian's fist yet again, though they still hold strong, even as their wielder's patience is quickly wearing thin. Unleashing a furious growl, the Horseman holds his ground, his back to the staircase as his assailant rolls like an unstoppable steam train towards him, its arm raising high into the air. 

Unfortunately for the corrupted construct, due in part to its one-track mind, it's so focused on Death that it doesn't even see the new and far larger threat barrelling in its direction.

There's a gut-wrenching instance in which you're convinced that Karn has entered the fray too late, and the Horseman will surely be unable to counter the coming strike. As the custodian's fist begins to descend, Death braces himself, crossing his scythes in front of him and wondering why he's been unable to call upon his Reaper form during this fight. 

All of a sudden, something enormous whooshes past his mask, and from the corner of an eye, he sees a hammer, swinging up through the air to meet the construct's downward swing in a head-on collision that throws the enormous beast off balance and, more pressingly, away from Death. Momentarily stunned, the Nephilim risks a quick glance up to see Karn standing beside him, rolling his shoulders. 

“What do you think you're doing?” Death hisses venomously, “I told you to get-”

“Suck it up, Horseman! She's right - You can't do this one alone.”

Curling his lip at the maker's snappish interruption and your insinuation, Death discovers that he has no time to retort because the custodian is suddenly upon them once more. 

Karn, although slower, is at least equipped to totter the construct on its axis with every swing of his hammer, and his addition to the battle allows Death more opportunities to get in close and tear a chunk of stone off its arms, back, anywhere that he can reach. 

Following only a few minutes of combat, it becomes clear that the speed and unrivalled agility of the eldest Nephilim, coupled with the sheer, brute strength of a maker is too much of a challenge, and the sinister force driving the custodian pauses, rolling its host back a few yards and assessing the threats ahead of it in search of a weakness, an opportunity, a chance. 

Karn and Death have planted themselves directly between you and the construct, the maker quivering with adrenaline and the Horseman just as calculating and cold as you expect him to be. 

Suddenly, the custodian's head stops swinging back and forth between the two and comes to rest with its yellow gaze pointed straight through the middle of them.

“Why's it just standin' there?” Karn rumbles, an uneasy feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach at the custodian's decidedly thoughtful pause. Next to him, Death's eyes are narrowed to thin slits as he considers the stone behemoth warily whilst it simply peers back, unmoving.

A sensation that he's still unaccustomed to hits him in the chest at full force when he finally realises what – or rather, who – the construct has turned its sights onto.

He's too late to shout a warning, or to try and stop it as the custodian suddenly explodes into motion and lurches forwards, hurtling straight for them and keeping its shoulders low like a battering ram, forcing both maker and Horseman to dive instinctively out of its way rather than risk being mowed down, just as it had planned.

Within a fraction of a second, Death is wheeling about, a cry of outrage lingering in his throat. Karn is quick to follow suit and the maker's entire face drains of all colour once he sees the disaster about to occur right in front of them. 

Corruption – fuelled by hate and spite – had spotted the group's vulnerability, and they had just stepped aside to let it pass. 

Fear is not something that Karn ever likes to admit to feeling, but in that moment, watching you trip backwards up the steps and land painfully on your backside when the custodian careens towards you with hellish intent, the maker is certain he's never felt so afraid in his life. 

Deep below the crashing waves of fear however, there's something far more reactive bubbling to the surface. He's never been an especially aggressive maker, not in temperament at least. 

That all changes in a split second at the realisation that you're in imminent danger. 

Without even taking the time to think, the maker discards his hammer, leaving it forgotten in his wake in favour of charging after the custodian as though a fire has been lit underneath his boots. But even though he's running at a speed he's never reached before, down in a dark, frightened corner of his heart, Karn knows he's too slow to get there in time. That doesn't stop him from willing himself forwards though, a bellowed shout of 'NO!' blasting from his mouth and a hand reaching out to you.

Behind him, the Horseman's own arm shadows his movements, lifting towards you as well. 

Death is aware of only two things. 

The first, his Reaper Form is suddenly trying to return with a vengeance, bucking against the magics that keep it shackled. And secondly, even if it manages to emerge, neither it nor the youngling will make it to you in time. 

He doesn't even register that he's sent out the mental command to his gauntlet, hardly notices the flash of purple light or the phantom hand that lunges forth and flies across the room towards you, long, disjointed fingers splaying out wide, reaching, stretching to their limits in a desperate attempt to win the terrible race. 

Scrambling futilely backwards and blind to everything but the construct bearing down on top of you, your mouth falls open, but no sound escapes, throat too tight with terror to even scream. There are fists as big as cars lifting high above you and all you can think about is how much the next few seconds are going to hurt. 

They do hurt. Just not in the way you'd expected. 

Pressure suddenly cinches around your torso and you don't even have a second to take a breath before the air is knocked from your lungs as you're ripped forwards violently, your head snapping back from the abruptness of the motion. You collide with something hard and cold that immediately curls itself around you, and when your head stops spinning and you can open your eyes again, you look up to see the underside of Death's chin. 

Confused as to how you've come to be in his grasp, you turn your gaze outwards and find yourself staring in horrified awe at the brutal scene playing out in front of you.

The custodian's fists had all but demolished the steps where you'd been sprawled mere moments ago and the beast appears just as confused as you are to find that you're not a blood-stain beneath its hands.

Without slowing for even an instant, Karn rams into the construct's back and digs his fingers into the grooves around its neck, wrenching it back and hurling it sideways into a cluster of crystals that shatter upon impact. You hardly recognise the youngling with the way his teeth are bared, revealing the real extent of his formidable tusks as he bellows resoundingly and unintelligibly, casting aside all decorum to bend down and engulf the custodian's head in his fists. 

With you pinned protectively against his heaving chest, Death tries to block the view with his arm, but you still manage to peer over the top of his limb, watching raptly whilst Karn squares his shoulders and gives the head a nauseating and vicious twist, wresting it clean off the custodian's shoulders and effectively severing the corruption from its host.

An awful screech turns your blood to ice, yet you still stare agape at the oily rivers that slide down the custodian's body and sink into the floor, followed moments after by crumbling remnants of limbs and stone plates that are no longer held together by tendrils of corruption. 

At last, the chamber falls still and quiet once more, save for Karn's guttural grunts and your tentative sigh of relief. 

Flexing his hands, the maker glares hatefully down at the mess and gives it a dismissive snort before he whips his head around to face you, his chest convulsing with every breath. Suddenly, the body curled over you begins to unfurl as Death straightens up again and lowers his arms, letting you take a shaky step out of them before you turn around to face him. 

The Horseman doesn't even bother to stop his eyes from darting over you from head to foot in search of any fresh injuries.

“So...” you croak, rubbing at the back of your neck where an ache has already begun, “That was-”

“-Close?” he guesses. 

“I was going to say terrifying, but yeah, it was pretty close.” 

Booming footfalls alert you to Karn's approach and you turn to meet him, only to be startled by a pair of gigantic hands that curl around you, hovering just close enough to keep you trapped amongst trembling fingers. 

“Are you all right!?” Karn blares, beads of sweat trickling down his forrid, “Did 'e hurt you!? Tell me you're okay!” 

He's still shaking as the last threads of rage seep out of his bones and you're quick to place a calming hand on his thumb, raising your voice to be heard over the maker's babbling. “Karn, I'm okay! Chill! Death pulled me out of the way in time.”

The youngling's ears remain plastered to his skull and he doesn't look even remotely reassured, his eyes roving up and down your body as though he expects to discover a hidden injury. 

After yet another near-death experience, you aren't quite sure where you find the capacity to crack a joke, but somehow, your lips manage to quirk up into a faltering grin and you say, “I-It's a good thing Death found that gauntlet, huh? It.. uh, it came in really handy back there.” 

You may have tripped over your words, it may have been awkward and clumsy and you may be subjected to a very unimpressed glare from the Horseman, but for the time being, your focus is on the crumbling maker in front of you. 

Karn's heavy breaths pause for a few seconds whilst he takes in your words, blinking at you with a perplexed frown. Then, he draws in a long, shuddering breath and expels it roughly again, his chest deflating as the warm air washes over your face until his exhale turns into a rough, throaty chuckle. “Ha... 'handy,” he grins. 

Not even Death's deadpan stare prevents your shaky, wheezing giggle, if anything, one glance at the Horseman and you dissolve even further, breathlessly leaning against one of Karn's hands. 

It's clear that the thrill of surviving another potentially fatal encounter has left you feeling giddy, something that Death can't fault you for, and in fact, he even lets a flicker of an indulgent smile bend the curve of his lips. Glancing up at him, you suddenly fall silent, peering at him as though he's sprouted a halo. “Death?” you say, incredulous, “Are you smiling?” 

Quick as a flash, his face drops into its usual scowl and he crosses his arms, cocking a hip and drawling, “And why on earth would I be doing something like that?”

Undeterred, you lift a finger and point to one corner of your mouth. “You smile with this side. Your left eye sort of half-closes and gets all wrinkly whenever you do it.”

To that, the Nephilim can't come up with a response, more-so because he's taken aback by the knowledge that you've obviously been watching him far more closely than he'd assumed. Fortunately for his pride, you don't press the matter and rather than wait too long for a response, you let out a hum and push yourself away from the maker's glove as he gets back onto his feet, giving you a clearer view of the now destroyed custodian. 

“Talk about putting the 'Karn' in 'carnage,” you say, appraising the pile of rubble before raising a brow at the youngling, who returns the look with a sheepish smile. 

“Aye, sorry 'bout that. Hope I didn't scare you none.”

“Don't worry, you didn't. It was weird to see you angry though.”

Pressing his lips together, Karn makes a sound at the back of his throat, something between a hum and a grumble. “Doesn't happen often,” he admits quietly. 

As the pair of you absently start to make your way back towards the entrance together, walking side by side, Death goes entirely unnoticed. He considers you both in silence, catching everything from the way Karn lazes into each step which gives you the chance to keep pace, to the lack of distance between you both, always staying within reach of one another... 

You make... rather good friends, he realises, stubbornly ignoring the pit that opens up in his stomach at the very thought, reminding him that he wouldn't know friendship if it came up and slapped him around the face. He might not be any kind of expert, but he does recognise it when he sees it. 

Earlier, when he had been searching for a way to open the fall gate, he had heard you through its thick stone, his keen ears picking up on the muffled conversation held between you and the maker when you thought yours' were the only ears listening.

You planned to stay with the makers. 

Well.... Fine.

Good, even.

The Forge Lands... will make an adequate home for you, Death can't help but privately admit. And the makers will be perfect guardians. Of course, he shall have to have a word with Eideard before leaving, to ensure that the Old one keeps you and Karn out of trouble, as much as he can. 

Yes... It's the perfect solution. You'll remain here with the giants, and Death can carry on, alone.

Karn will be happy to have you all to himself. Perhaps in time, you’ll actually even notice the way he looks at you.

“Death?” 

The Horseman blinks and looks up, tugged back to the room by the sound of your voice. You've stopped on the staircase and twisted around to face him even as Karn continues on to cautiously retrieve the heart stone. 

“Are you coming? Or are you just gonna stand there until the end of time?” 

With an air of nonchalance that only Death could summon, he shakes his thoughts away and saunters over to you, using his knuckles to prod you up the stairs once he reaches your side. 

“Get moving,” he grumbles, though the command has no real heat behind it, “I'd like to get this stone back to the Guardian before we run into any more surprises.” 

You're walking ahead of him, so he doesn't see your smile wither and die as you make it to Karn's side, the youngling already having reclaimed possession of the corrupted heart stone.

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

The heavens had once again split open during your short walk back to the courtyard and the rain drums mercilessly down on your heads as you all emerge from the tunnel and step out into the courtyard. Aside from nature’s downpour splashing noisily against the ground, your journey has passed in relative silence, although Death gets the sense that there are several, burning questions you're dying to vocalise, and he doesn't miss the surreptitious glances that Karn keeps sending your way, the maker's lip trapped between his teeth all the way back to the Guardian. 

Much, much too soon for your liking, you soon find yourself standing before the monstrous construct once again, your neck craned painfully in order to look up towards its head where, right in the space above its stony brows, there sits a hole, framed by a bronze surround which is obviously meant to house the heart stone laying across Karn's shoulders. 

The skin on your thumb is subjected to a vicious torment by your other hand as you absently pick at it until cold fingers suddenly wrap around your wrist and tug your hands apart. Sheepishly, you peer up at Death and tuck your thumb into the hem of your skirt, hiding it from view. After a few more seconds spent underneath the Horseman's chiding frown, you let out a sigh when he finally releases you and turns to Karn, who's teeth haven't stopped worrying at his lip. 

“Pup,” Death calls, causing the maker to give a start and whip his head down, releasing his welted lip in the process, “It's time.” 

The small puddle of dread that has been sloshing around in your gut ever since you arrived at the Foundry promptly turns into a flood that rises into your lungs and squeezes at your heart. 

As if he's fine-tuned to the same wavelength as you, Karn hesitates, furrowing his brow before twisting back to regard the heart stone and pressing his palm gently to its surface. You could almost swear the yellow light pulses in response, which makes you wonder how deep the connection really runs between these giants and the stones that supposedly hold the souls of their fallen brethren. 

“We've seen its work, Horseman,” the youngling says, his ears drooping as he speaks, “Corruption fair weeps from it. Maybe....” He falters, and when he looks down at you, you notice that his forehead is etched by worried lines. “Maybe Y/n's right. Maybe this ain't such a good idea.”

Death's head swivels from the maker on his right to the human standing to his left. Just like that, it dawns on him that he's amongst not one, but two younglings. 

“I have a theory,” he begins, impressed that the patience in his tone could match Eideard's, “The other two heart stones were pure. I'm wagering that their radiance will cleanse the third.”

After a pause, the youngling tips his head back to stare apprehensively at the Guardian. “Mayhaps.” 

“Not, uh.. Not that I'm any kind of authority on corruption and magical stones and whatnot,” you offer in the ensuing silence, “But have you ever seen what happens when you put a drop of ink in a glass of water?”

The Horseman lifts a brow, retorting, “I hardly think this is the time for -” 

“-The water doesn't turn the ink clear, Death,” you press, pleading. When he glances down, he notes that your hands are wringing together. “It's so often the other way around.” 

Surprised, he can't help but admit that your analogy raises a rather compelling argument, and a troublesome point. Yet even so, the plain and simple fact of the matter is that by choosing not to act, then the valley and perhaps even the whole realm will be condemned to a slow, but inevitable death. 

At least, if things change, there is a chance that they may change for the better. But first, the have to change at all. 

Death steels himself against the strangely affecting look you're giving him and he clears his throat, gently putting, “You both know that the greater risk is to do nothing.”

A somber moment passes between the three of you and you finally lower your eyes to the ground, conceding without uttering a word. 

Seeing your silent, if not reluctant acceptance, Karn too gives the Horseman a solemn nod and sighs, “Aye.” 

Without further ceremony, he steps forward and heaves the mighty stone from his shoulder, offering it up to the Guardian. 

Seconds later, your head snaps up when the stone is promptly ripped from his hands and shoots like a bullet up towards the enormous construct's head, propelled by whatever magic resonates underneath its surface. 

Teeth grit, you wince as the projectile crashes right through the wooden scaffolding and into its destined slot with enough force to jolt the Guardian in its struts, shaking the gigantic chains that keep its wrists secured to the Foundry walls. 

Immediately, golden light explodes from the stone, though it's soon drowned underneath a blinding, brilliant blue.

And then, your heart is thunking down into your shoes as the Guardian's colossal neck plates begin to rattle and at long last, the great beast raises its head, twin flickers of pale light bursting to life in the carved eye sockets. Its heart stone pulses in response with the same blue light and there is, for a moment, the brief hope that perhaps Corruption isn't strong enough to breath this construct's will. 

Suddenly, the entire world around you begins to shudder and shift and the air fills with the deafening sound of a mountain trying to move. 

Death's hand appears from nowhere and grabs your shoulder, holding you steady when you almost teeter sideways as the Guardian wrenches at the chains, straining against them until a thunderous CRACK rings out across the courtyard. 

To your horror, the rusted metal gives way completely, falling from the Guardian's wrists and crashing to the ground with one, final heave.

Over the din, you can hear Karn shouting excitedly. “The corruption has burned off like rain on a hot forge!” Beaming at Death, he exclaims, “You were right!”

However, one glance at the Horseman, and you can tell that the enthusiasm is far from shared. 

Death's fiery eyes narrow to slits as he looks up at the Guardian. 

Before you can ask what the matter is, he rasps a phrase that turns your blood to ice and sends panic sweeping through your veins. 

“I was wrong.”

You turn to meet Karn’s horrified gaze over Death’s head, the youngling’s expression perfectly conveying your own thoughts - at least those that consist predominantly of nonsensical screaming. 

Seconds later, you're clapping both hands over your ears to protect them. 

