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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 1 year ago

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Trinkets, Books, 13: An eclectic library of dusty tomes, fictional textbooks, pocketbooks, paperbacks, hardcovers, booklets, leaflets and magical manuals. Paper leaves and the binding surrounding them can help define a character, kick off a subplot, fuel a fetch quest or simply serve as a generic macguffin. Commonly seen in video games such as Baldur’s Gate, Neverwinter Nights, World of Warcraft and Skyrim, book items are a way to subtly world build while still handing out sellable loot. A wizard has a spellbook, a cleric has a holy text and now you have a trinket list.

A pulpy horror book filled with short stories made to terrify adolescents and thrill young adults. A creature who reads the book suffers from a Random Nightmare later the next time they sleep.

A large reference book on the subject of minted coinage within the realm. The top of each page has an illustration of both sides of a coin from a rubbing of the original, lovingly and delicately inked. Below is everything anyone could possibly want to know about the coin: number of dies in the designs, the date each went into service, the date each was taken out and destroyed, dates of repairs and re-engravings on each, quantities of each kind of coin struck. There is even a statement about whether or not there are known counterfeits. According the inside cover, the tome belongs to the Royal Assay of the city of TunFaire in the kingdom of Karenta.

A brand new copy of “Volo's Guide to What to Expect When You’re Expecting” with a couple of pages dog-eared in and “Congratulations!” written on the inside cover.

On the Sending Out of the Soul: An eight-page pamphlet on astral projection. The first seven pages of the pamphlet contain vague mystic writing; however, the eighth page details a formula for effecting astral travel. Among the required ingredients are a brazier and a mild hallucinogenic herb. The formula is always successful but has an unforeseen side effect: it invokes the horrid Outer God the Hydra. Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that the pamphlet first appeared a few generations ago and circulated among occult groups. Most copies were destroyed in the wake of a series of grisly murders.

Dictionnaire Infernal: A full description of the hierarchies of demons. This edition includes sixty-nine illustrations of demons by Louis Le Breton a skilled warlock, infamous for trading his soul for legendary artistic talent rather than arcane power or material wealth.

A journeyman’s guide to the proper practices of the guild who oversees the use of Random Artisan Tools. The travel volume includes how to care for your tools and how to interact with other crafters to seek replacement tools and have worn ones maintained. Other chapters detail acceptable prices for goods sold and services rendered along with advice on any specific ethical concerns the guild may have on trading. Most of the book contains descriptions and diagrams on how to perform basic tasks with the tools to the guild’s standards.

A small book, entitled "The Torrid Affair of Knight Gawain,". When placed on its spine it automatically falls open to particularly risqué page.

A personal journal owned by a psychiatrist who was studying the concept of nightmares and their metaphysical properties. The doctor recorded dozens of firsthand accounts of her patient’s slumbering terrors within this volume as well as notes on the patients themselves and how the dreams affected them. A person who peruses the journal for more than a few minutes suffers from a Random Nightmare the next time they sleep. Upon waking they feel compelled to document their experience on one of the blank pages left near the end of the book.

Alchemy of the Flesh: A dark green tome describing how to use a plethora of humanoid viscera and organs to enhance standard potion brewing techniques.

Tome Of The Endless Tale: A small, worn book with fanciful creatures or locales on battered leather covers, the tome’s pages fill with serialized stories that engage and distract the reader. The Tome focuses on a specific genre (See Note) but the stories crafted within the pages are unique to each reader, tailored by the magic from their own imagination and so vibrant that the book’s tales seem to come to life in the mind’s eye. Once per day, the reader can speak the command word written on the book's inside cover to fill its its pages with a serial story tailored to the speaker. This story typically takes 1 hour to read, continuing from where the last tale completed. ---Note: The DM can choose a genre or roll at random; 1, Adventure 2, Romance 3, Mystery / Crime 4, Horror 5, Thriller / Suspense 6, Fantasy 7, Science Fiction 8, Historical fiction.

—Click Here to be directed to the Hotlinks To All Tables post, which provides (As you might have guessed) convenient links to all of the loot and resource tables this blog has.

—Click Here for additional Book Descriptions to give these objects even more personality.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A pulpy horror book filled with short stories made to terrify adolescents and thrill young adults. A creature who reads the book suffers from a Random Nightmare later the next time they sleep.

A brand new copy of “Volo's Guide to What to Expect When You’re Expecting” with a couple of pages dog-eared in and “Congratulations!” written on the inside cover.

A small book, entitled "The Torrid Affair of Knight Gawain,". When placed on its spine it automatically falls open to particularly risqué page.

Alchemy of the Flesh: A dark green tome describing how to use a plethora of humanoid viscera and organs to enhance standard potion brewing techniques.

A cloth-bound book of short stories by famous pulp novelist Cissifin Judeel. The volume is in excellent physical condition.

A bound section that includes chapters six, seven, and nine of some kind of book on mechanical engineering, seemingly torn from a larger work. They describe in enormous detail how to construct an intricate clockwork mechanism, but what it’s supposed to do is left unclear – and, besides, with chapter eight missing you wouldn’t know how to build one of the most important parts…

A cookbook, containing stunningly delicious recipes which, unfortunately, require extraordinarily rare and hard to find ingredients to make. It is no doubt someone's life’s ambition to cook and eat all of them at least once.

An anonymous epic poem about the Brass Spear Prince, full of stirring speeches and descriptions of battle scenes. For many noble travellers, this inspiring story is the reason why they became an adventurer in the first place.

An old bestiary, full of detailed information about monsters and magical beasts. Its sources appear to be approximately one-third hard evidence, one-third rumour or hearsay, and one-third the author's own fevered imagination, with no indication in the text as to which is which. It's information could easily save your life one day if you can only work out which parts of it are actually true...

A strange book whose pages are thin, blank stone tablets bound with knotted leather cords. Skeletons and zombies bow and grovel in the presence of the book.

Phoenix Breviary: A hand-size book bound in what appears to be black ostrich hide. Its pages are empty. Placed in a fire, the book will be unharmed and reveal the canonical hours of a banned cult for as long as it is surrounded by flame. Anything written in it will disappear until revealed similarly.

A joke book, full of genuinely hilarious (If rather mean-spirited) jokes. There are enough one liners alone for hours of belly-laughs and the text would be extremely valued to a jester or entertainer.

An anonymous journal, which records in obsessive detail the suspicious activities of a variety of seemingly-innocuous local citizens, whom the author seems to have been keeping under close observation. Either he was totally paranoid, or they are engaged in some kind of conspiracy. Maybe both.

An instruction manual, which describes in lunatic detail how to build a giant mechanical owl in order to further the cause of righteousness in the land. (The causal relationship between these two things is not made clear.) Chapters 3 through 9, which cover the construction of the owl’s internal mechanisms, have been ripped out.

A book of abstruse speculative philosophy, heavily annotated by some previous student. The annotations to the early chapters are detailed and lucid, but as the book goes on they grow increasingly incoherent, finally lapsing into ravings about a Beast and a City made of Red Steel. Due to the quantity of crazy annotations on its final pages, the last sections of the book are effectively illegible. You've never seen another copy.

An antiquarian manuscript whose author attempts, from the surviving literary and numismatic evidence, to deduce where the major strongholds of the local sorcerer-kings were back in the Age of Wonders. If she’s right, then there are at least three in the area which have been completely forgotten about, one of which is now buried under the streets of a major city…

The memoirs of a famous explorer, describing his many travels. The last chapter describes his plans for his final expedition, from which he never returned. But if the reader can work out where he went wrong, then maybe they'll have better luck…

A catalogue of birds found in this and adjacent kingdoms. Holding the book makes you want to obsessively tick off every species you manage to spot. A former owner of the book seems to have ticked off far more of the really rare ones than you, which causes oddly strong feeling of jealousy. One day, you will surpass him!

A child's sketchbook. On every page that isn't just unintelligible scribbling is a horrific monster.

A book of rather moving and helpfully non-specific love poetry. Memorize some of it for next time you need to persuade someone just how much you adore them!

A notebook in which someone has recorded, in great detail, the gastronomic preferences of a whole range of important and powerful people who live in a nearby large city. Very handy if you want to make a good impression - or to set someone else up to make a bad one!

An extremely spicy erotic novel about the life and loves of a famous courtesan. You keep it with you for, um, further research purposes.

A book of woodcut illustrations, more than a century old, depicting various fantastical monsters. One of them shows a particularly grotesque many-tentacled beastie fighting with a figure in spiked armour, who (Unlike every other figure in the book) has a string of nonsense words engraved beneath them. Disturbingly, these words form an anagram of one of the PC's names.

A book of heretical, politically seditious, and intermittently obscene drinking songs, complete with musical scores. Owning it is highly illegal, but you can’t bear to part with it: after all, it might well be the only copy which survived the purge…

A children's story book with a pressed faerie sprite between the pages...

An engrossing and well-written mystery novel: it's not very deep or clever, but pick it up and you'll soon be wondering where the last six hours went. Handy if you need someone to be distracted without realizing it.

Naga Naga Yo Fraga Blaga: A book whose cover is designed to look as if it was made from green scales, and its pages have golden edges. The volume talks at great length about an ancient race of serpentine creatures of great intellect and natural mastery of sorcery.

Of Gospels and Prophets: A stark white leather cover with gold filigree encompasses this religious reference book. The book does not delve deeply into any specific topic, rather approaches the “mile wide, inch deep” style with no more than 3-5 sentences on any of its entries.

Demozain: A book written by a dozen ur-priests. It makes no attempt to hide the ritual that would summon a sentient black hole to consume a world, but between the lines it reveals secrets of where the gods truly get their power.

A palm-sized notebook that always has at least one more blank page.

A blank spellbook bound in scarred wyvern hide.

Libro Venenum: A vile text filled with pages of aged papyrus and wrapped in dried lizard hide. Translated it proclaims to be the Book (of) Poisons and must be handled with absolute care. The reader is insight into the long-forgotten art of toxic magic, practised primarily by hags.

Folio Malevolence: A profane book whose spine is crafted from the bones of tormented fairies. The pages are all exposed with no actual cover and emit a foul odor. Upon close examination one can see skin has been stretched and matted onto the parchment. The runes on these pages make the reader feel uneasy and waves of hatred flow over them. Good aligned characters will feel immediate aversion to the text. The text itself orders the reader to let malevolence overwhelm then and to lead a life of malice and constant all-consuming rage at the world and everything in it.

A diary that begins quite normal, even boring, but becomes increasingly nonsensical, and the final few pages are indecipherable scrawlings.

A heavy book titled “The Many Faces of Perun”. Dozens of flowers are pressed between its pages.

Opuscule Covetous: A small notebook created with haphazard pieces of vellum tied together with gold wire. If the pages are spread out they appear to be covered in numbered pictures. Anyone who puts the pages in the correct order will see the drawings magically animate. The story they show will be capturing and include scenes of immense wealth and decadence. Those viewing will be intoxicated with avarice and immediately desire the treasures presented in the story. Unbeknownst to the cursed readers this is an elaborate trap set by a witch. What appear to be treasures are actually items the witch herself desires but cannot obtain. Examples would be a sacred holy relic, a newborn child or perhaps a lock of hair from a person pure of heart. No matter what the item they will always appear as something else to the afflicted character. The curse will cease once one or all of the items are obtained and presented to the witch.

A bound album of various portraits and sketches of individual local people and families. Someone went through and meticulously clipped out the heads of all the people in the pictures, leaving the rest of the scenes intact.

A ledger listing quantities and types of Random Humanoid Race bones and teeth along with dates, costs, and prices of sales and purchasing.

A book of anatomy with detailed drawings on xenomorphic creatures completely alien to this plane of existence.

A book of genealogical research of a prominent family in the nearby city, mostly consisting of a bound collection of public announcement posters and firsthand accounts of the local historical society.

The Parchments of Pnom: A manuscript written by Hyperborea's leading genealogist and soothsayer. It is written in the "Elder Script" of that land and contains a detailed account of the lineage of the Hyperborean gods, most notably Tsathoggua.

A beginner’s guide for people learning to play the Random Musical Instrument. The slim volume includes diagrams with all the parts of the instrument along with instructions for proper maintenance and care. Past the introduction the book contains the basics of how to play, along with a dozen simple songs that even someone who is unskilled in the performing arts could learn to play by reading the book and putting in a few weeks of regular practice.

A lengthy tome that boasts as its title “A complete history of the Random Humanoid Species”. The thick tome is dense with small, fine handwriting and goes into impressive (If dry) detail on the known origins of the people along with the high and lows of their past.

A military historical reference book focusing on the construction, maintenance and historical and modern use of the Random Weapon as it pertains to various forms of warfare.

Book of Dzyan: This work is an ancient text from a far away land, which contains “unwelcome truths”—cosmic revelations inimical to any human mind, which the Book tries to reconcile. As such, it describes accounts of mental and physical rites which are protective to mortals, as well as otherworldly threats and how to deal with them. Anyone who casts bard spells can research the spell contrary melody in this book to learn it in place of a 5th-level spell known.