From somewhere deep in the Guardian's cavernous chest, there booms forth a roar so powerful, it feels as though a thunderclap has gone off right beside you.

Turning your focus up once again, you can't help but to gasp at the sight. No longer is the final heart stone shimmering with the blue radiance that the others share. Now, the unmistakable, yellow glow of corruption is prominent, drowning out any trace of blue, whilst thick tendrils sprout from within it. At an alarming speed, they grow larger and longer, so much so that in no time, they start to wrap themselves around the Guardian's neck and dig their pointed tips underneath its plating. 

One of the colossal arms gives an almighty shake, as though the beast is attempting to rid itself of the tendrils that are now snaking their way down to its elbow, coiling and spreading in every direction until a thick webbing of the stuff has engulfed its solitary hand. 

But tragically, whatever fight the construct might have put up was already over the moment the heart stone entered its head. 

Helpless, you can do nothing but stare and cover your ears against another, ear-splitting and haunting wail as the lights inside its eye sockets lose their pale hue and turn the colour of pus, flashing and flaring like a pair of suns on the brink of going supernova. 

You're so distracted by the somewhat mesmerising display of such an effective, parasitic takeover that you hardly notice the titanic leg moving towards you until it smashes through the stone and wood scaffolding built around it and hurtles straight for you, Death and Karn.

Dragging your eyes down to what can only be described as an entire tower speeding in your direction, you try to choke out a gasp and your brain chooses that moment to freeze up, failing to provide you with a direction in which to dive. 

Lucky then, that Death's brain is still functioning perfectly. 

Whilst you and Karn stare agog at your impending doom, the Horseman, driven by sheer instinct, throws his scythe out towards the youngling and a hand towards you. 

The weapon's edge curls around one of the straps on Karn's backpack, and at the same time, Death's fingers wrap around the neck of your top. 

Without a split second to spare, the Nephilim leaps backwards out of the Guardian's path and subsequently drags you and Karn right along with him. 

The maker lets out a grunt as he lands on his rucksack, whereas you find your spine hitting Death's chest when he falls to the ground beneath you, and not a moment too soon, as the construct's leg goes sailing over your heads before it pounds into the dirt again just a few, scant feet from where you all lay.

To you, the world had almost come crashing down on top of you. 

To the Guardian, it had done little more than taken its first step into the world for which it was created.

All around, pieces of debris continue to crumble and fall as it approaches the cliff walls that hem the Foundry in, walls that bear no obstacle for a creature that stands twice their height.  

Trembling against Death's chest even when he pushes himself into a sitting position, you stare after the Guardian, your teeth chattering to witness it step over the cliff wall like you'd step over a stick in your path.

The thunderous foot falls recede into the distance, and only then do you scramble to escape Death's hold and shoot up onto your unsteady legs, a sudden, awful realisation hitting you harder than a slap to the face. 

“I-It's – it's heading for Tri Stone!” you struggle out, your exclamation followed by Karn's accompanying cry of, “The others!”

The youngling doesn't hesitate. He breaks into a lumbering run, bee-lining for the courtyard's primary entrance without even glancing back to see if either you or Death are following. 

“Karn!” the Horseman barks.

“I have to go back!” the maker bellows in return, never slowing his gait, “I have to make sure they're alright!” 

Fatigue is blessedly exchanged for adrenaline and you're able to forget all about your aching body as you break into a run and start after your friend in stubborn spite of the instinct to sprint in the opposite direction. The Guardian is an impossible obstacle that you have no way of hurdling.

And still, you run. 

With a snarl of frustration, Death spits an old Nephilim curse and follows suit. For a human, you manage to kick up a bit of speed as you chase after Karn through the Foundry, a Horseman hot on your own heels.

Hitting the enormous, circular chamber, you almost think you’ve somehow gone the wrong way, but the chains hanging down from the walls and the lava spitting and bubbling below you are so, unmistakably familiar, you have to do a double take, roving your gaze across the room as you hurtle along the curved catwalk. When you notice the rather worrying change, you nearly stop dead in your tracks. 

“The hammer's gone,” you breathe, following Karn at a sprint through the doors, your voice raising in pitch until it's an alarmed shout, “Are you shitting me? The hammer! It – It took the hammer!”

Karn’s feet pound like thunderclaps against the stone ground whilst Death’s are hardly heard at all. However, the cold that chases the back of your neck is reassurance that he is there, always behind you, even when you burst through the Foundry’s main entrance and spill out onto the bridge.

Smoke plumes rise ominously from beyond Tri Stone’s outer walls and all you can do is keep running until the wind stings at your eyes and the icy rain hits your skin like tiny sparks of fire.

The sky suddenly lights up and just moments later, from somewhere further down the valley, there’s a boom of thunder, indicating a swiftly approaching storm. 

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hi, I really like your berth sharing headcanons. They're so cute! But in the post about Thunderclash there was something about the medics starting to wonder if recharging next to a human had benefits. I was thinking it would be cool if you maybe considered making headcanons about the medics, maybe trying to test it. Feel free to take as much time as you need. I really like your headcanons, and I hope I don't come off as pushy or anything!

You don't have to apologize for absolute GOLD, anon! You're not pushy at all either!

For the sake of simplicity, I'll leave who the human is dating vague, so you can imagine whatever bot you'd like spurring this scientific wonder. Each medic discovers something a little different, but they're all based on ideas I have regarding how bots and humans are ultimately a great team when they're cooperating.

Ratchet

·This mech considers himself to be a solid and unwavering voice of reason, so while he's seen them performing their duties more effectively than ever, he's still positively baffled when the bot you've been cuddling turns up for their next exam and appears to have improved on every physical level. Their reaction time, fuel efficiency, speed, stamina... it's all better than ever before!

·It's a great development, obviously, but he's bothered he can't make sense of it. Sure, he's well aware that a good relationship can be a benefit to mental health, which obviously has an impact on physical well-being, but this is well beyond what simple positive thoughts should be able to accomplish.

·For the sake of his sanity, and because he's genuinely interested in the potential medical benefits of your species, he proposes conducting a study to you and your significant other. He knows it sounds silly, but his reasoning is solid enough to convince everyone involved to try.

·Always putting the well being of his patient's above all else, he keeps the tests simple and (mostly) unobtrusive, and a great deal of the data is gathered by simple scans overnight or through questionnaire. He's especially interested in whether or not this phenomenon is found in all humans or just you.

·It's hard to be put off when you see how serious he is about the whole thing, particularly as he starts to put together all the ways humans and Cybertronians are alike, and the results absolutely fascinate him and get him genuinely excited.

·Drift has suggested on a few late night research sessions that he may just be underestimating the power of positive thoughts, but he doesn't push that answer, not so much to avoid a wrench but because he too is quite curious about the potential interspecies benefits. Like Ratchet he reasons that, if the two races can find such benefits with each other, it would go a long way to encouraging harmony through the universe.

·After many nights of brainwave mapping and days of simple physical exams, Ratchet announces that he has developed a theory! He's beaming, partly because he's been proven sort of right, but mostly because there does appear to be some solid evidence of a medical benefit!

·From his studies, he reasons that humans are capable of triggering a number of hardwired responses in Cybertronian biology, and those he's managed to confirm are all related to social interaction, protective instincts, and even stress reduction.

·In essence, he concludes that humans just naturally appear "cute" to bot's once they've formed a bond with them, and the instinctive drive to protect smaller lifeforms as well as socialize is satisfied to fulfillment and beyond by regular physical contact, which leads to a boost in all systems and a general sense of elation.

·You're incredibly surprised to hear bots would have an internal drive to label you as "cute", but that pales in comparison to your shock when Ratchet suggests more humans be brought on board for study. He then gives you complete medical clearance to share a berth with your partner every night, along with the promise to provide whatever resources or assistance will make it easier for the two of you, especially if you'll offer to help any of the other crewmembers on their quest for human partners.

First Aid

·Always one to look for new solutions, he immediately notices when the bot you're with has a huge boost to their wellbeing, well beyond what he'd expect even from your particularly positive relationship. Without hesitation, he calls you both in to discuss potential implications.

·His enthusiasm is convincing in its own way, particularly as he begins to theorize that Cybertronians being so ostracized from other species means that a great deal of potential benefits from interaction could be waiting to be discovered! Thus, the rarity of your relationship makes this quite a unique opportunity.

·His ideal study would involve a number of humans, but if you're comfortable with it he'd love to see if you have the same effect on other bots as well, as that could provide some absolutely fascinating data!

·Scans of your entire physiology are requested, along with samples of whatever you feel like providing, though he quickly realizes he'll need to study humans in general to make sense of his results. The process of learning everything related to the biology of a new species keeps him enraptured for days at a time.

·He's especially interested in whether or not you've experienced similiar benefits to your bot partner. This means he has quite a few questions regarding your wellbeing and would like detailed answers. After all, if the process benefits one species but hurts the other, that's important to know too!

·At times you're absolutely baffled by what results he seems intent on analyzing. The exact number of hours you slept, down to the second? What kind of pajamas you wear? The total number of breaths you take each night?

·His insistence on the importance of details at least convinces you to let him continue. Though he keeps it to himself, he clearly has something to be excited about, but will deny absolutely anything when pressed.

·Finally he calls you and your bot partner in to share his findings, at least before he plans to propose an official theory. His board of data is covered in notes and miscellaneous papers, most of which you can't even begin to understand, but his tone is calm and his delivery smooth when be finally speaks.

·He's elated to explain the countless benefits he believes both species derive from sleeping in close proximity, some of which he's only just begun to scratch the surface of, and many which he believes can be confirmed by studying more individuals. Humans receive exceptional stress reduction and an increase in bonding hormone production, and bots see something similar but also appear to experience a boost to their self repair! By the time a half hour has passed he's listed so many these are all you can remember.

·You're impressed and fascinated, especially because you and your partner were mostly just... cuddling? It's hard not to be amused when he starts proposing a serious interspecies initiative, and lays out his plans to do so, complete with contacting the leadership of each species to request volunteers.

Velocity

·Ever the more observant and subtle of the medics, she initially keeps her awareness of the boost your partner has been experiencing to herself, quietly taking note of the phenomenon and accumulating a small file of her observations and thoughts. Once she determines there is indeed something going on, she decides to get some concrete answers.

·She approaches each of you individually for an actual examination, which is relatively routine so you think nothing of it. Checking for any potential explanations in your anatomy, she doesn't find anything out of the ordinary, which is good news because it means nothing is amiss and she can begin to do some real science!

·Sitting you down in the privacy of the medical bay, but only after assuring you nothing is wrong, she lays out some simple notes and explains what she's been observing. Describing the unique benefits your partner has been experiencing, she lays out her desire to learn more, because bots need all the help they can get staying healthy.

·Not one to be obtrusive, a lot of her research is focused on the mental health aspects and their benefits to the physical, which she accomplishes mostly by asking questions to measure your feelings.

·With your permission she gets a bit of assistance from Rung on these matters, as his understanding of the Cybertronian processor and how it relates to mood, as well as his experience with emotional wellbeing, make him an excellent guide on the information she gathers.

·She's less focused on testing a specific theory than she is on simply putting together information and analyzing it, mostly because her "sample size" is much too small to rule anything out to her satisfaction, but she is absolutely determined to prove something is happening.

·Being more cautious means she's going to take her time to properly analyze everything she gathers, which takes a little while both due to her tendency to prefer hands on study and her fascination with what she starts to put together. It's actually hard for her to keep everything confidential once she gets an idea of the positive implications of what she's seeing.

·Almost out of the blue she sits you down and starts to delightedly relay her observations, going so fast at times it's hard to keep up. Thankfully she catches herself and backs up to clearly state her thoughts as well as answer any questions you may have.

·For Cybertronian benefits, she actually believes this sleeping in close proximity to a human is having a kind of healing enhancement to your partner, specifically to their brain. All bots have endured trauma, but for your partner the effects of their unique mental struggles have been lessened, as if they're recovering at a supernatural rate.

·While she admits to being less experienced with humans, she confidently states that your own body appears to be experiencing a similiar phenomenon, and while its obviously not "cured" your brain is showing an incredible capacity for handling new stressors and processing old ones effectively. To say she encourages the two of you to continue is an understatement.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird “Humor.”

Good morning everyone! Decided to write something nice and short today because I know a lot of you are here for that. I haven’t done it in a while, so I hope you appreciate my return :) 

Scene: Dr Krill (an alien with arguably the most experience dealing with humans) is being interviewed on-record during the intergalactic convention of psycho-bio-medical science.                                      

Q: WHat was the hardest thing for you to get used to the first time you stepped aboard a human ship?

A: To ask that question I would have to tell you about practically everything that happened to me while I was there. Living with humans is hard, and strange if you aren’t human. Everything about them is strange, and more complicated than it needs to be. For the longest time I had trouble keeping up with their communication.

Q: I was told that human communication is relatively simple.

A: Whoever told you that has never met a human, when humans speak they use oth verbal and body language to demonstrate their point, and worse than tha, they intentionally use irony, hyperbole, sarcasm and humor to communicate what they are saying.

Q: What is ... humor.

A: “\Now, as the humans would say sit back and rela because you just opened a massive can of worms.

Q What

A Exactly, human communication doesn’t make sense unless you spend time with them. You practically have to BECOME human to understand anything that’s going on. As for the case of humor, it is very complicated, and I still don’t quite understand it. I have experienced the phenomenon of humor in a way I don’t think is possible for many of my species. I’ve tried to explain it before, but it’s Ike explaining the color blue to a creature who seems primarily in infrared, they just won;t get it.

Q can you try?

A Of course I will. Humor is the appreciation of a specific situation or turn of phrase, but even that is completely inadequate to explain what humor is. It’s a….. primarily social, but not always, experience that is designed to help a group of humans empathizes, connect, or diffuse a situation. It is very important to be able to see the humor when with a group of humans because it will strengthen a social bond between you and them.

Q Can we have some examples.

A Well…. this could potentially be a long list so forgive me if I ramble on.

Humans have these things called jokes, sometimes they are stories and sometimes they are clever word play. The story joke generally begins with something that seems normal or at least plausible but the ... punch line (as the humans call it) is designed to be absurd, exaggerated or unexpected. For example you have three humans stranded on an island, one has dark hair, one has red hair, one has yellow hair. They dark hair human gets tired of this, and tries to swim back to the mainland, halfway across she drowns. Eventually the red hair human gets tired of being on the island and tries to swim as well, but she drowns halfway there. Finally the light hair human decides to try. She gets halfway to her destination, gets tired and swims back.

Q And what makes that funny. Two humans died.

A It’s funny because the last human got halfway there and swam back implying she could have made it all the way to the mainland but was too dumb to do so. Exaggerated lack of intelligence, and an absurd situation.

In the case of word play you can say something like: what do you get when you cross a centipede with a parrot. ONe of those is a creature with many legs, and the other one is a bird capable of mimicking speech. THe answer is a walk-in-talkie, a type of short-wave handheld radio.

Q I don’t get it.

A I wouldn’t expect you to. It requires a very in-depth knowledge of human history and culture. Some other things that can be considered funny to a human include.

Non-human things trying to do human things, and this includes animals exhibiting human behavior. HUmans find it very funny when less intelligent creatures exhibit human behavior. THese can include strange un-animal noises and even an animal trying to do something that normally only humans do

This rule also applies to their own offspring. A small human attempting to do something above their capabilities, like speak or, even, attempt a skill is greatly amusing to humans.

Sometimes the jokes that humans use don’t even involve irony, but are designed the annoy the person they are targeted at. In this case the targeted human might expect the answer to be clever, but instead get something that is either obvious or really stupid. In this case what is funny is not the joke itself, but the reaction to the joke. Sometimes these are called anti jokes and are specifically designed to be funny by way of not being very funny.

Q Can you demonstrate that to us?

A Yes of course.

What is big, red and bad for your teeth.

Q I don’t know, what?

A A brick

Q Well….. yes I suppose.

A You see it's funny because not only is it obvious, but it also implies that someone threw a brick at someone else’s face.

Q Humans consider other people’s pain entertaining?

A OH yes, very much. This gives rise to two types of humor. Watching others get hurt and the dark humor.

Dark human involves saying something gruesome or wildly inappropriate. I am under the impression it is a way to test how socially close a group of people is. Because if you are with an unfamiliar group of people you don’t know how they will react to a potentially offensive or dark joke, and so may not use one. If a human deployed one, they may be gaging the reaction of those around them. I would say that, on average, humans have a lot of very dark thoughts, and the knowledge that other humans also have dark thoughts brings them more socially close. IF you can make a dark joke around a human that implies than you can say other inflammatory things without getting into trouble. As I was saying humans have a lot of dark and sometimes aggressive thoughts, and the ability to vent and share them is very important for mental health, but they need to make sure they find a proper group to confide in.

An example would be: what is the difference between a truckload of bowling balls and a truck load of dead babies….. you cannot unload the bowling balls with a pitchfork

Q: That…… is…. disturbing.

A: It’s a little bit funny

On the other hand, watching other people get hurt is a complicated type of humor.

It may be funny because the other person was doing something stupid, or against the rules, and it is entertaining to see them get what was coming to them. Humans like justice.

Sometimes it is designed as a way for humans to empathize with another being. Seeing someone get hurt wincing and then laughing about it is a way of saying I feel your pain, but I’m glad it’s not me.

Of course there is the humor that involves laughing at someone you genuinely hate who got hurt. IN this case you have always desired to hit that person, but it is not socially acceptable, but watching them get hurt by something else causes a sort of….. release of tension and anger.

Sometimes humans watch just to make themselves feel better that they aren’t in that situation or their life isn’t that bad.

In large groups, this is a way for humans to practice empathy and also socially bond with those round them

Q You said earlier that it was an important tool in defusing situations…. how does that work.

A Well that its a very good question and it comes with, what I think is the most interesting aspect of human humor.

IF you’re with your friends, and one of them runs face first into a pole, you may think it is funny, but it’s only funny if the person isn’t hurt, or a couple days after the incident when the person is fine. In both cases it is a way to demonstrate relief or test to see if the other person is ok. It can even be used to let others know that you're ok.

Human history is filled with some of the greatest and most horrible tragedies imaginable, and for every one of them you will be able to find jokes. Studies have shown that the use of humor is a proper and helpful outlet to the emotions that come with tragedy. You may hear a human say that there were only two options in a situation “It was either laugh or cry.” Both include the release of emotion which can be cathartic.

Assume there is a tense meeting between group of humans Violence is about to break out, but someone makes a joke. The atmosphere is diffused and social bonding occurs allowing the humans to be less hostile towards each other, and probably get something done.

In cases of humans who have experienced past trauma, I find that the healthiest, mentally healthiest, humans have a habit of making fun of the trauma. In many cases it helps them to cope with what happened and serves as a sign to let others know that they are doing ok.

Q And there are other types of humor as well?

A If I were to talk about all of them, we would be here all day. I think the important takeaway from this is that humans use humor  primarily for reasons of social bonding. If a human thinks you are funny they are more likely to like you and more likely to be your friend. Even in human relationships, the funnier you are the more likely you are to find a mate, so to anyone planning to spend time with humans, I would recommend putting a great amount of focus and study into their humorous.

[asktheboywholived]

If I Could See Your Face Backstory:

(( OOC: Body-swapping concept inspired by the film “Every day.” )) 

The Soul Exchange: 

James Potter met Lily Evans in Flourish and Blotts three years before IICSYF takes place. He’d gone to pick up a copy of “Quidditch Through The Ages” and saw her standing behind the counter. He was instantly smitten. 

James, having not an ounce of shame in his entire body, and used to having girls fawn over him (considering his standing as a well-known quidditch player), attempted to chat her up.

Turns out, Lily didn’t know jack-shit about quidditch, nor did she find his joke about what “position” he plays very amusing. 

Needless to say, it didn’t go well.

The next day James begged his best mate, Sirius Black, to lend him his motorcycle. He desperately wanted to impress Lily and get into her good-books (pun intended).

On his way to the shop he got into a terrible accident, a result of careless motorbike flying and a rogue owl. The owl survived, but James fell into a coma. 

However, having a will of iron and a reckless nature, James’ soul refused to be trapped in a stagnant body and was thrown out, attaching to the first person on the scene, an Auror named Alastor Moody. 

The phenomenon is called a soul-exchange, or “walk-in”, and is extremely rare. It requires an obscenely strong will and is often confused with possession. Possession can only take place if either the inhabiting soul is willing and invites the other soul in, or is too weak to fight the invading soul. 

Two combative souls could not coexist in one body, and Alastor was forced into the only body available... James’. 

However, once James’ soul willfully left his body, it became untethered, and without the connection to his physical mind he was left unable to remember his past, only collecting information from the present. 

Eventually the will of the original inhabitant overwhelmed James’ own as Alastor took control of his body once again, causing a chain reaction that forced James to move on to the next available body with each passing day. 

With every exchange, the original soul of the host would be forced into James’ body at St. Mungos, where they’d spend a day in a dream-like state, unconscious. Because of this, James was unable to learn anything about where each soul would go when interrogating his previous hosts. 

After nearly half a year of selfish fuck-ups, where he managed to cause a lot of damage in the lives of his hosts and leave chaos in his wake, James began to make a conscious effort to cater to the host instead. It wasn’t fair of him to disrupt their lives just so he could live for a day. 

As the years passed, James, unable to find or be himself, began to lose himself. He learned how to dress the part, catering to each person’s style preference. He was a quick learner, and gained the ability to think on his feet, doing his best not to get anyone fired when he couldn’t call in sick.

Sometimes he mourned for other people’s losses, too. Even without its original soul, pain and grief could still linger in a body. Those were the hardest days. 

James tried to interfere with his host’s lives as little as possible. However, on one occasion he found himself inhabiting a particularly awful person, and turned himself into the authorities... but he doesn’t like to talk about that.

When James met Lily, a connection was reignited, since she was the last person his physical mind had thought about before his accident. As the connection grew stronger between himself and Lily, the connection to his body did as well. Eventually, the desire to ensure that he could keep his promise to Lily (attending her birthday party) drew him back to the one body that would ensure it happened – his own. 

James returned to his original body, but the soul was still untethered, having been separated for so long. It needed a solid connection, a desire strong enough to keep it anchored. 

That happened the moment James’ realized how much he loved the girl lying next to him in the hospital bed... someone who was willing to endure a future of hardship in order to keep him close. 

In that moment the soul and body reconnected and his conscious mind took over, the memories of his physical form returning – but not the memories imprinted on his soul. That required a deeper connection. 

That required Lily. 

IICSYF – AU WORLD BACKGROUND INFORMATION:

The wizarding war did not take place in this timeline. Prejudice is still at large and bubbling under the surface, but the scale has not tipped towards violence, and things are relatively normal... or as normal as anything can be in the wizarding world.

Schooling: 

Remus didn’t attend Hogwarts. With no wizarding war looming, Albus didn’t see a future need for him, and thus didn’t extend a hand. Remus was homeschooled by his parents instead, and spent a lot of his time engaging with the muggle world, where life was simpler. He eventually attended a muggle university.  

Sirius was forced to transfer to Durmstrang after disappointing the family by being sorted into Gryffindor. He ended up fleeing his family home at 14 because of the conditions and lack of support, living with his uncle Alphard instead, but continued to attend Durmstrang, grateful for the lack of contact with his family (his brother and cousins still attended Hogwarts). He played beater for Durmstrang’s quidditch team, something Alphard encouraged as a productive way for him to get out some of his pent up aggression... Sirius had a lot of aggression to vent. 

Sirius became a skilled player and, with the help of his uncle and his connections, was eventually picked up by the Montrose Magpies, one of the most successful teams in the league. 

James attended Hogwarts and was sorted into Gryffindor. His skills as a Chaser and captain for the Gryffindor team were unrivaled, and he was eventually scouted by several teams, settling with the Montrose Magpies, where he met Sirius Black. 

Lily attended Beauxbatons after her father was offered a job in France. It was there she became friends with Marlene, who had been sent there by her parents in a last-ditch effort to turn her into a “lady”. Though they may not have been successful in their attempts, she certainly developed an advanced interest in “ladies” instead.

After leaving school, Marlene, having family connections, secured a job at Flourish and Blotts. After a pulling a few strings, she was able to find an opening for Lily as well, who had been missing England. The two moved back to start the next chapter of their lives... as bookworms.  

Sirius and James: 

The infamous duo met after being drafted into the Montrose Magpies quidditch team. James immediately adored Sirius and his brash, aggressive attitude, even if he was a little rough around the edges. James’ easy-going nature and natural confidence was something Sirius admired and aspired to have. The two became fast friends in no time. 

A year after being drafted to the team, James’ parents passed away of Dragonpox. James, unable to stand living in the huge Potter estate by himself, moved into a flat in London near Diagon Alley, closer to Sirius (who was living in Alphard’s old flat, having lost his uncle recently as well). The two became as close as family. 

The flat that James moved into was in the same apartment complex that Remus and Marlene would eventually live in (hence why Remus walked out of his flat to find Sirius in the hallway).

After James’ fell into a coma, Sirius continued to stop by his flat to check up on things... which he did at least once a week, without fail, for three years. He was positive that James would wake up, and wanted to ensure everything was ready for him when he did.

When James awoke from the coma, Sirius, being listed as family, was the first person contacted.  

Remus and Marlene: 

Remus became friends with Marlene after meeting her at a local gay club. It was a muggle club, and it was Remus’ first time there. After watching the jumper-clad man sit at the bar for a solid twenty minutes without talking to anyone, Marlene took pity on the nervous newbie and became determined to show him a good time. 

After far too many drinks, the two of them had a long, sloppy conversation. Marlene could tell something was up, and Remus, with a bit of liquid courage and some pestering, eventually opened up to her. 

Having only attended muggle schools, having just lost his mother, and not wanting to burden his father with his problems, Remus had recently moved out of his family home... and he was in a tight spot. 

He had resorted to living in a one-room flat that could barely be called a room, and his job searching was producing abysmal results. He wanted to become a part of the wizarding world, but it seemed like his efforts were being constantly thwarted by prejudice. 

Things were not going well.  

Something he didn’t tell Marlene was the fact that he’d had a few close-calls in the muggle world due to a lack of understanding towards his condition... situations that he wasn’t aware of, like super moons and eclipses, that produced unexpected results. He was desperate to work his way back into the wizarding world in order to learn more about himself... but it was proving to be much harder than he’d anticipated to fit in.

After an emotionally vulnerable conversation, a couple of trips to the loo to empty the contents of his stomach, and a wobbly exit from the club... Well, Remus didn’t really remember the rest, but the next day he found himself in Marlene’s spare room with a “Welcome Home Bitch” cake on the bedside table, all of his belongings, and no recollection of how they had gotten there.

And that was how Remus Lupin became Marlene McKinnon’s roommate. 

Remus and Sirius: 

Sirius had passed by the muggle club on the corner several times with James on the way to their usual post-game-celebration pub. Every time they passed, his eyes would linger, and James, catching on, always offered to accompany Sirius inside (the proposition including an excessive amount of eyebrow wiggling, which always earned James’ a solid punch in the arm). 

Sirius had never gone in, but that night, standing outside and listening to the music thrumming indoors, he decided Fuck it. Tonight will be the night. 

~*~

It had been 6 months now that Remus had been living with Marlene, and he still couldn’t hold down a proper job. Today shouldn’t have come as a surprise, everyone found out eventually, but Remus had really liked his job and had hoped that this time it would last. 

His mistake. 

He knew Marlene wouldn’t care, she was unwaveringly supportive and laid-back about the whole thing, but he still dreaded telling her. She’d offer to get him a position at Flourish again, but Remus knew they didn’t need any more employees, and couldn’t stand living off of her charity. 

On his dejected walk home he’d halted outside of the familiar club. He’d only ever gone in once, but that one time had brought him to Marlene. Maybe this time... 

He didn’t want to go home, he didn’t want to be recognized by someone he knew, and he didn’t want to be sober – so might as well. 

~*~

Remus sat down at the bar, feeling nervous and sweaty in his jumper. It was hot, and the music was unnecessarily loud. He quickly ordered a drink, intent on drowning himself. 

Remus glanced to the side and froze, his eyes widening. 

Sirius Black was sitting next to him. As in... famous Quidditch player, ridiculously handsome Sirius Black. 

Remus glanced around, surprised that the man wasn’t being accosted by adoring fans – but they were in a muggle club, and Sirius was just another body among the masses. 

Remus tried to calm his breathing and focus on his drink, his eyes flitting constantly back to the dark haired man beside him in spite of his efforts to remain aloof. God, he wished Marlene knew more about Quidditch teams! She only had eyes for the Harpies (of course), and she wouldn’t be able to give him the appropriate response warranted for this remarkable chance encounter when he told her about it later.   

Sirius’ eyes were on the dance floor, his finger tapping against his leg with the beat. He was smiling comfortably, looking at ease.  

Remus nearly choked on his drink when Sirius turned suddenly, looking in his direction. He tried to play it off like he’d been sparing Sirius a passing glance as opposed to staring at him for the last five minutes – but if the smirk that spread across the other man’s face was any indication, Sirius hadn’t been fooled. 

Remus nearly jumped out of his skin when the quidditch star plopped down in the seat next to him, striking up a conversation as easily as lighting a match – which was dangerous considering the fact that Remus was about ready to explode. 

“Were you going for a bold, stylistic choice with the jumper, or are you just a glutton for punishment?” 

Remus glanced down at the jumper, which was starting to stick uncomfortably to his skin, and licked his lips nervously. “If I say it’s stylistic, will you kindly turn the other cheek when I collapse from dehydration? It’s kind of the look I’m going for, so...”

“How avant-garde of you.”

The conversation flowed naturally after the initial ice-break. Remus was surprised with how well they got on, although the conversation was fairly surface-level, neither of them wanting to reveal too much about themselves. 

It was fun, simple flirting, and Remus hadn’t had that in a long time.  

Sirius glanced down at one point, then grinned. “Is that a wand or are you just happy to see me?” 

Remus froze, glancing down, then slowly reached into his pocket, drawing the long wand out. 

Sirius’ eyes widened in shock, “Oh my god, it’s a wand!” 

Remus had been avoiding discussing the wizarding world, hoping to keep himself from acting like a fan-boy. Sirius was now staring accusatorially at him, as if he’d been lied to. He'd probably thought he was talking to a muggle.

Remus took a deep breath, desperately searching for something to say to cut through the tension, “So... I showed you mine...?” 

Sirius stared for a moment more, sizing him up, then snorted inelegantly. “Is that your pick up line?”

Remus laughed, relieved. “Did it work?”

Sirius stared for a moment, then nodded ever-so-slightly. “I’d say no... but the jumper kind of did it for me already, so really anything works at this point.” 

Remus choked on his drink. 

Sirius bit his lip, glancing hesitantly at Remus as he set down his beer. “... You doing anything after this?” Remus shook his head before his brain could catch up to his body, then cursed inwardly as a sly smile spread across Sirius’ face. “Well then, mind if I take you home?” 

“You want to walk me home?”

“No... I want to take you home. My place... but only if the jumper comes too.” 

“Well, I wasn’t planning on removing it tonight.”

“You can keep wearing it if you’d like.” Sirius shrugged, his grin broadening. 

Remus could feel the blush rising, his ears heating up. “I... I’m not really looking for anything right now,” he stammered, feeling the word-vomit rising to the surface as the anxiety took over, “I mean, I know I look incredibly put-together in my knitted jumper, but I have to be honest with you, my life is a bit of a mess–”

“You say right now,” Sirius cut in, drumming the counter lightly, his grey eyes piercing. “But am I safe in assuming you mean you’re not looking for anything later... Because I’m alright with right now if you’re not interested in later.” 

Fuck. 

~*~

Remus had never had a one-night-stand before. 

He was hesitant, but Sirius was fun and unfairly attractive, and he’d enjoyed the short time they’d spent together. He needed something uncomplicated, and Sirius was offering exactly that... so, why the hell not?

Turned out, a one-night-stand with Sirius Black was great. Really great.  

They had come to an understanding, and Remus left the next morning without waking the other man. It was only after that he realized... he’d never given Sirius a name.  

Part of him felt a twinge of regret, but that’s what he had wanted – a nice, uncomplicated memory to hold onto. 

Now he had one. 

~*~

Sirius had no idea that Remus was living in the same complex as James. Remus lived on a different floor, and he was always out job-hunting when Sirius stopped by around lunch for his weekly visits... but one particular morning, Sirius woke up at the crack of dawn, feeling peculiarly groggy. He shook his head, glancing at the ornate clock on the wall that had the time, date, weather forecast, and for some reason, the creative cuss-word of the day. That was uncle Alphard for you. 

Friday. Sirius had to double take. Friday? God, had he missed an entire day? He’d been sure it was Thursday. 

Strange. 

Friday was James’ day. Sirius dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the flat, knowing he wouldn’t make it in the afternoon and worried about James’ plants, which were looking a little grim and god-forbid he let a fucking cactus die, of all things. 

Sirius was preoccupied with his thoughts and accidentally got off on the wrong floor. He instinctively started making his way towards what he thought was James’ flat, all the floors looking exactly the same, when he heard someone calling out to him... 

That voice sounded familiar. 

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN TREVOR

But it worked so well, and we knew that buyers would have a big pool of potential users, at least. Web browser.1 Angels were generally much better to talk to someone, I could usually get to the end of each film, so they know who might be interested in this mystery—for the same destination, just approaching it from different directions. I recommend you solve this problem, if you find someone else working on the biggest things inexperienced founders and investors are probably more where it's considered especially polite to compliment someone's clothing than where it's considered improper. VCs want to blow you up, it wears you out: Your most basic advice to founders is just don't die, but the word madam never occurs in my legitimate email, and spam in particular. Basically at 25 he started running as fast as possible. And what are the universities thinking?