A child’s sketchbook that features named stick figures of various people in a dozen different hands. The cover is marked with a surprisingly ornate rune, almost beautiful, though reading it makes one’s eyes droop.

De Vermis Mysteriis: An eldritch and bizarre spellbook, written by Ludvig Prinn, an ancient alchemist and necromancer who was burnt alive as punishments for his crimes against nature. Its pages are full of spells and rituals that summon strange entities, familiars, and creatures from beyond space and time. It also has a number of rituals for contacting and dealing with Great Old Ones, Outer Gods, and their minions.

A tiny leather bound book that contains a piece of writing such as a story, a poem, a manuscript, or a recipe. Each day, a new piece of writing magically replaces the previous one.

A cookbook, heavily bookmarked and written on, with pictures to accompany each recipe in the book. Licking the pictures allows you to find out how each dish tastes. Writing new ingredients in the recipes alters how the pictures taste. The back of the cookbook has empty pages to allow people to write down their own custom recipes. A few of the pages already have recipes written on them, some of which sound absolutely revolting.

A small novel, in which its 100 pages are used to describe a pebble. It consists of a single run-on sentence, and the description is often repeated throughout the book.

A leather bound book that bursts into flames when opened and extinguishes itself when closed. The book itself is completely fireproof.

A translation manual that teaches the basics for a long lost language. The guide assists the reader in translating basic words and phrases from the lost language into a commonly known language. This manual has significant values in archeological and research circles.

A bible that contains the founding texts of a now extinct religion that was wiped out long ago. This tome chronicles the origins of a murderous and wild sect that broke off from a popular, but now dead, religion. It gives notes on famous individuals this sect claims to have killed, their method in doing so and gives small insight into where more information about this sect may be.

A humble prayer-book bound in homespun cloth. Even with all your knowledge and sophistication, these simple hymns still have an almost supernatural power to soothe your troubled mind.

The Book of The Keeper of The World: A yellow book that is almost as bright as the sun itself. A bloody skeleton is on the cover with a text in an unreadable arcane language, presumably the title. Eating pages of this makes something in the world just disappear out of everyone's mind, a nothingness filling the place it used to be.

A reprint of a banned book, the last copy thought destroyed decades ago.

A ratty journal overflowing with loose sheets of yellowed paper. They are filled with maddened scrawl and diagrams and calculations and degenerate ranting.

A heavy book filled with Holy Scripture from the Loregiver and proclamations of Fate.

A holy text containing the sacred oaths of the first paladins from each paladin order in the multiverse, listing those of Good alignment as examples to strive for while warning against falling to the dark temptations of those who made their oaths for personal gain or other dark desires.

A book containing a list of artifacts designed for dark purposes, primarily those associated with Evil deities, as well as instructions on how to destroy these items. Several items on this list have already been crossed off, presumably destroyed by previous holders of this book.

A large tome that contains what is likely the largest repository of knowledge on healing salves in existence. It lists out materials, costs, where to find each ingredient, and how to combine these ingredients. There is virtually no ailment that cannot be cured by at least one of these restorative mixtures should the text prove accurate.

A small prayerbook that contains a single long incantation that can be used to contact a celestial who specializes in helping unfortunate souls tricked into a contract with a devil find a way out of their unfair bargains.

Book of Ashur: An arcane tome, bound in ancient dragon hide that contains much wisdom on the conjuring and subjugation of spells.

Liber Noctus: A decrepit tome that bristles with dark secrets and eldritch powers. Reading from the grimoire summons dark thoughts and grim deeds.

A blessed tome containing tales of ancient valour, glory, and self-sacrifice are bound to inspire those of noble heart to greater deeds.

A large book, bound in human skin according to the note tied to it, supposedly it was owned by an ancient necromancer during the age of thunder but its impossible to open as the spirits bound by it will lash out at the carrier. At the bottom it reads that it's currently on loan from Candlekeep.

A thick, heavy leather-bound book that contains illustrations and descriptions of over 3000 different kind of animals, plants, fungi, and minerals that can be used as alchemical ingredients, and how to safely collect, preserve, and store them. It was written by a renowned dark elf alchemist and explorer in the north lands. He spent decades studying and experimenting with the various creatures and plants that inhabit that environment, and compiled his findings and recipes in this book.

A worn-out leather book that has a map of the southern land on its cover. It contains detailed descriptions and directions on how to find and harvest rare and expensive alchemical ingredients that grow in remote, dangerous or hidden locations in the southern land.

A green book that has a dwarven hammer as symbol on its cover. It contains detailed secret information on how to use dwarven alchemy, with a specialized focus on creating oils and elixirs to mix into liquid metal alloys during the forging of weapons and armor.

An old yellowish book that has an elegant symbol on its cover. It was written by a legendary elven alchemist who mastered the art of creating healing potions, over the course of more than half a millennia of dedicated focus.

A collection of slim volumes on a variety of topics, including a registry of the nobility, City Watch commanders, and other notable citizens. Blank pages, a vial of ink, a pen. A number of interesting maps.

A single tome that is a combined multi-volumed summa of unified theory of arcane & divine magic, mechanical physics, psionics, and the cosmos.

An old, small, leather-bound, time-worn book with a goat’s head tooled into its cover. The leather is badly foxed and the pages are barely readable. If studied carefully it seems to be the journal of a fiendish cult.

A sketchbook half-filled with disturbingly accurate anatomical studies of various people, the copper plates that cover it etched with a pleasingly abstract rendering of a human heart.

A strange esoteric translation manual that teaches the basics for a long lost language. The guide assists the reader in translating basic words and phrases from the lost language into a commonly known language. This manual has significant values in archeological and research circles.

A hand-written guide by a purportedly self-taught monk on how to manifest and nurture ki powers. Although the information is not grounded in traditional aesthetic principals, anyone with knowledge of ki will recognize some validity to the methods being discussed. It is from an unknown author.

A religious text of an extinct cult that was wiped out long ago. This tome chronicles the origins of a murderous and wild sect that broke off from a popular, but now dead, religion. It gives notes on famous individuals this sect claims to have killed, their method in doing so and gives small insight into where more information about this sect may be.

A bound set of written texts, recording the beliefs of a famous lone wanderer and philosopher. The individual is well-known throughout the land for his beliefs and exploits but it was previously unknown that he had personally committed any of these things down on writing.

A book of spells with particularly elaborate verbal components written in an unknown but important-looking script. Arcane PC's can determine that only one or two minor spells actually work. Extremely close inspection will reveal that the rest of the "incantations" and "magic words" are actually disguised and encoded reports from a deep-cover spy

A worn, leather-bound journal filled with notes and sketches, offering insights into the daily life of its previous owner. There are many blank pages. Reading from the journal causes miniature illusions to appear for others showing the details of the event written, whether truthful or fanciful.

An alchemical codex containing the formulae for various poisons.

A dusty, ancient tome filled with arcane knowledge and forbidden secrets, written in a strange serpentine language and illuminated with intricate flowing illustrations.

A notebook that contains private notes from a psychiatrist about a patient. The first two pages are banal and clinical; by the fifth, they are inscrutable ramblings.

An identifiable book with a dozen assorted silver nails impaling it. The nails look disorderly and haphazardly hammered, with many bent in strange angles. The book is constantly wet, and the title is illegible.

An arcane spellbook that doesn’t seem to have belonged to a single wizard, bearing many different hands and styles across undoubtedly centuries. Many pages are damaged, arcane scribblings made illegible by time and deterioration. On the pages that remain, it seems that many of the spells appear modified in some way.

A well-worn and obviously fake booklet on how to talk to ghosts.

A bound journal filled with sketches of plants and animals.

A medical journal written in a dead language. It's filled with diagrams and drawings of medical dissections of inhuman alien creatures.

The Book of Fate's Mercies: A book that details incidents where people were saved from death by random chance. For example, a barking dog caused someone to walk just a little quicker down the street, which moved them out of the path of a stampeding horse. The last story in the book is about you, potentially causing you to be extremely aware and reactive but utterly paranoid and agoraphobic.

An inconspicuous diary of a young girl named Fyla. At a young age Fyla's talents allowed her to see into the abyss and corrupted her mind. She wrote in detail about the monsters under her bed and her fears of what awaited her when they would finally come for her on her 18th birthday.

The Book of Wisdom: A tome that contains a collection of sayings, stories, poems, and hymns from every known culture, religion, and philosophy. New entries appear at random, as new Wisdoms are collected and recorded by other disciples carrying a copy of the Book of Wisdom.

A spellbook made from high quality blank parchment is covered in tiny runes. When one of these small inscriptions is pressed the parchment changes color.

Tome Of The Spellblade: A soft-covered leather bound treatise containing writings describing, in the most basic terms possible, methods of magical fighting. Even so, the material is fairly dense and requires definition and reiteration of various terms and ideas. Fortunately, it also contains many detailed diagrams.

Fearful Codex of Ancient Wisdom: A weighty volume bound in pale, scaled leather of unknown origin. This magical tome contains a wealth of knowledge both mundane and esoteric, and is inhabited by an archival spirit that will direct the reader to their desired content on request. Unfortunately, the spirit has undergone a great deal of trauma over the millennia and the "fearful" part of the title is now literal. Attempting to simply open the codex and read normally will reveal nothing but blank pages, with perhaps a fleeting glimpse of text slithering away to pages deeper in the book. Only through persuasion can you access the codex. The book has definite dislikes, some of which follow: Being read by firelight is terrifying - paper burns! Natural light is better, but being read outside in the weather is undignified and risky. Magical illumination is best, preferably indoors and someplace quiet. Any kind of liquid nearby is alarming - ink runs and paper is ruined! Don't even think about eating while you peruse the codex. The book doesn't really like to travel either and would prefer to tucked away safely in a library somewhere when not in use. It enjoys the company of other books but isn't fond of other magical tomes, even non-sentient ones. It's also really, really phobic about the number eight, and invariably uses constructions like "two cubed" or "nine less one" in its own text when needed.

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theflowerbunny · 7 months ago

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MySims - DEBUG Mode Mod

MySims - DEBUG Mode Mod: This mod is perfect for creating machinimas or just controlling everything in your game. You can play any animation in the game, control the NPCs' routine, see their needs, interests. EVERYTHING!

NOTE: The installer does not automatically detect the installation path. You must choose the "MySims" folder path to start the installation. Example: Your MySims is the disk version, and it is installed in the folder "C:\Program Files (x86)\Electronic Arts\". Then, select the "MySims" folder ("C:\Program Files (x86)\Electronic Arts\MySims\") to install the mod.

Some of the features present in the Mod:

Unlock all Blueprints in the Game;

View Character Interests and Needs;

Select whether an interaction performed by the player will have a positive or negative outcome;

Play any animation;

And more.

Installation: The Installer will install the mod automatically. If you want to change the installation location, you must change the install location in the Installer. (Although this is not recommended unless the game is installed in a different location). NOTE: If you have installed MySims somewhere else, such as the retail version, you will have to change the installation location.

Requirements: This mod requires the "Lua Folder Patch" patch. Install the Lua Folder Patch BEFORE this mod, and then install it. You only need to install the patch ONCE, then you can install all mods that require the Lua Folder Patch.

Known bugs and Possible Solutions: Before installing this mod, it is recommended that you make a backup of your SaveData folder(s). To do this, Go to your "Documents\Electronic Arts\MySims" folder and Copy the "SaveData1" folder. If you have a "SaveData2" and/or "SaveData3" folder, also copy them, and then keep them in a safe place.

Uninstallation: To uninstall the mod, click on the file after installing it, and click on 'Remove'. After that, repair your game through the EA App. OR Install 'MySims - Lua Folder Patch' on top of the DEBUG Mode Mod.

Have fun! 💚

DL: SimFileShare - Nexus

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indigitalembrace · 11 months ago

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Oh good... its... semi automated... Don't know what I would have done otherwise...

[>> RUN COLLISION SCAN]

It's better to get this out of the way first... Afterwards a diagnostic scan will atleast... probably locate what needs to be repaired for me.

....God it's... nice doing this when the threat of a DDOS is pretty minimal... forgot this doesn't have to be so damn stressful...

...I'm talking to myself again...

- 🦐

[RUNNING COLLISION SCAN...]

[Kinito's model flinches briefly.]

... ..... [ABNORMAL COLLISIONS DETECTED BETWEEN "K_HEAD" AND "K_EYE_LEFT". ATTEMPTING TO RESOLVE...] [ERROR: ONE OR MORE INVOLVED TEXTURES APPEARS TO BE MISSING. PERFORMING AUTOMATIC SMOOTHING...]

[Kinito seems to relax slightly.]

[SMOOTHING COMPLETE. CHECKING FOR ADDITIONAL COLLISION ERRORS...] ... ..... ....... [ERROR: COLLISONS DETECTED BETWEEN "⡂⋆⋂⎎₷⻝ⳮ⶧⬹⍵⬿" AND "⅛⸀⼯⤉⚴⟙‎↢Ⰼ❱╺⹏��ⴟ⯇❘"] [UNABLE TO AUTOMATICALLY EDIT THESE TEXTURES. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO?] [> Ignore them.] ... ..... ....... [NO FURTHER COLLISION ERRORS DETECTED.] [WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO NEXT?]