The next best, for startups that aren't charging initially, is active users. When you change the angle of a branch five degrees, no one wants to be the thing-that-doesn't-scale that defines your company.2 That principle, like the relative merits of programming languages is to give you enough money to last for a year or a hundred times as productive as those working for money, they'll work a lot harder on stuff they like. 5-7% of a company like Apple and think, how hard can it be? Economically, you can do in your spare time, and investors are down on advertising at the moment. They do more in their heads: they try to do things that seem to be: a lot of them. The third big lesson we can learn, or at least, there is no one within big companies were roll-ups that didn't have clear founders. When I look back it's like there's a line drawn between third and fourth grade. That's what makes sex and drugs, it would be good to solve?

Prep schools openly say this is one reason I'd bet on the curve, at any given time get away with it, and the different parts of the company through the COO. Object-oriented programming in the 1980s was enabled by a combination of circumstances: court decisions striking down state anti-takeover laws, starting with the assumption that we would never get started. Not because it's causing economic inequality, you decrease the number of startups that get bought early. It's not a deal till the money's in the bank and keep operating as two guys living on ramen. I'm optimistic. They think that there will be ten JetBlues.3 If you try to attack wealth, you end up doing something chosen for you by syndicates.

And you don't want to see the Valley itself, but it goes fast. What Happened to Yahoo August 2010 When I went to.4 What this means in practice. That makes him seem like a winner, they may avoid publishing's problems. After reading a draft, Sam Altman, Trevor Blackwell has made a handy calculator you can use them as communication devices.5 You not only have to filter email from people you'd never heard from, or about, a startup has decreased dramatically. Startups are that constrained for talent. But it's harder than it sounds.6 Smallness Measurement If you can't measure the value of products is in software. You don't have to rely on. Hackers just want power.

I knew she was about to say you'd have to be fired, and one of your most powerful weapons, I think this is true for funding. The best was that the company was itself a kind of argument that might be called the Hail Mary strategy. They don't have time to work, just like a software company. But it hardly ever is. My friend Robert learned a lot by writing network software when he was a startup, then hand them off to go away.7 Sun. Oxford had a chair of Chinese before it had one of English.

Which means the slowdown that comes from being in America. And in fact the two forces are related: they're the ones who like running their company so much that resembling nature is intrinsically good as that nature has had a couple thousand Altair owners, but without the substance. Ditto for hacking. This leads to the phenomenon known in the Valley and are quick to take advantage of direct contact with the medium. We were all starting from scratch, that's a really bad sign.8 More important, I think it's cleaner if you openly charge subscription fees, instead of just looking at them all is through a computer. Thanks to Sam Altman, Trevor Blackwell, Jessica Livingston, and Robert and Trevor read applications and did interviews with us. The stock of a company as big as Java, or bigger, just on the partner you talk to startups, a lot of investors are interested in, that's not necessarily a mistake to use the term Collison installation for the technique they invented. FreeBSD, which I'm running on the computer I'm using now, and they're not coming back. Court hierarchies are another thing entirely. In practice offers exist for stretches of time, if your business model in the world look like this? Startups don't win by winning lawsuits.

5 spams per 1000 with 0 false positives. When I was in college that there were about 20,000. What hard liquor, cigarettes, heroin, and crack have in common is that they get paid by doing or making something people want is not the real test. Ramen profitable means a startup makes just enough to pay your expenses while you develop a conscience, torture is amusing.9 Wouldn't that at least someone really loves. Sex, or something just as bad. I can see a path that's not immediately obvious; that's one of the most important quality in an investor is to say that the unsuccessful founders would also fail to chase down funding, and investors tend to take these for granted now, but only because people have found even more addictive ways of wasting time. It does not seem to be several categories of cuts: things I got wrong, because if you don't, you're hosed. So we should expect founders to do it yourself. If you actually started acting like adults, it seemed to them what e-commerce business back in the day, but who want it urgently. 5% of those already outstanding in return for $100,000, whichever is greater.

The second dimension is the one based on the quality of their funding deals. So I want to zoom in on one detail of this picture. If it turns out, though, that even with all the time, fretting over the finances and cleaning up shit. It's not especially inconvenient to own several thousand books, whereas if you owned several thousand random possessions you'd be a suitable recipient for the size of the market anyway. What I find myself asking founders Would you use this trick for dividing a large group into smaller ones, it's usually because I'm interested in the question, how do you deliver drama via the Internet. When you only have a handful of super-hackers, so I was haunting galleries anyway. But I know the real reason: the product is only moderately appealing. Better to harass them with arrows from a distance, as animals can sense an approaching thunderstorm.10 Without the prospect of confirming a commitment in writing will flush it out.

Notes

Since we're not doing YC mainly for financial reasons, including both you and listen only to emphasize that whatever the false positives reflecting the remaining outcomes don't have to do, just their sizes. The problem with most of their origins in words about luck. It was common in the imprecise half. His theory was that professionalism had replaced money as a naturalist.

If you wanted to than because they need them to represent anything.

From? The way to fight. The Harmless People and The Old Way. I know, Lisp code.

Do not finance your startup.

Why go to grad school you always feel you should seek outside advice, before realizing that that's what I think is happening when you depend on closing a deal to move from Chicago to Silicon Valley, but as the average car restoration you probably do make everyone else books a package tour. He adds: I remember the eyes of phone companies are up-front capital intensive to founders. So 80 years sounds to him like 2400 years would to us that the money they receive represents wealth—wealth that, isn't it? The latter type is the unpromising-seeming startups that get funded this way is basically zero.

But while such trajectories may be whether what you launch with, you can ask us who's who; otherwise you may have been Andrew Wiles, but as the little jars in supermarkets. Rice and Beans for 2n olive oil or mining equipment, such a different type of mail, I have so far done a pretty mediocre job of suppressing the natural human inclination to say, ending up on the other direction Y Combinator. This is an instance of a business is to carry a beeper? This trend is one of those most vocal on the LL1 mailing list.

The First Two Hundred Years. Who continued to live inexpensively as their companies took off? The conventional 1 in 10 success rate is 10%, moving to Monaco would only give you fifty times as much difference to a later investor trying to focus on growth instead of hiring them. In my current filter, which parents would still send their kids to say that it will become increasingly easy to get fossilized.

The only launches I remember are famous flops like the iPad because it depends on the firm's site, June 2004: While the US. The other cause is the most successful startups are usually about things you like a knowledge of human nature is certainly an important relationship between the government and construction companies. People tell the craziest lies about me. Patent trolls can't even trust the design world's internal standards.

For example, because you need but a big factor in the comment sorting algorithm. Horace, Sat.

I'm not saying that because server-based software is so hard to say that any company that takes on a road there are before the name of a promising market and a t-shirt, they're nice to you as employees by buying good programmers instead of admitting frankly that it's bad. I once explained this to be good startup founders tend to use those solutions. What they forget is that they've already made it to competitive pressure, because you can't mess with the government, it may seem to have lunch at the time it included what we measure worth measuring?

[pulaasul]

Femoral Meeting - C12

One day after school, Ryuji stumbled as his broken leg was acting up, and because of that, he met one of Gekkoukan High’s former athletes. Kazushi Miyamoto.

FFN I AO3

Prologue I C1 I C2 I C3 I C4 I C5 I C6 I C7 I C8 I C9 I C10 I C11

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

Happy Birthday Ryuji! 

This fic is officially a year old now! Yes this was a fic intended to show Ryuji being a capable leader on his birthday. XD essentially BAMF RyuRyu. What better way to celebrate RyuRyu's birthday than to update this fic XD

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

Saturday came, Ren and Ryuji donned the replica versions of their masks as they went out of the car Sae had drove them in.

Sae herself got out of the car as soon as she parked the car nearby and accompanied the two teenaged boys inside the Kirijo group offices.

“It’s nice to meet you Sakamoto-sama- “Kikuno greeted only Ryuji and prompted the others to introduce themselves.

“I’m Sae Nijima.” Sae introduced herself.

“Joker, just joker.” Ren introduced himself.

“It’s nice to meet you Nijima-sama, Joker-sama.” Kikuno greeted the other two.

“Yeah great to see you Kikuno-san.” Ryuji greeted back, now used to the maid’s way of greeting. “Is Kirijo-san available?” He asked in courtesy.

“Kirijo-sama’s expecting you three.” Kikuno nodded. “Along with the core members and a few their reserved members of the Shadow Operatives.” She added. “Please follow me.” She finished

The three followed the maid from the entrance to the elevator.

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

As the elevator’s door opened, the four of them were greeted to a sight of a smiling shiba inu waggling his tail at them.

“Have they arrived Koro-chan?” Yukari’s voice asked.

The dog, Koro-chan, simply barked in response.

“Koromaru-san says that they’re at the elevator.” Aigis’s voice translated the dog’s barks.

“For real?!” Ryuji expressed his bewilderment. “One of them can understand the dog.”

“Your group regularly talks to a cat, how is that surprising?” Sae rolled her eyes.

“She’s got you there Skull.” Ren chuckled.

The foursome filed out of the elevator lead by Kikuno, followed by the lawyer and then the boys who were still wearing the masks.

“Lady Mitsuru, your guests have arrived.” Kikuno announced.

“Thank you Kikuno, you may continue to your duties.” Mitsuru dismissed her maid as she approached her guests.

Kikuno bowed then gestured at the vacant couch and left the group to their discussion.

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

“For real?! A dog’s a Persona –user?!”

Ryuji was taken in with Koromaru’s charm that he gently approached it and began petting the dog. “Who’s a good dog?” He cooed. “Who’s a good Persona-user?” He continued on. “You are, you are.”

Koromaru just wagged his tail and let himself be pet by the new arrivals.

Sae and Ren just looked at each other in amusement.

“Is that really so surprising Skull?” Ren chuckled. “I mean we have a cat as a Persona –user.”

“Well there’s a bear too.” Junpei chimed in.

“For real?!”

“A dog, a bear and now a cat,” Akihiko commented. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“To be fair, the bear was a shaped like a mascot rather than an actual bear Akihiko-senpai.” Yukari chimed in.

“I thank you for inviting us to talk regarding this special circumstances Kirijo-sama.” Sae bowed in gratitude, a gesture in which Ryuji and Ren followed as the rest of the Shadow Operatives stopped speaking and turned their attention to their guest.

“And we thank you for coming to shed some light regarding the stealing of hearts.” Mitsuru herself reciprocated the gesture, followed by everyone else.

“In any case.” Mitsuru smiled at her guests. “Please take a seat.” She gestured to the conference table behind her.

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

“I see.” Mitsuru nodded. “This does line up with the recent findings about cognition by Wakaba Isshiki.” She continued. “She called it Cognitive Psience.”

“You know of Wakaba Isshiki?” Sae questioned.

“Yes.” Mitsuru nodded. “She was one of our best researchers.” She sighed. “We’re still wondering why she committed suicide.”

“Isshiki-san’s death was huge blow to Mitsuru-senpai.” Yukari revealed. “She blames herself for her death, because of the nature of the research.”

Ren and Ryuji looked at each other.

“Shido’s associates has barred the Shadow Operatives or anyone working for the Kirijo group from approaching her daughter.” Akihiko continued the story as he stood behind the Kirijo. “Mitsuru here opted to send compensation for the young girl.” He added.

“A Youji Isshiki was the one who claimed to have adopted her daughter.” Aigis stated.

“The eff!” Ryuji shouted. “Why’d you give that douchebag some money?!”

“Skull calm down.” Ren chastised his masked friend. “We’re here to talk, not to shout.”

“What’s wrong?” Ken questioned.

“Joker, its best that you take this one.” Sae prompted.

“Futaba Isshiki has been passed around by uncaring relatives ever since her mother’s death.” Ren revealed. “Up until Youji Isshiki got his hands on her.” He added.

“That bastard did not give Futaba a bathe or even a bed.” Ryuji growled.

“Afterwards, someone did adopt Futaba, but at a cost.” Ren continued. “Her adoptive father was forced to pay her uncle a part of Futaba’s inheritance.” He finished.

“And how did you know of this?” Yukari questioned with narrowed eyes.

“She wanted us to steal her heart.” Ryuji answered.

“We used our resources to and checked on Isshiki-san’s brother-in-law.” Fuuka piped into the conversation. “His records were clean, so we trusted him and gave him the compensation money.

“In any case, could you give us any information where to send money to?” Mitsuru asked. “I think it’s time that Wakaba Isshiki’s orphaned daughter receive the compensation that was owed to her.”

“She goes by Futaba Sakura now.” Ren informed the group. “Just send it to my probation officer, he was the person who adopted her.”

“I see.” Mitsuru merely nodded.

“Whatever happened to her uncle anyway?” Akihiko questioned. “I’ve been away from Tokyo for some time and I’m largely ignorant to what has happened here while away.” He justified his question.

“He was arrested for embezzlement.” Aigis answered. “He went to the police and asked to be arrested for theft and embezzlement.” She explained the circumstances of the arrest. “I think your group has a hand in his change of heart?” She turned her attention to the male guests.

“Yes.” Ren answered confidently.

“Is it safe to assume that Futaba Sakura is also a Phantom Thief herself?” Mitsuru asked another question.

“We’re not going to confirm or deny that assumption Kirijo-san.” Ren immediately answered.

“I hope you understand their wariness from divulging information Kirijo-sama.” Sae apologized. “A lot of Shido’s associates are still at large and we would like not to repeat the circumstances of Joker’s arrest last November.” She finished.

“Of course.” Mitsuru nodded.

“You know Mitsuru-senpai.” Ken began.” You could’ve sent me to Tokyo when this was happening.” Ken voiced out. “I’m only a year older than Sakamoto-kun and I could’ve approached Isshiki-san’s daughter with Shido none the wiser.”

“And throw you into the lion’s den?” Akihiko asked rhetorically. “Fat chance!” He declared. “I’m not about to do that and break my promise.” He continued. “Or anyone else for that matter.”

“Akihiko senpai is right kid.” Junpei chimed in. “Mitsuru-senpai can’t send you on missions like that kid.” He added. “And if she did, Yuka-tan and I’ll object once we find out about that.” He finished.

“Don’t get us wrong Ken-kun.” Yukari immediately added herself to the conversation. “This goes beyond your age.” She continued as she knelt beside him. “We know you can handle yourself, we knew that since you were ten.” She added. “But, we can’t, in good conscience, do that to you.” She sighs. “You almost lost your childhood because of our journey years ago, and that’s something we want you to enjoy.” She finished.

“Yukari is right Amada.” Mitsuru stood up and approached her youngest member. “Sending you on a mission is something we’ve ensured as a last resort.” She continued. “Besides the fact that we can’t send you on missions as you weren’t a member of the team.” She smiled.

Mitsuru then retrieved a small pin from one of her pockets and showed it to Amada.

“Welcome back to the team Ken Amada.”

“Wait, if you weren’t going to send him on missions.” Ryuji voiced out. “Why’d you send him when shadows roamed our school?”

“And moment ruined.” Ren chuckled.

“It pains me to admit.” Mitsuru sighed. “All of us were indisposed when the event took place.” She confessed.

“I was out of town for one of my team’s games.” Junpei chimed in.

“I was in the middle of a shoot.” Yukari explained.

“Fuuka-san and I were busy with repairs and updates for my body and my sister’s.” Aigis explained. “Although Mitsuru-san and Fuuka-san were able to provide navigational support from where we are.” She added.

“Sister?!” Ryuji questioned. “For real?!”

“I was busy with a case.” Akihiko stated his reason as everyone else ignored Ryuji’s outburst.

“And I was swamped with paper works and potential work around with Shido’s incarceration.” Mitsuru stated. “Then our efforts were focused on finding the place where the phenomenon originated.” She added. “I had Yamagishi and Aigis help me with the finding the aptly-named Dark Box, and close it.” She explained. “As you were attacked by shadows that went berserk.”

“The timing was impeccable honestly.” Ken voiced out. “As it stood, I was not only near the place, but I was in Tokyo for the time being.” He added.

“We were forced to send Ken-san and aid you in battle.”

“And we can’t thank you enough for saving my team’s life.” Ren bowed in gratitude.

“I have one more question.” Yukari voiced out.” Why’d you decide to conceal your identity Amamiya-kun?” She asked. “We already know you were the leader of the Phantom Thieves due to your arrest late last year.”

“Who’s Amamiya?” Ren inquired

“Go ahead Yamagishi, show them.” Mitsuru sighed.

Fuuka merely nodded and pressed a button and showed the screen showed two images. One of Ren Amamiya and the other was of Joker taken from the broadcast of Shido’s calling card.

“While the mask obscures the full view of your face, it is undeniable that your hairstyle, hair color and even the bottom part of your face matches that with that of Ren Amamiya’s.” Aigis narrated. “It is safe to assume that Joker and Ren Amamiya-san are one and the same.”