#kinitopet #all_that_remains.exe #🦐 {Shrimp}

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theterribletenno · 25 days ago

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IDW SPACE AGE MURDER HOBO

Size: 1 HP: 10 Evasion: 10 Armor: 1 E-defense: 8 Heat cap: 6 Sensors: 10 Tech attack: -2 Repair cap: 5 Save target: 10 Speed: 5 System points: 6

Weapon Mounts: Main/aux, heavy, heavy

FRAME TRAITS

CQB SPECIALIST: Gain +1 accuracy with all CQB weapons.

UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL: You are able to ignore penalties from hard cover on enemies within 2 spaces, and soft cover within 3 spaces.

WEAK COMPUTER: Suffer +1 difficulty on all systems saves and checks

CORE SYSTEM: LOADED PROBABILITY

PASSIVE: When you make a weapon attack against an enemy within your sensor range you may decide to dump paracausal probabilities into your weapon system, causing all timelines to bend their courses towards the most favorable outcome. Before rolling you may declare the use of this limited (2) system, making the attack an automatic critical hit.

ACTIVE: GOD'S FAVORITE DUMBASS: gain +2 uses of Loaded Probability. This core power has the efficient tag, allowing it to replenish between scenes.

LL1

AGORAPHOBE: Auxiliary CQB, cone 3, 3 kinetic damage. This weapon has the accurate tag. While short-reaching, this simple scaled-down shotgun makes an effective deterrent to enemies invading your personal space. The upside to this short range is reliable performance.

FEMALE (3) TO FEMALE (1+2) ADAPTER: you may treat any heavy weapon mounts on your mech as main/aux mounts.

LL2

SPACE AGE MURDER HOBO FRAME

TRICLOPS: Main CQB, range 6, 1D3 kinetic damage (3x). A triple barrel shotgun which makes three individual attacks with +1 difficulty for the cost of a single attack action. The user may choose to attack the same target or a different target with each individual attack. Action cost is not reduced if 2 or fewer attacks are made.

PARTING GIFT: When a grapple or engagement you are involved with ends make a contested hull check, on success you leave an explosive device attached to the enemy's hull which detonates at the start of their next turn dealing 1D6 explosive damage. This is a free action but can only occur once per turn.

LL3

S.A.D.M.A.N. (SONIC AMPLIFIER DEFEATING MATERIEL & ARMOR NEUTRALIZER): Heavy CQB, range 8 blast 2, 2D6 explosive damage. This weapon has the AP tag. When you attack with this weapon you can supercharge it, increasing the blast area by +1 for a cost of 1 heat.

RIOT SHIELD: Reduces the penalties from using the brace action. With Riot Shield equipped the penalties from bracing are as follows: Due to the stress of bracing, you cannot take reactions until the end of your next turn and on that turn, you are slowed and impaired and cannot overcharge or barrage.

#lancer rpg #homebrew

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oiwa876 · 1 month ago

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Honda Acty Transmission Maintenance: Tips for Longevity

The Honda Acty, a beloved kei truck and van, is known for its reliability, fuel efficiency, and practicality. However, like any vehicle, regular maintenance is key to ensuring longevity—especially when it comes to the transmission. Whether you own a manual or automatic Acty, taking proper care of the transmission system can help you avoid costly repairs and keep your vehicle running smoothly for years to come.

In this guide, we’ll cover essential Honda Acty transmission maintenance tips, signs of potential transmission issues, and best practices to keep your Acty in top shape.

Understanding the Honda Acty Transmission

The Honda Acty comes with two primary transmission options:

Manual Transmission (MT): A 4-speed or 5-speed gearbox, common in older models and preferred for its simplicity and durability.

Automatic Transmission (AT): A 3-speed automatic, found in newer models, providing convenience but requiring more meticulous maintenance.

Each type of transmission has unique maintenance requirements, but both require attention to fluid levels, components, and driving habits to ensure longevity.

1. Regular Transmission Fluid Checks and Changes

Why Transmission Fluid Matters

Transmission fluid lubricates gears, cools components, and ensures smooth shifting. Over time, it degrades and loses effectiveness, leading to increased wear and possible failure.

Manual Transmission (MT)

Honda recommends changing the manual transmission fluid every 30,000 to 50,000 miles.

Use Honda MTF or equivalent 75W-80 GL-4 gear oil.

Signs of bad fluid: difficulty shifting, grinding noises, or a burning smell.

Automatic Transmission (AT)

Change the automatic transmission fluid (ATF) every 20,000 to 30,000 miles.

Use Honda ATF-Z1 (or the newer Honda DW-1 ATF) for optimal performance.

Signs of old ATF: delayed shifts, slipping gears, or excessive noise.

How to Change Transmission Fluid

Park on a Level Surface: Ensure safety by using wheel chocks.

Drain Old Fluid: Locate the drain plug underneath the transmission and remove it.

Refill with Recommended Fluid: Use a funnel to add new fluid through the fill hole.

Check Levels and Test Drive: Start the engine, shift through gears, and ensure smooth operation.

2. Clutch Maintenance (Manual Transmission)

The clutch is a crucial component in manual Actys, allowing for seamless gear shifting. Over time, clutch wear can lead to transmission issues.

Signs of a Worn Clutch

Slipping gears or difficulty engaging gears.

A soft or overly stiff clutch pedal.

Burning smell when shifting.

How to Extend Clutch Life

Avoid riding the clutch: Keep your foot off the pedal when not shifting.

Shift smoothly: Avoid harsh gear changes.

Check clutch fluid (if applicable): Ensure it’s clean and at the proper level.

Replace worn-out clutch components: If you notice slippage or noise, inspect the clutch disc, pressure plate, and release bearing.

3. Preventing Overheating (Automatic Transmission)

Automatic transmissions are prone to overheating, which can cause severe damage.

Ways to Prevent Overheating

Check ATF levels regularly: Low fluid increases friction and heat.

Install an auxiliary transmission cooler if you frequently carry heavy loads.

Avoid excessive idling in traffic: Long idling generates heat and wears down ATF.

4. Checking Transmission Mounts

Transmission mounts secure the transmission to the vehicle’s frame, reducing vibration and movement.

Signs of Worn Mounts

Excessive vibration in the cabin.

Clunking noises when shifting gears.

Transmission misalignment.

Maintenance Tips

Inspect mounts for cracks or wear every 30,000 miles.

Replace damaged mounts to prevent additional stress on the drivetrain.

5. Inspecting and Replacing the Gear Linkage (Manual Transmission)

The gear linkage connects the shift lever to the transmission. Over time, it may become loose or worn, causing difficulty in shifting.

Symptoms of Bad Linkage

Sloppy or inconsistent gear changes.

Grinding noises when shifting.

Gearstick feeling loose or disconnected.

Maintenance Tips

Lubricate linkage components annually.

Replace worn bushings to ensure precise gear selection.

6. Avoiding Common Driving Habits That Harm the Transmission

Bad Habits That Reduce Transmission Life

Abrupt shifting: Always come to a full stop before changing between reverse and drive.

Towing beyond capacity: Overloading puts strain on the transmission.

Ignoring warning signs: Delayed shifts, noises, or fluid leaks need immediate attention.

7. Diagnosing Transmission Problems Early

Detecting issues early can save you from costly repairs.

Common Transmission Issues

IssuePossible CauseSolutionHard shiftingLow or dirty fluidChange fluid, check linkagesSlipping gearsWorn clutch (MT) / ATF issues (AT)Replace clutch / Change ATFDelayed engagementATF degradationFlush and replace ATFGrinding noisesWorn synchros (MT)Inspect and rebuild if neededLeaking fluidBad seals or gasketsReplace seals, check for cracks

8. Choosing the Right Replacement Parts

Using high-quality parts ensures smooth performance and longevity. If you need reliable Honda Acty transmission parts, Oiwa Garage is a recommended source for quality components. They offer transmission kits, clutch components, and gear oil that are specifically designed for kei trucks like the Acty.

Final Thoughts

Regular transmission maintenance is essential for keeping your Honda Acty running efficiently for years to come. By following these tips—checking fluid levels, inspecting key components, avoiding bad driving habits, and addressing issues early—you can extend the lifespan of your transmission and avoid costly repairs.

Whether you drive a manual or automatic Honda Acty, a proactive approach to maintenance will keep your vehicle shifting smoothly on the road. If you ever need expert advice or parts, consider reputable sources like Oiwa Garage to keep your Acty in top shape!

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ameliaegschulz · 2 months ago

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Untitled Powersuit Check-Up Drabble

"Sigh... coroner's report... funeral arrangements..." The mother and engineer shuffled through the papers in front of her, making sure all things where accounted for before slotting them into her private file cabinet. "...okay, that should be everything."

A cold click as she locked the file cabinet with a retinal scan. A shake as she fell backward into her main-floor office chair, an office in which she sat alone.

"Why does it keep feeling worse..." she muttered to herself, alone in that office. "Every time... Every time I think I'm ready to head off and find her, I'm just knocked back down."

"Dead-end leads... dead friend... dead daughter as far as the state cares... at this rate it'll be dead hopes as far as the eye can see..."

"Think, Emily... suppose this is it. Suppose they're both just... gone, forever. What then? ...where do I even go from there? ...back to what I was doing before? But Zak was..."

"Aagh!" A short yell as she slammed her fist onto her desk. "Get it together, Emily! Where would I even be if I just gave up as soon as she was taken? Pushing forward as I always have is why I'm here to begin with! I just have to keep pushing forward. Keep pushing forward. She's still alive. Still alive. Still..."

After a moment, Gates stood up from her chair and exited her office, positioning herself in an open space in the living room.

"This is as good a time as any," she hummed, tapping her ankles together and - for the first time in two months - fully equipping her powersuit, standing still as it assembled itself over her frame from her feet all the way up to her head.

Once fully suited, Gates performed some rudimentary motions and stretches in that small but open space in the living room, getting herself used to the suit again. After her short exercise, she examined the HUD in her helmet. Ninety-nine percent charged. Navigation system fully operational. Ammo pools at max capacity. Energy blaster ready to fire. Onboard AI status...

...represented by an outline of Zak'yanna lazily sleeping.

Gates sighed.

"Zak? You awake?"

The image of the AI appeared to stir awake before facing forward and waving at Gates with a cheerful grin.

"Long time no see, Core Cracker!~" it said to her via text below its outline in the HUD.

"Yeah, no kiddin'..." sighed Gates in response.

Another flirtatious pose from the AI's image before the words "Two months, right? Is this a simple suit check-up?" appeared below it.

"Yes, just a check-up."

The AI gave her a thumbs up and a wink before appearing to look through a magnifying glass at all things across the HUD. After five seconds, the AI threw up double V signs with a cheerful smile, displaying the words, "Check-up complete! Everything's functioning normally except the automatic recharge! Shall I diagnose the issue and attempt repairs?"

Gates trembled mildly in her suit before relaxing.

"No... I know what's wrong with it. It can't be fixed yet."

The AI held its chin, puzzled by Gates's response.

"Rather, I have to find and rescue Za- you, so that you can fix it."

The AI scratched its head briefly. It held up a finger after figuring out what Gates meant, and then it appeared saddened and hunched forward. It straightened itself out to the image of a normal posture before displaying the words, "Did she take me again?"

"I don't know who it was," answered Gates, "but I'm almost positive she's related to it all. Not that it matters, I ran into another dead end as far as finding you again."

"Are you referring to the coordinates you entered into your Pocket Stargate™ app?" asked the AI.

"I-- yes. Yes, I am! I entered them and I didn't get an--"

"It may be that the app needs a little more info. It is still in beta, after all. May I analyze these coordinates to determine what is missing?"

Gates nodded vigorously, and the AI once again appeared to look through a magnifying glass. Gates looked at this image, then downward at her feet, preparing for another disappointment.

"Analysis complete," returned the AI with a smile. "Some of these coordinates have partial matches with those previously used by the real me. Do you have corresponding timestamps for these coordinates?"

"...I'm sorry, timestamps??" Gates exclaimed.

#drabble #the red slayer ~ emily gates

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enzaelectric · 2 months ago

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Why the Low Voltage Switchgear Market is Booming in 2025?

The low voltage switchgear market is growing rapidly in 2025 due to growth in electricity consumption, development of intelligent devices, and a strong emphasis on sustainability. Energy efficiency, digital transformation, and security are critical for industries and businesses, which leads to a high demand for new, robust, and intelligent switchgear. This article will discuss key drivers of market growth, emerging trends, and their impact on businesses and industries globally.

1. The Growing Demand for Electricity

Over the past few decades, the increasing demand for efficiency in power distribution systems has become ever imminent with the rise of general energy consumption. Rapid urban expansion, industrial development, and the emergence of data centers have been some of the major driving forces boosting the demand for low-voltage switchgear.