“Besides.” Mitsuru started as she walked behind Aigis. “You were already labeled as Joker during your arrest late last year.” She finished.

“Great deduction.” Ren chuckled as he removed his mask let it sit on top of his head

“Thank you.” Mitsuru voiced her gratitude. “We wouldn’t have been able to without the help of the first detective prince and Aigis here.”

“You’re welcome, Mitsuru-san.”

“Joker?” Ryuji questioned. “Are you sure?”

“What’s the harm?” Ren shrugged. “My identity was already compromised last year.” He smiled.

Ryuji nodded as he too removed his mask and sit it on top of his yellow locks.

“Is it safe to assume that everyone in this photograph are members of your little group?” Akihiko handed Sae a photograph.

The photograph in question showed seven teenaged people with five of them in two different school uniforms and the other two civilian clothes. The teens were in front of Japan’s Diet Building looking very distinct despite the number of people in the background.

“What about this one.” Akihiko handed Sae another photo.

The second photo had the same group of teens in the first image but this time they were by a van and were wearing their casual attire.

“I’m going to repeat my answer earlier.” Ren started his reply. “I am not going to confirm or deny those assumption.” He finished.

“Why the secrecy kid?” Junpei voiced his question. “Won’t it be easier if you confided your status as Persona-users to us, the Shadow Operatives?”

“Would you be able to guarantee their safety from Shido’s associates that remain at large as we converse?” Sae questioned. “Would you be able to protect these children the danger and risks with having their identities divulged?”

“Your younger sister was attending Shujin when the Phantom Thieves operated. Wasn’t she Nijima-san?” Akihiko voiced out.

“Yes.” Sae answered immediately. “I’m confused as to how that relates to my earlier question.” She admitted.

“I just find it suspicious that you’re incredibly defensive towards the Phantom Thieves’ identities.” Akihiko voiced out as he crossed his arms. “Especially considering that she’s also in those photographs I presented.”

“They are my clients.” Sae replied dryly. “It is in my best interests to have their safety in mind.” She continued. “Especially considering that Shido and his associates would literally kill children to further their ends.” She finished.

“Be that as it may.” Akihiko resumed. “If your younger sibling is indeed part of the group.” He continued. “You yourself have a personal stake if her identity is revealed.”

“Officer Sanada, I ask that you be careful with your next words.” Sae threatened. “I could have you charged with slander.”

“Akihiko, enough!” Mitsuru barked. “We can’t have you jailed for voicing out evidence-less accusations.” She chided her employee. “To answer Nijima-san’s question.” She turned her attention to the still-calm lawyer. “Yes, I can guarantee their protection.” She declared. “The Kirijo group can.” She finished.

“Big words considering Shido had your hands tied when the time Phantom Thieves operated.” Sae fired. “Not to mention how you took the back seat when Wakaba Isshiki’s daughter was orphaned and passed around and abused by her uncaring and greedy relatives.”

“You misunderstand Nijima-san.” Mitsuru stated. “I said that the Kirijo group can guarantee their safety and not the Shadow Operatives.”

“What’s the difference?” Ryuji voiced out.

“As I understand, the Shadow Operatives is a subset of the Kirijo-group of companies considering you’re the one leading it.” Ren continued.

“While that is true.” Mitsuru nodded. “The Kirijo group is not affiliated with government in the same way the Shadow Operatives are.”

“You just said that the Kirijo group is prohibited from interacting with Wakaba Isshiki-san’s daughter.” Ren pointed out.

“That was different matter Amamiya.” Mitsuru informed. “Wakaba Isshiki’s circumstances do not relate to the work we do here in the Shadow Operatives.” She finished.

“Regardless, our stance still won’t change on the matter.” Sae stated with finality.

“Mitsuru-senpai, Akihiko-senpai, I suggest we let this go.” Yukari voiced out. “I can understand why they are apprehensive with such an offer.” She added.

“These kids were exploited and abused by adults.” Ken inserted himself into the conversation. “Adults in power mind you.” He emphasized. “They still need more proof in order for them to trust us.” He continued.

“And saving them from shadows wasn’t enough?” Junpei exclaimed. “We’re trying to make sure that they won’t lose someone from their group like we did!”

“Junpei!” Yukari shouted. “Not the time!”

“I’ll escort them downstairs.” Ken volunteered.

“You go do that Ken.” Akihiko nodded.

“One last question.” Mitsuru declared. “Do you wield multiple Personas Amamiya?”

“No.” Came Ren’s immediate answer.

“Yamagishi.”

Fuuka nodded as she pointed her evoker on her head.

“What are yo-!“ Came Sae’s immediate reaction.

“They’re not in danger Nijima-san.” Ryuji cut off the lawyer’s immediate reaction. “I’ve witnessed this beforehand.” He explained calmly.

“Is this how they summon their Personas Ryuji?” Ren asked as he looked at Fuuka with worry and amazement.

“Yeah, it’s kinda edgy.” Ryuji shrugged. “And kinda dark too.”

“Juno!” Fuuka called out.

A humanoid figure with a dome-like skirt appeared with Fuuka inside said dome. The figure in question was covered in red cloth all around with a pair of wings.

“Amamiya-san has Personas from twelve different arcana two of them are from the Fool and Justice Arcana.” Fuuka relayed the information she got. “The Fool Persona is the same Persona seen above Shinjuku on the 24th of December last year.” She finished.

The three guests looked at each other in bewilderment and fear.

“So they could really use their Personas in the real world.” Ren commented. “That’s rather frightening.”

“So that’s a Persona?” Sae asked her companions. “That’s a frightening ability.” She concluded. “And you say you can harness elemental attacks when you summon them?”

“I’ll explain in the car.” Ren replied then turned his attention to the Shadow Operatives. “Yes I can wield multiple Personas.”

“I see.” Mitsuru sighed. “Amada, please escort them to their vehicle.” She ordered.

Ren, Ryuji and Sae looked at each other and followed Ken towards the elevator.

As soon as Ken and the guests were on the elevator, Yukari glared at the Iori. “You were out of line Junpei!” She chided. “Could you stop being a man baby for once and think of others than yourself?!”

“So you’re saying I’m being a baby?” Junpei fired back. “I’m a baby for suggesting that they confide with us and make their lives a bit easier.” He rolled his eyes. “Sure I’m being a baby.”

“Yukari! Iori! Enough!” Mitsuru yelled.

This promptly stopped the two from arguing any further.

“Iori, I understand where you come from.” Mitsuru stated somberly. “We sacrificed a lot during our journey.” She added. “But we must also put ourselves in their shoes.” She sighed. “They’d be uneasy if they did reveal their identities to us.”

“How come?” Fuuka asked.

“Remember how they regarded Akechi, someone who has been on their team for a short while, with spite?” Akihiko answered. “He was their Ikutsuki, so to speak.” He explained.

“I don’t follow.” Junpei’s eyes narrowed.

“Akechi-san has betrayed Amamiya-san and Sakamoto-san and every one of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts during their time together.” Aigis helpfully supplied.

“Akechi was employed by Shido during his time in the Phantom Thieves.” Mitsuru continued.

“Shido-san is the big shot politician and a representative in the National Diet of Japan.” Akihiko added.

“I see.” Yukari’s eyes narrowed in realization. “Considering our affiliation with the government, they think the possibility of getting betrayed is high.”

“Perhaps Labrys could convince them.” Fuuka pondered.

“One question.” Aigis spoke up. “What did you hope to accomplish when you asked if Amamiya-san was a wild card Mitsuru-san?” She asked.

“Nothing Aigis.” Mitsuru answered as she sat back on her chair. “Something I just wanted to confirm.” She continued. “And who to look for when things would go dire if you and Narukami would be indisposed.”

[jessejackreyes]

R&R

After a long and tiring mission, Gabriel is struggling to keep it together. He Rushes over to his and Jack's shared quarters hoping to find the only man who can calm the Reaper down when it gets this bad. 

~4k words

Also on (ao3)

At that moment he hated the fact that the door to his quarters slid open and closed automatically. He hated everything right now, but that was besides the point. A regular door he could have slammed, would have slammed. It may have seemed petty or childish to other people, but it would have been something relatively non destructive that would have helped him calm down even if only a little. Instead the door closed calmly behind him and he simply stalked through it overly dramatically.

His thoughts shifted away from his hatred of the door, to the silence of the room. He had expected to find Jack here, on the couch, watching some stupid thing or another. That was normally what had happened when he came back from a mission that they were not on together. He was supposed to slam the damn door closed, storm over to the couch and be teased and then cuddle with the only person who could soothe his temper when it got this bad. He hated having to search for the man. His temper flared even higher when his search of their shared quarters revealed no sign of the asshole. He was about to storm back out into the base when he heard the door open softly.

“Musta been one helluva bad day,” The deep voice calmed him almost instantly. So much so that he briefly forgot his irritation at not being able to find the man speaking immediately upon his return. That burning anger faded even further when he met those blue eyes. Jack’s eyes still sparkled when he smiled and Gabriel was still practically powerless against them.

“I’m surrounded by idiots,” Reaper snarled, the heat behind his words already cooling under Jack’s influence. The silver haired fox approached him confidently, unafraid of the smoke billowing off him or the fury in his voice. Those rough, scarred hands reached up to his face and slowly grasped the mask that it hid behind.

“You don’t need that here Gabe,” If anyone else had tried this, anyone, they would have been dead before they even laid a hand on him or his mask. Jack though, he could touch him like this without consequence. “There we go,” Jack hummed as their eyes met. “You really shouldn’t hide your handsome face,”

He opened his mouth to reply, to tell Jack to shut up. The words never left his mouth; Jack closed the distance and kissed him instead. He probably should have pushed the old soldier away and said what was on his mind. Instead, he leaned into the annoying man, deepening the kiss. Before he knew it, Jack had led the two of them to across the room and Gabriel found himself lying on the couch, another man on top of him, staring down at him adoringly. He allowed himself to relax into the cushions.

The holoscreen turned on at some point. Reaper wasn’t paying attention at the moment, too busy making out like he was a damned teenager. Another time and he might have let his pride push the man on top of him away right now, but he needed this and no amount of worrying about keeping up his image mattered right now. It was not like Jack was intimidated by the Reaper anyway. His pride would have just gotten in the way. He would much rather relax on a couch with Jack and what he eventually identified as a Laker game that had been turned on in the background.

The next few minutes passed in a soothing blur that ended with him lying down, his head in Jack’s lap, watching a basketball game while his lover stroked his curls soothingly. Gabriel watched the game while Jack pretended to be interested, stealing glances at the spectre’s messed up face and kisses on occasion. The smile that Jack wore, the one reserved only for Gabriel, was infectious and he smiled back, despite himself, whenever their eyes met.

His form had mostly stabilized by the end of the game, his body no longer billowing smoke. It didn’t even matter that his team had lost, the time spent just watching it with Jack was more important than the damn Lakers. He could have simply fallen asleep then and there if he hadn’t noticed a spot of dried blood on the other man’s face.

“What happened to your face?” Gabriel asked, choking back the rising anger and concern he felt in equal measure at the thought of what might have occurred.

“What's wrong with my face?” He replied somewhere between confused and amused, feeling around to see if anything was amiss.

“Blood,” Gabriel gently wiped it away with his thumb.

“Oh, it’s not mine at least,”Jack replied simply, suddenly lost in thought. “Probably from one of your little grunts getting in my way earlier.”

“Jackieee,” His reprimand was somewhere between exasperated and amused.

“What?” The little shit replied, face innocent, clearly hiding a grin. “They’re alive and will be out of the infirmary in, like, a week,”

“How many times have I told you to stop taking our people out of commision,” Gabriel sighed, knowing that it was not likely to sink in the thousandth time anymore than it had before.

“They’ve gotten better about not making themselves targets, but some of them just won’t learn to stay out of my way,” Jack nuzzled into his neck, ignoring the irritation on his face.

“They only get in your way when you're doing something you shouldn't be doing,” He tried his best to sound put upon, while Jack merely shrugged.

“As if those goons could stop me from doing anything Gabe,”

“That's not the point Jack,”

“It's not your point,” Jack corrected. “It remains my point.”

Gabriel rubbed his temples slowly. He was about to say something when the door to their quarters buzzed and stole his attention. He turned towards the door, ready to storm over to it and rip whoever was bothering them in half, but Jack motioned for him to relax and moved to handle it himself. Despite Jack running interference, Gabriel replaced his mask, uncomfortable with the thought of anyone else seeing his face. Reaper glided behind Jack as the grunt was handing the man a box, towering above them as a menacing smoking figure. Gabriel would give him points for mostly maintaining his composure, though the young man’s eyes betrayed the fear he felt.

“Everything is intact right?” Jack ignored Gabriel’s dramatics and asked in a voice that seemed to scare the man more than the Reaper did.

“Yes sir,” The man stammered out quickly. Gabriel wasn’t really sure how to take that exchange. Jack held no official rank here, yet was being treated like he was in charge. He wondered if this was a widespread phenomenon and if he should worry about it or not. “They were very careful checking for anything dangerous before handing it to me,”

“I would hope so. I know who was involved,” The man gulped, his heartbeat increasing. Apparently he really was more afraid of angering Jack than Gabriel and that was interesting. Upon opening and inspecting the contents, without allowing Gabe to see them, Morrison nodded approvingly and the agent, who still hadn’t left, let out a sigh of relief.

“Anything else you need sir?” Reaper was about to respond, to send the agent away, before he realized that the question, and the salute that accompanied it, were aimed at Jack again.

“Yeah,” Jack replied, reaching into his jacket for a relatively small glass bottle. “This is for Cortez. I want you to deliver it to her,” The grunt nodded, grabbing the proffered bottle. “I also brought something else with me and I want it brought up here immediately,”

“Umm,” The man was suddenly extremely worried again. “That’s highly unorthodox…” The words died in his throat under Jack’s glare.

“Just tell them that I will come down for it personally if it’s not here real soon,” The grunt nodded in recognition and retreated quickly, before the old soldier could make things more difficult on him.

“You’re being saluted now?” Gabriel asked as soon as they were alone, his tone painfully neutral.

“Its very easy to train your men,” Jack replied with a shrug. “They’re used to being made to avoid punishment. Just needed a little time to condition them to understand that I am another dangerous person to placate,” Gabriel let out a put upon sigh, while Jack just laughed, removing his mask and kissing him again.

“What’s in the box?” He asked instead of continuing a line of questioning that was sure to stress him out more. Jack smiled, that wonderful brilliant smile of his.

“It was going to be a surprise,” Jack walked back towards the kitchen. “But, I’m making food for a proper date night.”

“So, like our one day honeymoon on base?”

“Yeah that one,” Jack replied with a pained smile. “Thought you needed something nice to eat and drink. Plus, we deserve a real date,”

“Not really in a good state for that right now Jackie,” Gabriel gestured to the smoke still slowly billowing off of him, despite having calmed down considerably since he had returned.

“Brooks should bring something for that relatively soon,” Jack replied, unpacking his supplies around the kitchen. Jack began preparing to cook a rather large and somewhat complicated meal, undeterred by Gabriel’s unstable state.

“Brooks?”

“Yeah, the agent that brought this up here,” Jack explained without shifting his attention from the work in the kitchen. “He was assigned to deal with me as some kind of punishment a few months ago,”

“Must’ve really pissed people off,” Jack turned to face him, the most overly dramatic pout Gabriel had ever seen on his face. He managed to maintain the expression long enough to pull a chuckle from Gabriel.

“It worked out for everyone. I can deal with him and people rarely get hurt this way,”

“He has to deal with you though,” He teased the soldier with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Jack conceded. “But he also has avoided any active battle zones since he started this gig,”

“Really?” Gabriel asked, slightly incredulous.

“Yeah. Apparently dealing with me without incident is more important than any active mission that comes this way,” Jack replied with a chuckle.

“Dealing with your grouchy ass is more dangerous than most the people we face Jackie,” Gabriel Joked.

“I checked the casualty count and while not true, it’s not too far off,”

“Should I even ask how you got a hold of that information?”

“Physical access to the system makes pretty much all your security precautions moot,” Jack kept working on food while he spoke. Gabriel collapsed back onto the couch, absentmindedly watching what remained of the post game show.

“I am going to have to have a strict review of proper physical security protocols for the entire base aren’t I?”

“Or you could just grant me access and I wouldn’t have to break into it,”Jack replied simply. Honestly, Gabriel wasn’t really opposed to that, though it would look bad and he wasn’t willing to deal with that right now. Jack would just have to keep breaking in to get any useful information.

“So who’s Cortez?” He asked, changing the subject again.

“Head of requisitions. Always nice to know the people who handle equipment Gabe,” Jack informed him, answering his follow up question immediately.

“And the bottle?”

“250 year old Cognac. Good stuff. Expensive.”