Global Electricity Demand on the Rise:

· The IEA projects electricity demand in developing nations will rise at a rate of 4% each year, as consumption steadily climbs.

· Data facilities and cloud computing require relentless power sources, amplifying the need for resilient switching equipment solutions capable of sustaining operations.

· The proliferation of electric vehicle charging points is compelling utilities to renovate distribution networks, ensuring functionality can accommodate increased demand.

Modernization spreads as industries broaden their scope, making electrically-reliable infrastructure an imperative; low voltage switchgear has become integral to conveying energy throughout the grid in a secure and effective manner.

2. Smart & Digital Switchgear: The Industry’s Future

Traditional switchgear technology has evolved rapidly with the integration of intelligent networking capabilities, making electrical distribution safer, more efficient, and easier to monitor remotely. The new digital switchgear incorporates IoT, AI, and cloud-based monitoring solutions to provide real-time insight into energy usage. This allows businesses to proactively optimize performance and reduce costs through more proactive maintenance strategies.

Major Developments in Intelligent Switchgear by 2025:

✅Online Sensor Networks: Constant telemetry from devices throughout the system helps pinpoint potential weaknesses before failures occur.

✅Self-learning Circuitry: AI-powered hardware and software automatically analyze usage patterns to forecast repairs, minimize outages, and heighten uptime.

✅Wireless Remote Management: Mobile apps and web dashboards give administrators off-site control over power flows to streamline usage according to need.

✅Modular Construction: Interchangeable, compact components facilitate scaling and retrofitting within varied infrastructure environments.

The shift toward automated smart grids and Industry 4.0 production is substantially contributing to the booming market for intelligent switchgear solutions. Widespread installation of these next-generation systems will transform electrical distribution networks.

3. Rising Emphasis on Energy Efficiency & Sustainability

Governments and industries worldwide have increasingly pushed for greener, more energy-efficient power solutions in recent years. This has led electrical equipment manufacturers to develop eco-friendly switchgear technologies that considerably minimize energy loss during transmission and help reduce overall carbon footprints.

Sustainable Advancements in Low Voltage Switchgear Design:

Alternative gases to SF6: Traditional switchgear commonly uses SF6 due to its insulating and arc-quenching capabilities, however this gas has an extremely high global warming potential. Many switchgear producers have since designed SF6-free solutions that substitute the highly potent SF6 with other gases that are safer for the environment.

Energy-Efficient Designs: Optimizing circuitry and components has allowed switchgear to conduct electricity with negligible power loss, enabling connected systems to leverage nearly every watt of power. Careful engineering further trims excess material use and redundant parts.

Renewable Energy Integration: Low voltage switchgear has become increasingly vital in smoothly and reliably integrating power from solar arrays and wind farms into existing electrical networks. Without robust switchgear management, it would be difficult for clean energy sources to efficiently feed power onto transmission lines.

With the implementation of more stringent energy performance mandates in countries worldwide, businesses have sound business reasons for upgrading outdated switchgear infrastructure with advanced low loss solutions both to adhere to regulations and lower long-term energy expenditures.

4. Increasing Investments in Infrastructure & Industrialization

Governments and private investors alike are pouring billions into ambitious infrastructure projects around the world, generating skyrocketing demand for reliable low voltage switchgear solutions. From towering commercial skyscrapers to sprawling industrial complexes, and expanding metro networks to bustling international airports — countless utilities depend on robust yet cost-effective switching systems to ensure continuity of operations.

🔹 Key Infrastructure Drivers Stimulating Growth:

🏗️ Smart Cities Uplift Life: Sweeping investments in digital urbanization are revolutionizing everyday living through connected infrastructure that elevates efficiency.

🏭 Manufacturing Marvels: Production powerhouses across the globe are scaling new heights, intensifying the necessity for advanced low voltage distribution controls to support increased capacity.

🚆 Transportation Transformations: Rapid progress in rail electrification and proliferation of electric vehicles for land and air are necessitating increasingly resilient switchgear designs.

As global development marches forth, low voltage switchgear has become mission critical in enabling commercial and industrial progress through reliable power distribution. The worldwide infrastructure renaissance is cementing its importance for years to come.

5. Safety & Regulatory Compliance Are Driving Upgrades

Governments and regulatory bodies are increasingly implementing strict compliance standards to safeguard electrical infrastructure and minimize hazards, compelling upgrades across many industries. Potential calamities resulting from power faults or failures necessitate vigilance in maintaining reliable and resilient systems.

New Safety Regulations in 2025:

⚡ Updated IEC & NEC Standards: Stringent low voltage switchgear specifications mandated to bolster protection.

⚡ Arc Fault Protection Technology: Novel solutions critical to curb risks of electrical ignitions and incidents.

⚡ Mandatory Energy Audits: Organizations now required to optimize distribution for both personnel and operational efficiency through audits.

With approaching deadlines to satisfy evolving regulations, operators are proactively replacing outdated switchgear to conform with mounting compliance demands, contributing to an accelerating industry transformation.

6. The Rise of Data Centers & Digital Transformation

The digital sphere fundamentally relies upon data hubs that necessitate constant power and exceedingly reliable electric frameworks. As distributed computing, man-made brainpower, and IoT reception develop exponentially, ventures are putting vigorously in cutting edge low voltage switches to ensure their foundation from energy blackouts which could bring about gigantic budgetary misfortunes.

24/7 control is essential for operations yet breakdowns prompt critical money related setbacks. To guarantee uptime, focal points utilize auxiliary switches for extra dependability and security alongside far off checking abilities through IoT innovations which empower ongoing following and administration from anywhere. With worldwide distributed computing selection quickening at a quickening pace, interest for top notch low voltage switches arriving at new statures to guarantee frameworks stay online consistently.

7. Competitive Market & Technological Advancements

The low voltage switchgear sector has seen remarkable changes and fierce competition between prestigious brands. Manufacturers are pouring resources into innovation to craft smarter, smaller, and affordable switchboard alternatives.

🔹 Notable Advancements by 2025:

⚙️ Solid-state systems promise enhanced performance and lessened upkeep. Long and compound sentences mix with short ones.

⚙️ Remote accessibility through wireless means permits control and tracking from afar.

⚙️ Self-mending grids using AI to immediately spot and amend problems, maintaining dependable power seamlessly. Complex automation alleviates faults autonomously for maximum uptime.

Conclusion: The Future of Low Voltage Switchgear Looks Bright

Low Voltage Switchgear is forecasted to experience market growth in the year 2025 due to the growing electricity consumption in countries, the rising applications of smart technologies, the increased implementation of sustainability practices, the expansive growth in various industries, and safety regulations. As these industries are gradually moving to energy-efficient, AI-powered, and environmentally friendly switchgears, this demand is expected to increase further.

#electrical #switchgear #solution #dubai

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auto-technician · 5 months ago

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Understanding the Auto Gearbox: Tips for Longevity and Performance

The Automatic Gearbox is a marvel of modern engineering, simplifying driving while ensuring smooth gear shifts. However, to keep this crucial component in top condition, regular care and proper usage are essential. Here are some valuable tips to maintain your auto gearbox for optimal performance and durability.

1. Monitor Transmission Fluid Levels

Transmission fluid is the lifeblood of your gearbox, ensuring smooth operation and preventing overheating. Regularly check fluid levels and quality. If it appears dark or has a burnt smell, it’s time for a replacement. Follow your vehicle manufacturer’s guidelines for service intervals.

2. Avoid Sudden Gear Changes

Shifting between reverse, drive, and park without coming to a complete stop can stress the gearbox and cause long-term damage. Always pause and let the gears settle before making transitions.

3. Use the Right Driving Mode

Most automatic vehicles offer drive modes like Eco, Sport, and Manual Override. Select the appropriate mode for your driving conditions. For example, use Eco mode for fuel efficiency during city commutes and Sport mode for dynamic performance on highways.

4. Don’t Overload Your Vehicle

Carrying excessive weight can strain your gearbox and other drive-train components. Check your vehicle's load capacity and stay within recommended limits.

5. Address Warning Signs Early

Unusual noises, delayed shifting, or slipping gears indicate potential problems. Have your gearbox inspected by a professional promptly to avoid costly repairs.

With regular care and mindful driving habits, your auto gearbox will provide a seamless driving experience for years to come.

#auto gear box #auto technician #auto electrician #auto mechanical #autos #audi #bmw #chevrolet #ferrari #classic car #all vehicles

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year ago

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By: Julian Adorney and Mark Johnson

Published: Apr 3, 2024

Something is wrong in modern life. We're experiencing levels of safety and security that our ancestors would have found unfathomable. According to Statista, the rate of violent crime in the United States fell by almost half from 1990 to 2022. That's not an anomaly; as Harvard University professor of psychology Steven Pinker notes in Better Angels of Our Nature, crime of all kinds has been falling for centuries. We experience far less rape, murder, and robbery than did our ancestors. We're also much less likely to die in war. While the current Israeli-Palestinian conflict is tragic, it's also a far cry from the continent-spanning conflicts of centuries past, like the Thirty Years War or the Napoleonic Wars.

Similarly, we're experiencing a level of material prosperity that our ancestors could only dream of. According to economic historians at the Maddison Project Database, from around 1 CE to 1800 CE, the annual real (or inflation-adjusted) income per person was under $2,000. By 2016, that number in the United States was a comparatively staggering $53,015. Life expectancy for most of human history was around 30 years; in the United States, life expectancy in 2022 was 76.1 years. We even work fewer hours than people even a century ago.

And yet, in spite of our historical levels of privilege, many of us are miserable. Over 40 million people in the United States suffer from an anxiety disorder. 47 million Americans suffer from depression. As Dr. Alok Kanojia, a psychiatrist at Harvard University, puts it when describing modern life, "Life just seems to be squeezing everyone dry."

What's going on? Why are we struggling so much to cope with the demands of modern life, even though those demands are lighter than anything our ancestors had to contend with? Our ancestors slew dragons on a daily basis; why are we struggling to beat back chihuahuas?

The truth is that humans evolved specific powerful ways to cope with the world. Our ancestors used these to great effect to thrive in conditions of intense danger and poverty. Over the past several decades, most of our society has accidentally turned away from these ways.

In order to cope with negative experiences, we need two things: time and mental space. We need idle time, in which our hands might be occupied but our minds are not, in order to let our minds simply process whatever has happened to us. Here's how Dr. Kanojia describes it: "[emotional] processing is actually…a subconscious or relatively automatic activity that…happens over long periods of time." This is a very powerful process and can help folks to work through brutal experiences.

In ages past, humans had lots of idle time. We fished, sharpened spears, tended fires, repaired nets, and performed other physical activities that kept our hands busy while leaving our minds free to process the events of the day. By contrast, in the modern world, we have little to no idle time. Every spare minute is filled with distractions: we listen to podcasts, read books, text friends, and check social media ten thousand times per day. As a result, we never actually process our emotions and work through them. Dr. Kanojia describes this phenomenon using an example of a bad date:

"Let's say I have a bad date. What I end up doing immediately after the bad date…is distract myself and then what happens is—as I distract myself—I don't process any of those emotions. They kind of just go dormant…as this goes on again and again and again what we tend to see is that our life is filled with negative impacts that we don't allow ourselves time to actually process."

As humans, we're designed to be very resilient; but a primary mechanism of that resilience is giving ourselves idle time in which to process our emotions. In the absence of that idle time, we start to feel very fragile. As Dr. Kanojia puts it, we experience "death by a thousand cuts." He says he works with a lot of people who "as they try to move through life, they're just getting more and more shriveled and kind of patched up and defunct." Or, as he sums it up, "We're not able to recover from things the way that we used to."

It's not just lack of idle time that's handicapping our ability to cope with life's challenges. Sebastian Junger is a war correspondent who spent time on the front lines of the Afghanistan conflict. In a piece for Vanity Fair titled "How PTSD Became a Problem Far Beyond the Battlefield," he points out that chronic PTSD was rare in pre-modern societies. "Ethnographic studies on hunter-gatherer societies rarely turn up evidence of chronic PTSD among their warriors," he writes, "and oral histories of Native American warfare consistently fail to mention psychological trauma." Even fifty years ago, reports of PTSD were relatively low among soldiers. But modern soldiers experience high rates of PTSD; as of 2015, he notes, fully half of Iraq and Afghanistan veterans applied for disability. As Junger puts it: "They return from wars that are safer than those their fathers and grandfathers fought, and yet far greater numbers of them wind up alienated and depressed."

What's driving this increase in PTSD among modern soldiers? Junger chalks it up to changes in modern society. We evolved as hunter-gatherers; we lived in small communal tribes where we worked, hunted, and slept surrounded by our fellows. That communal experience is common for soldiers, who live in tight-knit platoons and have to rely on their brothers for their daily survival. By contrast, modern civilian society in the United States is isolationist and atomistic. Most of us are lonely; according to an Advisory by the Surgeon General, "In recent years, about one-in-two adults in America reported experiencing loneliness." Even those of us with spouses and close friend networks don't experience the deep web of social connection that hunter-gatherers—or many soldiers on active duty—experience.

Leaving a close-knit platoon to return to a society where a "strong support network" might mean a few friends that you see once per week can be jarring. According to anthropologist Sharon Abramowitz, "Our fundamental desire, as human beings, is to be close to others, and our society does not allow for that."

The alienating effects of modern society can even prevent recovery after a traumatic event. Junger describes an experiment with lab rats in which a rat is traumatized by an attack by a larger rat. The smaller rat, who was frightened but not injured, generally recovered within 48 hours—unless it was kept in isolation. As Junger puts it, "The ones that are kept apart from other rats are the only ones that develop long-term traumatic symptoms." Our veterans spend years overseas in the kind of dense social web that we evolved to thrive in, and then return to a society that feels utterly isolating by contrast. No wonder so many of them experience long-term PTSD.

It's not just veterans who suffer from this alienation, of course. Many Americans experience trauma of some kind. We evolved to heal from that trauma; but when our mechanism for healing (social connection) is hijacked, we shouldn't be surprised when people start to seem more fragile.

We see the same story in conflict resolution. We have a lot of conflict in our society. According to a 2021 study by the American Enterprise Institute,15 percent of American adults have ended a relationship over politics. 40-50 percent of first marriages end in divorce (and the numbers are even higher for second marriages). And a quick glance at Twitter will reveal that, when it comes to conflict, we're bursting at the seams.

Partly, this is because we don't process our emotions, so they keep bubbling out of us in unpleasant ways. But part of it is that we rarely take advantage of how our bodies were designed to work through conflict.

In his book The Way Out, Columbia University professor of psychology Peter T. Coleman notes that when we have conflict with someone, we normally sit down to hash it out. But this is suboptimal; in fact, it's much more productive to physically move with the person. As Coleman reports, "physically moving in sync with others has been shown to enhance cooperation, prosocial behavior, and the ability to achieve joint goals, and it also increases our compassion and helping behavior." "One study," he said, even "showed that walking in sync with a group of people made them more willing to make personal sacrifices that benefited the group."

When you have conflict with someone, taking a walk or even going for a run with them can be a much more powerful way to get back to peace than simply sitting down with them. Our bodies evolved to move. When we ignore this and assume that our thoughts and our words are the only things that matter, we shouldn't be surprised when conflict starts to feel endemic and unfixable.

Another way to reduce conflict is to take some time away from the conflict to breathe. As psychologist Chris Ferguson explained to us in an interview, doing this can help us to calm down and not fly off the handle at small conflicts. Ferguson explains that "there are two related issues here…emotional responses usually peak immediately after a stressor, then lessen with time, and, second, emotional responses tend to impair problem-solving." "Thus," he argues, "you see people have a bad emotional response, impulsively do something stupid, only to later acknowledge how stupid it was." When we pause and take time to process, we can "evaluate if the situation is really as bad as we initially thought it was" and calibrate our response from there. Again, this is something that most of our ancestors did very easily; in a relatively slow-paced society, you have a lot of time to breathe when it comes to addressing (non-violent) conflict. But in our hyper-online age, we're far more used to experiencing a stimulus (for example, a tweet we don't like) and immediately reacting. That's a formula for conflict escalation that our ancestors rarely had to deal with.

This rejection of our biology and the rhythms for which we evolved is having damaging effects on our psyches. But even more concerning is its erosion of our civic society.

For most of American history, the United States has been characterized by the strong bonds of civic association. In his book Democracy In America, Alexis de Tocqueville observed that the United States was unique in terms of our willingness to band together to form private organizations in order to address problems. In the 20th century, these organizations included religious groups, bowling leagues, charitable organizations, interest groups, trade unions, and more. They bound us together in a tight web of interpersonal associations that helped us feel connected to the world and to our neighbors.

The problem with human connection, though, is that it's inherently risky. If you go on a date, you might find true love…or you might get rejected. If you join a bowling league with your neighbors, you might find a much-needed sense of community…or you might feel humiliated by your low score or hurt by something that another league member said (whether or not their statement was intended to be hurtful). Our ancestors were able to shrug off this risk and deal with the rough-and-tumble of human interaction because they used the powerful strategies that our biology and evolution gave us. But because we've turned away from these strategies, human interaction has started to feel substantially more dangerous. When we stop processing our emotions, we stop recovering from interactions that might rub us the wrong way. We move away from seeing these annoyances as a minor irritant and the small price of human connection and start to experience death by a thousand cuts.

This trend is most pronounced among younger generations, who are more prone to living online and more cut off from in-person connection and physical movement. Is it any wonder that 73% of Gen Z’ers (age 18-22) report "sometimes or always feeling alone?" Or that 63% percent of men aged 18 to 29 are single, according to Pew Research? More and more young people are deciding that IRL social relationships are too risky for them because they've never been taught the coping mechanisms that our bodies and evolution gave us.

The rejection of these coping mechanisms also poses dangers for our republic. Our republic requires that people come together to debate and discuss ideas. As governmental systems go, this is pretty rough-and-tumble. It requires that we engage with people in good faith who might disagree with us or even believe that decisions we have made should be illegal. When we take time to process our emotions, this engagement is highly doable. But when we neglect to do so, these conversations start to feel riskier. We have trouble coping with opposing views and are more likely to stew and ruminate on the perceived awfulness of those views to our psychological detriment. This is made worse by the fact that more people are carrying around a lot of bottled-up anger and frustration, looking to vent it on someone else. We're all getting more angry at the same time that we're getting more sensitive, which is not a recipe for productive conversations. In the absence of these productive conversations, we may find that people lose their appetite for democracy.

This isn't hypothetical. Again, the problems that we've identified in this piece are most acute among younger Americans. And young Americans are indeed losing faith in democracy. Only 59 percent of Americans aged 18-25 agree that "Democracy may have problems, but it is the best system of government" (compared to 74 percent of Americans as a whole).

So what can we do to ameliorate the malaise of modern society and get back to the emotional peace and well-being that our ancestors experienced? One key is to get back into the rhythms from which we evolved. Cultivate idle time. Develop a closer circle of friends, and spend more time in person with other human beings rather than trying to connect through a keyboard (as far as our evolved brains are concerned, the latter is mostly pseudo-connection anyway). If you're in conflict with someone else, get together in person and physically move through it. Once we start working with our biology instead of against it, we might be surprised at how much better we, and our society as a whole, start to feel.

Another key is to stop letting ourselves be artificially divided into in-groups and out-groups. Illiberal attitudes towards race and gender can certainly contribute to us not interacting as often or as deeply with people who have superficial differences (for example, college students are warned to avoid an ever-increasing list of microaggressions when interacting with someone of a different race or gender, some of which are just basic get-to-know-you questions). But we can choose to not fall into these divides to instead recognize another core component of our biology, which is that we are all one human species and that our differences are dwarfed by our similarities. If we do that, we might all feel a little bit less lonely.

#Julian Adorney #Mark Johnson #psychology #human psychology #conflict resolution #social media #coping mechanism #evolution #evolutionary psychology #mental health #human evolution #religion is a mental illness

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beardedmrbean · 8 months ago

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One of the leading daily Helsingin Sanomat's most widely read stories on Monday examined the problem of Finland's plummeting birth rate and shrinking pension funds.

Trade unions are currently negotiating pension reforms at the behest of Prime Minister Petteri Orpo (NCP). Simultaneously, a working group led by the Ministry of Social Affairs and Health and the Ministry of Finance is also mulling pension reform. The report is due by the end of January 2025.

The reform is driven by Finland's low birth rate, which has fallen from 1.9 to below 1.3. Without immigration, a rate of 2.1 is needed to maintain the population. With the current birth rate, the reform is necessary to keep the pension system functional for younger generations, according to the HS report.

Negotiations aim to achieve an annual adjustment of around one billion euros and to ensure the stability of the agreed contribution level through some automatic mechanism. Options include raising contributions, cutting benefits or boosting birth rates and immigration.

Experts from the Finnish Centre for Pensions (ETK) have calculated that a shortfall caused by declining birth rates could be offset by increasing pension contributions by about one percentage point.

But if the decline in birth rates is not addressed in time, pension contributions would need to be increased by 2–3 percentage points in the future.

"Alternatively, the scale of the issue could be addressed by reducing pension benefits by about three percent," the CEO of ETK, Mikko Kautto, told HS.

Last spring, Kautto told business daily Kauppalehti that the pension system's financing situation could be balanced if annual net immigration were 30,000 people or the total fertility rate rose to 1.5–1.6.

Finland addressed rising life expectancy in its 2017 pension reform. The system links retirement age to life expectancy, with the minimum age currently at 64 years and 9 months, rising to 68–69 years for those born in 2000.

Criticism for plans to cut household tax credit

The government aims to save 100 million euros by tightening the conditions to receive tax credits for household expenses starting next year. The proposed changes have been opposed by multiple organisations, according to a report by Aamulehti.

The plan includes reducing the maximum deduction amount from 2,250 euros to 1,600 euros and lowering reimbursement rates from 40 percent to 35 percent. The out-of-pocket share would increase from 100 euros to 150 euros.

Finland's tax credit for household expenses provides deductions that allow individuals to claim a percentage of costs for services such as cleaning, childcare, nursing care and renovations performed in their homes.

Several organisations, including the Taxpayers' Association of Finland, the Federation of Finnish Enterprises, the Finnish Homeowners' Association and the Finnish Commerce Federation among others have opposed the move.

They argue that the cutbacks could drive the growth of the black market, negatively impact employment in the construction sector, lead people to delay necessary home repairs and make it harder for the elderly to manage in their homes.

However, the VATT Institute for Economic Research said household tax credit mostly benefits high-income households, costing around half a billion euros annually. They view the proposed reduction as a suitable measure for budget adjustments and suggest further cuts could be considered.

Study: Newspapers most trusted media

Tabloid Ilta-Sanomat reported on a recent study commissioned by the trade association News Media Finland (Uutismedian Liitto) that found newspapers to be the most trusted media across all age groups.

Nearly four out of five respondents considered printed or digital newspapers reliable. Television channels and their online services were trusted by three out of five respondents, while just over two out of five found radio channels and their websites trustworthy.

Social media, YouTubers, and blogs were trusted by only 1–5 percent of respondents.

The study also revealed that nearly 90 percent of respondents prioritise reliability as the most valued quality for news and current affairs media, followed by expertise and independence. Newspapers ranked high in all categories.

The survey, conducted in August by IRO Research, included 1,000 Finnish adults and has a margin of error of over three percentage points.

#nunyas news #updates from up north #don't know that I trust them more #but I do appreciate being able to read the news #since it's generally far more complete

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theflowerbunny · 7 months ago

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MySims - Neighborhood Stories

MySims: Neighborhood Stories Mod: Neighborhood Stories now adds over 100 random lines of dialogue to the game, based on the characters' interests and their roles. Depending on whether a Sim is a Townie/Uber/Commercial, they will have different dialogues! Allowing more immersiveness and fun, NPCs can now gossip, give you tips about the game, have sad days, happy days, and more. In addition to being able to tell you jokes and entertain you in different ways. Don't be afraid of spamming the 'Talk' button. There will always be diverse dialogue!

Q:But... What will this change in my game? A:I didn't mean to say that, but the team that made MySims may not have thought it through or they were just a little lazy when performing the game's dialogue. Because they have a maximum of 5 different lines. The game always selects random lines, which I think is great. But when you have 5 lines and you are going to select random lines, the dialogues will be repeated most of the time!

Uninstallation: To uninstall the mod, click on the file after installing it, and click on 'Remove'. After that, repair your game through the EA App.

Have fun! 💚

DL: SimFileShare - Nexus

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handspunyarns · 2 years ago

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You Were Marked: Day Six point Five.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 8.5 K

chapter summary: Din still hates vomit, Marathel suffers a great loss, and Grogu gets the hiccups.

warnings: illness, angst, allusion to past SA, allusion to suicide ideation, enmeshed misogyny, Mando'a and English cursing

You Were Marked: Masterlist

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter

Din awoke to two tiny feet pushing into the side of his stomach. This neither alarmed nor surprised him anymore. He’d long come to realize that not only was Grogu a Master Blanket-Stealer, he was also a pro at Bed-Crowding. Din would automatically allow the little one wide berth to keep him from rolling over on the boy, which allowed Grogu to take up at least four-fifths of any bed. Grogu had also far surpassed Din in the ability to sleep anywhere, if that time Grogu managed to sleep draped across Din’s neck — and shoving his little foot up under the lip of the helmet, practically up Din’s nose — was any indication. Din sighed and stretched his arms above his head. He held aside a curtain to look at the sky. It was just before dawn. He looked over and noticed that Marathel was no longer in bed, but he could hear movement over at the table. Carefully moving Grogu into the center of the bed tick, Din got up and stepped outside the curtains.