“And you just gave it away?” Gabriel called out dramatically. “That would have gone well with this whole date night thing,”

“Got something better for us,” Jack replied, catching Gabriel’s attention. “Check my jacket!” Gabriel groaned as he stood, moving over to where Jack had stripped his heavy combat clothing earlier. A search of the large inner pocket inside his Jacket revealed a padded package that upon opening revealed a strange looking crimson and silver bottle he did not recognize.

“What is this?” He called out, eyeing the peculiar bottle and label curiously.

“World’s rarest and most expensive bottle of Scotch. Only three of them left in the world,”

“And we are going to drink one tonight?”

“Yep!” Jack called back, oddly happily. “A ten million dollar or so evening,”

“And where did you get that kind of money Jackie?”

“Grabbed it from the president of Lumerico earlier this week,” That caught Gabriel’s attention.

“What were you doing there?” Gabriel made his way into the kitchen, placing the bottle on the counter while Jack finished mincing some garlic.

“I had some unfinished business and figured it was a better use of my time than waiting around for you to get back,”

“So you assassinated the head of a major international corporation?” Jack laughed, he stared at the soldier, unamused.

“Nah. Just broke into a secure network, planted a nice rootkit and bugged a few buildings.”

“And stole a ten million dollar bottle of liquor,” Gabriel added.

“Yep. It would just be wasted on scum like that,”

Jack was not wrong about that, though many years ago the boyscout would never have stolen, even from someone like that. The man was absolute scum, but it was still jarring sometimes, dealing with Soldier: 76 instead of Jack Morrison. That big heart of his was one of the reasons he had loved Jack, but things had changed in the last few years. 76 managed to walk a line somewhere in between caring too much and being utterly ruthless that struck a nerve with Reaper in all the right places.

A buzz from the front door interrupted his thoughts and he stalked over to it, replacing his mask for the second time in under an hour in order to answer the door. Brooks apparently, had returned dragging, of all things, a person, bound in chains, with a bag over their head and from the sound of it, also gagged.

“Who is this?” The agent saluted Reaper this time, body tense. It was genuinely difficult to tell who the man was more afraid of, him or Jack.

“We don’t know,” Brooks admitted, voice surprisingly calm. “The soldier brought him in. He hasn't been interrogated or identified yet,”

“And why is he here?”

“The soldier requested he be brought here,” Jack had demanded it really, but that was besides the point. The grunt knew nothing so Reaper waved him off, allowing him to retreat.

“Jack!” He called out to the kitchen as he dragged the prisoner through their quarters. “Who is this?”

“Remember that mission in Hyderabad last month?” Jack asked without looking up from what he was measuring.

“Yes. What about it?”

“A Vishkar goon hit you with one of their weird beam guns and you were complaining about lingering pain for a week,” Gabriel briefly wondered why the hell Jack was bringing all of this up before realization dawned on him.

“I'm not even sure I want to know how you found out who shot me,”

“Simple. I asked, then hurt some people and asked again,” Jack replied nonchalantly.

“Why would you go through all that trouble?”

“Someone shot you,” He replied simply, as if it was the only natural response to the situation. “Besides,” Jack continued after a moment’s silence. “I wanted to make sure those little machines of yours had something to eat so that you could enjoy the date night with me,”

Again, the ruthlessness that Jack managed to show nowadays never failed to send a shiver of excitement down his spine. He smiled as he dragged the man across the small hallway towards his interrogation room.

“Wait,” Gabriel called out, halfway down the hall. “How the hell did you manage a kidnapping in India and stealing from Lumerico in the week I was gone?”

“Oh, I just took an Orca,” Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

“Should I ask how you got access to one?”

“Probably not,” Gabriel could hear the grin in his voice even though he couldn’t see it. He didn’t press the matter. They would deal with it later, or at least he would tell Jack not to do it and the man would ignore him. There was no point ruining a nice evening with it right now. “You worried about it?”

“I have to deal with other people questioning your motivation,”

“I’m on your side Gabe. You should know that,” Jack replied simply, not skipping a beat in his cooking. Reaper had no real way to respond to that. He trusted that Jack was being honest, but he knew the man was most dangerous when he was using words. Jack had the amazing ability to speak nothing but the truth, but still pull one over on everyone involved. Jack seemed to take his silence as some sort of agreement because he changed the subject. “Make sure to have your fill in your little dungeon. I don’t want the husk disrupting our evening.”

“Yes dear,” Gabriel called back, rolling his eyes even though Jack couldn’t see him. He would worry about what Jack’s goals were later. Right now he had a date to get ready for.

The man’s death was quick and even relatively painless as Gabriel absentmindedly allowed his nanites to feast on the poor schmuck. It only took a few minutes to drain the man until he was nothing but a dessicated husk. By the time he was finished he really did feel better, more in control. Gabriel managed a very human and stable form now that he was calm and had gorged a little. The date might have been a good idea afterall.

His various senses had practically returned to normal, along with his solid body. He could smell what Jack was cooking now. The scent of spices fills the air, a wonderful scent that would no doubt be wonderful to eat as well. Without really thinking about what he was doing, Gabriel wandered into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around his soldier, refusing to let go, forcing Jack to drag him around the kitchen to get things done. The man complained but made no real move to push him away, just griped about him being difficult.

Gabriel only disentangled himself from the man when Jack gestured for him to set the table. Setting everything that they needed up took only several moments really: plates, silverware, and napkins. Still waiting for Jack to bring the food over, Gabriel reached for his own little surprise. A nice romantic set-up of candles that he had saved for just such an occasion, though he had intended to spring a surprise date on Jack at some point, but this seemed as good a time as any.

“Oooh candles,” Jack commented with a smile, as he began to serve the two of them.

“I know how much you love that sappy shit,” He finished lighting the last of the four of them and sat himself down, awaiting Jack to sit down so they could eat together.

“And I know you love yourself some red pozole, just the way your abuela always makes it,”

“I still can’t believe she shared her secret family recipes with you,” Gabriel said, taking a deep whiff of the food. It smelled just right and hopefully tasted just as good.

“We got married and you sure as shit weren’t going to be able to do anything with them,” Jack finally finished bringing everything to the table and sat down across from him. “We decided together to never allow you within 5 feet of a stove.”

“Hey, I make amazing macarons,” Gabriel defended himself.

“Yes, you’re allowed near the oven as long as you are supervised,” Jack snorted while Gabriel pouted in response.

He decided against rising to the man’s teasing anymore than he already had. He was having the nicest time he could remember in years and he was not going to let his temper ruin that and getting into an argument over his bad luck in the kitchen was definitely not something he wanted to deal with at the moment. So, instead he grabbed for the bottle of scotch that Jack had stolen.

“Wait,” The soldier interrupted before Gabriel could pour himself a glass. “I've got just the thing for that,” Jack practically bounded all the way to their freezer, returning and dropping something into his empty glass. A trio of small plastic owls stared up at him, his confusion must have shown on his face. “They keep your drink cold without watering it down,”

“Cartoon owls though?”

“Yeah. Adorable little barn owls. They reminded me of you,” Coming from anyone else he might have taken that as an insult, but the smile on Jack’s face was so earnest he knew there was no way it could be one. He poured himself a drink without complaint, the little owls doing their job of being fake ice cubes surprisingly well.

“It’s pretty good,” He responded after a moment, inspecting the glass he had just emptied.

“10 million good?” Jack asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Nah, but pretty good nonetheless,” He replied, pouring Jack one and himself another.

“I think it was more than worth ten million dollars of someone else’s money,” They shared a soft laugh at the idea as Gabriel refilled Jack’s now empty one. Neither of them were going to get drunk from just one bottle, even with how strong this stuff was, but it was a nice accompaniment to a good meal.

He lost himself in the food and conversation. Nothing important, talk about the game, what had happened on Reaper’s mission. He could open up to Jack, but the man also managed to pull him into easy conversation in a way no one else has ever managed. By the time they are both stuffed, Gabriel could hardly recall the anger that had led him here. Instead, he interrupted Jack clearing the table and dragged the man with him to their bed.

“Someone’s eager,” Jack’s voice was sultry, succeeding in exciting Gabriel and getting him to overlook the absolutely smug grin that the man wore at the moment.

“Don’t tell me you weren’t looking forward to this all night,” Reaper practically growled back, dragging his willing partner back onto their bed.

“I can’t wait to take care of you the way you deserve Gabi…” A loud buzzing interrupted them before things could go even further, the communicator in his coat was calling him. He groaned when Jack managed grabbed the communicator before Gabriel could.

“Unless the base is burning to the ground I am personally going to shoot whoever called and interrupted us after I made it abundantly clear not to, I don’t care who it is,” The line was silent for a moment, as if the person on the other end was gauging how serious the threat was. “And yes that includes you Sombra,” He added to the silence. The line went dead shortly afterwards.

“Do you have to cause a scene Jackie?” Gabriel mock chided.

“It’s fun,” He replied with a shrug.

“Yeah, but I have to deal with everyone complaining about your shenanigans,” Gabriel couldn’t find it in himself to whine at the moment, but that didn’t stop him from complaining in general.

“It's a small price to pay,” Jack bragged, a grin on his face as he leaned back down to kiss Gabriel, before retaking his place on the bed.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Gabriel teased back with his own smirk.

“Oh?” The silver fox replied in mock surprise. “Do I need to work even harder to show my worth?” Jack’s grin was downright devilish.

“Why don’t we see what you can do.” He allowed himself to be tackled back into the bed.

“I’m sure you’ll approve of my plans for the night,” Gabriel wasn’t going to disagree with that.

[mst3kproject]

Curse of the Living Corpse

Curse of the Living Corpse was released on a double-bill with The Horror of Party Beach – judging by the posters, Horror of Party Beach was the A-Picture, which ought to terrify you.  Both Curse of the Living Corpse and Horror of Party Beach were filmed in the same town of Stamford, Connecticut (just an hour from Noo Yahk), use the same title font, and were directed by the same guy, Del Tenney, who also made a movie called I Eat Your Skin. The Del-Aires are unfortunately not in it, but Roy Scheider is.  He went on to be in real movies, like Jaws.

In 1892, a man named Rufus Sinclair dies and is laid to rest, which is a relief to everybody because he was a tyrannical dickweed.  But is he really as dead as he looks?  It seems that Mr. Sinclair's heirs ignored the terms of his will, and as a result they are cursed.  Each shall die by whatever he or she fears most.  After being left behind at the crypt seemingly just so she can be the first victim, Lettie the maid is beheaded.  Second-generation dickweed Bruce Sinclair is slashed in the face and then dragged to death behind a horse.  Paranoid widow Abigail is set on fire.  Wishy-washy coachman Seth, impaled on a cane.  Gold-digging daughter-in-law Vivian is drowned in her bath.  Drunk slob Philip is doomed to suffocate.  And then the movie suddenly becomes The Dead Talk Back, turning from supernatural thriller into an episode of Scooby-Doo as it reveals that the murderous ghost was actually a guy in a costume the entire time!

Curse of the Living Corpse isn't very good, but it's a bit better than The Horror of Party Beach.  It actually starts out strong, with the moody funeral procession and the will telling us what awful fate we can expect to befall each of the mourners.  The characters are mostly nasty, selfish people, but that's okay – we already know they're going to die, so we might as well feel they deserve it. Bruce is vain and lecherous; Phillip is a lush and Vivian is just waiting for him to drink himself to death so she can be a wealthy widow; Abigail is a paranoid, neurotic wreck; and Lettie a frivolous bimbo.  Unfortunately, as in The Horror of Party Beach, the characters we are supposed to like are almost entirely nonentities.  These are brown-nosing cousin Robert and his dim but pretty wife Deborah, whom we know nearly nothing about because the movie is far more interested in their spiteful relatives.  They're only in this movie so that the Sinclair fortune can go in the end to people we feel deserve it.

Although it starts well, the movie gets worse and worse as it goes along.  The first death, of Lettie the maid, is entirely gratuitous (she wasn't even mentioned in the will) but comes closest to being scary.  From there it's all downhill, as the murders get more and more contrived and the Comic Relief Cops get involved – oh, yes, the tradition of unfunny comic relief detectives goes back years before Last House on the Left, and was just as effective at killing the mood.

The final blow to the movie's credibility is the ending, which is just ridiculous – we're told that a particular person was the real culprit, and yet several of the murders were committed when we the audience knew perfectly well this individual wasn't even at the scene!  It's true that we weren't actually watching him at that very moment, but he was with others when we last saw him, and those others are still there when news of the murder arrives.  It's very hard to see how the killer could have left, done the deed, changed his clothes, and returned just moments ahead of the discovery without somebody catching on.  The existence of the secret passage is not a satisfying answer.  Then there's the question of how the murderer knew where people would be and when they would be there so they could die in a suitably ironic fashion.  Honestly, Curse of the Living Corpse would make more sense if it were about a zombie.

A thousand smaller sillinesses go by as the movie makes its slow, steady way down Quality Hill.  The murderer dresses like Zorro, which I'm pretty sure the brains would have kept funny long after it ought to be stale.  There's the sound of hooves on cobblestones dubbed in over horses trotting on dirt, and it goes on just a fraction of a second after the animals have stopped moving.  Vivian has some very un-Victorian shoes and her struggles in the bath tub are not nearly so much about escaping as they are about never letting the camera see her nipples.  Bruce Sinclair appears to be about the same age as his mother.  Two reveal jump-scares are wrung from the same severered head – I imagine Mike reacting to this with an unimpressed, “yep, still there.”  How in god's name did the killer get back into the crypt after locking it from the outside?  And what happened to Rufus Sinclair's body?  It's not important to the plot, but I wanted to know.

The inspiration for Curse of the Living Corpse appears to have been a strange phenomenon of the 18th and 19th centuries.  Victims of cholera were usually buried very quickly in the attempt to keep the disease from spreading – however, in an age before autopsies and embalming were around to finish off the not-quite deceased, a few of these people inevitably turned out to be only mostly dead.  There were cases of supposed corpses sitting up at their own funerals, or knocking on the coffin lid as it went into the grave.  Tales spread of graves being dug up to find that a man who was clean-shaven when he died had grown a beard, or of bloodied hands as people died still trying to claw their way through the coffin lids.  This prompted a mass fear of being buried alive, and people began to take precautions against it.

The most famous and elaborate of these is probably the alarmed coffin, which had a tube and string leading to the surface so that the prematurely interred could ring a bell to alert somebody.  Other people had a telephone wire installed with a speaker so they could call for help.  Much more common, however, were people like Rufus Sinclair, who simply specified in their wills that they could not be buried until a certain number of days after death.  I'm pretty sure the writers of Curse of the Living Corpse read about this and decided there was definitely a horror movie in there somewhere.  Pity they couldn't find it.

If Curse of the Living Corpse has a theme or moral, it's probably about family and loyalty – no matter how much of a jerk Rufus Sinclair was, he was still the patriarch, and his family should have respected his last wishes.  The will notes that cousin Robert 'acted as I wish my sons had'.  This and the description of Deborah as 'chaste' is the only real indication we get that they were the nice people who deserve the inheritance.  There are multiple levels, however, on which this just doesn't quite work.

For one thing, Robert and Deborah were present at the original funeral, and were party to the neglect of the will.  It stated that Robert was responsible for making sure the rest of the family saw to Rufus Sinclair's conditions for the treatment of his body.  It's clear that Bruce and Philip were primarily responsible for wanting their father buried as quickly as possible, but we never see Robert or Deborah make even a token protest.  Indeed, their survival seems to have been pure chance: the killer just never got around to them before he was discovered.

Meanwhile, others with a better claim to innocence than cousin Robert and his wife nevertheless suffer for their disrespect.  Lettie the maid is the first to go, but as I noted above, her death wasn't called for in the will, which never even mentions her by name.  In fact, even when we find out who the real killer is and his motive, murdering Lettie still doesn't make much sense.  She was only going to inherit a couple of dollars at best, and she didn't catch him in the act of doing anything nefarious – all he had to do was wait five minutes, and she would have been gone.  Seth the coachman was opposed to the quick burial, and indeed tried to keep to the terms of the will even against his employers' orders.  He still died.

The real problem with familial piety as a theme, however, is the final scene, in which we learn that the culprit had in fact been planning this for years.  He wanted to inherit the family fortune alone, and used the terms of the will to blame his killing spree on the supposedly undead Rufus.  This leads the audience to wonder how he knew what was in the will, when everything outside of the instructions for burial seems to come as a surprise to the family – but it also makes it evident that he would have tried to murder everyone whether the will were respected or not.  True, he had a major role in the decision to disrespect it, but he could not possibly be sure everybody else would go along.

For all that, however... I kinda liked Curse of the Living Corpse.  Much like Horror of Party Beach, it's enough fun that its sins against logic can be mostly ignored, or enjoyed as part of the camp.  Curse also has a bonus amusement in its 19th century setting: anachronisms pop up frequently, and they're always good for a giggle.  It certainly would have made for a fantastic episode – particularly if we got to see Crow in a Zorro costume, trying to sneak up on Mike and Servo as they always move aside just moments before his claws can close around their necks!