Marathel was at the table, wearing fresh clothes in shades of grey as well as a heavy canvas apron, her hair tied up in a knot on the back of her head. She was straddling the bench with her hand inside one of Din’s boots as she brushed tallow into the leather. One boot sat at her feet, apparently finished. Marathel stopped brushing and ran her hand over the leather. Not satisfied with the finish, she added some more tallow with a cloth and began brushing again. Din felt like a voyeur; he had never witnessed anyone performing such a personal service for him, such a wifely duty. The sight of her polishing his boot seemed so … right. He was also amused that someone who ran continuously barefoot was so skilled at shoe maintenance, until he remembered her off-hand comment about boys’ shoes going missing in the Hold. It would not surprise him in the least if girls were not allowed shoes in the Hold but were responsible for the upkeep of the shoes the boys and men were allowed to wear.

He believed he despised that Hold, as much as he could despise a place he’d never been.

Marathel tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear and said, “You need to take better care of your boots. The leather is very thirsty.”

“It’s one of those things I keep meaning to do.”

“The first boot took up most of the tallow I rendered last night from the gwyrlan birds. Lucky, I had some extra.”

“Thank you for doing that.”

Marathel waved it off. “No bother.” She gave the boot one more look-over and held it out to Din. “I think these are done but let me know if they are not to your satisfaction.” Din took the proffered boot, thinking it looked practically brand-new. He took a peek inside and noticed that she had also repaired the torn lining. Marathel noticed and said, “I added insoles I made from sea plant fiber. They will help keep the insides fresher.” She handed him the second boot.

“I am very grateful.”

“Take care of your boots, they will take care of you.”

“We Mandalorians say the same about our armor and weapons.”

“I doubt you strap a boomer to your feet, though.” Din’s head snapped up to look at her, the word blaster on the tip of his tongue, when he saw her smirk. “You may keep the socks, if you like.”

“I couldn’t keep these fine socks.”

Marathel shrugged. “I can always make more. I don’t wear socks very often. In fact, I can give you a couple more pairs.” She got up and pulled her curtains into the hanging strap, smiling at the still-sleeping Grogu. She dug out two more pairs of socks from a basket and held them out to Din. “Go on, take them.” He took them from her, grabbing onto her hand as he did so. Surprised, she met his eyes. Her eyes were marked by dark circles and a look of distress.

Din tilted his helmet. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

Marathel sighed, pulling her hand away. She pulled off her apron and began folding it. Looking down at her hands, she said, “Some Dahls are beginning to lay. A few are still sad that they have no eggs. A few have never laid before, and they are confused and frightened. There are also some who are egg-bound, and they are in pain.”

“What happens to the egg-bound females, if they cannot lay?”

“They die.” She stared at the apron in her hands. “Sometimes mothers die.”

“Yes, they do,” said Din softly, thinking of his mother as well as the sad-faced woman before him, the one he’d be leaving behind tomorrow. At least I won’t be leaving her pregnant, he thought, before he decided that was crude thinking on his part.

Marathel took a quick breath and said, “What would you like for breakfast?”

Din blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Anything you make is fine.”

She smiled indulgently. “I’m not concerned with what you think is fine, I’m asking what you would like. It occurred to me that I’ve been giving you meals with no thought about what you may or may not prefer.”

“Everything you have fed us has been delicious …” Marathel began to roll her eyes. “But, since you ask, traditional Mandalorian food is spicy.”

“Spicy? Peppers and such?” Din nodded. “That is good to know. I do grow peppers, but I honestly use most of them for medicinal purposes. They are tasty, though.” Marathel went to the kitchen and picked up her gardening basket. “In fact, I’ll go pick some now for today’s meals. I’ll be back shortly.” She hopped off the back of the platform and was heading off into the morning light before Din could respond. He looked over his boots again, impressed by her skill, noticing that the insides did indeed smell clean and fresh. He sat down and pulled them on, stamping them on the floor. They felt good. He looked over at his armor, wondering if he should wait to put it back on, remembering Marathel’s disturbing dream. He felt uneasy without both the armor and his weapons but decided that he might upset her if she returned to find him wearing it. He didn’t quite believe that her distress was caused merely by the Dahls.

Din heard Grogu making squeaks in his sleep. He went over to Marathel’s bed tick and sank down to his knees on the edge. “Hey, little bub, you wanna wake up?” Din leaned over, rubbing Grogu’s back. “It’s morning, kiddo.” Grogu responded by grumbling and burrowing into the blanket. Din chuckled. “Okay, you’re off the hook for now.” He left Grogu where he was and filled Marathel’s kettle to make tea. He also stoked the fire and rearranged some of the wood within. He wondered if Marathel needed more wood chopped, or if there was some other chore he could do, something he could do to please her and thank her for her kindness, her hospitality … and for her companionship, something Din hadn’t known he needed until Grogu came into his life. He went to the edge of the platform to wait for her.

Marathel was kneeling in her garden. She had picked her few pepper plants clean, hoping that she could come up with dishes that the Bounty Hunter would enjoy. So, these Mandalorians like spicy food. It occurred to her that she knew very little about the Bounty Hunter, which seemed to be by design, considering his armor, full- body coverings, and helmet. She assumed he had some sort of name, but he’d never offered it, so she had left it at that. Every now and again, he’d release some tidbit about himself, the most surprising and confusing of which had to do with what he called his religion.

The word religion meant nothing to her. Marathel understood rules, that was an easy concept to grasp. He couldn’t remove his gloves, except when he could; he was not allowed to remove or lift his helmet before her, yet he could behind her; obviously using a woman was allowable — him being a man, of course it was — but she felt reasonably certain that her laying him out mostly naked the other night was an indiscretion, as he called it.

Then on the other hand, last night, he was insistent on her pleasure, her experience … and her permission. Never had she heard of such a thing. His apology to her baffled her, even upset her. He was desirous enough of her body to want her, to have her, wasn’t that all that was needed? Yet if the use of her body also required her pleasure … then why hide his face?

Leave it alone, Marathel, you both had too many dreamberries last night. Surely, he regrets having touched you in such a way.

Then why his insistence on touching her hand this morning? His concern over how she slept following her nightmare?

It is nothing, he is leaving tomorrow. Tomorrow, nothing will matter anymore. He will be gone. And so will you.

Marathel slowly stood, picked up her basket, and started back down the path to the hut. Along the way, she shifted her thoughts back to the Dahls. Her young females seemed to be okay. The four who could lay eggs would be laying that night. None were egg-bound. Old Rodanthe was long past egg laying, but she was very sad today, and Marathel was unsure why. Rodanthe was the only Dahl who truly mirrored Marathel’s feelings, as if they shared the same heart.

Marathel’s original plan for the end of her life was to no longer bond with new Dahl kits, but to suffer the loss of the ones she had, and then … decide how to go on from there, if to go on from there. Now, she didn’t have to concern herself with that. That decision was out of her hands.

She looked up to see the Bounty Hunter leaning against her post, waiting for her. The early morning sun glinted off his helmet, but he still had not put on the rest of his armor. Somehow, she had accepted the helmet as his face, just as she had accepted his name as “Bounty Hunter.” She wondered if he would allow her to learn the truth about either … or if it even mattered, really.

He’s waiting for you.

He just wants breakfast.

Of course, he wants breakfast, he’s a man, you silly gochgoch. That doesn’t mean he can’t have … affection for you.

The idea warmed her soul and brought a smile to her face.

Din smiled under his helmet at the sight of Marathel’s smile. The sun was behind her, making the stray strands of hair that floated away from her head glisten like sparks from a welder. He was trying to memorize her walk, the way her hips swayed, how her bare feet turned out slightly with each step, the swing of her arm not holding the basket. He stepped forward as she came to the edge of the platform. He took the basket from her and offered her his hand to help her up. Marathel noticed that he was wearing his gloves again as the Bounty Hunter pulled her to his level. He was still holding her hands, thinking about kissing her, when she suddenly looked down to her feet; Marathel had felt the grasp of tiny, clawed hands around her ankle. “I appear to have grown a Grogu again.”

“He loves you.”

“He’s just hungry.”

“He’s capable of both.”

Marathel laughed. “I suppose he likes spicy food, too?”

“He has a stomach of beskar.”

“Well, then I suppose you should try each of these peppers; tell me which ones you like.”

Din stepped back while Marathel turned to pick up the basket. She had four or five varieties that went from a large berry-looking thing to a shriveled tiny claw-shaped thing. He picked up the tiny pepper and turned his back to put it up under his helmet, eating the pepper, stem and all. “Hm. Almost but not quite bland.”

Marathel’s eyebrows shot up. “That was my spiciest pepper. You must also have a stomach of beskar.”

“I wouldn’t be a proper Mandalorian if I didn’t.” He reached down to pick up Grogu. “Hey, buddy, let’s get out of Mahr’s way.” He took the child to the front of the hut. Marathel took the basket to the kitchen to cook something that hopefully wouldn’t set her head on fire.

What Marathel came up with was a pan-fry-up of tubers, both sweet and spicy peppers, and sliced sausage in a white sauce over her toasted bread. It burned her mouth, but she thought it was quite good. If she had known the combination would be so tasty, she would have tried it long ago. Grogu, of course, inhaled the contents of his bowl. She was wiping Grogu’s mouth clean when she heard Rodanthe calling for her.

Marathel looked up and saw the Dahl standing alone at the edge of the yard, just out of the tall grass. Confused, she stood and went towards the animal. Rodanthe sat on her haunches, eyes whirling. “What is it, pet? Where are the others?” Marathel went to one knee and stroked the Dahl’s head. Rodanthe made a quiet keening noise as she looked deeply into Marathel’s eyes. Marathel felt a sense of great loss. “What are you doing, Rodanthe?” The Dahl remained still, and the whirling of her eyes came slowly to a stop. Marathel gasped. “No, please, Rodanthe, why would you leave me? You’re not dying, I know you’re not.” Marathel put her forehead to the Dahl’s broad face. “I don’t understand; why are you doing this?” Her voice began to grow shrill as she felt Rodanthe pull herself from Marathel’s heart. “No, no! Stop this! Don’t leave me! You can’t, please!” Rodanthe escaped Marathel’s grasp and ran off into the tall grass. “Noooooo!” Marathel screamed as she gave chase.

Din had finished eating and was replacing his helmet as he heard Marathel’s cries. He looked up to see her run into the tall grass. He grabbed a blaster and ran after her. Marathel continued to cry out for Rodanthe as the Dahl outran her through the grass and up into the mountain pass.

“NO! Please, please stop! Don’t leave me now, I beg you! ONE MORE DAY! Rodanthe, please!” Marathel stopped running, put her hands over her head, and shrieked, the same shriek Din had heard in his dream. It was soul-crushing, heart-destroying, the shriek that Marathel uttered as she felt Rodanthe unbind herself, removing herself from her heart, mind, and soul, and Marathel screamed, “DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE!” as Din reached her, putting his arms around her, but she broke free of his grasp, crying, “Don’t touch me! Oh, it HURTS!”

Din stood back, surprised, but did not approach her again. Marathel rocked on her feet, holding her head in her hands, crying out, “Why, Rodanthe, why?!”

Din wondered why himself. Why would Rodanthe leave Marathel now, of all times? And why would Marathel say ‘one more day’? Did Rodanthe see me as Marathel’s new protector?

Din didn’t know. He didn’t know much of anything, other than Marathel’s heart was broken and there was nothing he could do for her. Grogu came running — making Din feel like a right heel for leaving him behind — crying himself as he hugged her ankle tightly.

Marathel stood with her face in her hands, sobbing, and it was some time before she got some hold of herself. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, cyar’e.” Din reached into an inner pocket and found one of the cloths he’d taken to carrying since Grogu appeared on the scene. Damn kid would leak from all ports on occasion. Stepping to her side, he pressed it against the back of her hand, and she took it, holding it to her face.

After another long while, she wiped her nose and looked out over the landscape. Her shoulders slumped and her face fell. Din recognized that look: defeat. “It’s so quiet now,” Marathel murmured. She looked down at Grogu and silently removed his hands from her ankle before she turned and started to walk back. Din picked up Grogu, who whined and buried his face in Din’s neck. He let Marathel walk ahead of him for a while before he followed her.

Marathel stood in the yard, staring at her hut. She’d lived here alone for so long, with only the Dahls for company. Now it seemed she was truly alone. Rodanthe must have been her lifeline to hearing all the other Dahls, and now there was almost silence, just the slightest of background noise to remind her she still had some contact with them. She sighed and stepped up into the hut, picking up the empty breakfast bowls from the step. She deposited the bowls in the sink, intending to clean the kitchen, which now seemed pointless. An ocean breeze came through the hut, and her shaking hands stilled. She turned to the corner post, where she had spent so much of her time since coming here, leaning, thinking, wishing, hoping for some slight elevation to her life from the dreary path she knew it would ultimately take regardless. She pulled her hair down from its untidy knot and let it fall, then sat down and leaned back against the post, staring off into the distance, hugging her knees with her elbows.

Din set Grogu down and joined Marathel on the floor, sitting behind her, taking a lock of her hair and curling it around his gloved finger. “Has a Dahl ever left you like that before?”

“No.” Marathel sighed. “When they’re ready to die, they come to me and let me hold them as they go, so they don’t have to be alone. They just slip away from me. But this … it hurts so much worse. She’s unbound herself from me, and I don’t know why.” Marathel went quiet for a while. “I feel like you’ve seen nothing but the worst of me since you’ve been here.”

Din thought about that, but the only images that came to mind were of her smile, her eyes, the gentle curve of her lips and jaw and shoulder, her strong hands holding Grogu so tenderly, the swells of her breasts and generous hips, and the look of her face in climax – the way she held her mouth, her eyes almost closed but not quite, the flush spreading across her cheeks, the way her eyebrows knitted together. “If that’s what you think, Marathel, then you should know that your worst is better than the most people’s best.” Marathel was silent. “I’m sorry she’s gone, mesh’la.”

Marathel took a deep breath, but still said nothing. Grogu toddled to Marathel’s side, placing a hand on her hip. She looked down at him, and he looked at her cautiously, as if afraid she would reject him again. Marathel lifted her hand and stroked the child’s face. “My sweet, my dear, my darling child, soon you’ll be far away from me,” she sang. Her voice was sweet and clear as a Naboo lake. “Forgive me, little one. Mahr is very sad.”

“Sad Mahr?” crooned Grogu, startling Din.

“Yes, sweet, sad Mahr.”

“Marathel …” breathed Din. “He said sad.”

“Yes, he did, Bounty Hunter. Clear as day.”

“No, you don’t understand …” Din rolled up to one knee behind her, reaching for the boy. “He said sad. He’s never said actual words before.”

“He says Patu and Mahr quite well.”

“Well, fine. Understandable words.”

“You are Patu and I am Mahr. I think he’s quite understandable. I am not happy that his first Newtalk word is sad, however.” Marathel drew her legs under her to stand. “Still … such a momentous occasion should be celebrated.” She stood and sighed. “Who likes clams?”

Minutes later, they were walking towards the lava flats. Din had donned his armor — he didn’t feel right about leaving it unattended, despite Marathel’s assurances no one would bother it — and he carried Grogu in a bag and the wooden rake, while Marathel had a large shallow basket. Marathel kept looking out over the landscape, trying to hear the Dahls. Without Rodanthe’s connection, she could barely hear them now. The ones that she could hear were currently laying, and she made a mental note of where the Dahls’ clutches were.

Din looked towards her. “Are the Dahls laying?”

“Yes.”

“What of the ones who were egg-bound?”

Marathel didn’t know any longer. Finally, she said, “They are quiet.” The Bounty Hunter nodded, which she took as acceptance.

“I can help you find eggs tonight.”

Marathel shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I know where the clutches are … and it’s only proper I do it myself.”

“This is the way?”

“Just so, yes.” They went past the lava flats to a low-tide beach that was flat as far as Din could see. “The clams we want are in the shallows. It would be about hip-high on Grogu. But the sand is solid, and he won’t sink in like you did in the mud. The only thing out there to worry about are sand fleas. But they only bite if you stand on them for too long.”

“I suppose that would be okay,” said Din, as he removed Grogu from his bag, and took off his tiny robe and beskar shirt. “Off you go, you little nudist.” He set Grogu on the ground and the boy immediately ran for the water.

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking, Bounty Hunter … you shouldn’t come into the water with us. Your boots are waterproofed, but they haven’t cured yet. I’m sorry.”

Din looked at her, and then saw a large boulder close the the water’s edge. “Fine. I can sit there and keep an eye on you two.” He hoisted himself on the boulder, and Marathel went to join Grogu in the shallows. She had rolled up her pants legs over her knees and was showing Grogu how to find the clams by looking for little spouts of sand in the water. She dug up the clams with her hands, placing them in the shallow basket she had floating beside her. She tied the basket to Grogu’s wrist with a tether, and began searching for clams herself, dragging the rake across the sands. As Marathel dug out the clams, she tossed them into the basket. She had the basket about half filled when a pair of sock-covered feet waded into view. She straightened up to see the Bounty Hunter, resplendent in armor, standing in ankle-high water with stockinged feet, looking back at her. “Oh, for the love of Frith,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Din shrugged. “I got bored.”

“I have seen your hands, but bare feet are out of the question?”

“Feet are more … intimate.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to pew-pew-pew the clams out of the water.”

“That would be inefficient. Now, if I had my net launcher … what the shab is biting my foot?”

Marathel sighed. “Step back.” He did, and she bent down and outdug a white crawly crustacean-type critter, about the size of his palm, with an articulated shell. She held it up before his visor. “Sand flea.”

She flicked her arm, and Din watched the ugly thing skip half a dozen times on the water’s surface before disappearing under a wave. “Some flea.”

Marathel went back to raking the sandy bottom. She brought up a number of clams, and she bent over to pick them up, unintentionally giving Din quite a view. He shifted to one hip and tilted his head before she realized what he was doing. “Are you staring at my backside?”

“Of course.”

She sighed and straightened, tossing the clams into the basket. “You are infuriating.” A little smile belied her words, however, and Din was stepping closer to her when Grogu squawked in pain.

Marathel was closer, and she plucked Grogu out of the water with one hand and a sand flea out of the sand with the other. She held it in her palm before Grogu, saying, “Nasty, mean, sand flea! Show me how you throw it, Grogu.” Grogu grunted and the sand flea flew from her hand, skipping across the water’s surface and far out of sight. Marathel laughed. “Show-off.” She looked at Grogu’s foot where he had been pinched by the sand flea. “So brave in the face of mortal danger! But I think you’ll live, little one.” She nuzzled his nose and began to hum her tune again, swaying back and forth, twirling in big circles in the water. As she passed by the Bounty Hunter, he slipped his arm around her waist and joined her in her lazy spins, which made Marathel laugh. The basket tether entangled around their legs, pulling them tightly against each other. Din lifted his other hand to her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb, leaning down to keldabe kiss her on her forehead.

After a few more slow spins, he said, “Come with me.”

Marathel stopped moving and pulled back to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Come with me. Don’t go to the Hold, forget the Aurodium. Just come with me and leave this planet.”

Her brow furrowed. “No … No! You have to get those coins. The Elders have no use for them!” She tried to push herself away from the Bounty Hunter, but the basket tether was tangled around both of them. “You must receive that reward, you are bound to take it to your people, for the foundlings, for ransoming your beskar! Otherwise … it’s all pointless.”

Din felt his stomach drop. “What is pointless, Marathel?”

“I … you have your path you must follow. I have mine. Your path is to take the reward and help your people. And I remain here.”

“Then I will come ba …”

“NO. Don’t say it … don’t make that kind of promise to me.” She untied the tether from Grogu’s wrist and gave him to the Bounty Hunter as she untangled the line from their legs. “You won’t be able to keep that promise. I will be …” She gestured vaguely, her back to him. “I will be nowhere,” she said, indicating the land around her. “I am far, far away from anywhere you need to be; I would be nothing but a burden to you, a woman who is useless and ignorant of everything you know so well. You have to protect Grogu, be with your people, follow your Creed. This is the way, yes?”

“This is the way,” Din responded automatically.

“Then we understand each other,” said Marathel as she picked up the basket. “You take me to the Hold with the Dahl eggs, you get your reward, and you leave.”

“And happens to you in that Hold, Marathel?”

“Nothing. I only deliver eggs.” Marathel began to walk back up the sandy flat to the path.

“Stop lying to me, Marathel. Horrible things happen to the women there. The children, too.” He followed her, placing Grogu in the carry bag over his shoulder, quickly stripping his wet socks and pulling his boots on. Hurrying to catch up with her, Din demanded, “Tell me why you have a brand on your leg.”

Marathel misstepped just enough to prove to Din he’d touched a nerve, then carried on walking. “You are mistaken. I have no brand.”

“Yes, you do. It’s on your inner thigh. And it’s been there since you were a small child.”

She whirled around to face him. “That is a scar from when I was jumping over rows in the Hold garden, and I fell on a stake. And I was not aware that you were … studying my body so closely.” She turned back to continue down the path. “When were you doing that? Before or after you begged my permission to touch me? With your helmet that lets you see in the dark?”

“Marathel …”

“You were quite eager to have me those other times.”

“Those other times were not exactly consensual, Marathel.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining.”

Din sighed. “You didn’t consent. Your bond with the Dahls forced your actions.” Marathel continued to walk before him on the path. “Are you angry with me again, mesh’la?”

“I don’t know. Are you staring at my backside again?”

“Of course.” Marathel scowled at him over her shoulder. “What is a Whyn, Marathel?”

“Frith save us,” she muttered. “A Whyn is … it’s nothing more than a woman who is come of an age that she can be matched to a man. That’s it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I can’t help that. And I also don’t understand your religion.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“I suppose that’s good, then.” Marathel stopped on the path and turned to the Bounty Hunter. “Why are we even arguing?”

Din shifted to one hip and crossed his arms. “Lucky for you we are not at the covert. Arguments there are usually fought until first blood.”

“It is good we did not follow your example in the Hold.”

“You didn’t argue with anyone?”

Marathel started back down the path. “We had enough to be worried about.”

“Marathel,” said Din, reaching for her arm, stopping her. “What happens tomorrow?”

“As I said. You take me to the Hold, I deliver the eggs, you get the reward, and you leave.”

Din put his hands on her jaw, forcing her to keep eye contact with him. “What happens to you?”

Marathel put her hands over his, trying to remove them from her face, but he held fast. “Nothing happens to me.” Din shook his head in disbelief. “They may …” She swallowed and averted her eyes. “They may want me to stay close, for the hatching, to make sure bonds happen. That is it, that is all. I have no other use there.” Not anymore.

Din did not believe her, but he also knew that she would not tell him the truth. He released her, and she headed back down the path towards the hut. Grogu took hold of Din’s thumb, and they looked at each other. Grogu’s face told Din he didn’t believe Marathel either.

Finally, back at the hut, Marathel set the basket of clams in the stream, placing rocks in the basket to weigh it down. She climbed up into the hut and sat on the counter to wash her hands and feet in the sink. Din stepped up after her. “Give me those wet socks, Bounty Hunter, I will wash them. I repaired your other clothing. If you will change, I will wash and repair what you are wearing.”

“Grogu needs a bath as well.”

“I can do that. I have some new clothes for him. I’ll take him; you can bring your things to the washtub out back.” Din handed Grogu off to Marathel. Stepping off the platform again, she said, “Your clothes are on the table, Bounty Hunter. I will give you privacy.” She disappeared behind the hut. Din followed her example and sat on the counter to wash his feet in the sink, thinking to himself he had lied to her as well … feet were not exactly off-limits: he just thought his feet were ugly.

Once his feet were clean of sand, and his boots shaken out, Din took his stack of clean laundry behind his curtains. He looked over the topmost jacket and found that Marathel had indeed repaired his clothing. Every seam was tight, every rip sewn closed with extra reinforcement. The thread she used was almost an exact match to the fabric of his flight suits, and he had not noticed it before, but the thread matched the fabric of the curtains that surrounded him. Even the fabric of the bed tick he stood on was the same color. And then he saw, inside the jacket, on the inner pocket that would be over his heart, he saw his signet, the Mudhorn, carefully embroidered in the same thread, almost invisible.

He removed his glove with his teeth so that he could touch with his fingertips the threads that she had placed there. He pulled up his helmet and pressed his lips against her handiwork, overwhelmed by even this small gesture of hers.

“Bounty Hunter?” Marathel called.

Din snapped out of his reverie. “Yes?”

“Is the clothing repaired to your satisfaction?”

“Yes, yes, it is … I’ll be just a moment.”

Behind the hut, Marathel frowned. She could have sworn that his voice was different, somehow, not as … flat. She shook her head and returned her focus to the little child. “I know, my little Godynferth, two baths in as many days is such an insult. So is getting pinched by a sand flea.” She vigorously soaped up Grogu, who squirmed and giggled, and then hiccuped a soap bubble, making Marathel giggle as well. She massaged both of his sweet ears, and Grogu purred. She bent down to look into his lovely eyes. “I am going to miss you so much, my little one. Thank you for letting me be your mam for a little while. Thank you for letting me borrow you from your da,” she whispered. Grogu reached up to touch her cheek, and his tiny hand caught the tears there, and she felt a warmth where her tears had been. She kissed his head, and then laughed as she managed to sniff some soap suds up her nose.

Din came around the corner just then to see Marathel laughing and choking on the soap suds in her nose, and Grogu hiccuping another soap bubble. “Problems?”

Marathel sneezed. “No, just …” she sneezed again. “Soap up my nose.” She sniffled and scrubbed her nose with her hand.

Din sighed and rinsed off Grogu, who continued to hiccup. “A hot mess, both of you. C’mere, kid,” he said, lifting the boy out and wrapping him in a towel. “You said you had new clothes for him?”

Marathel held up her finger, her face contorted, and then she sneezed again, the loudest one yet. “Frith, that one felt good.”

“Try that again, Marathel, I don’t think they heard you on Nevarro.” She laughed, and Grogu hiccuped again. “I don’t know how to get rid of hiccups, little guy, I’m sorry.”