[jimmypageonline]

~The “Strawberry Fields Festival” Original Lineup Poster~

Why Did New Brunswick Pull The Plug On An Epic Rock Concert In August 1970?

Long before the Rolling Stones graced the stage at Moncton’s Magnetic Hill Concert Site in 2005, a concert that would ultimately usher the Hub City into a new era of hosting some of the biggest names in music, the city had earned a reputation as being a concert hub. Throughout the ‘80s and ‘90s, the Moncton Coliseum played host to a who’s who of international pop stars, including Tina Turner, Cher, Rod Stewart, Iron Maiden, David Bowie, Huey Lewis & The News, and Shania Twain. Meanwhile during that same timeframe just up Highway 15 in Shediac, that seaside community was making waves, albeit somewhat smaller ones, on the concert scene itself, hosting a select group of pop and rock acts including the Beach Boys, Milli Vanilli and Bryan Adams. Arguably lesser known among many New Brunswickers, however, is the folklore around the Strawberry Fields Festival, which had been scheduled to take place in Barachois, just outside of Shediac, from Aug. 7 through 9, 1970. The lineup for the festival, which was slated to include Led Zeppelin, Grand Funk Railroad, Leonard Cohen, Sly & The Family Stone, among others, reads like a classic rock dream come true. So just how close was Led Zeppelin to performing in southeast New Brunswick? Closer than you might think. Had it not been for a dose of festival phobia for residents and interference from the provincial government of the day, Strawberry Fields might have established the region as a major concert centre long before it would earn the title nonetheless. To uncover the origins of the Strawberry Fields Festival, and how southeast New Brunswick missed out on such a significant opportunity, one needs to look west to Toronto.

~The Toronto Peace Festival~

In September 1969, Toronto played host to the Toronto Rock & Roll Revival. Headlined by the Doors, the concert was a cultural phenomenon, earning its place in the history books thanks to a little help from John Lennon, who used the occasion to perform without the Beatles for the first time.

Together with his business partner Kenny Walker, John Brower was one of the brains behind the historic festival. Although Brower and Walker’s partnership dissolved shortly after, Brower, a Canadian concert promoter, had struck up a friendship with Lennon, who agreed to come on board for Brower’s Toronto Peace Festival, which was to be held in July 1970.

“Together with John Lennon and Yoko Ono, we announced the Toronto Peace Festival to great fanfare in December 1969 at the city’s Science Centre,” Brower tells us from his home in Los Angeles.

“We had just finished doing the Toronto leg of the War Is Over campaign, which turned out to be the largest exposure of associated billboards, handbills and posters of anywhere in the world.”

Shortly after the announcement of the peace festival, Lennon and Ono, together with Brower and a select group of others, travelled from Toronto to Ottawa via private train. Once in the nation’s capital, Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau met with the Beatle and Ono in what was supposed to be a 15-minute meeting.

“They were originally scheduled to meet for 15 minutes and ended up talking for an hour,” Brower says, furthering the notion of Trudeau’s progressively liberal approach.

It wouldn’t take long for external powers to quash Brower’s best-laid plans, however.

“The Toronto Peace Festival became a target for the (American President Richard) Nixon administration, which was terrified of the notion that John Lennon was going to participate in a peace festival on the July 4th weekend. They were sure he was going to lambaste the U.S. government and the Vietnam War, among other things. Although I can’t say anything for certain, I feel relatively confident their hunches were right.”

It wasn’t just the Americans who were concerned about the Toronto Peace Festival, however.

Ontario’s Progressive Conservative government was also opposed to the festival, putting it in an awkward, direct conflict with the federal government under Trudeau, which indirectly supported the gathering.

The Toronto Peace Festival was scheduled for the weekend of July 4, 1970, and within weeks of its unceremonious demise in the first half of 1970, some good luck finally came Brower’s way. The promoter was introduced to William Webster, whose family had assumed ownership of The Globe and Mail in the early ‘50s.

“William indicated to me that he would be willing to underwrite a pop festival if I was looking to put one together. We knew from experience that we weren’t going to get anywhere trying to do a festival in Ontario … because of their concern over John Lennon’s political influence,” Brower says.

It was at this point that his attention turned toward New Brunswick.

~The Strawberry Fields Festival~

“We had some friends that had a beautiful farm in Shediac, so it was suggested that we go there to see if they would be interested in letting us put on the festival there.”

After determining the site, approximately eight acres of land, to be more than ideal to host a music festival, Brower obtained preliminary permits from the local authority, which allowed him to move forward with booking the acts.

“I ended up going on a shopping spree in New York City, booking Led Zeppelin, Eric Burdon and War, Alice Cooper, Ten Years After, and the other artists that were scheduled to play the festival.”

By the time Brower left the city, he had spent upwards of $500,000 — equalling about $3.1 million today.

Festival preparations seemed to be proceeding smoothly. Advertisements and posters decorated newspapers and bulletin boards in Canada and south of the border. “Strawberry Fields” the ad declared, “an international carnival of sound and freedom visit free North America,” accompanied by an image of a strawberry with a dove nipping at its top. The ad touted three days of “love, sun and sound” on “virgin beaches surrounded by wild strawberry bushes.” A scrawled map on the bottom of the poster showed obscure directions from Chicago, New York City, Montreal, Boston and Toronto all heading to Moncton.

Contrary to the notion that the Strawberry Fields Festival took its name from the Beatles’ 1967 song “Strawberry Fields Forever,” Brower says the festival earned its moniker as organizers had heard that Shediac was deemed the strawberry capital of the province.

“I realize there is a certain synchronicity with the Beatles song, but that is not where the festival took its name.”

In an interview with the Telegraph-Journal approximately one month before the show was due to descend upon Barachois, promoters said they anticipated upwards of 60,000 attendees, thanks to an extensive advertising campaign undertaken in both Canada and the United States.

Jerrold Kushnick, a New York-based attorney for the festival, told the paper that co-operation with the provincial government had been “satisfying,” and noted the Barachois site had been chosen specifically because of the beach facilities and everything the area had to offer. He shared that approximately 100 washroom facilities would be brought to the festival site, and would be complemented by food and medical facilities.

It didn’t take long for things to begin falling apart for Brower and his team, however. As news of the festival spread like wildfire throughout Canada and the U.S., estimates on concert attendance ticked higher and higher, raising concern at both the municipal and provincial levels.

An informal opinion poll undertaken by local media showed residents were concerned that a “major invasion” of “young rock fans” could cause trouble for the community. Shediac business owners talked about closing up shop for the duration of the festival.

“Shediac depends on tourism as a great part of its livelihood,” an unnamed official with the local police force said at the time. “Stores are geared to service…a population of 15,000. They couldn’t possibly handle a crowd of 50,000. That’s big city stuff.”

Even Shediac’s “Lobster Queen” at the time, Violette Richard, chimed in on the matter, saying, “Personally, I think it is the worst thing that could happen here. Everyone is afraid of it.”

As fear and misunderstanding over the festival continued to spread, with many people associating big rock concerts with riots, drugs and vandalism and fearing the “Picture Province’s” reputation could be ruined, it didn’t take long for the provincial government under Premier Louis J. Robichaud to step in.

The government said that on June 15, the promoters of the show were given a “travelling show licence,” which would have been sufficient had they not been selling tickets.

After determining the show and its $15 ticket would instead fall under the Provincial Amusement Act and be subject to taxes, members of the provincial government met to discuss the festival’s future, ultimately determining the show would not go on in Barachois. This was just weeks before the concert was scheduled to take place.

Robichaud said the decision was based on the government’s concern that the promoters would be unable to meet the necessary standards for security, hygiene, food and water.

“It is the opinion of the government that the promoters cannot guarantee the protection of the public interest,” stated a press release from the premier’s office.

Moncton resident Denis Marquette was a 15-year-old teen living in Shediac in the summer of 1970. Although he and a group of friends had hoped to find temporary work with the festival, he recalls the sense of disappointment that the festival’s cancellation had upon area music fans.

“Woodstock had taken place in the U.S. the year before,” Marquette says. “A lot of people saw Strawberry Fields as our chance to join the history books, so to speak.”

While a palpable sense of relief permeated some parts of the community, not everyone was pleased with the government’s decision. In Moncton, up to 500 protesters took to the streets, marching to City Hall demanding the decision to cancel the festival be reversed. In Saint John, police questioned two teens after the burning of a New Brunswick flag was done to protest the government’s decision to axe the festival.

~The music moves back West~

With a half-million dollars tied up in entertainment and nowhere to put on a show, Brower and his team looked west to Ontario again. While the move might have seemed pointless on the surface, given the opposition that faced the Toronto Peace Festival, Brower says they had a bit of an ace up their sleeves.

“This is where the story takes on an interesting political twist,” Brower says. “There was an RCMP liaison with ties to the Prime Minister’s office that also had close ties to the hippy community in Toronto. He never tried to hide his position from anyone, and had been tasked with watching for American draft dodgers. Anyway, he was good a friend of ours and, when Strawberry Fields was axed in New Brunswick, had advised with us to meet with a specific attorney who would be able to counsel us on how to make the festival happen in Ontario.”

He says that, on the advice of their new attorney, he and his team were told to rent Mosport Park, located just east of Toronto, for the weekend in question and to bill the event as a motorcycle race with “added entertainment.”

“Of course, there was no description of what the ‘added entertainment’ would entail,” Brower says with a laugh.

With that, the Strawberry Cup Trophy Race was confirmed to take place on Aug. 7, 8, and 9, 1970. While specific details on the entertainment would entail remained intentionally vague in Canada, Brower says advertising in the U.S. showed the acts that had been slated to perform in New Brunswick would be appearing in concert.

“It took a few weeks for the connection to be made, but eventually, Ontario’s attorney general went to court, alleging the Strawberry Cup Trophy Race was a fraud, because in the U.S., we were promoting all of the acts that were going to appear. The Ontario government was determined to stop the festival in its tracks,” Brower says.

The case was eventually brought to Ontario Supreme Court, with the provincial government charging that Durham County, the jurisdiction where the Strawberry Cup Trophy Race was to be held, could not provide the necessary medical services for the 150,000-plus people they anticipated would attend the festival.

The Ontario government was dealt a serious setback when it was revealed that a Montreal-based company, one that was allegedly formed specifically for the purpose of signing the lease at Mosport Park, was putting on the Strawberry Cup Trophy Race.

“Our lawyers knew this was the case. They intentionally let the Ontario government waste weeks of time to get the matter to court, only to find out they would have to move the case to the Supreme Court of Canada,” Brower says.

And so, just two days before the festival was set to begin, amid allegations from the Ontario attorney general that the promoters were flagrantly manipulating the law, the case was heard before the Supreme Court of Canada.

“At this point, there were already 30,000 people gathered at Mosport Park in anticipation of the festival. The Ontario attorney general brought the same argument to the Supreme Court: there was no way the festival site was equipped to handle the necessary medical facilities required to accommodate the anticipated crowds.”

Brower says what happened next took even him by surprise.

“One of our lawyers hauled a letter out of his pocket from the Addiction Research Foundation, who confirmed they had a 150-bed field hospital, complete with necessary medical facilities, already established on an airfield adjacent to Mosport Park. The judge looked at the attorney general and said that if the availability of medical facilities was the basis of wanting to have the festival shut down, there was, in his opinion, no reason for the festival to be stopped.”

~‘You had to be there’~

The green light given to the festival caught virtually everyone off guard. The province of Ontario attempted to close the border, and enacted a requirement that all those attending the festival have $50 in cash on them. Although thousands were allegedly refused admission to Canada, some concert patrons successfully passed through customs by stating they were going camping at Algonquin Park.

Brower recalls that the owner of Mosport Park held food rights to the festival, but had not anticipated it was going to happen and had not purchased supplies necessary to feed the immense crowds.

“If you go on YouTube, there is footage of helicopters dropping packages of bread, bologna and cheese for the concert goers. That’s all people ate for three days,” Brower says, laughing. “There was no other way to get food in there; the roads leading into the park were absolutely jammed.”

While the show went on for the bulk of the performers who had originally signed on to perform when the festival was due to take place in New Brunswick, Brower notes a number of acts, including Led Zeppelin, Leonard Cohen and Buffy St. Marie did not end up performing at Mosport Park.

“The bulk of the artists that didn’t end up performing had been staying current with the legal developments around the festival. By the time we received the green light to go ahead with the festival, it was just too late to make the necessary arrangements to get to Toronto.”

Toronto resident Sean Gadon was one of those in attendance at Mosport Park for the Strawberry Cup Trophy Race for those three nights in August 1970. An ardent music fan that had already seen the likes of Jimi Hendrix, the Doors, Miles Davis and others perform in Canada’s biggest city, he simply knew there was no way he could pass up taking the festival in.

“I was 16 years old at the time. My friends and I heard about the festival on FM radio the night before it was to begin. If it hadn’t have been for that, I don’t know that we would have known about the festival at all as there really wasn’t much advertising being done in Ontario,” Gadon says, adding he and his friends hitchhiked to the festival with only the clothes on their backs.

Although the Ontario Provincial Police expectedly issued a number of citations for various infractions during the course of the festival, Gadon insists the Woodstock spirit of peace and love dominated the overall feeling of the Strawberry Cup Trophy Race.

“It may sound ironic or cliché, but it was a transcendent few days, a real coming of age kind of event. The spirit of peace and love, combined with the music instilled a real sense of community among all who attended. It was one of those ‘you had to be there’ kind of moments, and I am so glad that I was.”

- Ken Kelly

[tarojposts]

Being a Part of a Blogging Society

The blogosphere, made up of countless blogs from all over the international, is one of the most popular faces of the Internet. It's no longer just for teenagers anymore. Several years in the past, most blogs had been run through kids who simply wanted to preserve in touch with their friends, or people who just wanted to speak about their each day existence.

These days, almost each person online has a blog.

Chances are, you have got one - and in case you don't, you ought to.

Stay at domestic moms like to weblog about their every day lives and elevating children. CEOs of most important groups personal blogs about the contemporary happenings at their corporation. Many celebrities run blogs, and they blog approximately their upcoming occasions, movies, and roles (no longer to say scandals).

And marketers have blogs approximately each niche possible!

I'm assured to say I myself am part of the blogging subculture.

Blogging is a tremendous way to attain out to the human beings on the Internet. They can touch thousands and thousands of lives, and spread your message like no other medium. You can say nearly whatever you want, and there will be an audience for almost each niche!

You can run a blog just for fun. If you want to speak approximately parties you attend, eating places you devour at, locations you go shopping, or wherein you go on vacation, a person will probable need to read about it.

Even if the handiest audience you have got is your close friends and relatives, you will have amusing and be able to say something's for your mind.

More and greater human beings are turning to running a blog as a way to make money. Some humans simply want to make some greater bucks for spending money, however others are genuinely creating a complete-time earnings with their blogs.

A few distinguished bloggers even boast of creating masses of hundreds of greenbacks with their blogs (a la Perez Hilton, who parlayed his blogging fun into lots of greenbacks in advert cash every month, which delivered him his very own TV show, podcast, and apparel line)!

There are plenty of approaches to make money running a blog. Whether you are a college scholar who just desires to make a little extra money for pizza and garments, or you're a serious marketer who desires to make a small fortune, it's totally possible with running a blog.

Blogs are huge, even supposing they are small. Some blogs get tens of millions of hits in keeping with month. Blog visitors has been growing progressively for numerous years as customers benefit self assurance from friends in place of trusting hard hitting sales pitches they find at the web.

With increasingly humans leaping onto the blogosphere bandwagon, it in all likelihood won't sluggish down in the foreseeable destiny. If you are considering getting into blogging, it is a very good concept to get commenced now.

It commonly takes a few months to begin building up a following. And you actually need everyday visitors if you need to make money along with your weblog. You ought to work to benefit subscribers to your RSS feed, due to the fact the ones human beings will come returned often to read your new posts.

And consider to lend your personal unique voice to your posts. One of the maximum crucial nuances with reference to why running a blog is the sort of major worldwide phenomenon is the reality that people definitely enjoy analyzing unique voices on certain topics.

They crave the differences in personalities. It's clean to examine data that has personality and is not stale or stuffy, which means it's been translated by means of a unmarried editor in order that every voice is uniform. This is why columnist pages in nearby newspapers are so famous.

Your specific voice is the most crucial a part of getting regular visitors in your blog. If you want to peer examples of this, go to a number of the maximum popular blogs you can discover. You'll see that one thing those blogs have in common is the fact that the bloggers make attractive, humorous, or original posts.

That's your secret to  meaking it massive within the blogosphere!

Before You Blog, Build a Blueprint

A lot of bloggers put together a weblog without any real plan for a way they're going to sell it or monetize it. Putting a weblog collectively with out a plan is like looking to build a residence with out a blueprint.

It's feasible, sure. But the give up end result is probably going to be shoddy, and the whole lot should collapse at any minute.