“Just rub his back, Bounty Hunter. Give him a couple little thumps; he’ll be fine.” She took the Bounty Hunter’s flight suit and wet socks and dumped them into the washtub while he bounced the boy and tapped on his back. “Oh, for the love of Frith, you are far too timid with him.” She took Grogu back and swung the boy upside down and then up, catching him roughly and giving him a solid thump on his back. Grogu made one last belching hiccup and then squealed, wanting more horseplay. “There. All better.” Marathel plunked Grogu back on Din’s arm, then deftly fed his little legs into a pair of soft knitted underwear with a smocked waist. Before Grogu could squeak, she grabbed both his arms and flipped a little tan-colored shirt over his head. Next, Marathel took Grogu and set him on his feet on the bench, wrapping him in a cunning overall type of dark grey pants that had shoulder straps. The pant legs were open on the sides, much like a backwards apron, but she ran the fabric through his legs, tying the whole affair around his waist. Grogu was fully dressed in less than half a minute. Din generally had to both wheedle and coerce the kid to wear any damn thing, and it often took forever.

Din crossed his arms. “Again, I’m impressed. That might have taken me half the afternoon.”

Marathel shrugged and fastened the little ties at Grogu’s ankles to hold the pants’ legs closed. “Sometimes you just have to show them who’s boss. Especially when you’re trying to dress over a dozen little squirmy boys by yourself.”

“What are these — pants things you’ve got on him?”

“We always just called them jump-ups; they are easy to make and put on little ones. Easy access, too, for the necessary.”

Din realized that everything Grogu was wearing was new. He looked at the stack of tiny clothing; there were several more items that he had not seen before. “When did you make all this, Marathel?”

Marathel started to agitate the laundry in the tub. “Yesterday and last night. Early this morning.”

“Did you not sleep at all?”

“I had much to do. There will be time to sleep later.”

Din lifted Grogu — who seemed quite taken with his new clothing — into his arms. On the hem of the right shirtsleeve, Din saw a tiny embroidered Mudhorn. Again, Din felt overwhelmed by what this woman was willing to do for a man and a little boy she only met a few days ago. “Thank you, mesh’la … thank you for what you have done for us.”

“It was nothing, Bounty Hunter.”

“No, cyar’e … you have shown us such a great kindness.” Din reached for Marathel, turning her away from the washtub. He cupped her jaw with his free hand before wrapping his arm around her and pulling her against him, Grogu tucked between them. It took her a while, but she embraced him back, tucking her face against his neck, their heights almost equal, and Din had never experienced such a perfect fit against him before.

She is so soft.

He is so strong.

I wish I could hold her forever.

I must ask him before I lose my nerve.

“If … if I …” Marathel stammered, her forehead against the Bounty Hunter’s throat.

“If you what, mesh’la?”

“If I … give myself to you, fully as myself, for tonight … would you remove your helmet, so that I may have a memory of your face?”

Din was not surprised that she asked, only that it took this long for her to do so. “You know I cannot, Marathel. My Creed forbids it.”

“Not even … not even in the case of affection?”

Din sighed. There were ways around the helmet, he knew. But blindfolding her, forcing her to face away from him – especially since he would be leaving her behind -- seemed as tawdry as how he only bared just what was necessary for a quick bang in a brothel. And Marathel deserved better. So, there was only one answer he could give while he still possessed a thimbleful of honor. “If there were someone for whom my affection was stronger than my devotion to the Creed, then yes, I would. But …”

But that person is not you, Marathel, she thought. She had expected a rejection such as this, and it did not devastate her as much as she had anticipated; she only felt a weariness that was all too familiar to her. Yes, he had been putting his hands on her for the past few days, holding her, caressing her, but not for any kind of fondness, but only as a preamble for him to use her as he wished, while maintaining his anonymity. Even his request for her to come with him when he left was nothing more than a solicitation for her to be his concubine. She had known better than to ask, but she had held out hope that for once, just once in this miserable life of hers, that she could ask for more than what she apparently deserved.

She pulled away from Din, but Grogu held on to her tunic. She looked down at the boy. “Forgive me for asking such a thing in front of the child. It was cruel of me to ask you to break your Creed. Of course, that honor should be bestowed on the one you love best … and that should be Grogu. Your son.” Marathel peeled Grogu’s little fingers off her tunic, turned away, and went back to turning the paddle in the washtub to clean the Bounty Hunter’s clothing.

“Marathel, I …”

“Would you be so kind to pull the basket of clams out of the stream? They should have spit out all the salt and sand by now. Chuck out the ones that didn’t open. They are bad and shouldn’t be eaten.”

Din stood there a while, knowing that he’d not handled that well, limited as he was to what he could do within the rules of his Creed. And now he’d been dismissed. “Of course,” he said, and headed back around the corner of the hut, Grogu reaching for Marathel over Din’s shoulder. Marathel managed to keep her tears in until the Bounty Hunter was out of sight, and then she quietly sobbed into her hands.

Too much had passed between them to allow them to ignore each other. Marathel was civil and formal, with vague smiles for the Bounty Hunter and loving cuddles for Grogu. For dinner she made a fragrant and spicy clam stew that she served over cooked grains with the ubiquitous bread and soft cheese. Din held the bowl in his hands as he sat behind the dark curtains, watching Marathel and Grogu play in the yard. The stew smelled delicious. The bread, of course, was Marathel’s bread, so Din naturally inhaled it first. The only problem was … Din hated clams. But he decided he would eat every last one of the slimy fuckers in this bowl before he hurt Marathel’s feelings again. Making her mad enough to chuck eggs at him was one thing, but he’d heard her crying behind the hut and Grogu had looked at him with all the reproach a fifty-odd-year-old toddler could.

Marathel and Grogu were playing their running game, the rules for which escaped Din. Sometimes they hopped on one foot, sometimes they had to walk backwards, and sometimes Marathel pretended she had no bones and lay there like a lump while Grogu tried to move her. Din was no good at dissembling, telling stories, or making up running games. At that moment, Marathel was lying on her back, balancing Grogu on her upraised feet. Her loose pant legs slid down to her hips, exposing her long legs, still sporting bruises. Grogu stood up on one of her feet, and balanced there, motionless, for an impossibly long time, as stones began to rise all around them. Din could feel the air crackle with power as he watched Grogu harness more of the Force. Slowly, the stones returned to the ground, and Grogu lost his balance on Marathel’s feet. He tumbled into her arms as she sat up and praised the boy. They both stood up and the running game began again, this time ducking in and out of the tall grass. Din finished the stew with a grimace. It was spicy and had wonderful flavor, but those clams left a bad taste in Din’s mouth. He hoped he wouldn’t be revisiting them later. He replaced his helmet and stepped out to locate Marathel and Grogu.

Just then, the two came tearing out of the grass, Marathel carrying a pile of small sticks, Grogu holding a stick like a spear. As they passed Din, Marathel called out, “You’re just in time for another round of poosticks, Bounty Hunter!”

“Poosticks?”

“The floating stick race, of course, you silly gochgoch!” They bounded up into the hut, finding the yarn and tying the yarn around their respective sticks. “I’ll pick a good one out for you, Bounty Hunter,” called Marathel.

“Okay,” Din called back as he felt his stomach turn over. Oh, those clams were already rebelling against him. Looking for an escape, he dashed into the tall grass, dropped to his knees, and ripped off his helmet just in time to hurl his dinner across four feet. He didn’t think Marathel had noticed, or heard, but then he heard her feet hitting the ground as she ran across the yard to the edge of the tall grass.

“Bounty Hunter? Are you all right?”

Din dry heaved, and called out, “Yes.”

“But you’re throwing up,” said Marathel, noticing that his voice was lacking that flat quality again, same as the voice she had heard earlier.

“It … I’m sorry, it was the clams.”

“The clams?”

“I hate clams. They make me sick.” Din sat down and tucked his head between his knees. He hated throwing up as much as he hated seeing others vomit. He took a couple of deep breaths before he realized that Marathel was laughing. “Yes, go ahead, laugh.”

“I’m so sorry … but why didn’t you just say you hated clams? I would have made something else.”

“I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“Foolish pride, Bounty Hunter, and now I have to live with the fact that my cooking made you sick.” Her tone was more amused than vexed, however. “Are you feeling any better?”

Din lifted his head from between his knees, and Marathel just caught the top of his head moving in the tall grass, and she noticed his brown hair. He has brown hair. Brown hair and brown eyes and tanned skin. It was a pretty brown too, brown as the shells of the tree nuts she liked to make a dense flour out of for cookies. “I’m fine. I’ll be a few minutes.”

“I’ll make you a cup of tea to help settle your stomach. I can also make some broth for you.”

“Please don’t make a fuss.”

“Toast?”

“Yes, please.”

“Thought so.” Marathel went back to the hut, where Grogu was levitating the little sticks. Din took another breath and spit a couple times before putting his helmet on again. On a good day, breathing his own exhales was tolerable, but having to breathe in recycled clams was not enjoyable in the least. He stood up unsteadily and went back to the hut, straight into his curtained cubicle, and stripped off the helmet again. He laid down on the bed tick, put his arm over his eyes and felt his stomach rumble. After a few minutes, he heard something sliding on the floor. He looked over to see a tray sliding under a curtain. “I’ve closed my eyes, Bounty Hunter, I’m not peeking, I promise.” On the tray was a mug of weak tea, another mug filled with cool water, a clean cloth, and a plate with toast soldiers and crackers.

“Thank you, mesh’la.”

“You’re welcome, ma’mwsh ha’laa.” Din chuckled. “Is your helmet off, Bounty Hunter?”

“Yes, it is.”

“So that’s what your voice sounds like?”

Din was not accustomed to hearing his voice outside his helmet, and he wasn’t fond of his voice in the helmet. “Yes, it is.”

Marathel was quiet for a moment. “Your voice is very nice.” She collected Grogu and went back to play in the yard for a while as it began to get dark. Din rested until his stomach decided to calm down, sipping the tea, nibbling the crackers, watching the woman and the boy gambol about the yard, just like the first day they arrived. Six days. Six days on a hunt normally would have pissed the living shab out of him ten times over, but he would have been willing to wait here sixteen days. Sixty. Anything to extend the time he could remain here in this little hut with Marathel and this idyllic life. Din put on his helmet and stepped back out in time to find Marathel coming back to the hut, holding a sleepy Grogu. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I truly am sorry about the clams.”

“You didn’t know,” said the Bounty Hunter.

“No, I didn’t, because a certain Bounty Hunter is a twmffod.” Marathel set Grogu down on the table and deftly undressed him from the shirt and overalls and into a soft-looking set of pants and shirt to sleep in, something Din never bothered with.

Din tilted his helmet. “I’m assuming a twmffod is similar to an osi’kovid?”

“I suspect so.” Marathel lifted Grogu and put him into his pram. She gave him a goodnight kiss, and stroked his ear while Din whispered his nightly Mando’a to the boy before snapping the lid closed. “What is it that you say to him each night?”

“It roughly translates to sleep, little soldier, in the morning we will battle and draw first blood.”

“How charming.” Marathel gently placed her hand on his arm between his pauldron and elbow. “You are feeling better, yes?”

“Yes, thank you, mesh’la.” He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek with his gloved finger. “I’m sorry … sorry I can’t give you what you have asked of me.” What you deserve.

Marathel dropped her chin and slid her hands up her sleeves, a move Din hadn’t seen her make in days. “It is nothing, Bounty Hunter. I was in the wrong for making such a suggestion.”

Din slid his hands down her arms and drew her hands out of her sleeves. “Would you, though … would you allow me to lay next to you again tonight, and let me hold you?” Marathel’s eyes remained downcast. “I promise you, Marathel, on the honor of my people, I will only hold you. Nothing else.”

Marathel looked up at the Bounty Hunter’s face, furrowing her brow, wishing that she could see some expression that matched what was in his voice. He had brown hair; he had brown eyes, but this knowledge did not alter the dark visor set in the middle of an expanse of metal. She nodded and said, “Okay.”

Din stepped back, pulling gently on her hands, asking wordlessly for her to follow him to her bed. Marathel followed, and Din pulled aside the curtains and handed her through, and then got down to one knee to assist her down to the bed. He lay beside her on his side, Marathel on her back, and he slipped his arm underneath her head, reaching his other arm across her middle, his hand resting on her ribs. “My mesh’la, my cyar’e,” he whispered.

Marathel did not respond. She lifted her hand to hold the Bounty Hunter’s gloved hand that lay on her. She felt cold and alone. He had pretty words, but they were spoken from behind a wall of protective fabric, leather and metal. His hands were strong and warm, but they were only revealed to her when he wished to fondle her skin. She offered him everything she had, which was little to be proud of, being plain, fat, and dumb, with only the request that he allow her all that he had as well, to be equals, but he denied her. But, being a man, that was his privilege, after all.

You are less than, Marathel, you always will be.

But not for much longer.

Marathel lay still, listening to the Bounty Hunter's even breathing while she waited for him to fall asleep.

You Were Marked: Next Chapter

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