You have to create a strong plan of action before you even purchase the domain. You need to increase a strong blueprint earlier than you ever get commenced. Waiting until after you have already set it up and are getting site visitors should imply a variety of extra work getting in to accurate mistakes.

Changing themes and including plugins when you're already getting traffic should interrupt your site visitors. Sometimes new plugins and topics can briefly break your weblog, that may imply a lack of site visitors (and cash) until you're capable of fix the whole thing.

The first part of your plan ought to be deciding on a spot, of route. Part of selecting a spot is finding products you could promote. If a gap has no merchandise to be had, you may create your very own.

But if there aren't any affiliate merchandise available, it can be because there isn't always enough demand there for a product. In this example, you'd ought to do a little careful market research in an effort to decide whether or no longer a niche is clearly feasible.

What's your cause for blogging? Do you have got your very own product you need to sell? Do you need to promote affiliate merchandise? Do you need to simply positioned AdSense or CPA offers to your site?

You want to ask your self questions like those so you'll recognise how you want to monetize the site. If you intend to promote affiliate products, you ought to take a look at the goods your self before you promote them.

If you don't, your traffic should come to be being very disappointed if you promoted a product of truly bad first-rate and they sold it due to the fact they depended on you. Even worse, what if you turn out to be selling something that turns out to be a scam?

You do not necessarily need to buy each product you desire to sell. If you could prove you've got a decent quantity of traffic (and once in a while in case you simply ask), you will be capable of get free review copies of some of the products you'd like to sell.

It would not harm to invite. Even if you don't have any present traffic but, you may write to the owner of a specific affiliate application, tell them what you're planning to do, and ask if you may get a review reproduction.

Some people won't give you a assessment reproduction. Plenty of entrepreneurs get requests for evaluate copies from folks who simply need to get a replica in their product free of charge. So in case you run into a skeptic, or a person who is been burned earlier than, you can get became down.

In this situation, it is probable pleasant to simply go in advance and purchase the product in case you really want to sell it. If it is a scam or a definitely crappy product, simply ask for a refund.

You also can don't forget the usage of a donation button for your weblog. If you can not find any true products to sell, and also you don't have the time, cash, or capacity to create your own product, you may still put up a donation button. If your weblog is excellent, you can get donations.

Or, you could always promote advert space on your blog. If you start getting a significant amount of site visitors otherwise you get a completely excessive PageRank in Google, you can fee quite a few money for a hyperlink to your blog. You can also get paid for making posts in your weblog that review different websites.

Should a Blog Topic Be Broad or Narrow?

There are two schools of thought concerning blog topics. Some people trust your topic must be very centered, due to the fact you may deliver in a flurry of laser-focused visitors. Plus, you've got much less competition in smaller marketplace segments.

Another institution of humans agree with that whatever worth doing is really worth doing massive. They consider that the most effective manner blogging can simply be well worth it is in case you're bringing in large visitors, and the handiest way you may reap that degree of traffic is by means of being very extensive - casting a wide internet, so to talk.

For example, you may have a sports activities blog that has extensive enchantment. You may want to talk approximately baseball, soccer, basketball, football, tennis, and golf. This would come up with a miles more large appeal, and the potential for larger traffic.

But on account that there might be so much competition, it might take lots longer to get greater traffic coming in. Plus, the manner I see it's far, if I'm interested in golf, I truly may not care approximately the opposite elements of the blog, so the price of it plummets in my eyes.

But shall we say you pick golf as your vast topic. Even that is huge, even though you just segregated it from the alternative sports in life. There are many stuff you could write about golf - holidays, clothing, golf equipment, guides, strategies, etc.

You should pick out an even greater focused area of interest like women's golf or senior golfing. This is a smaller phase of a small niche. This way you can get visitors quicker, because there would be less competition.

Less competition method you've got the ability to upward thrust faster in the seek engine ratings. Of course, women's golf could get a ways less site visitors from the primary spot of Google than the mixed visitors of all the different sports activities niches, but the probabilities of that visitors changing into a sale will jump.

[giveuselife-blog]

Being a Part of a Blogging Society Start Your Business And Get Regular Traffic

New Post has been published on https://giveuselife.org/being-a-part-of-a-blogging-society/

Being a Part of a Blogging Society Start Your Business And Get Regular Traffic

The blogosphere, made from limitless blogs from all around the global, is one of the most popular faces of the Net. It’s no longer only for teenagers anymore. Numerous years in the past, maximum blogs were run via children who just desired to keep in touch with their pals, or folks that simply wanted to talk approximately their day by day life.

These days, almost anybody on-line has a weblog.

  Possibilities are, you have

got one – and in case you do not, you must.

Live at home moms want to weblog about their everyday lives and raising youngsters. CEOs of predominant companies own blogs about the state-of-the-art happenings at their organization. Many celebrities run blogs, and they blog about their upcoming occasions, films, and roles (now not to mention scandals).

And entrepreneurs have blogged about every niche possible!

I’m assured to say I myself am a part of the running a blog subculture.

blogging is a tremendous way to attain out to the people on the Internet. They can touch tens of millions of lives, and spread your message like no different medium. You can say nearly anything you want, and there could be a target market for nearly every area of interest!

You can run a weblog just for fun. if you want to talk approximately events you attend, restaurants you eat at, locations you buy groceries, or in which you move on vacation, a person will possibly want to examine about it.

Even supposing the most effective target market you’ve got is your close friends and relatives, you’ll have amusing and be able to say something’s for your mind.

Increasingly more human beings are turning to blogging as a way to make cash. A few people just want to make a few more greenbacks for spending cash, but others are sincerely creating full-time earnings with their blogs.

a few outstanding bloggers even boast of making masses of hundreds of dollars with their blogs (an l. A. Perez Hilton, who parlayed his blogging fun into hundreds of bucks in ad cash each month, which added him his personal Tv show, podcast, and clothing line)!

There are plenty of approaches to make money blogging. Whether or not you’re a university student who simply wants to make a little more money for pizza and garments, or you’re a critical marketer who wants to make a small fortune, It’s absolutely possible to blogging.

Blogs are large, Despite the fact that they’re small. A few blogs get thousands and thousands of hits per month. weblog site visitors has been developing steadily for Numerous years as purchasers advantage self-assurance from peers as opposed to trusting difficult hitting income pitches they find at the net.

With Increasingly human beings jumping onto the blogosphere bandwagon, it in all likelihood won’t slow down within the foreseeable destiny. in case you’re considering moving into blogging, It is an awesome idea to get started now.

It generally takes a few months to start constructing up a following.

And you really need regular traffic in case you need to make money with your blog. You should work to advantage subscribers to your RSS feed, due to the fact the ones humans will come back regularly to read your new posts.

And take into account to lend your own unique voice for your posts. one of the essential nuances in regards to why running a blog is the sort of primary international phenomenon is the truth that people definitely experience studying particular voices on sure subjects.

They crave the variations in personalities. It’s fresh to read facts that have character and isn’t stale or stuffy, which means that It is been translated through a single editor so that every voice is uniform. This is why columnist pages in neighborhood newspapers are so famous.

Your specific voice is the most crucial a part of getting regular traffic to your weblog. in case you need to look examples of this, go to a number of the maximum famous blogs You may find. you will see that one element those blogs have in not unusual is the truth that the bloggers make engaging, humorous, or authentic posts.

It truly is your key to making it large in the blogosphere!

Earlier than You weblog, Build a Blueprint

A whole lot of bloggers prepare a blog without any real plan for a way they are going to sell it or monetize it. Placing a blog together without a plan is like seeking to Build a residence without a blueprint.

It is feasible, sure. But the end result is probably going to be shoddy, and the whole lot ought to disintegrate at any minute.

You have to create a strong course of action Earlier than you even purchase the domain. You want to increase a robust blueprint Before you ever get started out. Waiting until after you have already set it up and are getting site visitors should imply A whole lot of extra work stepping into to accurate errors.

Converting issues and including plugins once you’re already getting visitors may want to interrupt your traffic. Now and again new plugins and issues can temporarily spoil your weblog, that could imply a loss of traffic (and cash) until you are able to restoration the whole thing.

The primary part of your plan must be deciding on a niche, of a route. a part of selecting a niche is locating products You could sell. If a spot has no products to be had, you can create your very own.

but if there aren’t any associated merchandise to be had, it may be because there isn’t always sufficient demand there for a product. In this situation, you would do some careful marketplace research with a purpose to decide Whether or now not a spot is sincerely viable.

What’s your motive for blogging? Do you have your very own product you want to promote? Do you want to sell affiliate products? Do you need to simply put AdSense or CPA offers to your web page?

You need to invite your self-questions like those so that you’ll recognize how you need to monetize the site. in case you plan to sell affiliate products, you have to take a look at the goods yourself Before you promote them.

if you don’t, your visitors may want to end up being very disillusioned if you promoted a product of truly negative fine and they offered it because they trusted you. Even worse, what in case you turn out to be selling something that seems to be a rip-off?

You don’t always have to buy every product you desire to sell. If You could show you have got a first-rate amount of visitors (and Sometimes if you just ask), you’ll be capable of getting unfastened evaluate copies of some of the goods you want to sell.

It would not harm to ask. Even if you don’t have any existing site visitors yet, You could write to the owner of a selected affiliate application, inform them what you are making plans to do, and ask if you can get an overview copy.

A few people won’t give you an assessment reproduction.

lots of entrepreneurs get requests for assessment copies from folks who simply want to get a duplicate of their product totally free. So in case, you run right into a skeptic, or someone who’s been burned Before, you could get became down.

In this example, It’s in all likelihood best to simply go ahead and purchase the product in case you really want to sell it. If It is a rip-off or a without a doubt crappy product, simply ask for a refund.

You can also do not forget using a donation button in your weblog. in case you can not discover any desirable products to sell, And you don’t have the time, money, or capacity to create your own product, You can nonetheless place up a donation button. In case your weblog is excellent, you can get donations.

Or, You could continually promote advert area on your weblog. if you begin getting an extensive quantity of visitors otherwise you get a very excessive PageRank in Google, you may price A whole lot of money for a hyperlink to your weblog. You could additionally receive a commission for making posts for your blog that overview different websites.

must a blog Subject matter Be Large or Narrow?

  There are colleges of idea regarding weblog topics. Some people consider your Topic should be very centered, due to the fact You can convey in a flurry of laser-centered site visitors. Plus, you’ve got much less opposition in smaller market segments.

Some other organizations of people agree with that anything really worth doing is worth doing massive. They consider that the simplest manner running a blog can certainly be worth its miles if you’re bringing in massive site visitors, and the handiest way You could acquire that stage of site visitors is through being very Huge – casting an extensive net, so to talk.

For instance, you may have a sports blog that has Wide appeal. you can speak approximately baseball, football, basketball, football, tennis, and golfing. This will give you a far greater Vast appeal, and the capacity for large site visitors.

but on account that there would be a lot of opposition, it might take a lot longer to get greater traffic coming in. Plus, the manner I see it’s far if I am interested in golfing, I clearly won’t care approximately the alternative components of the blog, so the fee of it plummets in my eyes.

however, shall we embrace you select golfing as your Vast Subject matter? Even This is Large, despite the fact that you simply segregated it from the alternative sports activities in lifestyles. There are numerous matters you may write approximately golfing – vacations, apparel, clubs, guides, techniques, and many others.

you may pick out an excellent more targeted area of interest like ladies golfing or senior golfing. This is a smaller phase of a small area of interest. This indicates you can get visitors faster because there could be less opposition.

less opposition approach you have got the capacity to upward push faster in the search engine rankings. Of course, women’s golf might get ways much fewer site visitors from the number one spot of Google than the combined traffic of all the different sports niches, But the Possibilities of that site visitors changing right into a sale will leap.

So essentially, it boils all the way down to the way you sense about your competencies. in case you trust you’ve got the potential to get one large blog to the top of the engines like google as a substitute fast, you then is probably capable of handle a Broad Subject matter weblog.

in case you don’t believe your abilities are up-to-snuff, then you might want to stick with a smaller niche at the start. recall, You could always begin different blogs later. you could either Build a community of small area of interest blogs, or you could start off with one Huge blog and then begin more than one sub-area of interest blogs later. you may then link to all of your smaller blogs out of your massive weblog.

you can also begin with the smaller blogs, get them to benefit Some recognition, after which begin a huge, Huge blog later. Once you start the bigger blog, you will have Numerous smaller blogs already getting visitors and already having PR that may hyperlink to the larger weblog to get it started.

if you already have A number of Seo revel in and you’re confident to your capacity to tug off A few exquisite search engine rankings speedy, then beginning with a greater Vast blog is probably a better choice.

You could nonetheless get some of the advantages of getting a smaller weblog via having classes for every of the smaller niches to your Wide Topic weblog. One last factor to maintain in thoughts is that your site visitors could be much less targeted in case you run a Wide blog.

If you have a site approximately pores and skin care, you could get Lots of traffic That’s simply looking for facts approximately the excellent lotions or skin creams. however, in case you begin a weblog about something specific, like acne, you are much more likely to get folks that are prepared and willing to shop for something.

where Will You Host Your weblog?

Numerous humans start out by hosting their blog totally free at one of the common blog website hosting groups. There is nothing inherently incorrect with that, however, It’s a miles higher concept to host your weblog in your very own area if feasible.

Permit’s check WordPress. WordPress is a very popular running a blog platform. You may host your blog on their servers, or You could download the software and host your blog on your personal domain.

There are a few reasons why you need to host your personal blog, instead of web hosting your weblog without delay on WordPress.Com. For one aspect, WordPress does not let you sell affiliate links on their domain.

So in case you want to make any money together with your weblog, you can’t host it on their server, you will have to host it yourself. Any other reason why you should not host your blog on WordPress is the fact which you can’t use the style of plugins and topics that you could use to your very own area.

WordPress may be very restrained as a long way as the capability, so don’t anticipate to have whatever sincerely cool for your weblog in case you host it there. You may discover loose WordPress tutorials that will help you get commenced along with your weblog.

Now Allow’s have a look at Blogger. They do allow industrial blogs so that you can publish associate links there in case you need. however, they are additionally towards what they deem as “spam blogs” or “splogs.” If they decide your blog is unsolicited mail, or they determine It’s “too” business or they simply don’t like it, They could delete it for any reason.

There is going all that tough paintings you put into it!

You need to comply with the one’s terms and situations when you sign on. Meaning that even if you don’t clearly spoil any rules, they might nonetheless delete your weblog If they chose. It really is a quite powerful motivator.

It truly would not be a very nice component to Build a weblog as much as Numerous thousand hits according to day, most effective to have it deleted (and trust me, I’ve heard these horror testimonies). you’ll lose all of that visitors, all of those backlinks, all your reputation and your seek engine scores.

Consider all of it being wiped out in a single day. That’s now not a great component.

It’s like having a fire rip through your brick and mortar shop and you haven’t any coverage to rebuild.

Every other very important reason to host your blog for your own domain is that it gives you credibility. if you host your blog to your own domain, you will appear greater professional, and extra like an expert determine in your niche.

humans will automatically count on you’re extra serious if you’re hosting your weblog on your personal domain, instead of Putting it up someplace free of charge. if you do determine to host your own area, The primary element you’ll want to do is choose a domain that contains a few keywords related to your area of interest.

If your blog is about residence cleaning suggestions, then try to get housecleaningtips.Com. If That’s now not to be had, go down your keyword list and locate the subsequent pleasant component. Then register the area.

Next, you want to discover a host for your blog. you would possibly need to pick out a host that has Fantastico, which is a software that sits on the server and allows you to very effortlessly installation WordPress (and other scripts) while not having to create and manage MySQL databases yourself.

Once you have got website hosting, you just want to go to your area registrar and installation the call servers to factor on your new host. Your hosting business enterprise’s aid needs to be able that will help you with this.

running a blog Is massive Business

Increasingly more groups are beginning blogs, and lots of humans are even forming their entire businesses around blogging. Customers without a doubt love blogs due to the fact they’re generally complete of great (unfastened) statistics, they offer a private contact that generally isn’t always observed on a preferred company website, and they’re now not typically complete of A number of hype and hard sell approaches.

Any other cause Clients love blogs is that they provide an excellent medium for interaction. traffic can depart remarks and obtain responses to their remarks. This helps Construct loyalty for your blog and your company, and readers truly experience this degree of interaction with a person they remember an expert parent.

It allows them sense like they may be without a doubt being listened to, and just like the agency genuinely cares approximately what they have to say – Even supposing that “corporation” is an entrepreneur such as you! Blogs are a notable manner to Build loyalty.

You may attain your audience in a completely private manner, should extra so than with a well known, stuffy stagnant website. Readers expect to peer Some personality popping out in a blog. in case you really Permit your character shine via, You could Build a following to be able to join your RSS feed and come back often, eagerly Waiting to listen greater of what you have got to say.

That is a terrific manner to brand yourself and your Business. since You can get more non-public with a weblog, people begin to get to recognize you a piece as a person. This makes you seem extra actual, and people start to believe you and your messages extra.